#ITS 2019 AND I HAVE MADE SO MANY FRIENDS

[mybrainproblems]

so like. watching 11x23 after having watched the rest of the show and taking time to chew on what the fuck dabbnatural is all about is so interesting bc there's a certain framing of chuck dying in 11x23 that... i'm not sure if it was intentional by dabb or just the way the editing shook out (either option is insane) but at first chuck seems to imply that his death and the death of the world isn't the result of imbalance, but it's that amara killed him and is now destroying the world. but then we learn from amara that no, the sun is dying bc she hurt chuck to the point where he is dying and that without creation there is only the nothingness that is her nature. the sun dying is the result of her actions but it's not a direct choice, just a consequence that she didn't really foresee. she has come to love chuck's creations, why would she choose to destroy that?

and it just fascinates me. bc watching 14x20 immediately after it's kinda like... was this intentional? there's a certain element of 11x23 that feels like as much as chuck says he doesn't want to hurt amara, he doesn't necessarily feel regret about what he's done, only how it turned out.

which again, could just be that the takes used in editing biased towards a less remorseful vibe from chuck. we don't know if there were other takes where rob played chuck as more remorseful but that's what we end up with. dean asking if chuck wants amara dead and him saying that even after all this, no. but still lying by omission that the sun dying is something amara is choosing to do.

like idk there's just a certain framing of that reveal and the fact that it initially comes from amara that is like. yes, chuck is dying but he's putting on his best meow meow act. if he's gonna die it may as well be as he's comforted by the characters from his favorite show. he may as well snuggle in close and send dean out to one more act of violence; to kill his sister. but this time he doesn't hold the trump card, he can't force dean to act out the violence that he wants from him. he chooses the reprieve he's been given and when amara get sick of his shit, he goes right back to playing with his favorite characters.

after all, they gave him such a good show last time.

and then i just have to wonder... would chuck have died if amara was destroyed by the soul bomb? if chuck dies, then amara lives (presumably bc she's uninjured) but if amara dies... even if he's injured, does chuck die? we only have his word that he would and in light of 14x20 and everything in s15 we have to recontextualize everything chuck has ever said in light of one thing --

writers lie.

[heritageposts]

Harris has been a staunch supporter of Israel for years. In 2017 she addressed the American Israel Public Affairs Committee’s (AIPAC) annual conference and reminded attendees that the first resolution she co-sponsored as a senator was aimed at combating “anti-Israel bias” at the United Nations. “Let me be clear about what I believe. I stand with Israel because of our shared values, which are so fundamental to the founding of both our nations,” she told the crowd. In 2018 she gave an off-the-record speech to the organization, but eventually released her comments. In that speech she claimed that she raised money for the Jewish National Fund as a Girl Scout. “Having grown up in the Bay area, I fondly remember those Jewish National Fund boxes that we would use to collect donations to plant trees for Israel,” she told the audience. “Years later, when I visited Israel for the first time, I saw the fruits of that effort and the Israeli ingenuity that has truly made a desert bloom.”

For those unfamiliar with the Jewish National Fund (JNF), they're a Zionist organization that has been instrumental in the ethnic cleansing of Palestine.

See Stop the JNF for more information on their history, the way they operate, and their decades-long campaign of greenwashing (i.e. destroying native plants, crops, and agriculture under the banner of 'making the desert bloom').

Continuing, the Mondoweiss article goes:

“The vast majority of people understand the importance of the State of Israel,” she added later. “Both in terms of its history and its present in terms of being a source of inspiration on so many issues, which I hope we will talk about, and also what it means in terms of the values of the United States and those values that are shared values with Israel, and the importance of fighting to make sure that we protect and respect a friend, one of the best friends we could possibly have.” While running for President in 2019, Harris was praised by the lobbying group Democratic Majority for Israel (DMFI) for running to the right of Obama on the Iran deal. On the campaign trail Harris told Kat Wellman, a voter affiliated with DMFI, that she would reenter the agreement but “strengthen it” by “extending the sunset provisions, including ballistic missile testing, and also increasing oversight.” “I was very impressed with her. I thought she gave an excellent speech, she gave a very detailed, responsive answer to my question,” Wellman told a local paper after the exchange. “I’m pro-Israel, so I was I was very concerned and all about making sure we limit nuclear missiles in any country that could possibly destroy us all. I thought her answer was very good.” Harris has condemned the BDS movement and claimed that is “based on the mistaken assumption that Israel is solely to blame for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.” However, she voted against an anti-BDS bill in 2019 citing First Amendment concerns.

For the full article, which includes Kamala's response to Israel post Al-Aqsa Flood, see Mondoweiss (July 22, 2024)

[delulujuls]

young, dumb & bwoke | ln4

hi! as u can see i couldn't stop myself from writing about last saturday events in amsterdam with mr norris as main star (he was more popular than the king himself lmao). lando is literally what i always bring to the function and yup, enjoy him being the chaotic drunk bestie while max and y/n are his literal party parents. its nothing crazy and without plot basically, i just added sum to this years' koningsdag so yeah, enjoy!

summary: there is nothing that lando loves more than a good party and his beloved dutch friends so imagine him with drink in his cup surrounded by whole orange nation. it could be nuts and it was

warnings: TONS of alcohol, lando being drunk (and hurted), mentions of blood, basically sum chaos

pairing: fem!dutch!bff!reader x lando norris (ft. max verstappen)

Lando couldn't wait for the plane he was on to break through the heavy cloud cover and land in Amsterdam.

China and Miami, which were the next rounds on the calendar, were separated by two weeks that were nothing else, in Lando's case, than a time of stagnation. Add to this the fact that Lando had bad memories of his performance in China and, what's worse, the sprint he failed so badly and which constantly played in his head like a jammed record, one could go crazy. That's why the Brit was extremely happy when he received an invitation to spend the weekend in the capital of the Netherlands. He was invited to Amsterdam to celebrate King Willem's birthday by none other than his favorite flying Dutch.

The friendship of Y/N, Max and Lando began in 2019, practically from the very moment he entered Formula 1. The kid, who was barely 20 years old but looked like 12, immediately won over the Dutch couple with his smile and sense of humor, who, due to their sometimes severe temperament, could not boast of having many friends in the paddock. Even though the three friends were only two years apart, Max and Y/N naturally became Lando's racing parents, with whom the Brit spent practically every moment, from time in the paddock, through celebrating on the podium, to time away from competitions. So it was no surprise when they invited him to spend the weekend together, to which he, of course, eagerly agreed.

When the plane landed, Lando pulled the hood of his orange sweatshirt over his head and slung his backpack over his shoulder, in which he packed everything he might need for the coming days. As you could guess, there wasn't much of it, he actually had everything he needed on him and the most important part was an oversized orange sweatshirt. Waiting for him at the airport was Y/N, who couldn't wait to see him. She didn't have to wait too long, because a moment later he walked out in front of the terminal. Y/N smiled as she saw her friend walking towards her and she hugged him tightly.

"You knew I was coming, you could have asked the king for better weather," Lando joked, trying to sound serious, which only made the girl giggle.

"If you think that the weather will have any influence on what will happen in the evening, then unfortunately I will have to disappoint you," she replied, getting into the car. "It's already starting to get crowded in downtown, and it's not even noon."

Lando threw his backpack into the backseat and got into the passenger side. He smiled like a child, looking forward to how the weekend would unfold. It looked like he would spend a nice few days, able to finally de-stress and relax, and in the company of friends. But speaking of friends, one of them was missing.

"And where's Max?" he asked as they left the airport and were on their way to the girl's apartment. "I thought he had been waiting for me with the welcome committee since yesterday."

"He's already in town, I dropped him off while I was on my way to pick you up."

"He's fast," Lando laughed and shook his head, "I hope he's still on his feet when we get to him."

At that moment, Lando didn't think about the fact that no one else but himself would be able to stay on his feet. When the Brit set off for Amsterdam, he obviously expected to spend two days drunk, with legs sore from dancing and a sore throat from singing, but he forgot that he has absolutely no immunity to alcohol.

When the three friends were finally together, alcohol quickly appeared in their hands. Y/N and Max started with beer, but Lando had no intention of wasting his time drinking something that would only cause pressure on his bladder. As soon as he boarded one of the barges floating on the Herenbracht Canal, he drank several shots at once. Y/N and Max just exchanged glances as he drank the drink standing on Garrix's console in one gulp, who didn't care one bit about it, being already in a good mood himself.

"I'm a little worried about how this might end," Max said in her ear as she took a sip of her cider, watching Lando jump happily.

"Even if he's drunk, so what," she replied, handing him her bottle and taking away the body paints in circulation, "He didn't come here to be bored."

Max was about to say something, but she pushed his hand slightly, bringing the bottle he was holding to his lips. Max shook his head and took a few sips from it, while the girl started painting flags on his cheeks. When she finished, she waved them up, attracting Lando's attention, who understood what she meant and nodded eagerly. The girl squeezed through the console and stood next to him, leaning him against the barge rails, because Lando had trouble not bobbing to the music for a moment.

The smile that never left his face wrinkled his cheeks, on which she tried to paint Dutch flags. When she finished and turned to pass the paints, Lando took off her sunglasses and put them on himself.

"Have a drink with me!" Lando shouted, holding out his empty cup to her, and she raised her cider bottle in response. He rolled his eyes in dissatisfaction when suddenly a bottle of vodka appeared in the crowd and someone handed it straight to his hands. Without much thought, Lando unscrewed the cap and took a few sips as if the contents were water, which of course met with the crowd's approval.

Y/N took the bottle from his hands, fearing not the amount Lando drank, but the relatively short time it took him to do so. However, not wanting to seem boring, she tilted the bottle herself, letting the liquid burn her throat. Delighted, Lando clapped his hands and hugged his friend, causing some of the alcohol to flow down her chin. She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist as well, and raised her hand in a toast, which was joined by everyone who had something to drink.

Max also raised his beer bottle a bit. However, somewhere in the background of his mind there was an image of Lando and what he would look like in the near future. However, the Brit himself did not care at all about this. As long as he was in the company of his friends, his plastic cup was full and he could jump to the music and sing along, he was happy. Even the fact that his face was in the wrong place at the wrong time, when someone, completely by accident, punched him in the face, didn't disturb it.

Y/N, who also decided to pick up the pace after drinking her cider, immediately sobered up when she saw blood on her friend's face. She quickly pressed a tissue to his nose, but he tried to assure her that he was fine. His brain didn't encode the impact or the pain, didn't acknowledge that he was bleeding, even when he ran his tongue over his lips and tasted blood on them. People in the crowd started calling out to each other to see if anyone had a first aid kit. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bandage appeared, and just as Y/N, being drunk, thought it would be a great idea to wrap Lando's face in a bandage, Max started asking people if they somehow had band aids. He couldn't let that dumbass parade around like that for the rest of the evening.

“I've sobered up a bit, I can keep drinking,” he said as Y/N finished clumsily bandaging his face, “I probably look worse that i did when i crashed in Vegas.”

Her friend tried to be serious, but it was impossible to stay serious around Lando. "You have to be careful, Lan," she said, trying to retain some sanity and touching his cheek, looking into his eyes, "I hope it's not broken."

"Bwoken," he repeated in silly voice, giggling "Oh no, it couldn't be bwoken"

"Honestly, i also hope it is not," Max interjected when he managed to rejoin his friends after some time, "Getting to the hospital now would be a near miracle."

"Hey, I'm fine," he said as Max waved the Band-Aids in his face and began to remove the clumsy bandage into which their friend had probably poured her whole heart and a few drinks that she drank earlier.

"I'm glad you don't feel anything, but that doesn't change the fact that I won't look at it," he replied, lifting his chin and examining his nose from every angle. Luckily this one seemed fine.

Once Max had placed two tiny patches on him, Y/N handed him his mug with a fresh drink again. "Brave patient," she smiled at him.

"In a state like this, I'd be surprised if he felt something," Max admitted, taking a bottle of vodka standing nearby. He decided that since Lando had had an accident, nothing worse awaited them and he could allow himself to loosen a bit more. He took a few sips and handed the bottle to the younger one, who smiled, tightening his hand around it. He looked at his friends standing in front of him, slightly drunk but still fully focused on him. He knew he was important to them and that he is not alone in all this madness.

"I love you guys," he said, with a bottle in his hand, pushing himself off the railing and hugging them, "You are the best in the world, simply the best."

The rest of the day and later in the evening took place in a great atmosphere and the party lasted until 3. in the morning. For the rest of Amsterdam it probably lasted longer, but for Lando it began to end after two o'clock, when he was barely able to stand. Partly from being drunk, partly from being tired. He didn't stand still during a single song, so the next day, apart from his face, his legs will certainly be visible. Taking a break for something warm to eat, Max, Y/N, and Lando sat down at one of the wooden tables. While waiting for their orders, Lando rested his head on Y/N's shoulder and closed his eyes. It was obvious that he just needed something to lean on to fall asleep.

"I think it's time for us to go," the girl announced, directing her words to Max. "The baby is only fit for bed now."

"He's been in great shape for a long time anyway, judging by how much he was on his feet today," Max concluded, glancing first at him and then at the girl, "But you're holding up pretty well, aren't you?"

"Yes, I do," she nodded and hugged Lando, who began to slide off her shoulder, "But I'm also getting sleepy."

"Me too," Max rubbed his face with his hands, "At least we can be sure that no one will wake us up first thing in the morning to explore the city."

He said, glancing at Lando, who was dozing with his mouth open on his friend's shoulder. After eating casseroles and fries, which were for Lando and which he was unable to eat, the three of them went to the girl's apartment. Of course, only she and Max were walking on their own, Lando was between them, leaning on their arms. He was muttering something incomprehensible under his breath, so it was obvious that he was alive and everything was fine, besides the fact that he was completely drunk.

