#i hate public speaking i hate giving presentations i recorded a first run of this without notes and

[hungerpunch]

been pouring so much time & energy into this 20-slide deck for a massive 3-hour presentation and discussion forum i'm leading with execs tomorrow but i've been so focused on all the data and charts and graphs and making the bullet points simple and easy to understand that i sort of forgot to work on the, uh, actual speaking i'll need to do and now the presentation is tomorrow and i just now realized that i have to like. write notes for it.

[luvdsc]

doing the bf tag with my bf.

hey, siri, does bf stand for best friend or boyfriend? (or both?)

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + youtuber au word count :: 4,691 words warnings :: none playlist :: mean it (lauv & lany) ⋆ always, i’ll care (jeremy zucker) ⋆ fearless (taylor swift) ⋆ fingers crossed (coin) ⋆ cardiac arrest (bad suns) author’s note :: this fic is a tiny bit different than my usual writing because i emphasize more on dialogue than description in order to mimic a youtube video. happy birthday to this absolute darling angel! you have the biggest heart in the universe, and thank you for sharing so much of it with the world ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

Your subscribers have always wondered if you would do this type of video countless of times, and you never thought you’d ever actually record one due to the state of your love life (or lack thereof), yet here you are.

Unfortunately, the romantic department of your life still remains very much empty though. But lucky for you, so is your best friend’s. And that pretty much works out perfectly because he could stand in for your nonexistent boyfriend in order to complete the popular GF/BF tag (along with a hidden challenge that was popular by demand and personally requested by a certain friend with a flair for baking. Now if only the frantic butterflies in your stomach would settle down just enough for you to do it).

After all, BF could stand for either boyfriend or best friend, right?

It’s also no secret that yours and Jaemin’s subscribers shipped you two together either. Heck, you may be a little delusional as well because you ship yourself with your best friend, too. Blame the massive crush you’ve been secretly harboring. But two best friends sharing an apartment and frequently appearing in videos on each of your respective channels? In the eyes of your fans, that’s basically the perfect setup for a modern day love story.

It would 100% be the greatest love story since Kat and Patrick in 10 Things I Hate About You, but at this point in your life, your story is going to be marked down as a tragedy. You feel even more hopeless and dramatic than Romeo was about his unrequited love for Rosaline. Also, that dude got over her way too quickly at the sight of another pretty girl. You wish that would happen for you, too, but your heart is much too stubborn over Jaemin.

When you had asked him if he would do the video with you, Jaemin immediately agreed much to your initial surprise. The publicity would be good though, you surmise later on, and both our fan bases would grow, so of course, he would agree. It’s not like your best friend liked you back. That would be absolutely absurd.

“Are you ready?” Jaemin speaks up, breaking your train of thought, and you’re slightly startled. He plops down in the plush pink rolling chair next to you, the chair moving back a few inches. He scooches it closer to your own chair, buzzing with excitement. You smile at your best friend, pushing down the butterflies erupting in your stomach. You nod before reaching forward and pressing the record button on the camera set up in front of you. You pull up the list of questions on your phone.

“Yeah, let's do this.”

How did we meet?

“Oh, this is an easy question,” Jaemin says, flashing his award winning smile at the camera before he throws his arm around you happily, hugging you affectionately. “It was freshman year. You ran into me. Literally. We were in the same class, and it just ended. You were trying to shove your textbook into your bag and didn’t notice where you were walking until you face-planted into my back.”

The memory is still fresh in your mind, and you remember how you had already resigned yourself to your fate of becoming good friends with the floor. But Lady Luck was on your side for once, and she sent an angel in the form of Na Jaemin to save you from embarrassment on your first day of university.

“Yeah, I almost fell flat on my butt, but luckily, Nana has great reflexes and when he turned around, he grabbed my arm before I hit the ground,” you add on, still squished into his side. He beams, eyes crinkling into half moon crescents before placing a kiss on your cheek and turning back to the camera.

Your heart skips a beat, but you ignore it. Jaemin has always been affectionate, and kisses were all in good fun. You continue on, plastering a nonchalant smile on your face. “And he said, ‘Looks like you just fell for me.’ And then he insisted that we get lunch together.”

“And the rest is history!” he exclaims happily, resting his cheek on the top of your head. You smile fondly before going onto the next question.

Where was our first date?

“The dining hall immediately after you ran into me.”

“That wasn’t a date,” you interject. “We can skip this question since we aren’t dating.”

Jaemin shrugs, waiting for you to read the next question. He murmurs faintly under his breath, “It was supposed to be one.”

We’re going out to eat, where are we going?

Jaemin answers immediately, leaning back in his chair. “The little pizza place down the block! They always make three different types of unique pizza everyday, and once they sell out, they close for the day.”

“We always go on Wednesday because they make both of our favorite pizzas then.” You chime in, and he nods enthusiastically, moving closer to the front and throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis. “They have corn and potato pizza that day!”

You wrinkle your nose slightly before leaning towards the camera. “To my subscribers, for the record, I assure you that I have better taste than that, and I love the artichoke pesto pizza with ricotta.”

What food do I dislike?

“... Corn and potato pizza,” he says reluctantly with a pout. “And kiwis. The outside is furry and creeps you out, and the fruit makes your tongue itch.”

You flash a thumbs up at the camera, and your best friend grins, puffing up his chest. Chuckling quietly, you shake your head before answering the question yourself. “And this dork absolutely hates anything strawberry flavored. And he’s lactose intolerant, so dairy is his enemy.”

“I love cheese, but cheese hates me,” he says mournfully, hanging his head down low before he jumps back up and reads the following question listed on your phone’s screen aloud.

Who is my best friend?

“Me!” Jaemin shouts gleefully, throwing his hands up in the air, and you can’t help but laugh, grinning widely at your best friend, a fond expression on your face.

“You.”

Am I a morning person or a night person?

“We’re both night people,” you say, and Jaemin nods in agreement. “You won’t catch either of us waking up before noon if we can’t help it, and we each have to set up like five alarms just to wake up.”

“It works out because we can stay up together watching movies or editing our videos,” he adds in, turning to you and smiling fondly. “And I always have a partner when I want to go on a midnight snack run to the convenience store nearby.”

Do we have a song? What is it?

“Jeremy Zucker’s Always, I’ll Care.”

“That’s our song?” You’re surprised. You were going to mention one of the go-to karaoke songs the two of you liked to belt out on the top of your lungs after a movie and wine night. Jaemin makes a great Sharpay Evans when you both want to bop to the top.

“It’s the song that reminds me of you,” he says, voice growing softer as he reaches the end of the sentence. Curse your heart for melting into a puddle. His cheeks turn pink under your gaze, and he becomes uncharacteristically shy, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Anyway, what’s the next question?”

What’s my nickname?

“Nana!” You reach out to poke his cheek, and he puffs them up before pouting at you. He reaches out and pinches your cheek.

“I call you ‘angel’ sometimes. It’s why your channel is called peachyangel.”

What's my weirdest habit?

“Jaemin eats way too much cilantro,” you state, swinging around side to side in your rolling chair.

“I do not!” he protests loudly, and you give him a blank stare. The two of you sit there in silence, not breaking eye contact until he finally relents.

“Okay, maybe I do. But you pour cereal before milk!”

“That’s not a weird habit!” You defend yourself. You are appalled at your best friend. Neither of you have ever woken up early enough for breakfast, so this has never come up before. If you would’ve known this in the past, maybe you wouldn’t be so ridiculously in love with him in the present.

“Yes, it is! Your cereal gets all soggy that way!”

“Only idiots pour their milk first!”

He clutches his heart dramatically. “Are you calling me an idiot?!”

“... So moving onto the next question—”

What do you think I’m talented at?

“Making people fall in love with you,” Jaemin blurts out, and your eyes widen at his answer as your grip on your phone loosens considerably.

“I—I mean, you’re just so approachable, and you’re kind to everyone. You care so much about everyone and everything. People feel comfortable around you, they always gravitate towards you, and you just— I don’t know, you make people feel loved,” he explains, unable to meet your eyes, and his cheeks darken. He fiddles around with the loose strand on his sweater sleeve.

Your heart swells ten times bigger and beats faster than ever. You wonder if Jaemin knows he has the same effect on everyone, too. You hope he does.

You wonder if he knows you’re in love with him and if he would love you back. You hope he does.

When was the first time you said “I love you”  to me?

“Uh, we can skip this one, too,” you say awkwardly, but he throws his arm around your shoulder again, hugging you tightly. “Nope, not skipping! I have the answer to this one!”

He grins toothily at the camera before pinching your cheek for a second time affectionately. “I said ‘I love you’ when you showed up at my dorm and brought me pop tarts at three in the morning after I accidentally drunk texted you, instead of Jeno. That’s when I knew you were a keeper.”

“I did that because I felt bad about throwing up on your shoes at the party we went to the weekend before that,” you mumble, face growing warm when you remember your best friend’s drunken confession a few years back. “Besides, you were drunk. It doesn’t count.”

“Okay, fine, but we say it to each other all the time. The second time I said it was when you brought me chicken nuggets, and I was hungover, but sober.” He says, spinning in his chair.

“I can see the pattern now. You say it when I bring you food,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest with a fake pout. “You love food, not me.”

“That’s not true!” he exclaims, halting mid spin and facing you. He turns your chair towards him, moving forward to clutch both of your hands in his, and stares directly into your eyes seriously. “I love you.”

You inaudibly gulp, helplessly gazing back at him as you feel your face begin to burn, your heart speeding up in your chest. Jaemin grins, leaning back and letting go of your hand. “See? I love you!”

“Y-yeah.” You swallow hard, fumbling over your words. “You love me.”

What is your favorite thing about me?

“Your laugh,” Jaemin replies honestly, reaching out and absentmindedly drawing circles on the back of your hand as he looks at you. “Hyuck told me the other day that whenever I try to do something funny or make a joke, I have a habit of turning towards you for your reaction. It makes me kinda proud that I can make you laugh.”

You know that you’re stupidly grinning like an absolute idiot at this point, but you don’t care. You even almost forget about the camera.

“Your smile,” you answer, maintaining eye contact with him. Your smile widens when you see one appear on his face, his eyes shining brightly. “You have the prettiest smile, and I’m grateful that I’m able to see it everyday or be the cause of it sometimes.”

What film always makes me cry?

“Oh, The Lion King.” Jaemin responds automatically. “We both cry our eyes out at the stampede moment and when Simba tells his dad to wake up.”

“When we saw the live action version together, we brought along a ton of tissues with us, and he used almost all of them.”

What drink do I always order?

“Jaemin is crazy and always gets a venti iced americano with no water and eight espresso shots. He used to drink it six times a day until I yelled at him about it,” you say, shaking your head at the camera before glancing over at your best friend. “It’s seriously bad for your health.”

His lips jut out into a pout as he whines, “You wouldn't let me cuddle with you until I changed it!”

“It was for your own good! Plus, that drink tasted like battery acid!” You exclaim, and he sulks quietly before begrudgingly agreeing. You pat his head in consolation, and he grabs your hand, naturally interlocking your fingers with his.

“I drink it less now and with only two and half shots.”

If I could, what candy could I eat all day long?

“Chocolate,” you blurt out immediately. “Jaemin is a chocolate fanatic. But he’ll take anything with sugar. He has such a sweet tooth. He eats brown sugar when he’s bored. Even his boba drink has 100% sugar.”

“It’s as sweet as you.” Jaemin winks at you exaggeratingly, and you roll your eyes, turning your face away slightly to hide the smile that begins to spread across your face.

“Y/N likes matcha green tea Kit Kats.” He leans closer to the camera, peering into the lens in a serious manner. “If any chocolate companies are watching this, we are both open to sponsorships.”

If I could live anywhere in the world, where would I live?

“Here,” Jaemin says confidently, beaming at you, “You’d want to live here with me. And I want to live here, too. Because this is the bestest place in the world.” He hesitates, faltering for a moment before searching your eyes. “Right?”

Who are you to say no to that?

You smile at him. “Right.”

What am I deathly afraid of?

“You’re afraid of spiders,” he announces, “You make me take care of all the spiders in the apartment.”

“Yeah, it’s the only reason I keep you around,” you say casually, and he gasps, insulted. You give him a cheeky smile. “I’m just kidding.”

He scowls at you, lips pulled into a frown. “You better be.”

What is the first thing that I do in the morning?

“Jaemin is never awake before I am,” you inform the camera, crossing your legs. “I have to wake him up first if we go anywhere.”

“Even if you don’t have to go to an event, you still wake up early to make sure I’m awake, so I won’t be late. So that’s what you do first thing in the morning: wake me up.” Jaemin nudges your leg. “You always come into my room as a blanket burrito with your comforter wrapped around you.”

“That’s because I have to face the treacherous cold to make sure you aren’t late to your events. But you still end up late anyway because you drag me down onto your bed and refuse to let me go until we lay there for twenty minutes,” you grumble, pulling up your legs onto your chair and wrapping your arms around your knees.

“Cuddling is a good way to conserve body heat and start the morning,” Jaemin states, waving his arms around to emphasize his point.

“Really? Do studies show that it’s beneficial to cuddle in the morning?”

“I don’t know.” Jaemin shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. He smiles at you, causing your stomach to do flip flops and your heart to do cartwheels. “But it makes me happy every morning, so I’d say that’s enough proof.”

Who usually wins our arguments?

“Y/N does,” Jaemin sighs heavily, leaning back against his chair in resignation. “You always win.”

“It’s true.” You nod, patting Jaemin’s arm consolingly. “It’s tough always being right, but someone has to do it.”

“You always pout, too, and I just give in because you’re too cute,” he says casually, and you freeze in your seat. Never mind the fact that he’s implying you’re wrong, Na Jaemin just called you cute.

Good thing this is caught on camera because this means you can secretly watch this multiple times in private. And also cringe over your awkward reaction, but let’s not talk about that right now because once again, Jaemin just called you cute. You! Cute! Jaemin! Your mind is honestly short circuiting, and you can’t do anything, except nod and smile like a complete fool.

What do we usually argue about?

“Adopting,” Jaemin says solemnly. Eyes widening, you wait for a moment, but he offers no explanation. You lightly shove his chair, and he rolls a few inches away. “Nana, you can't just end it like that! You have to say more than that!”

Turning towards the camera, you hurriedly explain, “He’s talking about pets. He wants to adopt five dogs and name them after Jisung, Chenle, Jeno, Renjun, and Mark. And then he wants to adopt a snake and name it after Donghyuck.”

“She said we could only get one dog and the snake.” Jaemin scowls, slumping in his seat as he stares into the camera. “I can’t believe she isn’t letting me get five dogs. I love Jisung and all non-Jisung’s equally.”

What’s my favorite clothing item?

“It’s not even yours. You always steals my white hoodie. I haven’t been able to wear it for the past month,” Jaemin complains, and you have the decency to look a little guilty.

You play with the strings of said hoodie that’s currently engulfing your body, curling into yourself as you tuck your face into the sweater like a turtle. “Your clothes smell nice.”

“But we use the same laundry detergent.” Jaemin wrinkles his eyebrows, confusion evident in his eyes. “All our clothes smell like snuggles and cotton.”

“It’s not the same,” you insist, wrinkling your nose, and he shakes his head, lips curling into a smile. He reaches over and tugs the hood of the sweater over your head playfully.

“Okay, whatever you say, angel. You look better in them than me anyway.”

Where am I on a Friday night?

“You’re here with me, eating Chinese take out and watching Criminal Minds,” you answer, and he agrees, nodding.

“We just finished watching all twelve seasons on Netflix, so if anyone has any show recommendations, please send them in!”

What is my weirdest interest?

“Once again, my clothes,” Jaemin says, and you begin to protest but he wags his finger at you. “No, no, no, you don’t get to disagree! You hoarded like six of my sweaters in your closet. I bought you the exact same sweater for your birthday, but you still take mine!”

You silently decide that it is better to accept this defeat than correct him because you actually have seven of his sweaters and a few tee shirts as well.

Who’s my favorite YouTuber?

“Me!” Jaemin’s hand shoots up in the air. “I’m your favorite YouTuber. Next question.”

Your hands start to get clammy as you look down at the final question you have been saving for last. It’s been a good fifteen minutes, and the butterflies still haven’t subsided. If anything, they seem to have multiplied and transformed into a whole rampaging zoo complete with elephants and monkeys.

“Uh, are you sure about that, Nana? ShowMeTheMonet is really good. I also really like itsmebetch a lot.” You stall for time, staring at the last question until the words are stamped in your mind. “Dream Unsolved and Worth It are amazing, too.”

Suddenly, Jaemin is right in front of you as he spins your chair around to face him, frowning and complaining, “What do you mean I’m not your favorite? You’re my favorite! What kind of best friend are you? This is a betrayal! An insult! This is worse than Jisung not calling me his favorite! How could you do this to m—”

“Okay, okay, you’re my favorite! I’m sorry! It was a joke,” you interrupt, but he turns away from you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, go make a video with ShowMeTheMonet instead.” He sulks, shoulders hunched over. “If you like her so much, go be best friends with her.”

“I’m sorry! I’ll buy you all the chocolate you want after this,” you plead with him, placing your phone on the table next to you. “I’ll even buy you boba everyday for a week!”

Jaemin brightens up at that immediately. “Oh, yeah! I want some milk tea after this! Okay, what’s the last question?”

You swallow hard, nervously fiddling with the hoodie strings once more and shoving all the butterflies down to the pit of your stomach. Twisting in your seat, you move your chair and spin his around until you’re both facing each other, knees touching.

“‘Where and when was our first kiss?’”

At the immediate thought of kissing you, his cheeks explode in various shades of pink, the tips of his ears catching fire. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about kissing you daily. Heck, he had to stop himself from doing so earlier when you were burying your face in his stolen hoodie. It’s so unfair that you’re always so cute and looking so… so… kissable.

“I, uh, I don’t think I can answer that,” your best friend stammers out as his eyes dart towards your lips before meeting yours.

“But you got all the other answers right.” Your voice comes out steadier than you thought it would, and you mentally pat yourself on the back. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you pause for a moment, balling your hands into fists before uncurling them and asking hesitantly, “Should I help you out?”

“Yes.” He wonders how exactly you can help him out. Oh god, did he kiss you before when he was drunk? But you would’ve told him if he did that. What if he had ki—

A soft pair of lips lands on his.

You’re kissing him. Oh my god, you’re kissing him! Jaemin wants to jump up and shout it from the rooftops. His heart leaps from his chest, and he’s wildly cheering in his mind as fireworks explode around him before he suddenly remembers that he has to kiss you back.

And so he does.

Jaemin tugs you closer until you’re pulled onto his lap, a muffled squeak of surprise coming from you, and he laughs as he presses his lips against yours more firmly, hands gripping your thighs as you straddle him. Your arms loop around his neck, and your heart ricochets in your chest as you kiss him back until your lungs are screaming for oxygen and you have to pull away.

Jaemin positively beams at you, eyes sparkling as he leans forward and nuzzles his nose against yours affectionately. He laughs breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah, that was really helpful. Our first kiss just happened right here a few seconds ago. And now, our second kiss is about to happen.”

Your best friend closes the distance, crashing his lips against yours once more, and you kiss him back just as fervently, smiling against his lips as he does the same. Never in either of your wildest dreams did you think this was going to happen, but you sure as heck aren’t complaining, and neither is he.

When the two of you finally break apart, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, flustered, and Jaemin laughs giddily, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling. He hugs you tightly to his chest before nudging you to look up at him. “So did I get a 100% on the boyfriend tag?”

“Yes,” you say, sitting up straight on his lap and grabbing both of his hands in each of your own, intertwining your fingers with his. “You got twenty five out of twenty five. Congratulations on your perfect score.”

“Technically, you did do the boyfriend tag with your boyfriend then, right?” he says slyly, squeezing your fingers. “Shouldn’t I get some bonus points for helping you do the tag correctly?”

You chuckle, failing to contain your smile. “Okay, fine, you get bonus points, too. You did an A plus job, Nana.”

“I’ll take those bonus points in the form of kisses.” He puckers his lips at you, and you easily comply, wordlessly leaning forward to give him one, two, three kisses.

Jaemin grins at you, positively delighted before he attacks you with kisses, peppering soft kisses onto your cheeks, forehead, chin, the tip of your nose, and everywhere else in between until he finally kisses your lips gently.

If this was a cartoon, there would be hearts floating around his head and shooting from his eyes. He leans forward again to kiss you one more time for good measure. You smile mischievously, tilting your head to the side slightly as your hands curl around his shirt. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want for your bonus points?”

His eyebrows furrow for a split second before his entire face lights up. Jaemin carefully cradles you, picking you up as his grip tightens under your thighs. You let out a quiet squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck, as he stands up enthusiastically.

“Cut the cameras!”

One new notification: peachyangel uploaded a new video!

nana ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ commented:

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ANGEL 🥺💗💞💖💗🤩💝💕💜🤧💖💘😭💘🌼💐🥺💖🥺🥺🥺

peachyangel replied: ily too baby 🥺🤧💖💖

insert goofy’s chuckle commented:

is this allowed?? there are minors here 😫 jisung look away

peachyangel replied: get your mind out of the gutter, ya nasty 🙄 we turned off the cam because he wanted to go get milk tea

jisung pwark replied: I’m 18!!!!! Stop treating me like a child!!! 

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ jisung pwark stop making me cut the crusts off of your sandwiches then

big head king replied: @ ghosts are real so suck it hyuck how come you don’t cut the crusts off of my sandwiches 😭😭

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ big head king because you are a grown adult and jeno already does it for you

jenojam commented:

congrats jaemin!! :)

Starbucks Official commented:

we would love to sponsor you, Mr. Na!

