#it’s based on how i had a crush on my classmate in seventh grade

[bobbywarren]

hi y’all so today i brought you my amazing(no promises) headcanon

so i personally believe that bobby’s crush on warren was done absolutely wrong bc warren isn’t just sexy he’s y’know rich & so confident & successful & beautiful as well but as well. and they have something in common; it’s a little, but it’s enough for person like bobby to think so. what i’m trying to say is such crush may be considered as ‘i just want to be like him’ and only then you can understand the whole picture

[aprilsrant]

Lay all your love on me | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N)’s been crushing on the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain for over three years. Now, in their seventh and last year of Hogwarts, her friends are determined to get them together.

WORD COUNT: 2,833.

WARNINGS: underage drinking. (If there are more and I didn’t put them, let me know).

NEXT PARTS:

Honey Honey! (part two)

When I kissed the teacher (part three).

A/N: so, this came out because of a random idea and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. For some reason, I like to imagine wizards dancing to ABBA, of course it’s the muggleborns and maybe halfbloods that know about them. This was written while I listened to Lay all your love on me, slowed down, on repeat. I algo gave the reader’s friends name because it was easier, and I may or mat not based their personality on my own close friends…

English is not my first language so if there are any mistakes, I’m sorry! Reblog if you can, and if you have any suggestions or requests just DM!

Masterlist.

tags: @peeves-a-legend​ (thank you for everything).

The Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff Quidditch match had ended with a win for the eagle’s house, although the other team did not make it easy for them. The Hufflepuffs were known for their patience and hard working nature, giving up easily was not one of their traits and that’s exactly what everyone had seen on the match this afternoon. They knew their opponent’s Seeker, Cho Chang was getting better with each game  she played, so the Captain of the Hufflepuff Team decided their best chance was, if he wasn’t fast enough to catch the snitch that is, to lash out against the poor Keeper. 

And so they did. 

The Chasers, Preece, Macavoy and Applebee, were unstoppable. On the occasion the Quaffle landed in their hands, which had been like seventy percent of the time, they would use many different strategies to confuse the other players, including the Keeper, and score a goal.

Even after their brilliant performance, Ravenclaw still won by twenty points ahead when Cho Chang caught the snitch. A small distraction from the Hufflepuff Seeker and Captain had cost them the victory, but that didn’t discourage the badgers, hell, (Y/N) thought nothing could after how well they had played. She had never felt so much respect for the usually overlooked House. 

That was pretty much the reason why the Ravenclaws were so eager to celebrate their win and had invited the whole school, or at least everyone up to the age of fifteen, to their Common Room. Many people believed they weren’t capable of throwing a good party since they were supposed to be smart and have their head on a book every minute, but (Y/N) never doubted them. One of her best friends was a Ravenclaw and that girl sure knew how to have fun, school and good grades being the last thing on her mind whenever she got sight of the Firewhisky. 

If you had asked for (Y/N)’s opinion, she would tell you Ravenclaws were the seconds best at Hogwarts on the matter of hosting parties, Slytherins right up to them. Albeit that may have been biased, she herself was a Slytherin and, thinking about it, she never went to any Gryffindor parties because, well, no one except her other friend wanted a Slytherin there. Many of them thought they were some kind of saints just because they were brave and didn’t realise they were, instead, a bunch of reckless and prejudiced twats. The remaining house, Hufflepuff, took parties to a whole other level and sometimes it became all a little too much. She wasn’t much of a party person but she still enjoyed them from time to time, but they went insane any time alcohol was in the room and started to come up with crazy ideas that would, with no doubt, get them expelled. 

After waiting ten minutes for a member of the house to step out and answer the riddle for her, which (Y/N) knew you didn’t need to be part of the house to reply but even as a Slytherin and having, supposedly, a cunning and intelligent mind she sucked at those kind of questions; she, and twenty others,  finally entered the Ravenclaw Common Room, which was completely renovated since the last time she had visited it.

The circular and wide room was filled with students from all the four houses making it seem smaller than it actually was. The moon shone, filtering through the arched windows, barely illuminated but some flickering and colour changing lights on the ceiling made it work. The furniture was against the wall on the left side so people could dance freely in the middle, while the tables on the right bursted with food and bottles of alcohol. A muggle radio had been placed on one of the large table’s corner and to (Y/N)’s delight, it wasn’t playing any songs by the Weird Sisters. She loathed that band since last year when some students, presumably Gryffindors, enchanted the speakers on the hallways to repeatedly play one of the group’s songs. 

The girl started to move towards the left side of the room, avoiding the crowd growing larger and larger. Trying to catch some familiar faces, she stood on her tiptoes and observed the room, but the lack of light and her problem with seeing things from afar, made her search harder. A couple of minutes had passed when she recognized the trio she was friends with. They were waving and screaming her name, trying to catch her attention, right beside the door that led to the dormitories.  

(Y/N) grinned at them while walking in their direction. Once she settled on Isla’s side, her best friend since childhood, some of her nerves were washed away a little. It was easier for her to be in a place packed with people if she had her close friends as company. Dorian, the last one to join the group in their fifth year, offered her a black cup with, judging by the smell, Quintin Black, her favourite. The corners of her mouth quirking up as a way of saying thanks without having to shout at him to make herself be heard through the loud music.

The Multicolour Quartet — name they all despised but stood with it because it was one of Dorian’s drunk comments when he realised how they were all from different houses; (Y/N) was the Slytherin, he was the Gryffindor, and the other two, Isla and Ethan, were both Ravenclaws — easily fell in a conversation about Isla’s brilliant performance as Chaser for her House’s Team, the other three complimenting her whenever she started to list all the errors that almost allowed the Hufflepuffs to win.

Spacing out of her friend’s chat, (Y/N)’s eyes peer round the room looking, nearly in a desperate way, for someone in particular. Answering the comments the other three made with a simple nod of her head or a yes to seem like she was paying attention, her eyes fixated in a figure directly across from them, supporting it’s body’s weight on a wall. He was surrounded by some of his classmates and friends from the same house, but she could still see, albeit with great trouble, his short brown hair and his right hand holding a black cup, equal to the one she had. 

She failed to realise that her friends had noticed where her attention travelled to. Sharing knowing glances and smirks they knew it was time for (Y/N) to talk to the boy she’d been crushing on for three years now. Isla and Ethan left saying some people were starting to cause trouble, not that (Y/N) had actually listened to them, too lost in attempting to catch another glimpse of the boy. That ended on Dorian, the most chaotic of the four, finding the way to make them, at least, share two or three words.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her left arm dragging her along the room and pushing people on the way. That belonged to Dorian and it didn’t take long for her to understand what he was doing, his mischievous smile betraying him. Her eyes widened and she shook her head while planting her feet on the floor, putting all her strength on them so he wouldn’t move her. She didn’t succeed. Obviously because of his friend’s stronger hands. 

A chant of pleas and several no exited from her mouth, but it was useless. If something got inside Dorian’s head, then nothing could stop him from doing it. A trait they both shared and the cause of a few of their arguments, neither of them knew when to back the hell down. Not even the promise of (Y/N) doing his Arithmancy homework for two weeks made him stop on his tracks. Dorian had really compromised to the cause because she knew how much he detested that subject, only taking it to please his father. 

Before she could raise the offer to a month, they were already in front of him and the group he was chatting with. 

Oliver Wood smiled at the two friends, recognizing only one of them but still being kind and inviting towards her, whose heart was about to jump out of her chest from how fast it was beating. 

“Hey, Wood, how’re you doing?,” Dorian greeted him first and then nodded at the others as if he was saying hi, “preparing for the Quidditch match next week?”

(Y/N) stood awkwardly by Dorian’s side, looking and smiling shyly at people she had never interacted with. She was going to cut this boy’s head of the minute everyone left.

“Yeah, the Hufflepuffs played like hell today.” She heard Oliver say. His words tumbling with each other. Was he already starting to get drunk? “I think I’ll need to book more practices if we want to win next week”.

Luckily, or not, Dorian noticed he hadn’t introduced his friend to the group yet. And even if she didn’t like to just stand there like a rigid stick, she hated the new attention.

“This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), by the way,” he announced while placing his right hand on the upper side of her back and pushing her body to the front. And the shy smile made an appearance on her face once more. 

She whispered a small hello, looking at everyone but Oliver, and instantly felt the need to jump off the Astronomy Tower, not long after making Dorian the next designated Gryffindor Ghost. 

“What house are you in? I’ve never seen you before,” questioned one of the boys next to Oliver with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a lost look on his eyes, as if he was trying to place her and remember the colours of the tie she used daily.

“She’s not a Gryffindor, maybe that’s why you haven’t seen her much,” Dorian answered before she had the chance to, “she’s actually a Slytherin.” A new expression on his face now, intimidating the others to see if they dared to express some kind of negative or stupid comment to his friend about the house she belonged to. No one said anything. She saw Dorian smiling proudly from the corner of her eye, but in that moment (Y/N) had the weird sensation she was some kind of prey to starving lions.

The group began to talk to each again, like nothing happened, all except Oliver, who was looking at her with his eyebrows raised and an intriguing sparkle in his dark brown eyes.

Dorian spoked once more.

Does he ever shut up?

“Remember the other day you said you were falling behind in Potions and Transfiguration?” Oliver nodded at him, signalising her friend to keep talking. “Well, I have the perfect person to help you with that. (Y/N) tutors me from time to time in those subjects too.”

Forget the Astronomy Tower, she desperately needed some kind of magical earthquake that could crack the floor beneath her feet and swallow her whole.

It’s not like Dorian was lying, she had helped him, and still did sometimes, to study for an important test, not only in Potions and Transfiguration, but also in the rest of the subjects they shared. Merlin knew that boy was a disaster when talking about paying attention to classes. But that didn’t mean she was good enough to tutor Oliver freaking Wood. (Y/N) could treat Dorian how she wanted if he wasn’t trying to, at least, know what she was talking about, they were friends and most of their time together was spent hitting each other, but how was she supposed to act around the precious Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?

“Great!,” Oliver exclaimed quickly. A sudden blush crept all the way from below his turtle neck to his cheeks, but she couldn’t identify if it happened because of the alcohol or embarrassment from sounding “too enthusiastic”. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I was about to start looking for one. McGonagall said that if I don’t get my grades up to an Exceeds Expectations, I won’t be able to play the rest of the matches.”

“That sucks, but you’d found one already so you two can start immediately with the tutoring sessions”, Dorian commented slily while looking at her with the smile of a champion adorning his face.

He was trying exceptionally hard, she had to give him that.

In a swift movement, she drank the whole content of her cup to see if the knot that had formed on her stomach would go away. The blonde girl, perhaps a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, beside (Y/N) noticed her drink was missing and offered her to reach out for one of the bottles of the table across. The Slytherin nodded and asked for the bottle of Quintin Black if there was still one.

“So you like Scottish things?” Oliver observed, with his eyes lighted up and his bottom lip stuck beneath his teeth, when he saw her grab the bottle of alcohol filled to the middle with onyx liquid. 

“She sure does.” She heard Dorian mumble, he had tried to hide the smirk burying his face on his cup but (Y/N) took notice of that too. After giving him a pointed look, she turned her head towards Oliver, who, hopefully, hadn’t heard her friend’s remark; if he had, he was good at concealing it.

Her response was interrupted by the starting melody of “Lay all your love on me”, one of her favourite songs, and a voice that could only belong to her best friend, screaming her name. Out of nowhere, Isla took her hand, said something to Oliver and Dorian about returning her to them later, and yanked (Y/N) to the direction of the made up dance floor, making her almost drop the cup she was holding.

It was an unspoken rule between them, whenever one of their favourite songs was on the radio, they would stop what they were doing, important or not, and start to dance and sing, without caring about other people’s opinion. It was something like a ritual that had become a safe space and a signature of their friendship for both of the girls.

A few seconds through the song had played when Celine stopped dancing and approached her friend, whispering something in her ear.

“Okay, don’t look and don’t freak out, but Oliver hot stuff Wood is staring at you.”

“What? What do I do?” 

“Just keep dancing, I guess, maybe he likes it.”

“I don’t know how to dance, why would he like it?” 

Confusion and panic in her eyes, (Y/N) tried to think about all the logical reasons Oliver Wood, one of the most attractive guys in the school, could be watching her dance. The girl knew she wasn’t beautiful, even if her best friend repeatedly said so, she wasn’t funny or interesting and, on top of all, she belonged in Slytherin, the House with the worst reputation. 

“No idea, but whatever it is, keep doing it.” 

Her best friend winked at her, a large and contagious smile spreading over her face. Grabbing one of (Y/N)’s hands, she made her twirl around following the fast beat of the song. Seizing the opportunity, (Y/N) glanced at Oliver and discovered that he was, indeed, staring at her while he drank from his black cup.

A random and unexpected laugh flew out of her mouth. Her best friend, carefree as always, began to giggle with her while dancing around the room. She had never felt more alive, and some people would think she was ridiculous for actually thinking it, but singing her favourite song at the top of her lungs, dancing and laughing and just having fun with her best friend. Excitement running through her veins uniting with the nerves Oliver’s attention towards her had provoked; a slight headache caused by the alcohol mixing with the new confidence coming from the same thing. 

Aware of the dark brown eyes focusing on her, she turned around once more, but this time she didn’t look away. She kept singing, beaming at him from the middle of the dance floor, and maintaining eye contact. A sudden thought appeared on her mind, if she’d had maybe one more full cup of Quintin Black, perhaps she would’ve been confident enough to ask him on a date. 