When they arrived at the address and crossed the threshold of the apartment, they immediately went to put him in the bedroom, not wasting time in unfolding the couch for him. Max was in the process of stripping him of his shoes, pants, bloody sweatshirt, and all the necklaces and ribbons he had collected the previous day, while Y/N placed a large bottle of water, painkillers, and a bucket by his bed, as if the contents of his stomach had suddenly decided that they wants to get outside. However, there was no indication that Lando was going to have a restless night, because he started snoring softly as soon as his cheek touched the pillow. Max covered him with the blanket and took a few steps away from the bed, standing next to his friend who was looking at the sleeping boy.

"Can you hear that?" Max whispered, glancing at her, and she frowned questioningly, "It's silence, listen to it, because when he gets up, the only thing you can hear will be his lamentations about how hungover he is."

The girl snorted quietly and shook her head, taking Lando's clothes to the laundry.

"The most important thing is that he had a good time. And a little hangover never killed nobody."

The next day, however, did not bring anything unexpected. When Lando woke up, the first thing that hit him was a terrible headache that got worse when he sat down and tried to get out of bed. When he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, Y/N and Max's eyes immediately went towards him and Lando could swear that they looked like they spent the entire last evening on the couch.

"Hi honey, did you sleep well?" Max asked playfully, in the perfect mood for jokes since he himself was fine after last night.

Lando just blinked several times and wanted to wipe his face with his hands and collect some words to answer, but when he touched his cut nose, he cursed loudly.

"What the fuck?"

"A souvenir from yesterday," the girl answered him, getting up from the couch and taking out a frozen package from the fridge, which she handed to him, "I recommend a shower and I'll make you some coffee."

He closed his eyes and put the package to his nose, sighing and grabbing the bathroom door handle. Before he disappeared, Max just shouted after him.

"And don't puke in the shower!"

[mononijikayu]

marutsuke — gojo satoru.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know." Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?" "I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

WARNING/S: post-hidden inventory (2006-onwards), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 5.3k words.

NOTE: i wrote this a long long while ago and to celebrate jjk ending, i would like to give this as a humble offering. i've been a fan of jjk since 2019, when my friend introduced it to me. jjk means the world to me. it was there for me as much as bts was in my harsh and painful years. i am most grateful to share and continue to share the joy of it here in my little corner of the world. thank you guys for sharing the love of jjk with me. you guys are amazing. i love you guys so much. let's continue to be fans together for a long time!!! also the song is from given. its a lovely song <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HATED THIS FEELING, YOU HATED REPETITION LIKE THIS. You stood in the dimly lit hallway, fists clenched, your eyes burning with fury as you learned what had happened to the first years. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Haibara—kind, hopeful Haibara—was dead. Nanami barely made it back. You trembled with rage, unable to process the incompetence that had led to this.

It was just like this when it was Namie.

Your mind flashed back to the past, to the same helplessness, the same sickening weight that had crushed your chest when Namie, your dear friend, had been sent out on a mission with faulty intelligence. They hadn’t even gotten her body back. You remembered the emptiness, the cold fury that took root inside you ever since.

And then there was Amanai Riko. Another loss, another innocent life extinguished because of their arrogance, their reckless disregard for the lives they swore to protect. Your nails bit into your palms as you fought back the wave of grief and anger.

And now... now Haibara.

Another young life, snuffed out before it could even truly begin. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts as the memories collided with the present, your fury building to a boiling point. You had warned them. You had fought, had demanded better, and yet nothing had changed.

"How many more?" you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling with fury. "How many more have to die before they open their eyes?"

"They had faulty intelligence," you spat, your voice laced with venom. "Faulty intelligence, and they sent them in blind. Blind!"

Your words echoed down the empty corridor, but it wasn’t enough to release the fury simmering inside you. You stormed forward, your footsteps heavy with the weight of your anger, the hallway dim and suffocating as you advanced. The rage that coursed through your veins was more than just anger—it was righteous fury, the kind that demanded answers, demanded justice for those who had fallen.

You didn’t care about decorum or procedure. Not now. Not when another life had been so carelessly thrown away.

The sight of the mission manager at the end of the hall, sitting casually at his desk, only fueled the fire inside you. He looked up, his expression one of mild surprise as you approached—indifferent, as if the death of a student was nothing more than an inconvenience, a casualty of duty.

Indifference. That look—the one that dismissed Haibara as just another statistic, another name on a growing list of losses. It ignited something in you that was barely contained.

"You!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your rage. The air around you seemed to crackle with tension as you marched up to the manager’s desk, eyes blazing. "You sent them in blind! Faulty intelligence, and you signed off on it like it didn’t matter! Haibara is dead because of you!"

The manager blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but his calm exterior didn’t waver. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded calmly in his lap, as if he was used to this—used to the accusations, used to the aftermath. He probably expected you to eventually calm down, to accept that this was just the way things were.

But you weren’t going to calm down. Not this time.

“You think this is acceptable?" you seethed, leaning over his desk. "You think sending kids in with faulty information is just part of the job? You didn’t care about what would happen to them—you cared about following protocol, making sure you checked off the boxes so you could wipe your hands clean when it went wrong."

The manager gave a slight sigh, adjusting his glasses as if the whole situation was an inconvenience. "These missions come with risks, you know that. It’s unfortunate, but we—"

"Unfortunate?" your voice rose, fury spilling over. "You think this is just 'unfortunate'? Haibara’s dead because of your incompetence, and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?"

The manager’s lips thinned, his calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. "We did the best we could with the information we had. It’s not always perfect—"

You slammed your hands down on the desk, silencing him immediately. Your face was inches from his now, your voice low and lethal. "No. You didn’t do the best you could. You cut corners, and you sent them in knowing it wasn’t safe. You sat behind this desk while they went out there, while they—" Your voice caught for a moment, thinking of Haibara, of Namie, of Riko. "You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone because of your arrogance."

The manager didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

Your fists clenched again, your whole body trembling with the effort to contain your rage. You wanted to scream, to tear this entire building apart, but all you could do was stare at the man who had signed Haibara’s death warrant with his negligence. The worst part was you knew it would happen again. As long as people like him kept making decisions, more lives would be lost.

“That’s enough.” That familiar voice. You stopped.

“You piece of shit!” you snarled, your energy crackling dangerously. You lunged, but before you could strike, Yaga intervened, gripping your arms to hold you back.

You whipped around, your rage now directed at Yaga. “You! I warned you. I fucking warned you! But you listened to those old farts, didn’t you? You think it’s okay to send them in, even blindly.” Your voice cracked with fury, your eyes burning into Yaga’s. “And now, you’re stuck having to explain to Haibara’s parents why their son isn’t alive! That blood is on your hands!”

Yaga’s grip remained firm, but his expression darkened as you pressed on.

“My father would be ashamed of you,” you said, your voice low, bitter. “You’ve become exactly what he stood against.”

Yaga’s eyes hardened at your words, but he didn’t let go. He knew your anger wasn’t just at him—it was at the system, at the higher-ups, at the entire broken system that cost Haibara his life. But your words cut deep. Mentioning your father, a man Yaga once respected, felt like a blade twisted into his gut.

"Genmei," Yaga said, his voice steady but tense, "I didn't want this. You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel the weight of it? I never wanted to send them in like that."

"Then why did you?" you snapped, stepping closer, your face inches from his, rage seething in every word. "You could’ve stopped it. You had the authority! Instead, you caved to those senile cowards who sit behind desks, making decisions they’ll never face the consequences of."

Yaga's jaw clenched, his voice growing colder. "You think I had a choice? You think I didn’t fight back? The orders came from the top, Genmei! From people I can’t defy."

You shook your head, trembling with disbelief. "So that’s it? You just roll over and let it happen? You tell them it’s fine to send kids like Haibara to their deaths? You and those spineless managers let them go out there—for nothing."

Yaga's grip on your arms tightened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I know you’re angry. I know this isn’t fair. But it wasn’t blind. They were prepared."

“Prepared?!” Your laughter was bitter and sharp. “You call this prepared? Haibara is dead! Nanami is broken. And now you have to look those parents in the eye and tell them their son is never coming home."

Yaga’s silence spoke louder than anything. The weight of what you said settled in, his posture stiffening with the responsibility he bore. He hadn’t spoken to Haibara’s parents yet, but he would have to. And the thought of it, the unbearable weight of it, gnawed at him.

"Every single student is my responsibility, you know that." Yaga finally said, his voice quieter now, though no less strained. "I carry that burden every day. You think I don’t feel it? That it doesn’t tear me apart? But I don’t have the luxury of rage. I have to keep moving, keep fighting—for the ones who are still here."

Your hands fell to your sides, anger simmering down to a bitter ache. You looked at Yaga, your voice softer but no less furious. "They trusted you. We trusted you. And now we’re left with nothing but grief. Don’t you dare try to justify this."

Yaga looked away, his jaw clenched. "I’m not trying to justify it. There’s no justification for it. But you think I haven’t warned them, too? We both know how they operate. But my hands—"

"Don’t tell me about your hands being tied." you interrupted, your voice sharp. "You had more than just orders. You had a choice. And Haibara Yu’s blood is on all of us for not stopping it. And I'm sure....too sure. That there will be many more. All because you can't fight against those old farts."

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Yaga’s grip on your arms loosened, his expression still hardened by guilt and responsibility. He knew it too well, he knew that it was also his fault. And perhaps, in truth, you didn't blame him that much. You knew there was nothing a teacher can do against the whole of Jujutsu society. But you can't help but be angry. Just like at your father's funeral. And that too, Yaga blames himself.

“I’m going to make them pay for this.” you said in a low, deadly voice, your anger no longer explosive but cold and resolute. “The ones responsible, the ones who allowed this to happen—they’ll know exactly what they’ve one.”

Yaga met your eyes, his voice quiet but firm. "Don’t let your anger consume you. Your father would say the same thing. This world is already full of enough darkness."

Your expression didn’t change, unfazed. "Maybe it needs a little more darkness before it can see the light. My father also knew about that."

YOU WANTED TO HAVE A SMOKE. But you were sure that the sprinklers would alert people. So you went against it. You stormed out of the manager’s office, your fury barely contained as you made your way down the empty corridor.

The cold, sterile walls felt suffocating, your mind clouded with the weight of it all—Haibara’s death, Nanami’s devastation, the recklessness of the higher-ups. You needed to see him, to confront the harsh reality of what their negligence had wrought.

The morgue was dimly lit, its stillness heavy with the presence of death. You moved quietly, but your footsteps faltered as you approached. Standing just outside, you heard voices—low, tense. You stopped.

"Why not let Gojo take care of everything?" a bitter voice sneered. It was Nanami Kento.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized that tone. Nanami’s words were sharp, laced with exhaustion and frustration, and just as the retort began to form on your lips, another voice cut through—calm, but strained.

"Nanami, that’s enough," Geto Suguru’s voice was tired, a weariness that weighed down each syllable. "This isn’t about Satoru. Don’t take your anger out on him just because you feel helpless. We all do."

Helpless.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body froze as Nanami’s bitter words echoed in your ears, triggering a flood of memories you had buried deep. You could still see the way Kaiko had looked at you after Namie’s death, the sharp, accusatory words that came spilling out, venomous and cruel.

"Why not let Genmei take care of everything, huh? She’s always so sure of herself, isn’t she?" Kamo Kaiko had sneered, the pain of loss warping into something uglier, something that wanted to hurt others. The same helplessness Nanami was drowning in now.

You had seen the look in Kaiko’s eyes—the same bitterness, the same exhaustion, the same desperation to place the blame somewhere, anywhere, other than the black void of grief you were all struggling to survive. And you had tried to calm Kaiko down, tried to reason with her, but the pain had been too raw, too fresh. It had escalated. Words had become fists, and by the time it was over, you were both broken in different ways. You never spoke again after that fight.

Now, hearing Nanami’s voice, the echoes of Kaiko’s bitterness in every word, your heart clenched. You couldn’t let this spiral the same way.

You stepped forward, your presence quiet but commanding. The shadows shifted as you moved, your eyes falling on Nanami, who stood rigid, his face a mask of exhaustion and grief. Geto Suguru leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his own weariness mirrored in his posture. He looked over Haibara’s body, as though he was in a trance. He was shell–shocked, you think.

"That’s enough." you said, your voice calm but firm, the weight of your past mixing with the present. You couldn’t watch this play out the same way it had before. "This isn’t about blame. None of this is about whose responsibility it is to fix things."

Nanami flinched slightly at the sound of your voice, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. But you knew what he was feeling because you had been there. You had stood in his shoes, grappling with the same rage, the same helplessness, when you lost Namie.

"It’s not Gojo–kun’s fault, you know that." you continued, stepping closer, your voice softer now. "And it’s not yours. Haibara’s death wasn’t something you could have prevented. Not under these circumstances."

Nanami's fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his body radiating outwards. "I could have, senpai." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have."

"No." you said firmly, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This wasn’t on you. Don’t let the guilt consume you, Nanami. I’ve seen it before, and I know where it leads."

The memories of Kaiko haunted you, the way grief had hollowed her out, leaving her with nothing but resentment and bitterness. You couldn’t let that happen to Nanami. Not again. This doesn’t have to continue. No one else has to suffer.

"Listen to Geto–kun, okay?" you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "We all feel helpless. But turning against each other won’t bring Haibara back."

Nanami’s shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his body giving way to something closer to defeat. He didn’t respond, but you knew your words had reached him. Turning away from them, you took a breath and steel yourself. You still had one last thing to do, no matter how much it hurt.

You had to say goodbye to Haibara.

You walked out of the room, the heaviness of the conversation weighing on your shoulders. You pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, your emotions a turbulent storm beneath the surface. Your eyes immediately caught sight of Satoru, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.

You knew, just by the way he stood, that he had heard everything. There was no need for words. His expression wasn’t the usual carefree mask he wore—it was more serious, though his eyes were still bright behind his dark shades, silently watching you.

You sighed, your frustration and exhaustion bubbling up. Without a word, you stepped closer to him and gently placed your hands over his ears, your palms lightly cupping the sides of his head. The sudden movement caught him off guard, and his eyes widened, blinking in surprise. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to understand what you were doing.

