#but. yeah. every single book I got today was history in some manner

[mycological-mariner]

Just as with nature walks, I am not to be trusted unattended in a library. I went in to pick up one book and left with four others with two on reserve.

[the-ghost-king]

the term malewife isn’t a very nice term to use...

A man who acts as a wife and is inferior to his #girlboss girlfriend.

Person A: I just got myself a malewife. He's gonna clean my kitchen and watch me download custom content for the sims.

Person B: Sweet! You must be such a girlboss

^^urban dictionary. It’s just confirming to the sexist stereotypes that perceive and expectation of what a wife should act like. It’s quite harmful

It's a parallel to girlboss which is conformity to the sexism within corporate America:

"it becomes inescapably clear that when women center their worldview around their own office hustle, it just re-creates the power structures built by men, but with women conveniently on top. In the void left after the end of the corporate feminist vision of the future, this reckoning opens space to imagine success that doesn’t involve acing performance reviews or getting the most out of your interns." (here)

The word girlboss comes from a book quite literally called #girlboss, in parallel to the negative aspects of this book people eventually rebranded the term "malewife" to parallel it (malewife was originally an nsfw type thing)

In the malewife/girlboss "system" it's essentially the swapping of the problematic aspects, expectations, and socialization of men and women within a relationship

"Girlboss, gaslight, gatekeep" was a meme started to pick on the idea that women should become men and enforce the sexism within corporate society, and I'm sure it was a jab at the book the word came from as well.... "Manipulate, mansplain, malewife" was created to parallel the original meme

So yeah, the whole concept is mocking sexism within corporations and and modern relationships and showing how ridiculous it is. Girlboss mocks the idea of 2014 (largely) white feminism within America.

In example the original meme (created on Twitter) is intended to make mockery of Karen-types:

On January 12th, 2021, Tumblr user missnumber1111 posted, "today’s agenda: gaslight gatekeep and most importantly girlboss," garnering over 43,500 notes in a month (shown below). On that day, Twitter user @CUPlDL0VE posted, "my agenda is gaslight gatekeep and #girlboss," the first instance of the phrase on Twitter.

And a day later on January 13, 2021 Tumblr user a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e reblogged the post along with a photoshopped image of "Live, Laugh, Love" wall art instead reading, "Gaslight every moment, Gatekeep every day, Girlboss beyond words" (shown below). On January 18th, the image was reposted to Twitter for the first time.

Malewife doesn't hold those same implications however... The term malewife which is now being used to parallel girlboss achieves it's origins from p*rn, now I'm not an nsfw blog or someone who blatantly discusses nsfw concepts on my blog so I'm not getting super into it but there's a few places it comes from: femdom, bdsm, and feminization kinks... All of which have a connection to queerness in their own right but I don't feel comfortable going into the complexities of that with so many younger people following me.

On February 15th, Tumblr user @relelvance posted, "Manipulate, mansplain, malewife" as a male-themed opposite to "gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss," garnering over 27,000 notes in four days. The post was screenshotted and reuploaded by Twitter user @nortoncampbell on the same day, garnering over 14,200 likes and 2,800 retweets in the same span of time (shown below).

Urban dictionary's explaination of "malewife" is not only harsher than what malewife was intended to mean, but also removes the context of origin from the word- making it something new, different, and erasing the history of who originally used this word.

Because of Malewifes origins vs Girlboss origins, malewife is a less problematic term than girlboss and is more "affectionate" because the term malewife and it's use (up until recently) involved the man acknowledging that he wanted to be the "wife" in his relationship. There's a variety of reasons someone might do this, but it can generally be summed up as a mixture of personality and also personal wants.

I do think it's important to also note that although these words are being "glamorized slightly" they're still intended and being used in a memeing manner, but they're also used to quickly denote arbitrary traits in an individual and categorize those traits...

Although there's lots of conversations to be had for a variety of reasons about the origin and use of the word "girlboss" in relation to sexism, up until recently the world "malewife" was something claimed by men, something men wanted to be called, and something that men who used the term wanted to reference them.

Malewife is about "stepping-up" to "take on" "female" social roles, and it's something that at least some women would be happy to see in society:

"...We have been told that we can have it all, but so far we have noticed that it is extremely hard work having it all, because you still have to do everything that your mother did but now you have to do everything your father did as well. Except that your father had your mother waiting at home with a gin and tonic and his slippers when he came home from work, and you have the washing up and the shopping and a few screaming brats as well as a bloke with his feet up on the sofa watching the football... " (via. Victoria Mary Clarke)

And I don't think that she's wrong at all. Women are still expected to do so much more than men in society without equal reward.

Malewife exists as a a sort of fantasy removed from the truth of society. It's an idea that a husband can be waiting at home to care for his wife, and in this instance it benefits the woman- unlike Clarke's situation above, the woman comes home from a long day and is able to relax without the pressures of society and her life.

Where housewife is a word that holds its origins in forced subservience, malewife is a term that is showcasing men "picking up the torch" in regards to housework- where housewife is socially forced, and girlboss is reversed social compliance, malewife is the rejection of social expectations.

Malewife is about men finding a place in their life's and relationships to make themselves more than a paycheck. To say "I can be emotionally there for my spouse, I can clean a toilet, and drive kids to school, and I don't treat my spouses wants as something expendable". In a society in which men are often demeaned, mocked, and scorned for picking up socially female roles (say hello to misogyny and gendered contamination!)

The Urban dictionary definition, is not only too harsh- but not the way in which the word is intending to be used, because that's ignoring the origins of this word, and the fact that men had a choice in becoming malewifes where women didn't have that choice. It should read more like:

Person A: Ah yeah, I have a malewife waiting for me, he's going to clean my kitchen because I've had a hard day at work and need a break, and then he's going to watch me download custom content for the Sims because I enjoy the game so much and it helps me take a break from life!

Women's wants were often ignored in favor of men's wants, so by the malewife saying he's going to watch his spouse play the Sims, he's really saying "I care about her interests" and by him picking up the kitchen cleaning after she's had a stressful day he's saying "I have a lower stress job so I can handle that for her and make her life a little easier" (because malewife doesn't mean he doesn't have a job).

In a society in which a man's worth is tied to his ability to bring home money and be emotionally distant, malewife is the rejection of this norm. Malewifes are going to be there for their spouse, they're going to step up and take on traditionally women's roles and they're doing it because they want to, because they like it, and because dividing chores into pink vs blue is wrong.

I also want to say, you can't flip a word around and say it does "this" because that's not how it works... Men and women are forcibly socialized in very different ways, the two binaries have very different treatment, and expectations within societies social constructs. If you could flip the forms of oppression that men vs women face (because yes, the patriarchy oppresses men) then you could also flip the forms of violence faced by trans masculine people vs trans feminine people- but that doesn't work either, because women will always be oppressed in the most public way to "make an example of them" while the patriarchy expects anyone who is male to "keep his mouth shut and fall in line". (I know that's worded poorly, but I've just written at least a couple hundred words and my brain is a bit fried already from various other things today- basically anyone perceived female or male will be treated in a certain way as a result of others perception of them)

Anyhow, all this isn't to say that the term "malewife" is inherently free of any form of flaw ever... Malewife is a newly mainstream word, it wasn't popularized until February 15 of 2021... So?? 5 days ago?? The origins of malewife and the social implications of malewife combined with the history of the word, don't make the word bad or impressive and it's not "upholding the ideals of a housewife" but instead a word which provides men freedom from male social expectations.

Can the word malewife come to be a word which enforces expected female social behavior? Yeah it absolutely can become a word to mean that, erase the history from the word, and give it to someone who doesn't know the history of the word, and someone who doesn't have an intimate understanding of gender theory, and you've got a recipe for hundreds more asks like the one you've sent me...

I can't find a single positive reason to use the word girlboss in an empowering way, but I can find more reasons to use the word malewife in an empowering way than not to do so.

So at the very least if all you come away from this with is that I don't personally use the word malewife to uphold female social expectations in a relationship but instead I use this word to provide space for guys to be allowed to be feminine, soft, caring, emotionally present, and worth more than their monetary value, then I guess that's okay.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

[jungshookz]

Im going to need you to do me a solid and put my heart back together after you broke it with that library!Joon break up cliff hanger drabble. I know you can fix this, I need you to fix this. I can't function knowing my favourite pairing ended up at that point without closure. 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I beg of you, heal our hearts. 💜💜💜

i’m here with my peppa pig bandaids and i’m ready to mend some broken hearts :D

also whAT is namjoon doing with his face in this gif hfshjkjs

➺ pairing; kim namjoon x reader

➺ genre; librarian!jooniverse

➺ wordcount: 1.6k

➺ what to expect; “i will accept this breakup if you can give me one logical reason as to why we don’t belong together.”

                                     ➽───────────────❥

you know

now that you think about it, it probably wasn’t a good idea to break up with namjoon because a) he is the absolute love of your life and you can’t imagine going on without him but aLSO b) …the two of you are co-workers

so it was a little awkward coming into the library this morning and seeing namjoon sitting behind the counter

and it was a little awkward saying good morning to him when four days ago you told him that it’d be better for the two of you if you didn’t see each other anymore

and it was especially awkward having to put books back into their slots while namjoon was pushing the book cart along right behind you

he usually reads the serial number out loud so that you know exactly where to put the book back in a quick and efficient manner but instead he just handed the books to you without a single peep

you’re finding it pretty hard to (no pun intended) read namjoon

usually it’s easy to tell how he’s feeling whenever you look at his face but right now it’s just… nothing.

you see nothing

there’s so much that you want to say to him but it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t want to talk to you right now

which is completely understandable, of course

every time you close your eyes you just see namjoon’s sad little face staring right back at you

and-

“i will accept this breakup if you can give me one logical reason as to why we don’t belong together.” the sound of books being ploppED onto the counter has you looking up from the monitor

“what?”

namjoon props both his arms up onto the pile of books before resting his cheek against his fist, “you heard me.”

“i-“ you clear your throat before letting out a chuckle, “i really don’t think right now is an appropriate time to be discussing-“

“no, now is the perfect time. we’re in the middle of a global pandemic. there’s literally nobody here.” namjoon reaches up to push up his glasses, “go on, y/n. just one good reason to explain why our relationship didn’t work out.”

one good reason

okay

easy!

“fine.” you lean back against the chair and cross your arms, “we’re complete opposites in terms of everything. you like classical music, i like pop. you like mustard, i’m more of a mayonnaise fan. you like oranges, i like apples. you prefer a night in, whereas i prefer to go out. it’s as simple as that, namjoon.”

ha!

you think that was a pretty solid point

you give yourself a mental pat on the back before looking up at namjoon with a particularly cocky smile

opposites attract, sure… but not complete opposites, right??

you can’t be with someone who supposedly isn’t compatible with you whatsoever!

“that would’ve been a good argument, except for the fact that you love that we’re complete opposites.” namjoon points out, “you once said that it adds more spice to our relationship.”

you poke your tongue against the inside of your cheek when you realise that namjoon is (unsurprisingly) correct

you DO love that the two of you are like water and oil because it just makes you appreciate and love namjoon more!!

you love hearing him talk to you about the history of the fibonacci sequence (well, you don’t loVe hearing about it, but still) because it makes you think about how lucky you are that you get to learn about new things every day!

okay, well…

you can come up with something else, right?

“we’re breaking up because… you’re too dorky for me and… i don’t vibe with that aesthetic, you know?” you shrug before shaking your head

yeah okay

that definitely wasn’t a good reason

now you’re just grasping at straws

namjoon scoffs and resists the urge to burst into a maniacal CACKLE

that’s a funny joke!!!

tell another one!!!

“hey, remember that time you wore my glasses AND one of my cardigans while riding my-“

you immediately shoot up from your chair before slapping a hand over namjoon’s mouth

“okay, fine, whatever-“ you grumble as you pull your hand away, “i don’t know, then. i guess i… i don’t know.”

namjoon is quiet for a couple of seconds before he speaks up again, “do you love me?”

that question has you looking straight up at him and you find yourself nodding before you even know it, “of course i love you.”

“okay.” namjoon nods, “and you know that i feel the same way about you, right? you know i love you.”

you’re not sure why but your throat is starting to tickle and you can feel your eyes starting to glaze over a little

you immediately lower your gaze

god

you already hate crying in general

and now you’re doing it in public?????

you big old baBY

“y/n…” namjoon reaches over to cup your cheek with his hand and you nuzzle into it instinctively, “i love you, you know that. i just… i’m struggling to understand why you… why you’re giving up on us… you have to meet me halfway here-“

“-i feel like i’m not good enough for you!” you’re bursting into tears a millisecond later and namjoon’s heart clenches in his chest at the sight of you being so clearly distraught over him

“baby, no-!” namjoon abandons his books to join you behind the counter, “how could you ever think that??”

he sits down in his own chair and you let him plop you down onto his lap

“you’re just- you’re so sm-smart and i, i literally don’t know an-anything and i-i always feel so stu-stupid-“ you sob and reach up to wipe at your hot cheeks, “i just- i just feel like you’d be happier with someone who’s more on your l-level and i’m clearly not that person-“

“y/n-“ namjoon shakes his head, “you-“

“i j-just want you to be happy and i thought this would be the right decision-“

“y/n!” namjoon reaches up to pinch your lips shuT in between his pointer finger and his thumb, “i need you to stop talking and just listen to me.”

you sniffle before nodding

namjoon pulls his hand away before resting his arm over your lap, “i’m sorry, but you don’t get to decide how i feel about you. you don’t get to break us up because you think that i think that i’ll be happier without you, it’s as simple as that! i’m aware that you’re… a little insecure when it comes to our… intelligence levels…”

oop

okay

there might’ve been a better way to phrase that because it just sounds like he’s calling you stupid

which you’re not!!!!!!!

you’re not stupid at all!!!!!!

you just… need to have better note-taking and studying habits, that’s all!

namjoon’s never been great at comforting people and that’s pretty evident at this moment in time

“i’m sorry if i’ve ever made you feel like you’re not smart enough for me, or that you’re not good enough for me. i never ever want to hurt you and i promise i’ll try to be more careful with what i say and how i respond to your questions.” namjoon reaches up to dab away your tears with his handkerchief, “y/n, you… you are so perfect for me, you know? if anything, i should be the one worrying that i’m not good enough for you! you’re- you’re literally the girl of my dreams.”

“i am?” your bottom lip begins to tremble again

jesus christ

why are you so weepy today?!?

“i mean, you were there, you saw how hard i was pining after you before we got together! i made lunch for you, i gave you one of my pocket candies- and i never give anyone my precious caramels!” namjoon points at the extra stash of caramels sitting behind his monitor and you can’t help but smile, “so, i guess the short version of what i’m trying to say is that i love you, and you’re not stupid. …unless you still want to go through with this breakup - in that case, i think you’re being very stupid-!”

you push namjoon’s head back gently before leaning down to press your lips against his in a soft little kiss

the apples of his cheeks are bright pink when you pull away and you grin when he wraps his fingers around the nape of your neck to bring you back down to him

heh

it’s only been four days but he really missed your kisses

“you have my heart, kim namjoon.” you whisper lightly

namjoon resists the urge to pull a page out of your book and start clowning you for that CHEESY eye-roll worthy line

“i know.” he smiles proudly as he gives your thigh a pat, “so… does this mean that we’re boyfriend and girlfriend again?”

you pull away with a snort, “you sound like a third grader when you say it like that-”

“we’re back together for one second and you’re already starting to bully me-“

“can you blame me? you’re so easy to bully-”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

requested drabbles masterlist

[sighmurderbot]

Irish Coffee Chapter Three

Title: Gatorade and Sixth Floor Coffee

Chapter Rating/Warnings: G, I don’t think there’s even any profanity in this one

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: They meet over coffee and Kierkegaard. There was a spark in his honey-brown eyes that drew her to him. There was a sadness behind her bright smile that drew him to her. Spencer Reid/Original Female Character. Slow burn coffee shop meet. Strangers to friends to lovers. This fic is also available on AO3, it’s ahead of tumblr currently!

previous chapter//next chapter

“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.” 

― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

One exhausting week rolled into the next. Spencer didn’t stop by every day, but the days he did I found myself smiling a little easier. He was considerate, always making sure I could clearly read his lips when it was noisy, always patient even when I could tell he had somewhere to be.

When the shop was empty he would linger an extra moment or two, giving me some sort of obscure fact about coffee, cafes, caffeine, or something else tangentially related. I soaked it up like a little knowledge sponge. The way he gestured with his hands when he got excited about what he was saying always put a grin on my face. 

When the shop was busy, with suits shoving in and out, Spencer waited quietly in line and was extra polite when ordering, as if his manners would make up for the harsh and hurried words I was subjected to from others. 

And every time he came in, no matter what time of day, rain or shine, he ordered a large mocha with extra sugar.

By the second week I started noticing him before he walked in. Something caught my eye, maybe it was his cardigans or incessantly mismatched socks, or maybe I was developing a Spencer radar, but I started to have his coffee ready before he reached the counter.

The first time I proudly plunked his order in front of him before he could speak I think I really threw him off. It wasn’t a busy day, and I was already leaning on the counter, allowing myself a little bit of rest. He paused, mouth still open, and tilted his head at the cup. He then pressed his lips together and frowned slightly. Was he disappointed? It certainly looked like it.

“It’s exactly how you like,” I hurried to assure him.

“Thanks,” he replied, slowly taking the cup. I felt my stomach drop as he began to turn away. I had been looking forward to his visit, especially since I hadn't seen him for a few days. Somehow the young doctor always found a way to make me smile. 

“I thought,” I called out after him, stopping his movements, “that it would help to have it ready. You know, so I don’t have to go make it in the middle of talking to you.”

He turned back, frown now bent into a small smile.

"How efficient," he said. I shrugged.

"I like to maximize the good things in life."

Spencer didn't reply right away, instead electing to shyly drop his eyes and take a sip of coffee. His muscles relaxed a little as the hot liquid worked it's magic.

"How have you been enjoying Asimov?" I asked, falling back to a safe subject for both of us: books. Any tension that may have been lingering dissipated as Spencer's eyes lit up.

"Fascinating!" He started, and I settled myself against the counter a little more, perfectly happy to listen. After noticing my hearing aids, Spencer made sure to speak clearly when we conversed, and for the few brief moments I was with him, it was like my hearing had never started to degenerate at all.

"Psychohistory as a concept alone is fascinating, and when applied to a well developed futuristic universe it practically crafts the story by itself. The field itself only really became recognized when Lloyd deMause developed a formal approach to apply to the study of psychobiology, history, and social dynamics. Even that was fairly recently; deMause is still an influential figure in the field today."

Without fail, whenever Spencer stopped in, I learned something. The information, the passion with which he presented it, everything down to his soft, first-year philosophy professor look had me longing to go back to school. Listening to Spencer teach, whether it was conscious or not on his part, was like sips of water in the desert.

Not for the first time I wondered what he did for work. He was skittish about the subject, the first time I asked he dodged the question, and any time the conversation had neared the subject again he'd start to clam up, avoid eye contact, and worry at his bag or cardigan sleeve.

If he doesn't want to talk about it he doesn't want to talk about it, I reasoned finally. Lord knows there's enough secret jobs in this city, why would he take a break from work for coffee just to talk about work with a random barista?

So I had dropped the subject, and our talks flowed around books and philosophy and whatever tidbits of trivia were on his mind that day.

Unfortunately, our discussion was brought to a quick conclusion when another customer entered, sending the bell above the door swinging with an annoying tone that ensured I always had a low-level headache.

I stood and exchanged a small wave with Spencer. Even the way he waved, hand low, arm tucked into his side, made me smile. When he left he was careful not to rip the door open, the bell barely moved as he slipped away. 

We continued like that for a time, but as fall turned towards winter, I found myself struggling to get out of bed in the morning. Exhaustion weighted my limbs before I even got to work, and even the heaviest concealer couldn’t cover the bruise-like shadows beneath my eyes. Whereas before I would tidy the shop during lulls, I now had to pause to catch my breath after rushes, as if every customer took what little energy I had with them. My Spencer radar didn’t go off for days at a time, sometimes almost an entire week would pass before he would stop in. I felt foolish for looking forward to a regular so much, but I couldn’t help myself. I enjoyed his company, even though I knew he probably didn’t give me a second thought once he was outside the shop doors. 

It had been one of the longer stretches since Spencer visited when I woke up in the middle of the night, head aching and throat raw. 

It was bound to happen eventually, I thought, dragging myself across my studio apartment and getting a glass of water. Even the simple liquid hurt to swallow.

I winced and returned to bed, grabbing my phone. Flipping it open, I navigated to the two numbers I needed and sent a message to my bosses for both the coffee shop and the diner. Surely they couldn’t begrudge me a single sick day.

Attempting another sip of water, I burrowed back into my blankets and slipped into a restless sleep.

Spencer

A few hours later, in another part of the city…

Spencer found mornings difficult, especially since he was left only with crappy sixth floor coffee until lunch. The team had handled back to back cases that left him drained and a pile of files towering on each member’s desk. 

“Morning,” Morgan greeted as his younger associate stepped off the elevator. Spencer gave him a noncommittal noise and a nod, beelining for the bullpen’s coffee maker.

Prentiss glanced up, sharing a look with Morgan, and they both shrugged. 

“I don’t know how you can drink this stuff,” Prentiss said, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “Why don’t you just stop for coffee before you come in?”

Spencer kept his eyes on the cup into which he was stirring spoonful after spoonful of sugar. 

“I go out for coffee in the afternoon,” he replied evenly. Prentiss and Morgan exchanged another look, with the other man joining Prentiss and Spencer at the counter.

“Yeah, we noticed,” he said. “Must be really good coffee, in the years you’ve worked here you never used to go further than the cafe at the corner.”

Prentiss nodded in agreement. “And yet, you haven’t been there in two, three weeks, have you?”

Spencer turned, coffee held close to his chest as he looked between his coworkers.

“I thought there was a permanent moratorium on inter-unit profiling,” he frowned, lips drawn together in a slight pout.

“Not profiling,” Prentiss smiled.

“Just observing,” Morgan agreed.

“Hmph,” Spencer huffed, heading for his desk.

“So you're gonna take your favorite coworkers to your new go-to coffee spot?” Morgan called after him.

“I dunno,” Spencer replied, flipping open the first pile of his stack. “I’ll ask Hotch and JJ.”

“Oooh,” Morgan clutched a hand to his chest, as if injured, face drawn in overdramatic pain. “That hurts, Pretty Boy.”

The target of his teasing, however, was already working through the file before him. Morgan sighed, no more excuse available to keep him from doing the same.

At precisely 2:15pm, Spencer stood and gathered his things. He could feel Morgan and Prentiss studying him as he unclipped the gun holstered on his hip and carefully set the weapon in his bag. Slinging the strap over his head he settled it on his opposite shoulder, grabbed his scarf, and looped it around his neck.

“Off for coffee?” Prentiss asked, tone dripping with innocence.

“Yup,” Spencer replied shortly. “See you in a bit.”

“See ya,” she replied.

As the elevator doors slid shut before him, Spencer watched Prentiss slide her chair over to Morgan’s desk. They ducked their heads together, undoubtedly gossiping about Spencer’s mysterious new favorite coffee shop.

They were surprised, then, when he returned in almost half the usual time with no coffee in hand.

“Hey, kid,” Morgan leaned towards the small wall separating their desks. “You didn’t let our teasing stop you from getting your coffee, did you?”

“What?” Spencer looked up, as if Morgan had interrupted him in deep thought. Morgan raised one thick eyebrow. 

“Where’s your coffee?” Morgan asked. Spencer frowned slightly.

“Didn’t feel like it today.”

Morgan glanced towards Prentiss, who tilted her head. He raised and dropped one shoulder.

There was no way they could know that Spencer had hurried a few blocks down from the office, whether subconsciously speeding his steps or not. Neither Morgan nor Prentiss could realize the way Spencer looked through the window to the counter, ready to smile at the sight of a blonde barista with a tall mocha in her hand. They couldn’t know the way his stomach dropped and shoulders drooped when there was no bright blonde with a ready smile and sparkling hazel eyes behind the counter that day. Instead there was a stranger, a young man with annoyance written on his face. A cloud passed in front of the weak fall sun and before Spencer realized it he was walking back to the BAU. His mind was far away, wondering what would cause a break in such a strict routine. 

He hadn’t known Katie very long, but she was friendly, and she listened—really listened—when he spoke. She was so different from his world, so unusual, and yet so absolutely normal. There was much he knew about her: her determination, her punishing schedule, her devotion to cheerfulness, but there was so much more he didn’t know and wanted to find out, if only out of an academic curiosity to understand how and why she did what she did. Why she seemed to perk up when she spotted him on the sidewalk outside, why she let him ramble on far after anyone else would have told him to shut up. 

And why, why wasn’t she at the coffee shop?

Because she has a life, the little voice inside his head mocked. Because you are a customer who is nice to her and it is her job to keep you coming back for overpriced DC coffee.

Shaking his head, Spencer tried to put her from his mind and steeled himself for the inevitable tag team teasing that Morgan and Prentiss would subject him to.

Katie

I groaned curses at the sun as it found a gap in my curtains, slicing through my dark room as easily as any blade. 

Rolling over, the red LEDs of my clock told me it was far past time to attempt a shower and food, sick or not. I couldn’t really afford to be so late with my meds, but I hoped perhaps it would be an okay day and I could slip a few extra hours past my vertigo.

No such luck. I sat up slowly and the room tipped around me. It was a combination of floating and spinning while drunk, and it sent me stumbling to the bathroom on flimsy legs. It was like I had downed a bottle of jack and chased it with that soda from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory that made people fly. 

I almost overshot the toilet but an iron grip on the cold porcelain kept me anchored as I heaved. There was nothing to throw up, but my body hadn’t gotten the message. Nearly twenty minutes passed before I allowed myself to slump back on the tile floor, sweat sticking hair to my forehead and the back of my neck. 

It was like I was on a teacup ride at the fair and it was slow at the moment, but could speed up again at any moment. I just prayed I’d be able to handle it when it did.

Somewhere in the other room my phone buzzed. I hadn’t thought to grab it in my mad rush for the bathroom, and at the moment I didn’t think I had the strength to retrieve it. It wasn’t hard to run through the people who might be contacting me. The only options were one of my bosses or Liz, and I didn’t feel like talking to them at the moment.

You can’t just isolate yourself when things get hard.