FIGHTING HAEYADWAE commented:

OH YOU ARE NANA!!1!1!!! 🤯🤯

ShowMeTheMonet commented:

um hello i would love to do the gf tag with you! i accept!!! it would be an honor 🤩

peachyangel replied: omg yes!!!! 🥺🥺 let’s do it soon 💖

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ nana ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ did… did we just lose our gfs 🤧

mork lee rawr xD commented:

hahaha nice guys ! this was really cute haha

ty track commented:

the babies are all growing up too fast ):

jeno is my favorite commented:

.... i feel so single @.@

DonutKillMyVibe commented:

let it be known that I was the friend who challenged @ peachyangel to do the challenge and hence, I am the reason these two are together 👀👀

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck commented:

someone should make an updated version of that jaemin complaining video compilation with this

big head king commented:

ayyy you all are the GOAT 🐐🐐🐐

jenojam commented:

so are we just gonna let it slide when he called everyone except jisung “non jisungs” ?

jisung pwark replied: 😎😎

insert goofy’s chuckle commented:

is no one gonna comment on how he called me a snake?????

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle is no one gonna comment on how much of a clown hyuck is???

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ ghosts are real so suck it hyuck wtf? where did this even come from

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle sorry I thought we were stating the obvious here

big head king replied: LOLOLOL

apado gwenchana god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

[falsegoodnight]

a new header??? it matches better <3 these are the fics I read or reread and enjoyed this month! like last time, i’m separating it into different sections: main list, wips, and non-1d. rereads will be included in the main list and marked with a star (*). 

*note: this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 1st to the 28th only

—

main list ~

✰ Don’t Wait Up by reliablyimperfect | NR | 1k

Without Harry’s warmth next to him, he felt the chill of the air creep over his skin. He tugged the blanket down from where Harry kept one draped over the back of the couch for him, grateful. With the blanket, he instantly felt warmer, but it backfired when his eyes began to droop again. Trying to keep his eyes open was impossible, and he was consciously aware of how long his blinks were becoming. They stay closed longer and longer until, eventually, they didn’t open again.

so soft and sweet and lovely! made my heart feel so warm <3 will return to this for some quick comfort in the future!

✰ my ugly mouth kept running by @hadestyles | E | 4k

Sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

rori’s lush writing + abo + exes to lovers = absolute perfection. my fic cameo gives it a bonus too :’) definitely one of my rori favs 

✰ i’ve loved you three summers now honey, i want them all by @softloubabie | M | 4k

The restaurant was small and bright, soft colors filled the walls and tables and fairy lights hung from everywhere. From what Harry had read, the food wasn’t overly expensive but it was still comparable to what you would get at one of the more expensive places. If Harry could he would take Louis to the biggest most expensive and extravagant restaurants to do what he planned to tonight, but this would do.

After being led to their table Harry nervously tapped his jacket pocket, sighing in relief when he felt the small box still there. Tonight was the night. He couldn’t wait till it was time to surprise Louis with all the gifts he got for him. Then finally the big surprise.

so cute and sweet! their kids were so adorable and the proposal so lovely!! they love each other so much <3

✰ love me in between the future and the past by navigator & quitter | E | 11k

Harry's scared of history repeating itself.

this honestly hurt to read but in such a raw and emotional way?? was mad at harry and then sad for him :( this writer duo’s fics never fail to amaze me!

✰ sunshine on my mind by @raspberryoatss | E | 13k

Louis visits Harry in Portland

this was so sweet and lovely! the perfect addition to this wonderful universe! pip’s characterizations and fluff never fails to make my heart feel warm <3

✰ rapture in the dark by @stylinsonsupporter | T | 13k

Harry Styles is a breakout musician who has shed his boyband label in favor of embracing his inner brooding rockstar. His PR team think that his rebrand is the perfect time for Harry to come out of the closet and have devised the perfect plan for doing so. Enter Louis Tomlinson, up and coming (and very openly homosexual) model whose public image as America's Sweetheart is the perfect foil for Harry's new edge. From a PR standpoint, it's a dream come true - a power couple that can slowly coax the public into accepting Harry's altered image. The only problem? They hate each other.

always love a good fake dating au and this is no exception! and model louis >> really enjoyed this!

✰ Maybe, Baby* by thoughtsickles | M | 16k | mpreg

It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis' daydreams, the kind of life he'd always imagined he'd have when he was younger and bored at his momma's work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He'd felt so important being allowed to touch them. He'd told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn't peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband.

You can't stay here, he tells himself, but Baby doesn't want to listen.

have reread this one quite a bit of times now and it still makes me so happy <3 this Louis and Harry deserve the world <333

✰ Let Me Inside by reliablyimperfect | E | 18k

Louis is Harry’s boss, but Harry is the boss of Louis. 

loved this one! really enjoyed the balance between h&l and how they maintained their dynamic in subtle ways outside of the bedroom while also keeping it separate. very much enjoyed the jealousy as well <3

✰ a scintilla of predilection by @dehydratedpoolfics | T | 20k

There, in the far back of the room, next to the only available seat left, is none other than Harry Styles. Harry, who grew up next door to him, who knew all his secrets as a child and played FIFA with him on Saturday mornings after he would spend the night Friday evenings every week, whose curly hair would tickle his nose as they held each other during bitter cold nights that made his room glow a haunting blue.

love ex-childhood friends with misunderstandings!! louis was so cute and i loved his poetry <3 harry too was so stupid but so smitten and lovely :’) really enjoyed this!

✰ Keeping The Flame Alive by @crazyupsetter​ | E | 20k

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

✰ like it’s a game* by @soldouthaz | E | 32k

There is little Harry hates more than truth or dare.

And Louis.

queen of enemies to lovers! it’s been a while since i’ve reread this but too absolutely no surprise, it’s just as amazing as always <3 sarah never misses!

✰ Too Young To Know by @2tiedships2 | M | 35k

Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.

really enjoyed this as per usual! exes to lovers is my jam and the added angst of Louis dating someone else at the beginning... love <3

✰ Some Things Take Root* by  navigator & quitter | E | 50k

Louis' ex doesn't get jealous of anyone besides Harry. Harry helps Louis use that to his advantage.

stumbled upon this randomly and decided to reread on a whim... ended up staying up to read it in one sitting! so good!

✰ Safe and Sound (You’ll Always Be) by @all-these-larrythings | E | 58k

When a failed case and a guilty conscience leaves Harry more than a little lost, his boss presents him with a new, less taxing assignment to help him cope. An escape from all the madness is just what Harry needs to get his life back on track. It's just too bad his new client has a grin like the devil, a pair of electric eyes that Harry simply can't get over, and no intention whatsoever of letting him catch a break.

i don’t know how i’ve never read this before??? it was absolutely amazing though! perfect blend of humor and fluff and tension and angst <3

✰ Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) by @youreyesonlarry | E | 74k

It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day. 

the slow burn in this fic killed me - which is to say, it was perfect! loved how they progressed from working together to being friends to something more and how much they genuinely cared for each other! the hockey was so fun too!

✰ Call Out My Name by frenchkiss | E | 102k

Apparently, it's bad PR to fall in love with the omega you hired to help you through your rut.

Harry Styles begs to differ.

ellen truly knocked it out of the park with this one!! had everything i could ever want: abo, famous/non-famous, fluff, humor, angst, drama, and more! i loved it from beginning to end!

wips ~

✰ ‘cause all our tomorrows lead the way by @loubellies | E | 64k | 7/11

So maybe Louis’ in over his head.

He had signed up for the Bachelor on a whim after his second bottle of wine and well, here he is. He’s just been announced as the twenty-sixth Bachelor and his ass is sweating. Like, literally sweating. He’s positive that if he was to turn around, the entirety of Bachelor Nation would get a nice peek of his ass sweat.

am thoroughly enjoying each chapter!! it’s been a wild ride so far and although things are currently calm, i am still on edge!! but i trust mar with my life <3

✰ Truth Behind Golden Eyes by @lwtisloved | E | 83k | 8/16 

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

caught up last night! still really enjoying every chapter and can’t wait to see what happens next!! things are *happening* with h&l and answers are being given!! (love the jealousy too!)

non-1d ~

✰ Keep Me Close (I Need Your Faith) by @princelouisau | E | 23k

Somewhere along the way he had fallen in love and in doing so, had broken the one rule he knew he couldn’t come back from. As quickly as he realised, he decided that he must never dare speak it. He resigned himself to loving Draco in silence.

first foray into reading drarry... and, to no one’s surprise, i loved it! beautiful writing as always and beautiful atmosphere! it’s really not a shock that i fell for these characters and their story when danielle is behind it <3 it had me entranced from beginning to end!!

finally, i myself actually posted a fic this month:

my fics ~

✰ yesterday came suddenly by me | E | 49k | mpreg 

Harry the deadliest member of the NYC assassins’ guild, is forced to face a seemingly impossible task in hopes of finally leaving the underground behind for good, but when ghosts from the past come back to haunt him, escaping the darkness becomes that much harder.

If you read any of these beautiful works of art, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

[athenadione]

‘you are mine (and I am yours)’

In which you can find out the hard way that demons don't like sharing. @vi-la-vi

AthenaDione and I did a thing! Everyone loves jealous Damian, but hear us out....jealous Raven? Hope you enjoy! -Vi

I’m so incredibly honored to participate in this collab. Vi practically paved the way for me to give you all the delicious demon Raven smut that ensues and did a superb job writing the majority of this piece, as always. If you enjoy and feel so inclined, you can leave a kudos HERE on A03. Vi— thank you for allowing me to be a part of your writing process. You’re such a talented writer and I’m happy to have found you :) -AD

She couldn’t stop staring at him. Not just because it had been years since she last saw him, but because ever since she met him, Anna Vandergilt had thought of little else. 

Damian Wayne. 

They’d met at a benefit when both were sixteen years old, and it had been love at first sight. The elusive heir finally returned to Gotham after five years abroad, doing god knows what. She’d collected every bit of information she could about him, academic transcripts, tabloids, medical and legal records. Vandergilt influence ran deep and she had no compunction about using it to fuel her obsession. Securing an internship at Wayne Enterprises as Tim Drake’s assistant was just the latest step.

And now he’s here, and I won’t let him get away again. 

Damian had to remember her, the spark when their eyes met, the unbreakable connection they’d made. He didn’t acknowledge it when they were introduced, but that was fine. He was an intense, secretive man and likely just didn’t want to make a scene. 

Green eyes flashed to hers and narrowed, catching her staring. She willed herself to keep it together, sitting up straighter and crossing her legs in an attempt to draw his attention to the slit in her pencil skirt. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and leggy, she knew how to make men stare.

Or so she thought. Damian had turned his attention back to Tim’s presentation, arms crossed and expression impatient. So serious. She planned ways she might be able to get him alone, with no one and nothing to distract him from her. After today, I’ll have more than just fantasies. She’d been looking for an opening to approach him all day and was sure she couldn’t wait much longer.

They broke for lunch, but just as she moved towards him she was intercepted by Tim. 

“Hey Anna, can you run up to my office and grab my blue flash drive? I forgot to bring it down earlier.”

Get it yourself! she wanted to snap. An assistant position was well beneath her pedigree, and she hated taking instructions from common-born Tim Drake. Swallowing her irritation, she smiled and nodded. 

When she finally returned, Damian had already gone, apparently having had a lunch appointment with someone else. Anna sighed. I’ll speak to him after work, I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to dinner and drinks. No man had ever refused her.

She spied him later as she was returning to the conference room, speaking to a dark-haired woman she didn’t know outside of his office. She took a moment to admire him in his suit, noting curiously that the girl with him was only casually dressed in black jeans and an off-shoulder top with a band logo. Unprofessional much? He’s probably scolding her about the dress code.

Just as the thought solidified, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to the underside of Damian’s jaw, tugging his tie playfully as she did so.  

It was as though a bucket of freezing water had been dumped over her head. Anna stood stock-still, mouth falling open in horror. Who the fuck...how dare…?

The woman whispered something in his ear, kissing his jaw again as Damian rolled his eyes and smirked. She continued to stare, waiting for him to shove her away, glare, do something. She heard someone approach from behind. 

“Ugh, those two,” Tim groaned. 

“Who is that?” Her voice was tight and strained, and the man next to her gave her a curious glance. 

“That’s Rachel, Damian’s girlfriend.”

“Oh,” she said, at a loss for anything else. 

It’s not fair. I planned...I’ve been waiting…

She shook her head, determination moving in. A minor setback. He just needs to know there’s something better on the market. Vandergilts were practically royalty, after all. Her beauty and breeding were no doubt superior. She bit back her anger as Damian dropped a kiss on the other woman’s forehead before walking away.

Just a minor setback, she mentally repeated.

-

Tim’s assistant had a serious staring problem, and Damian was relieved when he was finally able to retire to his office. Annoying. The older man had joked earlier that Damian’s constant absence in Gotham and avoidance of the public eye elevated him to mythical status among some of his father’s employees. He longed for this week to end, eager to be back in Jump and away from the Wayne gawkers. 

His phone buzzed, distracting him from the revenue charts in front of him. 

“Stephanie is insane.”

Damian smiled, eyes darting to his watch to see how much longer he’d be stuck in this office. As necessary as it was that he be here for the audit, he felt bad abandoning Raven to his siblings. Next time they came to Gotham he’d make sure it was purely recreational and personally show her the sights.

“A half hour more, then I will come rescue you.”

Then two days more, and they would be home. 

A knock on the door called his attention. “Mr. Wayne? Could I borrow you for a moment. I need a second pair of eyes on this file.”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at the worshipful expression on her face. The scent of expensive perfume assailed him and Damian fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. She looked at him hopefully, blinking rapidly.

“Ask Drake.”

She shifted, reaching up to toy with her platinum blonde hair. “Oh...he just has so much on his plate. I wanted to avoid bothering him,” she replied, voice high and lilting. 

Strange woman. Damian wondered where his older brother had found this one. He hadn’t really been paying attention when they were introduced, Vander-something or other.

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Oh, thank you,” she breathed.

She circled around the desk to stand next to him, laying the file in front of him and bending low. A fall of blonde hair brushed his shoulder and Damian shifted slightly to put some distance between them. He spent so little time in normal society it was easy to forget how bad most people were with personal space. 

“What exactly did you need help with?”

“This.”

Without warning, she sat on his lap and pressed her lips forcefully against his, throwing one arm around his neck for good measure. Damian completely froze, protests firing rapidly through his mind. She tugged on the waistband of his pants and it was enough to break his paralysis. He shoved her off of him violently and she caught herself on the desk, shifting it several inches back.

“What are you doing?!”

The alarm on her face lasted only a second before being replaced with a coy smile. “Don’t be shy, I know you remember me. It’s been years, but you’re all I’ve thought about, Damian. I swear.”

“I - don’t…” Damian felt uncharacteristically frazzled. “I have - no. I’m not interested,” he finally managed.

“Please, Damian.” She tried to take a step forward and he instinctively backed away. He hated the way she said his name, he realized distantly.

“I have a girlfriend,” he said, hard edge in his voice. One who would kill you and probably me if she was here right now. Raven did not share.

The woman sniffed. “Her. Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a Wayne. She can’t possibly-”

“Enough.”

He glared fiercely, daring her to try and continue. Tears swam in her blue eyes and Damian felt a touch of relief that he finally managed to get through.

“I...hmph, fine. Keep her on the side if you must. My father had a mistress. Just keep her out of my sight.��

She’s insane. What the fuck kind of vetting process do you have, Drake?

He closed his eyes and exhaled before meeting her watery gaze once again. 

“Listen very carefully. I. Am. Not. Interested. I want you out of this building in the next five minutes or I’ll call security.”

“I - but - we…” She straightened, eyes glassy with disbelief as she tried to compose herself. “I see.”

Damian kept his glare on as she left the room, feeling a headache build behind his eyes. He grabbed his phone again, feeling a pang of guilt when he saw Raven's name, and called his brother.

"I fired your assistant. You're welcome."

"What? Damian, you can't just show up and start firing people!"

"I'll...explain later." Vaguely, and with as few details as I can manage.

The hint of discomfort in his voice must have given him away. "Seriously? No wonder she was staring at you all day.”

"Drop it."

"Alright, alright. Her dad's going to be pissed though, he pushed Bruce for months to take her on here. Sounds like you got your very first stalker."

Well that was a disturbing thought. Damian shook it off. "Just tell him it didn't work out." He didn't want any rumors getting back to Raven if he could help it. 

-

Lying to an empath is easier said than done.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

"I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She snorted disbelievingly, eyes glued on the book in her hand. “Why do you feel so guilty?”

“It was a long day. I felt bad for you.” Half-truths were the only semi-effective way he’d found of getting around her lie detector. Normally Damian would smother inconvenient questions with lips, hands, and other parts of him that Raven was always deliciously responsive to, but touching her would have felt wrong right now. She deserved to know the truth before she decided how near she wanted him.

She rolled onto her side then, burrowing down against her pillow and studying him curiously. “You don’t have to spend every second with me, Damian. I’m pretty self-sufficient, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He shrugged, laying back and closing his eyes. “I’ll just be glad to get out of here. People in Gotham are a different breed.”

Raven hummed. “Fine, don’t tell me what’s actually bothering you.” 

With that, she leaned over to kiss him goodnight. Damian flinched at the contact before responding in kind, and pretended he didn’t see the confused look in her eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, focusing the emotion to make sure she felt it as well. 

She closed her eyes, slightly mollified. “I love you, too.”

I'll tell her when we get home, he promised himself. As much as he hated keeping secrets, he knew she was going to be upset and preferred a controlled setting. Damian remembered an incident shortly after they began dating when the ticket-taker at the theater had slipped him her phone number. Raven said nothing at first, but the night ended in a supply closet instead of a screening room.

"I don't share," she whispered dangerously, legs tightening around his hips to draw him in deeper. Red flickered across her purple irises. “You’re mine.”

He smirked at the memory. We never did get to see that movie.

Definitely safer for all involved to wait until they'd left Gotham.

-

Anna stared at her discreetly from the park bench. He’s loyal, that’s all. And I wouldn’t have him any other way.

She grudgingly admitted to herself that the other woman was pretty, if unconventional. Pale purple eyes and dark purple hair - hadn’t anyone told her the punk rock look was out of date? She had nothing on the blonde’s classical beauty.

A hefty bribe to the Wayne's chauffeur had given her knowledge of the woman's - Rachel's - movements throughout the day. She was ordinarily accompanied by Tim's banshee of a girlfriend and one of Bruce's orphans, but had separated from them earlier in the day to visit Gotham’s Arts District. Anna waited until she saw her enter the nearly empty arboretum before making her move. If Damian couldn’t be persuaded to break things off, this one could. An affair with the office hottie - tale as old as time.

“Pardon me?” She adopted a nervous affect as she approached, eyes downcast. “You’re Rachel, right?”

The other woman tore her gaze from the plaque in front of her, violet eyes locking on baby blue. “Do I know you?”

“Anna. I work - worked at Wayne Enterprises. I’m really sorry to do this, but...there’s something you need to know.”

She regarded her silently and the blonde fought the urge to fidget. There's something off about her. What were you thinking, Damian? Finally, Rachel nodded once, crossing her arms. Anna smiled internally and fiddled anxiously with her hands, doing her best to look miserable.

“I was Tim’s assistant until Damian fired me yesterday,” she began, voice weepy. “Tim’s the one who told me about you, I swear I didn’t know before.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed, something dark and inscrutable flashing in and out of her gaze. “...Excuse me?”

Anna took the low anger in her voice as an encouraging sign and continued. She dropped her eyes again and let out a harsh sob. “I’m not the kind of person who fools around with other women’s boyfriends, and-"

A massive burst of black and red interrupted her thoughtfully planned speech, demolishing the stone plaque next to them and knocking her to the ground. She screamed, covering her head  with her arms. A bomb? What’s happening?

Before she could get her bearings, something hauled her up by the throat, slamming her painfully against a tree. She blinked against the white spots in her vision and the dust in the air, squinting to see what held her. 

Four slitted golden eyes met her own, radiating fury so thick she could almost taste it. I’m seeing things. I hit my head and I’m seeing things. The devil tightened its hold on her neck and stepped closer, heat pouring off its red skin. Terrified beyond anything she’d ever felt, Anna felt her bladder let go. 

“Did you fuck Damian?” it - she - asked in a deadly calm voice.

“Wh-what?” she croaked. No way...what the fuck is she?!

“Answer, mortal.”

She sobbed in her grasp, all her carefully crafted lies flying away in the wake of her terror. “No! I just kissed him!”

The claws (claws?!) around her neck tightened and she felt warm trickles of blood start to seep down into her collar. 

“That - that’s all! That’s all I did! I’m sorry!” she cried, “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again!”

“I know.”

Shadows wrapped around the two of them and she screamed.

-

Stupid, stupid woman, Damian thought furiously, raising his eyes from the weeping figure on the floor. He’d put it together fairly quickly after walking in the door, and was currently kicking himself for not considering this possibility. She’s clearly deranged, I shouldn’t be surprised she approached Raven.

The woman in question sat in a nearby armchair, looking every bit the queen of hell she was. Her demonic appearance and the regal way she carried herself in this form lent their mundane bedroom at Wayne Manor the feel of some macabre court.

“Something to confess?” his demoness asked lowly. 

“I was going to tell you when we returned home. This is the exact situation I was trying to avoid.” Sparks of black and red magic at her fingertips told him that was the wrong thing to say. 

“You think a couple hundred miles would have saved her from me when I found out? I would cross entire universes.”

The woman before her seemed to curl in further on herself, as if trying to become a smaller target. Prayers fell from her lips, whispered and unintelligible.

 “She’s not worth it. I would have made you see that.”