Don’t listen, you mouthed, your lips forming the words slowly and deliberately, knowing he would understand.

For a moment, Satoru just stared at you, his gaze flickering between confusion and something softer, almost curious. His lips pressed into a flat line, and after a heartbeat of silence, he nodded, an unspoken agreement passing between you.

He wasn’t going to argue. Not this time.

You let your hands fall from his ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead of you, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

You let your hands fall from Satoru's ears, giving him a weary look. There was nothing more to say. You both knew the weight of everything that had happened, and for once, Satoru didn’t push. He just stood there, understanding what you couldn’t put into words. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and still, but the heaviness lingered in the air.

The two of you wandered outside in silence, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between you. The cold night air bit at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the emotions you both carried. You led the way toward the vending machines just outside the building, the quiet hum of them the only sound in the stillness.

You didn’t need to look at Satoru to know he was thinking about everything that had happened. It was rare for him to be this quiet, this subdued. You pressed the buttons on the machine without a word, watching the drinks tumble down with a soft thud. You handed one to him, the cold condensation clinging to your fingers as you took your own.

Satoru cracked open the can, the fizz breaking the silence between you. You took a slow sip of your drink before finally speaking.

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you said quietly, your voice steady but carrying the weight of someone who had seen this all before. "You can’t blame yourself for what happened."

Satoru didn’t respond right away. He took a long drink, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the usual brightness in his eyes dimmed by something heavier, more complex. He leaned against the vending machine, one hand loosely holding the can, the other shoved in his pocket. His shades were off now, dangling from his collar.

“I think it is, Genmei–senpai.” he finally said, his voice low, almost resigned. His gaze drifted down to the ground. “If I were just a little stronger, a little faster... if I had trained them better, maybe… maybe they wouldn’t be dead.”

Your chest tightened. You had heard these words before, a thousand times in different voices. From yourself, from others who had lost people they cared about. It was the familiar cycle of grief and guilt. Gojo Satoru doesn’t easily fuss over his feelings. This was the first time truly, you think, that he’d willingly told you what he felt. Without you having to ask. In a way, you think that has reminded you of yourself, even for a little bit.

"You can't control everything, Gojo–kun." you replied softly, stepping beside him. "Not even you. It wasn’t your decision to send them on that mission. You weren’t the one who messed up the intel. And you’re not the one who could have stopped it from going wrong."

He clenched his jaw, clearly wrestling with the weight of his own thoughts. Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer alive, the one who always acted like nothing could touch him—was grappling with the very human feeling of failure. It was a rare sight, one that he kept hidden behind his usual bravado. But here, in the quiet, there was no mask to hide behind.

"Being strong doesn’t mean being able to protect everyone. That’s impossible." you added, your voice quiet but firm. "Trust me, I know. We all do."

Satoru stared at his drink, the carbonation slowly rising to the surface. He let out a long breath, his fingers tightening around the can as if holding on to something he couldn’t quite grasp.

"I don’t know if I can ever believe that, you know?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I’m not strong enough to protect them, then what’s the point of being the strongest?"

You didn’t answer right away. You let his words hang in the air, knowing that there was no simple reply that could ease his burden. The truth was, you understood. You had felt the same way when your precious Namie died, when Amanai Riko  was killed. The strength to protect felt meaningless when it failed you.

But you also knew that blaming yourself for every loss would only eat away at you, piece by piece. And you knew better than to wallow in it all. You wouldn’t be able to get up from your bed if it's all that consumes you. You didn’t want your dreams. You wanted to be awake. In your dreams, it was regret. In your reality, it was moving forward. And you’d choose a thousand cigarettes then see Namie’s eyes look at you like that again. You’d choose days awake rather than seeing Kaiko take her last breaths right in front of you again.

"The point, Gojo–kun," you finally said, your voice softer now, "is that you’re human. No matter how strong you are, no matter what kind of power you have, you’re still human, Gojo–kun. And that means sometimes... you’ll fail. It doesn’t make you any less strong. It just makes you... you."

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his bright cerulean eyes—an acknowledgment, maybe. He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss your words like he normally would. Instead, he just took another sip of his drink and nodded slightly.

“Maybe……” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You stood there in the quiet, the weight of your conversation lingering in the cold night air. For once, there were no easy answers, no quick fixes. Just two people, sharing a drink, carrying the same burden of loss.

You tilted your head back slightly, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint tonight, dimmed by the city lights, much like how everything felt dulled in the aftermath of grief. You took another sip from your drink, letting the cool liquid ground you in the present, away from the spiraling thoughts of what could have been.

After a long silence, you spoke again, your tone quieter, almost contemplative. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything by yourself, Gojo–kun."

He glanced at you, but didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still clouded with that familiar weight.

"I know you feel like it’s all on you, Gojo–kun." you continued, turning your gaze to him. "Like you're responsible for every life, every outcome. But you're not. And it’s okay to feel... this way. To feel like you’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean you have."

Satoru stared at the ground, the quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats. Then, without looking at you, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “You say that like you don’t carry it, too.”

Your grip on the can tightened slightly. You felt the truth of his words settle uncomfortably in your chest. You did carry it—always had. The weight of those you couldn’t save, the memories of missions gone wrong, the faces of the dead. You carried them all, and sometimes it felt like too much. But that wasn’t something you would admit to easily.

"You’re right. Your senpai’s a hypocrite." you said after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. A weary smile on your lips. "I do, don’t I? But I’m learning how to let some of it go. To not let it destroy me…..I have to learn, as you do.”

Satoru finally looked at you, his gaze searching, as if he was trying to understand something he couldn’t quite grasp. There was a vulnerability in his expression, one that he rarely let show. You know that you knew the answer. And so does he. But it was easy to ignore, when you’re given the world to carry.

"How?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You looked away, your eyes drifting back up to the sky. "By realizing that it’s not all on me. That I’m not the only one who’s hurting. And by letting people in, even when I don’t want to. It’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out... but I’m trying."

Satoru was silent, processing your words. You knew how hard it was for him to let people in, to show any weakness. He had built walls so high that even those closest to him struggled to see through them. But here, in this quiet moment, you could feel those walls cracking, if only just a little.

“I guess I’ll have to try that sometime.” he muttered, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back, though it was small and fleeting. "You could start now, you know."

Satoru let out a soft laugh, the sound almost bitter, but there was a hint of something lighter underneath it. He took another sip of his drink, shaking his head slightly. "You’re asking a lot of me right now, Gen–senpai. You know that?"

"I’m just asking you to be human, Gojo–kun." you replied softly. “Just be yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was the kind of quiet that settled between people who understood each other, who didn’t need to fill the space with empty words.

After a while, Gojo Satoru straightened up, his usual mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. But something had changed, even if just a little. He glanced at you, a glimmer of his old self returning to his eyes.

"Alright." he said, pushing off from the vending machine. "I’ll try not to carry everything on my back... but don’t expect me to go soft, okay? Can’t have everyone thinking I’m losing my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Gojo–kun."

He chuckled, tossing his empty can into the recycling bin with a casual flick of his wrist. “Good. Now, how about we get out of here? There’s only so much doom and gloom a guy can take. I wanna go and eat some burgers! Oh, oh and have a milkshake. Come on Gen-senpai! Don't be such a slow poke!”

You watched as he started walking away, his usual swagger returning to his step. Despite everything, despite the grief and the guilt, he was still Satoru Gojo. And that, in its own way, was comforting. You lingered for a moment, finishing off your drink before following him. The weight of the night hadn’t disappeared, but somehow, it felt a little easier to bear now.

epilogue

The afternoon sun bathed the park in a warm, golden glow, casting everything in a soft light that made the moment feel almost timeless. It was a day without expectations or duties—a rare occasion for you and Satoru, a time when neither of you needed to be the strongest sorcerers alive. Instead, you were just yourselves, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

You sat on a bench under the shade of a sprawling tree, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. From your seat, you watched Tsumiki and Megumi, their carefree laughter ringing out as they chased each other across the grass.

Fushiguro Megumi’s small smile hinted at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments with his sister, even though he pretended to let her win. His protectiveness over Tsumiki was subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched their innocent game unfold.

Beside you, Satoru was sprawled out lazily on the bench, his sunglasses resting atop his head, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Satoshi, your energetic bundle of joy, was clinging to his father’s arm, trying to climb him like he was a human jungle gym. The sight of Satoru—so relaxed and utterly at ease—was a rare one, a moment where he let down his guard completely.

“Baby!” Satoru said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “I think our son’s trying to take me down. Think he’s got the makings of a future jujutsu sorcerer?”

You chuckled, brushing a few strands of Satoshi’s hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’s just training to be strong like you, don’t you think?” you teased, giving Satoru a playful look. “You’ll have to watch out—he might surpass you one day.”

Satoru sat up dramatically, hoisting Satoshi into his lap. “Surpass me? Oh no, not on my watch!” He declared, tickling your son until Satoshi was giggling uncontrollably. “Satoshi, my little dawn, promise me you won’t steal my title as the strongest!”

Gojo Satoshi, between fits of laughter, batted at his father’s chest. “Papa! No tickle!”

The sound of your son’s pure joy, Satoru’s playful antics, and the peace of this moment filled your heart. For once, there was no looming threat, no mission pulling you away. It was just the simple beauty of a family enjoying a sunny day.

Megumi, a little winded from chasing his sister, wandered over with his usual stoic expression, though you could see the faintest trace of a smile. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you done showing off?”

Megumi shrugged, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “I wasn’t showing off. Tsumiki just needed to win.”

Satoru reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair affectionately. “Such a gentleman. You’re really going soft on your sister, huh?”

Though Megumi swatted Satoru’s hand away, his eyes softened. “......She deserves it” he mumbled, trying to keep his fondness for Tsumiki hidden.

Tsumiki, noticing the conversation, ran over, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She flopped down onto the grass beside Megumi, leaning against him with a contented sigh. The two siblings sat close together, exchanging quiet smiles. You could see how much they meant to each other—the bond that had formed between them was one of the most precious things in your life.

Satoru stretched out his legs, balancing Satoshi on his knee. “You know, I think this is nice.” he said, his tone suddenly thoughtful. “We should do this more often.”

You turned to look at him, curious. “Do what? Actually relax?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. I like this better—just us. Just our little family, you know? No titles, no missions. Just being.”

There was something so genuine in the way he said it. You leaned into him slightly, reaching for his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours. “I like this too, you know?” you said softly, squeezing his hand.

He smiles back at you with the most beautiful, warm gaze. He squeezes your hand back. “I know.”

Megumi and Tsumiki sat quietly, watching your interaction with curiosity but not interrupting. You could tell they were starting to understand the unspoken bond you and Satoru shared—the love that transcended the roles you played in the world.

Satoru let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the bench, tugging you closer. Satoshi, who had grown tired from all the excitement, settled comfortably in his father’s lap, his small hands gripping Satoru’s shirt. The park, bathed in the soft afternoon light, seemed to wrap you all in a blanket of calm.

“If you weren’t around to keep me sane…..” Satoru mused, glancing over at you. “I might’ve forgotten what a day off even feels like.”

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’ve always been good at pretending the world’s problems don’t exist.”

Satoru grinned, though there was a softness to his voice. “Maybe. But this…” He looked down at Satoshi, then over at Megumi and Tsumiki, who were now engrossed in their own conversation. “This is real. This is what matters.”

His words struck a chord in you. For so long, your lives had revolved around the constant threat of danger, the weight of responsibility. But here, at this moment, it was just the four of you—your makeshift family—enjoying a quiet afternoon in the park.

Leaning into Satoru’s warmth, you whispered, “Yeah, this is what it’s all about.”

The park’s hum continued around you: the distant laughter of children, the rustling leaves, and the occasional chirp of birds. But in your little bubble, time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was no past, no future—just the present, where everything felt exactly as it should.

You rested your head on Satoru’s shoulder, Satoshi nestled between you both, and Megumi and Tsumiki chatting softly beside you. In this quiet, peaceful moment, you realized that despite the chaos of your lives, these simple, precious moments made all the struggles worth it.

And for now, that was more than enough.

[rabidline]

Japanese Skaters' Favorite Shoma Uno Programs and Their Reasons

This was in the Figure Skating Team Japan Fan Book for the 2024-2025 season, which had Shoma on its cover along with both a pretty substantial Shoma interview and Stephane interview about Shoma.

For Shoma's retirement, the magazine made a special column to include the active Japanese skaters (and Satoko) messages to Shoma, as well as their favorite Shoma programs. A friend helped in sharing and translating just the favorite Shoma programs part:

Sota Yamamoto: I love so many programs. Loco is the best for me because it’s unique and cool. Turandot 2.0 (2017-2018), when I had a difficult season because of my injury, this program encouraged me. Stairway To Heaven... brushing his hair upward is so cool. Great Spirit and Dancing On My Own (2019 Nationals) He graduated from Grand Prix Tokai and struggled but he could be National champion. I was so moved and almost cried. I love Bolero. Gravity and Air On The G String, he could perform not only powerful but loss of strength and I could learn from him.

Yuma Kagiyama: I love so many programs. Loco is the best. I love Great Spirit so I chose Believer last season (2022-2024 SP). I watched and watched Great Spirit on YouTube and I can skate its step sequence.

Shun Sato: Of course I love Ladies in Lavender. And Great Spirit.

Kazuki Tomono: I love Legends (2015-2016) so much because it’s first SP as a senior skater. His image as a skater changed a lot and it was impressive.

Koshiro Shimada: I love Loco at Helsinki Worlds (2017) the best. And Everything Everywhere All At Once and Bolero. At first Shoma mentioned about Bolero, “It’s so difficult and I can’t.” Finally he could do great performance and win at Worlds (2022) and it was what Stephane wanted to see I think. I was so moved and I almost got goosebumps.