Don’t go wasting your emotions, lay all your love on me.

Don’t go sharing your devotion, lay all your love on me.

(Y/N) didn’t think that he would take that as an invitation when she whispered the words while looking at him, it wasn’t even meant to be one, but Oliver Wood had left his cup on the table next to him and was now walking towards her.

A little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck. 

I still don’t know what you’ve done with me.

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 16/18

Not my gif. Before It’s Too Late

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order,  joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

[Part 15]

--

Warnings: mentions of blood and wounds

Classes were over, grades had been hung in the corridor, and Durmstrang celebrated that another year was over. 

Kate was forcing a comb through her brown waves when she heard laughter and hasty footsteps outside her dorm. Returning her attention to her hair, she pressed more insistently on the knot that was refusing to untangle and contemplated the day ahead of her; the Annual Exposition of Dark Arts had arrived and with it, the crushing fear of not leaving Durmstrang anytime soon.

She had told Dumbledore and Rhode she was no auror; she didn’t have training in catching criminals, if that’s what one of these people were.

“Well, it’s not like someone will raise their hand and say ‘it’s me, Kate, take me to Azkaban.’” She murmured to her reflection in the rusty mirror next to the door.

Why? Why had Dumbledore put her there? What was she supposed to do? Almost six months had passed; she had heard from Dumbledore only once, and Rhode was so busy with the school’s events that had practically forgotten why she was there.

But Kate still remembered. She still remembered what happened to Flavia Hodges.

Having abused her locks enough, she attempted to shape them into curls, twirling some hairs around her finger. When she finished, she traced her dragon necklace before securing it under her robes.

Who would be willing to join a Dark Wizard? And why? For a greater good, as Corentin had said? Or maybe for more personal reasons? No one was exempt from guilt, no one was good or bad; Cassandra Steiner was rude and disagreeable, but she was a mediwizard and cared for others; Flavia Hodges was almost murdered and Kent Jorgensen would have protected the man he thought was guilty, but he wasn’t ill-intended and seemed to be a clever man; Leron Angelov was sick and violent with his son, but he had enough problems to be a criminal; Libor Marek was intolerant and prejudiced, adequate characteristics for a Death Eater, but that didn’t make him one; and the only thing that Kate knew about Mer Yankelevich was that she was a liar.

She let out a heavy sigh and made her way to the desk. After grabbing her cloak from her chair and fastening it around her neck, she grabbed the several items she intended to carry with her at all times: her wand, her diary, the list and the trick wand that the Weasley twins had sent her.

The night before, tidying up her belongings, she had found the box that Fred and George had sent her and thought it could be a good farewell gift to Vivien, in case she wanted to give a lesson to Jon Hopkins.

She felt uncomfortable with everything she was carrying on her. The list and her notebook were inside her improvised pockets, and both wands were safely tucked in each sleeve. Impractical for the occasion, but with everyone distracted with the AEDA, it was very easy for someone to slip out of there unseen, and she had no intention of anyone walking into her room and finding those items. After fastening her ankle boots, she headed outside.

 Rhode had not been exaggerating when she described the AEDA as the biggest event of the year; the corridors were ostentatiously decorated with garlands and lights; countless carriages arrived on the castle grounds one after another and the doors to the dining hall were open all day, held up by pillars from which people could grab pamphlets describing the event’s activities.

Tables had been rearranged to form the various displays, and the students were dressed in their finest robes to honour the occasion.

The hustle and bustle of the day made the place unrecognisable, characterised by its usual gloom and darkness.

She advanced through the hall, pausing from time to time to watch project demonstrations and congratulate those taking part in the competition. Her eyes fell on a familiar face next to her; Leron Angelov sat behind a table where a seventh-grade girl explained her work to three wizards who, judging by their golden robes, were the judges.

“The potion lets you transfigure into whatever animal or object at will, only for a few minutes…” she exposed. Kate approached Angelov and leaned in to whisper, “Don’t do that.” Leron stared at her and stopped scratching his arms.

After wandering around for a while, she finally reached her own table, greeted her students and settled wizards and witches filed in and out of the room, delighting in the students’ magnificent works.

She wished with all her might that she could share their enthusiasm.

She gave several forced smiles, for Rhode’s sake, as the organiser of the event she wanted everything to go smoothly, but deep inside she was overwhelmed by a deep worry that she didn’t know how much longer she could bear.

“It’s really ugly.” She overheard one of her students, Greta, referring to her umbrella flower. Several of her children were standing behind a table, presenting their work to the audience.

A single umbrella flower, magically modified to remain a medium size, floated above the table; its vibrant red colour stood out among the sober tones of the place. The top of the plant, usually hollow to do justice to its name, now was decorated with thirty-seven fangs all around the base, giving it the appearance of a weird-looking lamp.

“You should be proud,” she reminded them, “You’ve managed to do something wonderful.”

“It’s still horrendous.” Jon Hopkins commented, wrinkling his nose.

“We’ve done next to nothing...” lamented Micael. Kate raised her eyebrows.

“What do you mean, you haven’t? We needed every single one of your plants, remember they didn’t all germinate, and only one of them got these results. And these posters explaining the whole process? They are priceless...”

They were still not convinced, so she kept insisting “In a few years, someone will want to do the same as you and they will be grateful to have your work as a reference”.

A man and a woman approached their table and after reading a few paragraphs of their report, left without comment. Everyone visibly deflated.

“By the way, where is Vivien? I have something for her...” asked Kate. Micael shrugged.

She looked around, but it was impossible to find anyone among the crowd. She saw a few familiar faces; like Jorgensen chatting animatedly with some seventh year students or Sheyi Mawut, who was making his way through the wizards towards her. There was no sign of any other teacher.

“Well, well! This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen first-year students exhibiting. What have we got here?” Mawut looked at Kate with a smile and she touched two fingers to Micael’s elbow. The boy looked at her and Kate nodded.

“We have created the first umbrella flower with teeth, Professor! It’s one of a kind because the species itself is unique. It floats like an umbrella flower and has teeth like a fanged geranium...”

Kate watched proudly as Micael’s other classmates came up to support him in his rehearsed explanation, some interrupting the speech out of excitement at being able to contribute something.

“And you did this on your own?” Suddenly the children fell silent and looked at the ground or anywhere but Mawut’s face.

“They’ve done all the hard work,” Kate interjected, “Finding the plant, germinating it, growing the geraniums, crossing the two species...”

“How wonderful... can I read your notes?” Mawut let out a laugh as a mountain of notebooks were at his disposal in a matter of seconds. “Maybe just one will be enough.”

The teacher’s kindness managed to relax Kate just a little.

“I’ve got better at my flying practice, Coach Mawut!” Greta commented, “Do you think I’ll ever be as good as Lena?” Kate raised her head at the familiar name.

“I’m sure you will.”

“Who?” she asked to extend that conversation.

“Lena?” Mawut pointed to some drawings and nodded, smiling, “Lena Yankelevich, she was an impressive seeker. Several top teams like the Vratsa Vultures or Heidelberg Harriers wanted to make contracts with her.”

“What happened?” Mawut closed the notebook and thanked Micael for his explanation. Greta tugged at Kate’s sleeve, causing the fake wand to brush against her skin.

“She died, Professor Williams...” she lamented.

“In the middle of a match… She disappeared into the mountains and never came back. Some Muggle climbers were in the area and saw her, and we found her surrounded by three men who had stolen her broom. But we shouldn’t have gone...” He paused and in a quieter voice added, “The climbers got scared when they saw us. There was a lot of commotion and they pushed Lena... down the cliff. No one knew how Lena had come to that situation.”

A witch casually approached the table and wrote something down on a piece of paper. Everyone around her watched in silence as she looked at the plant and then nodded before turning away.

Mawut went to add something else, but Libor Marek joined them.

“This is an unfair competition.... and what is this? A plant?” He grimaced, and Kate glanced at Mawut before averting her eyes to the rest of the room.

Astrid Rhode had stepped on the pallet where her lectern stood. After rearranging her papers, the witch cleared her throat and drew everyone’s attention to her.

“I can’t begin to express how wonderful it is to have all of you here on this special occasion. To honour this event, let me introduce you to Lazar Berović, a former winner of the AEDA thanks to his system to identify and capture chameleon ghouls.” Kate joined the round of applause with little interest. The man in question took Astrid’s place and started his speech.

Her mind drifted to the single hair that had fallen on her sleeve, and she dully grabbed it between two fingers as slowly as she could, making an effort of not listening the ghoul-hunting narrative they were being ‘gifted’.

She had a document whose content had expanded over the last month, completing a full page and a successfully finished project. There was nothing to keep her at that school any longer. Nothing, except the original reason she was there: to find a supposed Death Eater.

But I want to leave.

Would Dumbledore be angry if she returned early? But how much longer would she have to stay?

I want to go home. I want to go to Charlie.

Then come home.

Charlie’s voice again, echoing in her head as if he were talking to her right next to her. This time she didn’t panic, it was the push she needed to make her decision. Dumbledore would have to settle for the list.

But she would be leaving a bunch of children in the hands of a murderer. No, she’d figure it out when she was safe. If anyone wanted the scroll Kate had in her possession, she’d have to flee before it was too late.

The speech was over, and the room filled with the previous murmur of happiness and excitement.

“Excuse me...” Kate stepped away from the group, leaving Micael in charge of defending the front, and made her way to the door.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d become accustomed to the noise until she’d walked a few corridors away from the dining room. With everyone partying in the middle, Kate and the silence went hand in hand all the way to the library. Or at least, that was where she was headed, had she not come face to face with Corentin.

“Ah, Katherine, I was just on my way to the exhibition...” The librarian’s smile crumbled at the sight of her expression.

“Corentin...” she whispered, “I think... I need to get out of here.” They both looked around, but they were alone.

“And how do you plan to do that? With a carriage? They don’t leave until the 20th.”

“I have to go get my trunk and apparate. I don’t know... I’ll jump to Romania and... then to England.” Corentin shook his head.

“I’d recommend three jumps at least.”

“I don’t know that many places! I don’t know where we are!”

“Keep your voice down.” They dissimulated again as two wizards passed in front of them. They greeted each other cordially, and when they were out of range, Corentin grabbed Kate’s elbow. “Everyone is in the Dining Hall. In fifteen minutes the band Rhode has brought will start playing so everyone will be paying attention. Go to your room and stay there until I let you know.”

“What are you planning?”

“We’ll apparate together. We’ll do Sweden, Germany, France and you go to England alone.”

“Corentin...”

“You go. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.” The librarian didn’t give Kate a chance to question him, and she watched him march in his bat form down the corridor.

She turned and broke into a jog towards the side staircase on the ground floor, a shortcut that would take her to her bedroom. She slowed when she felt a presence around her. She sensed desperation by legilimency, and it wasn’t her own. Anger too, even fear.

She turned a corner, but someone was waiting for her. Strong but elegant hands clamped over her mouth and grabbed her robe, pinning her against a chest.. Her pulse quickened, as did her breathing. She tried to free herself from the arm that held her, but it was too strong.

Slowly, the hand covering her mouth slid to the side and reached her neck. Kate couldn’t breathe. She felt the hand tighten around her neck and Mer Yankelevich’s needle-like nails made contact with her skin.

“Give me your wand.” Kate made a movement too sharp for the teacher’s liking and she gripped her tighter. “Slowly.” She tried to take a deep breath, but she had begun to shake in such a way she couldn’t concentrate on her breathing. “Give me your wand, now.”

With an idea half-formed in her head, she moved her left arm to release the wand. Seeing her, Mer snatched it from her hand and jabbed it into her back. “Let’s go for a walk. Don’t even think about running or screaming” They strolled to the other end of the ground floor. They passed by several wizards and in the eyes of the world everything was normal.

Just as the teacher muttered “Incarcerous” the Weasley twins’ wand trap rose into the air and began to hit Mer in the head. Taking advantage of her absent-mindedness, Kate broke free of her grip and ran off in search of the front door. She pulled her real wand out of her other sleeve, knowing Mer was very close behind her.

Just a little closer.

She ran through the sea of people in front of the door, hoping to get lost in the crowd. She glanced back as she went, but there was no sign of the teacher.

She left the castle with bated breath, and hastily pulled her diary from her pocket, muttered ‘Reducto’ turning it into a tiny, almost unrecognisable object, and continued running towards the bridge.

Maybe she could take refuge in the forest, go to the coordinates Dumbledore had given her, maybe the stranger would find her if it was an emergency. She cursed when she remembered she had burned the map.

She was about to reach the other side of the bridge when something hit her from behind, causing her to fall to the ground.

With a scream she hit the stone, and from the ground she saw Mer Yankelevich striding towards her. She looked around frantically, searching for her wand. She reached out and drew the weapon towards her before pointing it at the teacher.

Yankelevich paused, pointing her wand at Kate, and waited for her to rise from the ground. Both witches stared down at each other in a duelling stance, and the spells soon began to explode. Kate fought back as best she could, trying to remember some of Marek’s tricks, but Mer was the Charms teacher and she knew that at any moment she would tire herself out until she lost.

“You’ve got something that’s mine!” shouted Mer between curses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kate started to walk backwards, trying to go around Mer and turn her back on the castle, but the teacher was quicker and cornered her against the bridge wall.

“The stone! Where is it?”

“I don’t have any stone!” Kate peeled away from the bridge wall, dodging spells with little grace. One in particular made her ears pop, and she could barely hear Mer accusing her of lying repeatedly.

