#there are literally so many people who i ghosted and blocked for making me upset or uncomfortable and just never spoke to again 😭

[chiritori]

sometimes i reflect on my absolute cringelord online behavior from 2018-2021 and immediately want to spontaneously combust

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

never not mine | jjk | "i hear..."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

Bygones will be bygone eras, fading into grey. Breaking up with Jeon Jungkook had been a vicious, clean break. He tried to take it back, but the damage was already done. You walked out of the world you didn't belong in, at least until Kim Taehyung calls your name.

this is part i | part ii | part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of controlling behaviors in a romantic relationship; reader is emotionally distant after said breakup; second chance romance?; angst and fluff and feels; your POV

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; and a certain Maestro cameo; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

--

“Please love me again.”

You could hear him saying it but you pretended not to hear. You pretended not to know. You pretended he wasn’t there. He was persona non grata. No, he was simply another blurry face amongst many that faded into the grey background of grey days. He was only a ghost. If he happened to be in the same place as you were, it wasn’t any of your damn business. People were allowed to be wherever they wanted to be.

“I’m sorry.”

Yes, he was.

Sorry that he couldn’t walk all over you like he wanted. Sorry that he couldn’t control you on that leash like he wanted. Sorry that you had the balls to cut all ties and not put up with his selfish bullshit anymore. Sorry. What a word. Your response had not been a vindictive one, though. You hadn’t blocked him on social media. You figured he would block you himself. The last moments were him berating you for being late, what if something happened to you, I was worried, and you snapping. It had taken every fiber of your being to not fling your clutch in his face and tell him to take himself out if he cared so much.

“I understand what you meant now.”

The first couple times he attempted to speak to you after it all, you were ice-cold furious. So angry that you simply refused to speak to avoid spitting literal fire. So, you didn’t. And then it became a habit. Then you stopped caring. You stopped feeling. You lived your life.

Alone.

Like an abandoned puppy, Jeon Jungkook followed you every chance he got, but there were less and less chances as time went on. You would walk past him. He would follow until it was definitely too creepy and simply stop, staring after you with a lost look in his empty eyes. Everyone could see the broken heart in his stare.

A lot of people asked you what happened.

It was a valid question.

It was just as valid for you to not answer.

“I’m not going to talk about that. We can talk about something else.”

You avoided people who couldn’t let it go or cut them out altogether. What was the point of shit-talking, taking sides, making yourself angry over things that couldn’t be changed? What was the point of being upset over nights that couldn’t be taken back? Over phone calls and you sitting alone in a restaurant, empty chair in front of you and the reason in your hand, an opportunity came up, I’m leaving for Los Angeles in the morning, I need to pack, bye. Over trips suddenly cut short in the middle, the agency called, another model got sick last minute so I gotta go, just stay here and have fun. By yourself. Over accusations, what are you doing right now, send a photo, now. Over doubts, are you really at the supermarket, I don’t know, you could be doing anything, I’m not there after all. Over being five minutes late because the taxi you had taken was driven by an older gentleman chatting away, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him to shut up simply because of a boy.

Five minutes.

“Where were you? You need to tell me if you’re late. What if something happened? I was worried.”

“The driver was talking to me.”

“And you couldn’t text that you were okay?”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Am I not your priority?” he had hissed.

Snap.

All those times, all those moments, okay, I understand, it’s fine, you can make it up to me later, they all came back to you in vivid recollections, and you had stared at Jeon Jungkook. All those people saying how lucky you must be having such a good-looking guy, an actual fashion model, must be so nice, and you only said nice things about him because it didn’t occur to you to complain, no, it would be silly to complain about someone you loved. That was part of loving someone, wasn’t it, being in love was putting up with these things and believing in their words. All those instances, prove what you’re doing, send a photo. Now. All that shit got you to this moment right here, right now, under this furious scrutiny, his dark brows furrowed, his pretty mouth twisted in a frown, his question ringing in your ears.

His accusation in which he had already deemed you guilty.

“The fuck you say to me?” you had growled softly.

Never once did you ask him what he was doing in the destination that he was at. Never once did you fault him for going out and having fun. Never once did you say anything about the multiple social posts of beaches and hotels and nightclubs and everyone scantily-clad, his arms around fellow models, pressed up against fabulous guys and glamorous girls. If he didn’t answer you for a couple days, you assumed it was due to long shoot days and combined jetlag making him crash. The very answer he gave you the first time you asked. You believed him then. There was no need to ask for confirmation over and over if you trusted him. And you did trust him.

Now, this.

“I was five minutes late. If I thought I would be later, I would have texted you,” you explained with emotionless calm. “At least I showed up. At least I didn’t make you sit down in the restaurant, wait around for an hour only to get a text that you aren’t coming. Not even a phone call anymore.”

You hadn’t raised your voice.

He had looked taken aback.

“But… I thought you would understand.”

“Of course, I understand.” The seething anger was white-hot but your tone was crystal-clear cold. “I can understand, as long as you show me some grace and appreciation for not losing my shit every time it happens. Am I not your priority? When have I ever been yours?”

He tried to answer quickly. “You’re always–”

But you were already pulling up the rideshare app, calling another car to come pick you up. “Am I? Then why accuse me the second I get out of the car? Where was I? In the taxi. You saw me get out of it. Why are you holding five minutes over my head like a death sentence, as if I surely betrayed you in those extra five minutes? If it’s you it could be five, thirty, hours, but I have to understand you are networking. I have to understand you are being personable. I have to understand that you are practicing being friendly because it doesn’t come naturally to you.”

Jungkook simply gawked at you, wide-eyed.

You narrowed your eyes, creating a distance he could no longer cross.

“Am I just here so you have someone to visit when you’re bored? Someone to fuck?”

Maybe the vulgarity was taking it too far. Maybe saying all of this in public right now was in poor taste. His jarring question rang in your head. Am I not your priority? Maybe you were wrong to say it all now, but it was the way he said it, as if your love for him had become invalid once you were five minutes late to the appointed time for this date that you didn’t know whether or not he would abandon you in the middle of or take you home and rock your world – and you realized you didn’t care what the outcome was.

You just didn’t give a fuck anymore.

There were so many things he could have done. He could break up with you if his career was more important. He could say sorry more. He could find ways to make it up to you. He could, but he didn’t, and you understood. But this. This you could not understand. This he could not do.

No.

This you would not let him do.

If this was innocent concern, he made it worse by coming off as suffocating and hovering. Now, you realized that no excuse would have been good enough to convince him otherwise. He had already made up his mind to attack you the second you walked out of that car, delivering in the fatal blow instantly. All those moments. All those times had become hair-thin cracks, marring the bond between you and him, tiny little slices to kill the relationship and your will to be in it.

“I don’t think…”

He trailed off, not completing his thought.

The car pulled up.

This was surely the meaning of quiet treason.

“No, you don’t,” you had finished for him with icy agreement. “You expect. You expect me to be here and hold your hand when you want it, and now I know you will never ask me if I ever need my hand held.”

You had stepped away from the curb, not once raising your voice, no longer looking at him, your knuckles digging into your beaded black clutch. You expected it to hurt at least a little.

It was nothing compared to this death by a thousand cuts.

“W-Wait!”

You didn’t.

You had opened the car door and closed it quickly. The driver  requested you to confirm your name. You tersely nodded. They didn’t ask any further questions even as you witnessed Jungkook’s shocked face in the side mirror as the vehicle drove away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t even cry. Maybe you should have given him a chance to say something. A chance to change.

Except you had.

This wasn’t the first time that you had this conversation, although the first time was you sitting him down and saying, hey, if you’re not sure about your schedule, let’s not arrange any dates around those days. We can go out when things settle down. The answer was agreement and all was well for a couple weeks. And then it would happen again. And then you would bring it up again. Whoops. And again.Then he would ask you what you were doing when he wasn’t there. Oh, really? Send pictures.You asking, this is a bit much, isn’t it? The answer being, I want to know you’re safe. You finally admitting that it drove you a bit crazy. Him laughing and saying he was a bit of a handful, brushing away your concerns in light of his own.

Five minutes.

Am I not your priority?

The anger had nowhere to go.

Like how summer turned into fall and then into winter, the anger grew cold and dense and concentrated. A stone. Then one day you turned it over and found nothing underneath. You stopped caring. On one hand, you could have been the bigger person and reached out. On another hand, you didn’t see the reason in wasting any more time. What good was closure? What good would it do, talking it out and getting the same result? Deserve this, deserve that. Fair or not, at the end of the day, it didn’t work and there was no forcing something if neither party wanted to really try. I understand, until you couldn’t anymore.

Now.

Now, you would sit alone at restaurants and not be disappointed.

Table for one, yes, thank you.

Now you would spend hours at the games store and no one would be asking you to take pictures and prove that you were there. He used to play video games too, but he gradually fell out of them. Busy. Felt like he couldn’t keep up. Sold his PC because he was never home.

Emptiness where he had once enjoyed spending that time with you.

You would stay at the music store for a long time, looking over albums and wondering if you should buy them. It had been such a long time. You never listened to CDs anymore although you had been obsessed with music as a kid. The past felt like a different time. Memories of a clunky CD player and wired headphones with the metal arch over your head and those spongey earcups. Now you had wireless earbuds and a phone. Still, you looked over the colorful albums and wondered if you should get one, just to have it or maybe even put it on display. He used to listen to a lot of music too. Probably still did, on planes and in cars. He used to share your taste.

Now you didn’t have to share anything.

You stuck with your favorites, still, for years. It was an ever-growing list of popular artists as well as lesser-known indie artists that you never forgot. You made sure to listen to the top hits as well since those songs were popular for a reason. The occasional earworm could lead you down a pleasant rabbit hole, too.

You picked up an album of a band you liked but had never owned and went home.

Got that dopamine unboxing it and smiling at the photocards. Looked through the extras with the album on repeat playing through your Bluetooth speaker. You didn’t do these kinds of things in front of Jungkook usually. You had always prioritized engaging with him. Listening to his stories, looking at the photos of places he had been, shaking your head at the long hours or difficult call times. Every moment precious because you would never know when it would be cut short.

You had made everything about him when in his presence.

You hadn’t blasted the relationship all over social media although it was obvious. For the most part, people had been respectful. You hadn’t deleted all the photos he was in, the photos he had taken of you, nor had you blocked him. People asked. You repeated the same thing over and over. I’m not going to talk about that. We can talk about something else. People eventually stopped asking. Old news was old news. There was no visible resentment, and so the interest died out.

You caught Jungkook looking at you from across the concessions stand at the movie theater.

Those big dark brown eyes filled with rueful invitation.

You didn’t know what movie he was going into, but you turned away and didn’t think about it much.

Watched the movie you paid for, alone.

Went home.

Alone.

You used to watch movies twice. Once by yourself when it released, then a second time when Jungkook could make it. When he could. Sometimes he couldn’t and the movie was already out of theaters. Then you both would watch it at home when it released on streaming services. It was what it was. You enjoyed movies. You had the time and money to watch them twice. But now you didn’t have to.

That was nice.

You weren’t sure if Jungkook was deliberately going places that you often frequented or if it was coincidence. It was likely the latter, because he usually wasn’t alone. He had a group of friends that lived in this area and often came to visit them. He used to joke that it must have been fate for you to meet as your friend circles didn’t overlap. At least he had not shown up to the video games store or the music store you usually went to, so you didn’t feel threatened in any way. Maybe he was visiting his friends more because he was sad. Maybe he was visiting them more in hopes of seeing you, the same tactic he used when he first asked you out. Maybe it was both.

It was probably both.

Sometimes you would cry in frustration.

Sometimes you would play games to distract yourself.

Sometimes you didn’t mind too much as the days passed. Sometimes you would look outside and admire the sun. Sometimes it would rain and that was nice too. Sometimes you were sad but it wasn’t a negative feeling. Such was the natural course. Sadness was the promise of happiness to come, because one couldn’t exist without the other.

At least, you believed so.

Ther wasn’t much more you could do than that.

For a bit there you had almost thought the relationship hadn’t mattered because you had walked away so coldly. In some ways, you wished you could take it back. In other ways, you didn’t. It was hard to discount years of your life simply because of how the chapter ended. There had definitely been unique experiences that you were unlikely to relive. You used to attend lavish parties with Jungkook, especially many around the holidays. You would dress up in your best and put on a brave face. A lovely dress, the high heels he brought you, carefully done makeup and hair. Jungkook would walk in with you gliding beside him, silently holding his arm. People would tell you how fun it was working with him and how lucky he was to have such a pretty and understanding lady. These were all work events full of unfamiliar faces. Jungkook used to be reserved and hang out with you in corners but, as he got more popular, more people roped him into conversations, remember this, and he would slip in with his friends, naturally, laughing and smiling. You would wait nearby, at yet another party surrounded by better bodies, and somehow he would find you at the end of the night, ask you if you had fun.

And you would smile and assure him.

“Something like that.”

The best parties were the ones thrown by his friend Kim Taehyung. He had been in the entertainment industry for a long time, becoming Jungkook’s friend though their crossed paths in modeling. He had an affliction for celebration and Jungkook was always invited, which meant you, too, bore witness to many magnificent events hosted by him. The most extravagant were his own birthday parties. Quite so, as the date was after Christmas, and he continued the festive mood. Taehyung loved a theme. He would rent specific venues, arrange for live music, impose a dress code, everything. One year, he flew everyone out to Paris and rented an entire restaurant to celebrate. Even if you barely knew anyone there, it was fun being in a different world created by Taehyung’s magical vision. Everyone was thrown into it together, experiencing the vibes of an old American jazz club, the white beaches with glass waters during Christmastime, or a playful night filled with Taehyung’s favorite childhood games and sweet treats, complete with food stalls from the area of Daegu he grew up in.

You didn’t fit in, but no one did because these were all Taehyung’s fantasies brought to life.

He always sent the invitations by physical mail, on stunning stationery to match the theme. Someone else must have created them, but seemingly Taehyung approved them all as every single one contained his unique flourishing signature. You kept them in a box. They were too pretty to throw away.

You had received an invitation this year too, to a midnight masquerade ball, but you didn’t go.

Perhaps he didn’t know yet. Or, perhaps he did know and Jungkook asked him to invite you. They were quite close. If there was a plan, you didn’t take the bait. The date came and went. Maybe Taehyung considered you a friend, but that was probably a stretch. Jungkook didn’t like you talking to Taehyung too much.

Apparently, you made him smile too big.

Or something.

Taehyung had an entire party to get to every time you met him, anyway. You would have to shoo him off because there was very little night and Taehyung wanted to speak to every guest one-on-one. He was sincere like that. He was romantic like that. He was dark and handsome and in his own head, in his constant dream of living his wonderful life that, from what you could discern, he deserved. He even always remembered to ask the staff working at his party to eat cake with them. At the end of the night, Taehyung would pick up the microphone and thank the guests for coming and thank the staff for working hard to provide everyone with a good time. Taehyung always remembered to say thank you and he always made sure to express his gratitude to everyone, no matter their status.

You missed being at his party, a little bit, if only just to witness a fairy-tale in real life.

But you weren’t part of Jeon Jungkook’s world anymore.

And so you missed the party.

Please love me again.

On quiet, grey days, you realized how very boring your life was. On quiet, grey days, you were tempted to think about the good times. About his laugh, about his starry eyes when you came into view, about enchanted nights where you would both make magic between bodies. On quiet, grey days, you were tempted to pick out all his flaws until the memories were burned, images stricken with ash, never to be the same again. On quiet, grey days, you had every chance to run back or run away, at least in your head, but instead you lived your very boring life doing neither of those choices.

Whether you loved him or hated him, the result would still be the same.

You entered the artisan tea shop and greeted the staff. You talked about how your father was into tea, chatted about what would make a good gift. The prices of the sets. The amount of loose-leaf tea and how many cups it would make. The various flavors and strength. You smelled a bunch of different ones. Rejected some, remained indecisive about others, accepted a few as contenders.

You heard the bell by the door chime again, musical and clear.

A male’s voice, deep and polite.

You tensed. Your body knew before your mind caught up. You pointed to several flavors you had liked, and the employee suggested a gift box sampler featuring a watercolor camellia-printed limited-edition teacup set that you agreed to readily, all the while vaguely aware of a tingling behind your neck and a vigilant tension forming in your lungs. But it wasn’t until your name was called that you turned around by instinct, and then froze with recognition. Dark brown eyes under graceful black-brown waves. Tan skin glimmering under the lights. The image completed by a three-piece chocolate brown suit paired with a ruffled warm gray dress shirt and sharp dark leather oxfords. The stylish man smiled widely, box-like, and walked towards you without hesitation.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Kim Taehyung must have known, and yet.

You bowed lightly. “Hello.”

The sales associate was immediately charmed by Taehyung’s deep voice and dashing appearance, their gloved hands hovering over the half-packed box and openly ogling the demandingly handsome gentleman that took your hand warmly before lightly kissing your knuckles. Straight out of a movie. Probably learned it from one, or from traveling in Europe. He let go after a lingering moment.

He had said your name with the same velvety warmth he had at all of his parties.

It had hurt, but it wasn’t his fault.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Are you buying something?” He raised his head and daintily smiled at the employee before giving you his full attention again. “Let me pay for it.”

“No, ah,” you interrupted him quickly, handing over your card before Taehyung could reach into his heavily lined pockets. “No, sorry. I’m buying a gift for my father.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he apologized immediately, retracting his hands. “I meant to do something nice for you and I’ve overstepped.”

“It’s… It’s alright,” you chuckled softly, trying to dissipate the awkwardness. You turned slightly to sign the receipt, not looking at the price. Your card went back into your black leather bow purse. “You had no way of knowing. How are you? And your parents?”

Taehyung was still a little sheepish but he remained next to you at a respectful distance. “Me? I guess you could say I’m holding on. I think I might take a small break soon and spend a week with my family. How did you know I was thinking of them?” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a mind-reader.”

You shook your head with a smile, taking the beautifully wrapped bag and bowing in gratitude to the employee. “No, you’ve just never been a big tea drinker. It was only a guess.”

He scratched the back of his head and sighed lightheartedly. “Ah, you’re right. I wanted to buy a grown-up gift, but maybe I should have asked what they wanted. I don’t know the first thing about tea.”

You both began to walk towards the entrance.

“You’re their adorable child. They will love anything you gift them.”

Taehyung grinned. “So, you think I’m adorable?”

You opened your mouth and then.

Then you were suddenly hyperaware of the brightness of the lights in the tea store. Suddenly aware of all the customers around you milling about and chatting with their friends and the employees. Suddenly the scents of the store were too strong and too varied and suddenly a phantom grip on your arm from a time long past pulled you away from your center, into the past, and you remembered all the times you stood in a corner of a party, on the outskirts of alcohol, music, and magic, wondering why you were so, so alone.

You plastered a smile on your face and replied pleasantly.

“Of course, you are, Kim Taehyung.”

It lasted a second.

Maybe less.

Taehyung gazed at you with curious eyes.

You kept the smile on your face.

He stepped past you and opened the door, gesturing you to walk out before him in the most gentlemanly way, smiling with his eyes crinkling as they usually did when he laughed or was in his comfort zone. “Come. Let me at least treat you to lunch,” he insisted.

You accepted his graciousness and turned as you walked to face him as you spoke. “That’s really not necessary. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

He chuckled, the sound coming deep from his chest. “Of course, I’m busy, but I always have time for a friend.” He shrugged nonchalantly, grinning. “My manager expects this kind of behavior from me anyway.”

You paused, looking up at him. “Friend?”

Flutters of lashes and confusion in dark brown orbs.

“Are we not friends?”

People around you continued walking, giving you and Taehyung weird looks. He didn’t seem to notice, undeterred by the world around him that wasn’t currently in his focus, the main character at every moment in his life, oblivious to anyone trying to get under his skin with their judgements, never the accessory to someone else.

It turned out to be more difficult than you thought, saying the words.

“I… well… Don’t you know that Jeon Jungkook and I aren’t dating anymore?”

Taehyung tilted his head with childlike innocence.

“Um… so you don’t eat lunch anymore?”

You blinked at him.

“Huh?”

He gave you this look. You stared back. For a moment the disconnect was so tangible that you almost had a word for it. A zephyr ruffled Taehyung’s soft curls. The sun made his skin glow and his dark eyes sparkle. Small signs of Mother Nature affectionately acknowledging one of her children. He smiled. It was then that you realized this was a decision you could make. A decision of a lonely self, not a lonely self that was an extension of another. A yes or no that didn’t have to be polluted by the past.

“Well…”

Your hands tightened on the straps of the gift bag.

“If you’ll have me.”

Taehyung grinned. “I know just the spot! You’ll love it.”

-

It was nice lunch.

No, it was wonderful time.

You had been worried that you would be underdressed in your calf-length flowy black dress and chunky knit lavender cardigan, but you fit right in. Taehyung had picked a busy rooftop brunch spot. It was French-themed, or at least as French as Korea could get. There was a bit more wood than brass and crystals. It still made for a nice hideaway. It seemed Taehyung was well recognized here, and yet people maintained a distance regardless. It must have been his polite yet stern demeanor. When he sat down though, he seemed to relax, waving a hand and telling you to order whatever you liked.

You never could turn down good brioche.

You thought it would have been awkward, at least. It wasn’t. He talked about his work, asked about yours. Asked what you thought about this or that. Memories from past events, what you liked or didn’t like. What he paid too much for that nobody noticed, along with a hearty laugh, and moments he loved, such as having a group photo at every one of his events. You asked him if he enjoyed planning the events themselves. He confessed with a roughish smile that he had a planner for all those details. You thought it strange to spend so much money on such occasions, but there was something pure about it too. Besides, you ended up getting your answer.

“What’s the most important lesson in your life you’ve learned so far?” Taehyung abruptly asked, sitting up in alarm.

You blinked at his suddenness. “Uh… I don’t know. I would have to think about it.” Your lips upturned slightly, then you tilted your head and looked back at him. “What about you? What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in your life so far?”

He relaxed back in his chair. His expression became pensive. You paused in mid-bite, seeing him look a bit sheepish.

“You’re not the first person to ask me about the parties,” Taehyung chuckled deep from his chest. “A lot of people tell me it’s a waste of money. And it is to other people, but it isn’t to me. The most important lesson I’ve ever learned was…”

He raised his head with a small smile.

“You can’t get time back.”

You remembered the extensive decor, the delicate hors d'oeuvres, even the various perfumes sprayed into the air complimenting the theme of each party. Exquisite and memorable details. Taehyung ticked his head, seemingly recalling it all too.

“I think I’ve mentioned this, but my grandmother was the closest maternal figure I had,” he explained, fondly smiling. “I’m close to my parents too, but they had to work a lot to give me a good life, so I spent a lot of time with my siblings and grandparents. My grandmother used to hold celebrations for the achievements I had, even if they were mediocre or not that impressive. Nothing extravagant, or anything. A little cake or my favorite sweets. She would sing for me and clap her hands. She would say, it’s my duty to give you good memories. As I got older, I became busy, of course, chasing dreams, and I didn’t make time for her small celebrations any more. I was just out of university when she passed away. I often think I hadn’t spent enough time with her. Time is money, as they say. Next time, I would say, until there wasn’t a next time.”

The weight of his words settled on the table.

“It’s not your fault,” you reminded him, but Taehyung simply smiled and shook his head.

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault,” he agreed. “But that wasn’t it. I couldn’t get all that time back. Sure, did I take jobs that put me in a really good place now? Yeah. Yeah, of course, I make a lot of money now since young me jumped at every chance to model for a small brand or do a single-run commercial. I really love my career. I love that, because I did the hard work, I even get offers to act in primetime dramas now. But I should have made less. I should have made time. I should have gone to see her and let her do her duty to give me good memories.”

He waved his hands in a slight shrug. You could tell he was still regretful about it, but there was something else too. He looked directly at you with that boxy grin of his.

“I decided, then, that I too  wanted to give good memories to the people that are precious to me. I have all this money, anyway. Why waste it on things? I want to waste it on memories. I want people to look forward to special days, to celebrate life, to look back on a fun time.”

So that was why.

“That is what is really important to me.”

Kim Taehyung wasn’t only good looks, of course.

“I’ve yapped long enough. What is really important to you?” he asked again, chuckling.

“Oh, I…”

And there were no words.

You straightened, startled by your own silence. There were lots of important things, weren’t there? There was… and there wasn’t. Friends, sure. And, also, friends came in and out of your life. You didn’t take it personally. Family, yes. Cordial but not deep. They had their own lives to live. You almost opened your mouth to say these generic things, and then you caught the look in Taehyung’s eye and stopped.

This basic question was not so basic after all.

“I… Am I boring?” you blurted with a start.

“Boring?” Taehyung frowned. “No, you’re not.”

Your brows furrowed. “Aren’t I?”

He laughed, hearty and deep. “Trust me. You’re not boring. We wouldn’t be having a conversation if you were boring.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are we having a conversation?”

Taehyung smiled warmly.

“Because I appreciate your outlook on life.”

You were taken aback.

“What?”

He nodded. “Isn’t it obvious?” He waved a hand carelessly. “I’ve met so many people doing what I do. Some people are just nice to you because of money. Or think you can boost their reputation. Or they think they can take advantage of you. You’ve been around all that too, no?” He did not mention Jungkook.

“Oh, well…” you hesitated. “Not anymore. I’m pretty ordinary.”

A small frown. “No, everyone is extraordinary.”