“That’s not your decision to make. You are mine, this was a challenge to me. A proper demon would have brought just the head.”

A loud wail met her words and golden eyes flicked downwards, oozing contempt. Damian felt a thrill race down his spine. He'd never seen her this angry - possessive. The idea that he was the catalyst, that his composed, serene Raven was burning so brightly over a stolen kiss made his blood tingle. 

Apparently feeling the weight of the demon’s stare, she covered her head with her hands and tried to choke back her cries. A prey-like instinct to hide taking root. 

He swallowed before speaking, mindful of the thin ice he was on. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t kill her.”

An amused sound escaped her, and Damian wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret it. “Beloved?”

She finally met his eyes again, clearly unhappy with the situation. “Fine. But if I ever see or sense this creature near you again, I will tear her apart slowly. Testor ego eam.”

With that, she waved a hand and the other woman vanished in a rush of black. He didn’t bother to ask where, not wanting to push his luck with Raven right now. Hysterical as the other woman was, no one would believe anything she had to say anyways. 

The demoness crossed her arms, studying him silently. She seemed to have no intention of changing back to her human form. Oh. 

“I suppose I’m in trouble as well?”

“Lies deserve punishment. And you need to be reminded who you belong to.”

“You, habibti. Always.”

Her smile offered nothing but trouble and his heart started to pick up. "That’s a start."

“Oh?” he asked her, not moving from the spot where he stood. It seemed that court was still in session, and her final judgement on his own transgressions had not yet passed. 

She picked at a claw unhurriedly, hooded eyes flicking over his figure. Not one to back down, he met her appraising stare inch for inch.

“Did you know that demons mate for life?” she asked without warning. 

“No, beloved,” he breathed. The information was new but it hardly mattered. He had already decided that he was going to spend the rest of his life with her long before they ended up together. He just wondered why she felt it necessary to mention now. 

“It’s a sacred bond. Actually sacred, unlike human marriages. Challenging it is the worst insult one demon can deal to another.” Her eyes narrowed, and her claws seemed to sharpen before his eyes.

“She wasn’t a-”

“No one will threaten our bond. Do you understand, mate?”

Dear gods. 

He resisted the urge to lick his lips, instead pressing them firmly together. “You should know that you will never be at risk of losing me, beloved.” 

“I know. I also know you will never lie to me again.” The demoness waved a clawed hand before resting it underneath her chin. She was waiting for him. He swallowed again.

“What can I do to make amends?” 

Her grin widened, boarding on malevolent, as if she finally found the answer she was looking for. Lifting effortlessly from her chair, she began to stride across the room to him with measured steps. 

“I have a few ideas.” She purred. 

“Oh?” he asked again, displeased at how out of breath he sounded. 

Golden eyes held his own, and she didn’t speak again until she was just an arm's length away from him. 

Then she pointed at her feet. “Kneel.” 

He felt his jaw go slack. She wants me to do what? 

She cocked her head at his hesitation. “You will not kneel for your demoness?” She clicked her tongue in distaste. “Don’t you want to remedy your indiscretions?”

He set his jaw, barely suppressing a wince.  When she put it that way, there was no reason not to kneel before her, even if the thought of doing so went against every instinct in his body. He did, after all, lie to her, and if this was what she wanted from him then who was he to deny her?

Besides, there would be an opportunity for her to return the favor. I’ll make sure of it. 

Revealing nothing, he stared at her impassively and slowly dropped to one knee, biting back a scowl as her smirk grew. 

Then, he watched as a slender leg poked out from the slit of the dress she was wearing, and a strappy, black heel. He gave her a simmering look, then took it in his hands without a word, and pressed a kiss to her ankle, trailing up the side of her calf. 

“That’s very nice, mate.” She murmured, resting a clawed hand onto this shoulder. “What else are you willing to do for me?” 

A light smirk replaced his features. She was asking him to seduce her. To fuck her. That was something he would be more than willing to oblige. 

He promptly stood to his feet and grabbed her wrist, pulling him into his chest. To his amused delight, she went pliant in his arms— nearly purring as he captured her lips with his. He kissed her thoroughly, drowning out the memory of the other gods-awful kiss that’d been forced upon him. 

Then a clawed hand traveled his cheek lightly, moving its way to the back of his head. She suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged downwards, tearing his lips from hers. He hissed when sharpened teeth latched themselves on his neck, nipping at the exposed flesh there before soothing it with her tongue. 

Then she began to walk forward, forcing him to step with her— until the back of his knees touched the mattress of their bed. 

“Meus es tu.” She said lowly, and she pushed at his chest, sending him backwards.

It turned into a battle for assertion. One that he admitted he thoroughly enjoyed— and intended on winning. 

He took her with him, grabbing her waist to position her underneath. His smile was smug when he peered down into four golden slits, obviously dissatisfied at the turn of events. 

Ignoring her bared teeth, he nudged open her legs with one knee before settling between them, then rolled against her in one swift movement, taking pleasure in the way she threw her head back with a growl. 

He continued his ministrations, trailing hot kisses down her neck, just as she did to his moments before. One hand reached up to graze her breast as his kisses went farther down the middle of her chest, while his other hand roamed over the swell of her hips. 

Raven in turn, was growing more frustrated with every second he kept her distracted with his teasing, light touches. 

“Enough.” It was a command.

By the time he managed to blink he found himself on his back and she was straddling his waist. 

Her hands encased with her dark magic. “Alliges duplicia.”

His arms lit up with her magic and they were forced above his head. When he tried to bring them back down he was met with resistance. What the hell? When he looked up his eyes widened with realization. She bound my fucking hands to the headboard. 

“Raven.” He snarled in warning, tugging on his bonds. The demoness was unperturbed by his outburst. 

“You will submit to me, mate.” A dangerous red swirled in those golden irises, and he clenched his jaw in response, then bit back a groan when she brushed against his length. 

“Let me go.” He glared. 

“I will not. This is your punishment. You will stay like this until you beg for me.”

“Tch.” 

He detested how painfully hard he was. His erection strained against his trousers, and he couldn’t contain his next groan when she palmed him. 

It didn’t matter how much he wished she’d slip her hand underneath his belt. He would not beg. 

She began to strip slowly, until she was completely bare before him, and then she peeled off his pants carefully— and then his shirt. His full erection was on display for her, and he released a strangled noise in the back of his throat when she settled her heated core against him.

She chuckled darkly when he twitched underneath her. “Say please.” 

“No.” he gritted out, breath hitching when her mouth latched onto one of his nipples, nipping roughly. Her tongue flicked it right after, mixing the pain she had caused with pleasure. 

“No?” Her claws wrapped around his throat, squeezing in warning. “You are in no position to deny me, mate.” 

He just glowered.

“Fine.” She relented, retracting her claws. “You will break eventually.” 

Her fingers lifted to her full breasts, reddened from her true form, and her fingers began to tease one darkened nipple into a tight peak. The bonds went taut when he pulled at them roughly in an attempt to reach out to her. She noticed this and smirked as she teased her other nipple, then rocked against him. They groaned together.

He watched as she then slipped one hand down to her core and began to tease herself, parting her folds before slipping a finger inside while grazing against his cock. 

She moaned, mouth parting slightly and he growled again in protest. That should be his fingers inside of her. 

“If you insist on not obeying me, then I will use you for my own pleasure.” She sunk down onto his cock and his head hit the wall with his groan. Fuck, she felt so damned good and the pace she was setting set him on a steady course towards an impending orgasm, regardless of how much he despised not being in control. 

“Beloved.” He growled when she brought him to the brink all too soon, then slowed back down while teasing her clit with her own fingers. Quick, circling motions that revealed her own need to him— that she was nearing her own orgasm. 

He caught her hitched breath. She was losing resolve, caught in her own wave of pleasure. 

“Release me.” He tugged on his bonds again and bucked his hips into her for good measure. “I want to be the one to fuck you when you come.” 

She gasped and clenched around him, drawing him even deeper. “I will come soon. If you want to fuck me, you must beg now.” 

He cursed. Goddamn her. 

“Please, habibti. I am yours.” 

With a victorious smirk, she waved a hand. That smirk was short-lived however, because as soon as the bonds disappeared he lunged for his little demoness, twisting them both before pulling out of her to roll her onto her stomach. 

“You are mine too, Beloved. I will also make sure of that,” he snarled into her ear, teasing his cock at her entrance. His hands held her pressed against the bed. 

The demoness laughed, then inhaled sharply when he pushed into her with one swift movement. They were both right at the edge, only a few more thrusts was all it would take to throw them both over.

“I can feel how close you are,” He reached a hand underneath her to press his thumb directly against her clit, “Come with me, now.” 

She cried out— a sound that was more animalistic than human, and she fluttered around him. He fell shortly after, nearly seeing stars. He continued to thrust languidly, drawing out their orgasms. Vaguely, he watched as Raven’s skin turned from red to flushed ivory. One pair of eyes turned to peer up at him instead of two, and the color of her irises receded to lavender. 

For a moment he watched her transform, breathless. 

She smiled up at him as her breathing returned to normal and he returned it before dropping his face to her neck. “I’m going to have to make you jealous more often,” Damian murmured into her skin. 

Raven snorted, lifting a hand to run through his sweat-soaked hair. “Unwise. Not only will I definitely kill the next one, it will hurt the entire time she is dying.”

“Green is a good color on you, habibti.”

She said nothing, but he could feel her contentment in the gentle run of her fingers across his hair and skin. As post-orgasmic clarity continued to take hold a question popped into his mind and he leaned up to regard her.

“When were you planning on telling me we were essentially demon-married?”

She flushed. “Eventually. Are you...did you not want…?”

He silenced her with a kiss, letting his actions and strength of his emotions answer her question. As though he could ever give this up, or stomach the idea of either of them being with someone else. 

After all, Damian didn’t share either.

[daddysfangirls-anime]

To bare my hate (2/3)

Warning: Angst, language, mention suicide, attempted suicide, mention of child abuse, death, murder, blood

Mirio x reader

1 | 2 | 3

Taking Nezu and Aizawa’s advice Mirio was determined to spend more time with (Y/n) but only to prove to them that she was a Villain and had bad intentions.

“What are you doing” Mirio demanded as he found (Y/n) sitting in the grass outside writing in a journal and watching people.

“Getting sun. Vitamin D is very important for the immune system,” she stated looking up and smiling gently up at him. Looking at her notebook and quickly snatches it from her looking at what despicable plans she was writing down. Instead, he finds pictures, more specifically, sketches of different people ranging for students to teachers, they were really good. Mirio scoffed and tossed the book back at her hitting her in the head. She mumbled a soft ‘ouch’ rubbing the spot on her head that was hit she still smiled at him sweetly.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“What are your plans?”

“Well, I’ve finished my homework so I don’t have much to do for today. Maybe I’ll take a nap after this. Unless you want me to do something for you that is”

No, Villain would give up their plan so easily although she seemed nice he knew it could all be an act. He had made the mistake of misreading a situation before and lost Eri the first time he would not do it again.

He took a seat on the grass next to her and said nothing. She didn’t say anything either continuing her drawing and watching people.

“Why are you drawing these people?” Mirio asked

“People are interesting. People look interesting. Everyone is different. If you look close enough you can see even the smallest differences.” he looked at her confused.

“For example, Present Mic is more tired than Aizawa. You see, Although Aizawa is always sleeping about he is always alert, well-minded, and his work is done. Present Mic, on the other hand, is always drinking coffee, speaking often loudly and rapidly, acting erratically, forgetting, and falling behind in work. Plus Aizawa has two jobs a hero and teacher Mic has four a hero, teacher, Dj, and running a radio station. Aizawa and Mic just handle stress differently. Aizawa often avoids unnecessary stress if possible with his naps while Mic likes to run into stress head first or panic. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Aizawa and Midnight that man wouldn’t function properly.”

She turned her journal towards him showing him a sketch of Mic sleeping at his desk Aizawa putting a blanket over him and Midnight closing his laptop.

“You seem to know a lot about the staff here”

“Well, I do spend a lot of time with them. They are my family.” (Y/n) began to gather up her things and stood up “ This was nice we should do it again sometime. Bye, Bye Mirio.”

Mirio wanted her to stay talk to her more possibly get more out of her but he couldn’t find a way to keep her there and instead watched her walk away. She seemed so kind, so nice, and innocent but Mirio knew better this had to be an act of some sort. She was playing everybody and he was going to expose this game sooner or later. He was going to learn her secrets. She was a villain and he was going to prove it.

-

Mirio continued the action of spending time with (Y/n), even though he didn’t like her or want to, learning as much as he could or what she would tell him. Mirio's treatment towards her was unkind and a few people witness. He had a habit of insulting and belittling her and even physically hurting her, but nothing too serious( the small physical assaults stopped after Tamaki stepped in). But the most upsetting part was that (Y/n) took it all with a smile she never spoke ill of Mirio, never told on him, or fought back. She took it and never said a word just smiling and letting him go on.

“You’re not being very nice,” Nejiro said scolding Mirio as they watched (Y/n) walk away smiling as usual. (Y/n) hadn’t done very well on a test when the results fell out of her binder Mirio picked them up and began making fun of her for her low scores.

“I’m trying to provoke her so she’ll so her true colors”

“It didn’t look like that” Tamaki mumbled to himself but the others still heard him, they choose to ignore the comment.

“She’s a villain how is no one else seeing this?!”

“Probably because they’re so focused on the guy that’s bullying her,” Aizawa said casually walking by them

“Who?” he stopped and looked directly at Mirio.

“You. You are so convinced she’s a villain that you didn’t take a moment to think that maybe she’s a victim.” Aizawa said walking away shaking his head with a look of disappointment.

“He’s right,” Tamaki said he was now facing the wall appearing in a slump.

“You should talk to her and actually get to know her. Ask her what really happen? You might find out something new and interesting” Nejiro said poking his cheek before leaving him in the hall very confused and conflicted.

-

“Are you a villain?” Mirio said barging into (Y/n)’s room she was lying across her head she slowly sat up.

“No”

“Your parents were heroes and good people and you killed them.”

“... I let them die but I didn’t kill them.”

“How is that not the same thing?”

(Y/n) dragged her feet she didn’t want to go home she wasn’t ready to go home but it was too late she had done everything in her power to stall going home. Staying late at school doing homework, studying, and helping teachers, Taking a long way home, pretending to get lost, offering help to those she pasted. But now there was nothing more she could do and she had to meet her faint.

As she took slow steps home it began to rain but she didn’t pick up her pace if anything she took smaller steps and let the rain soak through her clothes she didn’t care.

Honestly, (Y/n) was praying neither of her parents was home and they instead got called away on some useless job. (Y/n) parents are famous pro-heroes their high popularity stemmed from them being an adorable couple with compatible quirks. But what happened on the outside was always very different than what happened on the inside. On the outside, they were heroes they saved people and worked for justice on the inside they were none of the such she had the scars and bruises to prove it. Looking can be deceiving.

As she crossed the bridge leading to her house she stopped and looked over the edge.

Maybe this life wasn’t cut out for her. Maybe that was what all this was life telling she wasn’t wanted and that she should go before it got any worse. She steps to the railing. Maybe she should join Ken. Ken was a friend of her life got too hard for her both home and school the bullies were too much and she deicide it was all the signs of life telling her to give up and give up she did jumping off of this very same bridge and year and a half earlier.

But as much as she wanted too she couldn’t join Ken she had promised her she’d become a hero for her. And she was working towards that goal attending UA, although it was a bit of set back being put in the general education course she would continue to work towards her goal and make Ken happy somehow.

Stepping back from the railing she continued her slow walk home.

When (Y/n) finally arrived home she found her front door ajar slowly and quietly she steps in the house. In the hallway by the front door, she found her father a large amount of his left side was missing and blood was everywhere. He was dead. But she wasn’t phased she didn’t care carefully stepping over his body and around the blood, she continues into the house.

She hears whimpering in the living room and follows the sounds. There she finds three men in plague doctor masks. Two standing against the wall and one kneeling over her mother who was beaten and bloody laying on the floor.

Ignoring the men she looks down at the woman laying on the floor. The woman reached for her with shaky hands

“..Mother?”

There was a cry and then her blood was everywhere and her head was gone.

“Oh” was all (Y/n) could say as she looked at the blood-stained couch. She was unphased by the woman's murder, honestly, she couldn’t call her mother and probably shouldn’t she never was.

The man stood and slowly walked towards her “ I just killed your mother yet you don’t seem phased. why is that ?”

“She was never a mother, to begin with, nor he a father... Are you going to kill me too? Can we do it somewhere else I don’t want to die next to them.”

He stepped forward raising his hand towards her cheek just inches away from touching her “You’re... interesting”

“ I... I just didn’t care at that point... God, that’s terrible isn’t it” (Y/n) said laying on her back covering her eyes at the ceiling a small smile on her face.

Mirio was really confused now. He was upset to hear that her parents, pro heroes at that, were abusing her but he was also angry thinking she had walked away with Overhaul after she witnesses him kill her parents. It was all confusing.

“Your parents were hurting you and you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked now sitting at her desk.

“I didn’t think anyone would care, they were pro heroes and I was a little girl who already had a bad record. I was blamed and accused of a lot of things I didn’t do at school. After they were killed it was found out because our house had security cameras Overhaul had taken the footage from that night but left everything else. The police found it but didn’t do anything with it because they were already dead. They didn’t make it public as they didn’t want to ruin their image after death.” she sighed  

“Why did you join Overhaul? You watched him kill them.”

“No one ever cared abomhut me before he came along. Not even the heroes were good to me. He took care of me he was so good to me” (Y/n) closed her eyes as tears slowly streamed down her face “ He was so good to me, no one was ever good to me. I-I didn’t deserve such goodness, I don’t deserve it”

As (Y/n) began to sob Mirio didn’t know what to do rolling over he puts a gentle hand on her shoulder as she continues to cry. And they just sit there without words.

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- Chapter 27- An Obitine Story

The first place Satine checked was her bedroom, it was empty save for a note. The Duchess fell to her knees and wailed. She pulled at her hair, threw chairs across the room, paced, Obi-Wan found her in her quarters an hour later.

“Satine!”

“Maul took them,” the Duchess’ throat was raw, “he took our four eldest.”

Obi-Wan froze for half a second.

“Mandalore was attacked, we should get you out of here.”

“I’m not leaving until my people are safe,” Satine stood, “I have speeches to make.”

“Satine-”

“Come with me,” the Duchess ordered, “some things will leave with you.”

Servants moved out of her way when she passed, but Satine didn’t care how terrible she looked. Stalking over to the safe, Satine opened it and pulled out her children’s birth certificates, a bag of kyber crystals, and a tiara from King Zagreus the Second of Zygerria.

“These should be brought back to coruscant,” Satine swallowed, “guard them as you would guard Jynn and Lyra.”

The Jedi opened his mouth to speak, but Satine hushed him with a kiss.

“Jynn and Lyra may one day be all you have left.”

And with that, Satine left, walking briskly and then running once she rounded a corner. First she found Parna, who led her to where the servants were hiding. Satine freed them.

“Go home to your families,” she announced, “they will want to know you’re safe.”

Parna organized the guards to help escort people home, while Satine looked for the Prime Minister. Jaru Djarin was sitting up against the wall, locked in her office, with her eyes closed.

“Jaru,” Satine whispered, growing louder, “Jaru are you alive?”

“Satine,” the Prime Minister mumbled, “come.”

The door opened and the Duchess stepped inside, it smelled awful, like the kind of place rats lived.

“I need you to help me broadcast a speech.”

Jaru sighed, “Help me up.”

The Duchess and her Prime Minister limped through the empty castle, every move of theirs was as loud as thunder rumbling.

“What will we say?” Jaru’s garbled voice questioned.

Satine groaned, she hadn’t thought much about that.

“Mandalore has been used and deliberately attacked with no provocation,” the Duchess found herself saying into the camera, “we have no choice but to join with the Republic and defend ourselves. Please stay in your homes until we are able to address you again, thank you.”

After the camera cut off, Satine made her way to the landing, where a battalion of clones were stationed under Ahsoka, who felt her presence immediately.

“Momdalore!”

Satine collapsed into the Padawan’s arms.

“I heard,” Ahsoka whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you here?” Jaru asked a clone.

“Protection,” he answered.

Satine straightened, “The Prime Minister and I are grateful for your help, please make sure our curfew is enforced.”

“You heard the Duchess,” Ahsoka commanded, “go keep Mandalore’s citizens safe, I will stay with the Duchess and her Prime Minister.”

Ahsoka helped Satine and Jaru to a conference room and then retrieved the Duchess’ comm device.

“Call Countess Wren,” Satine sighed, “we should start with her.”

Ursa was stone faced until she was informed that Tristan had been taken, then, she broke down into tears.

“We’ll keep our district safe, Satine,” Alrich Wren promised, “just make sure he’s alright.”

“I will.” the Duchess promised.

Then the Counts and Countesses of Mandalore were called, all of whom had heard the news and prepared for the defensive.

“Satine?”

Bo-Katan, who stood in the doorway, grimaced when the Duchess looked up. Ventress behind her made a disgusted sound.

“They were taken by your replacement,” Satine growled, “you should help get them back.”

“Who?” Jaru asked.

A beat of silence followed.

“Korkie and his friends.” Bo answered.

The Prime Minister put her face in her hands, “Dear God.” 

“The pirates and bounty hunters need to be paid.” Ventress added.

Satine stood, “Sloppy business not paying them in advance.”

Bo-Katan’s eyes narrowed.

“We don’t have any money in the budget for this.” Jaru mumbled.

“Palace defense?” Ventress suggested.

The Prime Minister shook her head.

“I’ll pay them,” the Duchess decided, “out of pocket. I need to call the bank.”