The voice in my head sounded a lot like my therapist from school. I sighed deeply, frustrated and tired, tipping my head back to rest on the glass around my shower.

“Right, shower,” I muttered. That was what I had originally intended to do when I got up. Moving slowly and carefully, breathing to steady myself, I flopped into the small tub and turned the shower on full spray, letting the water pepper across my skin.

Eventually I stripped off the tank top and shorts I had slept in, leaving them in a sodden heap near the drain, and grabbed the soap, scrubbing myself until the water started to run cold. After I was clean and all the soap suds had swirled down the drain I shut off the water and cautiously stood, white-knuckling the support bar I had installed in the shower after my first fall. 

The room didn’t want to stay still, but it had stopped rotating enough for me to step out of the shower, make my way to the towel rack, and wrap myself in a large, fluffy towel. 

Water dripped from my body as I padded out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, leaving wet footprints trailing the wooden floor behind me. I pulled a frosty gatorade from my fridge and a sleeve of saltines from my cabinet. Setting the sustenance on my bedside table, I dried off enough to keep my sheets dry and climbed back into bed, not bothering with pajamas this time.

Thankfully, I was able to keep some of the bland crackers and alarmingly blue liquid down. I downed my medication and sunk back into my pillows, even the little I had accomplished that day taking all my energy. 

Hopeful that I’d wake with the cold gone and my meds working, I began to doze, and the dozing deepened into a dreamless sleep.

My one sick day stretched into two, then three. Fighting one disease was hard enough, and it intensified even the smallest infection from an annoyance into a massive burden. On the third day my phone rang. The conversation with my boss from the diner was quick and professional. I understood that he needed reliable employees, but I had hoped the fact that I was never late and always gave as much notice as possible for my sick days as possible would buy me some leeway.

Apparently not.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I snapped my phone shut.

It’s okay, I reasoned. I can pick up more shifts at the cafe and the bar. They’ve always paid better anyway.

Resting my head against the wall I studied my ceiling.

“What do I do, mom?” I whispered, closing my eyes.

“Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door.”

Emily Dickinson had been one of my mother’s favorites, and it was her voice I heard.

Right, I thought, steeling myself. What doors haven’t I tried yet?

Dragging my laptop onto my lap took more effort than perhaps it should have, but I managed it. 

Scholarships. 

Now that I had a full time work record to back me up, I might qualify for more money. And if I qualified for enough I could take the next step, instead of being stuck running in circles trying to earn enough over three jobs to pay for college by myself.

The sun had long since set on my third sick day when I finally shut my laptop and let sleep claim me once more. I now had a small spark of something to go with the stubborn determination my mother had instilled in me: hope.

[porcupine-girl]

Zimbits AU, 1500 words

I’ll post this on AO3 eventually, but I have to think of a title first... and edit it and shit... *eyeroll*

This is from @stultiloquentia‘s prompt, “They meet in an antiques shop where they fight over a historically interesting teapot.“

It’s not quite a teapot, but close enough?

---

Jack curses under his breath as he enters the shop. Cute Blonde Guy is there again.

Not Cute Blonde Guy. He really needs to stop thinking about this guy like that. It doesn't matter that he's cute, what matters is that he somehow always knows just when Jack is going to show up at every local antique shop and manages to not only get there first, but lay a claim on whatever item Jack would otherwise be interested in buying that day.

Okay, he doesn't get there first every time. Last weekend, Jack had gotten to the store up in Attleboro first and couldn't help feeling a rush of triumph when Cute—when Blonde Sniper Guy's eyes had landed on the pie safe Jack had just paid for.

That rush of triumph definitely did not deflate at the way Blonde Sniper Guy's face fell when he saw the SOLD tag on the pie safe.

Jack knows it's silly to get so competitive about it. Sometimes he gets what he wants, sometimes someone beats him to it. That's how antiquing goes. It's just frustrating that for the past three months, it always seems to be that guy. Why is he so interested in late 19th century kitchenware, anyhow?

Jack picked up antiquing as a hobby a couple years after landing his job teaching high school history. He's found that being able to show his students actual artifacts brings the past to life for them in a way books just can't. Adam, another history teacher at his school, has a collection of military memorabilia from various wars, but Jack prefers to look for items from people's daily lives. His students seem to connect with those better—they see the people who lived through these historical events as people, not just characters in a story.

Last year Dex, who teaches both wood shop and home ec, approached the history teachers with some ideas for cross-disciplinary projects—having his students make things that reflected what they were learning about in their history classes. It's been a raging success, and they've been working to expand their collection of still-usable antique cookware. It's not easy on their teachers' salaries, but Jack's parents have been very generous about supporting the history department, and with their donations it's going well. (In return, Jack has promised that once their collection is large enough they'll set up a program to loan pieces out to other local schools.)

That particular effort would be going even better if this guy didn't seem determined to buy up all of said antique cookware in the Providence area. Sometimes Jack has to go up to the Boston suburbs to avoid him—and sometimes even that doesn't work.

For now, he tries to ignore Blonde Sniper Guy's presence. It works for about ten minutes, but then Jack notices not one, but a stack of at least five original Frisbie pie tins.

"Perfect," he murmurs to himself, and starts to move toward them—but he's still ten feet away when a blonde head darts in from the other side of the store.

"Oh, would you look at these!" Less Cute Every Time Jack Sees Him Guy squeals as he grabs the stack of tins. "How perfect can you get?"

Jack clenches his teeth and fully intends to just go and leave the guy to his find, but he unintentionally lets out a grunt of frustration, only three or four feet away from where the guy is staring at his treasure.

Ugly Blonde Sniper Guy's head whips around at the sound. Jack tries and fails to keep those wide brown eyes from changing his mental assessment of the man's attractiveness.

"Oh," the guy says. He looks a little guilty, a little wary. "Did you have your eye on these?"

Jack blinks. This is the first time they've actually spoken to one another. He's not sure if the guy is trying to gloat or what.

"I—yeah. I mean, I saw them. But you got to them first so." He shrugs.

"Well, there are…" Blonde Sniper Guy counts the pie tins quickly. "Six of them. And I really shouldn't buy all of 'em, I don't know what I'd even do with that many. Would you be happy with three?"

Jack is taken aback, but manages to nod.

"Um, sure," he finally says as the guy is separating three tins from the stack. "That would be great."

Increasingly Cute Again Blonde Guy hands them over with a smirk. "I'm sure they'll look lovely in that circa 1850 real cherry wood pie safe," he says, and Jack blushes at his teasing tone.

"Er, yeah," he stammers as he takes the pie tins. "Sorry about that?"

"Fair is fair," the guy says, then shrugs. "Honestly, it was out of my price range anyhow. I think if I want one of those I'll need to get one in worse condition and refinish it myself or something." His eyes flick over Jack's body, assessing. Jack can't think of a single thing to say. "I've been curious," the guy admits. "You don't look like most of the people I've run into at these places. I've got a bakery to decorate, what's your excuse? Your wife a collector?"

Jack frowns at the assumption. "That's very gender essentialist of you," he says, feeling like Shitty should be here to pat him on the head. The guy seems to suppress a grin at that. "I'm a history teacher. I use this stuff in my lessons."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Cute Blonde Guy says, and his enthusiasm seems earnest. "Lord, if my history teachers had used more antique pie plates in my lessons, I'm sure I'd remember a lot more. I took a few classes on food-related history in college, they were fascinating. Where do you teach?"

Jack is surprised at the guy's continued interest in talking to him, to say the least, but he answers reflexively. "Classical? High School?" The guy nods, but the name doesn't spark any recognition in his eyes. "Where did you go to college that had food history classes?"

"Samwell, up in Massachusetts," the guy says with a smile. "My first job out of college was here in Providence, and I kinda liked the city, so I stuck around. How'd you wind up here? You don't sound like you're from Rhode Island any more'n I am."

"I went to Brown," Jack says. He's not sure why they're still having this conversation, but he doesn't want it to end. Unfortunately, he is a shit conversationalist. "I, uh. Yeah. Liked the area."

"Wait, wait!" Cute Guy's eyes widen, and he puts a hand on Jack's arm. Jack tries very hard not to look at the hand. "Did you say Classical? I'm an idiot. Do you know Larissa Duan?"

"Of course," Jack says. Larissa is an art teacher, and one of Jack's closest friends outside of his own department. He opens his mouth to ask how this guy knows her—then stops as he remembers a conversation he had with her recently. "She brought in some muffins and scones the other day and said a friend of hers from college just opened a bakery. Is that you?"

"I assume so," the guy says, his smile widening. "If she has any other friends who own bakeries, she's been holding out on me! Oh gosh, now that I know these are for her school, I can't possibly take them—" He starts to hand Jack his three pie tins, but Jack presses them back.

"No, no, I don't need six either," Jack insists. "I think three each works fine."

"Well, okay," Really Cute Guy says, and hugs the tins to his chest.

They stand there looking at each other for a moment. Jack desperately wants to keep the conversation going, but he doesn't know what to ask first—where the guy's bakery is? How he met Larissa? Whether he'll keep buying antiques like this once his bakery is sufficiently decorated?

"Well," the guy says, shifting from one foot to the other. "This is probably all for me today, so I should just—" He nods toward the register. "It was nice to meet you," he says as he starts to—slowly—make his way over there. "Small world, huh? I'll have to tell Lardo about this."

Jack nods and watches the guy walk to the register.

"Um, wait!" Jack finally finds his voice and quickly catches up to Actually Kind of Beautiful Now That I've Stared At Him For A While Guy. "What's your name?"

"Oh my Lord, where are my manners?" The guy says with a gasp. He shifts the pie tins to his left hand so he can stick out his right for Jack to shake. "I'm Eric."

"I'm Jack," Jack says. The touch of Eric's skin on his has him feeling a little dazed, and their hands very definitely linger longer than necessary. "I see you all the time," he blurts out. "Maybe—maybe we should go together next time? To the monthly flea market next weekend?"

Eric bites his lip, but it doesn't stop his grin. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

It's not until after they've exchanged numbers and Jack is walking back to his apartment with his share of the pie tins, playing the conversation back in his head, that it hits him that maybe Eric wasn't asking about a wife for gender essentialist reasons at all.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp, Part 11. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you 

A/N: x

Warnings: Pretty huge angst throughout the chapter. Well. :,) That's that.

Word Count: 2.3 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95, @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six  Part seven  Part eight  Part nine  Part ten

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

Nobody could see that Bucky and Deena will start dating really soon. It was big for her since the first time they saw each other. It was like an instant crush, boom and the next few weeks were only Bucky-filled. You were split about all of that - you were happy for your best friend.

She found someone to click with, someone to just be with, somebody great.

But why Steve was not taking his chances when his best friend was ready in one day. One fucking day. You liked that guy, but your patience was starting to get seriously thin.

After the first date, Deena immediately did a FaceTime group. It was consisting of four people - her, May, Suzie and you. Everyone except Deena was in their comfortable home clothes, everyone was looking terrible in the camera, but for Deena's face with a big smile on it. She was giggling loudly. And she didn't even seem to be even drunk.

Jealousy stroke you at that moment. She was on a date with James and she looked as happy as never before. This was an unseen, a completely new thing in Deena's behavior. She was indeed beautiful like that.

"Okay, you happy face. Start talking!" - You cried out with a sultry smile. You and Steve. Could you be like that if he ever asked you out? At that point, it seemed pointless. Steve was basically the slowest relationship maker in history. But even tho your faith slowly started to fade away, you tried to be optimistic about all of that.

"I'm not going to lie to you, this was one of the... Best fucking dates in my whole life." - She yelled all over the street and she didn't give a crap about people turning after her.

"Really? Come on, details!" - May said and turned her face in the direction of the TV, watching the series she used to every Thursday. It was some endless series, some telenovela or what. But she loved when she could only talk about the things that happened in the last episode and you just listened to her.

"First things first, he's incredibly handsome. He's like the vocabulary definition of a hunk, you should see those rippin' back, shoulders... This is the first guy with long hair that I fuckin' adore!" - Deena exclaimed. That was true, she hated guys who had hair under their earlobes. She found that disgusting. And James must've been really sexy if even Deena found him sexy. - "He's sweet, he's funny, he has manners... Girls. He is behaving so calmly, he is so fucking well raised. I want to meet the woman who raised him up, because she's my hero..." - She kept on talking and talking and your mind slowly kept on fading away as you thought about Steve. You would love to be the one calling, the one who would be screaming somewhere on the street. But you weren't.

Slowly, James became a day-to-day part of your office life. He and Deena were saying they're just friends, but everyone thought something different. Deena had the most lustful look ever, every time James came to the office with a couple of bags full of food for every one of you, everyone in the distance of few meters knew she's thinking about fucking the soul out of him. James made her laugh, they slowly grew closer and closer, having their inside jokes and sometimes you caught them staring in the eyes of each other.

Everyone was smiling when James brought her flowers for the first time. It was a big puget of white roses and they were indeed beautiful. Each of you just sat there and looked at her table with a dreamy look. And if that wasn't enough, James got along with everyone as well. He was a nice, funny and he indeed was handsome. Most of them, he got along with Val.

Without you even knowing, he was looking after you. The slightest things he was asking you about were just ok checks. And why he was doing it? Steve. Of course, it was for his idiot friend Steve.

Bucky was doing a serious super-secret inside job at their place - he was telling Steve everything about you, making him think about you all night long as if your long calls and photos didn't do that job as well.

It was teamwork. Bucky was reminding Steve almost every day of the week and Sam was encouraging him to make the move finally. They even stop to argue for a short amount of time just to work on Steve's mind. They were trying their best shots with Steve at that very moment.

---

"All I'm saying is she had a beautiful dress on today. You really should've seen them." - Bucky said from eating his bowl of yogurt and cereal. He just came back from Deena's apartment, smelling like hot and steamy sex and sin, his eyes shining like the stars.

"Old man, I think you're shooting the air here. He's not gonna do anythin' about that. He's too shy. He's too nice. Not like you bending that skirt over the first month." - Sam just added, chewing on a mango.

"Sorry, I forgot it's Steve we're talking about here." - Bucky said in answer. It was back and forth for the last few long, long weeks in Steve's perspective. James and Sam could cooperate on a seriously good level when they tried to. That was just the way it was.

"You're not helping. Natasha is very angry with me when I start to spar with her and I'm out of my head because I just see her face in my mind, I don't even take notice on the meetings and Tony is ready to kill me on the spot, I don't seem to do my paperwork well and I don't feel easy in the last... Three weeks. I'm in constant stress an in a carousel of reminders. You got under my skin and I don't find it funny anymore." - Steve just straightaway yelled at the two of them from a moment to moment. Sam and Bucky were scared the hell out. Steve was the calm guy, who tried to find a solution in absolutely every situation.

But now he was on edge. He just snapped. Both of them sat in silence while Steve got into his room and almost broke the door when he shut them with all the force he got in his body.

"I think we stepped too far, Buck. I've never seen Steve acting like that." - Sam said when the quiet between them became unbearable.

"No. Trust me. Things are going just the way they should. This is the thing we've been waiting for the whole time. Give him a few more hours and voilà. The magic's done." - Buck smiled wickedly and continued with eating his cereal. Sam could barely stand still, he was nervous because of what state they were able to get Steve into.

The apartment was deadly silent for the next whole day. Every time Steve got out of his room and met Sam or James in the flat, he just stared them down, took his things, food or whatever and disappeared back in his room again.

Those few days were seriously crucial. Steve was acting like a small child - even Natasha wasn't able to get him out of his room when Steve didn't come to their sparring session. Although you were texting him numerous times, Steve hasn't answered a single one, which made you worried as well.

---

"Hi, James." - You approached Deena's table nervously. You were spinning with your fingers and Bucky could tell that you're not feeling too good. In the last few days, something was circling through your head. You sighed all the times, you weren't laughing at his dumb questions and jokes, you were just acting weirdly.

"Hey, sunshine. Come and sit with us. You want some plums?" - He gave you one of them and smiled at you happily.

"I have a question." - Your voice sounded sour and quiet. You were just out of your mind. - "Would you mind answering it?"

"I'm an open book. Just ask me." - James smiled at you with his baby blue eyes. Deena knew what topic you are going to pick, so she took all of her papers, stood up, kissed Bucky's cheek and left the table.

"Have I done something... Wrong? You know, have I told Steve anything bad, he didn't like my appearance or my nature? Because... I don't have a single idea about what wrong have I done. I just simply don't." - You said sadly and he could see the tears in your eyes. Steve hadn't text you for five days, which was an unbelievable thing for somebody like him.

"Aaah, baby girl." - Bucky hugged your shoulder to make you smile a bit. - "You're fine. You're more than fine. He's just conflicted at the moment, sometimes it's harder with him. All you need to do now is to have some patience, don't be stressed and have some plums."

"You like those plums a lot, right?" - You tried to joke with a sad done.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea. Plums are a cure for everything." - Bucky answered and started to chew another one. Somehow he always has an endless supply of plums everywhere he went to. And he always got one for everyone.

"Don't you start about those fucking plums. I'm on a plum diet since I'm dating this guy. I've eaten tons of them." - Deena appeared behind James after getting some new paperwork from May. - "I left you the papers I've finished on the table. They should be ok, but you should rework them to how you like the work done."

"Yeah. I'm going to go through them now. Thank you." - You smiled a bit, took two plums from James and hugged him quickly in a friendly matter. He was a sweet, sweet guy.

---

"Steve, we need to talk." - Bucky knocked on his door with a frown on his face. - "I'm done with your acting as a child phase."

"And I'm done with your brainwashing program. Some things are not as we expect them to be." - Steve hummed through the door. Steve felt like if he was in a tight corner made by Buck and Sam themselves. He wanted her so much, yet those paranoid things were louder and louder in his own head. What if you back out when you'll see who he actually is? Will you freak out? Would you just say no to him? Would you even want to go out?

There were so many questions in the air for him. And he heard them almost every time he saw any part of his own body in the mirror. And that was Bucky's artwork.

"I'll go straight to the things I want to say. That girl is all over you, that girl is now sad in her office because your dumb ass is not showing any sign of interest. Go and call that girl. Take her out." - Bucky told in a firm voice. He was done with Steve at that point. And Steve was done with Bucky's doctrine.

Everyone seemed to be done with everything at that point.

"Can't you see that she doesn't care who the hell you are? You could be even birdbrain and she wouldn't care. You should take your chances as they are and just try it." - Bucky warned him and then left the door, taking his jacket and called Deena that he'll have a sleepover at her place. That left Steve all alone at the flat.

But he knew that Bucky is totally right. He should act on his chances. You were worth all of that.

So he just called your number without any further thinking. You answered after a minute of dialing.

"Hi." - You said a bit coldly. That was his treason for the absence he had. It was numerous days since he heard you, you sounded like a lullaby, so sweetly and lovely.

"Hey. I'm... I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." - Steve said without further dialogue.

"I'm not going to lie. Twenty texts. You made me worried." - That's when it hit his ears. Bucky was totally right, he made you sad. It was all Steve's fault. Your voice was sweet as usual, but it had some bitterness in it. You were angry with him. That was for sure.

"This is not easy for me, okay? I'm really nervous right now." - Steve stuttered and your blood went immediately ice cold. Steve was going to tell you that you're not a thing anymore. That he's done with it.

"You don't have to worry. I think I get what you mean." - You said and your voice broke down. He heard the mourning in it.

"So you don't want to go out with me?" - Steve said in a tight voice, he said it quickly and practically choked it all out.

"Are you serious? Like deadly serious?" - That didn't convince you at all. You were ironical as hell.

"I am completely serious. Let's just go on a date." - He repeated in a completely straight tone. And he knew that this thing will change his life from the basics he thought he knew.

[purplesurveys]

746

What are some of your favorite cities you've been to? Locally, I loved Sagada, Vigan, and Basco. Outside of the country, I really enjoyed Bali and Shanghai. Would you allow your children to date prior to 16? (assuming you want any) I wouldn’t stop them but I suppose I’d watch over them more and have more rules while they’re still under 16, like no overnights at their SO’s place or that they have to be home by a certain time. Did you ever go through a phase where you thought guys in bands were 'hot?' Hah yep. I grew up during the pop punk/alternative rock era man, where most prepubescent girls were gaga over people like Stephen Gomez from The Summer Set or Jack Barakat of All Time Low. What's something about adult life you were never warned of or prepared for? The extent of being independent, like the sheer amount of bills to pay, how to check if the gas in your kitchen is doing fine, etc. I panic ever so slightly more day by day because I still don’t know how to cook anything and that’s literally Basic Adult Life Skill #1. Did your parents teach you proper table manners when you were growing up? Yes. They both work in hospitality management so stuff like that has been taught to me from a very young age. I can still vividly remember my mom teaching me how to eat pasta and soup properly or when she told me what it means when a bunch of spoons and forks of different sizes are laid out in front of me.

What was the last thing you baked? Chocolate chip cookies, but that was nearly two years ago.  Do you live more than 5 hours away from the nearest international border? Yeah, if you swam all the way there lmao. Kidding but uhhh I don’t – at least I don’t think so. The countries nearest us are pretty...nearby and if you took a boat you’ll probably get there in a couple of hours. Does your town have a farmer's market? No. I think the ones in Cubao are the closest one. What's the westernmost point you've been to? I’m not so sure, I’ve only been around Southeast and East Asia. Strictly speaking I think it has to be Malaysia, but that’s nowhere near the west haha. What was the last restaurant you made a reservation at? Gab and I never really get to have dates as fancy as this. We tried to book a reservation at Barcino once for Valentine’s Day, but they told us no precisely because they weren’t taking reservations for that day. When did you last feel lonely? This afternoon. I always start feeling a tad bit lonely during the afternoons which a nap can often fix. Can you easily tell when others are masking their true emotions? Not always. Some people are good at masking. How often do you wash your car? I don’t. My mom is so particular about how every single item in the house must be cleaned a certain way, and no matter how hard I try to imitate her methods they’re almost always wrong in her eyes so I didn’t even try with my car anymore. I don’t think I wanna hear “you didn’t scrub right” “you missed a spot” “did you even clean the car?” especially after trying my best. When did you last lend money to a friend? It was years ago when I’d lend money to Gab so she can put gas in her car or book a Grab/Uber. Now it’s the other way around, hahaha. Which app on your phone do you tend to get the most notifications from? Facebook. Messenger is almost always active since it’s the most popular chat app where I live. Do you own a Dutch oven? If so, what was the last thing you cooked in it? We probably do but it’s most likely one of my mom’s prized kitchenware that’s always hidden away and never used unless we have important visitors lol. Do you find it easy to put yourself in somebody else's shoes? No, I don’t think you can truly understand what someone with difficulties is exactly going through. What I am prone to be though is feeling sensitive and when someone is having a tough time, I do usually feel sad for them. Sometimes I’ll simply cry thinking about what they’re going through. What is currently on your kitchen table? We have one main counter and on it are my parents’ coffee maker, the water dispenser, the rack for our plates and glasses, mug hanger, and utensil holder. What is your favorite time period in history to learn about? Ooooh I really like history though. I don’t think I’ve ever found myself bored reading about a certain era. How old were you when you met your current best friend? I was 7 when I met the first one, and 13 when I met the other. Have you ever kissed a smoker? Yep but I’ve never liked kissing her after smoking. What is the minimum age to obtain a driver's license in your state/country? 18. ^ Do you think this is an appropriate age, or should it be higher/lower? It’s appropriate. I got mine at 18 and it worked out fine, and the only reason I got into accidents early on is because I was always driving very carefully but was unfortunately surrounded by dumbass drivers who liked to bully my much smaller car around.   If you won the lottery, do you think any of your family members would ask you to give them some of your money? I honestly don’t think so but maybe I just don’t know their true colors just yet HAHAHA. What is the craziest thing you've seen happen at your workplace? Thankfully I didn’t see it happen in person as it would’ve broken me completely, but it was when the Shopping Center at campus burned down. That was the first place I went to after I officially enrolled in my school (I had lunch with my dad and bought a UP car sticker) and it was also the first place my block dropped by to hang out together when we all met each other for the first time, so a lot of memories were in that place and I’m sure this was the case for all students too. That was a really sad day and I almost didn’t want to go to class when I saw the videos of the fire. Do you own any home automation gadgets like wifi thermostats or wifi bulbs? My parents have a wifi bulb. What is something you gave up on after many failed attempts? Instagram. I’ve always tried hyping myself up to finally make an account but egh, it just screams fakeiness to me. How old were you when you started to seriously think about what career path you wanted to pursue? When I was 19 or 20 as that was the age when I started having friends who graduated college and went on to have Real Life Jobs. Have you ever disliked a book so much that you didn't finish it? Yeah I got a random book once when my mom let me pick out whatever book I felt like getting when I was like 11 or 12. I don’t even remember the title anymore hahah but it was such a bore. I don’t know if I threw it out or if it’s buried somewhere in my room. Would you rather read a book, or listen to the audiobook? Read the book. I’m bad at listening to accents and have always needed subtitles, but if I needed subtitles for an audiobook then I might as well have just picked the book hahaha. Do you think tomorrow will be a better day than today? I don’t know. All days are the same now.

[tlbodine]

A Decade of Horror Recommendations

With 2020 approaching, we’re reaching the end of a decade that has been uncommonly good to the horror genre, especially the last few years. Here’s an overview of some of the stand-out titles and my recommendations. Feel free to ask me about any of the titles on this list and I’ll happily share my more in-depth thoughts on them! 

Note that, of course, I have not seen every movie that’s come out in recent years, so I’ve probably missed some titles -- feel free to jump in with your own recommendations! 

Also this post is really long and has gifs, so I’m putting it under a cut. Sorry for the dash spam, mobile fam. Tell Tumblr to fix their shit. 

2010: Supernatural Horror Starts Making a Comeback 

Some stand-out films: 

Insidious: An important film for modern horror history, helping to usher in the new wave of paranormal/hauntings/demon films. It lays the tropes for a lot of the films that would get big in upcoming years. I thought it was pretty solidly decent. 

Devil: A clever script about being trapped on an elevator with the devil. It’s a bit too ambitious and doesn’t quite live up to those ambitions, but it’s solidly decent and refreshingly original. A hidden gem for the year. 

Black Swan: Maybe the height of Darren Aronofsky’s career as a household name. Not my favorite of his movies, but a pretty solid psychological suspense. 