“How did you get in the room?” shouted Yankelevich, “The column broke!” Kate gasped as a stunning spell hit her leg and she staggered backwards. Focused on not falling to the floor, she didn’t notice the parchment flying out of her robes.

“You broke it?” Kate asked as she tried to catch her breath, “Why?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. That’s the entrance to Grindelwald’s room, and I was trying to open it.” She took a few steps towards Kate, pointing her wand at her. “So tell me; how did you get in?” her accusatory tone made the young witch flinch. Kate bit her tongue, physically, to avoid revealing how wrong she was. In case she didn’t make it out of this situation alive, the teacher must not know her way into the room.

With Charlie in mind, she lowered her wand, hoping to give Yankelevich a sense of security. Band music began to play from inside the castle, conveniently deafening those inside and isolating them from the catastrophe that may or may not be occurring on the bridge.

In only an instant, Kate noticed how the teacher got distracted by the sound of the instruments and took advantage of her glance over her head to begin a duelling offensive. Mer defended herself gracefully, dodging and occasionally returning her opponent’s attacks. Kate’s chances diminished with each spell.

Yankelevich turned her back on the castle, and it was at that moment Kate realised her previous oversight. There, at the feet of the person who might be her executioner, the list of Death Eaters’ names lay within her grasp.

“Mer,” she began cautiously, “all this is for your sister? None of this is worth it.”

“What do you know! Do you have a dead sibling? You have no idea...” It was a stab in the heart without knowing it. The internal debate in Kate’s stomach was making her dizzy, and as she considered whether to tell her story, the teacher crouched at the sight of the document. “We all lose loved ones. Angelov, Jorgensen, Marek, myself.” Mer ignored her.

“So this is how Karkarov intended to communicate with the Ministry...” The parchment flew through the air as Kate’s spell impacted against the teacher’s hand. Both witches began a dance of lights and explosions again, swirling around unknowingly gravitating towards each other.

The castle doors burst open and a third wave of spells shot towards them. Libor Marek was almost galloping in their direction furiously airing his wand.

“Mer!”

Kate let out a choked cry as Yankelevich twisted her arm backwards. She had managed to physically reach her and after pulling at her forearm, one hand with threatening nails anchored her neck against the teacher’s chest; with the other, she pointed her wand at Kate’s temple.

Both witches looked at Marek with completely opposite expressions.

“Mer... Let go of the girl.” He warned, holding up a hand.

“Look, your guardian angel has arrived. Day after day, that man has been preventing you and I from having a friendly chat, always sitting outside your classroom, hovering in the corridors without letting you out of his sight,” she turned to Marek, “tell me Libor, what has this girl done for you?”

“This is not about her. You think I don’t know you were seeing Karkarov on the sly? You think I don’t know that you threatened to turn him in to the Ministry? You think I don’t know that you’re the one who’s been trying to get to that imaginary room?”

“It’s real! She got in with the help of the bat she has as a friend. And now she’s going to tell me how.”

Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You knew?” The accusation was drowned out when the grip around her neck tightened. “She tried to kill Flavia! She practically couldn’t speak!”

“And who do you think stopped her from going to the hospital wing to finish the job, huh?”

“Enough.” Mer finished. She forced Kate to walk to the bridge wall and bent her over the stone. She stared straight into the eyes of the abyss; the fog prevented her from seeing the end, if the cliff had one, and she knew that if she didn’t act soon all that would be left of her would be her memory. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. You found the resurrection stone, where is it?”

“There was no stone!”

She felt the needle stick as if it had happened in slow motion. She brought her hand to her neck as Mer released her and managed to drop to the ground just before the barrage of spells between her and Marek reached her. If she was dizzy before, now she was convinced she was going to throw up.

She slid down the stone to the ground as her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, trying to maintain some control over her body. Spotting her wand near her, she awkwardly crawled towards it, avoiding a violet light that flew treacherously close to her.

She tried to get to her feet, but instantly collapsed again. The nausea was increasing, her vision was blurring more and more, her pulse was throbbing. She pushed her hair out of her face as best she could and rubbed her eyes, but she couldn’t quite focus on the dancing figures circling before her.

Corentin was waiting for her somewhere, probably by the door of her room to take her to a safer place. But she couldn’t reach him, not without the list.

Kate frantically searched for the paper somewhere on the bridge, hoping with all her might that the wind wouldn’t suddenly pick up. Moving her head like that did not help her condition, and the migraines she had been experiencing made their appearance to reinforce her misfortune.

Where were the cavalry? Why was no one from the castle coming to the rescue?

A bitter taste rose in her throat, forcing her to spit out some saliva, which to her horror was whitish. 

No one would come to help her. She would have to save herself.

With what little energy she had left, she stumbled to her feet and took a few steps towards the other side of the bridge. The list was at her fingertips, but the world was spinning and twisting, and now both hands were trembling.

The moment her hand made contact with the paper, a spell exploded against the stone above her head. But she couldn’t back out now. She reached out and caught the parchment between her fingers. She pointed her wand at herself, still shaking, and felt the familiar tug in her stomach that would pull her out. Yankelevich looked with terrified eyes at what was about to happen and pointed her wand at Kate.

The green light of the unforgivable curse never grazed her.

  Kate collapsed to the floor of the grimy Grimmauld Place street with a sob. Corentin had warned her about this; I recommend at least three jumps, the librarian had said.

Lying on the floor with her arms stretched out on her sides, she looked to her right; her eyes were full of tears and her arm full of blood. 

I recommend at least three jumps.

She felt herself choked up again. This time, some foam adorned the corners of her lips, while trying to reach her wand with her left hand.

Three weary taps against the ground caused the building in front of her to awaken, revealing the door of the Black family home. Breathing was getting harder and harder, and with her ears increasingly clogged, Kate tried, to no avail, to stop her splinching from bleeding. Without dittany, it would be impossible.

She raised her wand towards the building with a groan. Unable to utter a word, she concentrated on firing several red lights into the windows. Some bounced off the walls and others off the glass, and she prayed it would be enough, for keeping her arm up was draining her strength.

As the convulsions became more violent, her hand fell to the floor with the rest of her body.

Attempting to keep her eyes open, she made out figures coming out of the house; one was a lanky, black blob she likened to a Dementor by the way his cloak moved; the other was much shorter and rounder with a hint of red hair. The rest of the people who rushed at her were indistinguishable.

Severus Snape forced her eyes open with his fingers, wearing a worried expression. Recognising him, Kate screamed, or at least she thought she did. The only sound that came out of her mouth was a painful sob.

“Darling, darling, look at me, it’s going to be alright,” Molly reassured. Kate wanted to shout that nothing was right, that she was in danger, that the man who was pouring the contents of a potion down her throat was a traitor.

The convulsions hadn’t stopped yet, but the unbearable burning in her arm did. She wanted to watch her wound heal, but Molly clutched her tear-soaked cheek preventing her from seeing the amount of blood that had gushed out from her arm.

“You’ll be fine, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.”

She choked on her saliva and Molly tilted her head to help her spit out the remnants of foam. Several conversations sprang up around her; all seemed distant, like an echo in a cavern.

When the shaking stopped, the relief was almost immediate. Snape forced her jaw open, emptying a vial into her mouth again. The commotion didn’t seem to end; several wizards and witches combed the street for any Muggle witnesses, and others were busy inspecting windows and doors.

Intense pain engulfed her head and mind. Attributing it to migraines, Kate missed the long, silver strand that shot from her temple in the direction of an unknown wand. She closed her eyes, and with one last deep breath everything went black.

--

[Part 17]

--

A/N: Oooooooooof I dont know how did you react to this I’m so nervous

Tag List: @eldritchscreech​

@meteora-fc​

@cazreadsstuff 

@the-navistar-carol​

@am-i-space​

[alarriefantasy]

Hey! Was wondering if you could do a rev specifically for “my brother’s best friend” or “my best friend’s brother” ? Would really appreciate it! Thanks a lot! ❤️

I love this concept a whole bunch!!!!! Yes, I do have recs! :) :) :)

    Sibling’s Best Friend / Best Friend’s Sibling Fic Rec 

I Still Believe It's You and Me by Stylinsonvodka

Words: 1k

The one where Louis is fifteen and pretty as hell and takes it upon himself to seduce his best friends older brother.

Best friends brother💙 by heyidkyay

Words: 2k

Harry and Lottie had been best friends since they were little, they told eachother everything, even the embarrassing stuff like liking your best friends older brother! When Lottie’s older brother, Louis, returns from uni will he look at Harry any differently or will he still see the same boy he left behind?

Turn The Lights Out by 1DirectionGaySmut

Words: 3k

Or the one where Louis gets fucked by his best friend’s older brother.

Girl Crush by writingstylinson

Words: 3k

Marcela is nothing more than Gemma's little nerdy sister. Louise is one of Gemma's best friend.

Marcela and Louise are in totally opposite worlds until they aren't. Thank you, Tumblr.

We'll be late again by Niall_Princess_Horan

Words: 3k

PROMPT -omega (or normal au) louis aka bottom louis is a cutie and adorable, and harry styles (alpha aka top) his older brother's best friend start noticing him and whatever and is a over protective, jealous and lovable cuteass boyfriend ho worships louis and louis is has low self esteem and he helps him idk louis is smol and adorable HEIGHT DIFFERENCE bye

harder to hide than i thought by dangerbears

Words: 6k

ridiculous self-indulgent high school au. louis's best friend's little brother suddenly got very attractive.

All Hearts Come Home For Christmas by itsprobablylarry

Words: 8k

Basically: Gemma brings ‘her boyfriend’, Louis, home for Christmas and her brother is really hot.

Be a Good Girl For Me by wannabebestseller

Words: 9k

Based on this prompt: “AU where Harry is Louis’ older brother’s best friend. He catches Louis dancing around his room in panties and blackmails him, saying that louis has to do anything he says or else he’ll tell Louis’ family that he wears girly underwear. Secretly soft for him, Harry gives him easy tasks and uses the whole thing to spend more time with Louis. Eventually, the orders begin to escalate and Harry teases Lou about his secret, making Louis shy and embarrassed. Louis loves the attention though, and forms a crush on his brother’s best friend. Lots of feminization, secret relationship, and enemies to lovers. Thank you!”

Dirty Little Secret by therogueskimo

Words: 10k

Or the one where Harry and Louis fall in love, but can’t figure out how to tell Gemma. That is, until Harry gets pregnant, and they don’t have much of a choice.

Promise To Treasure Me. by SS98

Words: 13k

“Leave me the Hell alone, Harry.” Louis grumbled; nobody needed a seer to sense his irritation. The boy had just gotten home from a poorly scheduled lecture on campus, to find his best friend’s brother also in the elevator.

Unfortunately for him, Harry is miles of persistence stuffed into a six foot three tattooed body that was the face of their university’s rugby team. Everyone loved him for his ability to dominate a game as the captain, and the dean thought Harry’s four year degree would not be enough. Harry is also the older brother to the only friend Louis had through high school, Gemma, which meant his shared apartment had to be opened up to this ghastly character as well.

“You do not get to insult me publicly and walk off.” Harry all but growled when he tried cornering Louis against the refrigerator.

Let Me Give You My Life by midnightskies 

Words: 14k

Gemma has one rule for Louis while he stays with her family at Christmas; not to hook up with her little brother, so of course that's the one thing Louis does.

i don't wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your neck by crybaby

Words: 19k

Harry is a hopelessly romantic omega and Louis is his sister's best friend)

My Best Friend's Brother by RuinedBy5Guys

Words: 24k

This whole situation really started back around seventh grade when Gemma and Harry found it hilarious to sit me down and watch scary movies together. It always started off fine, but as soon as someone was whacked into pieces or running from some creepy guy, I would lose my shit. At first I didn’t think anything of it, considering boys never really seemed to pay much attention to me. But in my moment of fear, Harry always was right beside me. At first it was just casually sitting next to me, his leg pressed closed to mine, and his laughter addicting as soon as I would start to freak out. But then it turned into blanket sharing and our whole sides pressed together, while I strained my neck looking as far away from the TV as I could. Harry would play it off so casually, slipping his hand down onto mine and wrapping our fingers together, as if his sister wasn’t sitting right across from us on the other couch. I guess I should have realized then that I was getting myself into a pretty stupid situation. Because although I never admitted it until eight years later, I was falling hard for my best friends brother.

Pillow Talk by FallingLikeThis

Words: 25k

Or When Harry starts having confusing feelings for a male classmate, his sister's best friend, Louis, helps him figure himself out. Cue lots of kissing, sex, and falling in love.

darling, you give love a bad name by snowcaplou

Words: 28k

Louis' has been best friends with Gemma all his life in this stupid little town he's grown to hate. What happens when, after one night together with his best friend's brother, he falls pregnant? Surrounded by small minds and conservative cultures, Louis has to deal with parents that demand they do the "right" thing. Get married before anybody finds out.

Baby, What a Big Surprise by kiwikero

Words: 33k

Or, the one where shy, quiet Harry has no idea he's a carrier, and a one night stand with the most popular boy in school shows him just how wrong he was.

Featuring Lottie as Harry's best friend, Niall as her boyfriend, and, of course, Louis as the popular boy with a soft spot for his little sister's quirky friend.

With the Rising Sun by Tomlinsontoes

Words: 33k

Louis had been living in NYC for two years now while studying at NYU, and was probably the least social 21-year-old ever. Somehow he got roped into his sister's brilliant idea of getting her college best friend to help him branch out and meet people. Only there was one problem — Harry Styles is like the hottest thing on two legs and Louis' not ready to see a much older version of the boy who filled his fantasies as a teenager.