You scoffed. “I’m only an accountant. Not even one that works closely with my own clients – I’m just the one at the firm that does the final review over everyone’s work to make sure we don’t get into legal trouble. That’s nothing like what you do.”

He impatiently swept your words away. “Everyone is extraordinary,” he repeated.

“I don’t think–”

“You are different,” Taehyung pressed. “You had been introduced to a different world than your own and you could have been a vulture. You could have taken for your own sake. You could have done everything you could to be ‘one of us’. You could have scorned us too, called it all superficial and stupid. But you didn’t.” He crossed his arms to make his point. “You observed. You listened. You treated me, the people around me, everyone as their own person. We weren’t just some dumb rich people to you. We were individuals.”

You didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t something you had ever consciously thought about before.

“There are so many people that believe in using others, either in a beneficial way or in a cruel way,” sighed Taehyung. “It’s a difficult world. We all need to live.” He reached over and made you jump by placing his hand over the back of yours. “Don’t give up on that, okay?”

Your stared at him with wide eyes. “On… what?”

Almost. You didn’t quite have an answer for the most important lesson in your life you had learned so far. But almost. Kim Taehyung cocooned his palm over your hand and trapped you with his determined brown eyes, straight from a drama scene. A heavenly prince in a fancy café. He looked back to you very seriously, taking all of your attention away from the whispering conversations on other tables, away from the clinking plates and glasses, away from all distractions.

“Don’t give up on the way you want to live.”

Those small moments.

From eating dinner alone to watching movies alone to buying that album and unboxing it yourself to looking outside, days and nights, wondering what could have been and killing that thought over and over again.

“The way… I want to live?” you echoed breathlessly.

The clear, musical chime of the bell by the entrance sang through the air, mingling with the conversation and consumption. A halo of sound that rang true over every table to reach every customer. It was as striking as it was lovely, flawlessly melding into the moment. A pure sound that could trigger a pleasant déjà vu, the recall of a good chat over good food.

Taehyung grinned with his beautiful, perfectly white teeth.

“I want you to have good memories. Whatever you decide, let us make good memories with those precious to us.”

You decided, then and there, that you needed to start doing things.

-

“Oh, good, you’re home. That would have been awfully embarrassing.”

“W-What…?”

You backed up in your slippers as a stunningly well-dressed man flourished into your home like an astronaut landing on the moon. That was, if the moon was your front door. The black mat was space-themed, printed with abstract stars and a grayish circle. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Your pajamas were also soft black cotton with a twinkly star print, although your slippers were simple, white furry poofs that felt like walking on clouds.

“Take this.”

“What is – oof!”

In contrast to your outfit, the man who had entered your home looked like he had stepped off the runway. He wore light blue trousers that you almost mistook for jeans, however they had a tone-on-tone print that clearly indicated the luxury designer. Underneath the navy-blue duster coat was a crisp white shirt pressed to the gods with distinctive sky-blue trim. A quick glimpse and anyone would know the inner lining of the duster was blue silk, the matching tone-on-tone print subtle and obvious at the same time. You nearly buckled under the weight of a wooden box, gasping as you saw the slices of high-grade beef in a gold bow. The man gestured with his hand in a swooping manner.

“I heard all about it from Taehyung,” he was saying, shrugging his broad shoulders heavily.

“Heard…?” You were still reeling from the unexpected guest and a box of meat. “What’s this, I can’t accept th–”

The man shot you a scathing look. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he chided, dismissive. “How unbelievably rude I would be dropping by your home if I didn’t have a gift? Psh, why, I wouldn’t be Kim Seokjin!”

And so he was.

Although, as far as you knew, you and famous-actor-turned-businessman Kim Seokjin were not close friends. Not close enough to be gifted with a house call and meat, anyway. He had been close to Jeon Jungkook back then. They often sought each other out when they both attended the same events. You were well aquatinted with Seokjin’s boisterous personality and his worldwide-known handsomeness. He was no different today, looking sculpted from jawline to broad shoulders to the regal way he stood. Glowing skin. Lightly permed, chestnut brown hair. Full lips, currently in a slight frown.

You bowed awkwardly. “S-Sorry, I just didn’t expect…”

“Ah, it’s alright.” He called you by name, although somewhat awkwardly, as if he was unsure if he should be more formal or not. “I won’t take too much of your time.”

You were still confused about Seokjin saying he had heard something from Taehyung. Actually, you didn’t even know how he got your address, although it wasn’t impossible. After all, Taehyung’s party invitations came in snail mail. It wasn’t that shocking. You probably might have been more annoyed if you were in the middle of something, but all you had been doing was getting ready to heat up some leftover takeout. You shuffled slightly, trying to block the view of the kitchen counter. Not necessarily embarrassed, per se, as your apartment was quite spacious and neat, but nothing here was comparable to Kim Seokjin’s lifestyle. It was kind of pointless to do so, though, since Seokjin was quite tall.

He seemed not to notice or care about the current state of your kitchen.

You stood there, dazed, clutching a box of high-grade beef.

He cleared his throat very firmly. “I came to invite you to the opening of my new establishment. Two weeks from now.” He rattled off the opening date. “But don’t come on opening day. It’ll be too crowded. Some day after. Let me know when and I’ll make special arrangements for you,” he added, stepping forward to tuck his business card into one of the folds of the gold bow. “Call the number on there. My assistant will connect me to you. I can link you with talented professionals if you are interested, which I’ll pay for, of course.”

“I– What – I’m sorry?” you sputtered. “Me?”

The handsome man exaggeratedly whipped his head from side to side. “Uh, do I see anyone else? Yes, of course, you,” he affirmed gruffly. “I came to invite you in person.”

“Well…” This must be how deer felt when confronted with headlights. “I’m not trying to be rude, but, uh… why?”

Seokjin looked offended. “Why? So you can meet people, silly.”

You struggled to connect the information given to you but he was not making it easy. “Meet people?”

“Yes,” he tutted. “You want to meet people, don’t you?”

Did you? You gave him a confused look.

“As Taehyung said,” Seokjin continued as if you completely understood. “People like you need to be surrounded by good people. And I happen to know a lot of them. We need people like you in this industry.”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t have any intention of–”

“Precisely.” He barreled on as if your front entryway was his own stage. “That is precisely why.”

Silence.

A bird cawed outside.

“H… Hah?”

Something in his expression softened. You almost forgot the weight of the wood box in your hands. You almost forgot the ridiculousness of you in your pajamas and Kim Seokjin in his luxury designer clothes. You almost forgot that you were in a completely different class, completely out of your element, completely ordinary.

He sighed and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, neatly tucking back his coat. “Look, I understand if you absolutely don’t want to have anything to do with me and the others. I don’t blame you. But,” he added, nodding lightly. “Your presence is missed. I do believe your interactions with those around you have done them a world of good. Maybe not everyone, yes, but you’re still spoken of, even now.”

“What…?” You blinked, doubtful. “Really?”

Seokjin chuckled, nodding. “You are good company.”

You thought all those times. All those events, dinners, parties. You mostly remembered Jungkook letting you be. Sure, you had light conversation with those around you. You couldn’t remember all their faces. They had been simple conversations, you thought, but they weren’t superficial once you really thought about it. You didn’t have basic industry chatter to talk about, so instead you had asked about aspirations. Asked why instead of what. Why acting? Why modeling? Why entertainment? Talks of the past, the present, the future. Pretty normal, you thought, but maybe…

Maybe it was more normal to ask what they were achieving.

Maybe it wasn’t so normal to ask who someone was.

“Anyway,” Seokjin coughed, breaking you out of your daze. “I wanted to give you ample time to think about it.”

“More than two weeks?” you mused.

He waved a hand. “Don’t know about you, but I need time to schedule and plan things. I need time to get myself ready to interact,” he muttered, half-joking and half-bitterly.

The meat was getting heavy. “Ah… What’s the dress code?”

“Aish, didn’t I tell you?” Seokjin tapped the side of his head. “Think about it. Then give me a call, and I’ll arrange for hair and makeup and fashion. No, don’t even bother asking about price. I’m inviting you to introduce you to people, so I am paying. End of discussion. And…”

A loaded pause.

Tick of the head and Seokjin very seriously asked you.

“If Jeon Jungkook is there, will you be fine?”

You answered honestly.

“I don’t think it will be an issue.”

He surveyed you for a long second and then nodded.

“Alright. Let me know when you’ve decided. Have a nice night. Don’t hesitate to contact me if I can help in some way. I’m not a stranger. By the way.” He added one last comment before leaving, spinning back around with a hand on your now open door and the other pointing to the side of the box. “The butcher shop I purchased this from is owned by a friend of mine. Make sure to send your family and friends his way once you taste how delicious and high-quality it is.”

-

You walked into the nightclub, oddly at peace among the blaring music and bustling bodies, stepping into a world of light and dark and pushing boundaries.

The past couple hours had been spent in a chair, fussed over by a detailed makeup artist and equally talented hairdresser. It had been more enjoyable than you originally thought. Perhaps it had been Seokjin’s excellent choices or their own expertise. They even both asked for your input and offered their advice. It felt like a joint effort. Even the fashion stylist who came later was as informative as they were considerate. You had found out that they had taken your name and your photos to have your fortune read and performed color analysis, respectively. That explained why Seokjin had asked you to take those plain photos. This had made color and style selection much simpler, as you naturally liked all the choices. You were no stranger to tight outfits, although this type of nightlife was not the kind of place you frequented. The stylist had brought a rack of choices, and just in case, a black slip dress looks good on everyone, and all of them were compelling in one way or another. All nightclub appropriate. You asked what to try first. The stylist had asked you how you were feeling.

Feeling?

The answer came out before you could stop it.

“Like revenge.”

You had laughed it off, and so had the staff, but you had seen the gleam in their eyes as if they, too, relished in being part of this so-called revenge.

Well, they were.

You weren’t perfectly sure if this was actual revenge yet, no. You were certainly dressed for it. Black lace corset. Tight lilac short skirt. Black patent leather jacket cropped so severely that it was nearly a bolero. Delicate black pumps with a thin ankle strap. The kind that was a bit fiddly to get on, but was worth it in the end. There was a power in this type of outfit, the kind that made you hold your head high and walk alone with confidence. Perhaps similar to a superhero costume. Just as impractical, too, heh. But that was okay. You weren’t here to prevent any crimes.

Just commit them.

Maybe.

In any case, you weren’t even sure what was going to happen tonight. Something had been planned for you, so you walked in and looked around, wondering if you should ask for help. The luxury was obvious from every corner of the building. From the furniture choices to the expansive bar to the crisp, pressed uniforms of the employees, every detail oozed sophistication. You admired the tastefulness of it, surprised that it didn’t feel gaudy or overdone. Must be the refined touch of Kim Seokjin. Even the clientele was jaw-dropping. You spared a moment to look from face to face, wondering if you should be less obvious about it, but then some paused and gazed back, unafraid, offering a simple smile.

They didn’t know you didn’t really belong, yet.

The sheep’s clothing worked, then.

You almost laughed at your own unspoken joke, and then, either compelled by fate, chance, or some mixture of both, your eyes rose and you saw him. It was definitely him. It was only the back of his head and black leather, but you knew it was him even before he turned around.

Jeon Jungkook.

You had seen him many times after the fact. However, this time was the first time that you came with weapons at your disposal, subtle as they were. For a moment, you wondered what to do. You stared as those brooding dark eyes widened in surprise. His hair was slicked back. Leather jacket, white tank, dark jeans, probably black boots. You couldn’t see it all from this angle. Still, you knew him too well. He wasn’t a suit-and-tie breed unless he was forced by the occasion. And, anyway.

You had mildly hoped that he would dress down these days, as it both suited him and reflected your preferred personal taste.

Egotistical, yes, and, now that you could see, true.

You broke the gaze first, seeing a waiter approach you. Bowed lightly, walking with him as he explained what was in store tonight, and yet your mind was still fixated on that shocked gaze from the far table up above. It did register that you were going up the stairs too, but somehow you knew that you weren’t going near that table.

You wondered if he regretted everything.

You wondered if he saw you differently now, dressed up and on a mission.

You wondered if Jeon Jungkook understood, truly, how deeply he had hurt you with his misdemeanors and you wondered if you, truly, understood how you didn’t help by always sweeping said misdemeanors under the metaphorical rug. You wondered if there was a chance for reconciliation or if this was all a big mistake. Maybe this was only another instance of two ships silently passing in the night. A pair of parallel lines that would never intersect. Or… would this become a pattern that could only be completed by intersection?

Whichever one it was, it was going to be evident tonight.

You raised your head, seeing a champagne bottle and another of expensive liquor.

“Are you ready?”

Your eyes shifted and you smiled up at the waitress.

“Yes, I am.”

She smiled and bowed her way out. Revenge. You savored the word. You had never thought of it that way, but then again that was because you always believed in the higher road. In enduring. That was how strength was formed. Vindication was unladylike and uncouth. Or so the story goes. You became aware that you were being watched.

I don’t belong here.

You twisted your body and stared directly into Jeon Jungkook’s eyes.

He pivoted away immediately. Unable to hold your gaze. Ashamed, probably. You pondered quietly. He brought you into this. All this around you – beauty, opulence, and the shadows between gold. Even without him, your connection to these people remained because his friends believed in you for some reason. You agreed, because maybe there was still something here for you.

But that was no reason to believe that you belonged here nor to act like it.

You realized, suddenly, that some part of you still thought you had to keep up the front.

“Excuse me.”

You looked up to a man who had the expression of a pleased kitty cat. His eyes disappeared from his smile. Radiant, cream skin. Long, bleached-blond hair that was half-tied back from his face but still skimmed along his shoulders. He wore a suit and tie, perfectly tailored, and was noticeably shorter than nearly everyone here. Then again, almost everyone here was a model, in high heels, or both.

“Did I interrupt?” he asked lightly, his intonation hinting at a Busan dialect.

“Oh, no,” you answered with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me to space out like that. Please, sit down.”

The man laughed behind his hand before pulling out the chair and sitting down. He had elegant fingers that reminded you of a pianist. “It was cute,” he commented, somewhat shyly, before turning away and clearing his throat. He faced you once again, composed now, and bowed in greeting, stating his name.

You hurriedly did the same.

“I hope I’m not thinking too highly of myself by sitting here with you.”

You shook your head. “No, no. I want this to be an open invitation.” You poured him a glass of liquor to start off the night. He had a noticeable presence. Not a towering one, rather, as someone who knew himself well. Still, you could sense an introverted soul. “Don’t feel too pressured. I only want to ask a question.”

His eyebrows raised, curious. “A question?”

You smiled. “Yes. And I want you to promise to answer honestly.”

His lips upturned thoughtfully. There was something playful about his expressions. Very cute. Perhaps unintentional. “A promise right away to a stranger?”

You allowed yourself a little mischief. “Do I look like I could hurt anyone?”

The man across the table caught the bait and toyed with it. An expert. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean It wouldn’t be pleasant.” He smiled again, with that same kitty cat contentment, and nodded. “Okay, I’m ready to tell the truth. You only get one chance. Use it well.” His tone teased, but his voice was sincere.

The question.

You stared into a stranger’s eyes and asked.

“What is the most important lesson in your life you’ve learned so far?”

-

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

--

masterpost

[miss-dollette]

Your fandom rants and icks... finally someone said it. I've been thinking about this lately and couldn't put it into words but you hit the nail on the head. There have been so many things that have recently been in the fandom and/or fanfics that have driven me absolutely insane. I'm never one to be a debbie downer or shit on anyones fun but some things have just made me incredibly uncomfortable recently that I've actively had to go through and block/mute tags or blogs because it's overwhelmed the COD tag. It makes me so sad because it's basically stopped me from engaging in anything at all in relation to COD because I feel bombarded and it's not enjoyable. The biggest thing recently that's bothered me is stories being written that are completely out of character for the COD guys. Like I get that it's fanfiction but seeing stuff written that clearly doesn't match the individual(s) written about feels weird and at that point it's not even the original character anymore so whats the point?? I know some people probably strongly disagree but at a certain point it almost feels disrespectful to the original characters and their stories. It also feels like a way for some weird shit to be fleshed out and, again, to each their own and it's fiction blah blah blah, but for fucks sake. Like literally for. fucks. sake. Like you said, It's like people writing stuff about Ghost that would be completely out of character for someone like him, with all of the trauma and experience that is literally canon to him as a character. Maybe it's because I have a degree in psychology and know people who have been through things that are written/portrayed in COD that it all just doesn't sit right with me... Let's not even get started on having a degree in psychology and seeing things like pedo shit practically glorified, let alone being written about. Holy. Fucking. Shit. There are a few writers that I think truly understand certain characters and write about them in such a beautiful way that it makes me so upset that it gets overshadowed and bogged down by absolutely horrendous things in the tags. I'm so sorry this is so long. I didn't intended to write a whole ass dissertation on this but I'm so happy to see someone else is feeling this way.

Everyone is on my ass for what I said. But to be honest, I don't careeeee. I don't. I really don't. They're real mad but I'm just laughing. I'm just expressing my feelings and having fun doing it. It's funny, cause my post got 100 likes in a day. That's telling something.

You should see the messages im receiving. I don't mind, I love trolling a little.

I said the hard truth, and they can't handle it.

'Preciate your message. Great minds think alike.

If you wanna laugh, check out my responses to these messages. I had fun.

[zuzsenpai]

This is another personal post with TW mental illness. I'm sorry there have been so many recently. I really have nowhere else to put these things. Feel free to ignore.

I don't think my depression has ever been this bad before, in the almost 13 years I've had it. For maybe the past two months it's been steadily growing to a point of intensity that I can't ignore. The absolutely awful feelings won't go away. I can't stop thinking about how miserable I feel.

I can barely take care of myself. I eat takeout every day. There's garbage everywhere at my house. I can't get shit done at work and at some point people are going to notice. I have multiple really REALLY urgent doctor's appointments/calls I HAVE to make (one of which is to my psychiatrist who apparently I'm blocked from messaging on the healthcare app), yet I can't seem to pick up the phone. I am mentally incapable somehow. There's a wall there.

I have been told to exercise and meditate and I physically and mentally cannot. Again, there is a wall.

I have a video game I wanted to play, I try to play it, and I feel completely unattached to it (even though I have loved it in the past). I joined a really exclusive roleplay community for that game and proceeded to be too overwhelmed to make the character application and now the mods are asking me what I want to do. I haven't written fanfiction in two months because of severe burnout, and I miss it so desperately that it's making me realize I might have been using it as a bandaid/distraction. But my brain is so fried that I feel too overwhelmed to write again. People are leaving me nice comments on my fics and I can't even bring myself to read them let alone respond to them. My memory is so bad that I can't remember a lot of what happens in any of my fave series' and I feel like creating good fan content for those things is impossible at this point.

I'm ignoring online friends in my favorite server. I promised multiple IRL friends I would watch animes they like and I am feeling guilty that I mentally cannot do that. I'm dreading the two anime cons I have coming up in March because I don't think I'm going to feel comfortable in my cosplay this year. I have a close friend (who is also my coworker) who keeps trying to get me to do things with her and her husband and I keep turning them down because I'm worried I'll get overwhelmed by social anxiety and general awkwardness. Just the thought of having awkward social interactions is terrifying me and pushing me down harder than it ever has.

I had a boyfriend between October 2022 and December 2023, but I felt like it was a huge chore every time I had to see him and I developed zero feelings for him. I felt repulsed by the thought of us being romantic. We ghosted each other in December and now I feel like shit about it because he may have been the only chance I'll ever have at a relationship... but I also am in such a bad state that it's probably good things are over. Why don't I feel relieved?

I'm having physical tics in my abdomen and jaw that are getting worse and worse to the point of pain and people noticing. I can't talk to literally anyone without sounding upset, negative, angry. I had my best friends from out of state over a few weekends ago and I was so sick the whole time, I felt like I was letting them down. I've been repeating awkward interactions with friends and coworkers over and over in my head to the point where I think about it at night.

I haven't put my Christmas decorations away because I fucking CAN'T.

This week has been particularly bad. Yesterday I was working from home because of snow. When the snow stopped I rushed to my parents' house because I needed to be somewhere with people I know. But I was so negative in how I spoke with them, and it's making me feel even worse. I used to be really talkative and intelligent when having conversations with my family, but depression has taken that away from me pretty badly over the years, to the point where I can barely talk without thinking about how absolutely dreadful I am at conversation.

But today might be the worst of it (unrelated to Valentine's Day, though it certainly isn't helping). It pained me emotionally and physically to get out of bed, and I wanted to take a mental health day. Literally fell back asleep for an hour before I had to get up and DREAMT about taking a mental health day. But being alone at home is actually so much worse than being at work where there are at least people I am comfortable with. So I went in. I have been absolutely bombarded with depressed feelings all day though. I get up to walk down the hall to the bathroom and somehow that feels worse than sitting and staring at my computer without accomplishing anything. I'm sitting here crying at work, completely destroying the four months of tally marks I had for 'days without crying at work'. I didn't break my record, sadly.

I have a therapist. I have an appointment with her today actually. Maybe I'll just read all of this to her. I don't know where it's going to lead or what she's going to tell me to do, but all I want is to walk down the hall to the bathroom and have at least average, neutral emotions instead of carrying a chest full of raging depression. I want to be able to say something happy to someone so that they don't dump me as a friend for being toxically negative. I want to live, and I have things to live for. But damn if this depression isn't making it extremely difficult to enjoy those things.

[docholligay]

Misc Ep 1

Hello! This is about the pilot of Yellowjackets, and ONLY the pilot of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the first episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me.  Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like  “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside  information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading  questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember  that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you  talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all  I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I  could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please  just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open!

I think the expectation is that you’ll be more interested in the whole idea that these girls end up hunting each other for sport or ritual or whjatever, and, the first episode seems to imply, fucking eating each other. I do think that’s great, and all, as a consequence ofd things, but what I’m mostly into is something that, luckily, at least in this pilot, the show seems into as well: How do these girls become this thing? How does a human being break down? What is it about fear that brings forth ritual, how does ritual sometimes cover or cleanse violence, what is it about humanity that needs ritual as a way of getting both closer to and further from our actions? 

We know this from the get-go. We’re shown this before we get to know any of the girls, before we get to know any of the girls, before we get to reflect on how nice and normal and accomplished we are. It’s not interested in rubbernefcking at normal people becoming something difficult, becoming something that bridges the gap between the new world of a sort of sterilized tribalism, and an old world very obvious and, daresay more honest, level of violence and tribalism. We’ll see if I still feel like that’s part of the discussion in a few episodes. Everything is hard to tell from a pilot.

How do i feel about Natalie? I’m not sure, I don’t really know enough about her. I have a couple mild worries, but I don’t actually have a BASIS for those, when I think about it. All I have is vague vibes, and it’s absolutely unfair to judge something off of a vibe I have based on OTHER narratives. So, I reserve judgement. I definitely want her goddamn Porsche and rifle, that’s for sure. The show, I think, I hope, wants to tell us something with her story. That she percieves a threat and jumps to violence--we see that in the flashback with her, as well. Natalie’s first impulse is to strike. This is not new and this is not news, and maybe, takoing this back to Shauna, it’s showing how MANY of them have never managed to move forward from the person they were while they were a Yellowjacket. 

I had a girl like Laura Lee on cheer squad, and it may not surprise you to know we had a contentious relationship at best, as I often took to sighing and snapping gum while she led prayer. 

Misty. Misty! I was so fucking sure when we saw her in the pep rally we were going to get all that dumb bullshit about how everyone is SO MEAN to the poor nerdy one blah blah wah wah. But no! It’s much more realistic than that. They just don’t want to be friends with her. They ignore her. I love that moment when Nat sees her and then she disappears, because she’s not an entity to them, she’s just a fucking ghost. She’s a nothing. The show takes pains to show that she DOESN’T fucking know how to act socially. She’s the kind of cruel where she would happily sit and watch a rat struggle and drown. When she’s an adult, she’s bitter and vindictive to people who try her. Even a sick old woman. She’s not a nice or good person, and I love so much that the show is like, IMMEDIATELY when we see her as an adult, “If you were looking for an innocent little gumdrop rainbow sad nerd, Misty ain’t it” and that actually will give me space to LIKE Misty. 

So much of the team dynamic feels so authentically like whoever was writing this did time on a high school girls’ sports team, because this is genuinely one of the only things I’ve ever seen that reminds me of cheer, which was far far more “Tell Cersei. I want her to know it was me” than everyone holding hands and gay kissing and doing it each other’s makeup (It was also that though. Life is complicated) I love that they get into an absolutely bitter fight the night before they leave at the bonfire. Truly enjoyed it. (Tag yourself, I’m Van grabbing another beer before we all have to talk about our feelings.) 

By the by, that whole huge it out bullshit in a secluded part of the party is definitely a shade toward their time in the woods, and Jackie’s approach and i know I basically already went into it, ut I definitely have to mention it again. 

Double by the by: Putting a pin in the whole “best things about each other” for the end of the seasons and I’m hoping someone reminds me because I think we will come BACK to these qualities and see them either revealed or destroyed. 