Kao Miura: I love Loco the best because the balance of powerful and sensitive movements is good. I love Bolero because he seems to reach his limits. Not only jumps but each movement were so great and the last he seems to collapse because he skates so hard. I love it so much.

Nozomu Yoshioka: I love 2019-2020 season Great Spirit and Dancing On My Own. Nobody skates for such a number like Great Spirit and it’s so exciting. I like a stop before step sequence and before 3A and it’s so cool program. He struggled first half of the season so I was so moved to see Dancing On My Own at (2019) Nationals.

Tatsuya Tsuboi: I love Turandot 1.0 the best. When I was novice skater I saw his senior debut GPF (2015) and he got a bronze medal. It was so impressive and I was so moved.

Kaori Sakamoto: I love Moonlight. This season he won 4CC title. Second year 4th place, third year 3rd place, fourth year 2nd place, and finally he got gold medal. He seemed very happy on the podium and both program and costume were great. Everything was perfect.

Mone Chiba: I love the last season’s SP, Everything Everywhere All At Once, because I love the atmosphere. His step sequence expresses powerfulness and gracefulness. It’s great program so I feel it too short.

Rinka Watanabe: I love Moonlight because I’d like to express like that. His skating is like a clear (not hazy) night and it’s great.

Rion Sumiyoshi: I love many programs. I love Air On The G String because I sometimes skate it for skating lessons. It’s a very simple music but he can tell a story and he can bring a joy to audience. His technique is great.

Mai Mihara: I love many programs and each has a charm. If I choose one program, I’ll choose Turandot 2.0. Especially cantilever is really great and I was so moved and I almost got goosebumps. Both skating and expression were great.

Hana Yoshida: I have two programs in my mind. If I choose one program, I’ll choose Bolero. I forget the name… small pattern…Great Spirit? I love the step sequence and I’d like to rewatch it.

Yuna Aoki: Turandot 2.0 is so impressive because I love princely costume and I feel his powerfulness from this program. I love it so much.

Wakaba Higuchi: I love Bolero and Turandot so much. I could see Bolero at ice shows many times and it’s impressive.

Satoko Miyahara: I love Bolero the best. Turandot 2.0 is impressive. I also love gala program Padam Padam and I always think it great.

Rino Matsuike: I love Bolero. I used to skate Moonlight, so It’s so special for me. When Mihoko-sensei choreographed this program, she said “When the music started, audience was so focused on his performance from the first moment. (He could bring audience to his world.) When I am training, I think “I’d like to perform like him.”

[robbie-wallis]

I need to vent about Watcher, endure it if you can

Relax, this isn't a parasocial thing, but it is a long ass post, which suits me as a long ass human.

I need an outlet to discuss the terrible business decision Watcher has made by announcing their plan to leave YouTube, and this long-forgotten Tumblr account reached from its grave to grab at my ankle.

If you didn't see their video, good for you. It's extremely cringe-worthy in its sentimentality and editing, with blurry shots, pensive pauses and obligatory sad piano.

But at least there's no f'ing Ukulele.

Although, I think we might get the Ukulele in a few months.

Even though anyone who reads this is probably familiar with what the "Ghoul Boys" have done, I feel as though I need to add a little history.

WATCHER HISTORY

You can skip this part if you've been obsessively following the shenanigans, this is for the noobs who were never a "shaniac" or a "boogara".

Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara used to work at Buzzfeed. They hosted the successful Buzzfeed Unsolved shows. In 2019 they followed in the footsteps of the Try Guys and Safia Nygaaard and left Buzzfeed to create their own YouTube channel named "Watcher".

They brought along Steven Lim, another Buzzfeed person who is most known for the "Worth It" series. This series followed Lim and his friend/s spending obscene amounts of money on obscenely overpriced and indulgent products.

Think of it as being similar to the $100 V's $10,000 Sidemen content, only without the self-awareness and British "bad lads" humor.

Notably, even the Sidemen seem to have cut back on those adventures, perhaps understanding how bad it looks when so many people are struggling to pay their essential bills.

Steven became the CEO of Watcher while Shane and Ryan continued to create and present for the new channel.

They were wildly successful by YouTube standards. At the time of their self-spanking on Friday they were close to achieving 3 million subscribers, in just 4 years, based on basically only 2 cornerstone shows. If Social Blade is still a reasonably trusted source in everything but estimating income, they were gaining thousands of new subscribers every week.

Their most successful shows were Ghost Files, Puppet History, Too Many Spirits and Mystery Files.

Ghost Files is the only one of these shows which requires heavy investment, travel, a large crew and impressive production costs. These videos are shot on-location and require a lot of work. The rest are basically Good Mythical Morning style, just the two hosts and their banter.

Aside from Ghost Files, their content could be created with 3 cameras, 2 lapel mics and a good editor.

They were massively successful, solely because of Ryan and Shane.

THE DEMISE

So, what did they do on Friday 19th April? They decided to announce the launch of their own subscription platform.

Not a Patreon for extra content, behind-the-scenes, audience interaction etc, (they already had a Patreon with 6,000 paying subscribers earning them at least $50k a month), but a bespoke streaming platform which looks like a clone of Netflix.

The cost is $5.99 a month, or $60 a year.

Comparable to Netflix.

And by that I mean the price is comparable to Netflix while the content is comparable to a 4 year old YouTube channel.

Don't get me wrong, their production quality is incredible. The quantity, however, is not.

From the end of May viewers will have to pay to be a subscriber on their own platform in order to watch their shows.

They'll still be posting their trailers on YouTube, and the first episodes of new shows, but to watch it all you'll have to pay up or miss out.

Edited to add: Variety originally reported the Watcher crew were planning to remove all their existing content from YouTube to monetize it on their own platform. It's since been confirmed they will not be removing their old content. Fans are undecided whether this was a back-track after the announcement or a misunderstanding by Variety. You be the judge.

Of course, they're entitled to do this. They are creating a product and you can either enjoy it or not. No one is entitled to see it, for free, whenever they like.

Why did they do this?

Half of the sombre video gushes about their "humble beginnings" as "struggling young guys in a big harsh world", which comes across as extremely self-indulgent and ego-stroking.

A quarter of it explains how insanely successful they've been on YouTube and how this is all thanks to the fans who stuck with them after Buzzfeed, how it's allowed them to hire 25 people, how it's given them the freedom to create what they enjoy making and what the viewers want to see, and - most importantly - how it's allowed them to increase production quality on Ghost Files.

The final quarter of the video explains that this isn't good enough, the quality isn't high enough, the finish not glossy enough, it's not "TV caliber" enough! They want more, they need more, you have to give them more, mostly (apparently) because their CEO Steven Lim wants to bring back his show where he flies around the world with his bestie sipping Champagne and eating gold-leaf-covered lobster.

In short, they want more money to make even bigger things, even though their audience never asked for that.

WHY IT WILL NOT WORK

Oh my goodness, this is going to be a ride so strap in.

I'm not a YouTube creator so there are a lot of things I do not know. Having said that, I know a little about business.

This ain't Buzzfeed, y'all

Watcher became successful because of Ryan and Shane. It was their friendship, their personalities, and the content we loved to watch featuring them at Buzzfeed, that brought us along for the ride.

The audience they poached from Buzzfeed is there for them and Ghost Files. It's not there for Steven Lim and "Worth It". His show worked under the Buzzfeed umbrella only because they had numerous sub-categories in that community to support it.

The Try Guys left and created their own channel from their Buzzfeed fans.

Safia Nygaard left and created her own channel from her Buzzfeed fans.

Shane and Ryan left and created Watcher from their Buzzfeed fans.

Steven Lim left and became the CEO of Watcher. He didn't take his audience with him.

The audience of Watcher is not the audience of "watch me fly around the word with my pal and spend $100K on hand-reared, Whiskey marinaded, diamond-encrusted Kobe steak".

And... IN THIS ECONOMY?

Steven chose to become a CEO instead of a presenter. He's missed the opportunity to take that Buzzfeed audience with him.

This is made clear by the Watcher channel itself. Their "man eats food" content rarely breaks 500K views while their Ghost Files breaks 2 million consistently.

If a million of their viewers followed them from Buzzfeed to Watcher, the other 2 million have joined them since, based almost entirely on their spoopy content.

Not only did they base their channel on this genre and format, they have distilled their audience further ever since the creation of their channel and no matter how hard they try to diversify into "man eats food" it's just not working.

This ain't Netflix, y'all

As mentioned, the $5.99 charge is comparable to Netflix and just about every other streaming platform. Only Watcher can't give you even 5% of what a competing platform can offer for that price.

Other platforms also tailor their content and their pricing based on geographical location and localized economics.

You're paying far less than $5.99 a month if you live in an economy where the median household income is $300 a month. YouTube has a global audience. Their subscribers don't all live in a stable economy where $5.99 is considered disposable income.

We don't know the numbers, but I would guess only 60% of their subscribers are based in the USA, Canada, and the UK.

Even for those who do live in a stable economy, their audience is predominantly young adults and students. Most young adults are currently facing the reality that they will possibly never own their own home, they're living day-to-day trying to budget.

They've instantly priced-out a large % of their audience.

I confidently predict that diehard fans who can't see anything wrong with this will sign up for $5.99 a month, binge watch for a couple of weeks, realize there's no new spoopy content and cancel.

They'll come back when a full season of Ghost Files has arrived, pay again, binge it and leave.

Steven Lim thinks they're gonna get $5.99 a month, every month, from thousands of subscribers. In reality they're going to get maybe $12 a year, from people signing up to binge watch what they want, then leaving.

This will then decline naturally as attention wanes during the months where there is no spoopy.

This ain't good marketing, y'all

They're going to be posting "trailers and season pilots" on YouTube.

Sure, I bet YouTube is gonna be totes okay with a channel doing nothing but trying to hijack traffic for an external site.

Posting nothing but trailers and season premiers will mean maybe one full video per month during busy seasons. That's not enough to remain relevant for the algorithm.

If 80% of those posts are also just trailers saying "leave YouTube and come here", the channel will be smacked down quicker than a crypto scam using an AI generated Elongated Muskrat.

Their channel was growing steadily, but that was with full content regularly posted. When the schedule drops off, and when most of it is considered spammy by YouTube, it's going to collapse like a flan in a cupboard.

A streaming platform needs a constant flow of new subscribers just to replace the gradual drop-off (maybe ask Rooster Teeth about that). When your global audience at YouTube is gone, where are those new subscribers coming from?

The platform is also an additional overhead. It's going to cost thousands a month to keep the servers going.

This ain't good financial management, y'all

I don't know if they've already spent hundreds of thousands of $s on Lim's "men eat food" gamble, but I suspect they have.

I know they have spent hundreds of thousands of $s on a new season of Ghost Files, flying to the UK to host live events while filming those episodes.

This means they've over-extended their finances just at the moment where they've cratered their opportunities to see a return on investment.

Just that, on its own, is enough to destroy a production company.

They do not need 25 employees any more than I need an editor and proof-reader for this long ass post.

They do not need a production studio in Hollywood any more than I needed an office to write this.

They do not need to spend tens of thousands of $s on glossy graphics that appear on screen for maybe 4 seconds in one episode any more than I needed to add screengrabs to this painfully long essay.

By leaving YouTube they've lost:

Adsense revenue (which might not be much on a per-video basis but adds up with a back catalogue over years of productions)

Sponsorship deals, which allegedly contributes almost 50% of their annual revenue.

Merch sales, which is about to crash if the only people they can promote merch to are already paying per month in their smaller ecosystem.

Patreon. Why would someone pay $5.99 twice, for the same or less content?

And they've abandoned all of this for maybe a few thousand people who will probably end up paying just $12 a year when a new spoopy season arrives for them to binge.

I'm no Will Hunting, but no matter how hard I try to make the numbers work they just don't, and I don't need Robin Williams to tell me it's not my fault.

This ain't nice, y'all

Some of you are feeling like Ned's wife right now, and some of you will have no idea what that's in reference to.

Most of you will hate that I made that reference more than you hated the SNL skit.

I get it.

Maybe the worst part about all of his, from a viewer's perspective, is the dismissive nature of their sign-off.

They didn't mention the Patreon members once, not one single time in the whole video. It's like they consider the Patreon "too YouTube". They're the deformed cousin locked in the attic. They're the relative who wasn't invited to the wedding because they can't afford a Tom Ford suit. They're the colleague who isn't invited to the staff night out because they only work in accounting and no one has anything in common with Janice anyway.

These are diehard fans who were actually paying them extra to support them and enjoy a little bonus behind the scenes, and the boys didn't even consider them worthy of an utterance.

They also finished with "If you don't follow us and pay up it's been real, peace out". I'm paraphrasing, but that's basically what it was.

They spent so much of the video saying how awesome and great it was that the fans and YouTube got them to this point, but they didn't thank their Patreon members, and they ended with a blunt suggestion that if you don't follow them and pay more then you're not a real fan anyway and they don't really need you.

"Thanks for getting us here, sucks to be you, bye now!"

You made them wealthy, you helped them hire 25 people, you helped them increase production value to "TV caliber" even though you didn't ask for that, but your job is done and now you're superfluous. Only the real fans are wanted.

In the words of the great George Carlin - "It's a big club, and you ain't in it".

They're okay losing the vast majority of the people who got them here if a few thousand of those are comfortable enough to be able to pay $60 a year for a YouTube channel.

Can it get worse? Sure!

We've had a weekend to enjoy the constant heat of this bonfire and it's predictably worsened with each hour of silence from the company and its employees.

The fact that they haven't back-tracked, despite almost unanimous agreement that this is badder than the baddest thing that could happen to their company, suggests they're okay with it.

Consensus seems to be that they knew it would be this bad, and they're cool. They predicted 90% of people would scream "Boo to you good sirs! Boo indeed!" and they could still survive on the 10% who don't see a problem here.

The lack of response reinforces the narrative that they're totally fine with discarding almost their entire audience if they can just squeeze the cash they need out of whoever is left.