Frozen: No, not that one. This is a clever movie that embraces a narrow scope: some teenagers get stuck on a ski lift and have to endure the elements and some hungry wolves below. Not a great movie, but worth watching as a study in what you can do with limited resources. 

Black Death: Quick shout-out for a dark and grisly historical horror involving witchcraft and torture. It’s not a fun movie to watch, but it’s got Sean Bean and Eddie Redmayne, and I feel like both original screenplays and historical horrors are rare enough to warrant support. 

2010 also had its share of predictable franchise tie-ins (a Saw movie, a Resident Evil movie, remakes like I Spit on Your Grave and The Crazies, etc.) The Horror Renaissance was a few years in coming. 

2011: The Year of the Predictable Remakes 

So many franchises getting flogged to death this year -- tripe like SCRE4M, Final Destination 5, Human Centipede 2, a Hellraiser reboot literally no one watched, and Paranormal Activity 3. Blech. BUT. 2011 also brought us a couple of my favorite movies ever: 

You’re Next: I would credit You’re Next with re-defining the “final girl” in horror. Also it’s a damn good home invasion movie with buckets of gore and a smart script. 

Cabin in the Woods: This one’s a bit divisive -- some folks really hated it I guess -- but it’s such a loving deconstruction of horror, and it’s wholly original even while being comfortingly familiar. Also it’s hilarious. 

2012: A Few Important Titles

I feel like 2012 was full of movies nobody has actually ever seen or talked about. But some of the good ones that I’d recommend: 

Sinister: Like Insidious in some ways, but maybe better.  Also, “Snakes don’t have feet.” Honestly just a very good, solid demon/haunted kid movie. 

V/H/S: A must-watch for horror buffs. It didn’t invent the found footage genre, but it did refine it and really show off what it could do best. 

Smiley: OK so like. This is not really a great film, but I think about it a lot and recommend it a lot. It’s stuck with me quite a bit somehow, and in some ways it feels very much ahead of its time as a creepy prediction of what internet culture would be like at the end of the decade. “We did it for the lulz.” Seriously, watch this movie today, and remember that it was made eight years ago, and see if it gives you chills too. 

I guess I should also mention Prometheus here, which lots of people liked. I was not one of them, but it was a heavily talked-about film I feel like and of course an Alien franchise tie-in. 

2013: The Year the World Remembered It Liked Horror 

This was a big turning point year, launching some new franchises instead of just re-treading old ones: 

The Conjuring: I personally hate all of these movies, but they are huge and you can’t swing a dead cat in the modern horror fandom without encountering one of them. The first Conjuring film was at least decent. For extra credit, watch it as a triple feature with Insidious and Sinister and do a compare/contrast. 

The Purge: Not only the start of a successful franchise but also a pop culture phenomenon and a damn good movie to boot. 

Mama: I love this movie. I have this movie on DVD. It’s kind of bittersweet and may not completely follow through on all of its promises, but it’s still quite good and has some lovely performances. 

Warm Bodies: Not really a horror -- kind of a romance -- but it warrants mention here because zombies were a hot item in 2013, and that’s a current special interest of mine on account of having a zombie book of my own coming out that is more than a little influenced by this story. (the film is a pretty good adaptation of the book, although honestly you could just skip the movie and read the book and get a better experience.)  

Willow Creek: I feel like I recommend this movie a lot, but that’s just because I think it’s very good and a very smart use of its own resources. A found footage mockumentary that actually manages to make Bigfoot frightening. Totally worth the watch. 

Mr. Jones: Here’s another hidden gem, also in found footage style (I feel like that was a prevailing theme in the years after V/H/S) but it’s surprisingly fresh. It’s a folk horror piece that doesn’t go at all where you might expect despite its thoroughly well-trodden ‘couple in secluded house’ setup. 

A bucketful of remakes and sequels this year too, including an Evil Dead reboot, V/H/S sequel, Insidious sequel, etc.  I should also probably mention World War Z, which was not actually very good and also had nothing in common with the book of the same name, but does mark an important moment in the mainstreaming of the zombie revival, especially considering it came out the same year as Warm Bodies. 

2014: Fuck Yeah People Actually Like This Shit Let’s Make More 

I feel like maybe our current horror renaissance started this year. Some recs: 

The Babadook: No surprises to anyone who follows my blog, but I love The Babadook and I will defend it to the bitter end against its detractors. It is one of my favorite horror films of all time and one of the best of the decade. 

It Follows: Ok confession, I actually did not like this movie at all. I thought it was ridiculous and over-hyped. But it makes the list because a lot of other people really, really loved it, and I accept that they saw something in it that I didn’t. Watch it and make up your own mind (and report back with your findings). 

As Above, So Below: This may be the most claustrophobic film ever made, and it deserves to be studied on that merit alone. It’s also pretty creepy and I suspect a lot creepier for folks who are unnerved by Christian horror/mythology (I am not, but I know lots of folks really are). 

Housebound: A hidden gem from New Zealand, this one is worth a watch because it takes a familiar haunted house premise and gives it a surprising and honestly delightful twist. 

Jessabelle: Not a great movie, but deserving of a spot here because it’s a Southern Gothic and features a main character in a wheelchair, which I think is neat. 

13 Sins: I feel like I’ve written about this movie for the blog before, and I recommend it a lot. But it’s clever and is a great early example of the “killing game” genre that has become increasingly prevalent (I mean, aside from the Battle Royale/Hunger Games version). 

It was neat to see so many original horror stories (as opposed to reboots/franchises) coming out, and that’s a trend that would continue (and is something that makes horror one of my preferred genres - there are more original stories in it than in many other types of film). 

2015: Hell Yeah Let’s Ride This Horror Train 

So many excellent movies this year! Ahh! 

Crimson Peak: Guillermo del Toro’s love letter to the Gothic. What I love about this movie (aside from Tom Hiddleston) is it plays all the tropes straight. It’s not trying to be a new spin or reinvent the genre or break all the tropes. It’s just a gothic horror story, told exactly like what it is, by a guy who makes damn good movies. I felt like that was really brave and surprising at the time. 

The Visit: M. Night Shyamalan had basically made a joke of himself after a string of awful movies, but this movie was enough to earn back a bit of respect in my book. It’s a clever premise and a smart use of found footage. 

The VVitch: Creepy-ass slow-burn supernatural historical horror, sign me up. I actually don’t like this movie as much as a lot of people (see above: religious-themed horror doesn’t push my fear buttons much) but it’s beautifully made, thoughtful, and artistic in a way that makes people sit up and pay attention to just how good the horror genre can be. 

Krampus: This movie is extremely silly and I love it. A holiday favorite I watch every year now. It’s hilarious, and imaginative, with some really creepy visuals and a thoroughly satisfying conclusion. 

The Invitation: For me, some of my favorite horror movies are the ones where the film is uncomfortable to watch before the actual horror stuff starts up. This one has an almost unbearably tense build-up and pays off in an incredibly satisfying and creepy manner. 

2016: Horror Goes Hella Mainstream

I feel like 2016 was another year of just...lots of kind of fun unique premises tossed out like spaghetti to see what would stick. And I am here for it. 

Don’t Breathe: Home invasion gone wrong is a great trope, and this one gets extra points for having the single most disturbing sequence utilizing a turkey baster I’ve ever seen in film. 

Hush: Speaking of home invasions. This one is pretty standard fare -- homeowner fights back! -- but the deaf main character is a neat twist. 

Lights Out: It’s pretty cheesy at times and the plot sort of falls in on itself, but the opening sequence is genuinely frightening and the movie almost literally killed @comicreliefmorlock so that’s a commendation I guess? 

Train to Busan: An Asian take on the zombie survival story. It’s a really good movie (if horribly bleak) and it does such an excellent job of making you genuinely care for all of the characters. 

The Autopsy of Jane Doe: A really neat premise with some wonderful slow-build horror. The storyline kind of goes off the rails, and it asks a lot of questions it doesn’t answer, but it’s quite good regardless. 

The Forest: I was disappointed with this one -- it just failed to live up to my expectations -- but it’s decent, and it’s a good attempt at capturing the creepiness of Japan’s Suicide Forest. 

Before I Wake: This one was sad more than scary, I thought, but it fits so neatly into a certain aesthetic that I am always a sucker for -- dreams and nightmares bleeding into reality, yes please. 

Split: Say what you will, I thought Split was amazing, and James McAvoy deserves a goddamn Oscar for his performance in this movie. 

The Monster: A hidden gem that’s worth watching to see how well it delivers on its premise: two characters stuck in a car with a monster outside. It’s not amazing, but it’s neat, and sometimes it’s nice to have just a straightforward creature feature with a bit of emotional heft for good measure. 

2017: Did Somebody Say Blockbuster? 

In hindsight, they’ll probably say 2017 was the start of the horror renaissance, but we’ll all know they’re a few years too late. Still, this was another great year: 

Get Out: Funny, dark, deeply uncomfortable and with some real meat to it -- Jordan Peele knows how to make a great movie. This absolutely deserves all the awards. 

It: Not a perfect movie, but a good adaptation of a difficult-to-adapt book. The kids are great. Pennywise is menacing, but that fucking flute lady is the scariest part. 

It Comes At Night: I didn’t like this one much, but a lot of folks did so it makes the list. See above re: It Follows. 

Gerald’s Game: Everything that’s wrong with this movie (ie, the ending) is wrong in the original story, so where this movie fails it’s a matter of sticking too close to its source material. But the premise is truly, genuinely horrifying, and the degloving scene almost made me vomit. So that’s cool. 

Happy Death Day: Another horror-comedy, with a healthy dose of self-awareness. It doesn’t take itself too seriously, and that’s what allows it to be fun. 

The Babysitter: This movie is hilarious. It’s also super bloody and clever and clearly made by people who love slashers, and the affection shows. 

The Ritual: So-so in the acting and pacing, but the creature design is A+ and the concept is really neat. Seriously just watch this one for the monster, it’s super cool looking. 

I should probably mention Mother here, but I can’t speak for it as I haven’t gotten around to watching it yet. It’s a very divisive film. One of these days I’ll watch it and let you know.

2018: There’s More Where That Came From 

If 2016 was the year of filmmakers just trying stuff for the hell of it, 2018 was the year of talented filmmakers and studios realizing that, oh shit, you can make really good horror movies with mass appeal. 

A Quiet Place: I’m glad I caught this one in theaters, because it really deserves to be watched in a dark, quiet room where no one dares to make a sound. The ending left a lot to be desired, but it was a clever premise. 

Hereditary: The best horror movie of the year imo. Painfully uncomfortable - I’m not sure I could watch it again - but highly recommended. 

Apostle: Watch this one in a triple-feature with The VVitch and Hereditary. A really good period piece with a character you actually want to root for. 

Bird Box: I didn’t like this movie much, but it was hugely popular. I bought the book recently and suspect it is much better. Still, it’s worth a mention for its impact on mainstream viewers (lots of people who don’t like horror really liked this movie). I won’t budge from my initial opinion that it’s just A Quiet Place meets The Happening, though. 

What Does 2019 Hold? 

We’re only halfway through the year, so we’ve got some time to see what is coming down the pipe. Lots of things to look forward to! But some solid titles so far this year that I’d heartily recommend: 

Us: Jordan Peele is at it again. It may not be as good as Get Out  -- there’s some plot holes where the internal logic of the world is at odds with the message it’s trying to send -- but it’s thoughtful and gives plenty to chew on. And there are places where it’s just unbearably tense and creepy. 

Brightburn: I had high hopes for this movie and was not disappointed. This is a super (ha, ha) good film. 

The Wind: A Gothic on the American frontier. It accomplishes what I think It Comes At Night was supposed to do, but more effectively (for me anyway). Bonus points for being written and directed by women. Double bonus: Caitlin Gerard, the main actress, is also the lead character in Smiley. 

I have not yet watched Velvet Buzzsaw, Ma or Midsommar this year, but I really want to. I’m also looking forward to the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark film despite having some reservations about the whole concept. 

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

Red String (3/4)

Summary: When T.J. was 8, he read a book about the Red Strings of Fate. And when he was 10, he started seeing strings EVERYWHERE.

A/N: I’ve always loved the idea of being connected to your soulmate with a Red String of Fate. I did a bit of research on them and I’ve read some manga that have it as a theme. So, I took some liberties on how it works here and I’m still figuring it out along the way but I hope I’m able to convey them in a justified manner.

A/N2: I thought I’d end this at 3 chapters but I wrote so much and it got too long so I figured I’d split it and give you guys one more chapter to look forward to after this one!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Chapter 3: Red String

Chapter 3: Red String

Since Andi was apparently wallowing in her own loneliness with Buffy gone, Cyrus was now spending more of his free time with T.J. Not that T.J. complained about it. He was happy to spend time with the other boy. Most of the time, they just walked each other to class or studied together.

The weather was still a little chilly but some days, it was warm enough to be outside and not freeze to death.

It was during one of those days that Cyrus invited T.J. to study and do homework on one of the picnic tables at the front of the school. The other boy had a history quiz coming up and T.J. was trying to do his Math homework.

After letting the school know about his case and getting assigned a specialized tutor for this dyscalculia, he had been doing… better. Still a long way from an A+ but Cyrus was proud every time he showed him a passing grade. A smiling and proud Cyrus always left T.J. with a warm tingle in his chest and it made him just want to work harder.

“Hey, Teej, do you have those notes from the last chapter?”

Not even looking up from the problem he was concentrating on, T.J. gestured with an elbow to his backpack on the table. “It’s in my bag. The blue notebook.”

“Thank you!”

The sounds of Cyrus rummaging through his things reached his ears but T.J. couldn’t tear his eyes off his homework. He was almost finished and he was sure he got most of it right. He would have to double-check the answers with his tutor but for once, he was confident about his work.

“This seems rather small for a history notebook.”

Immediately, the warning bells ran out in T.J.’s head and he looked up so fast that his neck almost broke.

“Underdog, wait-.”

But, it was too late. Cyrus had already opened the small notebook to the first page.

T.J. watched in horror as the smaller boy’s eyes widened as he read. He should have been more specific. His notebook where he wrote his observations on the Strings of Fate was also blue.

Now, Cyrus was going to think he was weird or crazy. He was going to distance himself from T.J. His blue string would disappear and T.J. didn’t know if he could handle that.

“Wow, this is fascinating,” Cyrus commented, raising his head to beam at T.J. “Did you write these?”

T.J. blinked, feeling confused yet relieved. “Um… sort of?”

“What are they, exactly?” Cyrus asked as he laid the notebook on top of the table, open on the first page. “The Strings of Fate?”

T.J. cleared his throat, putting his pencil down. “Well… when I was little, I read this book about the Red Strings of Fate. In Japan, they believe that people who are meant to be together are tied together with a red string. That no matter where they are in life, they will always find each other. I, uh, thought it was pretty cool.” He chuckled a little bitterly. “I even tried to string my parents together with a red string but they divorced, anyway.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

T.J. shrugged. “I’m over it. They’re better off as friends anyway.”

Cyrus looked down at the notebook. “You wrote about two other strings. Blue and black. Did you make them up?”

T.J. swallowed. “Um… In a way.” He left it at that.

Cyrus flipped to the next page. “I bet Andi and Jonah are tied with a red string,” he mumbled to himself.

Oh, they were, T.J. wanted to tell him. But, the string was so beaten and tattered that he knew that it would break any day now. And he could tell that their blue string was stronger, anyway, so they would always be friends. Plus, Andi had an extra red string, this one not as tattered as the other one, so that probably meant that she liked two people at the same time.

(That was a new thing, so T.J. had written it down in his notebook. Apparently, you can also have 2 strings for the same person, depending on their relationship. He added that to his notes, too.)

Meanwhile, Cyrus sounded so forlorn that it made T.J. want to reach out and hold his hand. But, he wasn’t sure if he was welcomed to do so. Instead, he gently tugged on the blue string around his pointer.

Cyrus looked up with a smile at him. “And I bet we have a blue string!” he piped.

It made T.J. smile, warmth flooding in his chest. “I’m sure we do,” he agreed.

“I wonder if I have a red string with anyone,” Cyrus wondered out loud, staring at his pinky.

His broken red string was hanging limply there. It looked shorter than T.J. last saw it. He wondered what that meant.

“Probably not, though,” the other boy continued, chuckling humorlessly.

T.J. wanted to protest, so badly, because Cyrus deserved an actual red string with someone, not a broken one. How can he not?! He was sweet and kind and was like a ray of sunshine to everyone he came across! That type of person deserved a real red string.

“Anyway, I think this would make a great theme for a mini-movie,” Cyrus continued, sounding excited now. “Did you know I write screenplays? My last one wasn’t so good though, so I almost gave up.”

No, T.J. did not know that but he liked learning new things about Cyrus.

“I can help you,” he blurted out without thinking.

He couldn’t take it back because Cyrus was beaming.

“Would you, really?! Oh my god, I gotta get started on the script, right away! And do my own research! Mind if I take pics?”

“Go ahead.”

While Cyrus enthusiastically snapped a photo of each page of T.J.’s notes, the jock couldn’t help himself from staring.

Cyrus didn’t think he was weird. He even wanted to work on a movie with him. T.J. had never worked on a movie or written a script before. But, if Cyrus wanted to make a movie out of T.J.’s secret ability, he was willing to learn how. Besides, it sounded like fun. And they would probably spend a lot more time together.

On the table, he spied his pink string spread all over his notebook.

..........

It was several days later that T.J. ran into Cyrus and Andi at The Spoon… with a trash can they claimed as Buffy. Well, they said it was a time capsule and the snarky side of him wanted to tell them it was a trash can, but he was trying to change so he held his tongue and played along.

Andi didn’t like him, he could tell, but once he apologized to time capsule Buffy, she allowed him to hang around. For that, he was grateful.

At some point, while Cyrus was discussing his woes with somersaults in gym class and T.J. offering to help him, Jonah came and Andi immediately left them to speak with him.

“So, how are you helping me with the somersaults?” Cyrus asked him.

T.J. grinned. “You’ll see.” He looked at the list of tasks Cyrus had texted him earlier. “You can’t finish a horror movie?”

“I can’t help it! I get nightmares!”

“Well, we can work on that next.”

“I-I don’t know if that’s a good idea-.”

“Hey, guys.”

Both looked up to see Jonah and a girl T.J. didn’t recognize, but he could clearly see the blue string that connected the two of them

Jonah had dragged a chair so he could sit at the head of the table and the girl slid into the booth next to Cyrus.

It was right then that things got awkward when Andi announced that she was no longer joining them and, quite literally, ran out of The Spoon. Her red string floated behind her, strained and close to breaking.

T.J. thought Jonah would run after her, but he stayed seated. And these two were connected by a red string?! No wonder it was so tattered! (Plus, her second one had disappeared, somehow.)

“I should… probably go too,” T.J. announced. “I have to go to work.”

At that, Cyrus looked legitimately frightened. His eyes were begging T.J. not to leave him. How cute.

“Wanna come with me?” he offered.

“Yes! Please!”

And, with that, they were off.

T.J. took him to the children’s gym where he worked part-time. His dad was friends with the owner and had offered him a job so he could stop asking his mom for things he wanted. He knew money was hard to come by in a single parent household, even with the monthly sustenance his dad sent.

Besides, he realized that he liked kids. They were pure and innocent and didn’t care about his reputation at the school. They just liked having fun and playing with him as their blue strings trailed around the gym.

Helping Cyrus learn how to somersault was a success because of the kids. They were so encouraging and cheered the boy on, even if he failed a few times. And T.J. could tell that Cyrus had fun.

An hour later, while the kids were taking their snack break, the two teens also took one of their own. They sat cross-legged on one of the gym mats, munching on fruit snacks and juice.

“Thanks for today,” Cyrus said to him.

“Anytime,” T.J. replied.

“And… sorry about what happened at The Spoon earlier.”

T.J. raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Cyrus made a face, his nose scrunching, cutely. “That whole… awkwardness with Jonah and Andi. And Natalie.”

So that was the other girl’s name.

“Yeah, about that… aren’t they together?”

Cyrus sighed. “Together. Not together. To be honest, I don’t really know anymore. They have a complicated relationship that I can’t explain with simple words.”

That explained the tattered string. It wasn’t well taken care of.

“Kind of makes me glad I’m not a part of it, now that I think about it,” Cyrus continued.

That was an odd thing to say.

“What do you mean by that?” T.J. asked.

Probably realizing what he said, Cyrus just smiled and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t mind me. I just… realized something.”

T.J. was curious but he chose not to pry. Cyrus would tell him when he wanted to.

The other boy spent another half hour at the gym with him before deciding that it was time for him to head home.

He thanked T.J. for the afternoon, hugged all the kids goodbye, and headed out the door with lighter steps. Like a big weight just left his shoulders.

It wasn’t until Cyrus briefly turned back to wave one last time that T.J. realized that the other boy’s pinky was now empty and free of the broken red string.

…........

When Buffy came back, Cyrus plotted to make sure she and T.J. would talk again. And by talk, he meant play a one-on-one game. Basketball was the sole language they both spoke and Cyrus used that to his advantage.

And T.J. never felt so grateful that the boy was in his life.

After the game, when T.J. went to the locker room to get changed, he looked at his middle finger. The black string was still there but it looked thinner…weaker. One tiny snap and it would break completely. He hoped it would. He didn’t like the sight of that black string anymore. 

“I could forgive you,” Buffy stated as the three of them made their way out of the school. “But I don’t know if we could ever be friends.”

“What if he apologized?” Cyrus suggested.

“That better be the best apology ever.”

Cyrus looked at T.J., with belief and faith reflected in his soft brown eyes. “You could give it a shot.”

And give it a shot, T.J. did. The words were already written down, somewhere in his one of his notebooks. Maybe with a few edits to accommodate the knowledge that Buffy was going to start her own basketball team.

But, he hoped it was enough. He prayed it was enough. He was never good at apologies.

“…if you wanna change the world, then you gotta change the game.”

With that last rhyme, T.J. felt it. His middle finger felt lighter. And he knew that it was gone. The black string had disappeared.

Buffy had forgiven him and stopped seeing him as an enemy.

Beside her, Cyrus was staring at him, mouth open in proud disbelief. “Was that the best apology ever?” he stated.

“I think… maybe it was,” Buffy agreed.

“So, we’re good?” T.J. asked, apprehensive.

She smiled. “Yeah. I think we are.”

“Cool. I’ll see you around, then.”

He flashed Cyrus a brief look, thanking him for the help, before turning on his heels and walking away.

It was like a weight off his shoulder, a thorn removed from his chest. For the first time in so long, he felt… happy.

And the reason for that was… Cyrus.

He felt the string around his pinky pulling, like something was holding it back…or someone.

Slowly, T.J. briefly stopped in his tracks and turned around.

His almost-red string was longer than ever and it was floating in suspension between him and…Cyrus.

Their eyes met.

And, right then, T.J. knew.

That string belonged to Cyrus. It had always been Cyrus.

It had appeared the moment he met the boy. It gradually got longer the more time they spent together. And, now, his string was trying to pull him back…to bring him back to Cyrus… because Cyrus was his soulmate.

Flashing the boy one last smile, T.J. turned back around and forced his feet to walk away.

Their strings weren’t connected.

Not yet.

But, part of T.J. knew that it would only be a matter of time. If he continued making his way to the other boy’s heart, if he continued doing the right thing and become the person worthy of Cyrus, their red string would appear, too.

Of that, he was sure. 

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[howtohero]

We recently ran a survey where we polled various superheroes to discover what they thought the worst parts of their jobs were and proud to finally be able to share our findings with you! (We would’ve had them sooner but somebody decided to take a two week nap under a bridge in schenectady {for the hundredth time, I was mugged and unconscious! Thanks for looking for me by the way!} Thanks getting back here in a timely manner!):

2% of superheroes said that the worst part of their job was the giant gelatin monsters, because they get goop everywhere and everything sticky. 11% said prank calls to their superhero hotline. “Uh… hi, I’d like to report a crime? Yeah it’s… uh… what was it again? Oh yeah! Uh, I’d like to a report a crime and it’s your outfit hahaha get new clothes you trash bag!” 15% said it was the constant pain that they are in because they made a deal with the devil and their soul is constantly on fire but that it is a burden they gladly bear if it means that mankind can be safe for even just one more day. (Dramaaaaaatic.) 27.5% said it was having their memories or friends erased or altered due to time travel shenanigans. 54.5% said supervillains.

Unfortunately, all of those people were wrong and that was a waste of everybody’s time. {Are you kidding me? I spent two weeks in a coma for this!} The worst part of being a superhero is obviously…

#200 Supervillain Teams

{That’s basically what the majority of those people said!} No it’s different!

A single supervillain is plenty dangerous on their own (most of the time) they’re only limited by their own imaginations and their access to resources. (In today’s economy and privacy obsessed cultural climate, you actually need a lot of money to steal a lot of money. It’s kind of like how you need experience in your field before you can get a good job in your field.) So when a bunch of villains put their heads together and pool their cash. Hooboy. Then you’re in trouble. In most universes, the villain to hero ratio favors the villains. This is due to a number of factors. Most people are selfish and when given extraordinary abilities, they will choose to use to benefit themselves as the expense of others. Being a villain is honestly way more fun than being a superhero, especially if like you making your own hours and pontificating in front of large crowds. Also, most villains will kill heroes but most heroes won’t kill villains. So if all of your enemies team up, or if everybody’s enemies team up, you’re going to be in trouble.

Villains are a competitive and dramatic lot, so when a bunch of them sit down for a brainstorming sess, things are definitely going to get out of hand really fast. They’re all going to keep upping the evil ante, as I will now demonstrate for you.

(Scene 1 Act 1: Int. dungeon of some sort. There are skulls everywhere, there’s an actual demon chained to the wall, he’s very sassy and does not want to be there. In the center of the room there is a table, skull-shaped of course, There are several hooded and masked figures sitting at the table. The room smells of sweat and snake venom.)

Al “Da Boss” Marconi: I have called you all here today to finally put an end to those terrible, disgusting, super fools, that keep foiling our schemes.

Assorted villains: Huzzah!

Smuggles: I say we steal all of the dinosaur skeletons from the Museum of Natural History!

Tim the Fabulous Soul Muncher: Let’s replace them with live dinosaurs!

Professor Brain Scrambler: Let’s shoot the entire building with a de-evolution ray and turn everybody there into dinosaurs!!!!!!!!!!!!