[fast-food-fish]

pierced through the heart but never killed: being the weird girl

spent christmas alone this year (and subsequently became disillusioned with life) now i’m writing this. tw for depression, loneliness, childhood trauma, bullying kind of.

so it seems midnight’s have become my afternoons. maybe i should actually do something with my time. i could finally start that book i’ve been meaning to write, or work on my screenplay (believe me i know how that sounds). maybe i could watch a show that isn’t sailor moon. or maybe i could just get out of my head long enough to stop thinking everything to death and start doing something about it.

i have these issues, you see. i mean, doesn’t everyone? but when i talk about it with my partner that’s how i describe them, issues, as if calling them that makes them any more manageable. where did all of these ideas come from? is what i’d actually like to know. what affect did it have on me being the weird kid in elementary school? having 2, maybe 3 friends in middle school? having people, friends, hang out at the park literally a block away from your house, without you? when you were supposed to be walking to school with your friends, but they walked ahead of you and then wondered why you were upset. when you’re only in a group for a project because “the teacher said we couldn’t say no.” you get picked last for team sports (last after the kid that everyone hates and the girl who thinks she’s a cat and meows), because you suck, and you’ll always suck at everything. to them you will, and i’m sorry to tell you kid, but you’ll carry those things with you for the rest of your life.

but honestly, why should i expect more? i grew up in an environment where i was essentially made to give all of myself to everyone around me, and expect nothing in return. so why should i expect anything less than nothing when i need it? why is it your fault that i can’t manage my expectations? that after all this time i still expect, actually maybe that’s the wrong word, i still ache and yearn and rip myself open for the chance that someone will do something. someone will make me feel like i’ve come in first place for once in my life. someone will see me, and choose me, and love me, despite everything. and this really isn’t fair, because someone has. my partner chooses me, and loves me and sees me, and it’s my fault that i can’t accept it, or i want more, or i can’t even comprehend what they’re saying to me. because for some reason words aren’t enough, and actions aren’t enough and nothing is enough.

like taylor swift says in the verse i’ve directly referenced in the title of this piece, “sometimes i feel like everybody is a sexy baby, and i’m the monster on the hill, too big to hang out, slowly lurching towards you’re favourite city, pierced through the heart but never killed.” i am the monster on the hill, and i have been for a long, long time. too big to hang out? how about too weird? too desperate? emotional? i want too much attention? i just want your attention. i got broken up with when i was in high school and i ate lunch in my car for 2 months because my “friends” made me feel as though i couldn’t hang out with them anymore. an arrow in the heart. i’ve been ghosted 7 times (some my fault some not), 7 arrows to the heart. i cried once a year in public for every year i was in elementary school. right through the heart. how many more arrows can i take? why won’t any of them kill me?

there is no beauty in this feeling. this bubbling jealousy, catastrophic rage, harrowing all consuming sadness. believe me, i’ve tried to turn into something beautiful, to make it have any meaning in my life, it doesn’t. i’m a tragic character in my own life, forced to relive these memories over and over every time i feel like i’m last place. when you ask me where i am, it’s here. when you ask me why i don’t think i’m enough, it’s because of this. there’s only so long you can be naive before you realize that you’re the common denominator. before you realize that it was too exhausting for everyone else to root for the anti-hero, hell, i’m exhausted.

and i want this to have a happy ending, i want all of the choices to be easy and have no consequences. i want to understand how loved i am by the people who don’t see me as a deranged mess of all my worst moments. i want to say the things without saying them. choose me, it’s easy, it is. but it isn’t, and that’s not even the choice. not every thing that someone does that isn’t spending time with me is a choice not to spend time with me. and just because i have an issue with putting up boundaries, doesn’t mean that you should. instead of saying to myself, well i would do anything for them, why won’t they do the same for me? maybe i should ask myself why it is that i would do anything? why, in this scenario, am i expendable?

and the answer is really quite simple, if i’m expendable i won’t be alone, and if i’m not alone i won’t run out of things to do to keep me from really thinking about these issues, my issues. there’s only so long i can keep procrastinating these thoughts, but if you’re here i don’t have to worry about procrastinating, i just have to think about what will make you happy. because if you’re happy you won’t leave, and if you won’t leave i won’t be alone. if we stay right here and we don’t move, nothing bad will happen, you won’t see all of this, and leave. if we stay here there’s no more arrows in the heart, if we stay here i won’t have to pull them out and heal the wound. but if we stay here i’ll never get better, and this will never be fair, and i will do this again and again and again, and you will feel bad, and i will feel bad for making you feel bad, and it will never end.

maybe it’s time to burn down the schools, metaphorically, maybe it’s time to take a breath in, and a breath out, and realize that nothing can be done about the past anymore. that i bought something a long long time ago, and it’s time to return it.

[acollectionofsleeplessnights]

I need to get a new therapist. I tried to open up about some things with my therapist. Like how losing my dad was hard.  Because my family is a complete dumpster fire and I was never really able to process it.  They just used it as an opportunity to traumatize me more...because they're literally crazy and incapable of compassion. My therapist deadass looked me in the eye and goes, "But you got through it, right." and I just said, "Ugh yeah, I guess." and pressed my lips together and smiled. I knew I never wanted to bring that up again. The conversation was dead because, "I got through it." All that was missing was my therapist throwing a "champ" at the end of his sentence. Like you've been rick-rolled, but like "white dad-ed" instead. It didn't even make me upset. I just walked out of the office and kind of laughed as I entered the elevator. I thought to myself, 'this is so stupid. I can't believe how stupid this is. I need a new therapist.'

It just reminded me how a lot of people have seen me my whole life. This therapist was no exception. Like I'm a high functioning depressed person, a high functioning sometimes anxious person, I am a high function person with ADHD, who avoids large crowds and loud overwhelming concerts. Not because I don't want to go, but unless I really, really want to go, I'd rather not be overstimulated to the point where my brain shuts down and restarts multiple times in the time span of only a couple hours. With as much as I have been able to achieve or function, it has always been met with an equaled to or greater level of disfunction my entire life. I'm overcompensating in an effort to keep it together. I've just had so many years of practice I make it look easy.

 I've been depressed since I was 7. When I found out that my dad passed away, I felt a profound loss. But the overwhelming grief, in some ways, felt like most other days. Because I am used to being depressed. It wasn't a place I had to go. It's a place I've been for years. Like I knew every house on the block. I've named every street. I've decided what goes where, and what dark corners get street lights, and what corners get left dark. So I don't have to look at them. I knew all the residents and all the people who live there, who float around like ghosts.

It's not that it was easy to get out of bed, it was just something I was already used to doing. So it didn't matter if I felt sad or upset. I had to get on with it. Because that's the only thing I've ever known. It's the only thing I've ever been confidently good at. It's a safety blanket. It's a stone castle with no doors or windows. It's isolation and it's freedom...and in a colossally fucked up way, it's home. So I don't know how to tell people that sometimes it's not that I'm okay. It's not that I'm "over it." It's that this is the only thing I know how to do. And you can't take that away from me now. Not after I've spent years perfecting my craft. I have to make other people feel like it's okay. Because if I don't they might feel as bad as I do most of the time. And that breaks my heart. So I have to do this. And you can't take that away from me, because if you do, what will I have left...It's a compulsion, you see. It's not that I'm okay. It's just...that I am still alive. And I am trying really hard to finally convince myself that I am okay.

[ashdumpsterpile]

ASH’S TMA HURT/COMFORT/FLUFF REC LIST 

For the gays. (And @damcrows who’s been dead for the past 24 hours. Rest in peace babe. Read some gay fic. Deny the inevitability of canon. <3)

___

the end, but the start (of all things that are left to do)  by @ajkal2

Jon wakes up.

aka. mag200 tore out my heart

(Very smol, very short, very spoiler. Def recommend for anyone who just finished the podcast.)

remind me how to smile by @tamerofdarkstars

Jon is probably fine, just hiding out somewhere while the whole murder thing blows over and that's... fine. Martin is fine with that explanation. Really. He's got plenty to distract himself - like listening through the entire What the Ghost episode library, for example. Or watching Georgie Barker's Instagram livestreams.

(Yea this was in the last rec list, but you don’t understand THE ADMIRAL GIVES CUDDLES)

Chamomile by Dribbledscribbles

Whatever the ex-tea was, if it really had ever been that last bag of chamomile Martin claimed he’d found tucked in the back of the cupboard, it was fast now.

Martin had tried catching it, chasing it, blocking its way with shoebox lids and plates and an upended footstool, but the thing was just too quick. Jon knew as well as Knew that he might have left off the attempts completely if not for the creature’s preferred game.

The game was, See How Many Times I Can Push Martin Towards Cardiac Arrest Before He Comes at Me with The Broom.

(Scottish Honeymoon Era. Adorable and weird. A vampire gets harassed.)

hey stranger by @ennuijpg

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Martin runs into Jon at the grocery store and has an existential crisis.)

roses roses, roses. by @judesstfrancis

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses. 

(Canon enemies to friends to lovers au-ish. Martin POV. Very pining much sweet.)

go softly by doomcountry

And there is nothing else besides this. 

(More hurt/comfort than fluff. Scottish Honeymoon Era. Mild eye mutilation.)

Not Alone by @backofthebookshelf

After the coffin, Daisy and Jon are both fragile. They hold each other up. 

(Post-buried Jon&Daisy starter pack. Very hurt/comfort.)

trust my love by antlsepticeye

“you… you’re real, aren’t you?” jon whispers, the fog slowly dissipating from his mind. “it is not a trick?”

“i’m here,” martin says softly, reaching up to grab jon’s hand that was resting on his cheek, intertwining his fingers with jon’s and squeezing. he moves jon’s hand to martin’s chest, resting it over his heart. “you’re alright. i’m alright. take your time, love. let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?”

(TOUCHSTARVED JON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT.)

reaching out by Athina_Blaine

By the time things settled, when Martin had finally managed to crack through his cold shell, feel some of his old self returning to him in bits and pieces, they had found their little routine.

One that had the two of them sleeping in the same bed, making breakfast, going to the mart. Where Jon reached for his wrist while they slept, and Martin luxuriated in the gentle warmth of his fingers.  

But not one where Martin reached back. One that had Martin kissing Jon awake or taking his hand over the breakfast table, because ... Martin never had the courage to try. And then it never became a part of the routine.

And Martin desperately wanted it to be.

-

Martin and Jon have an important conversation.

(More Scottish Honeymoon Era for the soul. Hurt/comfort/fluff.)

Belabor by @janekfan​

Jon's given the position of Archivist and is falling apart at the seams. Tim and Sasha are upset and playing games. Elias is overbearing and manipulative.

And poor Martin is stuck cleaning up the mess.

(THEE first fic I ever read for tma. Season 1, hurt/comfort/fluff, and hints of Jmartin. janekfan is the absolute master of seasons 1-3 hurt/comfort. This is my favorite, but pls check out the rest of their fics.)

tea, blankets, and a damnable stubborn attitude by ivelostmyspectacles

“Are you really gonna stay here and pester Jon all evening?”

“I’m not pestering him,” Martin retorted, sounding vehement if not busy going through the cupboards. “I’m heating up soup.”

“Oh, you might as well make him another cup of tea while you’re at it.”

“Oh, good idea.”

Jon shot Tim a withering look.

(The one where Jon is ill, Martin makes tea and they watch doctor who together. Fluff 1000%.)

A Kind Hand by @voiceless-terror

Jonathan Sims was adjusting just fine, thank you very much.

In which a minor workplace spill causes Jon to realize that he might have friends.

(Ah yes, the other master of seasons 1-3 fic aka voiceless-terror being my other fav author in the fandom. This one is also season 1 hurt/comfort/fluff.)

A Weather In The Flesh by @cuttoothed

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

(More touched starved Jon! Much hurt/comfort!)

Something Old, Something New by @cirrus-grey

Months have passed, and everyone is doing better than they were. Daisy and Basira are getting married, Melanie is feeling her old self, Georgie is as much herself as she has ever been, and even Jon has stabilized on his wild fall away from humanity. Everyone is doing better.

Well. Almost everyone.

(Daisy/Barsira wedding! Melanie is a bitch and we love her! Jmartin dance! Post-canon (almost) everyone lives!)

The Weight of Love by @voiceless-terror

Jon is a restless sleeper. Martin attempts to adjust. 

(The fic where Jon is literally me and Martin attempts to sleep for 1k words.)

The Art of Conversation by @voiceless-terror

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Jon has a complicated relationship with words. Difficulties come and go.

(Jon has adhd and Martin is in love.)

Novelty by @backofthebookshelf

Jon experiences A Sexual Attraction; Martin has A Concern. They figure it out.

(Any fic that explores the ace spectrum is a 10/10. We stan all ace interpretations of jon on this blog.)

Half a Hug by Dathen

I know you weren’t going to hurt me, I trust you, he said again and again. And then a different kind of fear shone through, hollow and echoing: “Please don’t stop touching me."

-

Or: Life is hard when you're touch-starved but have trauma related to your closest friend.  Spoilers through TMA 132.

(Honestly bless every author who saw jon&daisy and was like. They’re siblings. No I will not elaborate.)

the loneliness never left me (but i can put it down in the pleasure of your company) by Athina_Blaine

It was about Martin making Jon feel safe, treasured, and loved. And it had been so, so long since anyone made him feel that way.

And, in the face of it all, Jon was starting to flounder.

(At this point I just need to make separate rec list for Scottish Honeymoon Era.)

you can watch me corrode by scarletfish

"So, how long have you been pulling this shit then?"

"I… excuse me?" Jon’s indignant, certain she can’t mean what he thinks she means.

"When was the last time you ate?"

(Georgie decides Jon and Melanie need a normal day off. Jon learns that he and Melanie have more in common than he thought.)

(Look, Melanie isn’t my favorite person in tma, but she and Jon are like THE SAME PERSON and I adore fics that elaborate on their relationship.)

Out of the Wind, In From the Cold by @ostentenacity

There are two bedrooms in the safehouse, and two beds.

For a moment, Jon considers asking to share, but decides against it with a wince. “I really loved you,” Martin had told him. Loved. Past tense. And Martin doesn’t exactly have a lot of choices right now in terms of company; it would be cruel to demand he play at feelings he no longer has just to make Jon happy.

(For a moment, Martin considers asking to share. But he dismisses the idea with a shake of his head. Jon has already done so much for him. Martin isn’t about to ask for more, especially not when it’s something he doesn’t really need. He has his right mind back, and he has Jon’s friendship. That should be enough for him. It’ll have to be.)

---

Jon thinks that Martin doesn’t love him. Martin thinks that Jon doesn’t love him. They do not, of course, discuss this. Unrequited love is already awkward enough, right? No need to dwell on it.

(THEE SCOTTISH HONEYMOON ERA FIC. IT’S ABOUT THE PINING, BEING MUTUALLY OBLIVIOUS AND FALLING IN LOVE. 10000/10.) 

I Do by @voiceless-terror

“I, um- this was supposed to be a lot more romantic, I swear.” Martin looks down at the dirty bar floor. “I had it all planned out, I-I was going to take you somewhere nice, and then we’d go for a walk in the square- I’ll still do it!” He hurries to explain, as if that’s the most pressing part of this situation. “It’ll be really nice, I’ve already hired a photographer-”

In a fit of protectiveness, Martin proposes to Jon.

(Everyone lives, Martin accidentally proposes and Jon is crying in public.) 

________

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Void

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x mutant!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, HYDRA’s experiments, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, captivity, home invasion, stalking, kidnapping.

Words: 2381.

Summary: Once an ordinary human, you keep running away from both HYDRA and Avengers, knowing what your powers will be used for. The problem is the Soldat picking up your trail.

P.S. The reader is somewhat dark-ish in this one.

________________

Carefully slipping inside the laundry room through a broken window, you landed on the cold concrete floor and shivered, hoping you could find a really warm blanket somewhere upstairs.

Although you still felt a bit ashamed breaking in the houses of other people like that, at this point it was the one and only alternative you had. Of course, there was always an option to submit to HYDRA or whoever else was hunting you down, but you didn’t really appreciated it, simply trying to stay away from both heroes and villains since to you they were all the same. You knew perfectly well once somebody captured you they’d be using you for murdering other people.

Thankfully, laundry room wasn’t locked, and you started wandering the house, peeping into each and every room. Watching photos of the family the house belonged to, you felt guilty again. These people weren’t at fault you were homeless and chased out from every damn place on the Earth, but you still took what was theirs just because you could find no other way to live. Well, at least you tried to leave the place as it had been prior to your break-in, except a broken window in the laundry room and canned beans you’d eat.

God, you could kill for a bowl of homemade chicken soup. You barely remembered eating it before HYDRA captured you a few years ago. Of course, they didn’t try to starve you there, but you couldn’t call what they’d been giving you real food either. Thinking of your cell and those meals made you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. Everywhere was better than there, so you needed to put your shit together and take whatever fate offered you.

It was getting late, and you glanced at the tiny window in the basement, wrapped in a big grey comforter you brought from upstairs. You never slept in the rooms of other people, not knowing when the rightful owners of the houses you broke in could come back. Generally, you didn’t have problems with people, either escaping before their return or finding your way out secretly without them knowing somebody was hiding in their basement. However, sometimes you had a feeling people hunting you were coming close, and you didn’t risk getting too comfortable. Today was one of those days, and you bit down on your lower lip. These ones were probably not HYDRA operatives - they’d never risk attacking you at night when your powers were at peak. Nevertheless, it didn’t mean whoever was coming for you was harmless. You had to be prepared.

That’s it. Somebody was approaching, you could feel it in your bones. It was probably the one and only thing you were grateful to HYDRA - you were nearly invincible in the dark.

Silently leaving the comforter on the floor near an empty can, you got up, moving to stand near the wall behind the door, hardened black mass blocking tiny windows and leaving the intruder only one way to get in. You hoped they weren’t bringing explosives as you still had a hard time compressing the darkness around them - a month ago it resulted in some serious damage done to the house where you were hiding.

But this time was different: there was only one man who came for you, A strange man, though. He had a metal arm, and his body… It was something you had never felt before. The man was like that Duracell bunny they showed in TV ad, enhanced to the point he was barely human, probably.

But he was still just a man, now all alone with a monster like you.

When he entered quietly, leaving the door barely open, you blew it off its hinges. You had very little patience - now you would have to have a sleepless night, trying to find a new hideout as far as you could from this place and hoping HYDRA wouldn’t track you down. Its operatives were way more creative in their attempts to catch you: that mirror box trapping light nearly killed you last time.

Wrapping your fists into black mass like boxing gloves, you punched the man, but he quickly moved away, apparently, more skilled in combat than you were. Well, whatever, you thought as the darkness disintegrated on top of your skin, and then the intruder got a direct blow to his stomach without you getting near him. Coming to you at night was a suicide.

You kept beating him down until he dropped to the cold floor of the basement, beads of sweat and blood shining on his skin as you pinned him down, completely unharmed. You did your best to avoid the vital organs, but it was probably unnecessary - you could literally feel the soldier regenerating while he laid down, staring at the ceiling. Was he HYDRA’s creation just like you were? Or did good guys make beasts like him, too?

“I won’t do anything to you,” you told him, coming closer to look into his surprisingly handsome face, “but I’ll kill whoever you send to catch me next.”

“HYDRA’s… coming after you.” The soldier muttered, coughing and wincing from pain as you towered above him.

“You or them, doesn’t matter much.”

A part of you felt remorse for beating the stranger so bad he couldn’t rip the restraints holding him down despite his enormous strength, but the other part made you remember you were the victim, not him. The only thing you ever wanted was living like a human being, not a lab rat or a weapon of mass destruction used by whoever hold you hostage.

Besides, if this guy didn’t know the nature of your powers before attacking you, now he certainly did. It was unwise to let him live - he would definitely let his masters know - but you couldn’t force yourself to end him. Killing wasn’t nice. You had never enjoyed it.

“Avengers can protect you.”

What? Did the man work for them, then? You smirked, shaking you head.

“Avengers can’t protect themselves. Now please be quiet and let me leave. We’re done for today.” Turning your back at him, you went to grab your backpack and then put a few cans in it to continue your journey, tired and upset you couldn’t rest despite travelling all day long.

“I can help you.”

You abruptly turned to face him still chained to the floor and clenched your teeth. This was what HYDRA’s men were telling you year after year. Helping you, that what they were doing.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to plant spikes right through your tongue.” You hissed at him, going back and watching him with his pretty mouth finally shut. “If you wanna play a hero so much, go wipe HYDRA out and forget I’ve ever existed.”

The soldier stayed silent, and you exhaled angrily, marching through the basement to the stairs and quickly going up. God knew how many people could be waiting for you outside of the house - Avengers were usually gathering together on the missions, even you knew that from occasionally seeing them in the news.

Shit, it was going to be a long night.

________________________

One more month was gone as you continued to run and hide like the world’s top criminal, chased out of many cities where you could find peace for at least a couple of days. Now it was mostly one-night sleepovers anywhere you could find. You finally understood what being a mad dog meant - sometimes you thought you could kill for those canned beans you hated so much before.

Slowly, but surely you were running out of options where to hide. The only place now was the forest surrounding that little town where you relocated after your brief encounter with HYDRA two days ago. Forest was a bad place to be. You had very little skills allowing you to survive out in the wild for long. The more you thought about that, the more you realized you had, in fact, only one option left.

Suicide. Only then you could become truly free of that mad chase and ensure no one would use your abilities for killing others. You already had enough blood on your hands.

And still, when you though of black spikes piercing your head, you were shaking. It would be so much easier if somebody just shot you when you weren’t looking.

Huh, what a cruel world you lived in, you thought while finishing a can of chicken ham - God, you didn’t even remember when you ate something so delicious. It was harder to imagine killing yourself after a good meal, but you still considered the option, looking at the carpet with a dull expression on your face.

You were euphoric after your escape from that facility where you were held, and now you were thinking maybe it was better to just wither there like all those countless men and women before you, unable to contain their enormous powers in pathetic human bodies. What was the point of being so strong if you couldn’t have your life back? What were these powers for except the destruction? You’d gladly exchange your fantastic abilities on a chance to return home to your family. That is, if HYDRA let it be, which was unlikely.

You blinked, tired to the point you barely felt your own body. If they’d decide to come for you now, you probably couldn’t dodge the attack this time.

But it wasn’t HYDRA who came for you - with a syringe in your neck, you suddenly fell down to the floor, watching the handsome face of a man who had seemingly emerged from the wall behind you like a ghost. What was that? Was he like you, too? You didn’t sense it in him the first time, but maybe the soldier was more dangerous than you anticipated. Well, he certainly was, you thought as he carried you upstairs like a firefighter escaping the burning house. Would he lock you down in a cell, too? Would he let his masters experiment on you for the sake of humanity? Would he kill you once you closed your eyes?

Before the soldier reached the front entrance, you had already lost consciousness under the influence of the drag he injected.

The darkness that followed should had been calming, soothing, as you only felt safe in complete darkness, but you couldn’t find your peace: it was cold and lonely and scary when you were falling down deeper and deeper into the black void. Did he kill you, then? Was it the end? Would you spend your eternity in the dark?

It certainly felt like eternity before you woke up, still in the middle of nowhere, but feeling a soft mattress beneath your back. Your arms and legs hurt - it felt like you were tied up to bed. However, the fabric of your clothes was nothing like the ones you wore before the assault. It felt soft, and smelled pretty nice, too.

But you still saw nothing, nothing at all. Everything was pitch black.

Were you in a dark room? A cell? Whatever, you could work with it, you though and called the darkness as if it was a part of you.

And nothing happened.

You called again, then once more and once more, but the darkness didn’t free you. It didn’t answer to your plea - it wasn’t there at all.

Suddenly, you realized there was no darkness surrounding you as you heard a subtle buzz of dozen projectors directed right at you. The darkness was in your head because they blinded you.

You were screaming and crying and jolting on the bed, trying your best to break free, crush the metal headboard, do anything at all to just touch your eyes, discover what they did to you as you felt nothing but numbness and some tingling. Did they pluck out your eyes? Did they take them out because it would be easier to control you once you lost your eyesight?

You didn’t know whether you were still screaming when you felt a stranger’s hand on your cheek as he sat down on the bed. Exhausted and horrified, you tried kicking him, but the restraints kept you in place as he lowered his head to your face, “it’s alright. You’re safe.”

Oh, it was him. It was the soldier who had emerged from the wall of the house you were hiding the last time.

“What did you… do to me?” Breathing hard, you yanked your head to the side to avoid his touch. Huh, safe, that how he called it. HYDRA or Avengers, there had never been any difference to you.

“I had to temporarily blind and drug you. The effect will wash off in a few days.”

With that, you forgot how to breathe for a couple of seconds. Temporarily? Did it mean you eyes would be alright? Did he not pop your eyes out of their sockets?

“Please, calm down. I won’t hurt you.”

You stayed quiet, but not because the soldier asked you to. You just laid there, listening to the buzz of the projectors and thinking you would be able to see something again. For a few seconds you were filled with a bitter sense of triumph. Maybe you were crying again, though you couldn’t really feel the tears streaming down your face.

Oh, how could you wish to die? How could you even think of committing suicide? No, no, never again, even if you’d have to break each and every bone in the bodies of your enemies, and rip their heads off. Whatever it takes just never to return to that black void again.

“No one knows you’re here.” The soldier said somewhere close to your face, and you furrowed your brows. “HYDRA won’t find you.”

“Until you push me to the battlefield.” You sneered, still furious he did such a horrible thing to you, leaving you here like that.

“Avengers don’t know you here either.”

Laughing sarcastically, you fell silent as you felt his flesh hand touching your cheek and brushing the hair out of your face.

“Don’t worry, I will fulfill your wish.” You could smell the metal of his breath. “You won’t exist for anyone but me.”