This ain't fixable, y'all (maybe)

Note: I don't want this to be mean, but it's going to sound a little bitchy no matter how I try to say it.

If they'd brought out the Ukulele on Saturday, or even teased Ukulele's on their socials before putting out a video on Sunday, they probably could have survived this with much hand-wringing and a little groveling.

But now I think they've grilled this Kobe steak for far too long.

They've lost 100K subscribers, and counting. The venom among Patreon members is allegedly worse than the public comments section under the video, which is startling. Dozens of YouTubers are torching them harder than a $100 crème brûl��e.

People are scraping their channel content in case it's nuked.

Shane "eat the rich" Madej's sentiments over the last few years look disingenuous, to say the least. To shamelessly steal someone else's comment: "Imagine being all 'eat the rich' right before throwing yourself on the plate". He's silent while his McMansion burns down, at his own hands. "Why not!?" indeed.

Steven "I drive a Tesla" Lim's socials now make him look like a tech-bro try-hard and his use of words like "early adopter" and "soft launch" in the video only compound the belief that this was all his brainchild. He is the CEO, and that comes with responsibility and the associated blame. You can't steer the ship into the Bermuda Triangle and then disappear without looking like the bad guy.

Okay, you can disappear, but that convoluted metaphor is a mystery for someone else to solve.

Ryan "TV caliber" Bergara now sounds like an elitist who thinks YouTube is "too pedestrian" for his big plans, not big enough to meet his artistic vision. You see, he's more James Cameron, while YouTube is more like your student film club. He's grown beyond this pesky platform with billions of daily hits offering exponential growth with almost zero financial risk.

Even if they released a video today admitting they messed up big time it's still going to be hard to get the taste of this Ghost Pepper Warhead out of the collective mouth of their viewers.

This hasn't just burned their shared brand, it's singed their individual reputations among an audience upon which their careers rely.

What they should have done, on Saturday, is release a video (Ukulele or no) confessing their error. They should have announced their new platform will instead just be a bigger and better Patreon, with early access to everything, behind-the-scenes content, extra features, audience interaction etc.

They should have reversed to make clear their YouTube channel will stay the priority, their main source of revenue, but that you could get more on their own platform if you want it.

And, maybe, over time, people will pay for that. If they grow their channel to 6 million subscribers in the next 4 years there will be a couple hundred thousand of them willing and able to pay $5.99 a month for 8 years of shows, 8 years of behind the scenes content, 8 years of community involvement and regular early access to new episodes.

Maybe then they could try out their "privileged guys eat expensive food in expensive places" show and see how it does? Maybe a majority of people won't be living on the cusp of poverty by then and it won't look as tone-deaf as a 13 year old YouTuber trying to cover Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah"? Maybe then they could hire another 50 people and make Bergara's "TV caliber" (I still don't know exactly what that means) game shows and reboots?

The clock has been ticking since they hit that "publish" button on their career ending video, but that clock is about to count down to zero and silence will permeate throughout their previously lively community.

That 1980s basement set needed someone crying in the corner, right?

The problem is, their own platform is not a terrible idea. Really, it's not the worst thing they could do. The badness came in the timing, the switch, the middle finger and the f you. They could have released this as an extra, their own Patreon alternative, waited, developed it over time into something sustainable and established.

They could still try to do that and hope this dark chapter is forgotten.

Maybe I'm wrong? Maybe Lim is a financial genius with more skill than the management of Rooster Teeth and their corporate parent company combined? Maybe this gamble will be wildly successful despite all streaming services down-sizing or just going bankrupt? Maybe they won't be back on YouTube in 3-6 months begging for views after having to lay off 20 of their employees?

I know this... if I were one of those 25 employees blind faith would not be enough to stop me from looking for another job.

I suppose this will, for now, remain... a mystery.

EDIT:

I'm not writing another essay about this, but I'm glad to see they've backtracked and made the right choice to use WatcherTV as any sane creator would - to host early access and exclusive content in addition to their YouTube channel.

Over time, while promoting it in every video, building up that trust and fan base, it can be a secure and long-term financial bonus helping them to expand their business incrementally as finances allow.

Why this wasn't the plan all along is anyone's guess. Gambling everything on this was never the sane decision.

I still think they need to scale back on costs. I still think the food content is not currently a viable source of income while being a serious drain on resources. I still think they need to stop hiring all their friends and they need to hire one person who doesn't have personal relationships with everyone there and can make the tough business decisions.

No one likes firing people, it's ten times worse when it's a friend. But this is a reality of business and just wishing it wasn't so isn't going to make it go away. It would be awesome if we could all run a business where we can hire all our friends and family, never have to rely on any outside funding, make whatever we want, make a great living in one of the most expensive cities in the world and continue to grow.

That's just not the reality.

Their apology was genuine, in my opinion. I just hope they can work out the right financial balance.

[etoilesbienne]

re: boundaries

I've made many posts previously on this subject already, so people are already aware of my stance regarding disliking the way "boundaries" as a concept are used by the mcyt fandom, however I want to have a brief meditation on why this is the case, and a look at common arguments about them.

however i do want to make clear that i don't mind boundaries as a concept, actual boundaries. as in "if you do x, i will respond with y" kinds of boundaries. I think cc are completely fair and understandable in this kind of perspective. if someone makes a kind of content they dislike, they're free to block that fan or express discomfort over it. That's normal.

my critical eye is turned toward the fandom's perception of "boundaries" as a sort of fandom ruleset, either you follow them with the in-group, or you're thrown in the out-group and labelled all sorts of insults, anywhere from a criminal offender to just having people be plain nasty toward you. this in my opinion, really feeds into the fandom habit of having "cliques" as fandoms are social networks that are voluntarily joined. i find it juvenile at best.

at worst, on the other hand, is the concept of mcyt having mixed in kpop stan culture around 2019 with smplive (great server. horrific fandom at the time it was run. all of the smplive fans still left are veterans worthy of respect for surviving that.), which caused a very explosive mixture.

kpop fandom has this outlook and parasociality toward idols because these idols are borderline unreachable. even in smaller groups, companies generally (not always.) discourage idols from talking one-on-one selectively with fans. there deserves to be a more thorough examination of kpop fandom with stan culture, that i believe i am not fully qualified for. my point is that kpop idols are a hell of a lot harder to reach for english fans, whether through language barrier or through professionality done by companies.

the explosive mixture is bringing this same mentality - the mentality that these people you look toward as the main source of the fandom as being untouchable, perfect people. it's dehumanizing in its own right, but aside from that, it creates a dangerous fandom situation. as best shown using smplive with CallMeCarson from before.

CMC is the origin point of boundaries within the MCYT fandom, having held a live in fall of 2019 talking about how a popular danganronpa themed wattpad smplive fanfiction was upsetting for him to read. CMC had an intense fanbase that could and would look up to him no matter what. of course the fanbase would go after and harass this author off of the internet and deleting their work (which remained lost media until this January of 2024. Almost half a decade.) after this situation, only months later it comes out that CMC had in fact been manipulating women aged 17 to early 20s, into sexual dms and sending him explicit photos of themselves for around a year. i am of the opinion CMC would have done this behavior regardless, however, the fact he had access to so many women who put him on a pedestal without considering he could exploit them was exacerbated by the stan culture mentality of mcyt's fandom at the time. this is not a criticism of the women, it is a criticism of the fandom culture of the time for failing to treat carson as a human being who had every capability to treat people like this.

no cc is exempt from that mentality by the fandom. carson knowingly used his position within the fandom to make the choice to do that to those girls. no cc should be exempt from the real possibility of the consideration that they can fuck up, not always in the way that they necessarily need to be cancelled or deplatformed, carson is an extreme example that is absolutely not representative of cc as a whole, but there needs to be a healthy level of doubt and separation between creators and fans.

to reiterate: cc are not your friends. cc do not need you to speak for them. you do not know these people personally. to present your defense of them and their personal opinions like you spoke to them directly and are close friends is dangerous, both for yourself, and for other fans in the community.

everything i have listed is why i always will be critical toward any fan group or clique that presents themselves as being pillars of the community, and why i am critical of any page or resource that tries to list "boundaries" as hard fast rules to be self policed by the fandom. not only is that punitive mentality, it's careless and poor understanding of how communities at large work.

i don't think a "boundaries" list is necessarily a bad idea in the long run either, if these lists were, like, compilations of streamers' twitch chat rules, that'd be cool! but generally these lists lack any nuance of why and where some boundaries may apply. like a ton of streamers hate ships being spammed in chat, but could give less of a fuck about people making ship fanart. or like wouldn't care as long as the ship art isn't put in their main tag.

as well as the general ignoring of regular boundaries, we all remember the horror show of people dono-ing to cc in 2020-22 asking for their boundaries right? like just so we're explicitly clear, walking up to someone and asking what someone's opinion of making adult content of them is very much sexual harassment. that's objectively something fans should not be asking to cc. if they want to say something, they can speak up on their own. they do not need your prompting. if you wouldn't ask it to your boss in an office, don't ask cc it. tangentially related is the ignoring of boundaries based on disliking fans harassing each other or other cc. those boundaries never get to be prioritized for a reason, as those behaviors feed into the stan culture mentality of pitting sources against each other in fan wars.

parasociality and stan culture turn mcyt fandom into a power vacuum where fans who like to self-police to a dangerous extent try to take charge. this makes the fandom worse.

[wingzie]

Jikook and the Importance of Photos

Photographs are special. They map out our lives through precious memories. They leave a footprint in time that can forever be part of our history. These glimpses of our past, make us who we are and show what or who is important to us. They are full of so much love and emotions, even more so when they are shared with those most trusted to us. This goes for every photo shared by the members.

 I personally think it’s amazing that we can tell when a photo of Jimin is taken by Jungkook, there’s a certain style to it and it comes across even at a glance. One of my favourite photos of Jimin by Jungkook is this one:

This photo was taken from the behinds of Life Goes On. Each MV was beautifully directed by Jungkook, and it’s hard to miss the references made from within their old dorm. I know Jungkook isn’t keen on photos but, just like during GCFT, Jimin is looking at Jungkook and not the camera here with that smile. With that one look, that we are so familiar with, we can trace every single moment within their history which has that same shining expression. It tells a story over time, but also that one photo itself is so telling in the way that it was captured. One of my favourite photos of Jungkook by Jimin is this one:

There’s something raw and delicate in this photo.You can see it in Jungkook’s eyes. Each item in the photo tells its own little story, from the Birthday cake to the polaroid photos on the table that we never saw. This photo is all we saw from the night of Jungkook’s Birthday in 2019 and sometimes I am reminded that with these glimpses into their lives, there are still so many moments of theirs that we are unaware of. For example, Jungkook had a hickey on his neck during MOTS:Online and none of us had any idea until the DVD Behinds came out. 

For every selca or video that Jikook has shared with us, it shows a part of them that we are so lucky to witness. To be able to watch their growth over the years is magical and something I will always cherish. Why am I going on about photos and memories though?  Because they give so much of themselves to us and I will never take it for granted, nor expect them to give more to us than they want to. Some of their memories are for them only, but we can still hold dear what we know already…

Some of you know this already, but I have been caring for my Mother lately. Over the last few months, her memory has worsened. In an attempt to help, we play memory games and repeat simple tasks together. However, her memory is something that cannot be simply fixed with such methods. I had the idea to get out family photos, until I realised that we had stopped taking them when my parents divorced. It’s made me more proactive in archiving things that I do each day. Every little thing I see or hear, I note it down or save the song. In a way, it’s also how I associate with BTS or Jikook. When the BTS World soundtrack came out, I was having a really bad day and it gave me a lot of comfort. I smile whenever I hear Pied Piper because it’s one of my friends favourite songs. Any time I hear “Jungkookie” or “Jimin-ssi”, a barrage of memories come to the front of my mind and I grasp onto all of them whilst I still can. 

I'm sure it's not just me who does this either, Jimin and Jungkook probably do this themselves. You could see that when Jungkook was watching Jimin’s compilation with us. He was recollecting the same memories as us, but he also has access to an entirely different set of memories that we don’t know of. We also saw that with the way Jimin and Jungkook both explained the Rainy Day Fight. During the Festa video, Jungkook mentioned “rainy day” and expected Jimin to understand what he meant. Later on, Jimin and Jungkook gave their own versions of what happened in their separate lives. They both more or less experienced the same thing, but blamed themselves for their actions and not the other. 

They love adding to their own collections of memories. Every single time that Jimin watched Jungkook rehearse and the other way around, enough so that they could probably be a backup dancer. All the clips they have but haven’t shared. The moments we don’t find out until later, the inside jokes they have without context. We don’t understand, but that doesn’t matter. Only they have to and we just watch and smile. Their memories are a huge part of them, it’s what makes their bond so special.  

[yawneneteyam]

ALL THINGS CONNECTED | j. flatters chapter eight ─ the finish line

summary: growing up on the set of avatar: the way of water was a dream. your friends had become your family, all except for one. jamie was the one person you always found yourself drawn to, in ways more complex than the title of 'best friends' [4.8k!!!].

pairing: fem!reader x jamie flatters

notes: based on jamie flatters documentary: all things connected. co-stars/friends to lovers. inspired by @cacapeepee. I have finally made my return!! I cannot promise when the next part with be out but I am trying to write more and more; I missed you all lots, thank you for your patience with me. mentions of swearing & saying goodbye to your best friend, it's literally depressing.

masterlist ⎸ chapter seven | chapter nine

2019. 

"JAMIE, WE'RE IN THE final stretch.. are you gonna miss anything about la?" filip was behind the camera, zooming in on jamie. you could be seen just to the left of him. he was in a black hoodie eating his overpriced lunch from some chain restaurant you forget the name of. 

"uh, yeah" he started, shovelling some more of his food into his mouth, with a cheeky smirk sitting on his lips. the camera picked up you looking at jamie, your head rested against your fist as you sat in admiration of him.

"and what is that?" filip led.