We Got The World Shaking by FutureMrsHaroldStyles

Words: 39k

Or the one where Harry goes into heat at his best friend Lottie's birthday party and her big brother helps him out.

Reeling Through The Fall by zarah5 

Words: 40k

AU. They hate each other. Except for when they don’t.

Lottie’s Brother by teenagedirtbag28

Words: 51k

The one where Harry Styles falls for his best friends older brother: Louis Tomlinson. When his best friend; Lottie finds out about his crush, she’s surprisingly not mad but wants to help Harry get closer to Louis, and make them fall in love.

Want You More Than A by TheCellarDoor

Words: 77k

Falling in love with your step-brother’s best friend is a disaster enough. When he happens to be the boy everyone loves and you’re a nerd who wears sweater vests and cries during rom-coms, it takes it to a whole new level.

It's Safer In The Dark by aace1234

Words: 79k

Louis Tomlinson is a 17 year old High School student who is constantly bullied. He is raised by his four older brothers and keeps them in the dark about his school life.

Harry Styles is a 20 year old who is repeating his Senior year of High school. He is extremely popular and is best friends with Louis older brother Niall.

Louis has a major crush on Harry. Does Harry feel the same way? Will Harry find out about what Louis is going through at school?

Best Friend's Brother by DirtyLarryStylinson

Words: 85k

When Harry Styles realises that his best friend, Liam, has an older brother hotter than the sun itself, how will he cope with the tension?

Bloodline by banana_louis

Words: 177k

Louis doesn't know how to feel when his best friend, Liam, finds out about a brother that he never knew, who was placed for adoption before he was born and is bursting into his life at twenty-four years old.

Louis is very wary of the man who might replace him. He has always thought of Liam as his own brother.

What if Liam doesn't need him anymore? What if there's no room for Louis? After all, blood runs thicker than water.

Louis doesn't like Liam's new brother and he doesn't even know him. That's irrelevant, though.

He doesn't like him. He doesn't trust him. He doesn't want him hanging around. He doesn't want anything to do with him.

That is, until he meets him.

♡ updated: 04.21.21

♡ credit to the owner of the manip

♡ past themed recs here

[today-we-will-survive]

07. Save Me

A story based on the fictional HYYH world about six boys with unimaginable problems and their friend that can’t do anything to help.

Member: Jungkook

Genre: Angst

Warning: warnings are in the masterlist

Word Count: 6.5K

Parts can be found on my Masterlist under “The Most Beautiful Moment In Life”

A/N: New parts every Tuesday and Friday

You can only pick up the pieces and paste them back together so many times before they no longer fit.

April.

One evening when Jungkook was ten, he and his parents were driving home from the grocery store. This was a weekly occurrence with them. One he always looked forward to because he and his dad would race each other down the aisles. This particular night, it was raining really hard. So hard that the wipers were working at a rapid pace to try and keep the windshield clear and the street visible. The sound, though a bit jarring, was repetitive enough to turn into a sort of rhythm. One that had Jungkook’s eyelids growing heavy until he slumped against the door, face pressed against his palm, and he drifted to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t to the sound of rain on the metal car roof or the double time beat of the windshield wipers. It was to the beeps of monitors and quiet conversations between strangers. It was too bright. Too white. Too sterile. It took him several seconds to realize he was lying in a bed in a hospital room. And his parents weren’t in there with him.

The night they were all coming home from grocery shopping, a semi truck had run a red light and smashed into them. His dad had been killed instantly and his mom only lived for another week before dying in the hospital of complications. The crash had put Jungkook in a coma and by the time he came out of it, he didn’t have parents. He’d fallen asleep on the way home from the store and woken up in the hospital two weeks later, completely alone in the world.

For several months after the wreck, he’d withdrawn into himself, and while he barely ever spoke a word to anyone during that time, the voice in his mind screamed at the heavens, demanding to know why he had lived. Why his family had been taken. Why he couldn’t have gone with them. He’d heard a nurse say back in the hospital that the only reason he survived was because, since he’d been asleep, his body was limp, therefore absorbed most of the impact, unlike his parents who, as anyone else anticipating a collision would, tensed up. It’s why drunk drivers so often walk away from a crash when their victim doesn’t. If he would have been awake, maybe he’d be wherever his parents were too. Maybe they could be together.

He’d been in the foster system ever since then. Being moved from fake family to fake family,  temporary house to temporary house so quickly sometimes he didn’t even get the chance to memorize his address. No one wanted a preteen. Once you were past the impressionable age, you were treated more as a guest in the house rather than part of the family. No one willingly took in older kids and teenagers because they wanted to. It was always for the money. At least, that was how Jungkook saw it.

He’d learned that out of all of the kids he ever lived with, he was the expendable one. The one that didn’t need attention. Didn’t need love because he could take care of himself. Over time, he’d learned to survive. To see his fake family as a provider of the bare necessities and nothing else. He’d learned to never grow attached. To never let anyone in. To never even unpack his things because any day now, his case worker was going to knock on the door and tell him it was time to move on.

It’s hard not to latch onto the bitterness and let it fester inside you. Especially when there’s such a lack of love in your life. Jungkook shut down, made a bubble around himself of anger and hatred. He’d get into it with his fake siblings, with his fake parents. With anyone that looked at him wrong. He got into sports and started working out as a way to avoid home and clear his mind. He got bigger, more intimidating. People started leaving him alone.

Then in seventh grade, he saw a small boy get cornered by a group of guys much bigger than him. He didn’t even hesitate before getting right in the middle of it, blocking the boy with his body and staring them down until they backed off. That was the day he met Jimin. The day he figured out that his strength could in fact be put to good use. Jimin introduced him to Tae and it didn’t take long for the two to break down his walls. To show him that there were in fact people in this world that cared about him. That he could care about too.

When he met the rest of the guys, he found himself feeling angry less often. Smiling more. Laughing even. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much. They were his escape from the real world. The ones that kept him going. That kept him sane. He wanted to protect them with everything he had. Protect Jimin from the darkness that enshrouded him at school.

*

“Out!”

“Fine!”

Jungkook slammed the front door to his house behind him and slung his backpack over his shoulder. His ears burned under the hood of his sweatshirt and hot tears glazed his eyes, threatening to spill over the moment he blinked. It seemed like more and more this was the way he’d leave. With a shouting match between he and his fake dad and then a slam of the door.

Jimin’s mom’s car idled on the curb, Jimin sitting in the passenger seat, his eyes following Jungkook as he trudged toward them.

“Morning, Jungkook,” Jimin’s mom said when Jungkook slid into the backseat.

“Morning,” he uttered and sniffed hard to keep the tears from spilling over. When his eyes were finally dry, he looked up, catching Jimin staring in the rear view mirror. The older boy’s forehead was creased, the corners of his eyes dipped low with concern. Jungkook turned his head, tearing his gaze from his friend’s and watched the houses rush by through the window. Then he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out.

Jimin: fake dad?

Jungkook glanced up again to see that Jimin’s eyes were still trained on him through the mirror. With a sigh, he looked back down at his screen, his fingers typing out an answer.

JK: yea. im fine tho.

Jimin: ok

It was obvious Jimin didn’t believe him but Jungkook was an impenetrable fortress that chose when to let people in and when to keep them locked out. He didn’t like talking about his home life, especially to Jimin. The boy had enough to worry about with school and Jiho and therapy. The last thing he needed was to be triggered by Jungkook and his miserable situation. Jimin had always been an empathetic soul, though. And maybe that was why Jungkook had been drawn to him from the start. Jungkook was comfortable around him. He felt understood even though Jimin knew very little. The only other person in the group he’d opened up to was Yoongi.

Yoongi.

The older boy had been like a big brother to him. Like a father. A protector. A home. His words still resonated in Jungkook’s head, bouncing around in his skull like a ricocheting bullet. I don’t want you anymore. He never thought he’d hear that from Yoongi. His fake dad had drilled it into him that he wasn’t actually wanted. That they only took in a fourteen year old with a temper because they knew he’d be easier to manage than their younger wards. And money was money. As long as they kept him fed and clothed, they would receive a check every month. He expected that from them. But not Yoongi. Never Yoongi.

He hadn’t believed he’d heard his hyung right at first. That, for some reason, his ears had interpreted what the boy had said incorrectly. That maybe his mind had been playing tricks on him. But then the words hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest, bruising his ribcage and crushing his lungs. They’d left him breathless.

You don’t want me anymore? He’d had to be sure. Yoongi couldn’t have said it. Couldn’t have meant to say something that he knew would cause so much damage to the younger boy. That would leave him feeling so broken. So worthless. You heard me. And he had. And he heard him for weeks after that. Those words. Those words that pierced him to the core. That extinguished his spirit and left him groping around in darkness.

I don’t want you anymore.

Leaving Yoongi’s house that night, he’d wandered the streets for a while, his anger and hurt slowly fading to numbness. And now he only ever felt one of the two. When he was angry he wanted to punch something or someone and when he was numb, he wanted to feel pain. Just needed to feel something.

He lashed out even more at his foster parents. At the other kids in the house. At his teachers and students at school. He got in a lot of fights. Provoked classmates and rough looking strangers on the streets. He was lucky no one ever pulled a knife or a gun on him. Though maybe he secretly hoped someone would.

*

“Why don’t you stay at my house tonight?” Jimin asked once they’d gotten to school and his mom’s car had pulled away from the curb. “Friday night’s pizza night.”

“You know I can’t turn down pizza night,” Jungkook replied, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a small smirk. Just the prospect of not having to go back to his fake family after school was enough to lighten his mood a bit. Just a bit, though. Yoongi’s words still dragged him down into the icy depths of a dark ocean, but the thought of staying at Jimin’s house at least gave him a chance to break the surface and take in a breath before being pulled back down again.

School had never really been a problem for Jungkook. He’d always stayed pretty much in the middle academically. Never getting straight A’s but never getting below a C. It kept his fake parents and the teachers off his back which was all that mattered to him. Though now with Taehyung no longer at school as he awaited his trial, Jungkook was having to rush from his classes that he didn’t share with Jimin to meet the boy, sometimes forgetting to turn in his homework or stopping by his locker to grab his books for his next class. He was starting to fall a bit behind and his grades were reflecting it.

Jiho had left them pretty much alone for a while now. Sure, Jungkook saw him in the halls and sometimes would catch him just looking at Jimin but it seemed like making Jimin miserable was no longer on his agenda. Maybe he’d finally gotten bored of tormenting him. Though Jungkook wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down, even for a second.

*

“I’m sorry I forgot Tae’s homework,” Jimin said as he walked quickly down the hall toward his locker. He’d been bringing work to Taehyung so the boy would still be able to graduate on time. “I don’t know why I didn’t grab it before class. I guess I was just in such a rush. It was stupid.”

“It’s fine, Jiminie,” Jungkook said. He almost had to jog to keep up. The boy was so much smaller than him, how was he covering so much ground so quickly?

“I’ve just been stressed out ever since Tae got arrested and all that crap and now you’re having to work twice as hard and I just—” he stopped in front of his locker, hand hovering over the combination dial. He squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh then looked up at Jungkook. “I’m sorry I’m so weak, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook sucked in a breath, words of assurance at the back of his throat when he heard a locker slam a bit further down the hall. He and Jimin turned to find Jiho, by himself, coming toward them. Where were his friends?

“So the rumors are true, then,” Jiho said, his dark eyes sparkling as he leaned against the locker next to Jungkook. “Your other guard dog got sent to the pound.”

Jungkook was in Jiho’s face in a second, teeth bared. “Don’t talk about Tae like that,” he growled.

The bully’s eyes widened in fear for just a second before narrowing to slits, a devilish grin pulling his mouth upward. “Or what?” he asked quietly. “You can’t touch me. Not here anyway.”

“Wanna bet?” Jungkook asked, stepping forward again, forcing Jiho to back up against the locker.

Jiho let out a dark chuckle. “You want to hit me so bad right now, don’t you, Pitt-bull?”

He had no idea.

Jungkook could feel the muscle in his arm tightening and contracting with each clench of his fist. He wanted so badly to slam his knuckles against Jiho’s skull. Make him think twice before ever even looking Jimin’s way again. He was so sick of seeing the fear, the exhaustion, the misery in Jimin’s eyes every day when he’d come to school. Even though graduation was less than two months away, it still wasn’t close enough. Jungkook didn’t know if Jimin was going to make it. He already looked skinnier than he had even just a month ago. Much longer and he’d wither away to nothing. Disappear completely. All because of this worthless piece of trash grinning up at Jungkook. He’d been feeling so cold, so empty since Yoongi had abandoned him. But now fire built in his gut. Flames licked up his chest. Burned his throat and set his eyes ablaze. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was protect his friends. And this worm was still threatening one of them.

He’d had enough.

“Come on, Jungkook,” Jiho uttered so only he could hear. “There aren’t any teachers around. Hit me.”

Jungkook felt a cold hand on his arm, fingers curling around his bicep. “Jungkook-ah.” Jimin’s small voice was barely audible over the sound of Jungkook’s heart crashing in his ears. “Come on. He’s not worth it.”

Jungkook turned his head to look at his friend. At his tired face. At his pallid skin. His hollowed cheeks. The boy looked like he hadn’t felt happiness in years, yet somehow he still managed to greet him every morning with a smile. How was this boy still alive?