_______________________

Tags: @finleyjayne​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @helenaeisenhower​ @villanellevi​ @hurricanerin​ @void-hoechlin​ @abyssaint​ @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @navegandoaciegas​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites​ @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​ @soleil-dor​ @lookiamtrying​ @buckysbunny​ @iheartsebastianstan​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @ninefuckingoneone​​

[anxiouslyfred]

Black???? Out Mall

Summary: Most people do not believe that black is a colour the soulmate link can prevent you from seeing. A complete black out in a mall has Remus’s friend relying on the fact he’s never been able to see black and has far better dark vision because of it. Now he just needs to avoid making eye-contact with the only other person leading friends around the mall.

/\/\

Virgil's world had always been difficult to describe. People would talk about the world in shades of light and dark, white to black when mentioning the colours they couldn't see, but that could never work for him. Afterall, it's hard to explain that inside the night is dark brown and there's a specific shade of violet especially for midnight when everyone else just calls the dark black.

Part of him wished that there was a different colour he couldn't see, but no, there could be nothing black for him. Anything that would be black outside of the dark was a gentle ash green, far paler than people would believe, if they even considered that he couldn't see black true at all.

Mostly people just dismissed it, calling him a liar and that he could just say he didn't want to share. It had always been that way, from the first time his parents had asked what colour he couldn't see on the wheel to the crowd he befriended in school and finally following him into the work place. Each group that knew Virgil would only have him reply to the question once before he retreated, blocking them from ever getting close.

He did still find the ash-grey a comforting colour to wear though and would just claim to be trying out camouflage whenever someone commented on his usually black outfits. Once he managed to get a top that actually was ash-green but got put of wearing it after a few too many comments about his 'Summer look'. It felt like Virgil couldn't win, either he wouldn't be listened to about being unable to see black, or people would call out the times he mistook ash-green things for black ones. At least paints named the colours usually, so he didn't have to worry over mixing them up incorrectly.

/swap character focus\

All of Remus's room was maroon and green. Well if you asked him it was and he wouldn't give anyone a chance to argue with that. If he said something was maroon purple then nothing would change his mind, no matter how many people insisted the walls were painted black.

Currently Janus was the only person who had stuck around long enough to learn that Remus honestly couldn't tell when things were black and knew that when soulmates came up there would be a wonderfully long lecture over the many reasons, suppositions and stories Remus had over why people would claim such an absurd colour as black existed. Too many times they'd watch someone dismiss from all realms of possibility that Remus really couldn't see black and wouldn't until he met his soulmate only to quickly want to run away at the rather violent suggestions Remus had for “imbeciles obsessed with everything having opposites”. It was one of the more amusing things Janus found happening since befriending Remus and was at least generally harmless.

Remus was actually more interested in the places he could navigate better than everyone else. He'd perfected moving around in dark rooms, moving through the brown and around the objects that appeared other colours. For some reason if people could see black they couldn't see the other colours of objects in the night which frankly sounded like some evolutionary flaw.

He'd dragged Janus with him to all manner of deserted places, looking for ghosts and cool trinkets abandoned to time, despite their complaints that they could see nothing and had to be guided around constantly. It just gave Remus more chance to cling onto someone who wasn't shoving him away really.

This time though was not intentional, planned, or even something Remus had expected to be possible.

Everyone, literally everyone, said malls had back up generators and emergency lights in case there was a power outage or something went wrong; That you couldn't just cause a full on black out because they'd have emergency lights coming on in minutes so why was Remus suddenly having to pull Janus along carefully behind him and trying to remember the way out?

“You do know where we're going, don't you Remus?” Janus's normally carefully controlled voice was wavering, uncertain of the situation and what could be happening.

Remus couldn't blame them, almost everyone had sat down, or was stumbling forwards, trying to find a wall and then follow it somewhere. There was a group ahead that hadn't though. It looked like they were trying to do a conga line and possibly the person leading them could see where they were going.

If it hadn't been for the grip on his hand tightening and pulling him back to the present situation Remus would have raced after to find out if his was his someone who couldn't see black either. “Sure. You pulled us in at the entrance to that kids shop and that's back here, up in the lift... I'm gonna have to break into the lift now, aren't I?”

“Just look for some stairs. We can figure out the way back to the shop from there.” Janus sighed, trying for disappointed but just sounding scared at this point. There wasn't even a guarantee they'd be able to get out if they did manage to find an exit with this power-cut.

They'd carried on walking while muttering to each other, not wanting to have everyone they passed attempt to join up with them, and bringing them a lot closer to the group Remus had spied before. He definitely would have preferred to avoid the group now given he could see his brother as part of it, but the leader was heading directly for them.

“Yo, can you see or are you just wanting to trip over as many people as you can?” The leader of the group called and Remus was torn between making immediate eye contact and trying to avoid it as long as possible.

Janus had turned to the voice already and was tentatively trying to head in that direction so Remus had to keep pace if only so they didn't fall. “Much as tripping over everyone sounds like fun Jan would kill me if I caused him an injury.” He replied, focusing on Roman to avoid looking at the front of the group.

His brother's stumble literally cause the rest to all stumble too, only just gaining their footing before any of them fell. “Remus? What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Trying to find one of those gadget shops. See if we can steal their stock of night vision goggles so me and Janus can make a break for freedom. I see Patton, Logan and a stranger up front. New friend or did you describe me enough that they ran screaming any time you mentioned I'd pop in to bother you?” Now he'd said it, Remus actually thought finding some night vision goggles would be sensible, at least it would give Janus a bit more confidence in the dark. Plus then he could possibly even make eye contact with the hoodie clad guy.

“Virgil, Premier Tour Guide for dark halls and supplier of every worry you'll never need.” Roman introduced, attempting to bow and wave towards the front of the conga line but headbutting Logan's back instead.

Remus snickered at that, but before he could say anything Logan spoke up. “I do have to agree that even some poor quality night vision goggles would probably do us good right now. There should be one... Virgil, what shops are we next to currently?”

“Princey's favourite jewellers and it looks like there's a build-a-bear around the next bend. Ro, Is this the brother that thinks everything is maroon, or have we run into someone else?” There was something harsh in Virgil's words, as though whenever he'd come up between them Roman had upset Virgil with something he'd said.

“He's only got the one Remus. That much I can tell you. So are we joining up for now?” Remus nodded, turning to scan the shops along with Virgil, wondering if Logan would need any more details to locate the shop he'd thought of.

That didn't prove to be necessary as Logan was tugging and twisting in his spot of the conga line to turn them around. “We've come the wrong way then. Back around the corner, 5 shops along and there's a gadget shop. I definitely saw some night vision goggles when I was looking for cheap chemistry supplies.”

“Off we go then.” Virgil nodding, gripping Patton's hands on his waist to lead them off with Remus and Janus following behind.

Remus let them fall back a little, just enough that the group could hear their steps but they could talk quietly without the words being distinguishable. “Are you okay with joining them? I kinda just changed the plans on you when you wanted to find an exit as soon as.”

“If you promise not to even look at Virgil until I have some of those goggles on I guess so.” They demanded. “You could lose your special ability in the worst possible situation”

“Best thing about being unable to see black, it gives night vision while no other colour provides benefits to being unable to see it.” Remus snickered, moving a little faster once again.

There were fewer people in this section of the mall and all of them seemed to have reached the walls or some kind of furniture and decided to stop there to rest. It made for quicker movement, but also disappointed Remus a little that he wasn't getting to dodge them around human obstacles constantly. That did at least give him the opportunity to try going as fast as Janus could stumble along behind him and overtake Roman's little group in entering the shop.

“Everyone, I need a very specific thing from these shelves so you better be backing away from them now.” He snarled, dropping Janus's hands and beaming at the frightened squeaks let out from the customers and staff of the store. It wasn't often he could be this threatening when most people assumed his ruffles and lace meant he was harmless, despite how dark and unnerving the designs on them were.

He didn't waste time enjoying the fear though, hurrying to scan the shelves, trying to locate where the night vision goggles were. They couldn't have been a fashionable item to use since Remus was on one of the shelves further back and away from the tills by the time he found them. He didn't hesitate to start tearing the box of one open, grabbing as many more as would fit in his arms before heading back to where Janus was being pulled along beside Virgil now.

“I got goggles for everyone!” Remus bounced, already putting the open set onto Janus and trying to figure out the on switch. The instructions would be no help, with white paper and black writing the entire page just looked brown to Remus. “seeing yet? Seeing yet? Seeing yet?”

The repetition of the words was interrupted by hands shoving him away from the headset. “Shut up, get to opening boxes or go and see if you can pay for these at the checkout.” Virgil hissed, already removing the headset to check for the switch on it. “So you're Janus, I guess. Tell me if you can see anything through this now?” Remus heard the mutter as he was opening up the fifth box. He'd set 2 aside, intending to shove them into Janus's arms just in case he and Virgil would need them in a few moments, but for now he was going to stare at everyone's shoes while passing goggles to Virgil.

“You're a lot better at getting things functional than Remus is. I never heard your pronouns though, so can I have them?” Janus confirmed, already breathing a little easier as they stood looking around the store.

“Can't have them, they're mine already, but I go by he/him.” Virgil nodded, already taking the next and moving to help Patton get the goggles on.

Janus paused, looking towards the check out and back to the group they made. “I'm not some kind of Fae, you know. Although, given how well you're navigating through here, could you be? Or perhaps you just can't see black, like Remus here?” Their questions were prying and definitely spoilt some of the fun Remus had been hoping to have while trying to make eye contact with Virgil.

“You mean ash-green right?” There was a smirk and a snicker in Virgil's voice as Remus's head shot up to stare at his back, almost at the same time as Roman let out a loud groan.

“That's a Remus line! No becoming my brother, Virge!” Roman exclaimed, making everyone start snickering now. Only Remus seemed to notice that Patton had wandered off with his wallet out as soon as his goggles were functional. Apparently his wonderful theft wasn't allowed to actually be a theft. What a complete shame!

Virgil had sorted Logan out a lot more quickly than the first to, but held the last open set of goggles above Roman's head, just enough for one of the cords to brush his hair and shoulder. The shrieks only setting off more laughter and snickers from the friends. “If you're that scared of the night vision goggles, perhaps I shouldn't give you them.”

“You Nightmare. Give me back some sight, right this instant!” Roman's demands probably would have been more effective if he hadn't turned around completely in his fright. Still Virgil put them on him with no further argument, while Remus wished he could have scared his brother a bit more while stood in the dark.

The he realised that that was the last of their friends with night vision goggles on and he could actually find out if Virgil was his soulmate or not and had to leap over to him. “Can I see you now?” He cheered, getting their faces as close together as possible before whining when there was suddenly nothing to see.

“You better have got enough of those goggles for us or your next sight of me is going to be when I attack you!” Virgil snarled, though a hand tightening on his upper arm kept him close.

“Januuuuussssss, My soulmate if threatening meeeeee! Can I at least have the goggles to see if he still looks as hot while threatening me as I think he does?” Remus whined, leaning his head as far backwards as he could imagining he was still able to see Janus standing a little way behind him.

He didn't hear any response though, only the shuffling and a few snickers from his friends for a few minutes. Randomly he'd let out self pitying whines for a bit before he decided to see if the hand on his arm was far enough up he could nuzzle it with his head.

For all he'd heard about black as a colour it really wasn't that interesting when absolutely everything was covered in it with no distinction to offer shapes or forms. It did however give him the chance to try getting to know Virgil's body by touch he eventually thought, only to get his hands slapped away if they strayed off of his arms.

“Fine, if I put the goggles on you, are you going to stop trying to grope me?” Virgil eventually snickered, already pushing them over his head after shoving it upright again.

“No promises there, My Maroon,” Remus tried to leer but was already distracted looking around for their friends. “Where'd everyone go?”

“Well I think Patton's trying to figure out how many other set of goggles he can afford to give to everyone and Logan is trying to talk him out of that. Janus and Roman have both gone in search of the exit once more. All pretty much excuses to as Roman put it 'Leave the gloomy soulmates to get used to the dark.'” Virgil waved in a few directions before actually taking Remus's hand. “Getting to know you sounds more interesting than this new colour though.”

They might still be in a powerless shopping mall for an undetermined future, but at least Remus and Virgil had found their soulmates and proven that black definitely is a colour and they couldn't see it before.

[raisansgrapeon]

My Views on Some of the Cast of the DSMP

We got a lot of things flying left, right, and center right now about characters in the dream smp fandom and I love it. I love seeing the perspectives and the stances and everyone's opinions as long as we're all being civil about it. So, I'm civilly putting in my two cents about... Well... Everything. But mainly just Ghostbur, Phil, and Techno since this post would get obscenely long if I did everyone.

I'd like to just say one thing about my approach to this story:

The characters are morally ambiguous. No one is the good guy. No one is the bad guy. No one is an exception.

Yes, even Dream falls under this.

These are all people, and I always hesitate to call people bad or good in real life because there is so much more beyond what I can see of them, and I think it's a testament to the wonderful acting, improv, writing, and character establishment/writing that it can get me to see fictional block men who do things like claim their mother is a salmon and fill their palaces with flamingos as people.

With that information, I say that I love every character for who they are in the context of the narrative and how they play their role in said narrative.

And I love how each and every one of them are in the wrong somehow in some way.

Ghostbur is suffering the loss of everything he built, technically, a fourth time over.

First with Dream's initial explosion of L'Manburg, second with the actual explosion of L'Manburg, third with the explosion of Logstedshire, and finally with the final explosion of L'Manburg. He's hurting and yes, we all feel immensely bad for this little amnesiac ghost boy who only ever wrote books and built what he loved.

But he acknowledges that he's also hurt people. He knows that. That's why he wants to be resurrected. Even if he forgets conversations, impressions and residual feelings and ideas still hold over, since he clearly didn't just forget about his desire to be resurrected after he forgot his spat with Phil. He recontextualizes his desires and feelings under new sources but the idea of, this is the only way I can make everyone feel better, still lingers. Fundy told him that he needed to stop running away from his problems and face them. He may have forgotten that conversation, but the idea that who he is and what Ghostbur, as an entity, represents is hurting everyone, lingers.

Ghostbur has hurt people. Not of malicious intent, but intent does not dictate the feelings and actions of those around you in response to your own actions. Ghostbur uses his blue to forget his sorrows, and that action cuts those around him off from the emotional reconciliation Ghostbur knows they need from him.

Even then, who he is is not primed to deal with the fallout that would come if he even had voluntary control over his amnesia. Ghostbur insists he's not Alivebur, but he kinda is in a way. Both are very rigid in their beliefs when their mind is made up. There is no negotiation afterwards. Ghostbur's fundamental ideals have been locked in from the start of his existence. He makes others happy, and he restores L'Manburg. The idea that he no longer has the capability to do either of these things as he is now lingers without context. A ghost of a conversation forgotten that got held onto as the only good thing to come out of it.

Ghostbur is not 100% good. He's airheaded and well meaning, but he's never addressed the core issues that he caused.

Phil is trying to prevent what happened to his son from ever happening again.

Phil is a bigger picture man. He sees the world around him as a collective that works together to maintain itself. He doesn't have many personal ties beyond Techno and Wilbur in canon. He truly acts like a third-party hanging above the fray watching as the tides of war ebb and flow. He sees the corruption and sickness that lies within L'Manburg that killed his son thrive long after the mad king had been struck down. He held hope that in the wake of tragedy, Tubbo and the citizens would turn the tides, but they proved him wrong. What killed his son tried to kill his friend, and Phil was going to stop it.

But Phil was too zoomed out to see the personal aspect that L'Manburg held. He was too focused of the bigger picture to remember that Friend was in his house. He couldn't see L'Manburg as the home of many. He was still too detached from the feelings of the people to understand why Ghostbur was upset in the first place. The conversation between the two was not about Phil trying to get Ghostbur to understand why L'Manburg needed to go, it was Ghostbur trying to get Phil to understand why this was not the right option.

Philza has hurt people. He hurt his son by not only aiding in the destruction of his son's home and Friend, but also refusing to see the individuals in the conflict. He hurt Fundy by rejecting him the moment he realized that his grandson was following the tide of battle in the wrong direction. In the end, Phil never chose to see the situation from any other perspective other than his own.

He's disjointed and disconnected from the world around him. He truly loves and cares for two, at one point three, people on the server canonically and beyond that is an ambiguous blur. This isn't really his battle, in all honesty. He came when he saw that Wil was gonna do something everyone would regret, and he tried to step in and stop it, but beyond that, he was never there for anything. He never cared about L'Manburg and he never cared about its people. He's kind and caring to those in passing and he has a sense of nobility and honor where he respects and helps those who helped him. Still, he sees the world around him as a collective, and rarely anything more.

Philza is not 100% good, but he's not 100% bad. He's principled and intelligent, but he has no concept of how his actions affect the individual beyond the collective.

Techno has been abandoned and played like a fiddle this whole time.

Technoblade is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most straightforward character in the smp in terms of motivation. He is explicit and blatant about his anarchy and goals. Yet, somehow, everyone keeps falling into the thought that Techno is a naturally passive force that can be activated into action. In actuality, Techno is very proactive. He prepares and plans beyond wartime. He acts swiftly and precisely. He follows Sun Tzu's tenants faithfully. He does not idle and sticks to his most recent plan to a T if he thinks he can win.

But Techno doesn't see outside himself. He knows what works for him but is blind to others' needs and desires. Anarchy is how Techno can live comfortably, but not everyone can and certainly not everyone in the server. He plays by his rules and rational and imposes those thoughts onto others, not understanding when they act contrary to his understanding and thus rules them to being irrational on purpose. That they just want to ruin his life.

Techno has hurt people and we all know this. Everyone here believes that Techno betrayed them not when he wouldn't join their government, but when he wouldn't leave well enough alone. He did that too late. If he had conceded at the end of the Manburg-Pogtopia war that he did what he was called to do and just left for retirement in the first place, he could've lived just fine. But he's proactive, and he felt betrayed by them when they instantly instilled not only a new leader, but one under the same format and structure that had already failed twice. But who ever said that was his problem?

Techno, as well as everyone but especially Techno, sees himself as the one in the right all the time. He doesn't regret a single thing he's done, at least not anywhere I've seen. He is sure in his beliefs, lifestyle, principles, and logic. He enforces these on other's and sees them as ignorant and dumb for thinking different to him. It takes a lot for him to let bygones be bygones, and it's easy to provoke him into action. Albeit, none of this is helped by the literal chorus of voices constantly memeing in his head, but my point still stands.

Technoblade is not 100% bad, nor is he 100% good. He's motivated and honest, but he doesn't think about other's preferences having the possibility of having a logic behind them.

I could go on and on with nearly every main player in this story but this is what I have off the top of my head.

Basically: no one is good. No one is bad. They all make mistakes as a result of their flaws and those mistakes negatively affect real people in real ways. And I wouldn't have them act any other way.

Your favorite doesn't need to be a saint. You don't have to bend over backwards to defend your fave in order to make them the morally correct person in any given situation. Let yourself love a rich, flawed character. Because they deserve to be loved for their flaws and all.

They deserve to be loved as people.

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: muse 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: miyoshi kazunari/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.1k words, 1 image

𝐚𝐧: got back to writing again~ how much kazu-speak is too much? sorry this took a while, but I finally got over my writer’s block!

When your phone vibrates the exact minute your class ends, you know the text can only be sent by him. As the people around you begin to step outside the lecture hall, you find time to read your boyfriend’s message before heading out as well.

With Kazunari being a year above you, in a different course more so, there were times during the week where the two of you could barely catch a glimpse of each other. Projects were beginning to pile up for both of you, and with his acting to consider you initially didn’t want to bother him, but…

Just as you picked up your bag, your phone lights up again.

Wah, where r u??? I mish u already beb 💓💕💞

Stifling a giggle, you send back a text before quickly shuffling out of the classroom.

Kazunari always made the effort to put time into your relationship and give you affection, regardless if it was eating together during mutual breaks in between classes or sending each other cute messages and memes on social media.

Of course as cute as his selfies were nothing could beat physically being beside him and hearing his voice in person, so who could blame you for picking up your pace and rushing to where you knew your boyfriend was.

He’s seated on a bench when you spot him, fiddling with his phone. Before you could call out to him whips his head to face you. Instantaneously his lips break into a smile and from the lift of your cheeks you know you’re the same.

“Heyho☆ You looking for someone?” Kazunari says as you approach him, a teasing grin settling on his face. “You look a little lost~”

“I’m here for Kazu, my boyfriend!” You reply, lifting your hand and placing it atop of his head. “He’s this tall, and… oh! Super handsome, too. Have you seen him?”

Holding back a laugh, his eyes dart from left to right before sighing. “Unfortunately, he’s nowhere to be found. Aw, but you look totes adorbs~♪ Should I steal you away from this Kazu guy? I’ll def sweep you off your feet☆”

Before you know it Kazunari pulls you into his arms, the spontaneity a surprising but warm feeling. You wrap your arms around him as well, smiling against his sweater as the two of you hug while swaying left and right.

“Alright, that’s enough, Casanova.” You say the moment the hug gets too tight, slowly escaping his embrace.

“I want more though~” He whines, reluctantly letting go of you. He didn’t actually look upset if the glimmer in his eyes was anything to go by. “Well, I needed your help with something anyway!”

Anticipation bubbles up within you, expecting a new piece he needed help with, or maybe something for you to critique. After all, your admiration for his work was one of the reasons the two of you had gotten so close in the first place.

“I’ll do my best, Kazu-senpai!” You beam at him, throwing in the honorific to potentially catch him off-guard. Needless to say, it worked splendidly.

“Senpai?! You haven’t called me that in forever!” Kazunari was buzzing with excitement, grabbing one of your hands to swing it around. “Ahhhh- it was so, so cute every time you called me that! I was like, OMG—”

You roll your eyes. “I know, you’ve said that how many times?” Nevertheless, every time he mentioned it the more fond you grew of him.

“Kazuuu,” you squeeze his hand “come on, we have something to do, right?”

Not letting go of your hand for even a moment he leads you along the hallway, eventually stopping outside one of the classrooms.

“So, like, you can totally say no if you want but I’d be hella happy if you helped me out with this.”

You frown slightly, a little befuddled on what kind of request he’d be asking of you. “Kazunari, you don’t have to beat around the bush. I’ll understand.”

Nodding and looking more sure of himself, Kazunari continues. “I’d like to paint you.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Don’t you already do that without asking me? I’ve seen your sketchbook, I’m totally okay with it.”

“This is different. I need to submit a painting of something or someone that’s my muse, so I wanted you as my model,” he explains, silently watching your expression change as you grasp the whole situation.

Avoiding his gaze, you look away from Kazunari. “Muse? So- so that means inspiration, right?” You stammer slightly, imagining how frazzled you must look already. “Wait I’m- are you sure it should be me? I’m not really…” you trail off, unsure of what reason you were going to give at the end.

When he says your name you look back up at his face. “I’m being legit here, you inspire me more than you know. It won’t feel right to paint anything else when you were the first thing that popped into my mind.”

Your eyes widen at his serious declaration. It’s not everyday Kazunari gives you such a straightforward and earnest compliment to that degree. Despite your initial embarrassment, your heart swelled up with joy; watching his shoulder’s ease up made you realize that he was probably waiting for a reaction out of you. At this point, it was impossible for you to reject his request.

“If you’ll still have me, then you can paint me.”

Kazunari’s eyes light up again, expressive and sparkling, before opening the classroom door to lead you inside. “Thank you, and like obvi! Why wouldn’t I wanna show off my sunshine to the world! My baby! My go-“

You let out a huff of amusement as he continued to spurt out pet names for you. Looks like he was back to normal?

When he lets go of your hand you finally take the time to absorb the room. It was obvious it was an art-centric classroom, from the numerous easels, art supplies, and artsy clutter scattered around the room. You wouldn’t have noticed such a difference between this and the other “painter occupied” rooms if it wasn’t for the set-up right smack in the middle.

It made for a pretty picture- loads of white offset by its nature orientedness. A few potted plants (you weren’t sure if they were real or not) were strategically placed along the area. The white fabric was hung and draped atop what was probably a bunch of easels used as a base frame. Similar cloths were set on the floor, a pillow placed on top.

You have a good feeling, a hunch if you will, that you were meant to stay there; if that wasn’t enough proof, an easel with a blank canvas was positioned directly in front of the space.

“When’d you even get the time to set this up? Are we even allowed to be here?” You question, a little surprised how everything has already been prepared.

“Friends from the photography dept helped me out~ Plus I’m lowkey besties with the prof so it’s ayt as long as we clean up.” He replies, grabbing one of the spare fabrics on the table.

“Can you remove your jacket?” Kazunari steps closer to you; as soon as you unzip the garment and throw it aside he wraps the plain, white material around your shoulders like a makeshift shawl or blanket.

You know it’s for the portrait, but there was something domestic about the simple act that made your heart race. He stepped back, smiling at you and looking self-accomplished.

“Huhu I can’t- my baby’s so pretty? How is this possible? Like an angel, no, a deity!”

“Kazu-“

“My venus~ wahh, I need so many pics? Do I have enough space? Do I post on InstaBlam or-”

“Kazu!” You interrupt, your cheeks flaring up in embarrassment. It was literally a white drape! Still, it was always nice when he complimented you, no matter how extra he went about it, so you didn’t have the heart to complain— after a year, you knew he was always genuine with his praise to you.