"so many things, man" jamie shook his head. he picked up his water to take a sip before realising it was empty. as the camera began to pan over to duane, it just got you passing your water off to jamie to have a sip of.

"how 'bout you? you gonna miss anything?" filip redirected his questioning to duane.

"well we haven't crossed the finish line yet" duane tried to stay positive. there was only a week or two left of his time on set. the finish line was approaching.

"but are you going to miss la do you think?" filip continued to question his friends, channeling his inner jamie.

"parts of it" he admitted.

"what're you gonna miss the most?” 

"probably you guys" duane shrugged, a sky smile making its way onto his face.

"awe, shut up man" filip cooed, shoving duane a little.

"stop it!" your voice overlapped his.

"shut up, dude" jamie was the last to chime into the gaggle of embarrassed remarks. 

"that was sweet" the camera panned back over to you, who was just getting your water bottle back from jamie.

"and you? what will you miss about la?" the camera just picked up the little warmth that rose to your cheeks.

"i'll miss you guys" you shrugged, picking at your lunch. "i'll miss you guys a lot" you looked from filip, to duane, to jamie.

"you guys a saps, aye" the camera panned to jamie, who was now stretching with his arms in the air, his arm falling on top of your chair once he was fone. “total melts" he chuckled.

"what're you gonna miss? real shit" filip asked him again, not satisfied with his previous answer.

jamie’s hesitation was caught on film, but he soon shrugged with a shy shake of his head. "well it's gonna be you guys, isn't it?" it wasn’t missed how jamie looked at you for the longest when he said that. "you guys are my best friends" he admitted. “i love you guys".

"awe, jamie!" you leant against him, feeling the warmth radiating from him. he reluctantly pulled you in for a side hug and held you tight, knowing that in four weeks he wouldn’t be able to anymore.

"i'm turning this shit off" jamie chuckled, before his hand covered the lens and the screen went black.

three weeks had passed. "what are we gonna do?" jamie’s conviction brought you back to reality as you zoned out against the window of his hotel room.

"what do you mean?" you asked confused. 

"well i leave on thursday" it hit you square in the face as he spoke. he wasn’t wrong. time had inevitably done it’s duty and had creeped up on you unsuspectingly. you were counting down the days until you had to say goodbye and part, but hearing him say it- made it all the more real.

"i know" you admittedly quietly. jamie was sat on the floor across from you, the sun hitting him just right. his hair had finally started to grow out more, he looked so beautiful in that light. how you wished his camera was in your hands, ready to capture this moment. for now, you would just have to savour it in your mind.

"i dont wanna not be friends anymore after this.. you know?" jamie began to fidget with his fingers, something you noticed he does regularly.

"i know" your heart sunk hearing the vulnerability in his voice. "we're still gonna be friends" you managed to reach his eyes as he looked up briefly. "we'll get to see each other for press" mustering a poor excuse of a smile, you slipped off of the windowsill and sat on the ground with jamie.

"i dont want to wait two years to see you y/n" your legs were touching, he involuntarily found himself leaning into the feeling of you against him.

"we won't, i promise" you shoved him slightly with your foot, making him look up at you. he found solace in the small smile you were offering him.

it was quiet for a little after that, until jamie spoke again. "i have another job lined up, a film" he admitted.

“that’s exciting.. i've got an audition next week" 

"you didn't tell me that" he managed to bite back his scoff.

"i didn't want to jinx it" you shrugged, "it's for a show" you told him.

"that's so cool" he tried to relax his head against the bed, but he stopped once he realised he wouldn’t be able to see you as well. he had to drink you in whilst he could.

"yeah.. we'll see" you chuckled. your lip found it’s way between your teeth before you spoke up again, “i'm gonna miss you jamie".

he looked up from his fingers that he was still picking at to watch your demeanour fall. "i'm gonna miss you more" he admitted.

"can't believe it's over" he caught wind of the small crack in your voice.

"how fucked is that" he sniffed, his emotions starting to ger the best of him. "i'm gonna really miss you" he wiped at his nose as it began to run at the thought of being finished on set. "you have no idea" he scoffed. "you're my best friend, y/n" jamie sniffled again before finally finding the courage to look at you.

you had a few tears falling down your face as you smiled at him sadly. "you're my best friend too, jamie" you managed to chuckle, "i love you" a shrug followed in suit. 

"i love you too" he nodded. he had to fight the urge inside of him to bring you into his arms and keep you there forever.

"i'm scared to go home" you admitted, that brought him back.

"why?" he found himself leaning closer toward you, like two kids sharing secrets.

"my parents fight lots" you whispered almost, "so being here for as long as we have been has been insane, it's been so good just to be out of the house".

jamie was lucky in that retrospect. his parents were together, he had two great brothers who he loved. he couldn’t imagine anything but when it came to family. "i'm sorry y/n" he whispered in reutnr.

"don't be sorry," you shrugged, sniffling. "i mean that's life. it's just hard sometimes… but i'm gonna try and get more work so i can move out eventually".

"you can come live with me" jamie offered.

"you wish" you scoffed, looking up to the ceiling as you wiped your eyes dry. "you'd get sick of me" you chuckled.

"i could never get sick of you, y/n" jamie said in return. anyone who was listening in would think he was just joking around with her, but he knew the weight of his words. "don't forget about me when you go, yeah?".

"jamie" you started, "i could never, ever, forget about you" shaking your head slowly, you reached out and grabbed his hand in yours.

"promise?" he asked quietly.

"i promise" you whispered back.

"i really do love you y/n"

"i love you more" you squeezed his hand a little bit tighter.

"have i ever said how beautiful your smile is?" you hadn’t even realised that you were smiling at this point.

"what?"

"you have a beautiful smile, y/n" he held his gaze with yours, taking in the way you looked at him. it made jamie feel like he was the only one on this earth worthy of you looking their way.

"t-thanks"

"you've changed my entire life y/n" 

"you've changed mine.. like you have no idea" you held in a chuckle as another tear fell down your face. "what time do you leave thursday?".

"my flight is at eight, you're in makeup at at seven" jamie wiped at his nose again with his free hand, a welcome distraction from the things he was feeling.

"so i can't go say goodbye" you whispered.

"we can say goodbye before" jamie squeezed your hand again, you forgot you were even holding it.

"i wish you were staying" 

"me too" he nodded.

"you need to go to sleep” you chuckled, pulling away and beginning to get up from your place on the floor.

“oh yeah? and what about you?” he chuckled, looking up at you and hoping that you could both stay there for a little longer. “we have the same call time” he reminded you.

“yeah but you get grumpy when you don’t sleep” you rolled your eyes at him, grabbing your stuff from his bed.

“i do not” jamie argued back, sniffling away the last of his tears.

“yes you do” you whispered, giving him a hand to help him stand up.

“oh shut up” he said softly, chuckling along with you.

“as much as i’m enjoying sitting here with you, you need to get some rest” you smiled.

“you’re not wrong,” jamie nodded, walking you over to the door. “you’ve got lots of crying to do over me tomorrow” one of the last scenes you filmed together would be neteyam’s death, a fitting end. “do you want me to walk you back?” he asked as you opened the door.

“it’s okay jamie, it’s like twenty metres away” you room was just down the hall.

“you never know what can happen in that amount of time” he raised his eyebrows at you in response.

“goodnight jamie!” you called as you walked away from him.

“night y/n” 

“bro, watch his head, watch his head” you were all in the water, hauling jamie up onto the ledge of the pool. you pushed the last of jamie up onto the ledge before crawling up after him.

“just watch his head” sam said as he laid jamie down against the jagged pieces of set.

“it’s okay bro, we’ve got you” britain spoke as you got up near his head, holding it close to you. you gave sam the room to move as needed but made sure you stayed with jamie up at the front.

sam turned jamie around, you held his head so he wouldn’t hit it on anything as sam checked for an exit wound.“oh, oh no” he stuttered out. you pushed jack out of the way to get a look at his back. you covered your mouth, tears starting to fall from your mouth.

“tey, i-” jamie began, you cut him off as he panted.

“it’s okay ma’ teyam” you scrambled back over to be at his head, looking down at him with tearful eyes.

“put pressure,” sam growled, grabbing britain’s hands harshly. “put pressure on it” he moved britain’s hands to jamie’s chest.

“te-“ jamie tried to stumble out once more.

“it’s okay, i’m here” you said when his breath got caught in his chest. you offered him a reassuring smile as more tears fell at a rapid rate. “i’ve got you” you caressed his cheek and nodded at him. “everything is okay” you said.

jamie’s gaze moved from yours to sam’s who was starting to cry too. “dad-“ he said, you felt jamie grip onto you and you watched as he did the same to sam.

“i’m here” sam nodded, looking down at jamie. the sound effects went off as zoe came in, she ran through the small crowd you had all formed around jamie. 

“no, no, no” she muttered, watching him with wide eyes.

jamie struggled to get his breath steady as he looked from you, to zoe, to sam.“i want to go home” he panted. you couldn’t help but lean down against him, your head next to his. 

“i know, i know” sam cried, trying to hold it all together. “it’s okay, we’re going home” he lied. “we’re going home” you listened as sam said his line and jamie’s breath began to become more rapid as he fought to take breaths in. “it’s okay, it’s okay” sam reminded him softly.

“dad, i…” you felt jamie go limp against your hold.

your eyes snapped open as you got up to look at jamie, his eyes open with nothing in them. “neteyam?” zoe whispered. your breaths quickened as you tried to hold in your sobs. “no, no, no, no” zoe came forwards, holding onto him. “neteyam!” she screamed.

“oh my- no” you sat up away from jamie, watching as he laid there still. “please” you whispered. “please, please, please no” you gripped at your chest, you felt your heart plummet as you watched him there lifeless.

zoe’s greif fuelled scream filled your eyes. “oh great mother,” zoe sobbed, bringing jamie up to hold him against her chest. “no great mother! my son! no!” 

you cried as jack pulled you into his arms, you felt your chest constrict with grief and panic. your sobs only grew as britain began to cry too. jack brought you in over his shoulder as you screamed.

“and cut”

“no, no, no!” you kept crying, the emotion fell from you. it was involuntarily as you screamed over jack’s shoulder. you felt his grip tighten on you as he sat up and started to talk to you, but you didn’t process what was happening.

“y/n?” jamie moved over so he could pull you back from jack. 

“kid” sam came over, his hand on your head. you finally snapped out of it as jamie pulled you into his arms. you watched as bailey and zoe came over too.

“y/n?” zoe grabbed your face in her hands, “are you okay?” she asked softly. you blinked heavily as you caught your breath again.

“i’m sorry” you whispered quickly.

“it’s okay” jamie held you tighter as you calmed down, “you’re okay” he promised.

“i’m so sorry” you said again looking at everyone.

jim had also made his way over. he looked down at you before crouching down to your height. “you okay?” he asked. you nodded shakily, zoe still holding you as she looked into your eyes, almost asking you to be honest with her. “let’s take ten and we’ll go again, okay? take some time” james patted you on the back before heading off to confer with the producers. 

“c’mere” jamie pulled your chin toward him so you were looking up at him. “what’s happened? what’s wrong?” he asked. zoe stayed close, making sure you were okay.

“i-i don’t know” you stuttered, “i just- i just kept crying.. i think i-i’m just tired and i didn’t realise we had cut” you weren’t sure what happened. you weren’t lying. it was almost like you were watching the scene play out in front of you instead of being there. watching jamie just lay there.

“y/n” jamie raised his eyebrows at you, hoping this was the full truth you were giving him.

“i really don’t know” you shook your head. “i-i’m not sure.. i’m okay” you tried to give him a little smile.

“c’mere” jamie wiped your tears away from your cheeks. you embarrassedly oushed him away, doing it yourself- wiping at your now running nose.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckled, trying to recover from the last few minutes.

“it’s okay, you’re okay” jamie nodded, trying his best to reassure you.

“im sorry” you looked from him to zoe. 

“you’re okay” she waved it off casually, trying her best to help you move on from it. 

“you’re safe, yeah?” jamie held your head against his chest. “i’m here, i’ve gotcha” he nodded, offering you a smile.

“what happened today?” 

you were sat in bailey’s hotel room, both laying facing the ceiling. some movie was on in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention anymore. bailey admittedly, like the rest of your castmates, were worried about you after shooting your scene today. you were able to reshoot it, not letting yourself fall to deeply into it this time. 

“i don’t know really” you admitted to her. you turned your head so you were looking at her. she had a crease in her eyebrows, a tell-tale sign that she didn’t believe you.

“are you alright?” she asked, the crease only getting worse. 

“yeah, i think so” you offered, “just couldn’t really snap out of it i guess”.

bailey could always tell how you were feeling, she just had a way of doing it. she knew you felt embarrassed still about this morning. “it’s a hard scene, y/n” she tried her best to comfort you.

“i just felt so stupid” you shrugged, looking back up at the roof.

“why?” 

“because i just kept crying” you scoffed at the memory of today. the way jamie had to physically pull you out of that state.

“you don’t need to feel stupid because of that” bailey grabbed your hand.

you knew that there was more to it. there were so many unspoken feelings going through your head. “it’s nearly over bailey” so you decided to let one slip. “we’re just supposed to pack up and go home” you shook your head in disbelief.

“we still have three more movies left, y/n” she reminded you, like a punch in the face.

“i’ve got one” you admitted. bailey sat up quickly, a shocked look sat on her features. “i’m not contracted on the last two” you told her.

“what?!” she exclaimed.

“yeah,” you nodded.

“wow” she sighed.

you didn’t meet her gaze as you spoke. “jamie leaves in two days. duane is already gone. i leave in a week. the rest of you guys finish two days after that” you let all of your thoughts run wild over your tongue. “what then? we wait two years for the movie to come out and then we do press and it’s over again” the entire process of just having to leave was messing with your head. “this has been almost three years of our lives, how am i just supposed to move on from that?” you asked her, finally looking her way.