The bank began converting the required amount of credits into cash, and after a quick signature, Bo-Katan and Ventress took over the distribution.

“Your Grace?”

“She was taken,” Satine frowned, without looking up, “Mara and the others were taken. I’m sorry, Boba.”

“Well,” the bounty hunter’s voice changed, “what’s being done to bring her back?”

Satine swallowed, “I’ll ask the Jedi Council for help, now that we’ve officially joined their side it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I want to help.”

“I want everyone to help.” Satine countered.

Boba Fett knelt down.

“Your Grace,” he whispered, “we’ll get your children back.”

“Of course we will,” Satine agreed, “help me stand, Boba.”

He did and the Duchess sent him to find Khaami and Parna.

“Hello, Duchess.”

“Master Yoda,” Satine sobbed, “Darth Maul has taken my children.”

“Hm,” the Jedi stroked his beard, “bad this is.”

“Please help me get them back.” Satine begged.

“Do you know where he’s taken them?” Master Windu asked.

“No, he just said in his note that this was retribution.”

“He left a note?” Master Mundi inquired.

Satine nodded.

“Why didn’t you leave with the Jedi transport?” Master Windu questioned.

“I can’t leave my people.” Satine responded.

Master Yoda thought.

“Obi-Wan has our most important possessions,” Satine offered, “and the kyber crystals from Concordia.”

“Study those, we shall,” Master Yoda stated, “but meditate on this problem, I must.”

“Master Yoda?”

The Jedi looked to the Duchess.

Satine’s voice broke, “My children are all I have.”

Master Yoda nodded and the comm line went quiet.

“Satine?”

The Duchess turned her head as Parna entered.

“Let’s get you ready to face the public.”

Parna was gentle and kind, helping her lady shower and dress. Then she brushed her hair and braided it.

“Your locks are growing out again.” Parna observed.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

Parna tilted Satine’s head upward.

“I know it’s hard without the children, but the Jedi will help.”

“If Master Yoda consents to.” the Duchess countered.

“He has a soft spot for you, I’m sure.”

Ahsoka poked her head in.

“Momdalore,” Ahsoka began, “there are cameras here to see you.”

“It figures,” Satine mumbled, “they need to know.”

“There,” Parna announced, “finished.”

Satine looked at the braid in her hair, it came down to her shoulders. Her face was pallard and her eyes gaunt.

“Momdalore?”

“Escort me.”

The walls were lined with servants all whispering, none of them stopped when Satine passed, and that was what worried the Duchess most. At least some of them had the sense to curtsey.

“Her Grace, the Duchess of Mandalore.”

Satine stepped out onto the foyer and took a seat at the place that had been set up for her. Ahoska stood at her side.

It took a second for Satine to remember why she was there, “Questions?”

One brave reporter stood.

“We know the Count betrayed us and we have allied with the Republic, but what happened in the chaos of the palace last night, and what happened to the weather monitor?”

Satine almost spilled all her secrets at that moment, but fortunately Ahsoka spoke.

“Count Dooku tried to frame the Duchess and kill her, the audio recordings have been released.”

In the stunned silence, Satine cleared her throat.

“My nephew and his friends, including Tristan Wren, were taken as prisoners by the count’s apprentice,” she swallowed, “we have asked for assistance from the Jedi.”

The room burst into noise but Satine couldn’t hear anything.

“Let’s get you out.” Ahsoka whispered.

Parna helped Satine stand while Ahoska quieted the room for a couple minutes more.

“You need sleep,” Parna whispered, “rest.”

Up in her room, Padme commed Satine.

“We saw your broadcast,” she smiled sadly, “Master Yoda has agreed to send a rescue party.”

Satine burst into tears.

“Jynn and Lyra want to see you.”

Wiping her eyes, Satine saw her daughters in Padme’s arms, asleep.

Satine swallowed, “They’ve gotten so big.” 

“Five months.” Padme commented.

“Five whole months.” the Duchess nodded.

Lyra sighed, Jynn gurgled.

“Your Lady Mother misses you.” Satine whispered.

“They miss their mother too,” Obi-Wan frowned, coming into view, “some days they won’t sleep at all.”

“Who is in the rescue party?” Satine found the courage to ask.

“Multiple of Tyra’s Padawan friends,” Obi-Wan answered, “Quinlan, Master Mundi, and Anakin.”

“Not you?”

Obi-Wan sighed, “Maul hates me, if I go, it would give him an excuse to kill the children in front of me.”

Satine gave a shaky breath.

“Don’t worry, Darling,” Obi-Wan braced a smile, “we’ll get them.”

Satine nodded, hoping with her whole heart that was true.

“You just rest,” Padme commented, after a silence, “you look like you need it.”

“I do.” Satine agreed.

The Duchess slept till evening when the comm call finished. By the time Parna woke her, she was informed that the heads of the eight clans were all here requesting a meeting.

“And Khaami is going to stay with her family,” Parna added.

“Good,” Satine sat up, “help me with my hair.”

In front of the throne sat a circle of chairs. Count Awuad, Countess Bralor, Countess Eldar, Count Mudhorn, Count Rook, and Countess Saxon were all present. Count Vizsla’s father, Tarrei, had joined Death Watch a month ago, Satine had almost forgotten. What Satine was not expecting to see was Alrich Wren leading his clan.

“My wife is unwell with the news of our son,” he explained at Satine’s question, “she’s miserable.”

“This is a terrible crime,” Count Mudhorn growled, “you would think Tarrei-”

“Death Watch assisted us last night.” Satine frowned, unable to hear anything negative about Bo-Katan.

“Yes,” Countess Bralor nodded, “because they wanted the Count, when the Jedi took him they were upset they didn’t get shots at him.”

“However, Asajj Ventress spat in his face.” Countess Saxon remarked.

“The Count, Dooku, I mean,” Satine began, “said he had friends in Death Watch, my guess is it would be Vizsla.”

“That would make sense,” Count Awuad agreed, “my spies just told me that your sister might face mutiny.”

Satine sighed, “That would be unfortunate.”

“It would, but there is more news,” Count Awuad straightened, “the Vizslas now believe that the children taken belong to you.”

The Duchess went stoic as stone.

“A dangerous rhetoric if true,” Countess Eldar prodded.

“But there is no need to worry about that then,” Satine forced a smile, “I have no children.”

“No,” Count Rook agreed, “but he did take Mandalore’s heir.”

Satine’s comm rang, it was the Jedi Council.

“We have decided upon our rescue party.” Master Windu announced to the room, “three Jedi Masters, will accompany five padawans to save the children.”

“That seems like a large group.” Countess Eldar observed.

“It is needed,” Master Mundi responded, “I will be leading the effort, which will take place on Mustafar.”

Satine grew cold.

“Mustafar?” Alrich Wren asked.

“Yes,” Master Secura nodded, “that is where the children have been taken.”

The room silenced, a fire planet known for cruelty.

“Is the Count proving useful?” Countess Saxon asked.

“He is.” Master Windu did not elaborate.

“Padawan Tyra, the one you sent here for protection who has now been captured,” Satine began, “informed me that Count Dooku’s Master has a son. His name is Je’er, and his mother is Oana Shields of Harran, from Naboo.”

“Interesting this is,” Master Yoda spoke, “good spy, Padawan Tyra is.”

That brought Satine some comfort at least, knowing that the Jedi had faith in her daughter's skills.

“The rescue party will leave tomorrow,” Master Secura offered, “you may rest easy on that.”

“Thank you,” the Duchess swallowed, “Mandalore looks forward to helping you more in the future.”

“Now,” Count Awad sighed, “for our Death Watch problem.”

It was decided that if Sabine Wren had any connections left to Death Watch, she should use them. Ursa loathed to let another child leave her, and therefore made her husband go with their daughter.

Satine spent the next few days organizing an optional armed force regiment, with incentives to join, of course. She also met with food experts to talk about rationing and spoke with the Head of Mandalorian Trade. 

The Duchess was in a meeting with her seamstresses about reducing fabric consumption when Parna burst in.

“Satine!”

The Duchess stood, sensing important news.

“Padawan Tyra is in the med bay.”

Satine ran to the make-shift hospital in the palace, she was glad to see both Hera and Doctor Quial present, but gasped when she saw their patient. 

“Your Grace,” Khaami whispered, appearing at her side, “please sit down.”

Shaking violently, Satine fell into a chair and began to sob.

“Your Highness?”

Satine swallowed and looked at the boy standing in front of her, “You must be Je’er.”

He nodded and knelt before Satine.

“Your Grace, I’m sorry I couldn't free the rest of your children,” he began, his voice low, “but they are all kept separate, and I couldn't let harm come to Tyra.”

Satine glanced over at her daughter, “What happened?” 

“My father electrocuted her,” Je’er did not lower his eyes, “she has second degree burns, but she will live.”

Satine fell forward and hugged the boy.

“Thank you, Je’er, thank you so very much.”

Je’er breathed a sigh of relief.

“If it’s alright to ask, will you help me get to Coruscant, I need to testify in front of the Jedi Council?”

“Of course,” Satine stood, “do you need food, water?”

Je’er winced, “Sleep, first.”

“Khaami,” the Duchess turned, “give this young man a nice room.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Satine then stepped into a quiet conference room and called her favorite Jedi.

“Obi?”

“Satine, I-”

“I have the Sith Lord’s son, he rescued Tyra,” Satine blurbed, “he wants to testify in front of the Council.”

“Good, this is,” Master Yoda spoke, “collect him tonight, Master Kenobi will.”

Satine blushed, realizing that Obi-Wan was likely in a meeting, “Thank you, Master Jedi.”

Once she hung up, the Duchess came back to her seamstresses, whom Parna was entertaining.

“Good news, Your Grace?” Waldie asked.

Satine finally allowed herself to smile, “Wonderful news.”

“That’s needed in these times.” a seamstress ventured.

“I agree,” the Duchess nodded, “Parna, I think we can repurpose some of my old gowns.”

The Lady nodded, “Should I bring some of the older ones down?”

“Please.”

Khaami came in as Parna left.

“A word, Satine?”

They made their way halfway towards the landing pad before Khaami spoke.

“I posted Gorg outside his room.”

“Protection?”

“Or in case of aggression.” Khaami answered.

“My Ben is coming to collect him,” Satine bounced on her heels, “he’ll be here tonight.”

Khaami grinned, eyeing her lady evilly, “You’re so giddy around him, you always have been.

The Duchess blushed, “Sometimes I still feel like we’re seventeen.”

Khaami snorted, “Yes, with six children.”

Satine sighed, “If Master Qui-Gon would’ve known we would have six children, he would’ve made our lives hell.”

“In a loving way, I’m sure.”

“Most definitely.” the Duchess agreed.

When Obi-Wan finally arrived, Satine was with Tyra in the med bay. She had woken up and was talking, but she had painful-looking white bulbs all over her arms and legs.

“At least I still have my hair.” Tyra joked with a wince.

“I’m just glad you’re safe, baby girl.” Satine smiled, “you know, it was a wonderful surprise when you were born.”

Tyra’s eyes watered, “Really?”

“Oh yes,” Satine placed her hand in Tyra’s, “I joked that I made such a mess I would need two towels.”

“But you really did need two.”

“What a lovely story.”

Satine turned and threw herself into Ben’s arms.

“It’s good to see you too, Darling.”

The Duchess kissed her Jedi until Tyra groaned.

“Uh, Dad, Lady Mother, I’m right here?”

Obi-Wan came to inspect his daughter, frowning at her injuries.

“Be nice to Je’er, Daddy,” Tyra warned, “he’s my boyfriend.”

Ben blanched, “A Sith-spawn?”

“Obi, he saved her life.”

The Jedi sighed, “Alright, Tyra, for you.”

Satine led Obi-Wan to where Je’er was sleeping. The poor child was thrashing in his sleep.

“Je’er!”

Obi-Wan gently shook the boy awake.

“You’re Master Kenobi.”

“I am.”

Je’er swallowed, “My father’s name is Sheev Palpatine.”

The room grew heavy with silence, and boils appeared on Je’er’s skin.

“Stay calm,” Obi-Wan ordered, “stay calm and they’ll go away.”

It worked.

Satine’s head spun, “Sheev? The Chancellor of the Galactic Senate, a Sith Lord?”

“We’ve been suspicious for a long time,” Obi-Wan explained, “but we’ll need this boy’s testimony, and his blood.”

“Take him then,” Satine urged, “quickly.”

Once Obi-Wan left, the Duchess stood staring at the sky for a minute longer. Her children were out there somewhere, three of them imprisoned. That Sith Lord was terrible, keeping them separate from one another. What did he want from them?

“Satine,” Khaami appeared, “I have the Prime Minister on the phone.”

Jaru Djarin suggested that Satine go to parliament and speak to the lords, because, as usual, they were very disgruntled and consumed by nonsense.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Satine assured, “will you come with me?”

“Unfortunately,” the Prime Minister sighed, “I’m giving a press conference just as parliament begins.”

Satine nodded, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Satine was in a fitting for tomorrow’s event, an old court dress reminiscent of Queen Mara’s style, only in Kryze colors, when she asked Waldie what time it was.

“Six in the evening.”

Satine said nothing, but her stomach rumbled.

“Your Grace?”

The Duchess lowered her eyes, “I forgot to eat today.”

“Forgive me, Satine,” Waldie began, “put you’ve lost much weight since the Count’s first visit.”

“Stress.” the Duchess sighed.

Waldie swallowed, accepting the answer even though she didn’t want to.

“Should I have Parna bring food to your room?” a seamstress questioned.

Satine hesitated, “A light dinner please, it would be good for me.”

Khaami came to retrieve Satine when her fitting was over.

“I just talked to Gorg,” she whispered, “he’s filing for retirement.”

“Now,” Satine gasped, “but-”

“I know he knows,” Khaami’s voice was low and understanding, “but he has been unwell even though he’s physically healthy.”

“PTSD?” Satine asked.

“He’s been having nightmares in the barracks,” Khaami frowned, “he’s terribly embarrassed.” 

The Duchess balled her fists, “That God-awful Count and his apprentice!”

Khaami agreed, “I just wanted you to know.” 

“I’d love to honor him somehow, a pension perhaps,” Satine decided, “seeing as he doesn’t like big events.”

The lady smiled, “That’s a good idea.”

“Come with me,” Satine hooked her arm through Khaami’s, “I need someone to make sure I eat.”

Parna was laughing with Jaym outside Satine’s door when the Duchess and her lady arrived.

“What’s this?” Khaami grinned.

Parna snorted, “Jaym has a strange sense of humor.” 

“Does he?”

“Apparently,” Jaym shrugged, “most people don’t think I’m funny.”

Parna grinned, “You’re hilarious, Jaym.”

Satine turned to Khaami and raised her eyebrows.

“If you like, Your Grace,” she began, “I could make preparations for what we discussed and Parna could eat with you.”

“I would love that.” the Duchess replied.

Satine ate cheese and bread that night, the whole platter that was offered to her.

Parna patted the Duchess’ head, “Good girl, Satine.”

“Thank you.” Satine replied with a giggle.

“Should I help you dress for bed?”

“Please, Parna.”

As Satine lay in bed that night, she had no idea what was going on somewhere else in the galaxy, on Mustafar. Obi-Wan had commed her saying he and Je’er had made it, but when the Jedi Council come out of a meeting to find Mara Supreis and Tristan Wren in the med wing, along with three of the five padawans.

[dalleray]

If I hadn't been very good interviewing [Patricia] Highsmith in Aurigeno, there was someone I was downright bad at, and yet it must have been the start of a surprising, singularly charming story: Edwige Feuillère....

I arrive one afternoon at rue de Longchamp in Neuilly. Rather banal building. I get on the elevator, my throat a little tight: I felt her authoritarian. They open the door for me and show me into the living room, I find it a little too pink, a little too sweet. She enters. Not very much makeup on; she wears a funnel neck sweater. Her body no longer has the firmness of my memories. Still, there is the way she carries her head. It's her, but she's an old woman.

Today, I'm sure she saw it all in my eyes in a second. So, she pulled out all the stops. She offers me a seat on a couch and sits next to me, almost thigh to thigh. I move back. She raises her eyebrow and just says: “You are sitting very badly. Lean on the cushions.”

“Sorry, but I can't work like this.” “Okay, I'll take the cushions away.”

And we start. She responds, but very quickly interrupts me and brings her face closer to mine. "Ah, now that I see you with my glasses on… But you have very pretty green eyes," with that voice that makes all screens shudder. I do not know where I am. I pick up the thread as best I can.

“You read my book! You are indeed the first journalist who comes to see me for this book to have read it.”

I stammer. I am getting worse and worse. I bend down to turn on the tape recorder. She lifts my face, touches my hair, on the forehead, to the right. "But you have a strand of white hair. Is it natural or are you doing it on purpose?" There, I feel that I am confused, maybe even that I blush, I flounder, I sink. That’ll teach me to betray that, in her sweater, I couldn't find the one I had placed on a pedestal at all. I'm mad at myself, but at her too. Now she wants me to eat chocolates. And tell me that she is a great reader. As if! I wonder what literature she likes, but I don't feel like digging. I want to go. She goes to get my item of clothing, a black leather jacket and helps me put it on. She runs her hand all the way down my back and says, still her voice, "I love the feel of leather.”

Okay, she's seventy-seven, I'm thirty-three, but she took over and covered me with the ridicule I deserved. Let's run away together.

I was not at the end of my punishment, though. I listen to the tape. I am lamer than lame: I don't raise the right questions, I don't push her to explain, I say totally incongruous things. Nothing to get out of it. Unreliable. And, to make matters worse, she wants to reread before publication. What to do? Meet with close friends to whom I dare not even speak out. Common sense advice, but easy to say: "Try to remember what you wanted to know, what she started to say when she stops and you forget to start her again. Rewrite everything: there will probably not be a word of what's on the tape, but we'll see what she says about it." A whole weekend, for an interview page in Le Monde. And a close reading by my friend Monique Nemer. Questions at last intelligently formulated and answers reconstructed, but perhaps just a bit “off.”

On Monday, the interview is printed. Two hours later, Feuillère on the phone: "My little one, it's absolutely perfect...I've never read an interview so true to who I am.” That’s when I realized she was extremely intelligent.

She offered for me to see her again. She told me about what she read. A very sure taste for literature, the classics—she had not forgotten Claudel's lessons. She was very attached to her hand-annotated edition of Dante's The Divine Comedy in Italian—her father's nationality. She gave it at the end of her life to Hector Bianciotti, whom I introduced to her. But she had a curiosity for everything that was published—I brought her my favorite recent books—and the eclecticism of avid readers. She happily returned to Claudel's side, but discovered with the same interest Philip Roth, who made her want to reread Joseph Roth. Dante would bring her back to Philippe Sollers' side, and she would go back to the Italian side to read Svevo and Elsa Morante. She read the ones I told her about: Eudora Welty, Anna Maria Ortese, Annie Ernaux, Danièle Sallenave. But Highsmith's murky tales seemed too worrying to her. When we went to dinner, I always tried to convince her, to make her love this "black queen” without much success.

When she played at the theater at night, we used to go to lunch. She seduced me in every way—because she liked to seduce, because her conversation was brilliant, humorous, her language sometimes deliciously old-fashioned. One day when I was talking to her about a man, she said to me, “Alors, vous êtes éprise?” (“So, are you in love?”) with a sort of ‘h’ sucked in front of "éprise.” She lunched “en chapeau” (“in hat”) as it should be if you arrive in a restaurant wearing a hat, but nobody knows how to do it anymore. After coffee, without using a mirror, she reapplied her lipstick. She would sometimes use an indignant grandmother's voice to say, "My little one, stand up straight. This is an absolute rule.” When I complained about a married man who liked neurotics—those who harass you to snatch an evening, a weekend—and I told her that I hated these behaviors and that, asking for nothing, I did not get anything, she punctuated with a laugh: “But my little one, this is the story of my life! Men, if not burdened with recriminations, give nothing."

I loved going to see her at the theater. The presence on stage of a person with whom you have a form of intimacy is always moving. Anguishing, too. When, at the Théâtre Montparnasse, she took over La Maison du lac with Jean Marais, I went there almost every evening. Marais-Feuillère, for the last time, you had to see and see again. One day when she invited me to lunch in a restaurant near the theater, whose old-fashioned and provincial character, like the clientele, amused us, she reproached me: "Stop coming to the theater!" Seeing my crestfallen face, she added, “But this is not a good play! How can you listen to these banal lines over and over again?” “Of course, it's not Claudel, but I'm not coming for the lyrics, I'm coming for your shoulders and for the melody.”

“Cheeky and incorrigible, that's what you are. So, come on tonight, I'll introduce you to Jean."

Juliette Gréco, who laughed at this improbable friendship and imitated Feuillère so well, would sometimes call me, mocking her voice. I hesitated for fear of saying to the real Feuillère: "Stop your stupid jokes! " One morning, I hear Feuillère's phrasing on the phone, too over-played for it to really be her: “My little one, I had a great time last night.” And Juliette Gréco tells me, with her own voice and the tone of a kid delighted with her triumph, that she was at a party the day before, and that seeing Feuillère at a table she approached silently, passed her arms around her shoulders, and leaned over say to her ironically: "So, are we seducing the same young woman?"

Despite my protests, I admit that I was rather entertained by imagining this scene between these two. The tastiest was yet to come. Call from Feuillère, the same afternoon: "My little one, we mustn't tell Juliette Gréco that we are seeing each other, she is very jealous"

I joked: "No, she knows very well that we have incestuous loves.” “Incestuous, perhaps, but not Sapphic.” There is no one left to utter such phrases!

Talking about her relationships with women, one day, when once again I had just passed a passionate admirer on her doorstep who was chasing her and whom she received, while remaining aloof, even disdainful, I joked: “You are a tease.”