The demon chained to the wall: Uh, that’s not how evolution works. Are you dumb? Don’t worry, we won’t judge. Just let us know if you are? You seem like a real moron to me. But what do I know, I’m just an immortal being who personally tortured some of history’s greatest minds.

(And then the demon chained to the wall was the first guinea pig for Professor Brain Scrambler’s de-evolution ray. End scene.)

And that’s just when I decided to end that conversation! Real supervillain meetings go on for way longer and you end up with a plot to turn the Earth into a giant dinosaur that can then be used to eat other planets. <Hey guys quick question and I swear it’s not a big deal. But why wasn’t I at that supervillain meeting. I mean I am the only supervillain you guys personally know. Like if I were writing about, I don’t know, a meeting of the scrawny blogger club, I would definitely put you guys in it. So what gives?> Not now Brainwave. <I mean if you needed a mad scientist, I’m a mad scientist. Did you know Professor Brain Scrambler isn’t even a real professor, he’s just wearing a real professor’s skin. Which I’m pretty sure doesn’t make you an accredited teacher but whatever. Like I said, it’s not really a big deal.>

Whenever you can you need to exercise your influence to try to prevent supervillains from teaming up in the first place. Whenever you’re fighting a villain, make sure not to mention anybody else that you’re fighting. Make them think they’re the only villain in your life. If they don’t know that other villains are out there, they can’t team up with them. Also, supervillains are very jealous and possessive. So if they hear you’re fighting somebody else on the side they’re going to get very upset and seek out the other villain and tell them that you’re a dirty two-timing superhero and then they’ll definitely team up to push your car into a river or something. I’d suggest keeping supervillains isolated from each other when they’re incarcerated as well. If you keep them with regular criminals, at worst they recruit a few new henchmen, but if you keep them locked up with other super villains you’re going to have a Legion of Really Really Mean People situation on your hands. However, this often is not feasible. There are only so many prisons out there that are equipped to hold superpowered criminals. But there are a few! More than one! Which gives us some room to play around here. You should try to work with other superheroes and these prison wardens to group villains together in the same prison that you think would never get along long enough to scheme together. For example, you could probably lock up Dr. Brainwave and Professor Brain Scrambler in the same jail without running into any issues. Because they hate each other. They hate each other so much. Also, police, superheroes, whomever, if you’re looking for wanted criminal Frederick Kaminsky aka Dr. Brainwave, he’s here. He’s in our basement and he won’t leave. I don’t know if that technically makes the rest of us hostages, I’m not like a lawyer [it doesn’t] but please come and pick him up. <Awww you mentioned me, that’s all I wanted. Thanks man!> Seriously, somebody come arrest him.

If you’ve colossally messed up and allowed a vast supervillain conspiracy team up to happen right under your noses then you need to get all hands on deck. Call every superhero you know. Even the the ones you hate. Even the ones who were dead last time you checked, they might be back now. Like I said, you’re already outnumbered so you need to call literally everybody you can think of here. Every noble-hearted magical creature and monster, every sympathetic quasi-deity, aliens that you’ve made alliances with over the years, heck even the members of that book club we had you join. Everybody needs to be on their A-game for this. If not, the villains could well succeed in wiping you all out and taking over the world. And we can’t give them that kind of satisfaction.

Once you’ve got your super army assembled, you need to begin a war on two fronts. Split your group into two teams. One team to actually go and fight the bad guys wherever they might crop up to perform evil deeds. It is unlikely that every villain is going to go everywhere at once, they’ll probably split up and pull off crazy evil schemes. So if you’re part of that team, be prepared for anything. I mean anything. 50-foot tall evil pants. (If your enemies are anything like mine, they have a wicked sense of humor. Trying getting the pants to tell a lie of some sort. I’m willing to bet that it’s rigged to burst into flames if it does. Nobody commits to a bit like a supervillain.) The ground turning into acid beneath your feet. (Pack a jetpack.) A dude with a blackhole in his chest. (Bring a really big cork). Anything.

The other group needs to start a whispering campaign to destabilize this villain alliance. Any team up between supervillains is relatively flimsy and a short term arrangement at best. As soon as the superheroes are all done away with, the villains are going to begin fighting amongst themselves for dominance. So if you can get that process started earlier, before all of the heroes are killed off or turned into monkey jesters, you could cause the alliance to collapse in on itself. You and your allies should start calling up your nemeses (don’t pretend you guys haven’t exchanged contact info at some point. I saw them at your last birthday party!) and ask them what the plan is long term. Ask them if they really want to share power with all these other villains, especially since they’re all highly likely to betray them. If you get enough villains antsy about the whole thing you can cause the entire thing to collapse and then you and your super friend can round up the injured and confused villains following the inevitable civil war.

Of course, not every supervillain team is the result of a large supervillain alliance. Some supervillains simply start out as a team, possibly because none of them on their own are really a threat. These villains have no independent resources to pool so even if they’ve got outlandish ideas, they’re pretty manageable. Here’s a list of a few other types of supervillain teams:

Gangs turned supervillains: These guys were a group of criminals before they got their powers. Unlike other villain teams, they don’t have their eyes set on world domination or the mass extinction of supervillains.

Mirror Universe Counterparts: These guys are just like your superhero team, but from another dimension and evil. To get an idea of what this might look like, take a magic marker to your team picture and draw goatees on everyone.

Cults: Cults are a lot like a regular supervillain organization. The leader is usually the only true supervillain, while the rest of the followers are just henchmen with creepy hoods.

Evil armies: As we’ve mentioned, some countries are unfortunately, led by supervillains. Meaning their armies are technically supervillain armies.

Villain families: This is just a regular family who bond by dropping spider-bombs into preschools or blowing up dams. It’s actually kind of sweet. You know what they say, a family who slays together, stays together.

Hopefully you now have everything you need to combat any supervillain teams that might rise up during your superhero career. Remember, supervillain teams need to be handled and dismantled as quickly as possible. So… heh… I guess don’t waste too much time reading this extra long post. Read this before the supervillains team up! Or have a speed reader read it and summarize! Any way good luck!

[pages-on-pages-blog]

10. Fyodor Dostoevsky. Crime and punishment

Hello guys!! I’m kiiiind of shaking in my chair right now. I’m beyond excited to sit down and write something in here. I got reaaally wound up in school work, and other things like that... You know, i won’t even try to excuse myself. I’m just hella lazy. But here I am, ready to write a dope review of a dope book, which my hands are just itching to rant about. I would also like to give a shout out to my dear friend, whose name i probably won’t say. She just randomly texted me to tell me how dope this blog is, and I got really inspired to keep it going, ya kno? So, here we go!!!! oh, and also, happy new year guys. I love you all to shreds!!

(warning - spoilers. obviously)  

So, i really don’t want to start spilling my opinion all over the place right at the start, so I’ll try to contain myself. Oh boy, is this going to be hard. However things may be, I believe we should start with a bit of plot to get this whole thing going.

If you are not familiar with Eastern European history or culture, you might be surprised by the authors name. Let me start off by saying, that Fyodor Dostoevsky is Russian. He is one of the most famous (if not the most) authors in Russian history. He is also an incredible philosopher, which is clearly visible in the book we’re reviewing today, but we’ll get to that a bit later on. I think by now it should be pretty obvious, that the action in the book is based in Russia. Our main character, Rodion Raskolnikov, is a completely broke university drop out. He seems.. Fairly normal for the first ~100 pages of the book. Just a dude, living his reaally sad life (completed with dark and dull descriptions of the town he’s living in, Peterborough), contemplating everything that comes up in his mind. If i were asked, I’d say he might even be depressed. But yeah. As the books title suggests, there’s a crime. and, please, for the love of god, if you’re even the slightest bit interested in reading the book, do NOT spoil this for yourself, just go read the damned book. You have my word that you will not regret it.

For those who stayed - Raskolnikov kills and elderly lady, which is like the owner of the house he lives in. This was not such a surprise for me, because, at the very start of the book, our protagonist goes up to the woman’s flat to pay his rent, and his whole thought process is written down. The way he analyses everything in her home, how she has a small box of jewelry, which, he thinks, probably contains a fortune. So, like... You know. Crime? Old, rich lady? poor student? It was not that hard to add the three together. When he actually does it (which he does quite brutally. Rodion used a frickin’ axe, and he killed not only the old lady, but also another young woman which would have caught him), he doesn’t even steal that much. He instantly starts to panic, grabs a couple of things and runs the hell out of there. From this spot forward, our main character goes more and more nuts with every single page. He is constantly living in tremendous fear, soul-wrenching panic and all that good stuff. He doesn’t even use the things he stole from the apartment to save himself from poverty - Rodion buries everything under a rock. Yeah, you read that right. A rock. The criminal’s anxiety drives him so mad, he gets physically sick even. So the other 400 pages of the book are mainly about the thought process of a murderer. Oh, not to mention the incredible jaw-dropping plot twists and a very unusual and refreshing love story. I’m not even considering spoiling the ending, because, dude, no. I couldn’t forgive myself if i ever ruined it to someone, because i genuinely want you guys to have the same experience as I did. I believe that’s that for the plot, let’s move over to my opinion (that sounds so frickin’ narcissistic. I’m so sorry lmao).

I’d like to start off by saying that I haven’t had a favourite book in ages. But, guess what? Druuuumroooooll pleaaaaaaase: this one is!!!! It is so good it hurts. I want this book to turn into a human, and I want that human to be my overly - philosophical yet tremendously intelligent best friend. First of all, Dostoevsky’s writing style.... oh boy. I don’t know why, it clinged to me like I cling to my bed on Monday mornings. When he starts a new topic or anything of that sort, he writes about a completely unrelated topic, and then somehow manages to relate it to the current events in the book, which he needs to write about?? what even is this this sorcery. Like, for example, he would start writing about, lets say, shoes, and boom, somehow he’s jumped over to how all people are bad or some shit like that. And you don’t even feel the damned transition. It’s just so smooth and masterful. I’m convinced he does this in the majority of his books, because right now I’m reading “Idiot”, and it’s the exact same in there as well (tell me if any of u guys want a review of that!! I’d be glad to write about the book once I finish it).

You can really tell this guy is a philosopher. I’m not joking when i say this, but there were a couple of spots in the book, which i read about five times, because they blew my mind. Never ever has this happened to me before, where I’m reading something and I get shivers. Like, actual shivers. The monologues about human nature, and why the protagonist actually doesn’t blame himself for the crime, were eye-opening. So amazing. 

Also, the plot twists??? They were mainly connected to other characters (which there were plenty of in the book, so beware of that), and yet so perfectly braided into the story, and when they hit you literally out of the blue, it’s just mind-boggling. 

This book, to me, is like staring at the world though the eyes of a murderer. When he explains his reasoning for the crime, you even start to feel empathy for him, which just shows how there is never one side to a story. This book seriously taught me how there is never only white or black, there is also gray. 

I believe many people are scared of the length. The version I read had ~550 pages, so it’s pretty much that, give or take a few pages. I was really intimidated by the length. I thought that this is one of the og classics, it will be tough, and maybe even boring, and the length really just escalates all those thoughts. I do have to say, the first ~100 pages were hard, man. You have to get used to Dostoevsky’s specific writing mannerisms, monologues that take up to 4 pages and the sometimes overwhelming amount of additional characters with really difficult names, if I do say so myself. BUT. It is so worth it once you push through. Really, take my word as is, I have read a lot of books. This one is definitely worth reading.

If I caught your attention even the slightest bit, please don’t hesitate. I can’t stress enough how amazing this literature masterpiece is.

10\10

I hope you enjoyed your stay in the introvert book club! 

[sugaxjpg]

the library

⤷  As a worker of Heaven’s Library, you cherished the ones who followed rules — from the simple act of remaining silent throughout their visit, to the enforcement of the place’s rigid enquette. After all, guarding the everlasting shelves that held the history of every soul that ever lived was quite meaningful by itself, but could turn into a life-threatening task if not taken seriously.

So, if you adored rules so much, how could you allow yourself to fall for an angel?

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Angel!AU 

✓ Filed under: angst, fluff

✓ Words: 11,210

Author’s note: (Kind of) a short story for a change. The place I based this one is the Admont Abbey Library in Austria. Truly a heavenly world. Some characters changed from the last time I posted but, other than that, the story continues to be the same.

⤅ Now.

Impregnated with the rich fragrance of paper and cinnamon, the Library burgeoned around your figure with the lovingness of sempiternity, bathed by the alabaster and auriferous ornaments of its decorations. In the midst of dirt particles that waltzed in the fresh air, one companionless book oscillated in the suspended atmosphere, tracing slow-motion pirouettes in space. Its untouched pages opened and moved in silence, magnetized by an invisible golden string that guided the object towards its destination — a shelf’s number far too long to be pronounced, too lost amongst those infinite corridors to be found quickly. By most people, that was.

Mesmerized by its quiet waltz, you watched as the book traced its course over your head, soon entering the premise of the private universe behind your figure. From where you stood, arms placed on the expanse of the snow-pigmented marble counter, you could watch as it proceeded into the depthness of the corridor, then disappeared behind a corner. You never got tired of it: even if humans were born everyday, the arrival of new and immaculate books always brought you a profound sentiment of hopeful optimism, of new beginnings—

“Here’s my favorite person in all of paradise!”

Just as simply as that, your daydreams were cut short when the man’s delicate voice found its way to where you stood, inducing you to turn away from those abysmal white corridors to glimpse at the newcomer with infantile curiosity. Combined with a calm suspire of alleviation, you stared at the presence that ever so patiently walked towards you and allowed yourself to present an amicable, welcoming smile, “How can I help you today, Jungkook?” you inquired.

He must have seen something sarcastic lingering in the quintessence of your speech, for the corners of his lips moved downwards for a breviloquent second, “You act as if you’re not happy to see me every single day, century after century,” he said playfully. Soon, though, he noticed that the phrase he presented you ignited some sort of cynical reaction from your part: eyebrows moving into a frown, smiley lips trembling with uncertainty, “Okay, I apologize. I know you’re stressed over everything that’s going on.” he rushed to add.

You sighed, shaking your head in an unspoken negation, a way to scare away the clouds of his baseless doubt, “Tell me about it,” your words came out with a certain dose of irony, but even that could not camouflage the quiet lament that echoed in the background of your syllables. As much as you adored your job deeply, there were instances that truly tested how far your motivation could go, and those past visits had been precisely that, “Let me guess, books from Limbo again?” you asked.

Jungkook placed the palms of his hands over the cold stone, feeling as it sucked out the fathomless heat of his celestial figure. For a place in paradise, he always thought that Library was awfully devoid of warmth and vivacity, “You’ve guessed it,” the angel agreed with forced excitement, chuckling at the endless circle the two of you had been trapped in, “I don’t know what’s happening with Heaven lately, they are going through this huge archive cleanse and now they want to see if there are more souls to save. Or something along those lines.” he admitted, sure you would question that constant visiting once again.

His eyes fell to follow the ethereal lineaments of your roseate lips as you responded, “How benevolent of them,” you spoke with endless sarcasm, aware that other motives hid in the penumbra of such uncommon decision. Using your years of experience as a basis for such ponderations, you guessed that one pertinent reason for cleaning the lower levels would be to open space for more souls to come — and that was never a good sign. “I can’t believe we’re talking about the same good guys that sent down the Black Plague.”

Jungkook instantaneously exhaled at that bothersome recalling, rolling his eyes as the images of a tragedy-permeated past flooded his brain, “I’d rather not remember that,” the angel breathed out, clearly irritated at the connotation they brought along — for a heavenly worker, you had always thought Jungkook was too dangerously cynic for his own well-being; openly cynic, at that, “but I suppose we can’t change the past now. Can you fetch me that book?” he asked kindly, eager to switch subjects.

“Of course I can, it’s my job,” you playfully agreed, presenting the angel with a smile that sucked out all the lassitude from his immortal body — every time he looked at you, Jungkook came closer to understanding why humans devoted themselves to finding art within every fragment of reality, to create images that resembled the paradisiacal elegance that he then saw before himself. “just tell me the full name, the time and date of birth, and I’ll find your copy.”

But of course, he already knew how that process went — even if he could not quite comprehend it even after numerous explanations from your part. Truth was: not even you could find the correct terms to elucidate the process that occurred within your head, nor the expansions of your spirit that traveled through those auspicious and resplendent corridors. It was like an alteration in reality, a chimera: your sight would mercurially run through every crack of shelves, every lacuna in between books to find the correct story for your customer.

The object, too, lured you in like a siren’s harmony. It was odd how its pages wordlessly called and guided you into its presence like it had a magnetic field of its own; a single book  in focus amongst the turmoil of a nebulous sea; an oasis of equanimity in a immense desert of torment.

Within every peculiarity that existed amongst the walls of that pallid Library, an endless garden of withering stories decorated shelves that stretched into the infinity of time and space; book covers that were painted by profound shades of violaceous and cimmerian, indigo and cantaloupe — every combination ever conceived, embellishing the tales of every human soul that ever walked the merciless soil of Earth. To you, the decaying semblance of that quiet environment metamorphosed into what you could only see as a bruise, a wound that would eternally mark humankind itself. Just as them, that place was apparently flawless, but profoundly twisted in its pernicious essence.

At times, as you moved in between the snow-painted shelves, lonely bronze statues accompanied your path with utter impassiveness — the figure of an archer; of forgotten philosophers; of angels. One of those truly caught your attention, for part of its face shattered and forgotten on the dirty ground, sculpted wings appeared to have started to melt slowly. Even if it was elegant in its own despondent manner, its presence only added to your sensation of forever being watched by a higher, merciless power. You tried to ignore it, tried to play it off as being a mere allusion to the myth of Icarus, but sometimes you could still feel its piercing eyes burning to the back of your consciousness, guiding you towards self-censoring — in Heaven, nevertheless, paranoia was never baseless. It was better being safe than sorry.

“You always save my life,” Jungkook’s enamored voice brought you back to your position, inducing you to blink twice, thrice; attempting to hold back onto the ties of the substantial world. Instantaneously, you looked down at the marble surface, where his slender fingers pushed in your direction a piece of yellowed paper. In it, the information that would guide your towards your personal treasure. “this is what you need.”

Your gaze fell down to meet the raven-black ink of the the written information. In it, a messy handwriting — which you quickly recognized as being your superior’s — had gifted you with the individual’s name and, right beneath it, the date of his birth. The soul’s name did not ring any bells, but you did not expect it would.

You hummed quietly as your eyes drifted shut, mind shooting and circumnavigating through the gargantuan collection of archives that expanded all across your microscopic silhouette. Names came and went in a paroxysm of indistinct titles and ancient pages stained by time, the numbers of the corridors conglomerating into an incomprehensible mixture of locations as you flew past their magnificence. The unknown mortal’s storyline cried for your reach in with soundless laments for clemency, inducing for you to blindly follow its position with phenomenal precision.

“That must be around corridor five hundred and twenty two thousand... three hundred and forty seven stands to the right…” you mindlessly mumbled, focusing in the halcyon shelves that appeared in your head. Your consciousness reached closer to it, buoyantly flickering over the uncountable amount of covers before, at last, finding your target: the only book that had its margins clearly defined, emanating a colorless glow of its own, “Yeah, I see it… marked with an L and everything. It’ll be here in a second.” you told him.

And, just like that, the trance was concluded.

Once you opened your eyes, you found yourself back at the balcony, looking deeply into the eyes of the angel. Jungkook smiled fondly at the girl before his enamored gaze, stars of his fascination shimmering within his obsidian eyes, “Even thousands of years later, I’m not tired of watching you do that.” the man confessed.

You limited yourself to laugh at that. Sometime along those self-perpetuating centuries, the wonders and amazement of dashing through that construction had lost its initial thrill, now just feeling like another — yet slightly more interesting — task, “Still, I am very tired of doing it,” you told him. However, Jungkook must have not realized that it was only partially veridical, for his gaze adopted a more focused, preoccupied semblance. “Come on, I’m joking. You know I adore what I do.”

Partially.

“I am aware,” the angel sighed, placing his elbows on the marble counter. Lackadaisical, his gaze traced the cold stone that mushroomed beneath his touch, following an invisible path towards where your hands laid atop of it. In a lightening of desire, the angel wished desperately to place his palm over your own, caressing the skin he learned how to love so dearly, “Will you ever take me around the place again?” Jungkook then questioned, looking back at you.

Apparently taken by surprise, you discontinued your ponderations momentaneously, pouting as his question echoed timelessly through your brain, “What for, exactly? You’ve seen the books, it’s not like everyone here has Napoleon’s storyline,” you counterclaimed.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” an infatuated smile effloresced on Jungkook’s incarnadine lips as he admitted his desires with a feeble verbalization, his voice holding tightly to the symphonic harmony of his spirit. During the breviloquent instants of hesitation that followed, the honeyed illumination of the alabastrine Library melted over his sanctified lineaments, immersing his skin in the golden hue that monopolized the strands of his silk-like hair. You always thought Jungkook was just that — auric, cherubic.

Nevertheless, you could not allow yourself to succumb to his elegance at that instant. Matter not how deeply your sentiments ached for your lips to find comfort within the space between his own, there were instants in which the toxic mingling of paranoia and stone-cold reason monopolized your desires, “You’re spending time with me right now.” you cut his hope short.

Jungkook shook his head in denial, his dark hair trapping the incandescence of the outdoors luminescence, “You know what I’m talking about,” he forcefully pushed that subject forward.

Deep breathing, focused irises — within every action that embellished your being, he could see that his companion was growing irritated at his unwelcomed pressure, “ Jungkook, you know what I think about that,” you began, feeling your throat growing dry just by verbalizing such claims. In a reflex, your eyes darted towards the humongous, silvery doors behind his curved figure — it was closed, the world was silent, but you knew you were never wholesomely alone. “It’s dangerous. Especially for you.”

As if he was expecting those words, his subsequent phrase already hung with certainty at the tip of his rosy tongue, “I am not scared,” the angel said.

“But I am. We can’t play with things like this,” your response came out bordering on a cautious hiss, voice progressively getting lower and lower. Nervous, you just wished for his book to reach you two quicker, but its usual languorous pace usually made those seconds unbearably prolonged. “You know what would happen if someone found out.”

The smile he gave you, as much as it was supposed to be soother your worries, only served for your uneasiness to increase: even if Jungkook attempted to mask the phantasms that haunted his spirit, you could practically hear them howling behind his teeth, conforming your assumption that even he, in all of his forged courage, was aware of the devastating consequences your position could entice, “No one will find out, it’s just you and I here,” regardless, he continued to speak on, leaning his head to the side. “Darling, you deal with the entire human section by yourself, you have practically only one visitor every day, which is me.”

You shook your head in transparent disagreement, forcing your voice to remain below a hushed whisper, “You make it seem like we are safe and sound up here,” you told him, leaning in closer to his position so the angel could hear your better — and the angel only. Countless times had you done that for other, more lovable, reasons, but now everything appeared to be so secretive, so wrong. “This is Heaven, Jungkook: we are being watched all the time. Besides, your superiors come here frequently enough for me to feel sick every time that door opens.”

The simple, mundane act of referring those creatures caused for unwanted recallings to emerge within the controlled tides of your contemplations: those slender, well-dressed figures that crossed the white-bathed halls with the grace of a swan, moving in your direction as if they were the emperors of the universe. Power and respect emanated from their phlegmatic expression, knowledge beyond your imagination dripped from their colorless — sometimes violaceous-stained — lips as their request for a mortal’s story echoed in the space between them and you. You were the ruler of the world that existed within those ivory walls, but, upon their arrival, you were merely another piece of a larger, much more complex puzzle.

Then and there, as you felt like a easily-crushed worm beneath their omnipotent simulacrum, you were certain that creatures like you were never truly left unwatched. If free-will was a subject of constant debate for humankind, angels and heavenly workers were aware that they had no right to use their own.

Muffled, the sound of Jungkook’s shoes moving around the polished floor pulled your back onto his presence — if compared to his superior’s aura, his flame burned in such a vacillating manner, weak even, “Have they said anything to you?” something coruscated within his crepuscular gaze as he looked at you, holding the scintillation of his hidden worries as he awaited for your hesitant words to depart from in between your pursed lips.

Speech oscillating with reluctance, you leaned a bit backwards, eyes moving away from his own to watch the blades of achromatic lambency that sliced the unfluctuating air. Countless times had you two went through similar conversations, but you could never quite convince him of your reasons, “They don’t need to say anything when it’s just that clear. We are doing something that borders on treacherous, that goes strictly against Heaven’s code of conduct,” you elucidated. “It's just… Jungkook, I'm a Library worker, you're a server of the Lord. There is a hierarchy in place: if someone is going down, it's me.”

However, that was not precisely true: it was much more manageble to promote an angel to take over his position than to train another librarian to care of Heaven’s collection, for the trust and responsibility that came along with your job was far too great for even the most experient of celestial beings. You had been there since the beginning of time, watched its expanse grow bigger and more stuffed with idiosyncratic stories, and no one could be as trustworthy, even with a millennia of preparation.

Jungkook shook his head in slight annoyance, licking his lips, “You surely cannot believe the words you’re saying. My love, you—”

Your stare darted back to him instantaneously, “Don't call me that so openly,” you interrupted.

At that, his mouth fell shut. Jungkook looked profoundly inside your eyes as if there was a treasure waiting to be discovered, a piece of your amaranthine soul which only he could perceive amongst the turmoils of your collected facade. Jungkook looked at your as if the mere gaze you two shared could hold the benevolence and amorousness he caged within his chest, the touches and gentle caresses neither of you would ever be allowed to present freely.

He looked at you as if he was not a being who had the entire universe to contemplate, but as one who solely saw the pieces of beauty that appeared before his curious pupils; perishing at the corners of your lips; awakening within the pendular movement of your irises. Jungkook looked at you as if he was nothing more than a mortal, as if his time by your side was constantly near its terminal stages. As if they would never have the embrace of perpetuity, as if your intertwined hearts were as ephemeral as the countless stories that embellished those fathomless pallid shelves. And, mayhaps, they were.

Jungkook looked at you with infinite adoration — absolute wonderment, heartsickening admiration, excruciating purity; terribly mortal love.

But also foolish, naive hopefulness, “Love, listen to me: everyone knows that you're the best in your job. They wouldn't throw you out, even less go through the danger of training another angel to take care of what you do up here,” the man guaranteed with endless determination, sure that the words that left his mouth held nothing but the clemency of truth. Surely, that might have been the case back then, but things changed quickly in the neverending tides of Heaven. The two of you were nothing but disposable, “even if someone found us out, you'd be safe.” he concluded.