“you don’t have to just move on, y/n” she grabbed your hand. you weren’t sure when a fifteen year old got so wise, or when you started using bailey as a personal therapist, but you were so proud of her.

“i feel like i’m expected to,” you told her, “i don’t want this to end yet,”.

“me either,” she whispered. you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. you pulled it out to see a text from jamie.

text: how should we spend our last day together?

you huffed, turning your phone around to show bailey. she read over the message as you spoke, “how do i even respond to that?”.

“mm, i don’t know. what do you want to do?” she asked. 

“i’m honestly not even sure” you held your breath for a few seconds before sighing out “.. i’m gonna miss him a lot”

“hey,” bailey looked down at you, still holding your hand. “just because we’re not filming anymore doesn’t mean we aren’t all going to be friends forever. i don’t think anyone could take you away from jamie, you two are like inseparable” she laughed with an eyeroll, “you two not seeing each other every day is going to change that”.

“i guess” you nodded.

“it’s not an i guess” she said, “you two are special”.

“i like him so much” you whispered to her. 

“i know” she nodded. “why don’t you just tell him?” she shrugged, like it was nothing. as if the weight of your entire friendship with him didn’t hang in the balance.

“i can’t do that” you shook your head quickly. “we live in different countries, we’ll work different schedules, we have such a good friendship.. and i don’t want to lose that” you admitted.

“he would never let that happen” she smiled, “and neither would you”.

“jack, stop screaming!! we’re gonna get caught!” bailey shouted over at him. jamie laughed as he pulled you into his arms, your head rested in the crook of his arm. you watched as britain passed the ball off to bailey, to bounces it over to jack.

“dunk it, you got it” britain calls.

“and he goes for the lay-up!” filip has jamie’s camera in hand, filming jamie’s last night with you all. jack jumps and tries to bounce the ball from the backboard into the ring, but misses.

“i said dunk it dude” britain stood with his arms out, an almost offended look on his face.

“what are you gonna do when you get back home?” you asked, looking up at jamie. he watches his friends for a little bit longer before looking down at you. you looked so pretty, he thought.

“i’ve got a few weeks before i start filming forgotten battle” he told you, “just see some friends, catch up on everything i’ve missed”.

“i bet your friends miss you” you smiled softly.

“and yours don’t?” he chuckled.

“they tell me they do, but they look alright without me.. happy” you let another rampant thought slip out. it just happened when you were with jamie, you knew you were safe from judgement or anything else.

“it’s weird, watching everything go on back home isn’t it?” he agreed with you.

“a little” you nodded.

“are you gonna be okay going back home?” he had been meaning to ask you for the last few weeks, but in the chaos of everything he never found the right opportunity to ask you.

“yeah.. i think so” you nodded, trying not to think about having to go back home to your parents. “it will be different being back home again. take some time to get used to it” you nodded, almost trying to convince yourself that you were telling the truth. “i’m just gonna keep auditioning until i find something else” that would be your way out.

“well hopefully you ace the audition on monday” he smiled, already knowing you would. he had been lucky enough to see you during an audition process in the flesh. he knows you’re great in the audition room.

“hopefully” you chuckle.

“britain, pass!” jack called, ready to go for another lay-up.

“are you two gonna play? or just mope?” filip turned around, getting a zoomed-in shot of you laying with your head on jamie’s shoulder.

“you wanna?” he asked. part of you wanted to just say no and stay in this little bubble with just you and jamie, but you knew you couldn’t. you had to drink it up whilst you could, next week you would be back home and your friends would be back to their normal lives.

“yeah, sure” you nodded, getting up. “better make the most of it” you helped jamie up from the floor. filip came over and passed the camera to jamie, before running off and stealing the ball from jack.

“oh filip’s just dashed it” jamie laughed following him.

“i like running!” filip said looking straight into the camera. 

“to me!” you called running over toward the ring, “i want it,”.

“she’s feelin’ it!” jamie called filming you, “she wants it!!”.

“oh!” britain called as you stepped back and shot the ball straight into the ring with a swish.

“let’s go!” filip called.

“i’m just that good!” you held your arms out, a smug look on your face. “watch me dunk it” jack bounced the ball back over to you. “agh, wait” you jumped, but to no avail, there was no way you were making that.

“wait, wait-“ jamie passed his camera off to bailey before jogging over to you. she zoomed in as jamie put his hands on your waist to lift you up to the ring. “brace yourself” he said as he lifted you. you almost forgot to even try to put the ball in the ring, too caught up with the feeling of jamie’s hands gripping your waist tightly.

“go, go, go!” jamie called from underneath you. you broke out of your haze and were able to just reach the ring and put the ball through the hoop.

“yes!!” filip called.

“she was flying” bailey commentated behind the camera. “it was beautiful” she smiled. she turned the camera around to face herself, forgetting about the zoomed in frame- oblivious to the fact that it was only getting her lips as she spoke. “that’s cinema guys” she nodded.

jamie came over and grabbed the camera back from bailey, letting out a small thank you. he reset the frame and started to film you. “say goodbye to the camera” he said.

“say goodbye?” you asked, your eyebrows raised.

“yeah” he nodded.

“goodbye camera” you waved, coming closer to the lens. “i’m gonna miss you a lot” you said before blowing it multiple kisses.

“it’s gonna miss you too” jamie said, before switching it off for the night.

“well, that’s it then” you and jamie stood at your hotel room door. the hallway was empty, it being so late you assumed everyone was probably asleep.

“this is it” jamie nodded, his hands in his pockets, suddenly shy in front of you. he hadn’t felt this small in front of you since the first day you met, but knowing the intimacy of the situation, he had reverted back into his shell. “good luck with your audition” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet nervously.

“i’ll need it,” you laughed softly, pushing your head out of your face.

“no” he shook his head, “you won’t”.

the silence was beginning to engulf you both, and you would be damned if you let it ruin your last moments with jamie.“i’m gonna miss you” you said softly.

“c’mere” jamie swallowed the lump in his throat before pulling you into his embrace. he held you tightly and close to himself. he could smell your shampoo as he rested his head against yours.

“i love you lots” you whispered. jamie could hear that you had started to cry, which only made him more emotional. 

“i love you lots as well” he said, trying to hold back his tears.

“don’t forget about me?” you asked, your face buried in jamie’s jacket.

“i could never” he chuckled, you could hear his smile. “come to london, yeah?” he looked down at you, pulling away slightly.

you met his gaze with your big eyes. he gently wiped the tears off of your cheeks. “eventually,” you nodded.

“promise?” he asked.

“i promise” you nodded. you sniffled before reaching into your jacket pocket, “i got you something” you said. pulling out a small box from your pocket.

“what?” jamie was taken aback as you passed it to him.

“like a goodbye for now present” you shrugged. jamie opened the small box to find a silver ring sitting inside. it was beautiful, even more so because it came from you. “i saw it at that markets bailey and i went to, it made me think of you” you said, wiping your tears again.

“y/n” he let out a sad laugh as his first tears fell. he brought you into him embrace again and held you closer than he ever thought possible. “thank you, i love it” he whispered you’re your hair, “thank you”.

when you pulled away, jamie was looking down at you with a face you hadn’t seen from him before. “why are you looking at me like that?” you chuckled.

“just, because..” he shook his head. because i’m in love with you, he thought. “thank you for everything. this entire experience has been crazy, and i feel so incredibly blessed to have met you and to have done it all with you”

“thank you jamie” you grabbed his face with your hands and he wouldn’t be lying if he had hope you were going to kiss him. “for everything” you just nodded though, taking in the moment. “i’m gonna miss you” you whispered.

“i’m gonna miss you too” he said softly.

“i better go” you slowly let go of him and offered a sad smile.

“you’ve got an early call time” he nodded.

“you’ve got an early flight” you shot back, “be safe” you said before getting out your room card.

“course,” jamie nodded. “text me?” he asked.

“yeah,” you whispered with a nod. your hotel door opened and you started to walk inside, but not before turning back to look at jamie once more.

“g’night, y/n” he said. kiss her, kiss her now.

“night jamie” you whispered. but he didn’t kiss you. he just let you go back inside, and was left to regret it for the next year until he saw you again.

finally back! thank you so much for your patience, support and love. without that I wouldn't have come back. I'm really proud of this one, let me know your thoughts. sending so much love!

[dp-marvel94]

Graveyard of Identities- Chapter 1

Summary:

Danny should feel lucky to be alive. After a month held captive by Vlad, barely remembering his life before, and nearly dying in his escape, he is finally safe, with friends in the Far Frozen. And yet, dread gnaws at him- a massive revelation at the edge of his consciousness, forgotten until the dead of night. It was a lie. All a lie. His past, his memories: all false. Amity Park, his friends and family: all real but… not his. The secret locks in his throat, unthinkable. He stays silent while the yetis welcome him as one of their own. But they do not know. And he can not tell them. He is not the Danny they think he is. He is not Danny at all.

Word Count: 3346

Next Chapter->

Also on A03

Note:

Hello lovely readers! Welcome to my story for Invisobang 2024! It has been a long time coming and I am so excited to finally share it with you all!

As you can see, this story is the second in a series. For those who read "Hope Can Be Heavy Thing to Hold," this is its much anticipated (by me at least) sequel! Part of me doubted this day would ever come. It's been almost 5 years since I wrote Hope and while I always planned that there would be more to the story, life (and other phic ideas XD) kept side-tracking me. My writing has changed and improved at lot since the end of 2019. And I really hope those lessons produced a better story than otherwise.

For those joining from Invisobang, welcome! Please do not feel intimidated by the fact that this is a sequel. My hope is that this will be a enjoyable story, even without that background. (Though if anyone gets curious and checks out the previous work, I will not complain of course XD)

Since this work was written as part of Invisobang, I was lucky enough to work with two wonderful artists. @suzukiblu made this lovely artwork and posted it here . @mysterious-ink-slime made her own piece, link to be added once it's posted. A huge thanks to both of them! Go give their art all the love!

Also, a special note on the title! For years, I had my heart set on naming this sequel after this particular GFM song and now I have! Graveyard of Identities by Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh; you can watch the music video here . This song is about the transforming power of pain, letting the old die, and rising as someone new. To me, it compliments the theme of this story perfectly. Special thanks to CJ and Maggie for inspiring me with their art and listening to me talk about my own.

And the specialist thanks to my sister, @nervousdragonrebelpie , for listening to me ramble about this story for months. This story is much better thanks to her listening ear and thoughtful suggestions.

Finally, thank to all you readers. I love and appreciate all your support and encouragement. And I eagerly await all your thoughts and feelings and screaming at me in the comments. XD Happy reading!

Was this… death? 

Floating sightless, soundless. Almost without thought. Too far away and hazy for fear. Just the numb warmth of darkness. 

Drifting without form, the fragile center lay exposed. Something gently brushed. Cradling mist; Soft pin-pricks of cloud. Smell-sight-taste of green, old pennies and lime. The feelings arose, more shapes of ideas than anything real.

The world shifted, brightening into bleary focus. Something inside stirred, the sensation like blinking without eyes. Awareness flickered sharper and then dim. Sharper, then dim. 

A vibration caught on his consciousness. Many and small and gently plopping like… rain. Rain, streaming down, around, through. Understanding slowly dawned and then… awe.

Green, crisp and bright as a spring day, overcame him. It flowed in, warm and safe and all encompassing. It filled his mind, every part of himself. 

And… Mind. He had a mind, a self. He existed. He was a person. He was still here. Maybe he wasn’t-

Darkness rushed back, like a wave crashing on the shore. A gentle death-like sleep took him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Suddenly he was falling. Air rushed passed and bonelessly, he impacted. 

The shock of cold stole his breath more than the crash. Something light and airy cushioned his fall, his face half buried in the chill.

Heavily, his eyes dragged open. White filled his dim vision. In the distance…. The sound tickled his ear, an electric roar. Struggling, his gaze drifted up. Blurry silver and blue shapes quickly approached. 

His mind crawled, thought unreachable. Unable to process, unable to move, mind and body weighed down by crushing exhaustion. 

But confusion chipped at the edge, clawing for purchase. Fear, familiar and ever present, lingered under the surface, though neither rose to awareness, the fatigue too great.

Darkness pulled him down again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beeping near his head crashed through the darkness. He was lying down, soft plushness underneath him. Familiar… too familiar…. 

A slimy voice echoed in his head. ‘Son, you're awake.’ 

The boy’s heart rate spiked, a jolt of panic. Burning red eyes flashed in his mind, a clawed hand squeezing his wrist. 

He gasped, whole body flinching. Blurry eyes flickered open to all consuming white. Dread surged. No. This couldn’t-

The beeping grew louder, followed by the cacophony of pounding feet.

The boy flailed weakly, heavy body struggling to move. In his elbow… something hard and cold. His arm jerked violently, other hand scrambling. A stab of pain, a release of pressure. Cold wetness welled up, a flash of green on pale skin. 

‘Now Daniel. Stop being difficult.’

No, not Daniel. Never Daniel. Danny. His name was Danny.

“Great One, calm down. You are safe.” A calm voice cut through A furry, horned face… wearing a surgical mask?

Panic swelled. Who? Where? What? This wasn’t-

A different, higher voice. “You are safe, Great One.” 

Great One? No, that wasn’t… His mind scrambled for purchase, words and thoughts slipping. 

“His ecto-pressure is dangerously elevated.” “He’s going into shock.” “Sedate him.” 

He didn’t... Where was he? Where was Vla-

The pinch of a needle, jabbed into his neck. No! He would be good. He didn’t need to be punished again-

Consciousness ripped away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An unknowable time later, Danny drifted up through the darkness. Soft and gentle. His heart beat slowly, a calm, even timbre. And he was, at last, aware.

Soft fabric under him, wrapped around his body. The quiet, ambient sounds of lights buzzed in his ears.  Far away water dripped. His own soft breathing. Soft white light ghosted over his eye lids. 