“At last, my little one, how dare you?”

“Sorry, but it's the truth!”

She didn't comment. I thought of Sartre telling Sagan, who was cutting meat badly, that he could no longer cut himself: “Respect is lost."

I was a little ashamed: I had crossed a line—thin, barely perceptible, and yet very present, beyond which she wanted to safeguard her unalterable dignity. More than Claudel, it was Mallarmé's Hérodiade that she made think of: "Who would dare touch me, a respected lion?”

- Josyane Savigneau on her friendship with Edwige Feuillère in Point de côté

[introvertguide]

The Life of Roman Polanski

The director of our current movie under review, Roman Polanski, is a man that has been surrounded by sadness and controversy. I think that he is a great director and an amazing creator of the visual arts, but he has a major flaw that makes me very glad he is nowhere near me. I think a statement like that deserves some explanation, but know that a lot of my take is based on opinion. I was not alive when a lot of his issues occurred so I base my opinion on news and official record statements. I will try and rely on recorded facts as much as possible and make a point to mention if something is not proven. I also encourage anyone who is interested to find out more because it is a fascinating story.

Polanski started off the in a pretty bad way as he was born in 1933 in Paris during the height of Nazi reign in Europe. He was moved to Krakow in 1937 right before the German invasion and his parents were taken in raids. He was kept alive in foster homes under an assumed identity and was lucky to survive. His mother died in Auschwitz, but he was reunited with his father after the war in 1946. Roman had quite the artistic eye and used it for both photography and filming. He attended the National Film School in Lodz, Poland and started directing short films that gained recognition. One film in particular was called Bicycle. It was a true story of a thief that tricked Polanski out of his money when purchasing a bicycle and instead beat Polanski around the head with the butt of a gun. The thief was found and eventually executed for past crimes including 3 murders. 

After graduating in 1959, Polanski went to France and continued to make short films. He reported that there was a problem with xenophobia at the time since so many Polish people had dispersed around Europe after the war. He went to England and made three movies between 1965 and 1968 that gained recognition in America: Repulsion, Cul-de-sac, and Dance of the Vampires. A young woman named Sharon Tate played a role in Dance of the Vampires and Polanski fell in love. He married her in 1968 in England, and they moved to the U.S. so he could make movies in Hollywood. His first film in the states was a horror film entitled Rosemary’s Baby, one of the highest rated horror films of all time. Polanski had a beautiful young wife, a son on the way, a hit movie with more work coming, and great prospects for life in the United States.

As horrific as his formative years were, I am surprised to find myself writing that this is when Polanski’s life really went out of control. On August 9th, 1969, cult members who followed a man named Charles Manson broke into the Polanski home in Los Angeles and murdered the 8 month pregnant Sharon Tate and four friends that were at the home. Polanski had been working in London on a new film and wasn’t there that night. He says to this day that it is by far the greatest regret of his life. Remember this. It seems that some wires got crossed as far as Roman’s thinking process because his behavior really took a turn.

His films had been dark and violent in the past, but they started to have sexual undertones with more graphic nudity. His first movie back after the loss of his wife was Macbeth, a movie that was rated X at the time for graphic nudity and violence. Polanski later said that he was in a dark place, but the media would find things in his movies always looking for a story. He hated the media after the sensationalism and lack of privacy involved with the loss of his wife and son. Next came an extremely odd road trip sex comedy that was appropriately called What?. And then came his last work filmed in the United States and the film he was probably best known for, Chinatown. I don’t want to go over the film too much since it is the film currently under review for the group, but it is very dark and has an extremely down beat ending. 

And then another crime was committed in Polanski’s life that would haunt while simultaneously erasing any good will the American public had for him. He was charged for drugging and raping a 13-year-old girl who modeled for him during a Vogue photoshoot. It was recorded as occurring at the Bel Air estate of Jack Nicholson. There is no question about this encounter as Polanski was arrested and confessed to the charges. He thought he was going to receive probation and timed served for a guilty plea, but the judge was reported to have changed his mind and was planning to reject the plea and give Polanski prison time for all charges. This would result in up to 50 years in jail and what amounted to life in prison. Polanski would not serve this sentence so he fled the country to France where he would not be extradited. 

The charges are still pending and there is no statute of limitations on rape in the United States, so Polanski is on a list of people that if found outside of certain countries will be immediately sent back to the U.S. to face charges. He has dual citizenship in France and Poland; both countries do not extradite citizens. He went on to make one of his best works, a film called Tess, while in Europe. It was a great success and Polanski was nominated for Best Director. The film ended up winning three Academy Awards (none for Polanski). So it seemed that this acclaimed director would live in France and hope that things would blow over. He settled a civil suit in court with the girl and she went on to marry and says she forgives Polanski. But it didn’t end...

Because the woman was in the U.S. and Polanski was not, she was harassed by the press to speak out and tell her story. She reported that the media did much more harm to her and her family than Polanski did. That is a very strong statement considering the charges. Things finally cooled down somewhat when Polanski married an actress from one of his films, Emmanuelle Seignor in 1989. The couple have two kids together and things were apparently going fine in France. 

Things remained well through the 90s although nothing Polanski did got much attention. It seemed he would simply live out his life quietly in France. Then in 1999, he came out with a film called The Ninth Gate that garnered attention since it starred the very popular Johnny Depp. Polanski was back on his game and he directed and produced a film called The Pianist. It stars Adrian Brody and told the story of a Polish-Jewish composer who survived the concentration camps because of goodwill received from German officers that appreciated his work. It is a masterpiece and earned Polanski the award for Best Director. He could not accept the award in person because he would be arrested, so Harrison Ford accepted it on his behalf and took it to him in France. A strange little detail about this is that The Pianist was also up for best picture, but stirrings about Polanski’s past were brought up by a competing producer to throw the award. There is no real proof of this, but the man said to have done this was quite powerful in Hollywood at the time. Ironically, that man who was said to remind people of old rape charges was none other than Harvey Weinstein. I don’t have proof of this, but it is an interesting story. One of those “I heard it is said that” kind of things from TMZ. 

Anyway, these reminders had people trying to interview Polanski and his wife about the past and he basically said that people needed to move past it. This does not tend to go over very well with the American public or the legal system and Polanski was arrested while in Switzerland and held in Zurich. Public sentiment in America, France, and Poland leaned towards Polanski being sent to America to face trial. The Swiss judge denied extradition and Polanski was sent back to France. There were requests in 2014 by US courts that Poland send Polanski to stand trial since there was question concerning the conduct of the original judge in Polanski’s case. It was believed that Polanski would be given some form of probation, but it also meant he could travel. Polish courts ruled that Polanski had served his punishment and should not have to face U.S. courts again. In 2016, it was presented by Polish officials that no amount of time could account for the crime of rape, but the decision of the lower court was held. 

In 2018, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences removed Polanski as a member. Strangely, that same year, they offered a membership to his wife (who loudly said no).

So the final say about how to feel about Polanski and his works lies firmly on the individual. Here is all the information about the trial that can keep it nice and ambiguous for you. The judge, the lead prosecutor, and the LA County Deputy DA at the time all admitted bias against Polanski. He would not have gotten a fair trial and would likely have ended up in prison for life. The prosecutor said later in an interview for a documentary that he was not surprised at all that Polanski left and it would have been a media circus. Polanski paid the victim almost a million dollars in civil settlement money and she said she doesn’t want to see any further prosecution. Okay. In 2017, a website run by Matan Uziel was sued by Polanski for libel when it was posted that 5 other women had come forward and accused Polanski of sexual assault. Polanski did not show up in court so Uziel was dismissed of charges. Uziel requested specifically that the cases not be dropped so that Polanski could not try and sue him at a future date. It is true that, in 2010, an English actress accused Polanski of “forcing himself” on her during filming of the movie Pirates. In 2017, a Swiss woman accused Polanski of raping her in the 70s when she was only 15. The same month, another woman accused him of assaulting her in 1975 when she was only 10. Finally, in 2019, a former actress model from France said that Polanski violently raped her at a Swiss chalet in 1975.

So what can you say about the man? His early life was tragedy and misery. The loss of his wife and child was horrific. He seemed like he was in a very bad place in the 70s. I don’t want to give credence to accusation without proof, but it can be sure that he committed at least one sexual assault of an under aged girl. He ran from his trial because he knew it would not be fair, but he was still never held accountable in a court of law for what he did. He has been forced to stay in Poland and France, but he is wealthy with a wife and kids, never seeing the jail time for what he did. And if it is true that he has committed other crimes like this, then he needs to be in jail. But could he ever get a fair day in court at this point? The man is 87 and will likely die soon, likely before any sentencing could occur. Also, how reliable is testimony from any parties about things that happened between 40-50 years ago? Everything he is accused of seems to have happened after the death of Sharon Tate and before his marriage to his current wife, so it seems like his behavior was linked to his state of mind and he is no longer in that state. That may explain things but it does not forgive them.

I don’t know. This is probably why I chose psychology instead of law enforcement or criminal justice. Trying to decide if someone has adequately paid for crimes they have committed is not my specialty. It will be a moot point soon enough because he will be dead. So what do we do with the guy? He has encountered both great suffering and great joy in his life. He as also caused great suffering and great joy. I guess it is more about how he will be remembered at this point. I would be curious to hear what others think. 

[wastelandcth]

anon requested : the fans thinking reader is toxic and the new "a*******" just because of her rbf sometimes when she's with Cal and him shutting them down is my kink

thanks for the request! she who will not be named brings back bad memories hence the above but i still really likes the idea of calum speaking out over his loved ones!

Respect

By the time Calum had finished recording the video, his hands were shaking, the anger in his body still present as he thought about how he'd found you in your living room, a blanket wrapped around your body as you scrolled through your phone, reading all the comments and messages his so called fans had been writing about you. The urge to grab your phone and throw it as far away from you both faded away as he heard you choke back a sob from escaping your mouth, his body moving over next to yours and wrapping his arms around you. He felt like this was his fault, he was used to everyone talking about him whenever he did anything, comments would stream in about how he looked, what he was doing, who he was with. But you had never asked for any of that, all you had done was stolen Calum's heart and then you were thrust into the spotlight. Everytime you two would go out there was pictures online before the two of you were back home, the fans commenting on every little detail of you two.

At first, you thought you'd be able to handle it. They were just people hiding behind a screen and it hadn't bothered you at all in the beginning. In the beginning, the fans were accepting of your relationship, never prying too much when they'd spot you both out running errands. You'd been dating Calum for almost a year when you two first went public, so you both knew that your relationship was solid, knew that you were both understanding of each other's lives and the fans seem to understand that. It wasn't until some of them had compared you to a certain ex that the band didn't mention much anymore that your feelings toward his fans began to change.

At first, Calum hadn't noticed the way you seemed to walk further away when he was stopped by them when you two went shopping, most of the time completely disappearing from view until he would have to text or call you to find out what store you had hidden in, your excuse being you wanted to give him more time to spend with them, that you knew how important they were to him. You'd also stopped posting on most social media, especially about him. Anytime you'd post a tweet about you'd done during the day, or even just a picture of Duke, the hate comments would stream in, blaming you for Calum's recent behavior or the way he was looking. Then you just altogether disappeared from the online scene, your accounts left unused and some of his fans wondering where'd you gone. Calum noticed something was off when you started making excuses up as to why you couldn't go out with him to run errands or go to lunch anymore, always blaming work or even a family emergency in order to get out of being seen in public with him.

This time you had told him you were busy with a work project, that lunch just wasn't possible for the next couple of days. Frustrated, Calum made his way to your place. He was fed up, he was tired of being the one who always had to reach out and try to plan something for the both of you. He didn't know exactly why your mood had changed over the last couple of weeks, why you distanced yourself from him and everyone else around you. And that's when he found you on your couch, tears streaming down your face as you finally told him the truth, how his fans thought you were ruining his life, that they thought you were toxic, that you had changed him for the worst. Your body shook as you told him everything, told him how you felt like they were right at times, that he'd probably be better off with someone else. It wasn't until Calum had cupped your face in his hands and forced you to look at him that you felt the stress and sadness of the past couple days leave your shoulders.

"They're wrong. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, you know that right? Ever since I met you, I've never wanted anything but to be with you, to be able to hear your laugh and hear about all of your workplace gossip." he nodded, his thumb sliding under your eye to wipe away the tears, "You're the only one for me, if they can't understand that, then they're not my fans, they're nothing to me, baby." he sighed, his arms pulling you into a hug, "I know you never asked for any of this, that you deserve to have the privacy in a relationship. I'm sorry that I can't give that to you." He held you close, a small sigh leaving his lips as he felt you lean into his touch, only leaving your side once your breathing had evened out and your eyelids had fluttered closed. He made his way into the office, his phone tightly gripped in his hands, uploading the video to all his social media, making the message very clear to whoever was listening.

"My relationship is frankly none of your business. Who I choose to love and spend my time outside of the band with does not concern you. If I want to be with my girlfriend because she makes me happy, then that's who I will be with. I won't let my so called fans decide who they think is best for me. You know a portion of my life, the parts I choose to share with you. You do not know me like she knows me and honestly, none of you will ever know me like she does. She is my sun and I will not have you all disrespect not only her privacy but her image. My girlfriend is the most caring and thoughtful person I've ever met. She's made me want to become a better person and I wish she could have that influence on all of you who are wasting your time sending hurtful and disrespectful comments towards hers. I'm not sure what you all believe but hating on my friends, family, and loved ones will not make me notice you, it will not make me fall in love with you, and it will certainly not make me want to interact with you. If you guys can't respect me and my decisions then you have no business being a fan of me and the band. I've seen this happen plenty of times to my brothers and I will not stand by and let it happen to me as well. I love her and she makes me happy. That should be enough for you guys to respect her, respect me, and respect our relationship."

[oneweekoneband]

I’m slightly nauseous already with knowing I’m going to say this, but what does “self-awareness”  even mean? In modern parlance, as a descriptive phrase, as a comment on art? I’m asking in earnest, like, I’ve been Googling lately, which for me is basically on par with doctoral study in terms of academic rigor. The self is king, anyway, tyrant, so where is the line of distinction between material that intentionally is nodding at some truth about the artist’s life and what’s just, like, all the rest of the regular navel-gazing bullshit. I mean, I’m all self, I am guilty here. I can’t get it out of my poems or even make it more quiet. This is the tenth time I’ve invoked “I” in the space of six sentences. Processing art has always necessitated a certain amount of grappling with the creator, but the busywork of it lately grows more and more tedious. Joy drains out of my body parsing marks left behind not just in stylistic tendencies and themes, but in literal, intentional tags like graffiti on a water tower. This feels an age old and moth-holed complaint, dull, and I am no historian, or really a serious thinker of any kind. I’ve now complained at some length about self-referential art, but didn’t I love how Martin Scorsese nodded to the famous Goodfellas Copacabana tracking shot with the opening frames of last year’s The Irishman? Didn’t I find that terribly fun and sort of sweet? So there’s distinctions. I’m only saying I don’t know with certainty what they even are. I’m unreliable, and someone smarter than me has likely already solved my quandary about why self-knowledge often transforms into overly precious self-reflexivity in such a way that the knowledge is diminished and obscured, leaving only cutesy Easter eggs behind. Postmodernism has birthed a moralizing culture where art exists to be termed either “self-aware Good” or “self-aware Bad”.  Self-referentiality in media is so commonplace, so much the standard, that what was once credited as metatextual inventiveness often feels lazy now. In 1996, Scream was revitalizing a genre. Today, two thirds of all horror movies spend half their running time making sure that you know that they know they’re a horror movie, which is fine, I guess, except sometimes you just wanna watch someone get butchered with an axe in peace. 

This is all to say that in 2020 Taylor Swift looked long and hard upon her image in the reflecting pool of her heart and has written yet another song about Gone Girl.

“mirrorball” is a very good piece of Gone Girl —feels insane to tell anyone reading a post on a blog what Gone Girl is but, you know, the extremely popular 2012 novel about a woman who pretends to have been murdered and frames her husband for it, and subsequently the 2014 film adaption where you kinda see Ben Affleck’s dick for a second—fanfiction. It would be a fine song, a good song, really, even if it weren’t that, if it were just something normal and not unhinged written by a chill person who behaves in a regular way, but we need to acknowledge the facts for what they are. When Taylor Swift watched Rosamund Pike toss her freshly self-bobbed hair out of her face and hiss, “You think you’d be happy with some nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby. I’m it!” her brain lit up like a Christmas tree, and she’s never been the same. If you Google “taylor swift gone girl” there waiting for you will be a medium sized lake’s worth of articles speculating about how Gone Girl influenced and is referenced in past Swift singles “Blank Space” and “Look What You Made Me Do”. This is not new behavior, and if anything it’s getting a bit troubling to think that it’s been this long since Taylor’s read another book. Still, while the prior offerings were a fair attempt at this particular feat of depravity, “mirrorball” has brought Taylor’s Amy Elliott Dunne deification to stunning new heights. And most importantly, Taylor has done a service to every person alive with more than six brain cells and a Internet connection by putting an end to the “Cool Girl” discourse once and for all. By the power invested in “mirrorball”, it is hereby decreed that the Cool Girl speech from Gone Girl is neither feminist or antifeminist, not ironic nor aspirational. No. It’s something much better than all that. It’s a threat. I ! Can ! Change ! Everything ! About ! Me ! To ! Fit ! In !

Gone Girl (2012) by Gillian Flynn

“mirrorball” (2020) by Taylor Swift

When the twinkly musical stylings of Jack Antonoff, a man I distinctly distrust, but for no one specific reason, whirl to life at the beginning of this song I feel instantly entranced, blurry-brained and pleasure-pickled like an infant beneath a light-up crib mobile or, I guess, myself in the old times, the outside times, three tequila sodas deep under the disco lights at The Short Stop. Under a mirrorball in my head. I know very little about music, as a craft, and I really don’t care to know more. I’m happy in a world of pure, dumb sensation. I’m not even sure what kind of instruments are making these jangly little sounds. I just like it. I am vibing. We may not ever be able to behave badly in a club again, but I can sway to my stupid Taylor Swift-and-the-brother-of-the-lady-who-makes-like-those-sweatshirts-with-little-sayings-or-like-vulvas-which-famous-white-women-wear-on-instagram-you-know-what-I-mean song, pressing up onto my tiptoes on the linoleum tile of our kitchen floor and can feel for a second or two something approaching bliss. “mirrorball” is a lush sound bath that I like a lot and then also it’s about being all things to all people, chameleoning at a second’s notice, doing Oscar worthy work on every Zoom call, performing the you who is good, performing the you who is funny, performing the you who draws a liter of your own blood and throws it around the kitchen then cleans it up badly all to get your husband sent to jail for sleeping with a college student... Too much talk about making and unmaking of the self is way too, like, 2012 Tumblr for me now, and I start hearing the word “praxis” ring threateningly in my head, but I’m not yet so evolved that I don’t feel a pull. Musings on the disorganized self—on how we are new all the time, and not just because of all the fresh skin coming up under the dead, personhood in the end so frighteningly flexible—are always going to compel me, I’m afraid, but that goes double for musings on the disorganized self which posit that Taylor Swift still thinks Amy Dunne made some points.

Because on “mirrorball” Taylor is for once not hamfistedly addressing some “hater”, in the quiet and the lack of embarrassing martyrdom it actually offers an interesting answer to the complaint that Taylor is insufficiently self-aware. This criticism emerges often in tandem with claiming to have discovered some crack in the chassis of Swift’s public self, revealing the sweetness to be insincere. My instinct is to dismiss this more or less out of hand as just a mutation of the school of thought that presumes all work by women must be autobiography. And, regardless, it is made altogether laughable by the fact that anyone actually paying attention has known since at least Speak Now, a delightful record populated by the most appalling, horrible characters imaginable, and all of them written by a twenty year old Taylor Swift, that this woman is a pure weirdo. To accuse Taylor Swift of lacking in self-awareness is a reductive misunderstanding, I think, of artifice. Being a fake bitch takes work. Which is to say, if we agree that her public self is a calculated performance—eliding the fact that all public selves are a performance to avoid getting too in the weeds yadda yadda— why, then, should it be presumed that performance is rooted in ignorance? Would it not make more sense that, in fact, someone able to contort themselves so ably into various shapes for public consumption would have a certain understanding of the basic materials they’re working with and concealing? Taylor Swift, in a decade and a half of fame, has presented herself from inside a number of distinct packages. The gangly teenager draped in long curls like climbing wisteria who wrote lyrics down her arms in glitter paint gave way to red lipstick, a Diet Coke campaign, and bad dancing at awards shows. There was the period where she was surrounded constantly by a gaggle of models, then suddenly wasn’t anymore, and that rough interlude with the bleached hair. The whole Polaroid thing. Last year she boldly revealed she’s a democrat. Now it’s the end of the world and she’s got frizzy bangs and flannels and muted little piano songs. Perhaps this endless shape-shifting contradicts or undermines, for some, the pose of tender authenticity which has remained static through each phase, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been doing it all on purpose the entire time. I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try...

In the Disney+ documentary—which, in order to watch, I had to grudgingly give the vile mouse seven dollars, because the login information that I’d begged off of my little sister didn’t work and I was too embarrassed to bring it up a second time—Taylor referred to “mirrorball” as the first time on the album where she explicitly addressed the pandemic, referring to the lyrics that start, “And they called off the circus, Burned the disco down,” and end with “I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me,” which actually did made me laugh, feeling sort of warmly foolish and a little fond, because it never would have occurred to me that she was trying to be literal there. I suppose we really do all contain multitudes. Hate that.

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

3. alone in our secret, together we sigh

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“I did not bid a hundred and fifty bucks for you to not pay attention to me,” whined Bianca Stone.