“You’re right, Jimin,” Jungkook said and glanced back at Jiho. “He’s not worth it.” Then he turned to meet his friend’s eyes again. “But you are.”

Before Jimin could stop him, Jungkook reared back and threw his fist forward. It connected with a sickening crack against Jiho’s cheekbone, sending the boy crashing to the ground on his hands and knees. A thick stream of bloody saliva dripped from his mouth and he spit onto the linoleum floor before looking back up to meet Jungkook’s eyes. His face split in a wide, red stained grin.

“Jungkook, what did you do?” Jimin whispered from behind him.

When he turned to look at him, Jungkook’s eyes caught on someone over his shoulder. Principal Song approached with two of Jiho’s friends trailing behind him.

He’d been set up. Of course Jiho and his friends had planned this. Anything to get Jimin’s second guard dog in trouble and out of the picture.

“What on earth is going on here?” Principal Song asked, his face red with anger.

Jiho’s friends rushed forward to help the injured boy up and he stumbled a bit, playing up that he was really hurt. And he probably was. Jungkook had hit him pretty hard.

“He just hit me, Principal Song-nim,” Jiho said weakly. “Just straight up punched me in the face.”

“Don’t even pretend you didn’t provoke him, Jiho,” Jimin snapped from behind Jungkook then looked at the principal. “He was just defending me.”

“Jungkook,” Principal Song barked.

Jungkook hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle since first seeing the man coming toward him. The fire in his gut raged on, leaving his shoulders heaving and his heart pounding. His eyes drilled into the man as his fists clenched tighter. He could feel where the skin on one of his knuckles had split when it came in contact with Jiho’s face.

Jiho. He wanted to make the boy suffer as much as he’d made Jimin suffer since middle school. He wanted to make him wish he’d never said a word to Jimin. Never laid hands on him. Jungkook wanted to kill him.

“Did you hit this student?” the principal asked gesturing toward the cowering Jiho.

Finally, Jungkook pulled in a steady breath to speak. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he told me to.”

Principal Song opened his mouth but nothing came out. He obviously hadn’t expected to hear that answer and now he flapped his mouth a few more times like a fish, his eyes darting back and forth between the injured boy and the one that had injured him. At last, he gathered his thoughts. “We have a strict no violence policy here. You were all made well aware of that at the beginning of the year. Did you forget?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. “No,” he said through gritted teeth.

“So what made you do it?”

“He’s been harassing Jimin since sixth grade.” Jungkook said coldly. “Where’ve you been?”

Again, the principal was stricken speechless. It took him just a few seconds to regain his composure. “You not liking the way we do things does not justify taking matters into your own hands.” Then Principal Song turned to Jiho and his friends. “Please escort Jiho to the nurse and then all of you get to class.” He waited as they made their way down the hall and disappeared around the corner. Then he turned to Jungkook. “You know the rules, young man. You’ll need to come with me. Back to class, Jimin.”

Jungkook watched a look of horror pass over Jimin’s face as the principal took Jungkook by the shoulder and led him away. He craned his neck around, keeping his eyes locked on Jimin’s until they turned the corner. Dread filled his own stomach. If he was suspended, how would he be able to protect Jimin? He turned his head to look back at the principal.

“Principal Song-Nim, you can’t suspend me. Jimin can’t—”

“The staff will do whatever we can to keep our students safe,” the man replied sternly. “He will be fine without you.”

That was it. Jungkook ripped his shoulder out of the principal’s hand and turned to face him. The boy was eye level with the man but more muscular and he couldn’t help but feel a flash of cruel satisfaction when Principal Song took a slight step backward.

“This school has done nothing to make Jimin feel safe,” Jungkook growled. “Something is going to happen to him while I’m gone. Just watch. And when it does, I’m not going after Jiho and his lackeys. I’m coming after you.”

Principal Song’s eyes narrowed to shining black slits. “That sounded like a threat, Jeon Jungkook,” he said. “And threats will not be tolerated at this school.” Then he straightened up, standing eye to eye once again with the boy. “You’re no longer suspended.”

“Wai—”

“You’re expelled.”

Jungkook could feel the anger churning in his belly like an ocean in a hurricane. His fists clenched at his sides and his jaw became prominent as he ground his teeth together.

“Now, if you don’t want the police to get involved, I suggest getting off school grounds immediately.”

Jungkook watched out of the tops of his eyes as the man turned and strolled away and into his office. The whole inner wall was glass so Jungkook could see him go all the way across the room to sit at his oak desk. When the principal was finally seated, he looked up, locking eyes with Jungkook before reaching slowly for the phone. Obviously, he’d been serious when he said he’d call the police on Jungkook if he didn’t leave right then. What else could Jungkook do but go? He couldn’t go back to tell Jimin what happened. He couldn’t return the next week to walk him to his classes. It was over.

With a defeated sigh, his angry expression fell and his eyes slid from the principal’s down to the floor as he trudged toward the exit. What was he going to tell Jimin?

*

Jungkook waited at the bus stop across the street from the school until the students were let out at the end of the day. He couldn’t risk being caught on the property and getting the cops called on him, so when he finally saw Jimin coming out the front doors, he jumped to his feet and waited anxiously there on the other side of the crosswalk like a dog at the end of his leash. His eyes followed the boy closely, never straying as Jimin pulled his hood up over his faded orange hair. He watched him make his way across the street, his hands jammed deep into the pocket of his hoodie. Watched him glance his way before shaking his head and trudging past him down the sidewalk.

Jungkook knew he looked ridiculous trailing after the boy like a puppy but he couldn’t help it. He needed to apologize. Needed to explain. Needed Jimin to stop ignoring him. Please, just stop ignoring him.

“Jiminie, just stop for a second. Please,” Jungkook finally said, grabbing the smaller boy’s arm and spinning him around to face him.

“Why did you hit him, Jungkook?” Jimin asked. He set his jaw in a hard line, his eyes drilling into Jungkook’s and for the first time, Jungkook actually felt intimidated by his icy stare. “Well?”

With a sigh, Jungkook looked back at the school again. It was several blocks away now. Jimin had gone pretty far before Jungkook caught up to him. “I just need to tell you something…”

“Yes, please do, Jungkook,” Jimin said. “Tell me exactly what you were thinking. Tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to punch Jiho at school when you know that they’ve been cracking down on their whole no violence policy, which is a load of crap, by the way, since apparently Jiho doesn’t even need to touch me to mess with me every day. And now, you’ve gone and gotten yourself suspended so what—”

“Expelled.”

Jimin went silent.

Jungkook didn’t want to meet his eyes. He kicked at a clump of moss sticking up from between a crack in the sidewalk. Stuffed his hands in his pockets and grabbed at the lint that had collected in the seams. Rolled his tongue against his cheek. Until finally, the silence was too heavy to bear and he had to look up.

Jimin’s icy facade had melted, leaving a stricken expression on his pale face. His lips were slightly parted, his shoulders heaving and then his fingers flew up into his hair and panic filled his eyes. “Y-you what?”

Immediately, Jungkook wished he could take everything back. Wished he hadn’t let Jiho’s comment about Taehyung get to him. Wished he’d controlled the fire raging in him. Wished he’d fought the urge to hit him. Wished he hadn’t just uttered the one word that could make his friend suddenly look so scared.

Jimin’s breathing turned ragged and he raked his quivering hands down his face. “Expelled?” he cracked. “You got expelled? I won’t have you? I won’t have Tae? Jiho will…” He staggered, almost crashing into the bushes lining the sidewalk if not for Jungkook reaching out and grabbing him. The boy’s skin felt clammy, his whole body trembling. Jungkook had seen his friend have plenty of anxiety attacks but this was completely different. A panic attack worse than any he’d ever had.

“It’ll be okay, Jiminie,” Jungkook whispered as he sank down onto the curb, enveloping the boy in his arms, letting him crumble into his chest as he descended further into panic. “I’ll figure it out. You won’t be alone. It’ll be okay.” Jungkook knew he was making empty promises. He wasn’t allowed back on school property. Tae wasn’t going back to school, at the very least, until after his trial and that was only if he was found not guilty. And even then, school would be over anyway. Jimin was right. He was all alone. And it was Jungkook’s fault.

*

It had been almost eight years since he lost his parents and the memories, the details, had faded over time. But sometimes, out of nowhere, his mom or dad’s face would appear in his mind with startling detail, leaving him breathless.

This time it was a dream that they appeared to him in. More of a nightmare, really. He could see the crash happening. Hear the collision. The jarring sound of tires squealing, brakes seizing, glass and metal crumpling. He saw his mom’s terror-filled eyes and heard her scream his name. And then he woke up.

It took him a second to realize he was laying on the floor in Jimin’s room instead of sprawling across the backseat of a car. A layer of cold sweat coated his naked torso and matted his hair down to his forehead.

He heard a groan just then and watched as Jimin’s arm stirred where it lay slung over the edge of his mattress. “Jungkook-ah?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook said sitting up and pressing his palms into his eyes. “Just had a nightmare, Jiminie. Go back to sleep.”

With another barely-awake groan, Jimin rolled over to face the wall. Jungkook peered at him from over the edge of the bed. The boy’s blankets had slipped off of him in the night and now he lay curled into a ball, his cotton pants riding up his legs to expose his boney ankles. He was so small. Too small.

Jungkook got up quietly and tugged Jimin’s blanket back in place over his body. The boy nuzzled his pillow, never opening his eyes but letting out a contented sigh. At least he seemed to be having good dreams. With a sharp breath to clear his head, Jungkook reached for his shirt and tugged it on then grabbed his hoodie and slipped from the room quietly.

The whole house was dark and silent, the place awash in cold, blue light cast by the streetlamp that filtered in through the filmy curtains covering the windows. Jimin’s house was nice. Not super nice like Jin’s, but homey, comfortable. Jungkook felt a stab of jealousy in his gut as he made his way to the entryway where his shoes were. He passed walls lined with photos of Jimin in different stages of growing up. Family photos and birthday photos and school photos. Jungkook hadn’t lived in a house where his picture adorned a wall in a long time. Having been shuffled from one place to the next so many times had made him forget what it was even like to have a place to call his. Sure, he’d been with his current caretakers for a few years now but he’d never go so far as to call those people his family or that house his home.

After pulling his shoes on, Jungkook unlocked and opened the front door quietly. It was unusually warm for a spring night but Jungkook welcomed the feeling of the wind on his face. He’d woken up with goosebumps dotting his skin and this was the comfort he needed to wash away the image of his mom’s terror-filled eyes.

He often went for walks when he needed to clear his head. So much had happened that day that this walk was necessary. Heck, the past several months had been nothing but one hit after another. From Taehyung killing his dad to getting arrested, to Yoongi suddenly flipping out on Jin and tossing Jungkook out like a piece of trash. Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath at that last thought.

He’d made it to the end of Jimin’s street, past the mini mart and out onto the main road that ran through the city. He wasn’t sure where he was headed but it didn’t really matter anyway. He could go on forever and no one would miss him. He already was nothing but a burden on the people that knew him. And he’d let down the only one that didn’t see him as such.

After hearing the same words for the past eight years of his life, that he was only as good as the money he brought in, that he needed to stop relying on others to take care of him, that he needed to grow up and be a man, it was hard to not believe it was all true. And then there was Jimin. His best friend and the boy that relied on him more than anyone else. The boy that trusted him to keep him safe and he’d failed. Failed at his one responsibility.

Jungkook cut across the street and around a corner. The school loomed in front of him, its tall, white stone clocktower raising up to pierce the sky like a blade. Jungkook sat down on the bench he’d waited for Jimin on earlier in the day and rested his head in his hands.

That dream had really shaken him. Had brought everything back. And now the hole in his chest that had finally begun to shrink with time felt gaping again. Without any warning, his chest contracted and he let out a sob. Then the tears came.

He buried his face in his arms, crumpling into a ball there on the bench as he cried. His voice echoed down the street, filling the darkness with sounds of anguish. He didn’t know how long he cried but when he finally looked up again, his lungs hurt and his eyes burned.

Jungkook leaned back, resting his head against the back of the bench so he could look up at the sky. The city lights washed out most of the stars but the brightest ones were still visible. Shining and twinkling the way stars do, completely unaware or maybe uncaring of the trivial problems of humans. Stars have much bigger things to worry about.

With a heavy sigh Jungkook got up again. The air had cooled significantly since he left Jimin’s house and now he hunched his shoulders forward and shoved his hands deep into his pockets to brace himself against the chill. He was exhausted and only now did he regret leaving the house in the first place. It was going to be a long, cold walk back.

He didn’t even see the car flying down the road toward him. The driver apparently didn’t see him either because they didn’t even attempt to slow down before plowing into him. The whole thing happened so quickly that Jungkook didn’t know it until he landed on the road on his back with a sickening crunch. The impact ripped all of the air from his lungs and he lay there for several panicking seconds as he tried to will them to expand again. When he finally was able to pull in a breath, he knew something was wrong. He couldn’t inhale right. When he tried to move his legs, they wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t feel anything. Something was definitely wrong.

His heart pounded in his chest and he could hear how ragged and shallow his breathing was. His vision blurred with every beat. The air grew thick and suddenly he felt like he was drowning. Panic washed over him like a wave and his unfocused eyes watched as the surface grew more and more distant. He was sinking further. Falling into the dark depths of the unknown.

Please, no. Please, not here. Not like this.