“We should probably start with the painting, right? We don’t wanna stay too late.” Kazunari perks back up and you briefly watch him choose between paintbrushes before you sit down on the floor.

How do models figure this shit out? Where does your leg go? How do you angle your face? How much tilt was too much tilt? Even the way you sat down was suddenly making you conscious— should you sit cross-legged or on your heels? Legs stretched out or tucked in?

You fidget in place, picking at the stray threads of the cloth beneath you. Should you just let Kazunari do his magic and hope he somehow makes you look good? After watching him from the corner of your eye he drops his paintbrush back in the mug.

“Beb, the vibes are off. I was being legit when I said you looked good, but you look like you’re thinking too hard.”

“Sorry, I can’t figure out what pose works.”

He crouches down in front of you, quietly looking over your awkward form. His hands take action in moving your body, nudging the arm that laid limp on your lap to lay flat against the floor behind you. Then his palms are on your legs, positioning the left thigh atop the right so that your knees faced front and the soles of your feet faced the side.

‘Okay, don’t be weird about it’ you tell yourself, despite hyper-focusing on the ghosts of Kazunari’s fingertips barely seeping through your jeans as they settle on your chin, gently moving your head to the side and tilting it downwards.

Kazunari narrows his eyes, simply staring at your face without a word being uttered. A part of you almost wants him to break into his trendy-speak again if only to give you time to shake off your sudden bashfulness.

“We Gucci! You still look distracted though… oh! Can you think about something that makes you happy?”

Maybe it was because he suggested it, or maybe it was because he’s your boyfriend— either way, the first thing that popped into your mind was Kazunari.

Settling into university was tough, but you had worked so hard to get accepted into Veludo Arts that you could look past the taxing work handed by the professors. Aside from the workload, you came to really enjoy studying here— you learned first hand how talented your peers were, and that motivated you to work harder.

During one of the campus’ exhibits your eyes were immediately drawn to the canvas with a Japanese painting style. Even from afar you could tell the artist was incredibly talented, but the closer you got the more you were able to see the tiny details and how purposeful every stroke was.

‘The devil truly is in the details’ you thought, looking at the exhibit label card beside the painting.

“Miyoshi Kazunari, 2nd-year student…” you read out loud, wondering if he had more works you could look at around the school.

“I heard my name just now~♪ Could it be, I have an admirer?” You immediately turn around to face a guy with blond hair and green eyes, keeping steady eye contact with you as he grinned.

Cute as he was, you might have totally ignored him if you hadn’t absorbed what he said.

“Hello, you’re Miyoshi-senpai, then?” You ask, trying to hide your disbelief at how he just popped up out of nowhere. Had you been staring at the painting that long that you lost awareness of your surroundings?

“The one and only~♪ You like the painting?”

Abandoning your bewilderment you immediately shifted into admiration mode. “Definitely! I thought the sparse use of colour was genius, particularly how certain parts of the painting got bolder colours than others. Not only that but the title! You think it’s literal at first, but it’s actually a double entendre! I also-“

Your rambling gets caught off by your new acquaintance chuckling, looking infinitely amused by you. You feel pinpricks on your cheeks, deliberating if you had gone too far with your praise or not.

“Kouhai, you’re so cute~♪ If you ever need help, just DM me, alrighty? I’ll always answer ya piko☆”

It had started out with you asking for his advice or to borrow materials, but somehow someway a couple of selfies and hundreds of DM stickers later the conversation shifted to topics unrelated to art.

You had eagerly begun looking forward to seeing the green circle beside his icon as he logged in to tell you about his day, whether it be something he did at Mankai or some crazy shenanigans with his friends.

Becoming close friends with Kazunari, to getting asked out by him, to dating him— you’d be lying if you said the past two years would be just as enjoyable if he wasn’t there to celebrate with you.

The sound of your name made you escape your daydream, being met with the sight of the blond in front of you.

“Were you calling me for long?” You ask, smiling as he pets you on the head.

“Nah, but aside from some deets the painting’s done now!” Even though the easel was turned to you, you still stand up to take a closer look.

Leave it up to Kazunari to make a human look so… pure? Angelic? How’d he even make you look so good? It was almost as if he had put a dreamy filter over you. As expected, even though he said there was still work to do, the tiniest of details were present— from the creases of the fabric hung behind you to the slight discolourations of the monstera plant beside you.

However, easily the most impressive thing about the whole portrait was the look on your face. The slope of your eyelashes as they shaded your eyes— averted with a faraway look to them, as though enchanted by something unseen to the viewer. The corners of your lips lifted your cheeks, a closed smile holding onto words unspoken.

So that’s what you looked like in love.

“What were you thinking of here, my muse?” Kazunari breaks the silence, and when you turn to face him you notice he’s not looking at the painting. You don’t break the eye contact.

“Were you… musing about me?” He teases, though it’s a little lacking in spirit. You don’t fail to notice— neither the lower timbre of his voice nor the gentleness of his eyes escape you.

Even with all his eccentricities, you and Kazunari aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to love.

“Yeah, I was thinking about you.”

The look on his face was something you wish you could capture in a photo or painting yourself, a medley of unpreparedness, joy, and adoration. You can’t stop your small laughter when he literally clutches his chest.

“OMG my heart, I’m so? You’re so?” He takes hold of the cloth around your shoulders and pulls you closer until the only thing you can focus on is the brilliance of his green eyes. You could look only for a few seconds as he stretched his head forward and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was sweet and inviting, not unlike the first they shared months ago. Kazunari’s lips were warm and he tasted faintly of the candy he always liked to stock in his bag. After a moment, he brings both hands up to your cheekbones, cupping your face like he was savouring you.

Then he drops his chin, breaking off the kiss and pushing you away a fraction, so he could look into your eyes.

“Sorry,” he says with a small laugh, “Just can’t believe that expression was all for me, you know?”

You pout, poking his side. “And who else would I think about? I only have one boyfriend, Kazu.”

“Oh? Does that boyfriend happen to be a good kisser?” Kazunari asks playfully, his eyes crinkling with mirth, “I bet I’d be a better kisser~”

“Is that so?” You reply with a raised eyebrow, slowly erasing the distance until you were but a breath apart from touching. “Would you like to prove it?”

The intimacy of the moment was both strange and wonderful. You tilt your chin slightly and he immediately took it as the cue to lean in and kiss you again, drawing your lower lip between his with a light suction. If the first was gentle if not a little energetic, this time he kissed with an unexpected passion and confidence.

It was clear that missing each other plus the accumulation of little moments this afternoon led to this moment.

Kazunari traces one hand over your cheek, down your shoulder, back up again. His fingers come to rest at the back of your neck, sending a slight shiver down your spine, his thumb playing idly along your jaw as he works his mouth against yours and in the back of your head you realise the fabric on your shoulders had slipped some seconds ago. Eventually, you pull yourself closer, until you were flush against him.

Kazunari releases your mouth and starts kissing down your jawline. He presses his upper body over yours as he settles in to tease and nip at your earlobe, murmuring your name, the sensation against your ear making your whole body tingle.

You could only whimper in response as he attacks the outer shell of your ear, beginning to get overwhelmed by his warmth and his smell and you burrowed against his sweater, trying to lose yourself in all of it. At this point, you were just trying to steal as much of Kazunari’s loving warmth as you could.

You tighten your grip on his clothes when he grazes his teeth against your neck; then his lips were on yours again and you readily opened up to him, swirling your tongue against his.

When the need for air came desperately, you took to a slower pace until eventually coming to a halt, loosening the grip you had on him. You don’t immediately open your eyes, collapsing against chest once more to catch your breath. You only look back up when Kazunari lets out a loud snort that turned into a fit of laughter.

“I forgot we were still on campus for a sec,” He says, gently squeezing your forearms. You step backward, making yourself look presentable, though it serves a bit of a task without a mirror to guide you.

“We should probably clean up and leave.”

Kazunari lets out a thoughtful hum, and you can already see the grin creeping upon his lips. “Yeah, we def should… unless?”

want to order again?

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 25

On the last night that Buster Collier was twenty-five, at Constance’s Santa Monica beach house, Buster got the drunkest he’d been in a long time. It was hard to say what he was out of sorts about. The melancholy seemed to have begun over the childish overalls he was wearing. All the men were wearing overalls, in fact, and the girls short pinafores with long legs all asparkle in shiny nude stockings. Jimmy and Bobby had been to a birthday party for little Thomasina Mix that afternoon at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre where all the guests were children, which had given Dutch the idea that everyone should dress like kids for Buster Collier’s birthday party. The sight of stout Peg Talmadge in a short frock with a big floppy bow on her head licking an oversized lollipop was one that he could have done the rest of his life without. But the overalls had reminded him of The Butcher Boy and he thought of Roscoe, who should have been here to enjoy the mindless merriment with everyone else. Sometimes he wondered how everyone could go on with their lives, forgetting all they owed him. 

Natalie was angry with him, so he was cooling his heels—literally—in the freezing surf of the Pacific Ocean. He struggled to remember what had gotten her so mad. He watched the water wash over his feet, which were ghost white in the light of the waning moon. They’d gone numb, but the sting of the icy water felt distant and not at all unbearable. He hummed a tune that the Henry Starr Orchestra had been playing. 

“Buster, get back inside.”

He looked up and saw Norma Talmadge heading toward him. She had a beaver-fur coat over her pinafore and her shiny black Mary Jane shoes sank into the wet sand. It was a raw night. 

“Where are your shoes and socks?” she said.

He shrugged. He’d definitely put them somewhere.

“You’ve upset Nate pretty bad.”

Indignation rankled him. “So?”

Norma fell into step beside him, just short of the licking tide. “It wasn’t a very nice thing to say.”

Buster’s head swam, but he still couldn’t remember what he’d said to make his wife so livid with him. “You’re wrecking your shoes,” he said.

“Buster,” said Norma. She tugged on his arm and stopped him. His hair had fallen forward into his eyes and she stroked it off. He closed his eyes, enjoying the touch. “Come back inside, please.”

“I don’t even remember what she’s all fussed about,” he admitted, opening his eyes again. 

“About Dutch and Buster?” she prompted.

“Oh, that’s right.” Now it came back to him. He’d made some loud remark about Buster Collier and Constance having an affair and Nate, seeing how many people were in the room to hear, pulled him aside to scold him in a quiet hiss for embarrassing her sister. He’d bawled something at her and stormed out. Neither Buster nor Constance had announced their affair yet, but it was fast becoming as obvious as Norma and Gil Roland’s. “Don’t see what the big deal is,” he said. “She’s throwing a whole damned party for him. Anyone with half an eye is gonna know what’s going on.”

“Yes, but you needn’t have been crass about it,” said Norma, frowning. Though she was just a year his senior, she had a comforting, authoritative air that sometimes made her feel as much his big sister as Natalie and Constance’s. He trusted and distrusted her in equal measures, same as he trusted and distrusted Dutch. The Talmadge sisters were fond of him, but he knew their loyalty to Natalie would always trump whatever affection they had for him.

He tried to remember why it had been so important to open his big fat mouth about Buster and Constance. He was on the verge of recalling, but the reason slithered out of his grasp. Instead, he looked down at his ghostly feet. He thought of Nelly and the lake. Only two days had passed since he had visited her at her apartment, but the memory felt years distant and like it belonged to another man. 

“Come inside. Come on,” said Norma, linking her arm with his. He fell clumsily against her, but righted himself.

The warmth of her fur-wrapped arm against his reminded him. That was it. Both Constance and Norma had now taken lovers and he had somehow ended up with the only sister who didn’t want anything to do with sex. The unfairness of it settled on him again, making him despair. 

“Apologize to Nate,” said Norma. “Make up with her.” She tugged his arm.

Buster dug his toes into the sand, resisting. His head spun with whiskey. “I don’t wanna.” 

“Don’t be childish,” she said. 

He pulled away, walking deeper into the ocean and wetting the cuffs of his overalls. “Why are you still married to Joe?” he said. “Why not marry Gil?” He didn’t expect her to answer since he was deliberately needling her, but her voice was as clear as a bell in the cold night air. 

“He’s young, isn’t he? Maybe he’s too young.”

“And Joe’s too damn old.” Farther in now, he felt shells beneath his feet. The tide hadn’t succeeded yet in washing them up on the beach. 

“Marriage isn’t always about love.” 

That remark made him stop his slow trudge into the water. As much as he had regarded Joe, still regarded him, Joe was balding, twenty years older than Norma, and far from handsome with his shapeless nose and drooping little mouth. That her marriage to him had been a business venture was an open secret. He was still surprised to hear her say it out loud. 

“I married for love,” he said, lifting his eyes to the moon. He stumbled, his head spinning. “Least I thought I did.”

“I think I see your shoes back there on that rock,” said Norma, closing the conversation.

He waded back toward the shoreline where, numb from the ankles down, he suddenly stumbled to his knees and vomited on the wet sand. When the hot clammy crawl of his flesh had faded and he’d spit the taste out of his mouth, he looked up to see Norma standing alongside him with his shoes and socks in one hand. “C’mon, Bus,” she said, holding out her other hand. “Go inside and make up.” Nelly bicycled down to Doc’s to get groceries on Sunday morning. Task accomplished, she strapped the bag with the eggs in the rear basket and put the other two bags in the front basket, then rode back up Fairfax Avenue, enjoying the warm breeze around her legs. She was thinking idly of the salad she was going to make when she got home, with chilled ham and hard-boiled eggs. The Circus was playing at the Fox Theatre a few blocks away, and she had the vague notion of treating herself to a matinee if she finished the salad and her sweeping.

Her heart hammered suddenly when she pushed her bicycle through the door of the apartment building; there was a man waiting around the corner at her front door. Before she knew what to do, he looked up at her.

It was only Buster. “God almighty, you scared me!” she said.

“Hello,” he said with a small, apologetic smile.

“What are you doing here?” she said, a familiar flush crawling over her skin as he leaned in and pecked the corner of her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He didn’t answer, but took her bicycle by the handles as she fumbled in her handbag for her key. “Thank you,” she said, pulling the key out. “Come on in.”

He walked the bicycle through the door for her and propped it against the sofa. “You are duty-bound to ignore any dust bunnies you see around here,” she gabbled, still caught off her guard. “I was going to sweep when I got home.” She grabbed the bag with the eggs and set it on the counter, and Buster followed obligingly with the other two bags. He turned to face her and it was only then she realized that he wasn’t himself. 

“Something the matter?” she said.

Buster shook his head, but he reached for her and enfolded her in his arms before she could get a chance to really study his face. She inhaled. He smelled clean, like aftershave and shampoo, but there was a sour undertone to his skin. Something was the matter, but she could tell he didn’t intend to elaborate. She stroked his back and buried her face in his neck. Another realization struck her: she’d missed him despite having seen him only three days ago. Desire also gnawed at her, but Buster didn’t seem to be in the mood, so she tried to set it aside.  

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, drawing back to kiss his cheek. 

Buster gave a half-hearted smile and stroked her cheek with a thumb. He leaned forward and kissed her, but it wasn’t a lingering kiss. 

“You’re not glum because of me, are you?” she said, insecurity getting the better of her. 

Buster shook his head. He smiled again in a tired way and kissed her. 

“You don’t have to tell me. As long as it’s not because of me. I was going to make a ham and egg salad. Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll put it together? You could help me with that darned LA Times crossword, too.”

“Alright.”

She began to unpack the groceries as Buster seated himself on the sofa. When he started to unlace his shoes, she relaxed. His unexpected appearance and strange mood were still mysteries that remained to be solved, but at least she hadn’t offended him. 

“I was thinking of going to see a matinee of The Circus. I can’t remember the last time I saw a Chaplin film,” she said. “Was the last one The Gold Rush? You know, I don’t even remember.”

“Last one was The Gold Rush,” Buster confirmed. “He’s lazy. The Gold Rush came out in ‘twenty-four. Imagine if I went four years between pictures.”

She glanced over and he was lying on the sofa on his back with the newspaper up to his face.  

“Have you seen The Circus yet?”

“Huh-uh.”

“What’s a bird of prey? It’s not hawk and it’s not eagle.”

“Down or across?”

“Down, I think.”

She set cans inside cabinets as Buster fell silent. She thought the small talk had failed, but—

“It’s falcon,” he said. 

“Oh. There were a couple others that were giving me trouble too,” she said. “There’s a ten-word Greek philosopher. Then there’s a clue that just says ‘a refrain.’ I have no idea what that one is.”

With the sacks unpacked, she folded them in half and set a pot of water to boil for the eggs. The silence with Buster was companionable and she hoped that the silly task of solving the crossword was taking his mind off of whatever was eating him. She began to dice the side of ham she’d left on the counter. “What’s a river in Russia?”

Buster didn’t reply. 

“Buster?” She looked back. He was fast asleep, head drooped to the side on the sofa pillow, the newspaper resting open on his midsection.

Nelly chopped more quietly, pitying him and wondering what the trouble was, whether he’d fought with his wife, was worried about his new picture, or vexed over something else altogether. She knew little at present about his day-to-day. At the cabin, most of his stories had been about gay parties, the outrageous things that guests had said and done when drunk, and his career in pictures. She felt like she knew Roscoe Arbuckle back to front now and every detail of what took place behind the scenes with Battling Butler to College, but not how Buster spent his time at the Villa. She could only imagine what his marriage was like. She was sure of just three things. One, he didn’t share a bed with his wife. Two, he wasn’t faithful to her and hadn’t been since at least last summer. Three, he seemed to believe they would be divorced in due time. She’d never forgotten his cynical remark about it the night of the party at the Villa when they’d been discussing Charlie Chaplin’s divorce. At the thought of Buster divorcing Natalie, Nelly clamped her mind closed. It was enough that he wanted her to be his mistress and sought out her company. She wouldn’t daydream about impossibilities.

The water in the pot boiled and she slid seven eggs into it, four for the salad, two for the dressing, and one for her breakfast tomorrow. Buster continued sleeping and she let him, glad that she could offer him some sort of respite. She washed the lettuce and softly shredded the leaves for the salad.

The eggs were cooling, the salad prepared, and Nelly curled in her armchair reading the latest issue of The Stage when Buster roused, asking in a voice thick with sleep, “What time is it?”

“Just after twelve o’clock,” she said, laying aside the magazine. 

He beckoned her with two fingers and she went to him, seating herself on the edge of the sofa. “Sorry I conked out on you,” he said, shading a yawn with his hand. 

“I didn’t mind,” said Nelly. “I think you must need the sleep.” She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. 

“Guess I must,” Buster said. His brown eyes still looked tired and a little distant, but he seemed more like himself. 

“Burning the candle at both ends?” she said, still clinging to his hand. 

He smiled. “Go ahead with your lecture.”

“Okay, I will. How much sleep do you get? You’ll wear yourself down and get ill.”

“Not as much as I should.”

Nelly pulled her legs onto the sofa and flipped around so that she was lying on top of Buster between his legs. She folded her arms across his chest, propping herself up, and he put his arms around her. His body was hard and muscled, all planes and angles. “You should get more sleep.”

“You know the last time I got any sleep worth a damn?” he said.

“No. When?”

“Those three nights with you. Slept like a baby.” He put a hand on the back of her neck and pushed, bringing her mouth down to his. 

“What are you saying?” she said, as a particular part of him twitched against her groin. 

He got serious for a moment. “Wish you could sleep over.”

“You could stay here. I wouldn’t mind, but my bed’s a little small.”

Buster shook his head, his mouth a line. “Missus expects me home at night.”

Even though she won’t let you share a bed with her. Nelly thought it, but wasn’t brave enough to say it aloud. So she said instead, “That’s too bad.”

“It is. I miss holding my Nellie Dean when I’m falling asleep.”

It was the tenderest and frankest thing he’d ever said to her, and hearing the words leave his lips, she knew beyond a doubt now that she was deeply in trouble. He’d won her heart, but his was not free to give. 

The thought evaporated as Buster’s mood turned from tender to ravenous. He began to pry at the buttons at her bodice and Nelly forgot her heart, knew only what her flesh wanted from him and was willing to give in return.

Notes: There actually was a party at Constance Talmadge’s on February 11th for Buster Collier’s birthday in which all the adults dressed as children. (The above image is reputed to be from Marion Davies’ New Year’s Eve party, so apparently costume parties where you dressed like kids were popular; there’s another image of the Talmadge women wearing kids’ clothing while posing with Peg, who appears to be on her deathbed, so it isn’t from the party in 1928.) Did Constance (”Dutch”) Talmadge have an affair with Buster Collier? Maybe. They seem to have been awful chummy around this time and I found an article from the period where they were rumored to have been engaged, though Constance denied it. I decided to run with it. The Gold Rush actually came out in 1925, but I thought it would be more realistic for Buster to get the date wrong. He did consider Chaplin lazy for the long gaps between his films. I don’t know why, but the section where Buster and Norma interact was one of my favorite scenes to write for this story so far. Other “pet” chapters include Chapter 5 and 6, and Chapter 13. Do you have any favorite chapters so far?

[shesclearlya3]

Dancing With Your Ghost p.3 (Epilogue)

pairing: Xavier Plympton x Reader

word count: 1,739

warnings: mentions of suicide, death, language, angst.

part 1 part 2

Your hands were shaking terribly as you pulled into the front gates of Camp Redwood. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt nauseous when you swung open your car door, stumbling out into the creeping darkness.

Your eyes ached from the constant crying, and your phone buzzed incessantly with calls and texts from your friends. You watched as Winter's name flashed on the screen before disappearing. You turned off your phone then; you were on a mission.

There were a few outside lamps that were working, much to your surprise. You wandered around the camp, calling out the name of your dead friends. There was no movement around you; the earth was still as you demanded answers. 

Finally, Xavier Plympton appeared, giving you a solemn look as you stood feet from each other. He was dressed in warmer clothes, his hair unkempt as you glared at him.

"y/n, I can explain."

"Explain what?" you challenged, your glare becoming increasingly sharp. "You don't even know why I'm here!"

"I know why you're here," he countered, holding his hands up. "It's all over your face. I need you to calm down."

You reached down, grabbing a random twig and launching it at him. Xavier was quick to duck, giving you a disturbed look as your chest heaved in your anger and confusion.

"I'm going crazy," you snapped, "That's the only logical explanation. I made a fool of myself in front of my closest friends. I spent so much money on gas to come up here. All for something that isn't real!" you ranted, walking in circles as Xavier silently pleaded that you'd calm down enough to talk to him. 

"You're not crazy, y/n. Please-."

You stopped at the silhouettes of Ray, Montana, Trevor, and Chet watching from a distance. At the sight of them, you almost felt your resolve slipping. If this wasn't real, why do they seem so real?

"I'm so confused..." you admitted. 

Xavier strode forward slowly, palms up, and facing you as the distance between you came to a close. He almost sighed in relief when you fell into his arms, sobbing into his light purple jacket. His sharp eyes fell on his friends who were still watching from the tree-line, all looking solemn and helpless.

"y/n, I should have told you when we met." Xavier said softly, "I'm sorry. This is all on me. You weren't supposed to see us," he glared at Montana, who only shrugged. "Most people can't accept it. That's why we hide. I didn't want this to happen to you. I should have stayed away."

You shook your head now, looking up at his much taller figure with teary eyes. "No. I don't want that."

"I need to let you go, y/n," he said, his eyes pained. "You deserve a happy life. I can't give it to you. I'm dead, we all are."

Your eyes went back to the rest, who reluctantly waved to you. You reciprocated, feeling your lips twitch. 

Xavier brought your attention back to him, and you were sad to see he was crying. "y/n, you need to forget about us. You have to go live your life. You're going to do great things, you're going to find a husband, and have babies, and die when you're one-hundred."

"Xavier, I don't want that!" you exclaimed, your voice cracking as the sky darkened. "I don't want that with someone else. I want you."

Xavier looked appalled at this, and you heard Montana whisper 'oh hell yes' from behind you. You fought the broad smile that threatened, as Xavier stared at you as if seeing you in a new light.

"y/n..." he began. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you..." he frowned. "But we can't leave the camp. We're stuck here."

You frowned, "What do you mean?"

"We're doomed to live here for the rest of time," Ray called from behind. You and Xavier both looked at him, while the others nodded in silent agreement. "We can't leave. We've tried so many times. It's fucked up, but we've learned to accept it."

It suddenly made sense to you, as you thought of your first trip back here, where Xavier escorted you to your car but stopped just before the front gate. You looked at him, and he nodded, his cheeks becoming wet.

"Oh..." you said. 

"Oh, is right," Montana called. 

"You're all dead..." you said, before laughing dryly, "I'm in love with a ghost."

Xavier's eyes snapped towards you, and for the first time since you got here, he smiled. "I'm in love with a human, we're both royally fucked."

You laughed, before leaning forward and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. Xavier froze for a millisecond before he kissed you back. You could hear Ray and Chet making gagging noises, but you tuned them out when Xavier's soft lips made you feel weak in the knees. 

You pulled away after a minute, and Xavier looked more upset than ever. You went to speak, only to hear the voice of someone you didn't recognize.

"How sweet!" the voice chirped, and you turned, seeing a woman with pinned up blonde hair. Xavier immediately pushed you behind him, and the others ran to you, standing protectively next to Xavier. "Young love, I almost miss it myself."

"Fuck off, you bitch!" Montana shouted at her, her small hands fisting at her sides. "You're on our territory, remember that."

"Oh please, I come in peace," Margaret taunted, holding her hands up as she took a few steps closer. The documentary fresh in your mind, you immediately realized it was Margaret Booth, who didn't look a day over forty. You wondered if she was dead, too. "I say just make it official, pretty boy. Kill her and let her stay here." 