You suspired at that, running one hand through your hair — his claims clearly did not console your preoccupations. More than that: they appeared to set your paranoias aflame, inducing for the licking fire to burn the corners of your panicked contemplations; a ticking time bomb ready to destroy their builders, “What about you?” you counterclaimed, voice falling into trepidation. Never once had you thought the Library felt so hyperborean, desolated.

Jungkook appeared to grow confused at the brusque inquiry, “What... about me?”

Biting down on your lower lip, you took a step back away from him. Again, you found yourself silently wishing that his book could arrive sooner than the words would leave the arid desert of your throat — nothing more than a frivolous request, regardless, “Code of conduct, page twenty-eight, paragraph fourteen,” you recited, placing your two hands on the corners of the counter. Mayhaps for support, or because you required the contact of that gelid, polished surface to keep you chained down to the arrhythmic progression of your contemplations. “Under absolutely no circumstance can two celestial beings engage in any sort of non-business relationships. Those include, but are not limited to: sexual relations, partnerships against heaven, unnecessary friendships, romantic love...”

“Friendships and romances only—”

“—Cause rebellions,” you interrupted promptly, not gifting him with the seconds he necessitated to formulate a suitable response. You had memorized the Code by that point, for it was one of the few pieces of writing you had been allowed to go through — which, you came to comprehend, was quite a clear move of Heaven’s mind-washing mechanism. “Paragraph fifteen: in case the previous rule is disrespected, both parties will be taken to trial under the threat of immediate execution or—”

“—Exclusion and removal of grace,” Jungkook stole those words from your mouth, causing your speech to fall into respectful silence. In more mundane terms, as you once had to explain to a very confused guardian, that meant that the angel would be casted down to Earth as a human, which was one of the worst punishments that could be given to beings like them, right beneath relocation to Hell, “I know the Code. I'm still not worried. They wouldn't cast me down, and you're far too valuable to be taken away from this Library.” he rephrased his previous sentences with even more security.

Simply as that, your shoulders fell in a silentious indication of defeat: you stood by your ground, but could not avoid the astringent guilt that took over your chest once you saw the manner his expression had grown distressed at your constant avoidance. It was a matter of safety; of life and death — that was what you told yourself continuously in a faithless attempt at self-convincement, for you would rather have Jungkook looking at you with such heartbreaking mannerisms than suffering with his hypothetical absence, or your own eternal punishment.

“Nevertheless, I'm not taking any chances,” you shook your head, biting down on your lower lip. With that final negation, you swore you could observe his spirit shattering into agony.

Abruptly, you finally experienced the presence of the desired book slipping along the air, materializing behind a shelf just at the end of the main corridor. It was like being immersed in a furious river, but having a blockage placed between you and the currents — it interrupted the flow of the ethereal universe, standing out like a pulsating cut in a mortal’s skin and warning you of a misplaced piece, “Here... is your book,” almost timidly, you cleared your throat, slowly turning around to reach out for it. Like a docile animal, the object moved closer and landed on your palm a few seconds later. “Please ask your superiors to return them quicker, it's hard to organize around here if there are so many copies missing.”

Without meeting his eyes, you turned back around and handed the copy to the angel, who merely agreed in return, “Will do,” emotionlessly, Jungkook’s voice reverberated past your figure, entering in dissonance with the sorrow that sung within your spirit. Something had switched in the land that encompassed you, a venomous blanket that covered the two, intoxicating your souls with the pernicious touch of regret. “Thank you, and have a nice day.”

Dry and unimpassioned, his artificial syllables of departure indicated that your stance had truly caused him pain. You breathed out and, “You too, Jungkook.” was all that you managed to vocalize.

In a matter of two deep inhales and a few steps against the marble ground — which deliberately got farther and farther away —, you recognized yourself unaccompanied in Heaven’s Library. This time, asymmetrically, the rhythmical sailing of soaring books could not tranquilize the affliction that engulfed you; the ethereal resplendence of the conflagrant sun could no longer warm your cold skin. An aspect had switched in the thick of those elements, the balance that measured your fate had slightly moved downwards with the ponderation of your decisions, near rupture.

The two celestial beings had once made a promise, and they had broken it.

⤅ Then.

Jungkook had always thought everything in heaven seemed, for the lack of a better term, blurry. Between the images he contemplated and the light and shadow that built them together, lived a myriad of shapes and glows that he could never quite characterize, but accompanied him regardless of his approval. It was as if different tenses coexisted at the very same instant, actions sometimes delayed by mere seconds, but when placed on top of one another, turned into a kaleidoscopic progression of phantasmagoric forms. It was both dream-like and nightmarish; comforting and threatening. Hallucinatory, even.

The angel had noticed that chimerical illusion centuries past, but there was one instance that truly stood out amongst his recallings. It happened on one recluse section of the Library, on the opposite side of the entrance, and gave him view of the unfathomable meters that laid beneath those marble-ornamented halls. Never once had Jungkook dared to venture down to the lower levels of the archives, for simply standing there — staring down at the abyss that books succumbed to — caused for him to feel the trepidation of its emanating energy. Down there were the stories of humans sent to Hell, the souls that lingered in the thin line that separated malevolent spirits with the demonic creatures that tortured them for eternity.

Mind wandering past the lands of his preoccupation, he realized that he was standing by your side amongst the endless shelves of Heaven’s Library, yet staring at the mouth-like crater before the two of you — those white steps were dangerously similar to a creature’s teeth, the waltz of coordinated books appeared to be a tongue moving in its interior. There was something about those endless stairs drowning in penumbra that felt like a forewarning to him, the image of the consequences he could face if he was not careful enough. Even if Jungkook was not exactly someone that observed signals where there were none, he could not shake away the impression that such peculiar instant was flawlessly architectured to present him with his current situation.

On the limiar of paradise, Jungkook had a taste of infernal consequences.

“Let’s not fall in love,” the angel had breathlessly requested you that day, experiencing the ponderation of his shattered heart gradually — then mercilessly. Like a rain that progressively metamorphosed into a storm, the cosmos around him felt claustrophobic to endure; reticence was too thundering for him to think properly. He was scared. In manners he could not comprehend, he was.

From his peripheral vision, he saw as you lethargically moved your gaze away from the lower levels of the Library, somewhat spellbound to its villainous radiation. Even before your words had escaped your half-open lips, Jungkook was certain you had seen the same fate as he did, hiding just in the corners of that shadowy realm, “We cannot,” you had responded, lamentation and remorse curling its compassionless claws around your throat. You two had made it that far by being extremely cautious, nothing should be altered now. It could not, “It’s one of the few rules we didn’t break yet.” you added.

That very same day, the two of you were interrupted by a newcomer that was — very impatiently — searching for the story of a particularly controversial historical figure. As a consequence, the two were unable to give the proper goodbyes to one another, for you had to quickly return to the entrance and assist the sanctified being. Instants like those made you remember, even if ephemerally, of a special passage you had once read amongst those uncountable stories: the hardest goodbyes were the ones a person never received. Especially after such important oath.

Or, at the very least, what appeared to be an oath. Sooner or later, even that rule was broken.

Perhaps by coincidence, perhaps by fate, but precisely four Earth months had ran by when the two of you decided to succumb into adoration. Underneath the condensed adumbration of a secluded shelf, you chuckled, placing your palms against Jungkook’s chest and playfully pushing him away, “Jungkook, I have to get back to work,” you quietly exclaimed.

Features slightly covered by a thin veil of shadows, Jungkook smiled in the most profound of infatuations, even though he was cognizant of your words long before it had been enunciated by your roseate, slightly swollen lips. The outline of your features were simply sculptural, he once told you, equiparable to the finest forms of art to his humble point of view, “Me too, but you don’t see me complaining,” playfully said the angel, moving back to find the solace of your kiss, “You don’t know how much I missed kissing you.” he breathed out, mouth caressing yours as he spoke.

The kiss lingered on your lips like a butterfly’s wings trembles against the wind — oscillating, shivering — sending the radiations of pure amour through your slumberous perceptions. If you could, you would stay in his arms forevermore, “Jungkook, be careful. Keep your voice low,” you warned, glancing at the position of your slender fingers that had now moved up one of his shoulders. If you had not been so anxious yourself, the sensation of his muscles tensing up beneath your skin would have never called your attention. “we have rules for a reason.”

It was clear from the way a frown took over his features that he did not share the same trepidation that took over your spirit, “Stupid reasons for stupid rules,” Jungkook then pouted, appeared to be almost childlike for a moment. Surrounded by the auriferous luminescence of a secluded version of paradise, Jungkook discovered his mind to be lost in your presence, and all he ever wanted was to immerse himself in it, “Okay, okay. Just one more kiss.” he requested.

And, surely, you consented.

Permeated my amour and devotion, the loving touch of his velvety lips felt like the gentle touch of a feather, the compassion and enthusiasm of a fresh, yet warm day amongst the numb seas of your relinquished realm. With their eyes closed, the two could only experience as their immortal spirits caved into the beauty and enchantment of one another, each and every second used to explore the kindness the other could give. Your heart was drumming frantically to the symphonious harmony of your enamored embrace, passion irradiating and rooting throughout your body—

A muffled exclamation from his part echoed against your mouth, causing for him to move away from your kiss. It took you a couple seconds to comprehend what had occurred, but, when you did, you could not help but to melt into a diverted smile, “This is your book.” you told him, looking at the object that had just hit Jungkook on the back of his head.

He lost no time turning around and taking it in his hands, eyes momentaneously glancing to the “L” that marked the position of that special soul. No minor inconvenience caused by that book against his head could be compared to the headache that was dealing with such creatures.

What he verbalized, nevertheless, was a simple, “This is my book,” followed by a quick flicker of his stare downwards. The object felt peculiarly heavy, pulled by the gravitational field of his worries. It was abrupt the manner how every particularity about you companion seemed to crash down upon his cognizance, robbing the rhythm away from his heart and inducing for his consciousness to morph into a psychedelic waltz of forms and alien sentiments, “I’ll be on my way, then.” he cleared his throat, fighting to keep it all in.

In the expanse of the moment that followed his sentence, however, Jungkook came to understand an element of your presence that he had been neglecting for some time now — tracing the pathway from your angelic lineaments to the diaphanous contours of your silhouette, he found the true meaning of salvation in your eyes; understood that the profound allurement he had felt for was not merely interest. It was much deeper than anything he had ever experienced aforetime, much more filled with desire and affection. He did not want to leave you behind, but to feel the taste of forever by your side.

Ask me to stay, he faithlessly thought. Nothing more than a naive dream.

If you felt the same, you masked it fairly well. As you crossed your arms before your chest — a defensive, almost shielding gesture — you hummed in agreement; your gaze, too, falling to the amber-covered book in his hands. “You should be, there are tortured souls waiting to be saved.”

He scoffed at that, eyes gazing at the golden letters that ornamented the book’s title — whoever that person was, must have done something quite remarkable to get such beautifully decorated cover, “They mostly will be waiting forever,” the angel said, clearly skeptical at the prospect of divine clemency. Before him, though, you had grown clearly preoccupied by the way his frustration dripped through his choice of words. “What? Most of these aren’t getting through the first stages of trial. Out of the hundreds we took so far, not even twenty were saved.”

You breathed out, “It’s hard to take souls up from Hell, they are trapped in this… hole of hatred and savagery,” the mere enunciation of that place’s name left an astringent taste hanging at the tip of your tongue, the pestilent connotation infecting your brain with bothersome memories. Your frown took over your thoughtful expression as your eyes trailed around the immaculate shelves, searching for a way to escape from those terrible remembrances. “They usually get worse than what they started. It makes no sense to combat evil with more evil.”

Only once did you have to travel to the lower levels of the afterlife, but you never forgot the nightmare that crawled amongst that relinquished, nefarious world. Atop of the ferruginous redolence of fresh sanguine and sulfur conglomerated with the horrendous, calamitous outcries of castigated souls, laid a devastating atmosphere that did not allow for your to formulate proper conceptualizations. You could practically feel the endless yells for clemency as crawled their way in your veins and reverberated inside your skull, digging profoundly into your very essence, hopelessly imploring for your to save them from that self-perpetuating pandemonium.

Jungkook shrugged, “Yeah, not the wisest punishment mechanism, but who am I to judge? I just follow orders,” and, after that, he hesitated. There was a primordial impulse within him that begged for the angel to terminate the overwhelming space that expanded in between your bodies, to simply touch the softness of your skin, to dive into your kiss forevermore — and that was precisely what he chose to do, as he kindly placed his palm against your cheek, moving to place another gentle, timid peck on your mouth, “Most orders,” he lightheartedly added. He could swear by the name of his Father that, if Heaven truly was blurred, you were the only thing in focus.

Overwhelmed by his sudden wave of tenderness, you chuckled as the other angel moved closer to place another small kiss on your lips, “No, don’t even start, Jungkook,” you told him, even if parts of your essence whimpered and cried for your to do otherwise. You, too, wished to spend forever by his side, but some things were merely impossible to achieve. “You have work to do, and so do I.”

The man groaned, but did not move away from your welcoming aura, “Fine, fine,” Jungkook accepted his fate, hugging the cantaloupe book against his chest. For a moment, he almost looked human — which both enthralled and terrified you, “In the name of Heaven, you act as if you won’t miss me.” he complained.

That, you thought, was something you could never agree with. Every time you spoke to your lover, there was an undistinguished feeling that awoke in the cage within your chest: the perturbation that accompanied your heartbeats, the profound enchantment that was cultivated in the melody of his smooth voice. You felt as if you were drowning in Jungkook every time you two found the warmth of the other’s embrace; as the phantasm of your memories morphed into the elegant waltz of the substantial world. His touch was no longer a reverie, but the star that illuminated your eternal soul, “I will, you know I will,” you confessed promptly, hoping that your emotion was perceptible past your every syllable. “You’re back everyday, nevertheless.”

“Careful there, don’t take me for granted,” he warned, but his tone did not carry any true weight. Back then, the possibility of your wonderland being torn to shreds almost seemed preposterous to conceive — the two of you were oh, so invencible; the mental picture of the lower archives was nothing more than a forgotten joke, an over-exaggeration, “Wipe that pout out your pretty face, come here.” cutting his own thoughts short, he pulled you closer.

However, the previous savouriness of honey that pulsated in between your lips could no longer be found. As the breviloquent moment of your departure kiss echoed throughout the infinity of your love-filled perceptions, the two of you had broken your oath, the final chain that held you from decaying into the temptation of devotion. No words had been spoken, no oscillating, lip-quivering confessions were left to be heard — the angels had fallen in love then, had taken a bite of the prohibited fruit and overlooked the perfection of Heaven to dive into the grace of one another.

When the two of you separated your mouths by a few centimeters, there was a second in which your eyes met, and the wordless certainty was mutually understood: both were staring straight at the barrel of a gun, but were still blind to what could pursue their impulsive — humane — acts. Was the pleasure of infatuation worth the impending doom of its flaws? Back then, your answer would be a doubtless “yes”. 

Now, things were different.

More than that, Jungkook vouched he could envision the most prosperous, most magnificent version of himself reflecting in every minor curvature of your smile. It was as if his essence was perishing and being brought to life by the mere meeting of your interlaced spirits, the constant lessons he learned just by standing by your side. He would like to convince himself that the sentiment that effloresced within himself was nothing more than a virginal fondness, but he was certain that it was, in fact, an ephemeral adventure, “Have a good day of work, love,” he spoke before he could stop himself, forcing his feeble body to take a step backwards.

Then, you adored the name he referred to you, “You too, Jungkook,” you slimed, shoulders falling underneath the touch of such graceful word — love: such a paradoxical emotion; such reasonless guardian, “Until tomorrow.” you spoke.

Following a deep exhale, the angel responded with a dainty, “Until tomorrow.”

Nevertheless, once, tomorrow never truly came.

⤅ Now.

Consequences eventually arrived. Shortly after your minor argument, Jungkook disappeared from the realms of Heaven.

Primordially, you chose to find reasonable excuses for his absence. Centuries past, the angel had taken a few weeks off to work on undisclosed subjects for his superiors, and ended up being simple, futile rendezvous that only served to germinate anxiety within your apprehensive rationalizations. Drifting past the abstract frenzy of your overly-suspicious thinking, you would be able to see the silver lighting of reason that would convince you of just that: Jungkook might have simply gotten a different task, and that solely.

He was okay. He had to be.

Still, you missed him like nothing else in the world, could not bring your own ponderations to move away from the ghost of his presence. You missed those love-permeated caresses in the thick of floating books and amaranthine shelves; the pathless conversations you two held as you explored the most various sections of that infinite Library. You missed the melody of Jungkook’s euphonic laugh as it danced meters underneath the beautiful paintings of forgotten cherubins; heart ached for the touch of his infatuated kisses. You longed for the bliss of your forged ignorance before you ever noticed your feelings for the other angel; yearned the epiphany of realization.

Unquestionably, you missed those days — moreover, you held firmly to the remembrance of that unexplored and unstained sentiment of a deep, pristine love. Now, all you had were shattered fragments of naive optimism and the unspoken, constant prayer for a miracle you were not able to see. With your emotions being crushed beneath the weight of his departure, you still forced your conceptualizations to funnel towards the possibility of Jungkook’s return: for every rain was followed by the resplendence of sunshine, no storm could last forever.

Though, deep down, you were aware that those forged certainties were nothing more than futile explanations for a reality you would never allow yourself to face. More often than you would ever accept to admit, you would find yourself murmuring silent prayers of mercy, attempting to find some sort of force to go through the following days. Opening and closing, the entrance mocked your continuously, filling your with ephemeral hope just to tear it all down — those arrogant, swan-like figures walking in your direction; their noses high and expectations low.

No: an entire world of soul-crushing quiescence was all that you were allowed to obtain. Without Jungkook there to keep you company, each detail of that once magnificent landscape had metamorphosed into a sepulcral universe, a deep crimson wound that pulsated constantly, reminding you of the pain you ever so faithlessly attempted to overlook. Once so warm, the lights that dripped over you were now soulless and anemic; the dust particles that appeared to be buoyant ballerinas were nothing more than irritating insects that surrounded you. You felt so small and insignificant; felt like a pathetic mortal.

Then again, you might have acted like one.

Through it all, you were humbly glad that your position came with the presence of an Earth calendar, otherwise there would be no way to measure the days that ran by while Jungkook was gone. Perhaps by coincidence, perhaps by fate, but precisely four Earth months had passed when you received the first news about your loved angel.

“Could you find me this mortal’s book?”

At the very instant that unknown timbre ruptured the disharmony of your solitary ponderations, you were aware that the stranger before you was nowhere near the man you ever so eagerly awaited. From your peripheral vision, you could perceive the darkness of his silhouette, a posture that was far too rigid to belong to the lower levels of Heaven — he was a wound in that immaculate space, an unbelonging soul amongst the silence of solitude. His presence there was incongruous.

Reluctantly, you flickered your attentive gaze upwards, forgetting the open pages above the counter. you could not properly elucidate the manner your contemplations rapidly evanesced, flying away from you as the exquisiteness of that stranger was gradually absorbed within your unfocused mind. Unlike most guests that would come to the Library, the newcomer was dressed in an all-black suit, a raven-like being amidst an ocean of ivory walls and diaphanous ceilings. The world around him was as bright as a pallid constellation, but he sucked it all inside his own darkness, casting around his figure the penumbra of a black hole.

Dark clothes were only used by two sectors of the afterlife: demons, and the ones who dealt with them. Taking into account that no diabolical creature had permission to cross the gates of Paradise, you guessed he was the latter. Not that such deduction brought your any sense of comfort.

Clearing your throat, you woke yourself from that momentary reverie, nodding as his question returned to you, “Oh, of course,” you managed to speak out, watching as the man placed a piece of paper over the marble, then gradually slided it towards your side — his knuckles were reddened, morphing into a hue between the violaceous and the rufescent, and the image sent shivers down your spine. “Let’s see what we have here.”

In the breviloquent moment that followed his action, you were cognizant of how his sculptural delineations entered in resonance with the translucent phantasms of your shapeless recallings ― the creature before your was, in the oddest of ways, familiar. Not in regards to appearance, but in the way his aura appeared to suck you in, an abysmal fall that you could not help but feel thrilled to experience. His eyes — vortexes of cimmerian — were deep and attentive, dripping the mesmerizing knowledge he had complied through all the years of his immortal life, profound caliginous irises shining dimly with the colorless luminescence of the ambient. Strands of onyx-colored hair fell over his arched eyebrows, contouring his perfectly outlined face as a tiny smile sprouted on his full lips. Every detail about him seemed absolutely ethereal, serpentine — threateningly alluring.

However, as your eyes read the information he had given you, his momentaneous spell was broken, “Limbo?” your gaze flickered upwards.

The stranger hummed, not losing eye contact with you for a single instant — those angels always did that, constantly thought the assertion of dominance was a relevant part when visiting the lower levels of Paradise, “Yes, Heaven is making a cleanse,” he told you, repeating the vague words you had encountered time and time again. There were secrets that hid in the dark strands of his perfectly placed hair, rufescent poison that dripped in between his full, perfect lips. For a celestial creature, there was far too much obscurity surrounding him to leave your at ease. And, as he spoke again, it was like you could hear Jungkook’s ghost echoing inside every word that departed from his mouth, “Do you have everything you need?” he inquired, almost impatiently so.

Once anew, you cleared your throat, posture growing rigid, “Yes, yes, just… just a second,” you stuttered, closing your eyes and rapidly diving into the hazy edges of your non-material search. The process took place in a couple of seconds on that occasion, for that special copy was recently added to the collection, making it extremely easy to discover, “It’s... coming up.” you told him, still unsure about his crepuscular presence.

The man, however, appeared to grow impressed at the velocity of your acts. Instead of anxiety, he saw only proficiency and ability, “That was quick, you must work here for some time.” he complimented frankly.

Perhaps it was just your impression, but you did not take such comment as a positive opinion, but more as a pat on the back for doing the minimum — you were growing tired of superior angels looking down upon creatures like you, acting as if doing their job correctly was already worth of astonished praise, “Ever since the beginning,” you forced yourself to remain cordial, which was not too hard to do. Mentions like those were bothersome at most, but did not awaken any sort of negative feeling within you. “Though, even after all this time, I believe I haven’t seen you around. You are...?”

“Yoongi. I’ve been replaced for the cleanse,” the man responded promptly. He, too, appeared to grow more comfortable — gradually, of course, but was a welcomed change of atmosphere, “I’m usually on trials, not taking paperwork around.” he elucidated.

“That explains your attire, I suppose.” you pointed out.

He hummed in agreement, “Not my favorite either, but it's what I get for working with demons.”

Not precisely a surprise, but a pleasant reassuring of what you had suspected aforetime. Mayhaps his odd attitude was nothing more than his persona being slightly rusty to work with other benevolent angels, instead accustomed to the filthy creatures that inhabited the underground realms, “Hell trials, then.” you concluded.

“They are a thousand times more interesting than anything we could see up here,” Yoongi said smoothly, as if he had memorized that sentence from justifying his job so many times. As someone who encountered the most various levels of heavenly workers on a daily basis, you did not hold any sort of prejudice against his position, but mere curiosity. “there is more adrenaline then simply reading a list of good deeds and sending souls into paradise, believe me. Most of my friends say it’s just my humanity coming out to experience some sort of justice, but I don’t see it like that. Someone has to do the job, I don’t see an issue if I just happen to enjoy its outcome.”

You could not help but chuckle at that, finding it at the very least odd that such pure creature would find interest in the damnation of mortal souls. Some angels had sadistic roots, as ironic as that could be, but you did not recall experiencing such open confession before, “I believe you, don’t worry. Up here at the Library, there are some files about those trials in a different section, and I've read a few,” you told him, at last seeing the opening you had been expected to verbalize your worries. “Usually it’s Jungkook who comes around, though. To get the books.”

At that, his semblance succumbed into the shadows of his skeptical doubt, “Jungkook?” Yoongi repeated with a certain speck of reluctance.

One star of hope scintillated inside your gaze, “You know him?” you could not help but question, taken aback by the possibility of receiving any sort of news from his part. So much, in fact, that you could not precisely measure the excitement that was casted over your features, corrupting your collected demeanor with the sentiments you could never be permitted to present.

Yoongi, however, did not appear to grow cognizant of your change in demeanor, for his full lips — rose-shaped and rose-colored — suddenly fell into a curvature of vacillation. Regardless of his sudden lack of focus, you should not grow too comfortable around him, for someone who worked with demons was surely observant of the most slight deviations of conduct, “I… not personally,” he paused, eyes falling to the marble counter for an instant. You could not tell if the hesitant action was genuine, which preoccupied you to the very core. “I only know his name, and, after everything that happened…”

You waited for an instant to see if his speech would resume, but no other information came to further characterize the events he was so vaguely referring to, “Everything that happened?” you echoed, impulsing his phrases to continue flooding the room.

His chest rose and fell with the dramatic breath that overtook him — his mannerisms were oddly mortal-like, if you had to say so. Usually, those acts were common within the angels of lower condecoration, not the superior ones, “You don’t know?” Yoongi calmly questioned. Was it pity that you observed beyond his ambiguous gaze, or were you merely projecting the reflection of your own inner worries onto a stranger?

No paranoia in Heaven was fruitless. Alarms had set off within your mind as you swallowed dry, growing uncomfortable at the hesitation that fell in the spacious hollowness between the two celestial creatures. His aura was somewhat suffocating to endure, dense and consolidated as if you were faithlessly attempting to breathe underwater. The errors of his presence was as obvious as a torn-out painting, the roots of fear pulsating inside your veins in disconex bargains for the unknown angel to simply leave, “No, I don’t think I do,” you cleared your throat. “I can’t really leave this place, you know?”

One more time, Yoongi took a profound inhale, hand moving to scratch the back of his neck. Those were not humane mannerisms, but spurious ones: he was trying to gift you with a sense of compassion and empathy, something that angels did not show for one another. He was ridiculing you, “May our Father help me. I hate telling the bad news,” the man whined, but his gaze no longer found your own.