Jungkook could feel himself being tugged further down and he grit his teeth, struggling against current. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t fight it. He could feel his energy draining. Feel his heartbeat weakening. The sound of it slowing seemed to surround him until it was all he could hear. Until there was nothing but him, floating in this black ocean, listening to his dying pulse.

Please…not like this.

He thought of Jimin, sleeping peacefully in his bed. He thought of Tae who still constantly wore that haunted look on his face. Of Hoseok and how lifeless he’d become. Of Namjoon and how much he beat himself up over letting Tae down. Of Yoongi.

“Yoongi.”

The name left Jungkook’s lips in a cracked wheeze. His throat constricted and it took him several more seconds and too much energy to force the muscles to relax so he could breathe again.

What he wouldn’t give to see Yoongi again. He just wanted to hear his voice. Wanted to hear him assure him that everything would be okay. That he would get through this. That what happened with Jimin wasn’t his fault. Though he knew it was.

I don’t want to die alone.

A sob broke free of Jungkook’s throat and he took in another gasping breath before plunging below the surface of the dark ocean again. Memories of his life floated around him in the darkness. As if watching silent movies on a projector, his eyes roved over the familiar scenes. Of when he met Jimin, and the rest of the guys. When they had their first beach day. Of one of the many parties at Yoongi’s where Jungkook spent the whole time on the couch stuffed between Jimin and Tae while playing video games. Of the first time he went to Yoongi after his fake dad told him he was worthless. Yoongi pulling him in for a hug, his arms holding Jungkook’s broken pieces together. And finally, his eyes fell on a memory. A memory of him and his parents the night before his seventh birthday when the three of them were making cupcakes and he and his dad ended up getting into a frosting fight.

He focused on his parents’ faces. On the laugh lines creasing the corners of his mom’s eyes. On the gray flecks of scruff peppering his dad’s chin. These were the things he had forgotten over the years. The things that were so vivid and real to him now.

Suddenly the thought of dying didn’t terrify him anymore. Now, instead, Jungkook could only feel an undeniable sense of peace. He’d finally get to be with his parents. He’d finally have a family again. He was so close to the edge, he could feel it.

At last, he opened his eyes. The black sky stretched above him and through the blurry film of tears, he could still make out the stars. Now they didn’t seem like cold, uncaring orbs of light in the distance. They were much closer. So close he’d be able to reach out and brush them with his fingertips if he had the strength.

Kook-ah. What do you think you’re doing?

Jungkook blinked hard and sighed. “Yoongi-hyung?” he uttered, his words drawn out and slurred. He could feel himself fading fast.

Just hold on, Kook. Just keep fighting.

Jungkook’s heart rate plunged again, his thoughts suddenly foggy. It was getting harder to breathe. “I-I can’t…hyung.”

Do it for us, Kook. Please. Do it for Jimin.

“It’s…too…” Jungkook could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, “late…for Jimin.”

Bull.

A puff of air escaped his nose in a weak laugh. He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sadness at the thought of leaving his friends behind. He felt the warmth of fresh tears spring to his eyes when he thought about the moments he’d shared with them. The parties, the jokes, the meals at the diner. He’d had nothing until he met them, and then they were his everything. He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

With his teeth gritted against the pain, Jungkook slid his arm along the pavement, scraping the exposed skin of his wrist across the ground as he reached for his pocket. His energy was draining fast and he knew he didn’t have much longer. By the time his fingers brushed the hem of his pocket, he was breathing hard. Just a little bit further. A choked sob fell from his lips when he realized his pocket was empty. His phone wasn’t there.

Exhausted, he let his head fall to the side, his fading vision landing on the cracked black device sitting next to him. He felt like he was going to cry with relief. His arm was too heavy to lift and for a few seconds he stared helplessly at his phone, the sound of his heartbeat slowing in his ears. But then he pulled in a breath.

“Hey Siri,” he wheezed and then waited with bated breath until at last, the screen of his phone came to life and his mouth nudged up into a weak, triumphant smile. “Call…” Who could he call? “Call Seokjin,” he finally said. As the screen changed, he waited, closing his eyes and letting the sound of the ringing fill his head. It took four agonizing rings before Jungkook heard the sound of someone answering.

“Hello?”

Jungkook’s face crumpled at the sound of the familiar voice and he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Hello?” Jin’s voice echoed again. “Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook sucked in as deep of a breath as he could. “Hyung?” he cracked.

“Jungkook-ah? Do you know what time it is? Are you okay?”

Jungkook opened his mouth to respond but instead, a sob pushed its way out.

“Jungkook? What happened? What’s wrong?” The older boy’s voice rose with panic.

“I tried, hyung” he whispered letting his cheek fall to the pavement. He squeezed his eyes shut as another cry tumbled out. “I failed. I failed Jimin…”

“You what? Jungkook, where are you? What happened?”

“I failed Yoongi-hyung…”

On the other end of the line, Jungkook could hear faint rustling sounds as Jin got out of bed and started fumbling around in his room. “Just stay on the line with me. Where are you?”

Jungkook took in a wheezing breath as his surroundings began to fade. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the glowing screen of his phone where it lay close to his head. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. He couldn’t feel the cold air, or the rumbling pavement. He couldn’t hear the sirens in the distance or the fact that they were growing closer.

“Just tell the guys I love them. Tell them I’m sorry,” he whispered as the tears slipped past his eyelashes and slid down his cheek.

“Jungkook, stop,” Jin cracked. “Don’t talk like that. Just tell me where you are.”

Jungkook tried to open his mouth again, tried to draw in another breath but he was too tired. Too far gone. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to Jin go on, his voice distorting as he yelled into the receiver. At least he wasn’t alone anymore.

[zamancollective]

Mazel Meh

 By Jane Paknia

Illustration by Sophie Levy

“Abby said your Bat Mitzvah wasn’t fun.”

We were in the cafeteria, waiting for the first bell to ring. I was in seventh grade, and it was the Monday after December 2nd, the morning after the Sunday I was officially made a Jewish woman.

I felt very small.

The day before, my mom had let me put on my own makeup. I chose to blacken my waterline, gloss my lips, coat my eyelashes. I had never worn makeup before then, aside from costume makeup for school plays. I wore a gold dress I had picked myself, matching glittery shoes, pantyhose, and professionally-styled hair. All of that preparation alleviated some of my confusion about the major milestone that was about to take place because physically I wasn’t feeling close to womanly. My voice was high-pitched, my cheeks still had the fullness of youth. But yes, I was about to be a woman, even if the mirror would argue otherwise. Ok.

I had spent a few months preparing specifically for the occasion, but my whole life counted as preparation. The years leading up to it were established as pre-Bat Mitzvah, and my life after it would be post-Bat Mitzvah, until a wedding. My Hebrew reading was developed over years of practicing and davening every Sunday morning, and I had attended synagogue services with my family as many Saturdays as our schedules allowed. My childhood best friend, who had since moved to Norway, declared that she’d fly in to be there. I had grown up understanding the Bat Mitzvah as one of the fundamental events in Jewish life, and consequently in my own. The pieces were all there, and even though I didn’t feel very mature, I was mature enough to accept the responsibility. If not for myself, it was for my parents. My mom is a Ramaz girl from Bayside, Queens, and my dad’s Mizrahi Judaism is a defining characteristic of his identity.

The day came, and the guests started arriving. It was exciting to see everyone, people who I knew cared about my life and were happy to partake in such a meaningful, Jane-oriented event. I was elated, I was grateful. Then came time for the service. My grandparents, already crying, headed through the great wooden doors to the shul. Smiling cousins followed, mixed in with the boys and girls in my grade, along with best friends, my brother, my parents. But once I walked in, I remembered with a jolt that my orthodox synagogue required separate seating. I saw the girls in cute dresses do double takes. I saw the few boys I had invited (one of whom I had a huge, obsessive, middle school crush on) confused that they couldn’t sit with their friends. Suddenly, I felt guilt. Guilt that the kids who came from my school would have to sit on opposite sides here and nowhere else, and guilt that they would have to sit through a service in a language they couldn’t understand, couldn’t even feel satisfaction in reading. The dread subsided when I made eye contact with my parents. I stepped up on the stool I needed to reach the bima and began with an introduction, welcoming the people who had taken the time to join in on my special day. Next was the service.

My grandmother always cried throughout the entire duration of lifetime events, my best friends were amazed to see me accomplishing something I had worked so hard on, and my distant family members were pleased to hear my singing voice that one came to me after the service to commend me, exclaiming “Broadway girl!!”

I sensed that many of my school friends spaced out for the service part, awaiting the party that was to follow. I wished I could warn them that it wouldn’t be the same as the other ones they had been to. Much of my extended family was attending, and my parents were both uncomfortable with the ostentatious, Gatsby-esque festivities that many Bat Mitzvahs had come to be associated with.

My Bat Mitzvah was a time to connect with people I loved if not only a time to claim my maturity as a Jewish woman, and I spent a significant portion of the night fretting over my classmates and how much they were enjoying the party. I was scared that they were judging me, rewarding me social credit based on everything but the part that I had prepared for - and that mattered to 12-year-old me. Did everyone on my invite list care about my growth and hard work? Maybe not. Did I love them the way I loved my best friend and my cousins and my brother? Maybe not. But their opinion felt like the end-all-be-all of my middle school happiness.

Monday came. My fears weren’t groundless anymore, as I learned that people really were judging the quality of my party and denouncing it. It was confirmed that Bat Mitzvahs were part of a larger social structure, of middle school popularity and reputation. And I had failed—one of the figureheads of popularity in my grade had ruled that mine was not fun. Not worth going to. Not important. The competition was unfair. Many parents in my town afforded clubby extravaganzas for their children. The kids at one party a month earlier had done a Harlem Shake video. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t compete with my lame temple and my traditional service and my boring party. On that Monday morning, it stung. I was mad at my parents for not giving me what I needed to achieve the social acceptance I craved at the time. I was ashamed of my orthodox synagogue. I didn’t feel like anything about my Jewish identity mattered, and the bitterness lingered, spiking when I’d hear about or attend Bat Mitzvahs that my classmates praised.

Thankfully, a lot has changed. Looking back from where I am today, I find it hilarious that I cared about the ‘ruling’ of a few kids I used to know. I am significantly prouder of my Jewish identity and confident enough to accept the misguided critique of seventh graders as what it was: the misguided critique of seventh graders.

I don’t remember how I danced at my party, or what music we played, although I do recall requesting Starships by Nicki Minaj. If I didn’t check the huge book of signatures and notes I got to keep after the event, I wouldn’t even be able to recall the distant friends whom I cared so much about impressing at the time. In the end, what I internalized from that day was the support from my family, my close friends, teachers, and pride in myself for accomplishing something that took years of dedication and work. I know I wasn’t physically or emotionally grown, but I was proud to have earned a place amongst the matriarchs in my family whom I loved and respected.

I don’t see myself as totally mature quite yet, but I’m definitely much farther along from where I was at 12 years old. And I can say without hesitation, in the most respectful way possible, that I don’t care at all what Abby thought.

[prorevenge]

Karma is Oh So Sweet

Note: Not really a revenge story on my part, but I believe this is a fine example of cosmic revenge for a larger hole. Long story, TL:DR at the end.

About seven years ago, I was in my sophomore year of high school. Let me just mention this, I was not your typical student:

I came from one of the poorest family in this town of three thousand. My dad was physically disabled for years before this and had been unemployed since I was in third grade. This left my mom the only working member of my family until my dad was put on disability. My dad, however, did not get put on disability UNTIL my sophomore year of high school, so around eight years, my mom was the only one working. In fact, there were times when I didn’t even get new clothes to wear for a new year as we couldn’t afford it.

I am legally mentally disabled. I was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome in eighth grade and, legally, should have been in some special classes. This led the school to alter my schedule without my permission and resulted in my mom’s wrath to the school.

I am clinically depressed and went through a time when I did not take my medication as it made me aggressive. I have since switch medications and have become a lot calmer as a result.

Now, bullying wasn’t something I wasn’t used to. Ever since fifth grade, when I reached puberty, I had gained weight quickly. People immediately would bully me and tease me. They would even laugh at me for buying books for my younger brother to read. My brother is six to seven years younger than me, depending on the month. My brother was not in school yet and wouldn’t be in school until I was in the seventh grade. This was also a time where we did not have cable or satellite television regularly, so I would often bring books home so my brother could read them as well.

The bullying continued well into high school and this is where Principal Cinch came in. Note, that is not her real name, but the name of the antagonistic principal of Equestria Girls: Friendship Games. However, with how she acted, I would not be surprised if Cinch was based around her. 

Cinch had been my paternal oldest cousins’ cheerleading coach and, boy, both of them hated her. My maternal cousin also hated her, especially as she gave my cousin no sympathy when my aunt died when I was in seventh grade. My cousin and I had been extremely close and when her mom died, both of us were greatly affected. She also wanted to drop out after a time as she was sick of being bullied. 

When I entered my freshmen year of high school, Cinch decided to stop targeting her and start targeting me. First off, she would ignore me being bullied and would call me a bully. There had been no proof of that and I have a strong guilt complex. If I had hurt someone, I wouldn’t stop until I made it up to them, as I legitimately felt awful. This made me feel like a piece of shit for a long time and still affects me today.

She also did not care if I attempted suicide in class. This was a legitimate situation, where I was trying to strangle myself in my jacket in Geography. The students were cheering and the teacher didn’t care. In fact, when another teacher walked in, she decided to pull me out of the classroom and take me to the principal, as she was disgusted at the acts she saw from my classmates.