Your eyes widened at Trevor, Ray, and Chet screamed interesting things her way you'd rather not repeat - while Xavier and Montana looked at you. 

"You're a wretched woman!" Ray snapped, pointing the finger at Margaret. 

"Or I could just do it for you?" Margaret continued, smirking at each of them before her cold eyes settled on you. "y/n, is it?"

"Don't talk to her," Xavier whispered to you, his arm slithering around your waist. His hold on you was tight and extremely comforting. 

"Why not, Xavier?" she asked, "I've heard you talk about her almost every fucking night, and it's revolting listening to you. I've killed myself just to block it out."

Your heart fluttered, hearing that he talked about you, but you didn't like the condescending way Margaret was staring at you; her whole vibe was off, and you hated everything about her.

You screamed when a figure with dark hair and sunglasses appeared behind Margaret, stabbing her in the throat from behind. Her eyes widened; her scream stuck in her throat before she fell forward, dead. The others sighed in relief, and Xavier's hold on you tightened.

"God, I hate her!" the mystery man groaned, wiping the bloody knife with a bandanna. "Peace." he saluted the group before he disappeared.

Your mouth was hanging open as the others went to heave her body away. "Who in the fuck was that!?" you asked Xavier.

"He's nobody," Xavier said quickly, his voice uncomfortable. "He doesn't like me very much... y/n, it's not safe here anymore", he said, refusing to meet your eyes. "You need to leave."

"I already told you, I'm not-."

"y/n!" Xavier said, his face so close to yours you could feel his minty breath on your face. "Please, don't make this harder than it has to be." 

It was just the two of you now, and you could feel the anger resurfacing. "What is with everyone trying to tell me what is best for me?" you asked, starting to pace again. "First, everyone is telling me to stop talking about you and trying to convince the others you're real. Second, people are telling me to focus on my future and getting the fuck out of California. And now, you're telling me we can't be together!?"

"y/n, do you not understand what you're asking for?" Xavier asked, "I can't give you what you want! I'm dead!" 

"But this is real!" you cried out, sniffling. "What I feel for you is real, Xavier Plympton! I'm tired of pretending that I'm happy when I'm not with you. I don't know my life anymore..." you said softly, seeing Xavier's face soften. 

"y/n..." Xavier said, his brows furrowing as you placed a hand on his cheek. "You have to understand if you choose me... You have to stay here. Forever."

You realized what he was saying, and you felt your stomach churn uncomfortably. 

Xavier continued quickly, "Which is why I need you to forget about me, y/n," he said. "I'd never forgive myself for doing this to you."

You nodded, feeling like you could maybe accept this after a few bottles of wine. However, you were sober, and you didn't want to admit that you'd never be able to move on from him. Your thoughts would be plagued by Xavier, Montana, the others, and Camp Redwood for the rest of your life. 

"I love you, Xavier..." you said. His eyes lightened as he smiled weakly, tears forming in both of your eyes now. "But, you sending me away would kill me more than having to spend the rest of eternity with you, literally dead."

He sighed deeply, and you could tell that you were somewhat getting through to him. 

"What am I going to do with you, y/n?" he asked, his tone gentle and teasing. 

You smiled, falling into his embrace as Xavier held your body close. He watched over your head as Montana returned, giving him a reassuring smile. 

"How about this?" Xavier asked, still hanging onto you. "I think you should take a few days and see where you are then," he said, shushing you as you pulled back to protest. "You don't realize how serious this is, y/n," he said. "Please, promise me you'll at least sleep on it. And then, if you still want to be with me, we'll figure something out."

You knew this was the best deal you could get, and you nodded. Xavier seemed relieved, and he pressed a kiss to your head as you allowed yourself to melt into his chest.

No matter what happens, you knew this is where you belonged.

taglist: (feel free to ignore, and if i missed anyone please let me know, i have a bad memory)

@the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne@langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864@sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan@imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69@brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes@zodiyack @bitchchatter @guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess​  @aangrana  @thexmancometh @wtfcas​ @pleasforhelp​ @everythinggshipp​

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 10- Year 1: May

(ao3 link)

“Professor?” Anakin tentatively pushed the door open, he’d been in Professor Palaptine’s office a handful of times this year, but it was still a little unsettling to see jars of eyes and toes dotted around the room.

“Anakin, my child,” Palaptine smiled turning from where he was browsing the spines of old texts in the corner of the room, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well,” Suddenly he wondered if this had been a good idea after all, but his professor was still smiling at him, waiting for an answer so Anakin just walked further into the room letting the door fall behind him, “I guess I wanted to say thanks, for saving me from Win- the kidnapper,” He figured it was always best to start with a heavy dose of flattery, “I bet you could have won,” Palpatine sat down behind his desk gingerly, likely he was still feeling a twinge or two of pain.

“I believe you’ve already thanked me, my boy,” He smiled and waved towards the ornate chair across from him. Anakin scrambled to do as he was asked and he was rewarded with a soft chuckle, “I appreciate such kind words, but you should never underestimate your adversaries,” He seemed to speak from experience, but it was hard for Anakin to imagine such a sweet professor ever having too many opponents, “Now, I believe you’ve really come for another map,” Anakin’s eyes widened and he leaned forwards on his chair.

“How did you know?” He gasped and then rather excitedly continued, “Do you have another?”

“I’m afraid not,”Anakin felt himself frown, perhaps he’d permanently lost the most important item he’d ever been given, besides his wand of course.

“Great, and I doubt the Headmaster’s keen on returning it,” Anakin grumbled.

“Never fear,” Palpatine just reached towards the drawer on his desk, “There’s no real loss, perhaps combining our efforts, we can make a new one,” Anakin leaned forward curiously as Palpatine spread out a piece of parchment on his desk. It was blank which was disappointing, but Palpatine just pulled his wand out and tapped gently in the center.

“If you know how to make them, why not make more,” Anakin looked up curiously, “You could sell them and make money,” Palpatine only smiled and shook his head.

“It’s dangerous for everyone to have such knowledge of the castle,” He explained, “Plus, nothing truly comes without cost, you must learn this,” And Palpatine tapped his wand to the side of his head pulling out a strand of silver, a memory or a thought perhaps and dropped it onto the page, it seemed to dissolve into the very paper and it formed shimmery silver lines for the castle walls.

“Woah!” Anakin picked it up and turned it every which way, “It’s an exact match, besides the color! But, where’s the people? We should be there,” He set the map back down and pointed at Palpatine’s office.

“As I said, my boy,” Palpatine just smoothed the map back out and smiled at the boy, “Nothing comes without a little sacrifice. I sacrificed a memory of walking through the castle halls,” Anakin frowned, he didn’t know he was asking his professor to give something like a memory up for him and then it dawned on him what likely Palpatine was insinuating.

“I have to give up a memory?” Anakin hesitated, “What if it’s something I want to remember?” It would likely have to be from his year at Hogwarts since the map was inherently part of the school, and despite the transgressions that befell him, he didn’t exactly want to forget anything.

“Correct, you’re a very bright boy,” Palpatine nodded towards the paper, “Don’t fret, it’s easiest to pick a simple memory, something you needn’t miss. Something unmemorable will do as long as it holds impressions of your fellow students and professors,” Anakin considered his options. His first thought was a Quidditch match, but he quite liked those and didn’t really want to forget about them, but one of his classes seemed too small.

“What about a dinner in the great hall,” Anakin asked and Palpatine nodded.

“That would be a wonderful choice Anakin,” He picked up his wand and Anakin did the same, “Just think about the memory you chose very hard and channel its energy towards the tip of your wand,” Anakin moved to copy Palpatine’s pose, “And say, memoria recepta!”

“Memoria Recepta!” Anakin called, slowly he drew his wand away from his head, a silver string following his movement. It was an odd feeling to remove a memory, it reminded him of peeling the glue off his fingers in school only to feel such a thing in the mind was entirely different. He admired it in the air, following his wand like a magnet, it was beautiful as he felt a person's memories should be.

Finally, he let it fall from the tip of his wand. It hit the parchment and feathered out. As the silver thought dissolved impressions of people began to pop up around the map. He looked and sure enough he and Palpatine had appeared in the office just as they should.

“Excellent, my child!” Palpatine praised him, he tapped his wand to the map, “Mischief Managed,” It faded back just as the original had, “Now see to it that you don’t lose it again, I may have plenty of memories to spare at my age, but you don’t have quite as many,” Anakin laughed gleefully, taking the parchment from Palpatine’s outstretched hand.

“Don’t worry I’d really rather not lose this again!”

***

Cody burst through the Great Hall doors with the glowing enthusiasm that only held one true reasoning. Usually, his two best friends were quick on the uptake to his excitement, but when he shoved himself between Breha and Bail to position himself across from them, neither seemed to even notice.

“Good morning, Cody.” Despite her greeting, Satine had the disposition that it was anything but good. 

Deciding to lean towards the air of cheerfulness, Cody beamed, “That, it is, Satine. That it is.”

“What’s got you so peppy?” Kenobi yawned, though regardless of the bags under his eyes and the slouch in his posture, Cody could tell he was at least trying to take the bait.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He pointed at the jersey he donned every post-Quidditch Sunday. 

Both sets of blue eyes scrutinized him and then the jersey a couple of times before Satine’s eyes widened suddenly and Kenobi dropped his fork, “Oh no.”

Now, it was Cody’s turn to be shocked, “Don’t tell me you missed it?”

Seriously, leave it to him to find the two people in all of Hogwarts that didn’t care much for Quidditch. Had he turned to any other student in the castle, he’d receive the shared hype that he so passionately felt.

“We were up studying all night!” Kenobi hastily explained, “Truthfully, I don’t even think we left the library until Qui-Gon quite literally sought us out and sent us to bed.”

“We’ve really gotten behind with the pending investigations and increased patrols.” She added, “I’m not even sure how we missed it.”

“Me neither.” Kenobi sagged a bit and fixed him with a sullen stare, “I’m sorry, mate.”

“I feel awful.” Satine rubbed her tired eyes and then frowned, “Some friends we are.”

Cody frowned and tilted his head at the two before it dawned on him and he barked out a laugh, “You know it was Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, right?”

Just as they had before, the two prefects had to double-take for a second; this time taking in the vibrancy of the entire great hall before slouching forward in shared relief.

“Oh, thank God.” Satine breathed and then flared at Cody, “Why, pray tell, didn’t you start with that? I thought we missed a match that matter-“

She winced as she finally caught Breha and Bail’s sharp stares.

“Mattered to Gryffindor.” She quickly amended and avoided their gazes as she turned back to Cody, “Who won?

“First of all, all Quidditch matters to Gryffindor. Because had Slytherin not pulled back in a surprise upset, they’d be a laughing stock.”

Breha, who was easily Hufflepuff’s one and only star player, grunted something under her breath about cheating Slytherin and Cody gave her a sympathetic look.

“Hey, don’t think I missed that killer head block you made. Not sure how that didn’t knock your lights out completely, but if not for you it would have been a bloodbath.”

That seemed to placate the Hufflepuff even if only slightly and she played with her French toast on her plate, “Honestly, knowing Ventress, that was probably her intent.”

“Slytherin is playing meaner than usual this year.” Kenobi agreed and Satine seemed to stiffen at that.

“Which will make their defeat for the cup all the sweeter.” Cody clenched his fist triumphantly, “Now that we’ve got Anakin back, there’s no stopping us against you nerds.”

Kenobi nodded,”I’m sure Anakin will appreciate the distraction from recent events.”

“And you two will too!” He encouraged and stuffed some eggs into his mouth, “Which is why I’m going to break down the entire match for you. Play by play.”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.” Breha said as she pushed to her feet, “As much as I’d love to relive such an upset, I have patrol. There’s always next year, I suppose.”

Bail smiled and nodded at them before dutifully following his girlfriend.

“It’s amazing we have other friends.” Satine commented with a smirk, “We are quite insufferable.”

Cody shrugged, “If they can’t take the heat, they better stay out of the kitchen. Anyway, let’s first start with how lop-sided Hufflepuff’s lineup is…”

***

The Ravenclaw table was louder than usual and Satine tried to turn away from them so she could continue reading out of the massive tome she’d dragged down from the library. So much of the year was being spent on misadventures and uncovering crime and she felt that if she wasted even a single moment outside of school work or prefect business, she was going to fall behind in her studies. O.W.L.s were just a month away and she was determined to pass with the highest grades possible. She may not be competitive on a level that Cody was, but there was always something so satisfying about seeing how she measured up at the end of the year.

“Satine!” Aayla Secura sat down with a thump in Ben’s usual spot, which did give her enough of an excuse to let her eyes stray from the text if only for a moment, “Come on, it’s a Quidditch day! You can study after the game,” She gave a half hearted attempt to tug the book away from her, but it was weighty enough that it hardly budged.

“Oh right,” Satine gazed around the room, noticing the Ravenclaw team wearing their Quidditch jumpers discussing tactics in whispers and the Gryffindor team egging on the Fett twins as they tried to see how many pieces of bacon they could fit in their mouths at once.

“Don’t tell me you forgot, Kenobi’s been glum all week,” She joked as she pointed to where he stuck out like a sore thumb, one spec of blue in the sea of Gryffindor red. Aayla frowned, “He better be over there gathering intel and not spilling our secrets.”

“I really doubt he’s over there for either,” Stass squeezed in between Aayla and Satine. She scrunched her nose up at the book in front of her, “What even is this? Is this written in Latin?”

“No,” Satine rolled her eyes, “It’s just old,” She turned to look at Ben, he was sitting a few seats away from Anakin, likely not trying to crowd him, but he definitely looked concerned. She wanted to chalk it up to the fact that Anakin had only recently been let out of counseling, but as if he could feel her eyes on him, he looked at her with a sort of concerned, questioning look.

“Oooh! He caught you staring!” Aayla cackled.

“He’s coming over,” Stass stood, pulling Aayla up with her, “Guess we’ll leave you two, alone.”

“No need for your dramatics,” Satine rolled her eyes and didn’t mention that she often felt like they were alone when they locked eyes.

Satine stood and met him halfway between the house tables, before turning and walking with him out of the great hall. If something was bothering him this severely, she’d rather like to speak to him without the audience of the entire student body. Though in the hallway was a similarly concerned looking Qui-Gon Jinn and Satine pulled gently on Ben’s arm to slow him to a stop.

“I’m missing something here, what is it?” She looked between the two of them.

“Well, Anakin could be in danger,” Ben pointed out.

“Is in constant danger,” Qui-Gon amended.

“You don’t think the suspect would be brave enough to try something at the match, do you?” Satine caught on quickly, “They’d be outed rather quickly.”

“He likely didn’t think that his kidnapping plot would be uncovered,” Ben countered, “I’m worried he’ll be desperate enough to try.”

“So what do you need me to do?” Satine asked, “I assume Qui-Gon will be watching Professor Windu from close quarters?” Qui-Gon nodded, but didn’t get a chance to speak on the matter.

“If you helped Qui-Gon keep an eye on things I’d really appreciate it,” Ben looked at her with grateful eyes and she had to nod to break through the trance they put her under.

“Of course, as long as you pay enough attention to not fall out of the sky again,” She chastised and he looked offended, but Qui-Gon laughed.

“Well my students,” He pushed them gently moving their little group outside, “I suppose Satine and I should go select our good vantage points.”

***

Obi-Wan was already pushing his way past his teammates the moment he saw Anakin peer into their locker room with nervous eyes. Even if he hadn’t almost expected something like this, he was getting used to spotting Anakin’s messy hair from halfway across the school.

“We’re still having a meeting here!” Was called after him, but frankly he couldn’t bring himself to care about such trivial matters like Quidditch. If Cody was going to steamroll them, then it would happen, as it had many times before.

“Anakin, what is it?” He whispered frantically the moment he was out from under the soundproof charm, “Did something happen?”

“You don’t have to treat me like a child!” Anakin complained, though it was hard not to when Anakin was yet to be close to any sort of growth spurt, “I just. What happens if he tries to attack me? He could enchant my broom like Krell did to you, or get a bludger to follow me around, or do that chain magic and drag me off my broom-” Obi-Wan put both his hands up.

“Anakin, calm down,” Though it was hypocritical given how Obi-Wan hadn’t stopped having the same concerns the whole morning, “We’ve got Satine and Qui-Gon in the stands keeping an eye out, if Windu so much as moves Qui-Gon will be there. As for the field, I’ll be up there and if I see something go wrong… well, you’re more important to me than the match, alright?” Anakin nodded, but still didn’t look very convinced, still Obi-Wan started to walk him back to the Gryffindor locker room.

“I don’t even want to play,” It was said so quietly Obi-Wan was sure it wasn’t meant for him to hear.

“If you’re really that concerned, I can talk to Cody,” Obi-Wan suggested, but Anakin shook his head. He wasn’t sure then what else he could do to fix the problem. Anakin just brushed through the entrance to the Gryffindor locker room without another word. Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, before sticking his own head inside.

It was practically the same as the Ravenclaw team’s except rather obviously the color. Cody was giving more of a pep talk than a tactics meeting, but stopped near instantly when he realized he was being watched.

“Oi! Coming to spy Kenobi?” Cody spun on him faster than he’d expected, but rather than indulging his friend’s competitive spirit he fixed Cody with his firmest glare.

“A word, Captain Quidditch?” He swept a hand towards the field and Cody eyed him with a rather ridiculous amount of scrutiny before nodding to Caleb Dume to take over, “Was that show really necessary?” Obi-Wan complained as they walked a little ways away for some better privacy.

“Had to let my team know I’m not trying to swap secrets with the enemy,” Cody pointed out with a grin, “Which I’m not if that’s what you’re here for,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Cody, I’ve been one of your best friends since first year, they’re aware,” He reminded him, “I’m here about Anakin,” Cody’s easy smile fell into a troubled frown.

“Is everything ok?” He asked and Obi-Wan gave a hesitant shrug.

“He’s afraid somethings going to happen at the match,” He explained, “I’ve got Qui-Gon and Satine planted in the stands-”

“So you think somethings going to happen?” Cody looked more concerned at the thought.

“I’d rather be prepared,” Obi-Wan sighed, “I’m going to try to keep an eye on Anakin from my end of the field. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate as captain-”

“I’ll have none of that,” Cody interrupted, “A good captain- no, a good teammate looks out for his mates. I’ll keep an eye out,” Though Obi-Wan wanted to thank him for it, he knew Cody wasn’t much for such things.

“Go easy on him,” He said instead, before moving to head back towards the Ravenclaw section, “And good luck.”

“You’re the one who’ll need the luck, Kenobi!”

***

Anakin was flinching at everything. Had he not been high up in the air it would have been less of a problem, but at this rate he was going to be the cause of his own fall rather than anything Windu might try. He’d missed nearly every shot he’d taken and he half expected that Cody would have taken him out of the game already, but his captain only glanced at him occasionally and focused on calling things out to his fellow chasers.

He was determined at the very least to make some sort of redeeming shot, though he was sure Cody wouldn’t kick him off the team for this, even if just as a favor to Obi-Wan. He scanned the field and looked for an opening. The chasers were fighting for the Quaffle in the middle of the field, which meant targeting his mentor was out of the question, and he really couldn’t get a clear shot on the enemy team. Ravenclaw’s seeker was hovering a little too close to the Gryffindor hoops for Anakin’s liking. In fact, he seemed to be drifting to the left steadily. Anakin frowned, he wasn’t an expert on seekers, but it seemed like a weird position for them to be in. If they weren’t very lucky they could even get pelted with the quaffle or accidentally cause a foul.

Then he saw the glimmer of gold, about 2 feet away from the Ravenclaw seeker and Anakin realized what was going on. Frantically, he turned to look for a bludger, but panicked as one was already pelting straight towards him. He hit it hard, eyes closed, and flinched at the sound of sudden cheering.

He slowly opened his eyes. Blue and Silver confetti was raining down on the field. The Ravenclaw seeker was holding up the golden snitch with pride and the rest of the Ravenclaws were cheering with a feriosity. Anakin felt guilt well up inside, he couldn’t even look at the rest of his team, just descended from the air like a bullet.

They may have lost, and it was a rather sour defeat, but Anakin was ready more than ever to catch Windu in the act. Even if only to allow himself to exist with a little more piece of mind.

***

Upon hearing of Anakin’s reasoning for being so afraid during their Quidditch match, Obi-Wan instantly knew where to take that information. His own fears dissolved as he entered Qui-Gon’s office without knocking- a clear indication that he was too focused to worry over decorum. This wasn’t lost on his favorite professor and mentor as he looked up to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze with equal parts concern and curiosity. 

“Obi-Wan, what do I extend the-”

“-Something must be done about Windu.”

Any calm disposition dropped from Qui-Gon instantly, “What happened?”

“Nothing. Yet.” Obi-Wan was sure to emphasize this with great intensity, “And seeing as I don’t want to allow another step of misfortune to bestow him and I don’t believe you do either, I think we must take matters in our own hands as clearly the Headmaster is not going to.” He said, raising his chin as he said it to deflect any possible argument, though none came.

“I see.” Qui-Gon leaned his chin on folded hands as he considered this, “I still cannot see Mace doing such a thing.”

“Clearly, it’s someone from within the castle.” Obi-Wan insisted, “A powerful wizard, at that. Who else could torture and maintain the Zillo Beast for all this time? Plus, we can round up all the evidence in the world and it still doesn’t stop the fact that for as long as we let this person go-”

“-You mistake my comment as a dispute. I, too, hold your belief that we can no longer ignore Anakin’s theory. After all, he is still the only person to spend extensive time with this mysterious foe.”

Obi-Wan released a sigh, feeling his shoulders relax from gripping onto tension he didn’t even realize had built up since his conversation with Anakin.

“I’m sorry, Qui-Gon.” He took a seat across from him, folding his robe beneath him, “It’s possible I am also still riled up from his kidnapping.”

“Perhaps you could also use counseling.” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully.

Obi-Wan shook his head adamantly, “Let’s please focus on Anakin, for now. He’s the one who endured such a traumatic experience. I’d just really like to be proactive in preventing the next one.”

“I would too.” Qui-Gon admitted and then smiled, “But we all need a little help every now and then.”

“Which is why I came to you.” Obi-Wan asserted. “I could never stop an evil wizard on my own.”

“You're stronger than you believe, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon smiled, but moved to stand, “However, I was not solely referring to you. I think we could benefit from having a second set of eyes, particularly a set with ample amounts of experience detecting dark magic.”

Obi-Wan had naturally (and wrongfully) assumed that Qui-Gon meant Headmaster Yoda. In spite of his small stature, the little green wizard was the only one amongst them to have fought a sith in his lifetime. However, they walked swiftly past the entrance to the headmaster’s office and onwards. He guessed it would be too simple to involve the most powerful wizard in the school. 

Then again, Yoda was quite close with Windu. Surely, Yoda couldn’t be involved. Right?

“What would he want with Anakin, anyway?” Obi-Wan asked finally. “He’s just a boy.”

When he received no answer- not even a spew of philosophical theories that he’d come accustomed to- he looked up and over at his mentor. His face was set in a focused frown and his eyes were staring straight ahead as though he intended on piercing whatever crossed him.

Whatever it was, Obi-Wan had already deduced it wasn’t good, but the thought still plagued him.

After all, Anakin had mentioned that his kidnapper drew blood from him. To what purpose could that fulfil?

His second suspicion had been Professor Dooku’s office, which of course, was where they ended up. Dooku was easily the second strongest wizard in the entire school- only second to Yoda, himself, and had spent many years as an Auror and then professor. Not to mention, as head of Ravenclaw house, it did seem pertinent that he at least be a little involved if they were to come up with a plan. 

His door was already cracked open and the traces of dim lighting echoed off the pale stone walls that lined the small corridor that would eventually lead into the main room. While Obi-Wan would never enter Dooku’s office without knocking, Qui-Gon held no such qualms of doing so and marched ahead without hesitance. 

Upon entering and reaching the end of the small corridor, they immediately noticed they were interrupting something. Specifically, an unpleasant meeting at that. Obi-Wan could have guessed this solely by the only other person in the room being Asajj Ventress, but there was also the clear displeasure that was written over every one of Dooku’s hardened features. 

“I strongly advise you to hesitate before making such a frivolous mistake again, Miss Ventress.” He said thickly, “Lest there be stricter consequences.”

“My sincerest apologies, Professor.”

Even more shocking, Ventress actually looked guilty at his words and sagged her shoulders a bit. This display of vulnerability did not lessen the discontent of his stare.

It was only then that Qui-Gon decided to knock. Though there was no door or frame to do so, which resulted in the borderline comedic display of Qui-Gon gently tapping his knuckles against a marble bust. 

“Qui-Gon! Obi-Wan!” If Dooku cared much for having his meeting interrupted, he didn’t give any indication of this. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He seemed to perk up at their intrusion rather than recoil. Perhaps it was Qui-Gon’s being there, because while he never felt disliked by Professor Dooku, he never imagined seeing him so pleasant at his arrival.

“Dooku!” Qui-Gon smiled jovially and took two long steps forward to lean over the desk and grasped his welcoming hand in a firm shake. “So sorry to barge in without notice.”

“Oh, posh.” Dooku waved his other hand dismissively and then side-eyed Ventress, “I was just finishing up.”

Ventress turned her head sharply to the side before taking that as her cue to leave, but on her way out, was sure to purposefully shove past Obi-Wan with enough force to send him to the side.