Thomas Hunt, who sat nearly a foot away from his “date” in Chateau de Rose, barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had known that auctioning off his evening for charity was going to guarantee him several hours of boredom at best, but being essentially held captive by one of his most detested students was not what he had even considered in the realm of possibilities for how the night would go. Aria Sheridan, the unnervingly perky hostess and auctioneer, had failed to inform him that his students would be allowed to bid on him, something that surely would have influenced his decision to take part in the event. But he had been one of the bigger names on the block, and though he knew that hundred and fifty dollars was Anders Stone’s money, at least it was going to some good use for once-

“Thomas, are you even listening to me?”

Snapped out of his thoughts, he reluctantly turned his gaze to his student. “Do not call me that.”

Bianca’s frown quickly turned sly. “Oh, okay. I’ll call you ‘professor’ then, if that’s what you like.”

He did not appreciate the implications behind her words. Or the tone she used to deliver them.

Thankfully, their server appeared, bearing their respective meals and drinks, giving him a much needed out from the salacious turn their stilted conversation was going. Though he hadn’t been to Chateau de Rose in years, not since – well, it had been a while, but he had ordered what he considered to be his favourite dish. Salmon Wellington with a side of herb and garlic mashed potatoes and acid-free cherry tomatoes. Back when he had frequented the restaurant with – well, back then, he only ordered the buttered mashed potatoes to spare his date from garlicky breath. But now, however, he hoped it would at the very least deter Bianca.

As he gulped down his three fingers of scotch, he nearly choked at the feeling of a shoe rubbing suggestively against his ankle. Swallowing hard, he shifted further away from her, only for the distance to be shortened by his smirking companion.

“Don’t be shy, professor.” The way she said the last word made his skin feel like crawling. “We’re tucked away in the corner. You don’t have to be so staid. We can get a little closer. A lot closer, in my opinion.”

Though the meal was as delicious as he had remembered, his stomach was churning. “I don’t know what you think this is-”

And then a commotion pulled his attention away from her, to where two people were noticeably getting escorted to the only other booth near them. The commotion came not from the two settling into their seats, but from other diners present who apparently couldn’t help but speak loudly of their entrance.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“Why, of course, I worked at the Fox Theatre for years. I’d recognize that face anywhere!”

“Chris Winters and . . . wait, who’s that with him?”

“That’s certainly not Sofia Morena.”

“Now, where have I seen that girl before? She looks so familiar.”

As the voices of the other diners seemed to fade into the din of the restaurant, Thomas found himself fixated on the booth in which the action movie star was openly flirting with his other notorious nuisance of a student. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the conventionally handsome household name and A-lister leaned into her and whispered something, earning him a face-splitting smile and a laugh that Thomas had heard often from across the lecture hall.

And several times during . . . other situations, but he didn’t want to think about those.

Ignoring Bianca’s attempts at getting him to sit closer to her, Thomas finished his food and signalled to the waiter for another drink. He gulped down his refill in record time as he watched Chris Winters wrap an arm around her shoulder and hold his phone in an angle that suggested they were taking a selfie.

Thomas sensed Bianca moving a little closer, cell phone in hand.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered.

Bianca scowled. “If I had known you were going to be this rude, I would never have bid on you! You’re the worst date ever.”

Removing the cloth napkin from his lap, he dabbed at the corners of his lips carefully before folding it and placing it on the table beside his empty plate.

“Miss Stone, what exactly did you think was going to happen?” Thomas asked, genuinely curious. “Did you think your purchasing several hours of my time for charity guaranteed that we’d, I don’t know, fall in love and have children together? At the very least, cross the line that should never be crossed between student and teacher? I wish I could say I didn’t expect you to be so obtuse. This is simply a charitable obligation for me. I mean, really. Do you honestly think I want to be here?”

Bianca stood up so fast that Thomas instinctively leaned back. Grabbing her purse and phone with one hand, she took hold of her half-drunken bellini and tossed it at him, narrowly missing his face.

“I’m getting a refund,” Bianca declared. “And for your information, I wasn’t even that into you anyway.”

“Right,” Thomas deadpanned, assessing the damage the colourful cocktail was doing to his shirt.

Bianca left in a huff, leaving him damp in alcohol and feeling uncomfortably vulnerable to the other diners, who had begun speaking to each other about what had just transpired in more hushed tones than before. He heard his name murmured more than once, which annoyed him; usually, he was in more dignified situations when he was recognized, and he suspected that this incident would be in a tabloid soon enough.

But he had other things to worry about, like the state of his clothing. He took his cloth napkin and delicately dabbed at the splatter. The shirt was most likely a write-off, unless he could get a-

“Tide pen?”

He startled at the sight of his other student, having left the booth where she had sat with Chris Winters to approach him, brandishing the aforementioned product as though she were offering a spare pencil. Warily, he took it, and made quick work of his shirt. Though he knew she lingered by him, he didn’t glance up until after he had finished the application. Then, he handed it back to her with little fanfare.

Still, she didn’t move from where she stood, watching him closely as though assessing the situation.

Finally, he snapped, “What do you want, Miss Schuyler?”

His student seemed surprised by his tone. But quickly, her eyes narrowed. “You’re welcome.”

He felt a rush of heat on his cheeks, realizing that he didn’t even bother thanking her for the pen. Though he had his own doubts about whether it would actually work, it was a nice gesture all the same. Clearing his throat, he turned to look at her properly, only to find that she had returned to her booth and her own celebrity date, who seemed eager to recapture her attention now that he had been handled.

Well, Thomas thought as he prepared to leave, at least the rest of my evening is free.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Unfortunately for Thomas, it was not to be.

Aria Sheridan, upon getting brought up to speed with what had occurred between him and Bianca, called him just as he was getting into his car. Though his bidder had forfeited her date – and failed to bully her way into getting a refund – he was still obligated to attend the other event for the evening. And, much as he hated to admit it, it wasn’t like he had other plans for himself other than getting out of his suit and repressing the evening’s events with a bottle of merlot.

The aquarium had been kept open after hours for the charity dates, and though he felt a little silly walking through the exhibits by his lonesome, he much preferred it to having to deal with Bianca clamped to his side, much like the starfish to its mossy rock. He found himself walking in a tunnel made mostly of glass, surrounded by aquatic creatures who seemed almost at peace with being held captive for ogling by the public. Even he knew it was cynical to think like that, but he couldn’t help himself. The seahorses, the clownfish, even the eels, all unwitting spectacles for the amusement of those who would tap on the glass and buy obnoxious, over-priced plush versions of the creatures at the gift shop afterwards.

Despite himself, while stopping to observe some jellyfish, he wondered if it would have been an enjoyable experience with an actual date.

Now that he was finally alone, barring the fish, he allowed himself to reminisce, his mind’s eye conjuring up a heart-shaped face with a dazzling smile and a laugh that he was startled he even remembered. Her name on his tongue, as though he were decades younger again, being dragged out of the dorms to a party or being pulled along during a tiring, cliché hike to the Hollywood sign with their likeminded peers.

He pressed his fingertips gently to the glass, closing his eyes against the blue tint of the tunnel.

Yvonne.

He wondered if she ever thought of him, of the aspiring director who had failed to meet her that fateful night when they were to run away together, as her time in America was ending. He had sat in his dorm room all night, his hair clenched between his fingers, forcing himself to read to distract himself from thinking of her sitting at the bus stop. He wondered, for the first time in years, if he would ever see her again. If he would ever feel like how she made him feel again.

It was a love destined to end, and they both knew it. But they were young, in love, and desperately foolish enough to believe in those grand gestures Hollywood peddled in their blockbusting, lackluster romantic comedies. He had not wanted it to end, but he knew that running away would severely hinder his burgeoning career, and though he had loved her, he loved film – and the prospect of being one of the greats – more.

Still, he had regrets. He seldom allowed himself to dwell on them, but as soon as he afforded himself that moment of weakness, it all came back to him. His mind was cruel enough to conjure up dregs of their final conversation, done over the phone, months after she had returned to Spain, when his guilt and his need to hear her voice became too much to bear.

“I have a husband now. We’re expecting.”

“You made up your mind. I made up mine.”

And, lastly, “Please don’t call me again.”

It could have been him, and he knew it. She knew it. But it wasn’t. And, as far as Thomas was concerned, he might never be that for someone.

A husband. A father. A lover.

He had his career, the respect of his peers, and accolades that spilled over the polished surfaces of his many armoires and credenzas. All that had been dreams when he had met her.

He didn’t dream anymore. Couldn’t remember what he last dreamt of even if he tried. His life had become a blur of grading and critiques and tiresome events. Waking up in his bed and falling back into it sixteen hours later, repeating the cycle with little to differentiate the days.

Though he had dated after Yvonne, he found it difficult to forge a lasting connection with any of his now-exes. God, how he had tried. Marianne, for all that they had in common, was just too much like him, critical and cold, and they were better off as friends anyway. And Priya . . . he hesitated to brand her a mistake, but his memories of their short relationship proved that her choosing to prioritize her career over him was not a decision he should’ve been blindsided by. He chose not to dwell on the others, those he had brief dalliances with, because they were momentary distractions more than anything else.

All the awards in the world couldn’t fill the void he had been working tirelessly since that night in his dorm room to ignore.

He hadn’t realized he’d pressed his forehead to the glass until a thunk from the other side startled him out of his thoughts. A turtle knocked itself against the glass before swimming away. He looked after it for a few seconds before straightening his shoulders, wiping under his eyes with his thumb, and leaving the tunnel through where he had come in.

The room he entered was more dimly lit than the tunnel, but the displays emanated that blue-green glow that made it obvious where everything was. He didn’t have to squint much to see the benches, the informative plaques citing statistics and scientific names, and . . . he stilled.

Even shrouded in shadows, he recognized her immediately.

His student stood alone, tears streaking down her face. Her head bowed as soon as she saw him enter, and her arms, wound around her torso as if giving herself a hug, squeezed her sides as if in reassurance or comfort.

No Chris Winters in sight, or anyone else involved in the date auction, for that matter.

His chest felt tight at the sight of her.

But, before he could say anything, she broke the silence.

“I’m sorry I let Bianca win.”

Thomas blinked, taken aback by the apology.

“I could have won,” she continued, her voice shaky in a way that made his own throat feel dry, “but I let her win. I shouldn’t have.”

He felt frozen in place. “Where is your date?” His voice embarrassingly cracked at the last word.

“He’s gone.” She sniffled, a pitiful sound in the otherwise silence.

Thomas looked around. Still no employees or other charity dates in sight. Where did they all go? Were they even here when he showed up? He struggled to remember much of anything between parking in the nearly empty lot and all the memories he dredged up with his forehead pressed against the glass.

His student lowered herself onto a bench and buried her face in her hands. And, as much as a part of him scolded him for doing so, he joined her on it, though he chose to keep his eyes glued to the exhibit in front of them rather than the girl softly crying by his side.

“I bet you would’ve been a better date than Miss Stone,” he finally said.

She made a sound between a sob and a laugh. “I know I would be.” She raised her head and gave him a little smile. “For example, I wouldn’t waste a bellini on you.”

That little smile made him feel a little braver. He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder. The mere touch made her smile brighten for a beautiful, lingering moment, before dimming once more as her eyes went downcast.

Thomas wanted desperately for that smile to reappear.

“I wanted to keep bidding,” she admitted. “You looked so nervous on the stage, seeing Bianca and I bid on you. And, between the two of us, I consider myself the lesser evil, so . . . I was going to.”

“What stopped you?” Thomas asked, shifting on the bench to see her better. Her eyes were still downcast, but she had somewhat of a bitter smile playing on her lips.

“I want to say my friends,” she said slowly. “They knew Chris was going to be at the auction, and that he’d taken me on a couple of dates already, so I felt pressured to bid for him. But that’s not the real reason.”

Thomas’s brows furrowed. “What is the real reason, then?”

She snorted. “It was the way you looked at me. When you were standing on the stage, when I was about to outbid her. You looked . . . well, you were . . . disgusted.”

Sighing deeply, she turned her gaze to the exhibit in front of them, following the manta ray’s movements as though she hadn’t just made Thomas’s stomach twist with her confession.

They were dangerously close to talking about it. What had transpired between them in the past few weeks, first at the masquerade, then on that film set overnight. She had not spoken to him about personal matters since that night on the set, allowing him to blissfully pretend as though he hadn’t, for a handful of hours, been close with her in a way that he knew he shouldn’t have been. But now they were alone, and it seemed as though it was the time to discuss it.

“It . . . scared me, seeing you look so horrified by the possibility of spending any time with me. Even after . . . what’s happened between us.” She looked as though she was speaking to the manta ray. “I may be a hell of a handful as your student but believe me when I say I didn’t want to torture you. Still don’t.” She shook her head. “I’m surprised you’re even talking to me, after everything.”

Thomas’s mind was cruel, bringing up images and sensations he hadn’t allowed himself to think of. The beautiful blue dress. Her impressive, fluid dance moves that kept up with his. The sound of her voice as she teased him for apparently being able to recognize every person in that ballroom apart from her. The mask that hid her high cheekbones, one of the most prominent physical characteristics of her, but still couldn’t conceal her identity from him.

The truth that he had kept to himself. That he had known it was her from the start.

His playing along, pretending that he didn’t know who she was, was irresponsible. Reckless. Inappropriate. But he had done it, partly out of curiosity to see where it would lead. Another part due to his boredom of attending the event stag, of attending such events for years alone and without much to keep him past the obligated hour or so of mingling. And another part . . .

“Can I drive you home?”

She looked surprised to hear him offer. And, honestly, he was surprised he offered, too. For a moment, they looked at each other, frozen in that mutual moment, before she nodded.

“I don’t think there’s anything going on after this, so . . . if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be grateful not to walk back in heels.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He’d let her pick the music for the drive and was surprised that she unearthed a CD case from the console to rifle through.

“Barry Manilow?” Margot giggled. “I didn’t take you for a Fanilow.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Thomas said warningly, though he found the corners of his mouth twitching.

She flipped to the next few slots. “Ooh. A big musical theatre fan. The Music Man, Oklahoma, and – Ooh!” Pulling out a CD, she stuck it into the slot and allowed the music to wash over them both. At a red light, he side-eyed her with an amused grin.

“What? ’The King and I’ is one of my favourite shows,” she admitted.

The light changed, and another song began, one in which two forbidden lovers sang about hiding their relationship. Though she seemed unaffected by it, choosing to stare out of the window, he felt himself glancing more and more at her as the song progressed.

He did not appreciate the irony.

But, all the same, he kept a close eye on her as they neared the dormitories. Where, he realized too late, it would be completely conspicuous for him to be dropping off one of his students in the late hours of the evening. Especially one who was dressed to the nines like she had just gone on a big date-

Wait a minute.

He looked over at her as the car came to a stop by the curb. She was rifling through her purse for her keys, hardly paying attention to his lingering eyes, when he spoke.

“Why did Mr. Winters leave you this evening?”

She stilled. Sucking in her bottom lip, she bit down on it enough to transfer some of her lipsticks to her teeth.

He waited.

And waited.

Then . . .

“Good night, professor. Thank you for getting me back safely.” Her hand moved toward the door handle, only to freeze on it upon contact.

Offering her an out, he simply said, “Good night.”

But rather than swinging open the door and taking her leave, she turned herself until she was angled to him, her face fully visible to him. Though her eyes still seemed a bit puffy from her earlier crying, she looked otherwise flawless, even with the slight smear of dusty rose lipstick on her front teeth.

“He knew I wasn’t . . . into being with him tonight, but he had been a good sport all the same,” she said, her voice so soft against the darkness of the night and the gentle hum of the car’s engine. “We got to the aquarium shortly after you did. I saw you in that tunnel, looking so upset, so sad, and I wanted to talk to you. But Chris . . . well, he didn’t want me to. Said I’d been distracted all evening and that I needed to focus on what really matters.”

Thomas suppressed the urge to scoff. Regardless of the kindness Chris Winters may have usually bestowed upon her, his superstar ego still got in the way. It wasn’t a surprise; big names like him, whose careers revolve around big-budget, unnecessary-explosions-and-gunfights, tropey Tommy Phelps-ian films, almost always thought far too highly of themselves, demanding their mere presence entitled them to nothing less than the best at restaurants, public events, and the like, as though they weren’t one injury away from being replaced by a brighter-eyed actor who continued the vicious cycle . . .

Margot’s voice was a little quieter than before, more vulnerable.

“So, I did.”

Their gazes met over the centre console and held for several moments too long.

Thomas felt strange, a mixed bag of emotions furiously working their way over his senses. Mortified that she’d seen him so . . . so human. Upset at himself for opening that old wound in the first place. Confused that she had intended to blow off one of Hollywood’s biggest movie stars to comfort him. Touched that she considered him and his feelings of great importance to her.

“I made up my mind,” she continued, shrugging. “He made up his.”

His ribcage felt constricting around his lungs. Her eyes upon him felt both judgemental and soothing.

Finally, he straightened up in his seat, nodding to himself as he broke the spell. She similarly took the movement as a dismissal and pulled on the door handle, stepping out into the cool night. Illuminated now by the lamppost by the sidewalk, he could see her, really see her.

Of course, he’d seen Margot on screen in several assignments during his class. For all her faults, she really was a remarkable actress, and her classmates almost always asked for her assistance in their projects, meaning that her visage was more often than not gracing the screen, inexplicably yet seamlessly transformed into whichever character she was embodying. He could recognize her a mile away, regardless of the darkness of the room or the mask perched upon her face.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night, Thomas,” Margot said, giving him one last small smile before closing the door and turning for her dorm.

He did not correct her.

[xoluvx]

Instagram Live [T.H. x Reader]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Tom doesn’t realize he never ended his Instagram live. He’s in deep trouble now.

Warning: Swearing, SMUT & some cringe

Word Count: 1.9K

I was totally not expecting the amount of likes on my previous Tom piece. These waves of wanting to write come in just that, waves. I’m on a roll right now - so thank you so much for the love and support on my first piece. Enjoy!

-

“I totally have to record this, hold on.” Tom screeched reaching for his phone buried deep in his sweatpants. Zendaya rolled her eyes, hands still on the pot resting on the stove. The pasta currently crisp. 

You laughed at the goofiness that was your boyfriend, Tom and your best friend, Zendaya. “Wait, y/n, is the live on?” he asked moving to your side flashing the screen at your face. Thankfully it wasn’t in selfie mode.

Instantly you noticed the hearts, the emojis and the words of excitement on the screen. It was definitely on. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head, confirming. He placed the phone up pointing towards Zendaya who was currently trying to dump the contents of the pot. 

“Guys, she does not know how cook. She almost burned down my apartment,” Tom announced letting a few small laughs escape his lips. Placing the pot back on the stove, Zendaya flashed her middle finger towards the phone hiding her face. “I hate you,” she mumbled under breath. 

Tom touched the button on the screen turning it into selfie mode. He smiled into the camera, tears forming in his eyes from watching his friend trying to cook. “I’m scared. She says she’s going to try again.” He said diverting his eyes from the screen to look at Zendaya who was glaring at him filling up a new pot with water. “Z, maybe let me cook.” He said moving towards where she was standing. 

“Stop!” she said causing you to let out a small laugh. She turned to you with pleading eyes. In a tell him to stop look. You shrugged your shoulders. “Don’t get me involved,” you said leaning against counter out the camera’s view. 

Tom looked down at the comments being posted:

aw y/n is there?

friend goals

“Yes, y/n is here.” He said looking at the phone screen smiling while reading the comments, but refraining from showing you to his audience. He knew you weren’t too comfortable being in the public eye and he respected that. 

“Oh guys, I have something to show you. I completely forgot about it.” He said as you watched him disappear into the hallway. You turned to Zendaya giving her a questioning look. She shrugged and rolled her eyes. 

“Probably going in there to spoil something,” she muttered walking to the fridge. You let out a small giggle enjoying the presence of your best friend. “Need help?” you asked walking towards her.

“Sure,” she said handing you some ingredients to chop. 

It’d been at least 5 minutes and Tom was still not back. You turned towards Zendaya, “I’m going to go check on him. I’ll be back,” you were about to walk off when you remembered something. “Oh, by the way, Haz is coming over any minute now, so can you open the door for him if we’re not back?” She nodded her head and you thanked her by quickly wrapping your arms around her torso before disappearing from the kitchen.

You could hear Tom’s voice as you approached his room. The door was cracked open. Not bothering to knock, you peeked your head in and looked at Tom currently laying in bed still talking to the phone. He quickly looked at you and turned back to the phone. 

After quietly shutting the door behind you, you sat at the end of the bed listening to his boyish voice speak into the phone answering questions and socializing with his fans. You bite your lip. Watching him filled with so much passion turned you on.

You pouted your lips sending him a small kiss. He noticed the action and tried to play off the obvious smile on his face by reading a sweet comment from a fan. You tried to hold in your giggles bringing yourself closer to his body. 

You laid on the bed, cheek resting on the palm of your hand. You weren’t face to face, you were laying right below the view of the phone next to him. You placed your hand on his thigh to which he flinched. He was currently answering a question about his favorite song at the moment. 

You let your fingers run to his knee and back up his thigh. You saw him shift his weight. Smirking, you let your hand linger to his covered crotch. Teasingly running your hand up and down with little force. Tom’s voice pitched and you bit your lip trying not to laugh finally looking at his face. 

A layer of sweat on his forehead had formed on his forehead and there was a very apparent flush on his face. You saw him put his hand up with his famous peace sign. “Love you, guys. Great questions, I had fun but I should make sure Zendaya doesn’t burn down my kitchen.” He signed off his boyish laugh and placed the phone face down on his nightstand. 