Guess what she did?

She didn’t do anything.

As I entered my sophomore year, things got worse. My dad ended up needing to go into surgery in late January/early February and my birthday money went to his surgery. Note: I was actually born in March, but my family had been saving up to throw me a sweet sixteen birthday party. They were proud that i had survived this long, especially with all of the bullying. Because of this, plus my own depression, I spent several days at home to help my dad around and even just take a breather.

Cinch did not like this and resorted to THREATENING me daily. At my school, we had something called AEP. Think of it as ISS, except for up to three months at a time. I had been sent once for kicking a teacher in the shin in seventh grade, but that was when I was on my more aggressive anti-depressants. I’m not going to lie that I deserved it back then, but Cinch threatened me with this JUST FOR CRYING. 

Not to mention that the man who ran AEP gave me nightmares to the point I was afraid he would legitimately kill or, sorry for the trigger, rape me. He even used to coach my little brother’s teeball team and made my brother play without his inhaler. My brother has acute asthma and needs his inhaler with him if he does any academic sport. Pretty funny, I have to admit, when the giant six foot football player actually has to go to the bench and pull out a blue inhaler so he can continue playing. My dad even thinks I developed post-traumatic stress disorder for a time because of him.

When my dad was in the hospital recovering from his surgery, I finally confessed to my mother and grandmother about everything that was going on at the school. There is no fury like an angry grandmother and, despite my grandmother being extremely tiny and in bad health due to being a smoker, she was prepared to go to war. My mom, however, let me stay home for more days, chalking it up to rough times during my dad’s recovery. 

The last straw, however, came from the vice principal as well. On the day that my dad was taking me out to transfer me to a new school (he had heard from my mom about everything I had endured and he decided enough was enough), he mentioned that his own children were disabled, but they went to school daily. From the tone I heard from my old locker as I cleaned it out, my dad was not happy and said the following: ‘Well, mental disabilities are different from physical disabilities. You have no idea what it’s like to raise a child with autism.’

Cinch decided to chime in that she knew, as she had a step-son with ADHD. Excuse me?

Note: I am not discrediting ADHD as a mental disability, nor am I insulting anyone who has ADHD. My first crush had ADHD and we’re still really good friends. However, if she knew how it felt for her step-son, why didn’t she consider what was going through MY mind? I think this was just an excuse to gain some sympathy.

Needless to say, I flipped the school off as we drove to my new school twenty miles away.

Now, time for the cosmic karmatic revenge.

I had decided to ignore what happened in the school and move on with my life. I made a great number of friends at my new school and we still talk to each other on facebook for the most part.

I graduated high school, got two of the highest grades on my TAKS (Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills) my school had seen and got a free pass to my first college. A government agency was paying for my education and books, so I got to explore what I wanted to do in life.

However, two years ago, my dad tagged me on a news article on facebook.

And I had the widest grin on my face.

'PRINCIPAL OF ********* HIGH SCHOOL FOUND SENDING THREATS TO HERSELF ON LINKEDIN’

As I read the article, my smile grew wider and wider. She had just ruined her reputation as a teacher and was getting her license revoked. She decided to quit, before they could fire her, to save grace.

The best part, people who had dealt with abuse from her were leaving comments and telling their stories. I decided not to, as I was just on cloud nine right now and even I have standards.

I actually saw her a couple of weeks ago while grocery shopping. She decided to act all friendly to me, but i just gave her a cold hard glare. 

As I walked off, I said the meanest thing I’ve ever said to an adult and this is the one thing I never regretted saying.

“I guess you got so bored when you couldn’t threaten me anymore that you threatened yourself? Wow, how pathetic.”

My mom gave me a fist-bump as we walked away.

Note: She’s since found work as a guidance counselor. However, she has negative reviews from several people from my old school. She also claims she can help with the power of god and she understands how hard it is for parents to raise children with disabilities. 

Before the site deleted it, my maternal cousin had posted this: 'You don’t know how hard it is on the parents when you threaten children with disabilities. No one hire this woman. She threatened my autistic cousin in a near daily basis.’

TL;DR: Principal who threatened me on a near daily basis is found giving threats to herself. ‘Quit’ and lost about twenty years of references because of this.

[chestnutpost]

Life Isn’t Perfect, But ‘PEN15’ Is

This post was originally published on this site

It’s hard to believe it has been nearly two decades since 2000, but watching “PEN15” makes that year seem like a long-lost relic. The new Hulu show, which follows two best friends navigating junior high, brings back dial-up internet, landlines, locker mirrors and nascent AIM relationships. Happily, it has more to offer than easy nostalgia.

What keeps it fresh is the twist in its casting: Adult women Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle, who created the show with “Take My Wife” director Sam Zvibleman, play the two main characters (also named Maya and Anna), setting an off-kilter tone for everything that follows. If watching teens freak out over a furtively passed note from a love interest is funny, it’s even more hilarious to see 30-somethings do it. 

Maya and Anna are social outcasts determined to make seventh grade their best year yet. It begins on a rocky foot, with Maya being labeled that year’s UGIS, or “ugliest girl in school.” It only gets wobblier as the duo face intimidating cool girls, young love, periods, masturbation, family drama and their diverging identities.

From “Big Mouth” to “Everything Sucks!” to “Sex Education,” there’s plenty of teen fare out there. So what makes “PEN15” worth your precious bingeing time? The specificity of the early ’00s references provides instant gratification for elder millennials, while the perspective that Erskine and Konkle bring to their characters elevates it beyond a simple “Remember when?” kind of show.

HuffPost writers Matt Jacobs and Jill Capewell gushingly address the question everyone has on their minds: Should you watch it?

Matt: I haven’t loved a comedy as much as I love “PEN15” since … I don’t know when. Maybe the first season of “Orange Is the New Black”? The time Selina Meyer walked through glass? Our first glimpse of swole Chidi on “The Good Place”? Anyway, it’s been a while. How much do you love it, Jill?

Jill: Matt, I love it so much! The promise of gel pen references drew me in, but the love Anna and Maya have for each other — and the hilarious ways they show it — kept me there. Plus, I was in seventh grade as AIM was coming out and cargo skirts from Delia*s were cool, so I am probably the exact target demo for the show. I had major flashbacks when I saw Anna’s two face-framing wispy strands of hair.

There were so many perfect references to that time period in the early aughts, when the internet was new and clunky and the best thing we knew to do with it was ask each other “a/s/l?” in chat rooms. Maya’s “diper911” screen name, for example, nails the freewheeling, random nature of how we saw the World Wide Web back then and how we presented ourselves on it in turn. We didn’t yet view our social media personas as “personal brands.” Plus, lol, diaper emergency. How did it feel to see the awkward early teen years (let’s face it, we were all awkward) played back for you in such exacting detail?

Hulu

Matt: Such excruciation, but even more than that, it felt like a real swoon, honestly. Maybe it’s because I’ve had such existential dread about social media lately, but revisiting a world where AIM is the nearest source of anxiety was comforting in a way that transcends easy nostalgia.

“PEN15” is a show built on gimmicks, and it rises above every one. The off-kilter casting, the 2000 setting that requires clichéd Y2K-era signifiers, the whole “let’s revisit how awful middle school is” ethos that “Eighth Grade” did as recently as last year. Magically, it all works.

I think casting Erskine and Konkle gives the central characters a nuance the show otherwise couldn’t hope for; they bring a perspective to the roles that teenagers wouldn’t. What’d you make of them playing 13-year-olds opposite actual 13-year-olds?

Jill: I was also thinking that “PEN15” is able to stand out among the many “awkward teen years” offerings out there, and I think it is helped in part by having adults play the two main characters. For one, it’s delightfully absurd to see — I cackled when Maya and Anna were trying to cuss out an actual teen on their first day of seventh grade. Seeing adults posturing as brace-faced and bowl-cut adolescents never gets old.

And another component is that crucial perspective you mentioned. The audience is constantly reminded that this will end up just being a phase in these girls’ lives. Having Erskine and Konkle playing teenagers lends an odd believability to the series, as wild as the optics are: You know they lived as the outcasts they play on screen, so I can trust the foibles and emotional roller coasters the characters go through. Plus, it speaks to the fact that we never truly outgrow our weird teenage selves.

I was concerned about how they were going to pull off Anna’s first kiss — but some camera-angle magic took care of that.

One thing that really surprised me as I got further into the series was how much heart it has. The show is able to segue from pure nostalgic joy to resonant truths about growing up without feeling like an after-school special. The arc of Anna’s parents fighting more and eventually getting divorced reminded me how crushing that can feel when your parents are your whole world. What did you think of the show striking a balance between pure fun and these bald truths about getting older?

Hulu

Matt: “PEN15” does get bittersweet by the end, but I also love the touch of sadness that’s nestled into its humor. Its physical comedy ― Maya’s timpani solo, for example, or the girls’ hallway catwalk on the thong episode ― is “I Love Lucy”-level good. But even within those moments, I felt pangs of melancholy, in part because it reminds us of the intimacy inherent in adolescence. Even a great adult friendship lacks the connectedness of a bond based on youth, when you get to learn about the world alongside classmates and neighbors who are just as uncertain (even the ones who mask that uncertainty in bullying tactics). We don’t realize what our teenage kinships mean until it’s too late, and that’s something Erskine and Konkle tap into without ever saying as much.

Jill: I think you hit the nail on the head, Matt. It’s easy to brush off your teen years as a wasted time of being young and dumb, but it’s really when we start to become who we eventually are. What I think makes this show feel so revelatory is the respect it gives to aspects of teendom that don’t often get treated with importance. No stray feeling is too inconsequential, because it didn’t feel inconsequential then.

Hulu

Matt: That’s right. Things are only ridiculous with hindsight. An internet romance is serious business, and so is your first cigarette or your terrible haircut or your shared thong. A middle-school relationship can be almost entirely silent and avoidant and still feel like the most meaningful thing you’ve experienced, like Anna and her band boyfriend Brendan, who scribbles notes but can barely sustain a conversation.

The last few years have been a golden age for popular culture about teens who feel isolated from the world around them. But most of the genre has been character studies built around one protagonist (“The Edge of Seventeen,” “Lady Bird,” “Eighth Grade,” “Skate Kitchen”). Here we get to see how two girls’ lives intersect and diverge, and the way they vow to share every moment along the way. (“Broad City” is probably the aptest comparison, but that show has faced narrative limits that “PEN15” can more easily avoid.) It’s in that very togetherness that we see them as individuals just starting to figure out what sets them apart. The beauty, for us, is knowing how long and fruitful that journey will be. I almost don’t even want a second season because I’d rather imagine it for myself; the limitlessness is poetic, ya know?

Jill: I understand what you mean — on one hand, I want more of this great show, but on the other, I just want to imagine Maya and Anna side-by-side learning how to shave in the tub before the school dance forever. I don’t want them to age, even if they’re 31 in real life. We can’t go back to 2000 and, honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready to, but with “PEN15,” we can always pay a quick visit. That is, if our mom gets off the phone so we can use the dial-up.

This has been “Should You Watch It?” a weekly examination of movies and TV worth ― or not worth! ― your time.

RELATED COVERAGE

The post Life Isn’t Perfect, But ‘PEN15’ Is appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

from The Chestnut Post https://thechestnutpost.com/news/life-isnt-perfect-but-pen15-is/

[dasklaus]

Big wall of text incoming.

This is going to be my first text post on tumblr.

Originally, this was a porn blog. I guess I'm just not that into porn. This is a feelings-dump because I currently have an excess of feelings.

I never talked much about trans issues, least of all about my own. Like many, I keep thinking I'm fake, not trans enough or just weird. That's what I tell people, too: don't mind the male name, I'm just weird about gender. Don't worry about it. I minimize being trans all the time - then again, I truly don't think about it that often. It seeps into my life in small ways, rarely big ones, and I can easily overlook it, distract myself, pretend it's not happening. It's why I haven't transitioned yet.

When I was a kid, I had bigger problems. I had difficulties forming connections with people - still have, to be honest - while desperately wishing for friends - still do, to be honest. I was bullied to varying degrees, changed schools a lot, and regularly got beaten by my older brother while my helpless parents had long patient talks with both of us that didn't change anything ever except made it clear to me that talks were supposed to help but the nice, peaceful environment I lived in just manifested in unusual ways or I just failed to experience it as peaceful. To not turn this into a sob story: I was, in hindsight, really bad at interacting with other kids (in the sense of being an ignorant, arrogant asshole) and didn't take any initiative in solving my own problems, expecting my nice, peaceful environment to manifest itself somehow.

I was raised pretty gender-neutral. My clothes were blue, I waded in lego and books and while I tried to get hobbies like the cool kids did, nothing stuck. As I didn't connect to others naturally and felt a profound otherness (which I mostly attribute to my poor yet snobbish upbringing, my giftedness and - arguably more importantly - my knowing about it), I tended to look for ways to be special, to not do the mainstream thing because I was different, therefore had to do everything differently. When my parents let me choose an instrument to learn I chose drums. Impracticability and long waiting lists took this off the table, so I went for harp. I have no idea what I was thinking.

Being trans feels like that: like a bad choice based on a childish way of looking at myself, on not knowing how to present myself. Like making things weirder for myself on purpose.

I didn't have any clear signs of tomboyishness. I was shy, prone to anger and despair, relentless argueing and both a huge slob and a lover of lists. This is, as far as I can tell, the whole picture - no hidden dreams or interests that put me clearly on the feminine or masculine side of how one might expect a child with strong gender expressions to behave. Gender expressions I did not do.