“So, that’s where Skywalker learned to take a hit.” She taunted before storming the rest of the way out of the office. 

“That’ll be 5 points from Slytherin for that display.” Dooku called after her with indifference before turning back to Qui-Gon, “So, how may I be of service?”

Qui-Gon paused by giving Obi-Wan a silent look to ask if he was alright and then sighed, “As always, I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Surely, we’ve had some good times.” Dooku jested dryly, “I reckon I’ve had a good laugh while reeling you in from your latest conspiracy theories.”

“And you may have to draw me back from another.” Qui-Gon winced, “Because I have strong enough reason to suspect that Mace might not be completely forward with his intentions these days.”

Dooku raised his eyebrows and stroked his snowy beard thoughtfully, “Is that so?”

“Anakin has firmly stated on multiple occasions that he believes his captor, the Zillo Beast imprisoner, is Mace Windu.” Qui-Gon kept his voice low, “And as much as I do not want to believe that a colleague and friend could be behind this, what other choice do we have when someone is clearly targeting the boy and we have been unable to protect him?”

Dooku flickered his dark eyes to Obi-Wan, considering him for the first time during their exchange, “And you share these thoughts, Obi-Wan?”

“I share the belief that it’s possible.” He said, trying not to sound stupid in front of his head of house. Despite knowing that any friend of Qui-Gon’s should be trustworthy, there was always something intimidating about Dooku. “And that Anakin deserves to have his fears investigated properly.”

“I agree.” Dooku said, “Perhaps keeping a firmer eye on Windu could be useful. It’s only a matter of time before a monster such as this feels the need to strike again. I’m sure he’s quite bitter that he failed the first few times.”

He then tightened his fingers in a fist, “Anakin, thankfully… Is a very slippery little boy.”

“And powerful.” Qui-Gon said with a nod, “Which is why my other beliefs still stand.”

“In due time, Qui-Gon Jinn.” Dooku sighed, “For now, I believe it is wise that we construct a specific plan on when to perform this stakeout.”

“Every night, I’d think.” Obi-Wan interjected to his own surprise. “Otherwise, we’re not going to know when to catch him in the act.”

“Anakin should be there.” Qui-Gon said. 

“Involving the boy could be dangerous.” Dooku said.

“It’s already dangerous, Dooku.” Qui-Gon shook his head, “Besides, if you think he’s not going to go right ahead and do it anyway, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I suppose you have a point there,” He said tightly. “Figuring out this attacker's motives with the boy would likely prove to be unpredictable.”

“It has to be the workings of the Sith.” Qui-Gon said quietly. “Who else would be so adept at working in the shadows? It’s the prophecy, I tell you.”

“What prophecy?” Obi-Wan asked eagerly. 

“You know I share your interest in the fixations of the future.” Dooku ignored him and stood to polish the long golden sword with a ruby hilt that hung beside the bookshelf in front of him, “But a true Sith would never act unless the opportunity presented itself. You would not be able to properly supervise Anakin should you want to draw him out.”

“I cannot risk that. He will be my primary responsibility,” Qui-Gon said with placating hands raised slightly. However, this gesture  didn’t seem to relax Dooku in the slightest. 

“Very well.” He practically forced out, “That is how it will be done then. I will observe the tunnels to ensure no one gets in. If there’s one sith temple beneath Hogwarts, surely there are other hidden nooks and crannies.”

“I appreciate your help, Dooku.” Qui-Gon said kindly, “I know we don’t always agree, but your guidance and insight has always been valuable to me.”

“You’re a good man, Qui-Gon.” Dooku said firmly, “Our main priority is to keep our children safe.”

“And what of me?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You have enough to worry about.” Qui-Gon said.

“OWL’s are approaching, young man.” Dooku added.

“I am fully capable of doing both.” He said indignantly.

“Capable, perhaps, but also unnecessary.” Qui-Gon said sternly, “You will not be tagging along when you have enough duties to tend to. In fact, you should be heading to bed now, last I checked.”

He looked between the two of them like he was begging between two parents, but then remembered he wouldn’t even be doing that with his own parents. Also, while the wisest, both wizards were increasingly more stubborn with age.

“Fine. I won’t tag along.”

But he would possibly start his own investigation.  

***

Anakin was never really that fond of waiting games. He considered himself much more of a man of action. However, he knew that to catch Mace Windu in the act, waiting around would be the only way. He hadn’t revealed himself at the Quidditch match and although Anakin was happy to have made it out alive, he knew this meant that Windu was trying to hide again. This time though, he had real back up. He and Qui-Gon had spent plenty of time in the halls after hours, trying to catch him sneaking around. Professor Dooku was helping out too, he took watch over the tunnels very seriously, in fact, Anakin hadn’t seen him around for a few nights. Rex, while discouraged from tagging along, had his back when it came to charms classes, glaring rather purposely at Windu every time he looked over to them. Still, the night was quiet and Anakin was bored.

“How long is this going to take?” He complained under his breath, and though he hadn’t been expecting Qui-Gon to answer the professor looked over at him in amusement.

“We’ve barely been at it three days, Anakin,” He reminded him, “Mace tends to keep to himself, so it’s not surprising we haven’t seen him leave his office yet. In due time, evil will be revealed,” Whether that was a one off comment or another casually quoted prophecy, Anakin just shrugged.

“Obi-Wan said you wouldn’t let him come,” He asked, not wanting to lapse back into silence.

“He’s in his fifth year,” Qui-Gon pointed out, “He needs to focus on his O.W.L.s.”

“In case you forgot, Obi-Wan’s pretty much the smartest guy in the school,” Anakin grumbled, “I’m pretty sure he could get straight O’s in his sleep,” Qui-Gon smiled rather fondly at the statement.

“Maybe so, but he still needs some time to study,” Anakin didn’t quite agree, plus Obi-Wan had been involved in this investigation from the start. He wondered how long it would take before the prefect showed up of his own accord, but maybe he respected Qui-Gon too much to break the rule. He found his mentor hard to read.

Anakin was about to come up with another possible topic of conversation, when they heard the creaking of an opening door. Qui-Gon quickly put a finger to his lips and a hand on Anakin’s shoulder as a quiet request to stay put. Qui-Gon himself stood up and walked around the corner like he hadn’t been planted there for the past few hours.

“Mace! Lovely to see you this evening,” Though he couldn’t see the exchange from around the corner, Anakin could imagine it. No doubt Mace was unhappy to have been caught so quickly in whatever he’d been attempting to do. It did make Anakin think, how were they to truly catch him in the act if they couldn’t even subdue him fully in the forest. Still, this time at least they were at the school where surely they’d be able to find more wizards if needed.

“Qui-Gon, you’re out rather late this evening,” Mace spoke it as a question, though Anakin wasn’t sure Qui-Gon ever actually slept.

“I see Qui-Gon’s planning to talk his way through this investigation,” The deep tone from behind him made him jump, but as he turned around it was only Dooku looking as stony faced as ever.

“Well, Windu hardly ever comes out of his office,” Anakin pointed out after getting over his initial fear, “We need to make the most of what we can,” He had to resist the urge to peer around the corner, “Plus, if he can get close enough, he can tag him with a tracker,” Anakin showed Dooku the small sticky piece of parchment that Qui-Gon had whipped up for them.

“Perhaps,” Dooku answered simply, “I’ve only come to let him know the tunnels are secured for the evening, tell him when he gets back from fraternizing,” Dooku let a heavy hand sit on Anakin’s shoulders. Through his shirt he felt the cold of a ring and suddenly felt his body buzz with adrenaline. He looked over very slowly at the hand, there was a heavy looking ornate ring, one that looked eerily familiar.

“Where are you going?” Anakin managed to ask, “I thought you were supposed to monitor the tunnels.”

“Prior engagement,” Dooku answered stiffly, “It’s not the business of a first year,” But perhaps it was his business, because as Dooku removed his hand and walked back the way he came, Anakin realized that Mace Windu had never worn a ring, he wasn’t much one for such material things, but Dooku seemed to think much the opposite by his office alone.

Dooku had been at the Christmas party when he’d been poisoned and Dooku had known enough about the Zillo Beast to help stop it. Dooku had never shown any particular favoritism or lack thereof like Windu had, but he certainly had been at all the right places at all the right times. Still, it felt like it was quite a leap to take, especially since Qui-Gon had trusted him with their plans, or perhaps Dooku had tricked them into trusting him so he could continue to weasel his way out of their suspicions.

Anakin ran.

He pulled out his map, tapping it until he could track Dooku’s footsteps. He stayed back, not wanting to be caught prematurely, until Dooku entered his office. Anakin crept forward enough to listen and looked through the keyhole. Dooku reached into a silver ornate vase, grabbing a handful of dust and stepped into the fireplace. He tossed it down without a moment's pause and called for the Ministry of Magic.

Anakin practically fell into his office the moment the professor disappeared. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste, he only knew he needed to follow Dooku. If he was right about this, who knew what sorts of things he was out doing. Thinking faster than he normally would have, he grabbed some poor students' homework and flipped it over.

‘Followed Dooku, Ministry of Magic, he’s the bad guy!’

And he stuck the tracker Qui-Gon had given him to the corner of the page. He hoped it would be sufficient, but he didn’t have time to consider anything else. He grabbed a handful of powder and tried to copy how he’d done this with Qui-Gon for winter break.

“Ministry of Magic!”

***

With the lifting of student curfews so that everyone could have more time to study, it was fairly easy for Obi-Wan and Satine to remain unnoticed by professors and ghosts at such a late time of night, especially since they were currently positioned in their usual seats in the library. When the prying eyes of younger students passed and everyone tended to their own business, Obi-Wan finally felt safe enough to pull out the roll of parchment he’d been saving. He left it rolled beside him. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re doing this in the library.” He said.

“Not really. This is where we usually are.” She shrugged and he tried not to notice for the millionth time that evening that she wasn’t dressed in her usual Hogwarts uniform, but a comfortable t-shirt and jeans. Briefly, he felt out of place for dressing so formally to study, but she hadn’t commented on it. 

He leaned in, keeping his voice at whisper-level, “Qui-Gon doesn’t know we’re doing this so I wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible.”

She matched him and whether she did so to tease or to genuinely emulate him remained to be seen, “I figured as much.”

He sighed and paged through one of the books he’d laid out for them, “They want to see if they can catch Windu in the act, but Dooku isn’t so sure that’s possible.”

“And neither are you from the sounds of it.” She commented.

“How do you know?” He asked, defensively. He’d intended on building up to his reasoning, but was always jarred to have himself so easily read.

“Because otherwise, you wouldn’t feel the need to be doing this.” She gestured to the books all around them. “And really, how would one catch Windu being a Sith lord in the act? If he goes off on some senseless monologue?”

He shushed her, which enacted a reasonably annoyed look, but he couldn’t help his paranoia, “Wizards don’t usually go around throwing the term “Sith” hither and yon. It’s hardly ever spoken of, actually.” 

“I’ve noticed.” She said, “Though I’m not sure what denying that a dark part of history ever happened is going to do for anyone. How are we supposed to prepare if they truly are coming back as legend states?”

“Some say it’s legend, others say it’s prophecy.” He said in a low voice, “And until this year, I’m not sure which side I would have fell on or if I’d have a strong opinion at all, but with the combined events of this year, I would be a fool to deny that it very well could be happening in our own school.”

“Well, is it not fabled that Salazar Slytherin was a Sith?” She asked. “That makes Hogwarts’ history embedded in it.”

Obi-Wan paused as he considered this, “I wonder if that means there are relics within the school that could be hidden in plain sight as Sith heirlooms.”

“To channel dark magic, you mean.” She bobbed her head as she thought this over, “Kinda odd since Windu is such a minimalist with his office. There’s barely anything in it at all aside from the replica of the Sword of Gryffindor that hangs on the wall.”

“Godric Gryffindor was many things, but a Sith, he was not.” Obi-Wan pointed to a picture of Gryffindor, himself, using the glimmering sword of Gryffindor to ward off several Sith, who’s sword glimmered a rustic yellow color in this printed book.

“Let me see that,” She didn’t wait for his answer as she slid the book closer to her to read the text aloud, “The Sith saber is forged in an enchanted gold with a red hilt. Only when the Sith lord has struck down their desired foe does the blade glimmer a permanent red.” 

“Aurors apparently used to wield blue or green ones of the same make.” He said excitedly, “Without the blood-requirement of course. This was until everyone realized using wands was less barbaric and easier.”

Obi-Wan would not admit to picturing himself swinging around a glowing blue or green sword of his own. He never glorified violence, but it was truly something special to behold when presented to the right wizard.

“Well, I imagine they wouldn’t really have to use such medieval methods anymore now that the Sith have been gone for as long as they have.” She noted, “I feel as though I have seen one of these before, though.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward. The picture in the book wasn’t exactly a diagram by any measure. All it provided was the fuzzy-looking outline of a warrior with an even less descriptive depiction of the blade they swung. However, even as he was taking another glance, he remembered where.

“Professor Dooku has one in his office.” He said, “Amongst many different trinkets he’s collected over the years from his time as an Auror.”

To prove his point, Obi-Wan stood up in search of the yearbook from the previous year and added it to their collection of long volumes to peruse through. He paged through until he got to the Ravenclaw segment of the book. Under normal circumstances, Satine might point at their moving portraits and either complain about her yearbook photo turned out or tease Obi-Wan for how serious he looked in his. Instead, he turned the book back to her when they got to Dooku’s section, which was a portrait of him leaning on the desk of his office. 

He pointed at the bookshelf and she frowned and shook her head, “I don’t see a sword, Ben.”

He twisted the book back around and examined the entire image, taking in every single trinket and item exposed to them and leaned back, “You’re right.”

He got up and tried for a few other yearbooks and still, to no avail. Instead of the sword he’d recognized, there was a plain silver scabbard in its place.

“Maybe it’s just not in the frame? Or perhaps you’re mistaken.”

“Or maybe he didn’t have it yet.” He cocked his head to the side, “Still, he hasn’t been an Auror for well over 30 years. How would he come to possess something like that now?”

The question hung between them for a long moment, each clearly following the same hauntingly suspicious line of thinking before Obi-Wan shook his head, “It’s got to be a coincidence. Dooku was teaching during our confrontation with the phantom in the woods. He can’t be in two places at once.”

Satine blinked and her frown deepened, “Except… He wasn’t teaching the entire time?”

Obi-Wan’s nerves spiked, “What do you mean?”

“DADA was interrupted that day.” As she was saying it, he could hear the rising anxiety in her voice that matched the thrum of his quickened heartbeats, “Ventress came in with a note from Palpatine and Dooku said it was urgent and told us to study amongst ourselves.”

“Palpatine came alone to save Anakin.” Obi-Wan said slowly, “So, where did Dooku go?”

“He was at the Christmas party.” Satine answered instead, “When Anakin was poisoned.” 

Obi-Wan’s mouth felt incurably dry, his mind connecting dots that seemed to appear from thin air and it seemed the same level of panic was seeping through Satine from just across the table, “And on Halloween, he knew exactly how to stop the beast.”

“But he didn’t check out the book. Windu did.” She grasped for reason, which was unfortunate since either outcome was equally terrifying to be considered true.

“Why would you need to look up a book on Zillo Beasts when you already know how to handle one?”

“You mean,” She gnawed on her lower lip, “If you were already holding one captive.”

His head was full of lead as he nodded slowly at her. As a head of house, Professor Dooku shared all the same clearances and responsibilities as Windu. The only difference was that he distanced himself considerably from Anakin and kept himself impressively neutral. Because maybe, it wasn’t a passionate attack at all. 

“But… Why?” Obi-Wan found himself asking, even if he wasn’t sure he even wanted such answers. How could someone Qui-Gon trusted so desperately be the person behind all of this? It didn’t make sense after all this time for him to fall dark. Or maybe, he didn’t want it to make sense.

Then again, his hesitance to accept Qui-Gon’s plan to have Anakin at his side was making an increasing amount of sense. 

“I don’t think we have time to consider that.” Satine said urgently, “You said you and Qui-Gon discussed the plan with Dooku.”

“And Dooku said he was going to be guarding the tunnels. I highly doubt that’s true. He must be planning something.” He smacked his forehead, “We’ve got to find them.”

“But how?” She asked. “We have no idea where in the castle they even are.”

He glanced towards the rolled piece of parchment on the table and gave her a curious look. “Ready to put your enchantment skills to the test?” 

***

“This thing is hideous!” Satine complained as Obi-Wan unrolled the scroll, “Were you blindfolded when you drew it?”

“It was initially meant as a sketch to try and better understand the tunnels.” He hissed, “Not some grandiose work by Picasso.”

“And the color choice was necessary, how?” She implored by pointing to the crayon-etched scribbles that were supposed to mark down each house’s common areas. Even Obi-Wan had to concede that he didn’t pick the most flattering versions of blue, red, green and yellow.

“I didn’t want it to be bland. Now, are you quite finished insulting my artistic abilities?” He asked, “We’ve sort of got more pressing matters.”

“If you say so,” Though he didn’t miss her giving the map another concerned glance, “We’ll need to work at the exact same time if this is going to remotely work. And you did not do us many favors by drawing this so haphazard.”

“It wasn’t meant for anyone outside of myself.”

“You should know by now that there is little you can keep from me.” She sighed, but extended her wand towards the paper and fixed him with a cautionary glance, “Ready?”

They started with the homunculus charm, which required the both of them to pour forth a great deal of individualized focus, especially since this was not a charm taught to them thus far. Sometimes, it paid to read outside the realms of their required assignments. Or for Obi-Wan and Satine, that meant reading just about every single book they could get their hands on.

When his eyes flickered open, where there had once been blank spots, there were now various little ugly named smudges.

“Don’t say anything,” He rolled his eyes, predicting Satine’s annoyance with ease. Sure enough, she had also rolled her eyes.

“I think it speaks for itself.” She said instead, but leaned forward across the table to try and figure out where Qui-Gon and Anakin, or worse, Dooku, was. “How are we supposed to identify what any of these landmarks are when they are just blobs of colorful scribble?”

“I can tell what they are, thank you very much.” He scanned the map as quickly as he could to desperately try to find Anakin and Qui-Gon, who he desperately hoped were separate from Dooku. 

“Qui-Gon’s with Windu near the green house.” He frowned, “Where the hell is Anakin?”

Satine stood closer to him, her chin brushing against his shoulder as she peered as close as she could, “There! He’s moving…”

“Towards Dooku’s office.” Obi-Wan panicked, “And Dooku is moving there too. We’ve got to stop him.”

“Should we get Qui-Gon?” She immediately picked up stride and followed straight behind him as he dashed out of the library and through some eager first years that were very confused by the sudden energy burst from their esteemed prefects. Obi-Wan didn’t have the presence of mind to care about anything aside from saving Anakin.

“No time!” He called over his shoulder while he ran ahead.

Though he didn’t love the concept of admitting Satine was right about his map, he had to admit it was a bit dodgy to follow in a pinch. Then again, reading anything was difficult while running with the full weight of your mentee’s life weighing on your shoulders (again). Luckily, he essentially had the non-secretive parts of the school memorized entirely. 

“We’ll have to take a shortcut!” Satine cut through his thoughts with the accuracy of someone who may know him a little too well at this point in their friendship, “Or else we’ll never make it.”

Thinking quick, he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the main entrance of the castle, knowing from extensive research during Anakin’s kidnapping that the closest means to Ravenclaw tower (and Dooku’s office by default) was through the tunnel that began behind one of the tapestries donning the walls.

However, they were surprised to find that none other than a very sweaty Cody Fett was emerging from the large doors- broomstick slung over his shoulder.

“Cody?” Satine beat him to his incredulousness, which allowed him time to tear the tapestry off the wall, “What are you doing?”

“Practicing for Quidditch!” Cody beamed. 

“You're supposed to be using the lack of curfew for studying,” She put her hands on her hips. “And Quidditch is over!”

“Satine!” Obi-Wan gestured towards the now-open entrance, pleading for her to do this at a different time and she immediately turned on her heels to follow him.

“First of all,” Cody began hotly as he followed them wordlessly down the dark alleyway, “Quidditch is never over! Let’s get that straight right now. Secondly, THIS DOESN’T LOOK LIKE STUDYING TO ME!” He began to shout as he picked up into a full sprint after them, still not quite asking what they were doing.

“Dooku’s the bad guy and we’ve got to stop him! That reason enough for you?” Obi-Wan countered. 

“Actually… Yes.” 

***

It had been easier than he had expected to find Dooku once he tumbled out of the fireplace. The ministry was empty save for a line of sooty footprints leading towards what seemed to be a lift. He brushed himself off, drew his wand and inspected the lift. Instead of numbers at the top there were letters and odd symbols, but the one it was currently stopped on was ‘M’ which gave him not much else to go on, except for which button to hit when the lift finally made its way back up to him.

He stepped inside and hit the button, expecting a descent... Not to be rocketed backwards. He got knocked to the ground, wand skittering out of reach. It stopped suddenly and Anakin tried to push himself up when suddenly the lift dropped like a stone. He wasn’t too sorry he had been on the ground when it did because he managed not to be knocked around too much at the shaky descent. Then it stopped once more and the doors swished open. Anakin took very little time grabbing his wand from where it was precariously perched over a gap in the floor and stepped out on the cold black flooring. He took a minute to collect himself, wizards really must not have the kind of safety standards that most muggles did. He decided to stuff his wand back into his robe, not wanting to lose it as he looked around.

It was rather dark down here, and it was giving him an odd sense of deja vu. He could no longer see Dooku’s footprints, so either he’d cleaned himself up during the ride, or they blended right into the floor. He felt some sort of presence behind him, but all that was to his back was the wall. He took a cautious few steps forward and when nothing happened and no one jumped out at him he continued onward.

The hallway was lined with doors, but they had no doorknobs. He tried his hand at opening one, but no matter which way he pushed or pulled it held fast. At least, he figured, that gave him less of a chance of getting lost. The whole thing was uncomfortably familiar as he walked carefully along. There was little else to stray him from a straight path and he felt it was the correct way to go anyways.

Then he saw it: the door at the end of the hallway, and he was reminded of a few of his dreams. They were hard to remember beyond fragments, but he recognized it as the one he was always reaching towards before falling back to the Zillo Beast chamber. Though the unlikeliness of that happening while he was awake was minimal, he still held his breath as he reached his hand out to grasp the doorknob. Nothing happened except for a whoosh of cold air that blew past him as he pulled it open.

The door closed behind him, leaving him in a space with 12 doors, which formed a rather impossible circle around the door he just entered from. Anakin didn’t have much of a clue where to go from here, having never gotten here before in his dreams and not seeing any footprints on the ground. So, he did what any young Gryffindor would do and approached one at random. He turned the handle, locked. He moved to the next, this one did open and he moved through the door cautiously.

It looked to be a classroom, not unlike the ones at Hogwarts, but the blackboards were unreadable with symbols he’d never seen before etched onto them. Each desk helped form a semi-circle, with the same odd symbols written in nearly the same way on every single one. At the center of the room was a large metal tub. Though he likely shouldn’t have approached it, it was all so strange he felt inclined too. They looked to be odd fish, swimming around in something that seemed just a little too thick to be water. He leaned forward to get a better look.

Brains. Wrinkly and pink swam around with some sort of tendrils. They seemed not to see as they bumped into each other, their membranes squishing from another.

“Oh gross!” Anakin yelled and he moved swiftly in the nick of time as one of the tendrils lashed out right where he’d once been standing. Anakin held his breath as the slimy pink appendage slid around the edge of the tank, searching for the disturbance, before slowly falling back into the not-water with a plunk.

He stayed frozen for a few minutes before he slowly turned to leave and select a new door that would hopefully take him to a much less disgusting room, but the door he’d entered in was gone. He gasped in panic, which in turn made the brains in the tank splash around trying to catch the intruder, but he wasn’t planning on letting them. Another door was at the front of the classroom and he launched himself towards it, hands over his head in case they could reach him at a distance. He didn’t even think to check what was on the other side.

He was floating. Hair rising at the lack of gravity and he did remember this feeling from when he used to do it by accident. In fact, he wondered if he had done it by accident before looking around.

This room seemed infinite. Twinkling lights going on forever in each direction, stars, he had to assume as his eyes caught on the scale replica of the planet earth. In fact, all the planets were present, and orbiting around the brightest light in the room was the sun. Anakin tried to take a step and ended up flipping completely over, floating over the sun, so close he could almost feel that it was giving off enough heat to singe his eyebrows off. The next door came into sight shortly after and he barely managed to catch the door frame and lower himself enough to open it for himself. He tried not to think about what would have happened if he’d just kept going.

The next room looked like the potions storage, nothing really unique when you considered the brain room, and the room that was outer space. This room though was loud as there was a rather wide display of clocks. Everything from cuckoo clocks to hour glasses lined every wall and shelf in sight. The whole room seemed to shutter every second as if there was a clock resting in the very walls, which was rather plausible given everything else he’d just witnessed. Anakin took a moment to catch his breath and look around. The next door was just to the left past a shelf with a rather handsome series of pocket watches. It seemed too easy, but Anakin couldn’t complain.

That door led into a room that could have been a warehouse. Tall shelves lined with oddly glowing spheres. This room seemed to whisper to him and he felt his feet moving down the center aisle before he could fully register it. It felt like there was something here that was his, that he’d been missing and if he just could touch it he’d feel complete.