Liar — he adored it. After all, what could motivate a pure angel to decay into infernal trials if not the false notion of justice, what could motivate him to be relocated to his position if not the perfect choice for his mission? In the name of everything that was sacred, every piece of that puzzle begun to form a shuddersome picture within your conceptualizations; presuppositions conglomerating into one furious torment of exasperating realities. Yoongi was there as the personification of a forewarning, the lightning that indicated the upcoming thunder.

Atmosphere growing thicker with apprehension, you could only request for him to continue with a weak, “Please do. I want to know.” which was, too, made of unrealistic sentiments — or, better yet, the absence of such. Yoongi showed you false remorse; you showed him apathy. The two of you were just playing parts of a much more evil, unsympathetic spectacle.

And, with his succeeding words, the curtain fell.

“Jungkook was casted down a few weeks ago. Earth.”

Silence. With a second that lasted between a heartbeat and the prolonged hours of a sunrise, that moment was only filled with pure, unstained silence. Shock came and went in waves, sending your mind to work on its full force then succumb into numbness, fingers feeling both cold and warm when placed against the counter — mayhaps for support, mayhaps for a touch of reality, “He was w-what?” you struggled to get out. Your words did not appear to be real.

Yoongi answered with a breathless lament, “Yes, I know, I had the very same reaction. Angels being casted down isn’t something you see every century,” the stranger suspired, but you could not help but feel as if his tone echoed from meters above, or perhaps from under the seven seas. The universe seemed to be deadened and obfuscous; cold-blooded and unjust, “If I’m not mistaken, it was something about social misconduct, inappropriate relations. I don’t know the details, sorry.” he explained further.

Panic. That was a sentiment you knew of, but never truly experienced ― there was no proper reason to. Using the information you had gathered throughout your everlasting days, you could tell that it was a terrible sensation that grew from the bottom of one’s breathless chest to the edge of their tremulous fingers, turning their entire figure in a paroxysm of numbness as it did so. Such trepidation was claustrophobic, suffocating; induced for levelheaded thoughts evanescence into nothingness as an overwhelmed, exhausted heart ever so faithlessly attempted to follow the arrhythmia of such terrible situation. That sensation should feel like gelid fire — both burning one’s spirit and congealing its victims to the bone.

Per contra, now your position was a drastically different. Now, your trembling lips found it difficult to formulate proper sentences, your mind working on its maximum speed to control your heartbroken tone, “Do you know if he is… if he is okay?” you managed to vocalize, wishing that the newcomer could not find any traces of your abysmal dismay waltzing within your voice.

Coruscations of doubt momentaneously shone in the background of Yoongi’s gaze, but he managed to keep his feeble ponderations to himself as he gifted your with an answer, “You know what they say, no human is ever okay,” what was supposed to become a lighthearted joke rapidly morphed into a bottomless dread within the cage of your trapped spirit. Never once had the Library felt so gargantuan, so permeated with malevolence — as if you could feel every centimeter of its golden marble perishing into nothingness, decaying into the horror that took over your soul.

An apathetic nod of comprehension was all that the dark angel received in return. Vaguely, you could feel the presence of a book appearing at the bottoms of your consciousness, the object that ever so gracefully danced in the same air that now intoxicated you. You felt nothing but disgust and consternation.

The two lovers had been blissfully ignorant in a sea of poisonous vipers, had reenacted the expulsion from the Garden of Eden and now they were facing the consequences for their treacherous acts. But of course, there was no excuse: the celestial creatures knew that it was against every Heavenly commandment to enter those types of relationships — if a mere friendship was seen as dangerous, a romantic rendezvous would be seen as a straight up offense against everything correct that ordered the hierarchy of paradise. The two of you had been fools to believe they were invincible.

May the Heavens have mercy on me, you thought.

Amongst the vexation of your mental distress and a muffled, “I think that’s my book,” that came from the man’s part, you inquired if his presence was there to guide your towards your own, personal punishment.

But no: you had already grasped the penalty being inflicted upon you, had understood that Jungkook was the one who received the blissful ignorance of an eternal circle of human lifes. What you would get was much, much worse than any earthly or hellish punishment. You should have known better.

The anguish that lacerated your spirit was easily camouflaged as you swiftly turned around, hand reaching out to grasp that mortal’s story, “Yes, yes it is,” you mumbled, almost to yourself. As you turned back to the angel, an aspect of his presented personality had suffered a transmutation, for you could no longer discover any fragments of fake empathy you envisioned just a few seconds aforetime. Just as your mask of impassiveness was growing weaker underneath the ponderation of your misery, his semblance of pity was cracking under his villainous inclinations. “There you go, Yoongi. Please tell your superiors to—”

“—Return it quickly. I know the story,” the tenebrous angel interrupted your speech with endless delicacy, causing for your upcoming words to perish in the shallow space within your arid lips. Even though you could feel the sourness in Yoongi’s tone taking over the preoccupied edges of your nebulous mind, he still managed to keep his voice under absolute control ― something that both amazed and terrified you to the very core. “They have been hearing you, don’t worry about it. The process itself is long, but we are doing it the best we can to keep everything organized.”

They have been hearing you. Of course they have.

In the moment your eyes fall to accompany the way his hands reached for the book, a term effloresced in your mind: stained angels. That was how the afterlife referred to the cherubic creatures that adopted malevolent, demonic-like temperaments to work in the lower levels of Inferno; they, too, succumbing into mortal degenerations — from luxury to pride; from violence to taking pleasure in suffering. Some claimed it was a necessary step to judge the sins of humans, others were certain it was a “controlled corruption of grace” which only served to tear their race apart. Now looking at Yoongi, you understood what all those stereotypical characteristics meant: he was bathing in your distress, for he felt it with perfect saturation inside his own essence.

Consequently, the recognizement of his sadistic tendencies served to mask your ache with a veil of fury, “Sure... I understand,” your voice came out steady, your gaze did not falter away from his bottomless one. Worst than him were the ones who coordinated his visit, who judged appropriate to give your the news by such putrid vector, “Yoongi, just one more thing,” you requested.

Elevating one of his eyebrows, he paused. “Yes?”

A quivery, dubious exhale departed from your mouth as you ran over each and every letter on your subsequent words, unsure of the consequences they would bring, “This… cleanse,” you then vacillated, swallowing your hesitation dry so you could hold his gaze a bit longer. An indiscernible sensation flickered in his stygian eyes, and you felt as vulnerable as ever. Yet, oddly frustrated. “is it only happening in the levels of Hell, and Limbo?”

Yoongi was encompassed by a crepuscular, impenetrable aura as the inquiry found his ears. Continuously, you wondered if the lines of concentration that appeared in his forehead indicated that the man was aware of your prohibited adventures with the now fallen angel; if the hints of threat that danced at the delineations of his roseate lips meant something other than his lack of patience — the wicked pleasure that accompanied celestial justice, perchance, “Oh no, we are going extremely deep into it,” lethargically, the angel leaned his head to the side, studying you ― you had always despised how his kind did that, how his dark orbits held such infinite, overtaking wisdom. No matter your age, what mattered at that instant was his experience, the life he lived beyond the fortress of your duty, beyond the paradisiacal alabastrine walls of that stuffed Library. “Heaven is being thoroughly… purified.”

Yes. Of course it was.

Your roseate tongue moved in between your lips to lick the dryness away from them, every piece of your trembling spirit battling unseen wars to keep your tone steady. There was no protocol to follow, no rules to reinforce ― your voice got caught in the endless void of melancholy that expanded within your throat, the claws of fear preventing those hollow words from finding their way out, “That’s… that is very wonderful. Benevolent.” you formulated carefully.

Yoongi hummed in agreement, eyes shining with something you could not elucidate, “It is,” he spoke, taking the book up to his chest ― its adumbral scarlet cover resembled blood when placed against his ebony suit, an image that only served to set your panic aflame. Jungkook could bleed now, he could feel in the flesh the torturous paths of mankind, “We have rules for a reason, don’t we?” he smirked, breaking your worries at the spot.

“Jungkook, be careful. We have rules for a reason.”

You looked back up. Never once in your life had you used so much of your concentration to keep your semblance devoid of any sort of emotion, “Certainly,” you spoke out, glad enough that your tone did not shake with the mere connotation of that word. Innerly, a mixture of anger and defeat cursed the Heavens that surrounded you for stabbing your heart, then claiming you had no chance to bleed without pointing at your own guilt — you were alone against the system you once had taken shelter under, utterly relinquished of assistance.

You had been so, so ignorant.

Yoongi’s lips curled upwards in a geranium-colored smile. You could vouch that the delight that dripped from his gaze was perfectly induced to mock your pain even further, to show that your anguish was nothing more than welcomed, enticed by a system that was fueled by reprehension, “You’re a very trusted worker, so I wouldn’t worry too much about what we do. Keep doing your job well and you won’t be caught in the radar,” he told your with diaphaneity, amusement bathing every word that departed from his throat. He was the first one to break eye contact, but he had already found his victory moments before, “Have a good day, YN.” he wished you.

Had you ever gifted the man with your name? You could not recall, “You too, Yoongi,” you responded, automatically so.

In a matter of two deep inhales and a few steps against the marble ground — which deliberately got farther and farther away —, you recognized yourself unaccompanied in Heaven’s Library once again. With Yoongi, departed along the aura of nefarious thoughts, but the scars he had left would never leave you alone.

It was there, you could feel it now.

Barely noticing your actions, you turned around and faced the endless halls of mountainous shelves and the currents of waltzing books that moved in brownian motion. Pathless, your eager eyes darted around the room, which appeared to be closing off around you, morphing into a tunnel of confusion as your weak and tremulous legs gradually took steps deep into that alabastrine universe. The pastel figures painted on the ceiling appeared to laugh at you with all their endless grace, watching as you moved like a zombie through those corridors, searching for a lover that could never be touched again.

Your tranquil steps morphed into a rushed pace, and then you were running. Everything seemed too torpid, too claustrophobic — you did not know where you were heading, but you were aware something was calling you to run past those shelves, to take corner after corner in the search for an intangible persona. In some way, you expected everything was nothing but a malevolent joke — perhaps a minor warning for your to change your conduct — and that maybe, with a simple blink of an eye, or even the turning of a corner, you would discover your angel, with all his characteristic elegance, smiling tenderly at you. Arms and heart open to take you in.  

However, you were aware that you would never find Jungkook again. Not in flesh, at least.

The progression of your terror-stricken heartbeat seemed to pulsate through every piece of your insubstantial body, verbalizing prayers inside your ears and exploding in storms of sorrow in your chest; the dizziness of exhaustion slowly finding its way around the ephemeral adrenaline rush. In all its magnificent expansion, the heavenly Library was asphyxiating. Floating books and golden shelves surrounded you from every angle, reticent gods that ever so mercilessly cornered your running figure in a maelstrom of infinite pathways covered in dust and despondency.

Shaky laments reverberated in the thick of the ivory walls, decaying into fragmented requests for clemency as you found your way deeper into its realms. The universe metamorphosed into blur as you grew nearer to your unforeseen destination, guided by the unspoken calls of your pain. If asked, you would not be certain about how long you were there, stumbling towards something you did not know existed; being closely watched by the bronze statues that you despised with so much force. Every step was a struggle, every new shelf presented you with more corners to turn. It was a labyrinth with no ending. A soul with no salvation.  

Until, at last, you found it.

For a instant that lasted eons, your legs were turned into gelid stone by the claws of hesitation and denial. Now and then, in an ephemeral speck of understanding, you finally grasped what that unnamed human meant when they said that the hardest goodbye was the one they never got; you finally grew to feel the heart-tearing distress that motivated humankind to create masterpieces about a lost companion; to poetize about the departure of the soul.

You understood the pain of love in its rawest, most primordial ways.

You seeked for balance by placing your back against the shelves; craving for something capable of pinning your down to reality as your consciousness slowly drifted away from your grip, cognizance running in between your fingers like thin sand. In a volcanic explosion of melancholy, you cried out, hands mindlessly reaching for him, pressing him against your chest. Quivering fingertips and cheeks wet by the tears you were not aware you had been crying, your breath was cut short by a wave of anguish and melancholy you had never before experienced, thorns upon thorns that pierced your skin and tore your essence apart.

After what appeared to be hours wondering an endless world, you found his shelf, found his number; both numbers far too long to be easily pronounced. Before your eyes, laid the book that caused for your existence to shatter into pieces, those three simple words that had catalyzed a new, human story to take shape.

Jeon Jungkook. Earth.

[proudtoehaver]

Chapter 5 – An Evening Among Friends

A/N: Can also be read  on AO3.

If you want to start at chapter 1 it can be found on AO3 and on tumblr.

I apologize for taking so long with this, I needed to make a decision of where exactly to take this story and how I was going to get there. Hopefully I’ll be able to write chapters a bit faster now that that is sorted.

Finn reaches for another bite on his plate, only to find it empty of food. He stares at it, surprised that he'd finished all of it without noticing. But then, he had been too occupied trying to find anything about Beshen-42 or Datung.

He's tempted to continue digging, but he suspects that looking through maps and navigational records will get him no more than he already has. The kind of information he wants, that he needs, can't be found in star charts or travel routes.  

But it might be found in the recreational lounge's media library.

That knowledge exerts an almost physical pull on him, a siren's call to his heart, to go to the lounge right this instant and flip through the holonovels and documentaries for anything that might be there.

Doing so might call attention to him though. He had said he was going to work on these maps until he was done and failing to do that would rise questions. He normally followed through with his promises and deviating from his habit would cause raised eyebrows.

It, he, will have to wait till later if he wants to dig around unnoticed.

With a sigh he pulls out the chip with the navigational data and reinserts the old Imperial map Brance had given to him a few hours earlier – was it really only a few hours, it feels like a lifetime – and calls it up. If he's waiting, he might as well do some of that work he had promised to do.

His concentration keeps slipping away though his thoughts wandering to the mystery of Datung, a thousand questions whirling through his head, all of them unanswerable.

Mentally disciplining himself he again and again brings attention back to the star chart to look at another system and another, to add what he knows about the First Order's activities in it. And three or four systems later his mind is wandering again. The cycle continues for over an hour, Finn's irritation at himself at his inability to keep his mind where it should be, constantly mounting.  

In the end he surrenders. He'll get nothing more done tonight, try as he might. He may as well call it a day, pack up and head to the lounge and if any questions are asked, then he'll just have to come up with some sort of answer.

He shuts down the console after having taken a copy of the section of both Imperial and Republic map that contains his home system and heads back to his quarters, detouring through the mess to drop of the dirty dishes.

He locks up the Imperial map in the safe in his room. He's still a little surprised at the easy trust general Organa, major Brance and all of the Resistance has put in him. Picking his memory for information makes sense, but that they trust him with sensitive information, continues to surprise him.  

As does the level of privacy he has. His quarters might be small by the standard of most people in the Resistance, he continuously hears others bemoan how tiny the rooms on the old ship are.  But while each one is indeed small, having only room for a bed, closet and a tiny desk and chair, they're one-person cabins giving the resident total privacy, an unheard-of luxury to Finn whose life have been dominated of dorms and sleeping quarters for full squads of people to a room. As is the private fresher, though this is shared with the cabin beside his own as are all of them. But used as he is to communal facilities sharing it with one other person is no hardship. Even less so as the person he shares with is Poe and the man has a tidy streak that almost rivals Finn's own.

Having locked up the files safely Finn's gaze fleetingly crosses the bed. It looks soft and tempting as a sudden weariness wash over him leaving him feeling drained and his head filled with fuzz. But the beckon call of the lounge's library is stronger still.

                                                           oOoOo

The lounge is crowded with people, most of which Finn are casually acquainted with and he has to decline several invitations to join in various activities as he crosses the room to the corner that keeps their library.  

The friendly welcome he is met with leaves him with a feeling of awkward discomfort. It is still too new and unfamiliar for him to be accepted in this easy manner and he's never quite sure how to respond, or able to silence that tiny suspicious voice that tells him that none of this is real and that every smile and invitation to join hides some other motive.

The five and a half bookcases that are crammed together can hardly be called for a library in Finn's opinion. And it's not just the size, its content is such a mishmash of things, a throw together of whatever various Resistance members had donated to it.

He's pretty sure that if he tried to explain the size of the libraries that Stormtrooper cadets have access to, most people here wouldn't believe him. He doubts they'd understand how it's possible to have access to so much information and not see the First Order for what it is. But Finn has discovered exactly how insidious the First Order is after leaving. It isn't that they restrict information it's that they offer one and only one view, their own. If you tell people the same lie long enough, if you give them access only to that one falsehood and present it as the truth, then very few people will be able to see through it, much less present a counter argument.

But right at this moment Finn almost longs for those libraries, silently berating himself for never daring to look up the name of his home planet, seek information about it. But when he had had the chance he had always been too scared, terrified that it would ever be discovered that he knew what he should not. So it became a secret he carried in his heart but never dared to do anything about.

He can only hope that now he has found the courage and the beginning of an answer, he can find what he seeks.

A few Resistance member spend some of their free time keeping the library in some vague semblance of order, so finding works about galactic history and geography isn't hard. The challenge is choosing which will hold the greatest chance of him finding what he's looking so he won't have to read every single item to find out if what he seeks is there or not.

"Hey there."

Poe voice makes him jump.

"Sorry I startled you again. You seem far away today."

"Yeah, no. Just-"  

Stars, what is he going to say?

"Looking for any new romances?" Poe teases kindly.

Finn chuckles. His love of romantic stories has become something of a friendly, running joke among his friends.

"No, more- More history or, stuff like that."  

Yeah, that's safe.

"Anything in particular?" Karé asks as she steps up to them.

"Erm, maybe-" He can feel his heart racing and he's wondering if his nerves are written all over his face. "Well, eh- Looking at all those maps got me thinking that I know the First Order's version of the story of the Civil War and the formation of the New Republic. I'd kinda like to get to know the other side?"

Poe gives him a sly grin and an 'uh oh' look that Finn doesn't understand. Karé immediately piques up.

"I know who you need," she says. "I saw her here the other day."  

Poe leans over and whispers, "You hit her favorite topic, she's a major history buff."

"Let me see, hope she's still here. Ah yes!"

She pulls out two holonovels from the shelf and hands them to Finn, the gleam of excitement in her eyes impossible to miss.

"Jafan Zapal's books on the beginning of the Rebellion and the early formation of the Republic. Her main time period in these two is about ten years after the formation of the Empire to about five years after its fall, but she goes further back a few times. She isn't just critical of the Empire but also of the new Republic, made her not very popular telling people things they didn't want to hear."

"Critical how?" Finn asks.

"She thought the New Republic repeated too many of the old one's mistakes. Mistakes that led to the formation of the Empire. That they focused too much on getting things running and not on getting them running well, had no time plan for implementing very much needed changes in structure and government that couldn't be put into effect right away and therefore ran the risk of never being done. Especially as those changes would harm those of the old guard still around and in power. She wrote a whole series of articles about it for scientific journals. Got her fired in the end."

She pulls a grimace.  

"Well, they claimed it was due to restructuring," she goes on. "But they wanted her gone. Thought it gave them bad publicity. So, she turned to writing popular science books like these two. They were her first and are by far the most popular. Why are you laughing, Poe?"

Poe holds up his hands, a smile still on her face.

"I'm not, I swear I'm not. I just sometimes forget how passionate you are about history."

"Poe, it's history. It's what we're fighting for in a way. If we can't remember who we were, how will we know who we will be? You of all people should understand that."

Poe blinks and he looks a little shocked to Finn.

"Yeah, I... suppose you're right," Poe replies quietly, but Karé seems not to notice as she turns back to Finn.

"These makes for a good start if you want to know about history from the Empire and forward. I can throw some more at you when you're done if you want?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. That would be great."

"But whatever you do, give Corr Berand a wide berth."

"He's not that bad," Snap, who has joined them, interjects.

"You're right, he's worse. He did well under the Empire for a reason. The man is a bigot, a chauvinist and a member of the Centrists' Old Empire faction. And I better give the politics a rest, I can feel Jess giving me side eye. If we skip playing vector tonight just because I went off, I'll never hear the end of it."

"It's okay. Thanks for the recs," Finn says, pockets the two holonovels and takes a step back.

Poe puts a hand on his arm.

"Please stay. If not, I'm going to have to team with Snap and he's shit at strategy games."

Finn expects Snap to protest, but the large man just grins.

"I don't know," Finn replies.

He's itching to go back to his room with the two holonovels and skim through to see if there's anything at all about his home planet.

Poe puts a hand on Finn's arm. It's warm and he can feel the grasp through the fabric of his jacket.

"Please?" Poe says, is warm eyes exerting their own pull on Finn.

"One game."

"Great!"

                                                              oOoOo

Vector is a game with its origin in dejarik, but instead of pitting two players against each other it has each side be a team of two or three people, each player with their own pieces that they control. The goal is the same as in dejarik though, to defeat the opponent or render their forces inoperative, but has the added element of needing teamwork and the complication of team members not being able to discuss tactics during the game but having to read each other's moves.

While dejarik had been a common game played by the Stormtrooper cadets it was not one Finn had played often. Not because he wasn't good, but because he was too good. No one wanted to constantly lose to him. But the added complications of vector are still new to him as he's not had many chances to play it yet in the brief time since he left the First Order.

He's good a teamwork, but he's used to being put in a leadership position with others following him and the give and take style of Poe's leadership with its unclear hierarchy is unfamiliar to him. Karé and Jess on the other hand has worked together countless of times and it shows in the effortless way they read each other's moves and strategies, and by the time the match is less than half way done it is clear to Finn that he and Poe is going to lose this one.

Perhaps his thoughts are a self-fulfilling prophecy or perhaps it would have gone that way regardless of his expectations, but he and Poe do end up the losers.

Poe congratulates Karé and Jess, and the two of them drifts off to one of the sofa arrangements along with Snap. Finn stays seated at the game board, looking at it in dismay.

Poe puts a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention away.

"Hey, you coming? Or you calling it a night?"

"I'm sorry we lost."

A frown flits across Poe's face.

"Hey, it's nothing. It's just a game. We weren't even playing for money."

Finn shrugs, unable to let go of his sense of anxiety and irritation.

"I guess," he replies mostly to say something and gets off the chair. "I'm going to head back to my room, I'm kinda tired."

Poe nods.

"I'll come too. I'm pretty done in. It's been a long day."

"Okay."

Bidding the other three goodnight, the two of them head off together.

                                                        oOoOo

Spaceships has no nighttime as there is no night in space and the machinery needs constant supervision. So its rooms and corridors are always filled with beings fulfilling their tasks or going from one job to another. But as Finn and Poe heads towards their cabins it is between shifts, so the corridors are less busy than they could have been.

"Poe, can I ask you something?" Finn says as they walk.

"Sure, buddy."

"When Karé said that 'you of all people should understand that', that is, the importance of history, what did she mean?"

"I guess, that... my family is from Alderaan. That when our planet was destroyed remembering who we were became all the more important if we were going to hold on to ourselves and not get swallowed up by the galaxy."

"Oh, I didn't know that. That you were from Alderaan, your family I mean."

Poe shrugs.

"I've always thought of myself from Yavin, that's the only place I recall. There's a strong Alderaanian foundation in the settlement I grew up in, but it's not really something I spend a lot of time thinking about. There's stuff from other places too, we're not the only ones living there. And it just... kinda is. I don't know if that makes sense."

"Maybe."

Where you grew up, how you grew up, was something you carried with you no matter what. But maybe it wasn't that big a deal, maybe it didn't have to be.  

He looks at Poe out of the corner of his eye. The man looks tired and worn. The lines on his face usually soft and barely noticeable, have become deep grooves.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Hmmm? What? Yeah, I'm- I'm fine. Why?"

"You look a little, well tired."

"It's late." The lightness in Poe's voice sounds contrived.

"It's not that late really and you don't usually look like this even when it's much later."

"It's- Argh, it's a lot of things. I'll feel better after a night's sleep."

Finn makes a small hmmm, not pushing the issue though he gets the feeling that Poe isn't telling him the truth.

"How about you?" Poe asks. "How are you doing? You've felt spacy when I talked to you tonight and... well, like you're somewhere else. Or want to be somewhere else."

Finn feels his pulse pick up.

"No, it's- It's my dream, it just keeps coming back. I just wish I could forget it. That it'd leave me alone."

"Ah. Yeah, well. Let's hope you can sleep without dreams tonight. And if they do get bad, you know my room is just through the fresher. You can always come in."

Finn shifts on his feet, feeling both warm and cold at once.

"Yeah."

There's a moment of silence before Poe smiles again and briefly clasps Finn's shoulder.

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

                                                            oOoOo

Poe's is greeted by soft beeps from BB-8 the moment he steps through the door.

"Hey there, buddy," he says softly as he steps into the room.

He kneels down and gently rubs Beebeeate's round belly.

"How was your day?"

He's answered by a flurry of enthusiastic beeps.

"Huh, that good?"

There's no masking the affirmative, nor the querying tone in the whistles that follows.

"It was- It could have gone better. I just don't know how to handle all these kids. Eh, maybe I'm just getting old, can't stay twenty forever, " he says with a lightness he doesn't feel.

He gets to his feet and start making his usual 'before bed' rounds in the room, setting the alarm, fluffing his pillows and changing into his nightclothes. But it isn't the troubles of the new recruits, or their youth that occupies his mind as her gets ready for bed. Rather it's Finn.

He was so clearly uncomfortable earlier, nervous and agitated, and very distant all evening. He had put in some effort in their game, but he still seemed not quite himself and not altogether there. The lighthearted quips he'd usually make were nowhere to be heard, nor was his soft laugh.

The answer Finn had given minutes ago had felt off, like there was something he held back, something he didn't want to tell Poe. Maybe he should have pushed harder to get Finn to talk, but it felt like too much of a violation of Finn's privacy. If he wanted to keep this to himself, surely that was his right.

Poe just wishes that Finn would open up, even a little. Even if it is to tell Poe to take a hike.

If his company was making Finn feel uncomfortable, whether it was because of Poe's active part in combat or because of his growing feelings for Finn, then it might be better for both of them to part ways instead of wearing away at each other. Even though the thought of a life without Finn is not a something he wants to entertain perhaps it would be for the best.

And if it's something else that's burdening him, then carrying it alone can't be good.

Tomorrow, Poe promises himself. He'll try again tomorrow. And the next day and the next, until something gives. He can't just let things stand as they are, he can't let Finn fight with whatever this is alone.