His eyes instantly founds yours. “What?” you asked innocently sitting on your knees. He sat up pulling you onto his lap. “You are bad,” he said into your ear biting the soft skin of your earlobe. You let out a small moan looking at him, hands on his shoulders. “Only for you,” you said trying to sound seductive.

Tom let out a small laugh and gripped your ass forcing you to grind against his hard member. “Did I do that?” you ask biting your lip keeping up the pace. “Fuck-” Tom murmured flipping you over so he was on top. His hands slide up your very short t-shirt dress, fingers brushing against your covered core. “Tom, stop Zendaya is in the kitchen.” You say closing your eyes. 

“Quickie?” He asked leaving wet kisses on your neck. You tugged at the waistband of his sweats urging him to take them off. He smiled at the acceptance of his request and removed his sweats and boxers. He pulled his shirt over his over his head, force of habit. You lifted your dress up to reveal your underwear. 

Tom slid the underwear down your legs, positioning himself in your entrance. Your hands went for his hair, tugging at his roots anticipating the familiar and enjoyable feeling. 

Holding on to his member, Tom teased your clit eliciting a small moan. “Please, hurry.” You say bringing your hips closer to him. With little warning Tom slid into you filling you up in one swift movement. “Oh fuck-” you say letting your head fall deeper into the pillows. Fingers tangled in his hair. 

You felt Tom start to move holding your hips steadily. “Faster,” you demanded bringing Tom’s face down to crash onto your lips. One of your hands travelled down his back as the kiss deepen and his thrusts quickened. Tom groaned feeling you clench. 

“Fuck- do that again,” he said letting go of your hips and pulling your thighs to the side of his hips, bringing you closer if that was possible. You clenched again receiving another groan from Tom. 

-

Zendaya was standing in the kitchen with Haz, who had arrived a minute ago. She quickly put him to work asking to finish chopping the ingredients you left half chopped. “Where’s Tom?” Haz asked working the knife life a pro. 

“He went to his room. Instagram live. Y/n went up to get him but it’s been-” she looked at her watch, “10 minutes.” She scoffed shaking her head. 

“Oh they’re definitely fucking,” Haz calmly said causing Zendaya to let out a laugh. “Yeah probably, thankfully you’re here to keep my company now.” She said working on the recipe she’d found online. 

“He probably finished the live the second she walked in the room,” he said. Zendaya was washing her hands nodding. She dried her hands with the white towel resting on the counter near her phone. “Let’s see what he was even going on about. Probably talking shit after roasting me for my cooking skills,” she rolled her eyes resting her body against the counter, Haz joining her side. 

Zendaya pulled up Instagram. She found Tom’s icon on the top of her screen, the colorful ring around his photo indicating he’d posted on his story. She tapped on the photo and was instantly bombarded with a dark screen, eggplant emojis, and moans. Haz’s face turned red as he looked at Zendaya. “Oh shit,” he said. 

“Fuck...” Zendaya said, the moans filling up the kitchen. 

“How long has it been going on for?” Haz asked tapping on the phone to rewind the live video. They heard the whole thing. Zendaya’s hand slightly shaking, Haz’s eyes wide. They stood in that position from beginning to present. 

“Oh my god, are we bad friends for watching this instead of going in there to stop it?” she asked looking at Haz. Haz laughed, hand resting on the side of his neck. “It’s kinda hot,” he said regretting it instantly. He felt Zendaya shove his body.

“I didn’t think they were this freaky,” Zendaya said with brows furrowed as she heard you moan Tom’s name. “Yeah we should probably stop them.” Haz said hand ready to turn off the live video. But suddenly they heard “I’m going - gonna- cum” in a tone they’re never heard you speak in before. 

Haz face once again turned bright red as Zendaya moved his hand from her phone. “Maybe let’s just let them finish,” she said shrugging her shoulders. 

-

You felt Tom hit all the right places causing your eyes to shut close, bottom lip bruised from biting on it. “I’m going - gonna- cum”, you moaned feeling Tom deep inside you. With every thrust, you felt him hit your g-spot, pelvis rubbing against your clit. 

“Yes baby- come for me,” Tom groaned gripping your shoulders bodies merging into one. He bit your shoulder, which was still covered by your t-shirt dress. You might as well had taken it off, as it was not pushed above chest, breast hanging from your bra. 

“Nooo, you cum first,” you whined hands wrapped around his neck pulling him closer into the nook of your neck. 

His groans were muffled, his face pressed against your neck. “Come on baby,” you pleaded digging your fingers into his back. It didn’t take much for Tom to speed his movements, skin slapping, moans escaping both your lips. 

“I’m almost there-” he mumbled pressing his lips to your cheek. 

Stars and colors flashed behind your lids. You reached your high as you felt Tom’s thrusts starting to slow. His cock twitching inside you, throbbing, pumping. He’d came. You let yourself unravel under him, your hips bucking, walls clenching. 

You barely had the chance to gather your thoughts, let alone for Tom to pull out, when the door swung open a panicked Zendaya and Haz reaching for Tom’s phone. Haz held on to the phone as Zendaya ended the live.

“What the fuck?” Tom asked pulling the grey blanket resting on his bed over your bodies. “What are you-” he was cut off by Zendaya.

“You guys just fucked on Instagram live!!” she said tossing Tom’s phone near your bodies. Tom’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open. He reached for his phone going into Instagram. “How do I delete it?” he asked panicked fumbling with his phone. 

“The damage is done buddy,” Zendaya exclaimed folding her arms, Haz nodding his head behind her. “You’re fucked, mate.” he said.

Tom turned to look at you, face buried deep in your hands. 

The awkward silence was broken by the sound of Tom’s ringtone. He shut his eyes, slapping his forehead. Showing the screen to the trio. 

It was his publicist. He was in deep shit.

-

MASTERLIST

[graffiastrology]

The Archer, a musical birth chart. Pt2 Capricorn the man

Let's start with :Uranus in Capricorn

Uranus here is not so comfortable and their revolutionary ideas are hold back, Capri is more concerned with real change than fictional utopian ideas, In the case of Swift she took her sweet time to publicly discuss her political views and to be open about her posture on a lot of civil rights, don’t misunderstand me, they were there, just very hidden (the 12 house) but when Capricorn gets down to business they meant it and it can be verified in the tangible changes she made in 2019; she did something beyond the performativity: she pushed a ACT she made a real and tangible change, she was not comfortable just telling homophobes YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN, now we are turning tables (note: At the moment of writing this the equality act has been reintroduced to change.org and is currently at 832k, come guys you have made her debut with 1 million units at the b200 so many times) http://chng.it/5wYyBW4Rvw

But as it is usual with her, the haters were still after her, so much bullshit even after it all, is so easy to go after Saturn on the Ascendant, is it not?

One interpretation of having Saturn in the ascendant is an individual who is prone to be bullied, people are MEAN to them, they doubt their words, and in turn the person becomes so aware of how they come across, some people choose to present themselves in a serious and controlled manner to avoid this, and even more for Saturn in Capricorn, but then we have an opposition, and what does a stern Capricorn stellium say to a soft cancer moon who feels very deeply the words? one day you are going to be living in a big old city, one day you are going to be so big that they can’t hit you, With effort, hard work with a strong work ethic, one day you are going to move the big apple Take your broken heart, put it in a drawer, and it going to sound like WELCOME TO NEW YORK, we have been waiting for you, the Capricornian dream! (Neptune in Capricorn) and now is time to be up in the lights, like diamonds in the sky, you are the LUCKY ONE, Miss swift: money by millions, records after records, your discography is worth so much money, you have an enormous squad of famous friends who have your back when you fight, a big department in New York, but darling... did that fill empty seats at the lunch tables of your past?

And as it is usual with Saturn, he returned. And in her chart it was an intense transit: first for her sagittarian sun then for her ascendent: It was 17 of July of 2016, Saturn was starting his transit in Sagittarius, close to her sun. Meanwhile Pluto was transiting her ascendant, that was the day an influential female libra published an edited conversation that put Taylor in a really bad light. Celebrities rely a lot on images, her image was shattered, and her reputation dragged to the mud celebrities rely a lot on the perception the public has of them, and images are so fragile that a mishap can destroy them, but in her case she had so many people just waiting to have a valid reason to hate her, little it matter to them that the reason was a fabricated lie (if by this point you have not listen to the whole record call, please do so, as it will become very important for the Scorpio section) everything seemed lost, they assassinated her reputation, and then the pain to know that you were lied to, double crossed and declared "death" everything seemed lost for EVERMORE..... but it wasn't. Saturn returns also speak of reclaiming our power, learn lessons and overcome challenges, and its ironic, back on the 1989 world tour she made a big and deep speech that she gave before performing a song that will be the lesson she had to experience in her bones, and it goes like this:

I just hope that you will look in the mirror and remind yourself of what you are, and what you are not. You are not your mistakes. You are not damaged goods or muddy from your failed explorations. You are not the opinion of someone who doesn’t know you. You are a product of the lessons that you’ve learned. You are wiser because you went through something terrible. And you are the person who survived a bunch of rainstorms and kept walking. I now believe that pain makes you stronger, and I now believe that walking through a lot of rainstorms gets you CLEAN.

Unfortunately Saturn was not done yet, and so it returned to her natal lucky Saturn 13°, all 2018 she had Saturn transits, first for her ascendant then by her natal lucky Saturn 13, behind of the scenes the work of 15 years, 15 million tears was sold for 300 million of dollars to a man that participated in her takedown, while she was “kindly” offered to recover 1 master for 1 album, the scooter brought each master for 50 million dollars, while she was asked to give a entire album, AN ENTIRE ERA, for each master, it was not fair, but it legal. Oh Capricorn women, you play by the rules, you hustle, you stay your ground, you let your work speak for itself…and what happens? The system showed to you the place they have selected for you. to continue to work with these men or to just give up and move to something different, Sometimes walking out is the one thing That will find you the right thing

IT WAS TIME TO GO, but go where?

To THE LAKES, to enjoy melancholy and solitude, after all Capricorn is a feminine sign and is in the same axis with cancer and now I want to point to another of her placements: Mercury conjunct Saturn, This one is a challenge and a gift, difficult learning, a lot of repetition to get the grip of concepts, but once this is tackled, it becomes great at using words, it was a running joke that Taylor made swifties grab a dictionary so they can understand the album folklore, and there are lyrics that exemplifies this:

I've come too far to watch some name dropping sleaze Tell me what are my words worth

Its said that mercury in Capricorn are scientific and pragmatic thinkers, but honestly I have found a couple of song writers with this placement who are very poetic , you can say is the conjunction Neptune and Saturn , I like to say that Capricornian mercury is systematic, which is very prominent in Scientists and engineers , but this structural thinking can be applied to arts as well, and also can be a failed system. After all is about connecting points and words, I could also put a selection of the colors of Taylor swift, another recurrent theme in her writing, but you know what? I say that is just Taylor, it has nothing to do with her birth chart.

Mercury is also about our writing style and when I was reading her lover diaries a lot of them had the signature of capricorn "I just cant wait to be older" yeah that is, also this:

Speaking of writing lets talk about folklore, the album of the year 2020! She did that! an by that I mean she created a new perspective for her music, the old tired argument that “she only writes about her exes” fell flat as she made stories about different characters that captivated thousands of new listeners and I can see a placement in action here:

Capricornian Mercury opposite to Cancerian Jupiter :

The history of James, Betty, and Agustine

It was 2020, a terrible, terrible year for almost everybody, and Taylor found herself in a situation outside her control, the lover era was cancelled like pretty much everything else, she was lucky enough to be in a safe and comfortable place, it was when her imagination flew wild and made history with Folklore and Evermore, from these pieces of work she did something people didn’t gave credit: Writing. As she expanded her storytelling abilities outside her life (which she had already explored not just as much) she crafted a story that was connected across various songs:CARDIGAN, AUGUST, BETTY, TIS IS THE DAMN SEASON and DOROTHEA there is one big picture(Jupiter) and each song gives us details(Mercury) in how the participants lived it; they were in the same classroom,: BETTY, Inez, DOROTHEA, James, their teenage years full of dreams and problems, it was just a summer break when James took the train in AUGUST, and had a summer fling, breaking 2 hearts but he came back to apologize, and she accepted him. Meanwhile Dorothea was trying to make it in LA selling dreams and magazines, while Chris missed her until THE DAMN SEASON came around and they connected one last time. If you remember I selected these last songs for the freedom seekers of the zodiac: Sagittarius and Aquarius which let me jump to the next section.

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Jorja Smith has unveiled a standout new video for latest track ‘By Any Means’. The powerful video (directed by Otis Dominique and Ellington Hammond) shines a spotlight on communities across the UK, complimenting the track’s vital message around social issues and the civil rights movement. As noted by Jorja about the track: "The inspiration behind 'By Any Means' really came from going to the Black Lives Matter protest and leaving thinking, what can I do to keep this conversation going? It’s not just a post on social media, it's life.” ‘By Any Means’ is the first track to be unveiled from a new project titled ‘Reprise’, curated by the team at Roc Nation with the sole aim of bringing awareness to social justice issues. A portion of proceeds will go to funding organisations that support victims of police brutality, hate crimes, and other violations of civil rights. [via Dork]

Madison, WI-bred and Chicago-based band Slow Pulp recently announced Moveys, their self-produced debut album, and shared its first single 'Idaho.' Now the band shares another song off of the forthcoming record, entitled 'Falling Apart.' The track, featuring Alex G collaborator Molly Gemer on violin, is accompanied by a fantastical music video about feeling lost in a familiar landscape. Director Jake Lazovick, places Emily in a transient world, surrounded by flying objects and missing pieces. The clip features nostalgic animations, body doubles for social distancing purposes, and an homage to Massey's background as a ballet dancer. Read more about the song from Massey below: "As we were finishing up writing the album my parents got into a serious car accident and I came back home to help take care of them. A couple of weeks later COVID-19 started getting worse in the US, and quarantine began. Life felt completely surreal, everything had drastically changed and at such a rapid pace. It was especially strange because everyone was experiencing the same thing at the same time, but couldn’t be physically with each other to support each other. I felt like I couldn’t process any emotions I had about the whole ordeal because I had to keep it together to take care of my family. It became easier to stay numb, and create a facade that I was doing ok, than it was to release any type of healthy emotion for a long time. Luckily I did allow myself to have a full on breakdown induced by a stubbed toe and confusion over taxes, sometimes it’s the littlest things that finally get you."

Soap Detox met a party, and somehow their friendship sustained during the lengthy hangover that followed. A frisky Swedish three-piece with a lust for melody and good times, their raucous garage-pop is already making waves in their homeland. A full EP is incoming, with Soap Detox trailing this with their irresistible new single 'Give Me Gore'. A three minute fuzz pop wonder, it's a clanking, cheeky, subversive statement from a group who thrive on such things. The video features their shorn-headed lead singer in full form, accompanied by her band mates. Directed by Evelyn Del Carmen and Ebba Sylvan, you can check it out above. [via Clash]

It’s been a decade since we’ve heard from multi-hyphenate musician and producer The Angel, who last made a splash as a musician in 2009 with her single 'Ultra Light,' which featured the singer/producer Jhelisa on vocals. Focusing more on her career in film/TV composition and music production in recent years, she’s planning to return to recording her own music later this year with a new LP entitled Xtra Sensory Goodness. Now we’re getting the first taste of this project, which is yet another collaboration with the vocalist Jhelisa. “Jhelisa and I have become close friends over the years,” she explains. “There’s a lot of sisterly love and mutual respect between us, so Jhelisa already understood the mournful weight of the track before I asked to feature her. I’m always grateful that she’s willing to experiment with me because it’s not something she does lightly. Jhelisa beautifully channels the essence of whatever emotion needs to come through in the most evocative and visceral way.”  The song arrives beautifully packaged with an entrancing video directed by none other than Mark Pellington (along with co-directors Sergio Pinheiro and Sweeten), known for his concert docs for Pearl Jam, INXS, and The Flaming Lips, as well as an extensive music-videography including iconic visuals for Public Enemy, Nine Inch Nails, and plenty more artists. “I wanted the song to sound like a memory, like you’ve entered someone else’s dream space,” The Angel continues, noting how the video perfectly syncs to the song’s mood. “The emotion is contained, very internal, so I juxtaposed a vocal vulnerability against a driving, incessant rhythm, where you can feel the underlying tension at the same time as experiencing the gentle plea, ‘Where’s my shelter…?’” [via Flood]

A few weeks ago, Ciara gave birth to her son Win. Last night, she shared a video that she evidently recorded while she was very, very pregnant. Ciara’s new song 'Rooted' is a statement of Black pride, a clear statement of solidarity with the protest movement that’s swept across America and the rest of the world these past few months. It’s a hard, kinetic track with vocals from the songwriter Esther Dean. But the song, at least right now, feels more like a vehicle for the video. Like a lot of Ciara videos, the 'Rooted'” clip is built around bodies dancing. In this one, though, one of those bodies belongs to Ciara, who dances with her belly exposed and who looks like she’s about to give birth any second. To watch someone dance this hard while that pregnant is an actual marvel, a near-superhuman feat. The 'Rooted' video is full of Black iconography, and it features the faces of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. All throughout, Ciara presents an image of motherly strength. Annie Bercy directs. [via Stereogum]

Hazel English releases the new video for her single ‘Five And Dime’ taken from her debut album Wake UP! which is out now on Marathon Artists. ‘Five and Dime’ is a woozy, idyllic view into Hazel’s world, which is built on timeless-sounding melodies, retro-tinged soundscapes and a knack for resonant lyrics. The mid-tempo number is reminiscent of the playful love songs of ’60s pop, as Hazel frustratedly muses on a love interest who is consuming her thoughts and detracting from her focus, “Gotta get away cause you’re taking up all of my time / You know I need my space so I’m heading to the Five and Dime.” Speaking about the new video, Hazel says: “'Five and Dime' is about longing for escape and freedom so I thought it would be fun to create an idyllic beach vacation, constructed from a set with cardboard cut out waves and fake palm trees. The idea behind it is that while I'm fantasizing about escaping to a tropical place, it's clear I'm just kind of stuck in this pretend version of it. I wanted to evoke the nostalgia of Hollywood musicals from the '50s and '60s, complete with dance choreography and bright colourful costumes.”

Katy Perry has released her second video for 'Smile,' featuring the pop star playing a video game version of herself as she battles giant spiders, circus trapeze acts and more while dressed as a clown. Much of the video is in CGI, with a live-action Perry playing the video game in her house (while also dressed as a clown). [via Rolling Stone]

Global superstar, Miley Cyrus has unveiled 'Midnight Sky,' a track that showcases a new direction for the always evolving artist.  The song, which was inspired by the past year of her life, is accompanied by a video that Miley self-directed.  In creating the song and video, Miley drew from strong female musical icons, like Stevie Nicks, Joan Jett, and Debbie Harry, who have always been so generous, and have been her greatest allies and inspiration.  The video showcases Miley as her true self: unapologetic, diverse, sexy, confident, experimental, and strong. The video takes viewers through Miley’s creative vision which displays her complete control of the narrative often told through the mouths of the media. Miley is at peace with who she is and has nothing to prove. As a musician she continues to push boundaries and experiment with her sound and look. Miley has proven to be many things, but boring is not one of them.

Chelsea Collins is nonconformist pop singer with a vision. For the captivating new 'Water Run Dry,' a collaboration with rapper, singer and fellow Bay Area-native 24kGoldn, Collins's infectious pop melodies glide over a hypnotic beat. Relatable lyrics about a faltering relationship reveal a depth of experience for the 21-year-old, with a wistful chorus lamenting, "there's no good in goodbye." The Roxana Baldovin-directed visuals for the track are an eyeful — Collins and 24kGoldn play house in an oversized, colorful California dollhouse, interspersed with images of a little girl playing with literal Barbies. The message? "I wanted this song and video to execute the world that's inside of my head — somewhat similar to a weird vintage rom com where at first the drama of love is so toxic, passionate and thrilling but eventually my lover and I have a happy ending," Collins tells NYLON. "Unfortunately reality isn't as fun and it kinda feels like some cranky dude is controlling your path, who's lowkey salty whenever something feels too amazing," she continues. "My intuition will tell me to run, but I'm notorious for acting like a Stepford wife, trying to recreate my past feelings yet they're all super robotic. Maybe one day I'll get lucky and love won't have to be so bittersweet, but until then I'll learn to smile even when things blow up in my face." [via NYLON]

Kali Uchis shared the visuals for her latest single 'Aquí Yo Mando' on Monday. Featuring a verse in Spanglish by Rico Nasty, the single is Kali's first release since her TO FEEL ALIVE EP from earlier this year. The Phillipa Price-directed clip finds the pair on a weapons-filled rampage, dropping bodies in underground parking lots and filming each other along the way. With co-production by reggaeton hitmaker Tainy, the booming track sees Uchis assertively laying some ground rules over trappy 808s. "Haces todo lo que diga (You do everything that I say)," she raps. “Si estás conmigo solo mando yo (If you’re with me, only I call the shots).” [via The FADER]

[jemej3m]

Bro. I love your writing. Will there pls be a part 3 for the radio show ficlet 🙈♥️

yes because im trash here it is

p.1 / p.2 / p.3

*

The first time Andrew stopped by Neil’s recording studio, FM-OX Studios, it was a brief moment of panic. He had a coffee in each hand, and buzzed his studio with his elbow. The door made a beeping noise and slid open for him, and he was confronted by the dark inners of a radio station. 

It occurred to him that despite his qualifications in media and communications, he’d never traversed into a real station. The reception desk was empty, the stairwell behind it scarcely lit. Andrew could still see the various photos, awards and promotional posters. It was odd connecting faces to voices: He hadn’t expected to recognise any of them, but one photo had him standing still. 