I vividly remember a neighbourhood friend (the only one that I had and that I adored and looked down on all at once) asking which super power I would like if I were to choose. I went for switching sex at will. Nowadays I'd probably say shape-shifting, but back then, while a lot of things seemed neat, they only appealed to me for money or fame (or advancing science - this was a factor in my appraisal process). This one was the one I wanted for myself, that I would still want even if I had to keep it a secret. This is the only memory I have that tells me something might've been up even way back.

There were some indicators later on that I use to reassure myself. I wanted to go as a man for Fasching (a yearly costume party at school in February) in seventh grade, did, and was mistaken for Charly Chaplin most of the day. There were girls dressed as cowboys, male superheroes and actually Charly Chaplin, and my feelings of specialness faded away, replaced with shame at my generic costume and bitter envy for the people who didn't seem to make anything out of wanting to be boys sometimes.

In eight grade, I started hanging out with the sixth-grade boys, who were closer in age to me, as I started school at five instead of six or seven. Among those kids, a favourite past-time was a kind of wrestling done sitting cross-legged on the ground, both fighters trying to wrestle the other one to the ground. I loved it. Physical contact in general made me nervous, but I took to consensual violence with ease. Being one of the boys, even just for short periods of time, was the best feeling I got out of that time. I changed schools not long after.

I also developed a malformed spine by hiding my growing breasts. I started to hate my body in a way that I had no way of ever fixing.

We went for an excursion to a LGBT resource center. I got hung up on the question of lesbian sex, having started entertaining penis-in-vagina type of fantasies recently that pointedly omitted my own body or presence but were abstract, voyeuristic in nature. Nothing I could imagine girls doing compared to the coming simultaneously while getting physically wrapped up in each other I envisioned. Nonetheless, when asked to sort ourselves into corners of the room based on things like whether or not we've ever been in love (I had not), wanted to have kids (I did, the idea being that I'd live with lots of self-made playmates who all loved me by design) or whether or not we could possibly see ourselves being anything other than hetero, I felt queer. Not necessarily attracted to girls, but queer. I don't remember if I dared go into the queer corner, or whether anyone else did.

In ninth grade, I both fell in love and got a new name. She was the prettiest girl in the world by far, all eyebrows and carefully cultivated elegance, a dark lady of profound thought and inspiration and style, older and wiser and cleverer than I could ever hope to become. I learned her time-table to randomly bump into her between classes, changed my elective course from physics to math to share a class with her and worshipped the ground she walked on. I had a mutual friend tell her about my feelings after she went for a year abroad to the US, to enable her to reject me from a safe distance, which she, of course, did.

My name got discovered in a wallet a classmate won at a biology competition. I've been telling this story for years but recently discovered it was false - the dummy license in it had the last name I chose as my pseudonym on it, but a different first name. I must have chosen that independently. I made my class call me that (male) first name, and even got some teachers on board. A kid in a parallel class we had some course I don't remember with asked me (once, but loudly) whether I'd have surgery. I confidently told him I would as soon as I was eighteen, four years down the line.

The catch is that, while this became common knowledge among the students, I never told anyone. I have, to this day, never actually explicitely come out as trans. I introduced myself with my chosen name, asking not to worry about it. I evaded the rare follow-up question about what it meant. I expressed discomfort at being grouped with girls, having finally found my place among the guys at the new school (if you want a number, my sixth one. Explaining that would take another post of this length). I never talked to my parents, though, nor a doctor. I never said "I want to be a guy" or "I am a guy", I just tried to be a guy best I could - not an especially macho or stereotypical guy, either, just a guy.

That year, we actually watched a documentary at school about trans people. The only thing I remember is a group of fat bearded men sitting around a table and one of them saying he wished he'd have known about this treatment and all this when he was fourteen. That struck a chord. Here I was, fourteen, and now I knew.

Knowing didn't help one bit.

Not knowing what to say, to whom, and how to say it, rightfully suspecting that the people around me didn't know any more than me, I wrote a letter to EMMA, a feminist publication we got at home. I figured they'd know stuff about sex and gender and what to do. They told me to wait and (I told them a bit about myself, including my love for astronomy) that girls can be astronauts, too. While I know fully well that this was meant well, it shattered my hopes of insight and qualified help. I didn't reach out again for more than ten years, when I finally applied for a legal name change (a process that took over four years but got approved recently).

In tenth grade, I developed a crush on a guy. As a large part of my legitimacy in my mind hinged on my attraction to women (the one women I was still very much attracted to simultaneously), this was a problem for me. Still, I made the effort of knocking on his door, stammer out some feelings and getting politely rejected, never having expected anything else.

I found an article about trans men in a magazine. Some were said to help themselves prior to hormonal transition with excessive exercising and anabolic drugs prescribed by their doctor. The next day, I went to the nearest pharmacy and asked for anabolics. The pharmacist took in my fourteen year old weak and tiny physique and started laughing so hard she could not talk. I left red-faced and have never since set foot in that pharmacy again, even though it's the one closest to my home.

Lots of things happened in the following years. After school, I kept the name on the internet and some circles, but didn't dare it in others. I became clinically depressed, mostly for isolation reasons and being generally broken, weird, particular and incompatible with many aspects of adult or even teenager life. I took years working out how to be a person, a work in progress that is less obvious nowadays and much easier, but still there. When the occasional trans thoughts and semi-annually late-night ftm research binges didn't disappear even when I got myself a bit more together, into a successful "hetero" relationship (my first and to this day only LTR) and into friendships who exclusively knew me under my birth name, I felt the growing need to do something about that. I started using my male name with new people and workplaces again. I applied for a name change, which required several visits with psychiatric experts, to whom I lied about my boyfriend, fearing his existence and hetero-ness would influence the verdict, but nothing else.

Being with a hetero man led me to consider hormone treatment as a far-away possibility at best, not for here and now in any case. Fear of being alone again and fear of making myself effectively undateable for no practical gain, fear of regret and fear of the irreversibility of some of the changes made me procrastinate and ignore the issue of where to go from here, long-term.

Now my name is approved, I feel none of the ambiguity and doubt I expected. I spent two weeks feeling nothing but happy about it, showing off my new ID at every opportunity, booking tickets in my new name, informing boss and colleagues, changing my email signature at work and not regretting anything at all. And I think to myself: onto the next step.

Which brings me to today. My euphoria made me call the clinic and make an appointment for hormone treatment (having gotten the necessary info from the experts mentioned earlier). More than a week later, I finally told my boyfriend, who has, so far, steadily ignored any and all gender issues, not caring and feeling enlightened for not caring. And he cannot imagine staying with me through this. And I cannot fault him for feeling that way.

I love him. Being in an open relationship, I'm free to love others, too, which one might think makes it easier, but it doesn't. He is not replaceable. To make matters worse, I just got rejected from the only person that ever made me consider breaking the rules of our open relationship, which hurts hurts hurts like hell but is not something I can really bitch about because I already have someone and wanting someone else is just greedy. We - my partner and I - had plans to marry (now legally a civil union in our case) (he has the prettiest last name in the world, also I want to be with him forever, also taxes and insurance).

I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life as a woman.

There is no solution here.

What I really need right now is cuddles and for someone to tell me it will be alright, but I suspect it won't. I don't know how to deal with this.

Thanks for reading.

[synonymousandrogynous]

kei

name: kei kogane (visual base: daiya no ace - furuya, zuko’s eyebrows, haise sasaki’s hair) [written with the character for ‘blessing’] korean name - hyun tae 

age/dob: 20, 2/24

height: 5′11″, 180 cm

weight: 152 lbs, 68 kg

skin tone: medium to tan

eyes: light brown, needs contacts/ eyeglasses for stay in days

hair: currently silver with black roots, usually blonde with black roots, naturally black

build: muscular (toned) and athletic, proportional

ethnicity/race: half korean half japanese

do you/others consider you attractive?: yes

clothes style: trackpants or basketball shorts and tshirts. monochromatic. baseball caps and adidas jackets

special features? scares? tattoos? birthmarks? long scar along the inside left ring finger. tattoos: black bands along left forearm, mothers advice on right wrist, fathers advice on left wrist

health: fit and exercises often, no allergies, diseases or physical weaknesses

handedness: left handed writing and sports, right handed bass

voice: rich, deep clear

speech: very basic (others say coarse) when conversing. broad vocabulary. speaks with academic or professional language easily with those unfamiliar

quirks: collecting girly hairpins and such and tying hair up to focus, completely unphotogenic, sleeps with two or more blankets

hygiene: normally very hygienic and organized, when in a slump forgets to cleanse. does not wear cologne, smells like laundry detergent

typical facial expression: deadpan

typical body language: shuffling, shrugging, speaking expressively with hands

occupation: student (biology major environmental science and urban systems and planning double minors)

describe the world you come from. where were you born? where do you live now?: real, present universe. daegu korea, california usa

family: sara jung and kotaro kogane, wealthy doctors (neurosurgeon and cardiologist) who met in seoul, moved to southern california to raise their (at the time) 5 year old son. ambitious towards their careers and loving kind and doting towards not only those near and dear to them but also to their patients. im a little spoiled. no siblings, two corgis (tae and joon) and an oversized tabby cat (peanut aka nutty)

earliest memory: posing for a photo after a hike at yosemite

schooling: public education until high school, private high school and college. no prep school or tutoring

where did you learn most of your knowledge and skill?: hard work, trial and error, self taught

what did you want to be when you grew up?: a doctor

when and with whom was your first kiss?: my eighth grade crush

are you a virgin? if not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?: alex chung on my nineteenth birthday

most important event of your life so far?: being told by parents to persue passion of environmental science and that i didnt have to be a doctor

greatest achievement?: none

greatest regret?: none

most embarrassing or shameful thing to ever happen to you?: none

secrets?: none

most evil thing you have ever done?: exacting slow vengeance on a classmate in seventh grade for calling me by slurs through emotional manipulation of him and his peers until he was completely isolated and a target of other people’s bullying

the time you were the most frightened?: when father was unaccounted for on an airplane that had crash landed

travel: taiwan, hong kong, china, korea, japan, canada, italy

religious alignment: agnostic. there’s probably some higher power, but i don’t believe in any specific god

basically optomistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic

are people basically good or basically evil?: evil

what makes you angry?: fear and shame

sad?: disappointing others

happy?: performing music, doing well in school, shopping, baths, sex

what is the most evil thing any human could do?: betrayal

do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love? yes

are you superstitious?: no

the most important person in your life and why: my mother who raised me to value myself, others, life, my planet, and the opportunitites i’ve been granted

significant other: alex chung, my guitarist. we met in my second year of high school after we figured out we had been dating the same girl. we clicked instantly, first out of spite then because of similarity and music, and a year later realized that we wanted to take our friendship further. we’ve been together for three years now (korean, 6′2″ (188 cm), black hair, brown eyes, similar build, reading glasses, chemical engineering major, college baseball [5th batter, 2nd base] and cross country, frat boy and dresses like it but he steals my slides sometimes). only my parents and bandmates know

do you have a lot of friends?: many acquaintances and a few good friends from my bio study group, environmental imagineers club, jazz band in high school, bandmates)  

have you ever been in love?: probably

what do you look for in a potential lover?: patience, firm beliefs that align with mine, someone to make music with, good listener

do you want a marriage, family, and/or children?: no, a lifelong partner and like 5 dogs maybe though

do you tend to argue with people or avoid conflict?: avoid conflict with those i don’t know, but argue with those i consider close to me if i am bothered

are you a listener or a talker?: talker

do you hold grudges?: rarely

do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situtations?: no

do you like interacting with large groups of people?: no

are you expressive?: only around those i am comfortable with and through my music

how quickly do you judge others?: slowly and carefully

do you care what others think of you?: rarely

favorite pastimes: practicing bass or playing catch with alex

favorite color: aqua blue

favorite food: mom’s kimbap

most prized possession: five string white warwick bass signed by oor

preferences in arts & entertainment: can enjoy anything from museums to raves to jazz clubs to pub performances, appreciates but does not understand visual art

drugs, alcohol, and sex: yeah

how do you spend a typical saturday night?: either playing a show or studying or watching movies or brunching and a nap

what is your most cherished fantasy: being able to affect global environmental policy or be a doctor that has the luxury and ability to help those affected by climate wars

how long is your attention span?: moderately long

stress: rarely stresses about academics, instead about interpersonal relationships and

humor: very bad at making jokes and puns, but enjoys those that his friends deliver

athleticism: swimming, soccer, and baseball since before i can remember and water polo when i turned 11. i played as goalie since i was 9 for soccer and since i was 14 for water polo. one year jv and one year varsity soccer. jv water polo for one year and varsity for three. i was pitcher and 5th batter in high school and played varsity all four years and am playing pitcher and 6th batter for college. the only real reason i have any muscle is because alex started pushing me to go to the gym from sophomore year onwards

artistic abilities: mediocre at guitar, better at composition and bass and can sing slightly better than average. has next to zero drawing skills

greatest strengths: wellroundedness and ambition

greatest weaknesses: inflexibility

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? be more open minded and a better listener

are you generally introverted or extroverted? introverted

daily routine: brush teeth, wash face, practice, shower, gel hair, morning class, brunch, afternoon class, nap, afternoon practice, study, cuddle and catch up with Alex, shower, wash face, brush teeth, sleep

what is your goal for the next six months? get good grades and a job

what is your goal for your lifetime? make a positive change in the world