[talkingtomyselfandotheroddities]

YELLOW MEADOW (a short story)

Have you ever thought that you could become... a sacrificial lamb? Yeah. Neither have I. But here I am...

* * *

I had this recurring dream. Always the same. Started when I was six, maybe seven. I know, because I drew it and brought it to school. I misunderstood the project. I wasn't supposed to draw that kind of dreams. I guess it was supposed to be candylands, new bikes, rainbows, unicorns, dolls. Not a yellow meadow. With red river in the middle. Well, it wasn't a river but a scarf. I was a kid and not every kid had mad drawing skills sucked with their mother's milk. The scarf was supposed to float, dancing in the wind. So I get why everyone thought is was a river. Especially that both meadow and sky were desert yellow.

So there it was: name, age and a note at the back that I had to see school's shrink. I didn't understand why. Neither did my mom. But they asked me to draw dreams again. And I aced it. Teddy bears, dolls and lollipop castle did the trick. I might have peeked at my best friend's drawing and listened my mom's whispered suggestions to show them how I loved lollipops so the would forget. And they did. Most of them.

There was this teaching assistant. He would look at me funny way (no, not like that you pervert). Like he knew something, but couldn't share. And I just thought he was weird with his greenish hair combed back and shining from some gel or whatever hair specific he used to make them this way. With his black plastic glasses, half framed. He said once they were “vintage” from 60s in Twentieth century...

Mama kept my drawing – she said it was pretty. But when I brought few more like this she told me to stop. Then she took the first one from the fridge's door. I was standing in the shade of the hallway and watched her. I wasn't sure back then but now I know I what I saw wasn't my imagination playing tricks. Tear on her cheek. It gleamed blue and purple. Then she noticed me and there was no tear. I thought it was the light that danced and reflected on her face. But there was nothing there that could do that. Now I know.

Then I dreamt another dream. That one only once. Yellow bricks shaped into ruins. On history classes teacher told us those were castles – Earth's ancient history. So I went through some books in the library, some data but I couldn't find anything similar to what I dreamt about. And none of them were yellow or this particular hue. The images of that dream haunted me for long. It was more nightmare than a dream. My scream woke me up and at first I couldn't tell where I was. Sunny ruins left lingering cold sensation that cut deep through my bones.   

* * *

I was a very lonely teenager. With my scream I woke up everyone in the dormitory. In that particular boarding school it was believed that punishment was the best recipe to make upstanding citizens out of unruly kids. No one, especially teachers liked to be awoken in the middle of the night. So the sensation from the dream had been perfectly prolonged by iced cold “shower” in a form of a garden hose in the middle of the courtyard for everyone to see and then stone floor of the broom locker. Well, no more brooms there – just an empty, dark, damp and cold space. To think through wrongdoings, bad behaviour, etc.. I promised solemnly to respect others' rest shivering in soaked clothes. Promised to not to wake up others in such an awful manner (like I had any influence on that, but fine). Somehow I kept the promise. I didn't dream at all until my stay at boarding school was over.

Two years of deadbeat sleep later and grades screaming “average” I was done with the school. At least one of the subjects could, well would be better if I didn't ask too many questions. That's what the professor said. She added it was “NOW” that we were focusing on. The great present time and  well tailored society. I should have shut my mouth (you would think I've learned it by that point, I guess I was rather resistant). I asked about future. And I could have walked and locked myself in that broom storage myself right after last words echoed way too loud through the classroom. Kids' buzz ceased abruptly – sound cut off like when you put those headphones on, the ones you use in super loud places: airports, heavy duty or what I know. I saw her eyes burning with hatred so great I have never seen in my life, not even in my step-father's eyes when I didn't want to let go off my mom and go willingly into the bus taking kids to that goddamn school. I didn't want to let go, 'cause somehow I knew I would never see her again. I couldn't explain it. But I told her that anyway and I saw in her eyes that she knew that as well.

So the hatred was burning with red rage in professor's eyes, so before she spoke I told her I would go to principal's office and report my inappropriate behaviour.

'Vocabulary' she corrected me and I frowned. 'Purposeful dwelling on incorrect thinking process' she said and seeing my face she wrote the note telling me that she would know if I didn't deliver it to the headmaster. If she didn't say it I wouldn't know from the note, I couldn't tell. Her writing was somewhat challenging, especially when she demanded replies or corrections according to her notes under many assignments she loved to give.

They didn't lock me in the “broomstick” locker straight away. They called some board of shrinks and serious looking people. I was sat on the chair in square, grey and empty room. It was big, cold and the chair was in front of long table where six sets of eyes were watching me. They ran some tests too. But those people were there to ask me questions. Loads of questions. And in my head I had my mother's whisper about lollipops. I aced it again. Must have answered it the way it fit in their box. Because there it was: “broomstick” locker not something worse.

But before I was sent they scribbled and scribbled for what it seemed like ages, looking from papers every now and then, then they told me to wait outside for the decision. Then their verdict (that I didn't get to know) was attached to my files and grades sheet. Like it wasn't enough my English teacher lowered my final grade. I wanted to say it was out of the blue, but... There was this library incident and books 'unsuitable for teenagers'. I thought it was just one of those things adults say, the things their adults told them when they were discovering world and testing boundaries. One of those things teenagers simply do. I was very wrong.

Anyway, I didn't expect to get high end job. Not with common background and no money for internship/course fees... Well, bribes. But that word apparently was distorting the nature of this practice. Learnt it hard way. Of course. A clerk pushing papers would be something nice and well paid. I think some accommodation were one of the perks at some point, especially for exemplary service. But my big mouth wasn't something that was falling under 'exemplary' so nothing fairy secure or comfortable was in store for me. So this plus serious people's opinion about me and I landed as a server in the diner. Could be worse. And it wasn't bad all the time. Just when people were dickheads (so almost all the time). But let's face it: ambition gives strange courage to pick up on ones who are supposedly worse than you.

But sometimes... I listened to the stories so great it was hard to believe they were true. Stories about times when it was alright to dream a dream. Sad ones about times long gone. And a war that desolated half of the planet, because “humans are good in losing control”.

And then there was 'Preacher'. He wasn't one actually. Or maybe he was? No one knew exactly who he was. Just like where he came from or where he was disappearing when he wasn't coming to the diner. Then he was emerging after days of absence with handful of stories/ sermons said in voice strong as church bell calling people for a morning service. This voice stood in awful contrast to his ragged and hunched posture, scarred face and bushy beard. Kids either were scared of him terribly or were mocking him mercilessly. But he seemed not to notice. Focused on his mission given by no one. With madness as its driving force. He was walking opposites: he could be quite incoherent at times with no sense in words repeated viciously, then he talked about times when single mind mattered, when idea was a saving grace not enemy of the system. And times to come that would restore the balance between individual and masses. People were usually treating him as free entertainment, he was never aggressive, never caused problems. Every now and then I was giving away my shift meal, couldn't really do more for this poor guy. My pay wasn't the best but I was getting by. And he seemed bit embarrassed when I brought him meals but hunger was more powerful. It wasn't really a big deal and there was something wise and kind in his eyes. And his stories fascinated me. The more I heard the more questions I had. [And he answered as well as he could].

I still remember our last conversation. Every word of it. Sometimes I wondered if I could know back then what would happen. That it was the last one.

- Dreamers... - he started lazily looking outside the window. At first I thought he was referring to the traffic, oddly fascinated by it. But then he pointed at bits of the sky between buildings. It was so... blue. Intense and vivid like precious gem. The colour looked like perfect photo's paradise blue. Almost impossible. My thoughts started to float carelessly and suddenly he continued his thought. - … dreamers were allowed to dream back then, you know. - it wasn't a question. Strange statement. Had I bitten my tongue then I wouldn't be in deep now. But I looked at him but puzzled and said.

- I've got a dream that I was told to forget, bury deep...

- Oh? - he looked at me furrowing his brows, he listened so I carried on.

- Colours as intense as today's blue skies. But it's yellow and red that are so vibrant and strong... - I stopped startled, because there was something strange in his eyes. Madness? Total clarity?

- Tell me more. - he lowered his voice for the first time ever since I met him. I told him about the meadow, the anxiety that accompanied the vision. I hesitated for a second seeing him listening so intently, but then I told him about the yellow castle.

He was silent for a long while. So long that I started to feel absolutely silly that I actually told him all this nonsense. But then, again in whispers, he asked me

- Did you tell anyone about this? The castle?

- Not really, no. At school they didn't ask for details. They wanted me quiet... - I replied warily wondering where this was going.

- Good. Good. Most of them have already forgotten about the drawings by now... - he said more to himself than to me. Then he raised his eyes and looked at me. They were so bright blue, just like the sky that day. - You need to meet someone. He'll explain everything to you. But until I can get you to him you need to be the most ordinary, bite-your-tongue, eyes-on-the-floor girl. Do you understand? Promise me!

- Eeee... sure.

- No. Promise!

- I promise? But who's this person I have to meet? Why should I meet him at all? When? What is it?

- No, no. Not now. You drew enough attention to yourself. No more. He'll find you... When I tell him all about it, he will. - he lowered his voice even more. - You might know him, his face...

Conversation was interrupted when three people entered the diner. There was something off and odd about them, though I couldn't say what. Trouble. I didn't expect the turnout though. He told me to get up and get to the kitchen, he stood up and blocked their way. Pushed me towards the bar.

- Go! Through the back door, now! - he scribbled something on the napkin and shoved it in my hand. - Don't look back, don't stop until you get there. Hurry! Go! - I was confused, but there was something in his voice, this urgency that told me to not to ask questions and do what I'm told. I was by the kitchen door when I saw them rush towards the Preacher. Two of them grabbed him, third one turned towards me. Preacher raised his voice, bit hoarse but loud saying that the spark and idea will live on, that they would not surrender. When I was racing through the parking lot I heard two dull sounds. My brain was screaming scared, cause I knew exactly what it was but I didn't want to admit it. The levels of fear coursing in my body hit the newest high and adrenaline kicked in. it was enough to lose that guy in the alleyways. I slowed down when I realized that no one was chasing me. For now. My left palm's knuckles were nearly white, I closed my fingers so tight around the note they were numb. Straightened out the note, drenched in sweat, revealed the address. Ink partially wore off but I could still read it.

Suddenly the fear was gone and strange feeling came over me, calm and clear: a sense of purpose. And with it, a place to belong, maybe. So I focused on finding the address. And it wasn't easy to find. It was safer not to ask anyone for help so that didn't help.

I wandered around, trying to calm down and analyse, well over-analyse the situation. My whole life I was told to keep quiet, fit it and stop with the questions. Suddenly someone let me ask and tell all the things tumbling in my brain and he met his end faster than I could say 'bullet'. And after that I was supposed to dive in and trust a bunch of complete strangers. Not to mention that I had to tell them what happened. And no one liked bad news. Especially this bad. And they didn't know me – another reason to not to expect a warm welcome. I only hoped that I would be able to say anything at all when I finally find whoever 'him' or 'them' were before they decided I was one of the bad guys. I was lost in that stream of possibilities when I got the feeling I was being watched. When I looked around I didn't see anyone. Either I was getting super paranoid or I wasn't alone. I stopped to take a look at the piece of paper again. A proof that I wasn't going insane and I actually met the man. But maybe he was? What if they were just asylum workers who finally found him. Maybe the noise wasn't what I thought it was? What if...? I turned towards the alley to get to the building I thought it pointed at. I folded the note and put in into my apron's pocket. Breathe in. Breathe out. I saw a movement behind me but didn't get a second to react. There was a sharp pain at the back of my head. I fell onto the wall as a gasped from pain. Then everything went black.

I opened my eyes. What a relief... Or was it? I realised I was bound to a chair. Right after that thought scared the shit out of me the light was turned on and blinded me. I struggled helplessly to shake the rope off my chest and my wrists.

- Where did you get this address?! Who are you?! Who wrote this?! WHO ARE YOU?! - someone was shooting questions in a speed of a machine gun's series. I was blinking furiously and as soon as my vision adjusted to the light I saw the goddamn note lying in front of me at the table. Someone was repeating all the questions and few more. On and on. Then just: WHO ARE YOU?!

- I'm... no one. - I finally stuttered.

A punch was too quick and too strong to take a look at the person in front of me somehow hidden in the shade. All these questions. I had a headache. I couldn't focus. I closed my eyes filled with terror and fear. I shouldn't have come, I shouldn't have listened to that old man. I should have forgotten about that fucking dream... And it hit me.

- The old man said: 'Dream your dream'. - I said louder than I wanted and expected another punch. But silence fell after my words. I opened my eyes slowly. I could feel the gaze placed at me.

- Say that again.

- I... I met this guy. He was talking about things, dreams. So I told him mine. He told me to dream the dream and that I was to meet someone and... - my voice broke. - … he told me to run. - I stopped frightened that he would recognise in my voice I didn't say the whole truth. But there was silence again. Then the door opened and closed. I was left alone, trying not to sweat under the heat of the lamp and see through the shadows of the other side of the room. I tried to free myself again, desperately thinking that I wanted out of that place but then I thought I couldn't be sure there was anything good waiting for me outside. And what was the worst – I had no idea who was after me. As for 'why'... I learnt that there didn't have to be any reason, really. It could always be 'found' one, conveniently shortly before a brief trial. Suspicion of a crime or wrongdoings, something against the ruling party was enough for questioning. And it never ended just on the questioning. And system always (yes always) showed rightfully and truthfully, with conviction and everybody's good that a shadow of a stain was indeed a stain. Suspicions were uncovering hideous crimes...

Suddenly I didn't care about anything anymore. If that was it: there was nothing I could say or do to change it. I heard two voices outside the door. Then someone came in. I looked at the person that walked in. Those funny glasses...

- I know you... - oh, that was very smart. Great job me.

- I'm sorry for this... - he pointed at the ropes. - It's a...um... precaution. - he said somewhat embarrassed and freed me from the bonds. - The old man... What happened? To him? - he asked but there was an undertone in his voice suggesting he already knew.

- He... he listened and told me things, all the stories... And when he heard about my dreams he told me I had to meet someone. But before he explained some people came and dragged him out of the diner. He told me to run... - I explained quickly wondering if I could actually trust him. Probably shouldn't, maybe they played bad cop, good cop. But it didn't matter anyway. He knew about the yellow meadow. He saw the drawing. I looked at him as he sat down at the other side of the table. Funny – there were still green shades in his hair. His eyes were very tired now, worry wrinkles were telling the story there. He was still skinny, but his shirt's sleeves were rolled up and I could see his arms were muscular. Full of bruises and scars.

- There were shots. I think that's what it was... - I added quietly. He rested his forehead on his hand with very heavy sigh.

- He knew the risks. - he said more to himself than to me. Then he raised his eyes at me. He cleared his throat. - I know that in school they teach kids to trust the system and to not to believe, abandon the faith. But... this system is broken, it's evil. And you'll probably think I'm insane, but... there's a prophecy. A promise of a better world. We've been looking for so long, checking and analysing every available bit of it. Thoroughly, carefully. We kept track of few children. It was the start. But nothing came through. You see, we needed the second dream. We're losing. Somehow they have found us and tracked so many. Many lives were lost defending the idea of free will and dream. So it's very, very important... - he grabbed my hand. His eyes were burning with strange passion as he continued, squeezing my fingers more and more. - We need a win, people are losing heart and hope. In me. In our cause. So you need to be sure what are you're dreaming about! Do you hear me?! - he nearly shouted. And in the next second he was calm again. He let go off my hand. Mumbled 'sorry'. I massaged my wrist and fingers, frowned trying to understand what he thought I was and what was going on.

- I... I dreamt about a yellow castle. - I said quietly, ashamed. - It was nothing but a scary dream.

- Scary?

- The sense of fear was tangible. - I replied after a while trying to find right words, still it didn't really do the justice. It's been ages since I have thought about it. - The sun either was setting or raising. It was blood red with this gritty veil over it, like sandstorm. It was warm, but castle's stones were ice cold...

- How do you know?

- I was inside. My skin must have touched it. - I recalled the sensation and I shivered.

- Okay. Anything else?

- I think I was in pain. I woke up screaming, the hurt felt very real. And the surroundings, the castle they were like from another world. I mean, I didn't recognise strange constructs around it. Some sort of piles of metal maybe. But I don't really know because of that sand like pollution was blurring the vision. - I finished describing the dream. He was silent for a longer while.

- No.

I didn't understand at first, but then I knew exactly what he meant. It wasn't it. My dream was just a dream. And he looked so distressed.

- We lost...

- No! No! There must be something?!

- There's no more. Our resources are empty, our net is crumbling being hit by military forces...

- But we can surely give people hope somehow? Let me help. I'm new to all this. Maybe new perspective is all you need right now. Try finding new hiding places, reshuffle and then you can continue the search for The Dream. - I cried to him. These people needed a motivation to carry on. The old man died thinking they had a breakthrough. They needed to strike back, show the strength, avenged him, keep fighting so his sacrifice wasn't for nothing. He believed in change and it's been ripped from him. Let's take it back. I told him all these things until I was breathless. Where did these come from? Where did the courage came from to say it all out loud?

- You're right. You need to tell them that. Your enthusiasm and his martyrdom might be something to tip the scale our way.

- 'Them'?

- Yes! Everyone. They need to hear this. That speech can lift spirits, give people incentive. Maybe some ideas to fight this uneven fight will be born. Maybe it's not lost. You might be right... - he smiled slightly. His face looked so youthful for a split second. Then he looked at me like he just noticed me. - But you must be starving?! And you probably quite cold too. - Oh, yeah I was still in my uniform. There was no time for me to grab my jacket nor my backpack (so I had no money, no ID, nothing) and when I thought about it I didn't eat from breakfast. Who knew what time it was and how long was I in there.

He lead me out through hallway to another room. It looked like a storage – shoes, coats, clothes, loads of stuff. In better or worse condition.

- We share, bring what we can and help each other out. It's the only base that wasn't discovered yet. - he explained when I looked around. - Take what you need. I'll be back in few minutes, find you some food. I'll gather everyone. Introduce you. What you said to me was good. It was pure. - he left noiselessly. I've found trousers, boots, a coat. Tucked my uniform into the jeans, took off my apron. How weird I didn't lose it somewhere on the way, when I at work there was not a day without it being on the floor or when it was coming undone during peak times at my shifts when I had no way of fixing it. 

I figured I would wander around but I was almost knocked over by people rushing through. Then there were three more: two dragged an inert and bloodied man, yelling for help. I hurried after then not giving it a second thought. I entered something like a makeshift hospital wing. Not much medical equipment there, most of it outdated. There were three people tending the wounded. They had their hands full. The ones that ran in there put the man on the nearest cot. The doctor, I assumed, prepped quickly the station to operate. But it was all chaos around, so many people in need, in pain and not enough hands to help. Nurses were busy with others. I couldn't do anything for the old man but I could... I jumped towards cabinets and started looking for bandages, scalpels and any medical supplies that could be useful. Doctor gave asked for few things as he realised what I was doing. Frightened gasps mixed with tired sighs and angry grunts and conversations lapping into each other. But he didn't seem to notice the noise, he cut the clothes, removed two bullets and started swearing when he started to remove the third one. I guess that was what doctors called 'a complication'. Me muttered 'Press here' and stitched other wounds. His hands moved fast with experienced precision. Suddenly the patient started to seize and shakes were getting worse and worse. I knew it was bad. 'We're going to need blood!' doctor yelled to no one particular. Few people raised their heads, either nodded or stood up. I guess they volunteered.

- Okay, on three you're going to take your hands away and I will try to get that hot damn bullet out. - he said to me and it took me good few seconds to record it was directed at me. - On my count: one, two, three...  

Untamed stream of blood exploded as soon as I took my hands away. The reading on a very old machine and monitor went berserk. It was easy to see it was worse than bad. It just spiralled down. Suddenly the doctor was sitting on the guy doing CPR and trying his best to keep him alive. But I knew he was already gone – flat line and monotonous sound announced the sad truth. He started pounding on dead guy's chest on and on again. I tried talking to him to make him stop. But he was in a trance. I grabbed his arm then – he pushed me away. The despair, anger resonated within this gesture which sent me towards cabinets. It was so unexpected I couldn't catch my balance and I fell right onto them, knocked most of the surgical instruments, landed on the floor and hit my head on the cupboard's handle. The noise drew the attention: doctor's and everybody else's. I was a bit dazed but it didn't stop me from trying to get up. I heard 'Doc!' over me and green haired guy (shit, what was his name again? Did he even give me one?) picked me up off the floor like I was weightless. I stood up shakily. Pain in my skull and being a witness to senseless death brought tears to my eyes. Green Hair still held my arm in tight grip like he was afraid I would slip back on the floor. Doctor's face expressed utter horror as he realised what happened. But then it was replaced with something else.

- You... - he mumbled something else, then he raised his voice pointing at me. - YOU! - I took a step back not knowing what did I do to get this strange attention. Tears rolled through my cheek. I wiped them off not giving it a second thought. His eyes followed my gesture. I looked at my hand – there was blue-purplish trace. I frowned and reminded myself that I have seen that before. - You found... It's her... - he turned to Green Haired. People were staring, started to whisper and come closer. They seemed to be awaken from a slumber. But he was mistaken. I wasn't what he wanted me to be and this was taking way too dramatic turn.

- You're wrong. This is nothing. This... - I wiped all the traces of my tears quickly. - It must be some genetic mutation, weird condition that runs in my family, my mother... - he didn't listen to me.

His face brightened up lips that seconds before were a thin and tortured line revealed rather white and even teeth in an ecstatic smile. The finger pointed at me wasn't an accusation, it was a triumph. The grip on my arm strengthened. I looked at  Green Haired. His face expressed strange urgency, he wanted me to just go with it, put on the cape and became 'The Hero'. My heart, my mind were yelling desperately 'No!', but before I denied everything with firm statement I've became the fucking 'Face of the Revolution': the room full of hungry, exhausted, decimated people with voices full of fear became a roar of relief and an illusion of hope.

* * *

I tried telling them that it wasn't me they were looking for. That I was one of them, I wasn't special – it only cemented the fact that they chose the right one to adore, so humble in her ways. I tried to convince the Green Hair it wasn't fair on people, that it was wrong but he said that I re-lit the spirit, inspired more people to fight for their rights and who knew maybe there was no hero to be found anymore.

News travelled fast. Too fast. Soon 'The Hero' was worshipped citywide, zone wide. But I was a fraud. They told me I was destined to do great things but I never wanted people to die with my name on their lips. Because the acts of rebellion became bolder, more frequent. And all I wanted was for the 'dying' part to stop. The more rebel actions the more military responses. War rooms, strategies, distribution of propaganda, codes and secrets. Great expectations became greater. People were waiting. Waiting for me. I was supposed to know, supposed to end it all. How could I? I wasn't aware there was resistance until I met the Prophet. I was working in a diner, ignorant to the big game, cog in the machine. A nobody with big mouth. I didn't know shit about leading wars, but I could fight. Yes, I needed to fight. At the front lines, arm in arm with those naïve zealots hoping for better tomorrow. But no, I wasn't allowed. Apparently I was supposed to be protected. At all costs. I didn't like it. So I started to find ways to sneak out: one battle, diversion, extra pair of hands. And it only helped 'The Cause' when people found out. Oh, my courage inspired them again. But it wasn't the courage, it was desperation. I needed it to be over. I needed the right person in the right place. So whoever it was would do what had to be done to finish this bloodshed. The real one that would take the mantle and unite people, help them live lives they deserved. I voiced my concerns so many times, but Green Haired shrugged it off, Doctor wanted to give me pills. He thought the pressure was making me say these things. And I was afraid that one day they would realise that I was just a coward, ordinary citizen, caught in the conflict I didn't fully understand.

* * *

- RUN! - I yelled on top of my lungs. Small group of people that was with me dispersed in chaos, like gazelles that spotted the lion. Or rather sheep attacked by wolves. Lesser chance of survival. Mindless flock trying to get away. So lost without its shepherd. Paralysed by fear. I heard scared screams of those hit by bullets, the ones cornered. I couldn't let the die. Couldn't leave them even though fear was taking my breath away. Makeshift weapons, Molotov cocktails were not enough. I caught their attention, they listened and ran after me as we gained the distance from the military. I've sent distress signal so someone could fight for the captured ones. I spotted an abandoned warehouse and headed there so we could hide. It seemed to be perfect – loads of rubble, metal, concrete walls, plenty of doors and levels. I thought we were safe there. But then I've heard commands barked through the radio, the building was being surrounded and people with me started to panic again. I had to think fast. The plan formed in my head so naturally it scared me for a moment. Clear and cold as a morning rose after dawn's fog. I've noticed a passage to adjacent building. But we needed a distraction in order to get people safely to the other side. The enemies were at the door. I told them to stay out of sight, wait for my signal then run like hell without looking back. They hid and I waited by the stairway, the moment first soldiers appeared I slammed the door hard yelling to no one 'save yourselves!' I turned around to a swarm armed to their teeth. I couldn't see their faces, balaclavas covered their smiles of satisfaction when they realised who they have caught. But their eyes were emitting poisonous triumph, that shot through to me like a radiation. It made me sick. But there was no going back. No other way. I stood there trying to look defiant. They searched for weapons – I had none, we were on the scavenger mission, we didn't expect company on the landfill. Their commander approached and grabbed me by my throat. Lifted me of the floor slightly so my feet barely touched it. I started to struggle for air when he slurred, his voice distorted by fabric and microphone (?).

- We knew you would screw up eventually... Bunch of amateurs. - he squeezed my throat tighter and lifted me higher. Desperate whizz came out if my throat as my feet dangles helplessly. Then he released the hold and I fell onto the floor. They brought me to my knees,cuffed my hands at my back, barked something through their comms. I understood it after a while. 'Search the floors, burn it all, let the rats flee.' Knowing there was no one upstairs I smiled. A sense of serenity came over me, it would be over soon. I think I started laughing.

- What are you laughing about? Don't you believe we burn them alive?! - he lifted me off my knees, he was filled with rage. - You lost.

- Did we though? - I knew I shouldn't antagonise him, I still did.

- They'll be lost without you, just like before. They will crumble, they're weak without you. - his eyes shone with unhealthy passion.

- Without me... But who am I? Today it's me, tomorrow someone else. It's the idea... - I didn't manage to finish the sentence. My head exploded with pain of thousands of needles. I blacked out hoping that the sheep I left behind would know that right after I was dragged out of there and soldiers ran upstairs it was their cue to run.