Kevin and a middle aged man with full sleeve tattoos were standing side-by-side at some sort of award ceremony. Kevin held an award. They shared the same tight-lipped smile and shadowed gaze, Kevin’s dark hair a youthful version of the man’s grey streaks. 

Andrew would ask Kevin about it, if he remotely cared about anything to do with Kevin’s strange realm of fame and glamour. The intrigue passed like a cold chill and Andrew kept moving up the stairs with no more than a disinterested huff.

He sidled past various closed offices and let himself into the main recording studio. 

It only occurred to him as he looked through the com-glass that he’d never realised how insane this was. Yes, Neil was a public figure, and if anything happened to Andrew, records of their calls would be on the working phones and presumably recorded in this public space. 

Still, Andrew had no idea what the man looked like. There was almost nothing on FM-OX’s online page on him, and there were certainly no photos of him. Andrew wasn’t going to know if he acted differently whilst on and off air. Andrew had almost no information on him, so what the fuck did he think he was doing, waltzing in like this? 

And then Andrew had looked through the glass. 

There he sat. Sitting under only the light of a lampshade, face illuminated by a programming screen as his hands moved across a soundboard. A phone sat to his left, and his hand tapped nervously by it, as if waiting for bad news. 

Movement through the glass had Neil looking to where Andrew was stood, frozen. A look of slight shock flit across the man’s face and he stood to let Andrew into the recording studio, taking the coffee from Andrew’s free hand. 

He was barely taller than Andrew was. 

“Hi,” He said, a little mesmerised that Andrew was actually there. 

Andrew only had to take one look at his decadent red curls, the dazzling blue eyes and distorted scars across his cheeks and hands before knowing he was absolutely fucked. 

Shit.

*

Neil cocked his head to the side as he considered Andrew, who dozed lightly in an armchair he’d dragged into the studio with his feet up on the recording desk. 

It wasn’t the first time Andrew had come in: He’d been here upwards of a dozen times by now. Neil was no less perplexed by the man, who spent most of his nights tending one of Columbia’s downtown bars. 

Neil had actually looked into the man’s qualifications. He’d come through at the top of his class and denied various offers for positions in news presenting and show hosting on various stations across the east coast, as far north and prestigious as New York. Andrew even turned down down a Los Angeles placement that would have put him on a path akin to Kevin Day’s. 

Neil was at a loss about the man. He never talked about presenting. He never considered a different life other than the one he’d garnered and bartered for. 

Really, Neil couldn’t quite pin down what they spent their time talking about. All Neil knew was that it was easy, just as entertaining as it had been over the phone. Andrew listened in on the phone calls with him and made rude remarks under his breath, of which Neil muted but wished he could keep on air. 

With November brought the holiday season, which always left Neil feeling a little hollow. Dan and Matt had invited him to spend Thanksgiving at theirs, but it felt like a little more than an intrusion: Neil still couldn’t see himself as their awkward, flighty coworker that they put up with because they didn’t have much of a choice. Radio didn’t stop for the holidays, but they’d insisted that he should put a pre-record on for the night and stay over. 

It lead him to some intriguing topics of conversation. Who was going to see their families for the holidays? Who’s family drama was the most insidious? What awful gifts have you received? What are you thankful for?

Neil talked about these on air, but the most coveted discussions were those with Andrew. Andrew, who looked at Neil from under his lashes as he let his fingers brush over the soundboard. Andrew, who texted Neil songs he’d found that fit the theme or style of Neil’s show. Andrew, who was both brutally honest and impossible to read. 

“What about you?” Neil asked one evening, letting his microphone go on mute as Billy Joel began playing. Andrew didn’t look at him or even acknowledge he’d spoken aside from the arch of a singular eyebrow. “What are your holiday plans?”

“My mother died when I was sixteen, I never knew my father, I havdn’t spoken to my brother since he moved to Chicago for med-school and my cousin lives away from his God-fearing parents in Germany with his husband.” Andrew said, spinning the Rubic’s cube in his hand. “Does that give you a clear enough answer?”

Neil hummed. “My father got locked up for life because of various reasons. My mother’s death was one of them. My only relations run gang operations between France and England. I think we’ve got the same sentiment there.”

Andrew finally stopped his fiddling and graced Neil with a heady gaze. “Let’s not talk about family.” 

“Let’s not.” Neil agreed. 

Andrew’s fingers reached out: They only just managed to brush gently across the scars on Neil’s cheek, the ones where his father and his assistant had cut bloody revenge onto his face for speaking out against him. 

Neil smiled hesitantly with the odd gentleness in Andrew’s touch. Censure passed between them, until Andrew jerked his hand away like Neil’s skin was scalding to the touch. 

The odd moment passed, being one of many. Eventually, he found that Andrew’s presence made his shifts pass quicker than normal: The toughest hours were the last, when exhaustion began to settle in. Andrew brought good coffee and quiet conversation, filling up the dark space that always swathed Neil whilst hosting. 

It’d been a long while since routine like this, involving and revolving around someone else, had felt comfortable, rather than paranoia inducing or guilt-inspiring. 

Neil put it down to the loneliness of the night shift, and assumed Andrew was there for the same reasons. 

*

“You should co-host with me one night.” Neil suggested, as they turned off the lights of the studio and checked the pre-recorded hour of music would carry over until Renee’s morning show. 

Andrew was particularly lethargic that night: He’d been growing more accustomed to the later schedules and was almost fully nocturnal at this point. But that night at Eden’s had been particularly gruelling, the slowness of the evening as people became more reluctant to go out due to the weather and the holidays. 

That was the only reason Andrew gave a half-hearted shrug, rather than a flat out no. It wasn’t that he’d already entertained the thought. It wasn’t that he’d watched the way Neil came alive when recommending music and talking to various callers, letting his sharp tongue kiss the cheek of death as he pointed out prejudices and subjective opinions. 

Neil’s hesitant smile was practically too good to deny. 

But being a co-host meant being administered into the payroll of Wymack’s various presenters. His studio wasn’t loosely run, but it wasn’t exactly a commandeered ship either: Andrew’s presence had been mostly unnoticed for about a month and a half. 

Six weeks, since Andrew had first walked in with coffee. Six weeks had been all it took for Neil to work up the nerve to ask him to present alongside him. Like presenting was a taboo between them, when they were together exclusively whilst Neil hosted his show. Andrew didn’t hate journalism and presenting. He couldn’t find enough interest in it to hate it. 

Andrew did hate Neil, though. He hated that he’d wormed his way past Andrew’s exterior and persisted, until Andrew’s resolve crumbled and Neil could see all of his ugly truths and scars. 

“I told Wymack I want to bring on an irregular co-host. That I’ve already found one.” Neil continued. 

“Didn’t think to ask me first?”

Neil raised his chin. “You can say no.” 

“Shut up.” Andrew muttered, angrier at himself than anyone else. If Kevin found out about this, Andrew was moving to New Zealand and studying fairy penguins for the rest of his life. “Fine.”

It’d only be temporary. Nothing more. 

“I thought that was my line.” Neil snarked, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. He looked relaxed. Andrew really wanted to lean over and kiss him. 

Oh, he thought vaguely. It wasn’t a new desire, but it’d never been so definite. That’s new. 

“Fuck off, Josten.” 

Neil only snorted.

He looked back to the phone that sat on Neil’s desk, and wished he’d never fucking called in the first place. 

*

we will get there I PROMISE

[burning-clutch]

The Phantom Always Rings Twice

Read on A03: Here Pairings: None Trigger Warnings: None Total word count: 3301 Author: @burning-clutch (Team Ghost) Prompt by:  Dalv-co-official  AO3: betelgeuse

It started with small things. Little things that could be misconstrued as happenstance and coincidence, and then it evolved into something more, something bigger. And, well, William Lancer always did love a good mystery novel.

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 It started with small things. Little things that could be misconstrued as happenstance and coincidence. Things that could be written off easily with little thought or without really thinking into it too hard.

 And while William Lancer took notice of the oddities and inconsistencies that seemed to fill one Daniel Fenton’s life, he couldn’t piece together exactly what was happening within the greater story.

 A story that he wanted to see unfold fully.

 It was like a mystery novel in a way. One would need to read through each chapter, each paragraph carefully to be able to find the breadcrumb trail left by the author to be able to figure out the final twist at the end in its entirety. As of now, he only had the pieces that were left out in the open.

 The pieces he had seen that were left behind to be seen were large and obvious, meant to throw one off the trail of the deeper lore in the pages. With glaring arrows and flashing lights, they were meant to attract your attention so that you failed to notice the tiny crumb on the floor just off to the side.

 And it worked well for a time until he had started to take notice of the crumbs. He had looked away from the glitz and offered a story on the platter and taken notice of something small, insignificant. A bruise under the boy's eye, a small garish yellow thing. He had the boy in the morning and noticed it as he went around to collect the homework he’d assigned, and of course, Fenton hadn’t done it. When he had seen the boy once again later that day the bruise was gone. There was no indication that there was any makeup used to hide it either.

 After that point, the teacher had made a point to follow the breadcrumbs. The small bits of the trail that were left behind to indicate something more. He had gotten a taste, and he wanted more. He had to solve the conundrum that was presented before him.

 So, he watched. He listened. He learned and he researched.

 He saw the boy limping to through the lunch line, but had not seen any instance of bullying that would have caused it, and once again by the time the boy was in his class once again that day, no semblance of it ever had happened.

 Abuse at home was quickly ruled out as a good portion of the things that happen to him seem to be at the school.

 He had tried to confront the boy about him clutching his chest and his rattling breaths, as though he had broken a rib or some other such thing, and simply was waved off.                  “I’m a clutz, I fell down the stairs” Daniel had said to his inquiry, dodging the question smoothly. He had seen the boy many a time simply stumble over his feet on flat ground, so tripping downstairs was not something too outlandish to believe.

 And yet in the same breath, he had also seen the teen pull off amazing feats of coordination when he believed no one was watching him. How he gracefully slid around corners to escape the quarterback’s cajoling, or how he had leaped over a railing into the back garden of the school, rolling to disperse the energy in such a way any master of parkour would be proud to see.

 He would entertain the idea of seeming smaller then he was, too. He had noticed it during a presentation when Daniel came to the front of the class. When Dashiel stuck out a foot to try to trip Daniel. Daniel’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments to the other’s leg before hooking his ankle and preforming a marvellous pratfall. But as he lay prone on the ground he was stretched out showing his full height.

 When he regained himself and moved to the front of the class once again, Daniel had curved his back and dropped his shoulders inward, doing a wondrous impression of the hunchback of Notre Dame.

 Why would Daniel want to appear smaller? Surely appearing larger would help stop those such as Dashiel from bothering him as much, so why? What purpose did this serve?

 Then, of course, there was the matter he had seen the other’s attempt to trip him up, and instead of simply walking over the trap, he fell into it headfirst, let the class laughed at him before continuing on with whatever charade he deemed necessary to fulfil.

 Why bother with such nonsensical things when he could have easily rolled jumped or any other manner of things to avoid making himself into a laughing stock. Perhaps he didn’t like attention then?

 Well, it would be a simple theory to test. William had dabbled in sciences before majoring in English and history after all...

 Putting the attention on Daniel was an easy feat. A simple manner or pointing out his lacking marks and offering a simple way to make up the credit. A public speaking competition or a talent show. Surprisingly the teen had chosen to help out with the talent show. A Stagehand true, but still. He had no problem running out onto the stage to check microphones were working, plugged in correctly, or had good battery depending on what was being used.

 The eyes on him didn’t seem to hinder his performance, so long as he had a purpose to hone in on… so why?

 Perhaps the opposite then? Did he enjoy the attention and figured that being a laughing stock was a way to be noticed? Well, that theory was quickly squashed when he saw the teen have his clothes get stolen in Gym, and doused in pink dye turning his usually white shirt a rather flamboyant shade of flamingo.

 All eyes were certainly on him.

 Still, the teen spent a good portion of that school day hiding within his friend’s hoodie and opted to wear his Gym shorts. It was the middle of February so it was still rather cold. And with only a hoodie Daniel still braved the outdoors with little notice.

 And that was his next crumb.

 The boy didn’t seem to notice the cold.  

 The teacher had seen the teen arrive at the school the following week when a freak blizzard popped up, wearing no coat and very little protection beyond that from the frigid temperatures outside.

 He had heard of people being ‘warm blooded’ and not having the cold climate bother them too much but this was within the realm of ludacrisy! Surely his body was under duress of some kind! Was he ill?

 When asked once again Daniel had waved off his concern, “I’m good. I’m not sick just a little sleepy is all” He had deferred once again pushing off the concern and offering an easy way out, a fake map on a silver platter that he was expected to follow.

 He took the offering. If for no other reason then to throw the teen off the notion that he may be tracing his footsteps.

 It seemed to have worked as intended, though the boy still seemed ill at ease in the classroom. He had noticed Daniel shiver and for the briefest of seconds, he could have sworn he’d seen the boy’s breath.

 Sure the classroom was chilly, the school board being too cheap to allow them to turn up the heat any higher than the current brisk twenty celsius, but that was still far above where one would start to see the condensation of someone’s breath.

 He was drawn out of the musings of this current conundrum by the very topic of his brain’s musings. Hand shooting high as he wiggles in his seat, Daniel looked determined suddenly, and flighty. This was not a new occurrence either. Since the start of the youngest Fenton’s schooling career, he had been randomly ditching class. Sometimes it would be brief, entertaining the simplest of needs it would seem, other times he would not be seen for hours by any teacher in the school only to come back a while later dishevelled and out of breath as though he had run a marathon.

 William sighed and waved Daniel off. It was no use disallowing the boy to exit. He would simply leave the first chance he was given to take his leave. This has happened not only to himself but other members of the staff it seemed.

 Daniel could be as quiet as a mouse when he needed to be.

 His next trail on the line of crumbs was much larger, much more succulent. Almost like a cake crumb instead of a bread crumb. It was sweetened with honey and made him crave the full buffet table all the more.

 Hm, perhaps he should break for lunch… that was many more food allusions then usual. He must be hungry.

   As he made his way down the hall once again he saw, Daniel. He was not in his morning classroom today, though that was hardly a surprise, given the boy’s record… still, he couldn’t deny the interest he had taken in this scenario. Dashiel had cornered Michiel threatening him with a ‘beat down’ which made the man frown deeply.

 He hated how much their school funding relied on the sports departments to do well. What he wouldn’t give to have a few new books in the school. Prefibily something from the twenty-first century.

 Of course, this meant that Dashiel was able to get away with almost anything being how well he performed on the field, carrying the Casper High Ravens to the playoffs. As such a warning would be the most he could really receive for ‘roughhousing’ as it were…

 Still, before he could step in, Daniel did, dryly commenting on Dashiel’s brain capacity and quipping out a few other rather boorish insults. “What’s the matter Dash? Is your shoe size larger than your IQ?” Dashiel threw a textbook towards Daniel who ducked, only causing himself to draw more ire. “Ha, what was that? Ya missed me! Honestly, a star quarterback and can’t hit the broad side of a barn!”

 With that Daniel took off, thus getting the larger teen to give chase and letting the poor hapless nerd go in favour of a more fit target. All in all not too much by itself, but William had found the conjoining piece after classes were done and he was heading to his car.

 There was a ghost attack. Nothing new there, as they were rather common around the school, being as there was always a large congregation of people. Ghosts seemed to hit those places the most frequently after all. The leading theory was that they had more chances to gain their food source from the emotions of humans.

 This was also the main point of controversy for why Phantom was not a hero but more akin to an animal protecting its food source. Regardless of the reason, William had seen first hand the ghostly teen do his routine and had to admit, things would often be much worse without the Phantom ‘protecting his food source’ all the time.

 Regardless that thought was neither here nor there as he snapped himself out of his musings to watch for an opening to speed away in his hatchback and try his best not to damage his already thrice repaired vehicle.

 The ghosts twisted and turned around one another in a ballet that could be something akin to a world war two era dog fight, as Phantom blasted the hunter ghost from behind only to zip away from the other’s shots or expertly deflect them.

 In a way, it was mesmerizing to watch the ariel promenade, as the two spun and did their sword’s dance along the razor blade of death. However, that was not what caught his attention today. No, it was the words being spewed back and forth between the ghosts.

 “What’s the matter, Skulker? Is your shoe size larger than your IQ?” Phantom laughed out before dodging around a laser of some kind. “Ha, what was that? Ya missed me! Honestly, Zone’s greatest hunter? You can’t hit the broad side of a barn!” He quipped before flying skyward leading the ghost away from the school building by drawing the ire…

 William Lancer was not a man who was unobservant or unintelligent, and he was also not a man to ignore such coincidences such as this. Not only was it the words spoken from the ghost, but it was the      way     it was spoken as well that gave him pause. The same inflection and same tone he had heard on Daniel just a few hours prior.

 And the more he focused on it the more similarities he found.

 They had the same voice when they spoke. An easy enough fact to find and notice when compared side by side. A discussion in English class on media reporting, under the ruse of looking at the language used by the newscast, and a recording of a night's broadcast where Phantom was clearly picked up by the microphones. He had told the kids he wanted them to do a piece of mock news, a report on something in their life using the wording examples they had seen.

 The video played and he paused it right after Phantom’s smile and cheesy eighties slogan of ‘don’t do drugs’ was finished hamming up into the camera. It was then he called on Daniel to see what the teen noticed in the language used. And sure enough, the voices sounded identical, save for the echo like Phantom was talking into a tin can, but never the less it was a clue.

 And when he started looking into other things that would compare the meek child in his class to the ghostly hero that flew, fought and patrolled the town well… he became worried.

 When Daniel stood up straight, he was the same height as Phantom. When Daniel was forced to wear a proper Gym uniform, one where he couldn’t hide in a hoodie or long sleeved shirt, he was the same build. Then there were more subtle things, like the pair having the same laugh and same facial features, same windswept hair, same well… almost everything.

 But what does that mean then for Daniel? He had seen ghosts that have a shapeshifting ability before, most notably that awful ghostly therapist and the assistant they had brought in. So did that mean Daniel was a ghost? What were the implications of his death then? And when had it happened…?

 His true lucky break came when he was taking over from the principal, and thus was not teaching his classes for the day. He was in the back staff storage closet, a small tight area with notebooks, chalk, and markers in a narrow L shape. He was simply taking inventory, a dreaded procedure that he had little doubt was left to him purposefully for when Iroshima had to attend the meeting with the school board.

 Regardless he was in the furthest section from the door around the tight corner when he heard it. The door opened and in stumbled Daniel Fenton. The teen heaved a sigh of relief, and just as he was about to reprimand Daniel for such delinquent behaviour, it happened.

 The truth, the piece he had been theorizing and grasping at, laid out before him.

 A bolt of light erupted from the teen’s waist in a hoop of iridescent stardust. It shone and glowed brightly as though someone had suddenly turned on a sun lamp. The ring split and diverged up and down, travelling quickly across the boy’s body in a ripple of power. As the rings passed the human guise of the teen it revealed a familiar jumpsuit, and even more familiar ghost beneath...

 He could only watch bewildered as Phantom, no, Daniel took flight and headed off through the ceiling of the closet. He had been right? He had been right! Oh lord, he had been right…

 Being right had never felt more wrong…

 This teenager, this child… he truly dd carry the world on his shoulders, or at least the town. The boy who would sometimes limp to class and ignore his lectures on doing his homework to secure a relatively well off future, or at least a decent college acceptance… He had always looked as though nothing he said mattered, and well, he supposed given what he knows now that’s not far from the truth.

 Why would a child who was already dead, passed on and returned, care about his future as a human? Why would it ever be something that Daniel would take seriously when he literally had no future on this earth?

 Though it still begged the question why was he still bothering with school at all? Wouldn’t it be better to live as a ghost? He could patrol, fight and, well, do whatever it is that ghosts do in their spare time, all without the worry of his human habits and responsibilities getting in the way of his clearly favoured ghostly ones.

 Though the more he thought on it the more he realized that this new line of questioning was not as complicated as he was tempted to make it out to be. Daniel had died and was a teen who never got to grow up. Perhaps that was all he was trying to do?

 Despite the limitations on his body, or perhaps lack thereof, he wanted to still be a teen. He wanted to spend time with his family and friends and experience the life that had been taken from him.

 He was given the chance to allow him such simple mercies after all. It would make sense he would take it.

 From that standpoint suddenly Phantom’s aggression and heroism took on a much sadder note. One of a teen that simply wanted the others of his breed to leave him be so he may fulfill whatever obsession is keeping him grounded here, experiencing life.

 And perhaps that’s what all the ghosts really wanted. From the Box Ghost to the King of the realm of the dead. Perhaps that’s what connected them all? To live out the rest of the life that had gotten taken from them from whatever it was that took it. Be it a fire disease injury or… whatever had taken Daniel.

 Wiliam appreciated the new standpoint and views he had gained. He was a teacher after all, and part of that was due to the love of learning he had that thrived in his very soul. It did make him wonder though. If he were to be struck down, would he have the strength of will to continue? To push past his own death to try and regain some semblance of what was taken from him?

 Somehow he doubted it.

 Yet at the same time, he was alright with that notion. He was making a difference here and now and planned to for many years to come. Though for right now he would do his best to help the ghost boy in his homeroom class to live out his purpose. A makeup test here, extra credit there, and with any luck, the ghost would be able to graduate and live out the life he had lost.

 After all, William Lancer was a teacher at heart, a mentor.

 He was happy that he could just play a bit part in the background of the stories his students were living. A small thread in the tapestry that weaved their lives.

 What more could a teacher ask for then to see his students succeed? After all, even dead teenagers seem to need help time and again.

   -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 Complete

 Total word count: 3301