What stopped him dead in his tracks though, was the flash of a purple spell that hit him at full force.

“You’re rather lucky that you’re wanted alive,” Dooku’s voice echoed around the room and Anakin worked hard to shake off the low level stunning charm, “Because I really ought to kill you for interfering in my work,” He managed to sit up though, his legs still felt frozen and his heart caught in his throat as Dooku glared down at him.

“It was you! This whole time,” Anakin managed as his teeth unstuck themselves, “Not Windu!”

“You were quick to suspect Mace,” Dooku’s wand twitched, “It was so easy to go along with,” Anakin glared, trying and failing to stand.

“But why?” Anakin growled, “I never did anything to you.”

“Not everything is about you, Skywalker,” Dooku explained like this was any old school lecture, “There are things bigger than you in the works,” He looked down at Anakin with distaste, “much bigger.”

“And? Clearly I am involved since you tried to murder me multiple times,” Anakin pointed out, “What’s stopping you now anyways?” Dooku’s nostrils flared at the annoyance and he pressed the tip of his wand very purposely into Anakin’s forehead.

“Nothing. Nothing is stopping me from ending you right now,” He warned, “Your involvement is unfortunate, but it is foretold,” Dooku flicked his wand up, a gesture to stand and Anakin was prodded as they moved further into the room. Despite the danger, Anakin could still feel that call, that something in here was meant for him and with each step they seemed to get closer to it. Until they approached a row of orbs and Anakin was certain it was here and right above them. 

And Dooku was reaching for it.

Except, he didn’t. The orb Dooku reached towards was the one next to his. He grabbed it tightly, body tense as if he expected something to happen, but nothing did. Dooku gently pulled the orb down, rubbing it a little to wipe off the dust.

“What are these?” Anakin couldn’t help but ask. Dooku looked at him in mild annoyance, but it seemed being a professor didn’t wear off so easily.

“These are prophecies,” He explained, “They’re recorded in books, yes, but they’re stored here for their chosen one to find them,” Anakin glanced at the orb that started to glow as he drew nearer to it.

“So that one’s yours?” He pointed towards the dusty dull prophecy in Dooku’s hands, he wondered then, if Dooku’s looked liked it was glowing to him.

“Yes, this is the prophecy of how to thwart death,” He held it up for Anakin to see, “With this, and your eventual sacrifice, I’ll be able to steal back what death has stolen from me.”

“So what? You want to be young again?” Anakin couldn’t really see the point, but Dooku was getting up there in years, maybe he’d feel the same when he was older.

“No you insolent child,” Dooku tried rubbing the prophecy again, “Death stole away my sister and I will save her, even at the cost of the lives of others.”

“Oh,” Anakin could kind of understand that. He didn’t have much family, but should anything happen to his mum he’d probably do anything to get her back.

“So perhaps you understand,” Dooku nodded, “It’s prophesied that you must die. I find the waste of human life distasteful, but when the situation calls for it, I’ll do what I must.”

“So what was the point of the Zillo Beast,” Anakin cut in.

“The Beast itself was another avenue for another means,” He answered cryptically, “But the sword in the temple was meant for you,” Anakin shuddered at the sensation of ghost chains wrapped around his wrists, “And when the beast broke loose the plan had to-”

Anakin frowned and tried to think of why Dooku had stopped speaking. He’d been so previously animated in the midst of his speech while holding the dim orb that it was strange for there to be nothing but silence. He almost wanted to challenge the recently proclaimed Sith lord, but didn’t because it seemed the voices that spoke to Anakin were finally loud enough for Dooku to bear and see.

To his upper left, just within reach, the orb that called to Anakin illuminated a loud electric blue that spoke to Anakin without words, but with feelings. It called to him like sirens singing their alluring song to draw in their prey. It was telling him to reach out, to grasp his future in his hands, to accept what so few could even dream of.

But how could any of that be real? Anakin held no true understanding of this place, but knew it was not meant for nobodies like him. It was for heroes and great conquerors of history. How could someone who knew so little become anything to anyone?

Still, he closed his hand around the orb and the moment he made contact, words poured from him in a voice that was not his own.

“Anakin!” He was vaguely aware of Obi-Wan’s voice and presence, but didn’t dare move as he spoke and felt the great prophecy wash over him. This tucked away room in the Ministry of Magic faded into nothingness and instead, he was on a white plain of existence where it all seemed to make sense.

***

It only took seeing the glowing orb in Anakin’s hand for Obi-Wan to understand why the boy seemed to enter a mysterious trance. It was unfortunate timing, of course, because Dooku, who seemed to see this as his ample opportunity to strike Anakin down, was firing bursts of light at them, nearly landing a blow if it were not for Cody throwing Anakin over his shoulder with ease.

“What’s wrong with him?” He yelled.

“It’s a prophecy!” Satine and Obi-Wan shouted at the same time all the while sending their own retaliation back at Dooku, “Stupefy!”

“Silly children,” Dooku taunted, “Do you truly believe you actually have what it takes to resist the unyielding power of the dark side?”

“It can’t be that strong,” Obi-Wan said, “We’re not the ones fighting children in this scenario.”

“Easy now, Kenobi,” Dooku’s attacks seemed almost effortless. Almost. Obi-Wan could spot the sweat beginning to glisten at his temples. He didn’t want to fail again. “Your family would benefit greatly when the Sith take back what’s rightfully theirs.”

His eyes were forced to shift to Satine, who was thus far the closest to hitting him, “I cannot say the same for you, Ms. Kryze.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a part of whatever world you’re conjuring anyway.” She argued.

“That goes second for me.” Cody used the hand that was not holding Anakin in place to cover for her.

They all danced like this for a minute, parrying and attacking while defending the other, all the while essentially playing hide and seek through the never ending lines of shelved prophecy orbs. Obi-Wan knew it would not be able to go on forever. They needed an escape plan since beating Dooku head-on was simply not feasible, especially not with Anakin presently unconscious.

Unfortunately, it never came as Anakin began seizing up and skittering off of Cody’s back and onto the floor with a thud that made Obi-Wan’s heart leap in his chest. While Cody and Satine immediately prepared themselves to defend Obi-Wan as he slid to the floor alongside Anakin, he really tried not to think about how horrible this was looking for them.

“Anakin, get up.” Obi-Wan begged as he shook him slightly, but the boy was limp in his arms. When he looked at his hand, it was clear he still gripped the glowing orb tightly. Even if it went against any divination class he ever took, he reached out and touched the orb, thus essentially sharing Anakin’s vision.

Without volition, he repeated the words that harmoniously flowed through him.

In the ashes of hypocrisy…  the lords of the Sith return,

Opposed only by a Boy born when two worlds cross.

 Granted with power his enemies cannot learn,

The Hero will bring balance at the hand of great loss.

Muggles and wizards join in one common goal,

To foil the Father of Revolution’s blood-driven lie.

At the most desperate hour a betrayal will cut whole,

And for the Hero to live, the Father must die.

When Obi-Wan came to, he half-expected to already be dead by the onslaught of Dooku’s wrath, but found that not only was he alive, but being essentially cradled in Satine’s lap as she looked down at him in a mix of horror and confusion. She’d been patting him on the cheeks, obviously, trying to bring him back to a state of wakefulness. 

He didn’t even have time to be embarrassed by it, because before he knew it, she was yanking him to his feet so fast that it caused a headrush.

“Where’s-” And once again his thoughts were interrupted and this time by the sight of none other than Qui-Gon Jinn warding off Professor Dooku, not even bothering to look back at them as he stood confidently against his mentor. Obi-Wan’s heart briefly hurt for him, but he couldn’t allow it to last long, since he just realized that Anakin had also snapped out of his state of ambiguous consciousness. 

“Run!” Qui-Gon ordered.

One more look at the venom that poured from the dark wizard across the way caused each of them to listen.

***

Qui-Gon Jinn fully believed in the prophetic abilities of their ancestors. It was not a belief shared by many and was simultaneously misunderstood by most. He knew what even some of his friends thought of this interest in premonitions. They thought he simply kept his head in the clouds and looked for every literal meaning of the prophecies of old and new. They assumed he was starry eyed and wanted to know the future for his own self-gain. While, yes, he was fascinated by the brilliant minds of the past and how they were open to such premonitions, he was never narcissistic enough to believe he could control the fates to his own self-gain. In fact, he did not want to under any circumstance. Such an obsession led to darkness.

One had to remain in the present, consider the past, and be mindful of the future. 

That was a lesson taught to him by his mentor.

The very same mentor who saved his life on multiple occasions, usually from his own shortcomings, and sagely shared his pastime of analyzing prophecy with him. 

And yet, here they stood, magical currents clashing evidently not for the first time- once again after he’d tried to kill children. He supposed it was the cruelest form of irony in a sense. Here he had even come to see blips of the future and while vague, resonated with him profoundly. He’d shared whatever he could with Dooku, including his belief that the chosen one was approaching. After all, he’d been seeing him long before in brief dreams- always surrounded by the feeling of absolute balance. 

It was an experience that Dooku had been very interested in since it began a few years back. He’d warned Qui-Gon on countless occasions that the chosen one’s appearance would yield forth a darkness that would leave scars beyond repair. Qui-Gon didn’t realize he’d meant like this.

“I’ve taught you well, Qui-Gon.” He remarked, “It does not have to end in unnecessary bloodshed.”

“I agree.” Qui-Gon gritted, “Lower your wand.”

He chuckled as if Qui-Gon had merely bested him at a game of chess and not as though they were currently out for each other’s necks. “You and I both know I cannot do that. That boy stands in the way of everything I’ve worked hard to create.”

“And what is that?” Qui-Gon fired back, intensifying the force of his attack, slightly dominating the violet beam that erupted from Dooku’s wand.

As quickly as he’d gained the advantage in their tug of war, he hastily lost it when Dooku flared with an emotion he’d never seen before from his former mentor. So much so, the purple lightning bled into a violent red. 

“Peace… Justice… Revolution.”

“Peace and justice for whom? Purebloods? The Sith?” Qui-Gon needed to buy the kids time for their escape. There were normally many powerful wizards in the Ministry of Magic, but at such a late hour, it was only occupied by overnight guards and they would be of little use to this present situation. Who they really needed, was Yoda.

Qui-Gon knew he was not powerful enough to best Dooku in a straight duel. He could only hold him off for long-enough to allow the kids to get safely back to the castle. And then what? He was unsure.

“Your lack of foresight disappoints me, my young protégé.” He said in what Qui-Gon could now see was mock-pity. He avoided the urge to kick himself for not seeing it sooner, “Corruption lines the walls of your precious ministry and Hogwarts too. It will be their downfall in the end.”

“And yet, you’ve blinded yourself into believing you could stop fate?” Qui-Gon smiled, “Anakin is the chosen one and he will save us all. You heard it.”

“To what end, Qui-Gon?” Dooku shoved forward, pushing Qui-Gon to the point where he could feel his feet sliding backwards against the smooth floor. He clenched his teeth and tried to use every ounce of his strength to not make an easy end of it. 

He was so strained in his defense, he could not articulate a response, but Dooku didn’t wait for one anyway, “When have you ever known the heroes from legend to ever survive beyond their great purpose in life?”

He refused to accept that, even if the evidence of the past said otherwise. It was clear to him now, in the midst of the onslaught that rang his muscles and mind drained, that his former mentor and friend had fallen beyond the point of saving. And there was once a time that Qui-Gon believed anyone capable of redemption.

“Anakin will. I’ll see to that.”

“Now, who’s trying to belay fate?” Dooku’s smile was so foreign on his face that Qui-Gon almost didn’t recognize him. “Let go and join us. Open your eyes to the hypocrisy overlooked by your Minister of Magic, by Yoda, by the world.”

“I will never join you, my friend,” Qui-Gon swallowed and tightened his grip, well aware that the green fuse of light that burst from his wand was weakening the more intense their bonded beams got at the center, “I’m deeply sorry that it’s come to this.”

“No more sorry than I, Qui-Gon Jinn.” And for just a minutia of a moment, the older man seemed sincere, “Together, we would have been unbreakable.”

What wasn’t unbreakable were the thousands of glass orbs that lined every shelf that surrounded them. This, while not entirely lost on Qui-Gon and more or less simply on the backburner of his thoughts, became impeccably obvious when all at once, the orbs rose from their positions on the shelves and began flinging towards Dooku, shattering on the ground as one narrowly missed him. 

Others did not miss, and broke the Sith’s focus. Glass shattered everywhere, but before Qui-Gon could so much as blink and process how this was happening, the shelves beside them started to dramatically cave in all the while the orbs were pelting Dooku at an increasingly fast pace.

“What the-” Dooku immediately directed his wandwork to deflect the glass hurtling towards him.

As Qui-Gon ran, retreating down the way he’d originally come, he was joined soon by Anakin and then Obi-Wan, Satine, and Cody, who all continued to fire backwards as they ran like spitfire machines. Each looked quite smug for committing extensive vandalism. 

“I told you to run!” He yelled over the mass destruction all around them, “Not destroy the Ministry of Magic.”

“You didn’t say where to run.” Obi-Wan laughed.

“I thought that was obvious.” He said and turned to the laughing Anakin, who was still cradling the glowing orb that had chosen him to fit the grand prophecy, “And why do I feel like this was partially your idea?

“What gave it away?”

“I’m the one who set the shelves to fall!” Cody bragged triumphantly.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Satine added. 

Dooku, finally understanding what was happening, began to fire back and it was in no time that the orbs were rewired to follow them as he thundered their way.

“Grab hands!” He shouted and without hesitance, the children followed his lead. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and they stopped in one place. Despite the swirl of emotions that begged way for release, he forced himself to a steady calm and successfully transported them out of sight just as the bookshelf to their left was about to collapse against them entirely.

They all tumbled onto the floor of his office in a pile of limbs, each trying to scramble to their feet. Anakin, despite the record breaking amount of near-death experiences he’d tacked up this year, was the first to pop up.

“That… Was TOTALLY AWESOME!” Anakin cheered and then immediately went into repeating the events of the night as if all present company hadn’t also lived it, “You two were all like pew pew pew… Buzz… And we came in with the crashing shelves and the shattering glass! And then he was all AH! Then the orbs came back at us and you whipped us through time and space!”

Regardless of his own weariness and his knowledge that he wouldn’t be sleeping properly for a long time, Qui-Gon couldn’t help the authentic laugh that bubbled up from a hidden spot in his chest, “Something tells me that won’t be the last adventure you experience here, Anakin.”

“I sure hope not!” He cheered, “That was way cooler than anything I’ve ever seen on TV.”

Satine seemed to internally debate this while Obi-Wan just looked intrigued by the mention of television. Cody could only laugh along with him. Qui-Gon felt himself mentally retreat, both from exhaustion and concern. What would become of Anakin now that it’s been confirmed that he is, indeed, the chosen one?

“I suppose this means we’re out a DADA professor.” Satine said.

“That’s your takeaway from all of this? More school?” Cody groaned.

“Qui-Gon, when you were dueling Dooku… He asked you to join “us” when asking you to drop rank.”

“Ridiculous of him to think Qui-Gon would ever,” Satine rolled her eyes.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Satine,” Qui-Gon smiled sadly, “But it takes constant diligence to reject darkness, for once you even consider that path, you cannot turn back.”

“That’s awfully cheery.” Cody muttered.

“What I mean to ask,” Obi-Wan interjected again, “Is who is Dooku working with?”

“The Sith have always had followers creeping in the shadows.” Qui-Gon said, “Though it should always be considered that typically, Sith lords traveled in pairs of two- no more, no less.”

“And they’re all going to keep coming after me?” Anakin asked in a small voice that was much less excited than previously.

Qui-Gon turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Darkness will always try to battle the light, Anakin, but you are not alone. I think we made that clear tonight.”

Qui-Gon waved the little note he’d found near Dooku’s fireplace- the one Anakin had scrawled out to indicate that he was following Dooku to the ministry of magic. 

Anakin looked between all of them with bright eyes and puffed his chest out, “I can do it. I’ll grow up to be big and strong and I’ll stop Dooku!”

Qui-Gon didn’t doubt that for one second. However, he just prayed that just this once, the hero got to live to see the happy ending. 

[tylerwritez]

Tuesday, june 22 2021

I've noticed I'm getting "the shiverys" or "the twitchy" a lot today. Like every time I FEEL something I take a moment to violently tic.... every time I think about certain things I tic.... good things, bad things, things from an hour ago and things from years ago. Tic, tic, tic.

Also, I have... some stuff to explain. Its really no big deal, but you know me: I'll freak out about it anyway. Basically I dissed my friend (rightfully so) around the time that we had just met cos they did something that threw me off.

He saw it in my phone... NOW. it's not RELEVANT anymore and I've since redacted that criticism...and now I gotta explain it to him anwyays. Oh well. I'm good at this stuff. I can get myself outta any situation. I dont even know why I'm talking like this tho... it's not a "Situation" it's just smthn I gotta explain rq.

Oh, today's song recommendation is Spirit Crusher by Death. I'm a huge Death fan...

Also! I gotta study... for my replacement exam. How stressful. Its about photosynthesis, but like, it's not simple. We went DEEP inside those fucking leaves.

One sec, lemme hook up my IV tube

Not an ACTUAL IV tube... just my headphones. But since I'm so #emo, it might as well be a fucking IV tube with the way that I cant live without it.

Its 3:08 and I'm walking home now. I was upset last night but me and Star have made up now lol... it was thAt easy. I'm so defective, making shit hard when it doesnt need to be.

It's so hot out damn. Idk. I had school today, so I had Bio class... I ACTUALLY PAID ATTENTION for once. I had lunch with Star and her friend group, and I honestly kinda feel like they're MY friends now too, even just a little bit.

Actually, I used to rant about feeling lonely like all the time but now I have so many friends it's crazy they all keep inviting me places and it's like people WANT ME AROUND... idk. It makes me happy.

Today I gotta ask if tommroow after school I can go to Bee's house to watch Supernatural (famous homoerotic ghost show)

I should also add songs to Erin's spotify playlist for our picnic saturday which I still need permission to go to.

I gotta ask for Wednesday after school to watch Insidious with Jay  which is apparently really good

Also hes the friend that I gotta explain stuff to... the DrAmA... the ThEaTrE....

Update my dad said yes to hanging out with Bee but first I'm gonna miss school to fix my broken brackets on my braces

Also turns out the house I THOUGHT we were moving into has substantial damage from shifting so... we aRENT moving there.

In case you didn't know, shifting is when like the house that's been built literally SHIFTS like it moves around.

Anwyays Jay just texted me... I'm gonna change into shorts since it's hot, set up my study area,.... and respond to him.

The time is 3:22 p.m.

Wish me. Luck.

Luck is plentiful! As it so often is in my risky, risky life.

I play my cards right. It's a learnt skill.

But also there wasnt much to explain since it passed already and was tiny anywyas.

XD so I've made up with the whole goddamn world by now.

Its 6:31, we saw 1 house. Only one. Its kinda hot out but I'm gonna bike now since we just had supper. I finally finished my homework... I just have to finish one mixed media piece as my final project for art!

Friday is my replacement. On photosynthesis and cell resp. We know this. But what I didn't mention, or I dont THINK I did, is that if I finish my art project before then I have the second block FREE!!! Me, Star, and her friend

A are planning to leave for second block and maybe get mint chocolate chip ice cream!

Also I might eat her out XD

Anyways idk. I hope I can bike tonight to call Jay.

I keep accidentally using people's real names here then having to correct it... I dont know how much i care about MY identity being discovered... but to have my friends doxxed would suck.

Man I feel bad abt saying fuck star last night cos we made up....

Wait we r looking at another house? Idk I'm in the car still waiting to go home

Oh wait no now we r goin home

Its 6:39... I hope I still have time.

I went biking, called Jay. Went home. Idk, friendly conversation... we talked more tonight and I also talked to my other friend A. Jay is... I LOVE HIM?? SO MUCH??? I feel so happy. Talking to him thinking about him seeing his STUPID FUCKING FACE JESUS. his eyes alone... I could stare at his face all day probably. I want to kiss him... hOLD HIS HAND... omg... huG HIM!!! Eofjwpxjwie he's so sweet like I can't even... and I'm proabably not good enough for him like. Wtf. Hes easily a 10. And I dont rate things outta 10. How tf do I end up with HIM? Doing stuff, as friends. Like wHAT. I guess I got lucky XD. He says he loves my personality and I'm hot XD ofc I dont see it myself. But like. JESUS CHRIST he could proabably easily pull whOever. XD me?

Whatever though. As long as we r together and stuff. I LOVE HIM A LOT. he said he loved me. Every time he says that it makes me so overly happy.

Maybe I'm just sappy and stuff.... whatever. I think it would be nice to be hugged by him.

Yeah I'm cheesy.

I'm sorta tired now so maybe I'm not writing the best.

I just keep thinkinf about love. Love is a muscle of evil suggestion. But how evil can it really be? I am just a human being and that is all. Everything else is applied. I am just a human being with soemthing in my heart that pulls me all over the place. Love is this strange thing because I'm fucked up and to be able to love without that fucked up part of me, without the damage... is this complicated, hard thing to do and I can NEVER tell if I'm doing it right but I know I'm DOING IT. I know I FEEL LOVE. And soemtimes it's such an intense thing like when you go to surf on a wave at the beach with ur belly but u hit it wrong and it's so big and overwhelming it washes over you and PULLS you down to the bottom and smushes your face into the sand and YOU CANT BREATHE jesus Christ it's like that.

Or maybe I just want to experience love as it should be felt.

Obviously all of my problems surrounding this Damage could be easily fixed if I went to therapy but. there are reasons I can't.

I LOVE a lot. Too much for my own good. Enough to hurt me, get me into trouble, etc etc but also... enough to liberate me. I LOVE. I love Jay. So much. LIKE. MY BRAIN ORBITS AROUND HIM CONSTANTLY THINKING OF HIM AND PRAISING HIM AND MWUAH HE IS SO LOVELY I BOW BEFORE HIM...

I think as much as I love, a lot of the times I tend to focus even more on BEING loved.

If I am told I am loved, and shOwN I am loved... it is one of the most powerful things. Especially since I was literally emotionally neglected in childhood... yeah. I feel like I'm always trying to fill that hole.

Not EVERY feeling I have is for that reaosn but sometimes, if you tell me you love me, show me you love me, hug me,... I'll like start crying,,, that's the childhood emotional neglect kicking in. If you call me #smol and #cute and say I look young and fragile which happens more often than you'd think XD, I know I'm not supposed to like that shit, so I act like I dont....but I do. Which is PROBABLY ALSO THE CEN 🤪  like whatever lol

Anwyays I'm fucked up

You see how quickly things become complicated in my mind?

Convoluted? Is that the word?

Whatever. I OVERCOMPLICATE THINGS COS I OVERTHINK THEM BECAUSE I'm LITERALLY MENTALLY ILL IN SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS. I'm not joking. I obviously have unresolved undiagnosed "issues"

I do Suspect things, though.

I can make a list

Maybe I shouldn't.

Maybe I will.

I shouldnt.

Whatever.

I used to hate when people brought up my self harm. I would actually panic. I still self harm but now? Now I'm fine with anyone  talking about it as long as it's not an adult who can get me into trouble/force me into therapy over it. Because really? I kinda like having it mentioned. It's kinda validating and it's like hey... people can see that I'm sick.

I dont do it so people talk to me about it though. Dont get me wrong. If I did, I'd go vertically on the arms, not for suicide but so it healed and people would ask XD.

My scars are actually VERY hidden... cos I never intended for ANYONE to see. But for those who DO see them,,,, it's nice soemtimes to have people express concern.

I dont wanna be PITIED or anything, but idk I just think to myself "wow, they're CONCERNED... about ME... they arent angry or mean... they didnt yell at me or threaten me... they respect my autonomy and privacy...

And they CARE ABOUT ME..." and it makes me cry.

That's also the CEN.

I dont know. I just like when people express genuine concern. Even if they see and then just ask if I'm okay. That's all it takes cos then I go wow.

Its validating and irs lovely because finally people care... FINALLY PEOPLE CARE. FINALLY I GET SOME EMPATHY OR SYMPATHY AND NO ANGER.

Even just having them brought up tells me its noticeable enough

My brain does this thing where it thinks nothing bad that's ever happened to me was Bad Enough for me to be upset about.

And I dont know... its nice sometimes to be told shit like "omg that looks so bad" or to see that people who do see my cuts are somewhat shocked or revolted... it's nice because I go... "hey, it was bad enough for them..."

Or to have people comment on them with concern. Just ANYTHINT WHERE PEOPLE NOTICE IT AND ARENT ASSHOLES ABOUT IT IS VALIDATING.

Because I'm not used to that...

Because CEN

I'm. The worst perosn on the fucking planet.

I should kill myself.

I suddenly actually feel so self hating I do want to kill myself... oh god.

I ruin everything. Everything. Everything. Everything. What have I done. Like. Why. Oh god.

I'm just remembering when Star said my kindness seemed like an act. And how I've been called out for seeming fake like 2 other times.

DO I SEEM FAKE???? I DONT EVER PUT ON ACTS OF KINDESS.... CONCIOUSLY? but the very idea that I could be perceived that way...

Should I like not try to be nice or some shit?

Jesus christ she hurts my feelings even now when it was a long time ago.

But I cant blame her. I can't blame anyone for how i feel except my parents because they left me with fucking. Heart nerve damage or some shit.

I'm tired and now I'm sad too. Goodnight guys.