* * *

Through my jaded mind, in half asleep state, a dream appeared and played:

My mother took me to see full moon. Not the ordinary one, a blood moon. A rarity. A sensation. Something both terrifying and fascinating for a four-year old. I loved night sky and stories she told me about stars and beyond. It was very strange summer day. The air seemed electric and forecast had a warning about high levels of pollution. Yellow. The air was yellow when we took the road out of the city. Heavy clouds seemed to be a prelude to something ominous. Cumulonimbus gathering all around. But she said it was alright. It would clear by the end of the day. The rain tingled my skin. Temperature was unbearably high. But it was slightly easier to breathe as soon as we left the city's infrastructure behind. It was warm – the rain. It was a disappointment. I really hoped it would be cold. It made the surroundings quasi tropical. It was salty. And yellow. She said it wasn't pollution. 'It's sand. Desert's sand. Nature's trying to tell us we're not holding Earth's reigns. But we never listen.' she said.

It did clear before sunset. Still skies had this yellow hue, it was cast strangely at everything around like a shadow. Including big old house with towers on each of four corners. I wasn't sure about its colour. It looked like it was painted white, but then maybe it was a sandstone? Sunset bathed it with light and it was vivid yellow...

I opened my eyes confused. My dream wasn't a dream. It was a memory. As my confusion grew I gained enough consciousness to remind myself about my sorry situation. Held captive, waiting for death. It kind of surprised me. I was still alive. Would they torture me? What was the plan? Public execution then? Oh, they loved a good show. Making an example.

But nothing happened. I was locked, fed. No one spoke to me, no one interacted with me in any way. Nothing. Then they started to move me around. The cold steel's feeling lingered long after the cuffs were taken off my wrists. When they put a bag over my head, shoved me into the car, when city streets became outskirts roads I figured that was my last stop. That they didn't need to be careful that someone would find out where I was kept. Even though I never wanted to be 'The Hero' I wished that the idea, that hope would fuel the rebellion and lead it to win. I didn't want it to end with me. That madness, cruelty, discrimination had to stop.

They dragged me out of the car after a long and bumpy ride. The pulled the bag off my head, sudden light's saturation blinded me so much I nearly landed on the ground. When my eyesight adjusted I noticed that the air was tinged yellow.

- Fucking sandstorms. - someone muttered. That was the first thing someone said around me since I was imprisoned. I couldn't be sure who said it. The visibility was actually quite low. There was a thin layer of dust covering everything around. As they dragged me through gravel path I've noticed strange rusty construct, winding up and wired up. The antenna. Well, if they wanted to broadcast the kill the storm was an issue. They pushed me to walked faster, little stones crunched under their boots and my feet were hurting. I looked around trying to see more of the building we were heading to. I regretted it instantly and gasped as I recognised it even though it was in ruins now. West wing was completely collapsed. But east tower stood tall and showered in sunshine. Yellow. The air was hot just like on the day we went to see that blood moon. Funny, I couldn't remember if we did see it. It wasn't painted. It was a sandstone. Very worn now. Time did the deed. Looking at these yellow ruins I felt deep horror coming over me. For the first time I started to resist. In hopeless effort to delay the inevitable I strained my muscles to counter their strength. I recalled stone's cold overpowering my body. The dream was a premonition.

My struggle was cut short – few punches were enough to shift whatever power I put into fighting guards off to being able to walk at all. I had trouble breathing: bloody nose and sand in the air would do that to you. Only by the front door I realised that they were filming already. The one who was recording showed teeth in mean smile as my struggle and poor state were thoroughly documented.

- Yellow castle. - I said slowly raising my head. I looked straight at him. - It was always a yellow castle. End of me, beginning of something... - sentence interrupted, powerful as ever. Pain in my head and neck. Darkness. Piercing cold sensation to wake up to.

I would never say that stone could be so cold. I could have guessed, after all those nights spent in that broom locker. Guy with a camera. Someone else. Talking.

- … human... nothing more... bleeds like everyone else. - he pointed at me. He talked about me. What did he mean? I tried to move. But metal clanked and echoed, my arms were heavy. It wasn't only the weight of chains pulling it down. I thought they were just numb at first, then pain hit all my receptors and I moaned surprised by this sensation. My eyes surely widened as I noticed slits running down my arms. Camera was pointed at me for brief second then they cut the feed. I heard people enter the room, couldn't see much. The only source of light was a window up high letting in thin sun beams through. It must have been one of the towers then. Someone lit a candle and put it at my feet. Oh, so dramatic. They seriously could have end the theatrics and finish it. Whispers turned into blurry buzz. I heard someone's voice over my ear.

- You'll be gone before this candle's flame dies. - I knew that voice. Pull from my veins distracted me and it took me a while to put the pieces together. People stood on four corners of my stone bed. I saw the red light, it was recording again.

- I... know... you... - I stuttered and strained to focus on what I wanted to say. But it seemed that words have failed me.

- Shut her up. - I have seen that strange passion before. Someone stood over me. I saw a glimmer on hidden in the shadow face. A blue-purple tear gleamed in the sunbeam..

- Mother? - couldn't say anything else as she put a gag in my mouth. My eyes watered. Her tear fell on my cheek and soon it mixed with mine in unnaturally coloured stream. The gag muffled my scream. The discovery. The betrayal. It made me want to cling to life. To understand. To uncover the truth. To expose them. The Green Hair, man of as many names as people he came across. My mother, silent supported as I was lead to believe, by people feeding me stories, people I thought I could trust, on the right side of the barricade... They stood there watching me helplessly trying to break the chains until breathless and exhausted I stopped silently accepting my fate. I shivered. Shiver turned into convulsive shakes. The stone, the fatigue, my blood flowing in scarlet ribbons from my veins.

- You played your part well. Too well. Gave them the courage to fight the tyranny. The power will be ours soon. - she whispered to my ear before she took the gag off. Like she knew I wouldn't speak anymore. I couldn't take a deep breath, let alone say something. My body was hanging between pain and numbness. My mind was on the line between staying awake and nothingness...  

I have done enough for The Cause. My need to belong, the yearning to something else was easy to prey on. Telling me I wasn't The One was the way to crush my spirit and keep me in check. In case I wanted to start my own revolution. I wasn't the special someone but I could compensate in other ways, because people needed to believe in something. Might as well in me. And I was ridden with guilt of not being 'it', easy to manipulate. The puppet of the rebellion. Poster girl when politics were taking its toll in numbers of dead, when politics were in place for ambitious hyenas to get where they wanted to.

They didn't plan to dispose of me so soon, but he's authority was gaining cracks as I questioned his methods. Thank you, good-riddance. Next.

* * *

They showed the lifeless, bloodless body of their hero on nationwide stream. But they made a mistake, abandoned the location. Didn't care about leaving it behind. It could rot there, they said. The rebels found the house and searched every inch with their green haired leader at the front. Oh how lucky he was to seize enemies communications. They looked, to bury her with all the honours... But there was no body. His surprise was taken as a sign. Good omen. His speech was beautiful, a mea culpa, that he failed to recognise the Hero, that he doubted. The thought poured over the machine and oiled it to carry on with double power: either she was alive somewhere plotting the win or she was indeed divine. The fight for freedom flared with admirable viciousness.

* * *

- Results?

- Rebellion's clashes with 'government' forces in various locations decimated the population about 5%, raids and bombings further 3%, data is still coming through...

Images appeared and moved through screens along with statistics. We were watching the footage. Rebellion. It's ignition and how it spread. Civil war decimating city after city. A construct, our creation to control the Earth's population. So our planet was preserved or rather whatever was habitable was saved and monitored. Simulations were running constantly, different extent in different locations.

Someone could question moral side of it. That was very human thing to do. We weren't them. We did what was necessary. Why the process was spread over decades then? If there were no scruples involved it could be “sorted out” quicker: emergency state after emergency state, power struggle after power struggle, constant war until number were at satisfying levels. Our extended analysis of world wars and conflicts calculated that this long lasting simulation was the optimal option. It reminded regimes and tyrants ruling countries drowned in fear, misery and... hope. The hope for a change fuelled economy, society's morale was always lifted and more compliant with whatever newly formed government proposed, illusion that the change they've seen was a good change. Then the liberties, right after right, slowly were taken away, intricate construct so people wouldn't notice that their position didn't change and it was too late to escape the scam. When the thought of rebellion is born the military forces are way too strong, they're trapped. The despair is back on the table, nations shrivel when people's will die a little with each day, stagnant hopelessness ensues. That period is essential: people do what they told – experiments are done, technologies developed at any cost. In the meantime defiance is growing in their hearts, burns red with rage, plans are being made. When it bursts free the flame takes more lives at once than small wars would even imagine to do. It cauterises the earth, cleanses it so it can survive a bit longer. The massive event gives earth time for its rebirth.

- They never realise that they don't really pull the strings. So self-righteous. - she said as we watched the results float through screens. Then she fell silent again. - I still don't understand why YOU insist on being a part of it. You know that Rebel Zero bots are sufficient. This social experiment of your is failing. You've done this time and time again... - she said after long silence. She referred to my project where I was trying to prove there's still something worth saving in human race. That one of the groups wouldn't go for a sacrificing a life, that they would chose another path. Fight for a cause without personal agendas involved. Ideally a peace treaty and we would have to find another way to keep the species growth steady. So far it was always the same – time, opportunities and scenarios varied but the outcome was unfortunately the same. But I still thought there was potential in them. They were fascinating. And sometimes I wondered if the project wasn’t too cruel, after all it was bloodshed and they surely believed in all those divine concepts, and fate... Yes, the religious zeal. I guess that’s why there was the altar and the whole fuss about the death of the Hero. It worked both ways: the faith instilled in crowds made them brave and was becoming a weapon, a tool in wrong hands. What was it this time? Did they decide to mock the prophecy? Or was it ‘a missing piece’ that was found and someone wanted to prove it wrong, so they performed the ritual and showed the death of their Hero. But it bit them in the ass, didn’t it? When the dust settled and they came looking for the body to bury it with honours it was not there. And everyone have seen it on live TV. The surprise on his face was indeed genuine. Rather constant behaviour showing through my data.

But Evolved (as we chose to call ourselves) were losing patience. They couldn't really argue with numbers in my reports though. For the time of the simulation I was locking away the knowledge and a memory of being something else than    a human being, the only thing that was an indication I could have been something else was the yearning for more, but that could be easily dismissed as ambition, having high inspirations, a dreamer. The anomalies like purple-blue tears were happening to humans, this one was a kind one, there were vile abominations, remnants of nuclear wars and playing with genetics, bio and chemical weapons as one could expect from humans with pumped egos. In fact it was my android nature fighting off the virus – the human part, funny how organic it all was. So I was almost human with reactions and emotions like pain and sadness I was experiencing probably in more extreme way than most people. Apart from that I was a programme crucial for running this simulation. My results were always better than designated bots'. A paradox: it was the “human” part that was improving the numbers. It's been decades and decades of these simulations, decades spent on trying to prove the humane side of homo sapiens sapiens.

No one ever asked about the dreams. I guess the assumed it was just part of the story I was feeding humans with. I had results so they didn't question anything. Evolved didn't dream. It wasn't helping with efficiency so it has been eradicated at early stages of modifications Evolved applied on themselves. No dreams. They thought I just prepared for the role. Dreams could be so essential for humans. Premonitions. Good and bad omens. Reading dreams. The books, people explaining them, people building lies and scamming others... Evolved deemed it redundant so I didn't tell them I actually had few of those. The castle, the red scarf and moon. I wondered sometimes if it meant anything. Was it some other consciousness trying to get through to me? The human in me? Or rather an error in simulation? If so who was running it and on whom? Simulation of simulation? Was it all planned and calculated like mine? How did it end? Did it end at all? Could we influence the outcome? Get other results? Just as I hoped for changes in mine?

m.

[chickenfetus]

all moongan

thank you for asking falen tbh i love u sm and i love doing these 

omg is this ask for this ask meme i literally almost posted this along with the wrong ask fml

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

more cereal than mik because.. i dont eat cereal with milk……… i love the crunch

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

as someone who lives in a tropical country is that what its called idk we dont have seasons and it never gets lower than 25 degrees so yes that would be ideal

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

hrmmmmm… i just remember the page number?? or try to lmao if i dont remember i just skim through the pages and try to recognise where i left off

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

with at least 2 packets of sugar tbh…. i dont drink coffee

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

omg story time i went 2 get my braces removed and the dentist wanted to take pics so he was like “smile with your teeth!” and i was like ok! but then he kept saying i wasnt doing it right lmao… guess whos never smiled b4… (me) so he told me 2 practice my smile lol i didnt answer the qn but ya,,, i am probably

6: do you keep plants?

i used 2 be very against plants… now theyre okay i guess i dont rly keep any

7: do you name your plants?

refer 2 6

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

art??? i havent drawn in awhile

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

no LOL

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

on my side!!!! i cant sleep on my back bc i gotta hug smth.. and my stomach is out of the qn

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

🅱️… and .. same brainwaves…. poor mans ____…. this is all from the shady hq im so sorry my other pals

12: what’s your favorite planet?

the moon for no real reason

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

hMMm, watching astro and mx perform??? and just being shady with bell lmao

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

this… question,,,..so im thinking of a bright place with white walls and translucent curtains so the light call fill the (living) room perfectly and everythings really ??? sunny and shit idk its warm… the floor’s made of (fake?) wood and theres a small kitchen bc i cant cook and idk if my friend would be able to lol.. theres 2 bed rooms both are painfully small but it works.. theres one other room with a closet for clothes… the bathroom is just a shower, sink and toilet… theres no washing machine rip and ?? thats about it poor mens life

i watchd the like we used mv again and i realized ...... that is literally where i got this imagery from thanks the rose i love a relatable band

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

heres a fact (?) from me first: it rains diamonds on one planet ?? mecury maybe?? mars??? whomst.. this isnt even a fact its ,me trying to recall shit

ok real fact: There are thousands of other planets out there. sorry lads this website doesnt wanna have fun

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

is spaghetti bolognese a pasta dish

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

im chill with my current hair colour??? bc its brown sometimes idk shitty hair

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

i asked my irl friends (group name: panic support group) and this is what they said

K: everything

E: when u were one hour late (i dont remember this happening but i do know im always late but never for an hour past me wyd)

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

goDD i dont but i sure want to

20: what’s your favorite eye color?

this is strange but every eye colour is my favourite although ppl with two or more colours in their eyes are so cool

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

its just my school bag lmao i got it 4 years ago and i take it everywhere even if the event is “small” and they ask us to bring “smaller bags” ill bring my big ass school bag anyway it looks like this (i dont have to but linking stuff is so fun)

22: are you a morning person?

technically.???its the holidays but i still manage to get up before 10 (most of the time) and … even if i have like 5 hours of sleep i manage to feel awake really easily????

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

tf i just use my phone lmao this is what ive been doing for like a month now… i could watch every vlive i havent watched yet, i could make video compilations i could practice my art but… even though im out of school im still procrastinating.. legends only

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

mmmm falens the closest to that

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

my classroom

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

white converse??  i have 2 get new ones every like 2 years since theyre also my school shoes and break easily….. other than those i have my blueblack converse too (i dont wear them as much so theyre still in one piece)

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

i dont eat bubblegum bc im always afraid ill swallow it and die and im p sure its illegal here

28: sunrise or sunset?

sunset but i dont look outside enough for either

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

hm……… with jen its when she sends me asks on anon despite it being super obvious like im not a Fan when my friends send me asks on anon bc sometimes i cant tell and i get a sense of false hope but w/ jen its okay but i know its her

with bell its when they reply to my keyboard smashes with their own keyboard smashes lmao and when they just??//?? say smth cute abt their faves (lately its been sanha thank u sh)

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

ya lmao when i have 2 sleep alone and its completely dark i have half a mind 2 believe some random supernatural being is out for me

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

hmM. socks are great i always wear them bc i wear shoes almost every time i go outside… i dont have any weird socks bc im Boring but i have 3 pkmn songs and 1 gudetama socks/.. bUT I DID buy my friend those socks with individual toe pockets… it was so funny when my other friend saw it she choked on her drink and almost spat it out. we laughed so hard we hit our heads against each other i love friendship.. i have 2 wear white socks for sch bc… aesthetic? god if i know lmao….. i only ever wear ankle socks bc….. socks any higher than that? cancelled.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

listen ive never stayed up later than like 1am ok maybe 2am??? but i was working on like a project that was due the next day for school with my groupmates (friends) so does that count lmao

33: what’s your fave pastry?

bread………. sugar donuts…….. i am Aware that thats not how u spell it but wtv

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

why does this ask so many qns in 1 qn……. i had a cat?? it had pink stripes and it didnt have a name bc i dont name my stuff… even my pokemon.. and yeah i still have it except its in a big dusty bag where all my other toys are kept

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

i kinda have to use stationary for school so ya.. p often is correct… pretty pens??? i dont rly see the point whoopS!!! in exams u can only use black or blue so

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?

im listening 2 day6 so like day6

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

my room isnt even my room i just go there to sleep .. the place im always at is like a study area except its open?? so everyone can see me lol and . its not messy?? if u look at it from far but the shit on the desk and shelves are so fucking messy god i need to pack those

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

aLRIGHT LADS welcome 2 megans ted talk

(skip this if ur not fond of drama)

so something (refer to the song he said suits myday) happened with jae recently and ive seen fans trying to defend him by @ing him and saying that they love him which is fine - great even! but what i dont approve is how everyone’s basically forgotten about the whole matter because they had concerts so instead of @-ing him and asking him to explain himself, they tell him what a great concert it was which is also great bc their concerts are honestly amazing. basically my pet peeve is when ppl dismiss the problematic action of some people just bc they like them.

another thing is that there were some fans who started guilting others for wanting to drop day6 completely because of what jae did and in my opinion i think it is totally cool to want to drop a group if they did smth bad like??? its ur life???? u can choose who you want to like. what is not cool is pulling out all the good things the person has ever done in their entire life and try to remind others about the positive sides of the person. yes. they’re an encouraging person, etc. but that does not cancel out the bad things they’ve done until they explain/apologise. what is infuriating is just the manner some people took it?? they literally went ahead and tweeted shit like “would your parents drop you if you did smth wrong?” and “you’re seriously gonna drop someone whos been nothing been nice because of one incident?” yes. people will and you dont have any fucking right to stop them? so dont go pulling out receipts.

another thing. its also okay to want to stan the whole group even if someone has done smth problematic. like? to me youre cool if youre able to see and acknowledge the bad shit someone has done and still stand by their side while educating them at the same time its nice to have faith in your idols. however, i wont say much when your idols dont respond and/or respond in a way that shows absolutely no remorse. its cool if you want to support them too, despite that.

tldr; dont fucking excuse someone’s behaviour/action just because youre so far up their fucking ass. dont pull out shit from before either, be it good or bad. and lastly, its okay to want to drop/continue supporting them, its your life.

i just wanted to talk about this tbh,, it was nice to see a few mydays trying to urge jae to explain the whole situation but seeing as he still hasnt and couldve it really irks me :-/

okay update its been a day and i havent really thought about this but im kinda conflicted now bc jae still hasnt talked about the song and im probably just making a big deal out of smth that will never happen again but it really doesnt sit right with me knowing that jae recommended that song to his fans and said it suited mydays?? bc looking at the lyrics... i SURE hope not... idk i have neither forgiven or forgotten but he’s okay now.? i cant stay mad at someone for that long anyway ill never forgive him 4 it though lmao petty ppl only

another thing... jae’s still an amazing person to me with all the encouraging words he says to mydays but this one incident is just soOOOOO hrm and i did go off tangent with the question as usual lol

39: what color do you wear the most?

i wear a lot of colours tbh??? but bc its rly hot out ive just been wearing the same shirt every time i leave the house and its black so

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

i dont wear jewelry rip

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

challenger deep

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

hm,, ive only ever visited this coffee shop like more than once bc the girl i used 2 like showed it to me b4 like 2 years ago and it was nice i liked their mocha frappe and its cozy i guess??? sometimes i go there with friends to study/just eat but i havent gone in awhile.., its two stories and it has an open air sitting area too i prefer sitting inside bc the sun is a big no thanks.. the ceiling is kind of like?? going downward?? like the kind iin attics???? idk man it was nice

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

u cant see shit here sorry

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

cant relate

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

yea?? sometimes i just gotta bc my brain wont shut the fuck up

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

suddenly all of the puns i know have left my mind thanks @ me

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

vegetables

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

the dark and whats basically in it???? like ghosts zombies and shit u kno the scary shit

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

i like buying albums?? theres a CD in those so it counts lmao i bought sunrise by day6

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

boxes??? like containers????

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

boxy and letting go by day6

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT TO THEM and oh worm

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

me: rocky.. ?????? from astro.. /?? no ive never heard of any of those and i saw the word horror so u wont hear abt those from me any time soon

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

i literally havent been outside for 2 days

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

be petty aka yesterday i changed my twitter icon from jae 2 brian bc jae’s being a child rn so hes out

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

when they ramble abt smth they like thanksk buds

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

is this the song from p!atd i have it in my playlist lmao oh i fucing hate this song i always skip it im not listening

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

idk what either of those are but bell and boxy

59: what’s your favorite myth?

idk any

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

anything that eunwoo has ever written

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

ive given eggs for karissa’s birthday b4 and i got a kermit its not stupid tho its just the closest thign i could think of

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

i drink water juice everyday every minute every hour

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

my books are all in shelves lads i just  heard the fucking keys rattle im not doing this shit im logging off night

ok day 3 and im back like i said previously my books are on shelves i tried rearranging them by series b4 but my housekeeper rearrnaged them randomly the next day so i gave up

i make playlists for songs that i like, really like (i still skip them sometimes rip) and songs that my friend recommends me i have a seperate playlist for the songs i like in japanese 2

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

light blue?? like its actually p white bc its cloudy

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

m not rly

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

just. leaves maybe??

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

Horror Movie

68: what’s winter like where you live?

oh winter is fucking fantastic it never gets colder than 25 degrees celsius here and if it does rain it lasts for like 10 minutes

69: what are your favorite board games?

i used to rly like snake and ladders and monopoly :-o

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

im not ready for that kinda death

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

english breakfast or earl gray??? those r like the standard right

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

ya but i never do bc i either forget to or am just 2 lazy

73: what are some of your worst habits?

being lazy + procrastinating :-D

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

okie :-o ..

they’re great ok ive talked abt them like 10 times in the span of 2 months but whatever folks

they’re super nice, kind and just all of the positive adjectives out there in the dictionary ...... they’ve helped me multiple times and they’re always there 2 lend me a listening ear (or in our case, eye lmao) idk??? im just super comfortable around them always and im honestly so thankful we became mutuals (and subsequently friends) last year!!!! i cant say a lot bc ill just get v repetitive but overall they’re an awesome friend and im glad we still communicate daily via twitter and sometimes our skype sessions even if they’re kinda awkward bc i never know when 2 talk bc im scared ill speak and theyll say smth and itll turn into a MESS which actually happened lmao  

im looking forward to the day our skype sessions become super smooth and easy going!!!

75: tell us about your pets!

i have none but id die for boxys cats

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

well yeah always tbh but its not smth i have to do but more like want to do im just 2 lazy to get around doing it

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

?? i almost said lemons arent pink but i Remembered...... yellow lemonade

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

i feel like this is an Attack? okay LISTEN so story time again.

on the flight back from japan i watched the alien covenant and i couldnt even get past the scene where the baby alien was gonna kill the poor guy who ended up being locked up with the infected dude as soon as i saw the blood and the alien emerge from the guy’s back i bolted lmao

so to calm myself down nd block that memory from my mind i went ahead and watched despicable me 3.. which HONESTLY im the worst critic ever but in my humble opinion.... the movie was good????????? idk i didnt watch minions the movie though i got lazy again whooopS!

anwyay i sidetracked but im neutral im not a fan but i wouldnt go out of my way to call minions annoying?? bc they really arent? i feel like its only seen that way bc of how people make posts abt how annoying minions are even tho.. they arent??

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

my memory hates me so every specific thing my friends have ever done for me has left my mind but .

the cutest thing? everything my friends do for me

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

theyre yellow and no i didnt theyve been there ever since i could remember

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

lava cake

82: are/were you good in school?

yeah i was good in school for like the first three years and this year i just flopped so badly lmao and its my important year too oh well my exams r over and i still dont have a backup plan in mind

83: what’s some of your favorite album art?

all of dance gavin dance’s albums have awesome art

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

back when i was really into 5sos i thought of getting a tally since that was their logo at that time but now no not really unless i decide to get lance’s face tattooed onto my forehead on impulse

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

im keeping up with hq, bnha and tg manga!!!!

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

idk what those r but sure

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

big hero 6

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

who wrote this whats up with these questions

i googled and.. not really?? they all look nice

89: are you close to your parents?

close enough to stand being in the same room as them but not close enough to want to initiate conversations

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

tokyo was really cool (literally) and if i ever go again id love to go with friends so we can explore more??

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

japan was supposed to be the only plan for this year but my grandad passed away so i had to go to malaysia multiple times earlier this year ik this wasnt the qn but ive already went to the planned destination tm so

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

BARELY SPRINKLES A PINCH im anti cheese

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

um. like?? i tie the sides of my hair that cover my face back??? bc i dont like hair in my face

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

bell

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

hopefully something useful

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

i also click remind me tomorrow lmao

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

infp-t, capricorn, hufflepuff (same as falen nd jen yay)

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

uh ive never been hiking and i dont plan on it sorry body

99: list some five (or id never shut up) songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

currently......

when you love someone - day6

like we used to - the rose

crazy sexy cool - astro

death of a strawberry - dance gavin dance

if it means a lot to you - a day to remember

idk if these actually “resonate to my soul” they just sound nice

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

oh worm.. i wouldnt miind either???

i know i have 2 choose but like

if i go back into the past i could be less annoying?? but the past has actually helped me be the way i am today and i think im learning to be a better person?? im definitely way better than how i was previously 5 years ago and im just grateful i was able to learn from my mistakes???

so i wouldnt go back to the past.

if its in the future i can see how ill end up and if its not good i might end up being able to change myself so i dont get my “bad end”..???? maybe or i can just see what happens in the future and i can look forward to it

itll also give me a chnace to have the most fun while i can if its not too nice

so my decision is to go to the future

thank you so much for asking falen god this got so long lmao