Said eyes blinked slowly, half-lidded. They felt so heavy. An experimental wiggle of his fingers… the boy groaned, sudden sensation hitting him. Everything ached, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Every inch of his skin felt raw and fresh, like it had been removed in pieces and now was newly reassembled. Like a weird gross puzzle.

Danny laughed at the idea and a second later, his lungs spasmed painfully. He let out another, louder groan.

“Great one?” A loud, worried voice cut through the air. 

His heart skipped a beat, the surge of fear returning. He’d woken up earlier, hadn’t he? Laying on his back, beeping by his head, all consuming white. And now… He finally registered the towering figure at his bedside. 

“Who…?” His voice shook, weak and unused. “Where…?”

The figure leaned closer, the face becoming visible. A furry muzzle, sharp teeth, icy horns. 

Danny tensed, a flash of panic. But… the wide, concerned blue eyes. A memory bloomed in his head.

Tightly hugging a white, furry yeti in an icy place.

Instantly, the boy relaxed. “Frostbite?” The names came out with hardly a thought, the knowledge just there in his head.

The yeti’s expression softened, visibly relieved. “Yes, it is me.” A gentle paw gripped his shoulder. “Relax. You are safe.”

Safe…. The word ran in his mind. It felt like an impossible improbability. But… Frostbite was a friend, right? The yeti’s kind eyes and jovial laugh rose in his mind, the image strangely distant. 

Danny let out a breath, a surge of relief coursing through him. But the action made him grimace, nose wrinkling.

“Are you in pain?” Frostbite asked eagerly. “Here, allow me.” He fiddled with one of the tubes attached to Danny at his elbow, just passed the sleeve of what was maybe a hospital gown. A plunger depressed. “That should dull the ache.”

The boy gasped as something cold entered his vein. He blinked rapidly, surprised as the pain dulled to a small pin prick in the back of his mind.

“Wow…. That’s… that’s so much better.” He smacked his dry lips.

“Water?” The yeti offered. A glass with a straw appeared and with a flip of a switch, the bed shifted under him, allowing him to recline.

The cup lifted to his lips, Danny drank shakingly. The cool water soothed his sand-papery throat, a blessed respite after… after….

He couldn’t remember. That sent a stab of worry. But he was here with Frostbite, one of his friends. Allies? The shape of that felt right. He’d gotten here, somehow. Wherever here was.

Finally the boy swallowed. “Where am I?”

“In our medical facility.” Frostbite answered. “You have been in and out of consciousness for quite a while. This is your first time being coherent on awakening.”

Quite a while…. It was coming back to him now. He only remembered waking up that last time, panicked at the sound of the beeping by his head. His eyes flitted to the device… a heart monitor. 

That was… strangely familiar. His stomach twisted with dread, echoes of previous panic. The heart monitor reminded him of before. He had been… somewhere, somewhere bad. His mouth felt dry, the memory just out of reach… 

Danny swallowed. “How did I get here?”

“You triggered a perimeter beacon.” The yeti said, voice taking on a grave tone. “A patrol found you in the snow, unconscious and dangerously unstable. The guards rushed you here and we attended you. It was… We were worried for a long while, that your injury was too great.” His voice wavered with emotion, an air of heavy grief. “That you would… leave us. But…” A watery smile bloomed. “The most dangerous part has passed. You are recovering wonderfully. And you are finally awake.”

“Yeah….” That was… a lot. Danny’s brow furrowed. His mind swam, relief, sadness, and… a mounting unease clashing. 

Frostbite seemed to pick up on the feeling. “What is it, Great One?”

“I don’t…” He bit his lip. “That’s… a lot. Thank you for finding me and saving me. I’m grateful, really grateful. I…I know I’m safe. But…” His insides twisted, a queasy feeling. “I…I apparently almost died and I don’t… don’t remember what happened.”

The yeti’s eyes rounded, the concern turning worried. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Before… the heart monitor beeping near his head, a room with white sheet and fancy wooden furniture. A man with white hair, a smug smile, and red eyes.

“Vlad.” The knowledge hit him like a truck. “I was at Vlad’s mansion!” Danny jolted, trying to sit up more fully with a wince.

“The other half ghost?” Frostbite put a paw on his arm, gently lowering him back to the bed. “You are enemies, are you not?”

“He… he kidnapped me.” More images flashed. The plain, impersonal bedroom. The metal panels of the training room. The trap door in the greenhouse. “Vlad kidnapped me. He was…keeping me captive.” His face wrinkled in a grimace. “He made me call him Dad and train with him and watch football…” 

“Plasmius keeping you captive.” Frostbite looked just as stricken. “That is worrying….”

Danny’s stomach turned, sickened. “He… he hurt me.” Vlad’s hand across his face, electricity searing his limbs, locked in a small dark space. “He did something to my mind.” The jar of Lethean water, the tree with red and blue berries. “I didn’t remember anything. He was trying to brainwash me into being his… his perfect son but…”

He was missing something, something big. The gap loomed, dark and constricting. His voice quickened, from something uneasy and wary to panic. “I can’t… I can’t remember.”

“It is alright.” The yeti tried to soothe. 

The calm voice failed to ease the distress. “I can’t remember.” But… the dark, earthen passage. The lab, bathed in green portal light. Jars and beakers, tables and weapons. The foreboding door. “I was… I was in the lab. I was trying to escape but…” Broken glass and metal, spilled ectoplasm. Vlad’s mocking voice. “He… he interrupted me.”

Danny’s blood chilled, dread dropping in his stomach like a stone. He saw it as clearly as Frostbite across from him.

Vlad’s face set in a sneer, as hellish as the vampire he played at. The taser in Danny’s hand. He jabbed with it but… too late. The man caught his wrist, fingers squeezing. ‘You oppose me at every turn.’

“Vlad… he broke my wrist.” Numbly, the boy stared down at his right hand. The wrist was unwrapped, no sign of the fracture. He felt sick. 

“I tried to fight him.” Electricity pouring from his hands, Vlad twitching on the floor. “But I wasn’t… wasn’t strong enough.”

Harsh, hateful words echoed in his mind, too far away to remember. Tears had been on his face, back there in the lab and…. Now, here in the medical wing. 

Frostbite said something, paws moving toward his face but all Danny could see…

On the floor, Vlad looming over him, his eyes insane, full of dark possessiveness. Agony gnawed at Danny’s heart, the feeling of his world crashing down around him.

“He held me down, electrocuted me.” Danny trembled, the tears falling. “I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back. It… it hurt, my core hurt so much.”

A look of understanding, of revelation flashed on Frostbite’s face. But the boy barely registered. Just the comforting furry arms moving to embrace him.

Hands and feet, cold and tingly… then wet. Ectoplasm welling, sickly neon green. “I…I started melting.” Danny froze in Frostbite’s hold, eyes wide and devastated. “Vlad shocked me and I started mel.. melting.” 

His hands and feet dissolving away, staring at the ceiling through his tears. “Vlad… he tried to… to kill me. He tried to kill me.”

That was it. That must have been it, the earth-shattering thing he was forgetting. The green spreading to his shoulders, his hips. His core locking up, shaking with agonizing shocks. 

In his mind, Vlad hovered over him, shouting. A boom, metal crumpling, sudden icy chill. He couldn’t move. Helpless. He was going to die…

In Frostbite’s arms, Danny shook. “I… I thought I was going to die.” Sudden silence. A figure kneeling over him, unseen through his tears. “I was melting… I… I couldn’t move.”

His heart ached with longing. Familiar faces flashed in his mind. His parents, Sam and Tucker, Jazz. “I…I just wanted to go home. I barely remembered them, barely remembered who I was.” The memory flickered, finding his parents’ picture in the book in Vlad’s office, his real name printed in the pages, and the sheer joy that had overtaken him. “I just wanted to go home.” He was trying to go home to his friends and family but… 

In the lab, a mouth hung above him, lips making the words ‘I’m sorry.’

Danny recoiled at the memory, burying his face into Frostbite’s fur. It… it didn’t make sense. Vlad would never say he was sorry. He couldn’t remember… but he was dying, his mind swimming, far away and terrified and- 

“I didn’t want to die!” The boy practically screamed. The force of the words, the sudden realization had him violently pushing himself from the yeti’s arms. “Am I dead?!”

“No. No. No.” Danny pulled at his hair. He’d barely gotten to live and now he was dead. “I can’t… I can’t be dead.”

“No, great one.” Frostbite’s paws appeared on his arms, gently pulling his tugging fingers from his hair. “You are not dead.”

Danny blinked, the panic rushing out of him. His heart, or the illusion of one, still pounded, yet shaking arms gently lowered “But…. but I melted.” He flinched at his own words, the next coming out quiet, pained. “How?”

The yeti chief’s brow furrowed. “You said you were in your enemy's lab when this happened. Perchance, do you remember a portal there?”

The boy’s brow furrowed, surprised by the question. “Yes?”

Frostbite nodded gravely. “I suspect you teleported into the Realms.” Danny’s lack of understanding must have been obvious on his face, because the yeti’s expression softened, voice soft and slow like he was talking to a hurt child. “Teleporting is one of your abilities, even if it has not developed fully yet. When your body… dissipated, you would have been reduced down to your core.”

“My core?” Danny looked down at his chest, raising a shaky hand to it.

“Yes.” The yeti nodded. “Grievous injuries will condense a ghost into their core. As long as the central part of their being remains intact, a ghost can survive. But,” Worried eyes fixed on the half ghost. “Cores will crack and fade if there is a deficiency of ectoplasm.”

The boy’s mouth felt dry. “Like in the human world.”

“As in the material realm, yes.” Frostbite agreed. “In a last ditch effort to save you, your core mostly likely used the last of its energy to teleport into an ectoplasm rich environment.“

“So I went through the portal.” Danny bit his lip, voice shaky. “But…I don’t remember that. Why don’t I remember that?”

The yeti gently reached forward, pulling the ghost boy once again into his arms. “Most ghosts do not remember the time spent as just their core. It is like… your human sleep, I believe. Or unconsciousness.”

“Yeah…” That made a type of sense. Distantly, Danny remembered darkness, the feeling of drifting, disconnection from his senses. He swallowed. “So I ended up in the Zone. What then?”

“You presumably drifted for a while.” Frostbite motioned to the boy’s core. “The scans of your core we took while you were unresponsive suggested you had recently re-formed. This is consistent with your lack of external injuries. You most likely came back together in the ectoplasmic nebula near our island.”

Danny’s brow furrowed for a long moment, mind processing. Finally… “I… re-formed? What… what does that mean?”

“Your core rebuilt your body using the surrounding ectoplasm.” A large paw patted the boy’s back. “You are fortunate you drifted into a nebula. The plentiful, active ectoplasm creates a rich, bountiful area for injured ghosts to re-form, and for the new creation of many others. And you found yourself so close to friends…” Frostbite smiled encouragingly. “The Divine must smile on you, indeed.”

The half ghost did not feel very encouraged. He stared at his hands, insides twisting. “So this is a new body…” He shakily removed his gloves, eyes trailing over the familiar fingers. The short, round fingernails, the light green skin, every crinkled line in his palm… everything looked the same as he remembered but… “Are you sure I’m not a full ghost?”

Frostbite squeezed one shoulder comfortingly. “Yes, I am sure. I myself saw your internal anatomy continues to reflect that of your human body. And on your core, the ability to transform between your two forms remains visible as well.”

Danny let out a sigh of relief. He looked at his hands again. Suddenly… he needed to be human again, needed to see that he was still alive. His aura flickered, mind searching for the trigger.

“Do not try to change yet.” The yeti gently reprimanded. 

Disappointment rushed through the boy, guilty unease flickering. Had he done something wrong?

But Frostbite continued before he could ask why. “The potential for your human form still exists, but without real world matter to reassemble it, it is inaccessible. We have been providing material world water and nutrients to you intravenously but your body still requires more time to recover.”

“Oh.” Danny nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. Wait..” His eyes widened, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “What do you mean you saw my internal anatomy yourself?” He side-eyed the yeti.

With that, Frostbite’s face turned apologetic. “My apologies, Great One. I mean, we had to perform surgery.” His expression turned serious, crinkled with worry. “Our scans found a foreign object embedded in your core. It was periodically electrocuting you, causing… dissolution in your extremities.”

The boy’s eyes widened, stomach twisting. Frostbite had said at the beginning that it had been touch and go for a long while there but…

“It was worsening so…” The yeti paused for a moment there, arms gently squeezing the shaken boy. “The other doctors and I performed surgery and extracted it.” 

Well, that was a relief. After a moment, Danny swallowed. “Can I see it?”

Frostbite paused, giving him a searching look. “Are you certain?”

Decisively, the boy nodded. “Yes.”

“Very well.” With that, the chief opened his arms, gently placing Danny back on the bed.

The boy had a long moment to blush, just realizing. He’d been sitting in the ghost’s lap for most of that conversation, like he was a little kid. He wiped his face with his hands, trying to shrug off the embarrassment.

Meanwhile, the yeti stood, rifling through drawers. After about several seconds, he returned. Frostbite gravely presented the jar. 

Wordlessly, Danny took the container between his hands. He studied the contents. A tiny metal strip laid there innocently, y shaped and as long as the end of his pinky. “This is it.” A lump formed in his throat. “This is what Vlad used to… to try and kill me.”

The full ghost’s face scrunched up, eyes alight with anger. “I had suspected this device was the cause of your injury. To violate one's core like this…” His nostrils flared, expression positively murderous. 

Danny swallowed, eyes just starting to widen.

Then Frostbite sighed. Again, compassionate eyes turned to the half ghost. “I vow Plasmius will never touch you again, not with the might of the Far Frozen standing beside you.” He shook his head. “Still, I am relieved you escaped.” A paw squeezed his shoulder. “The Divine delivered you to our paws and found you safety. I am much joyed to see you recovering.”

Danny’s heart squeezed, warmed by the words. The boy slumped, heaving a sigh. “I… thanks for taking care of me.” Still… his insides twisted, overwhelmed by it all. 

“It is my pleasure, Great One.” Frostbite beamed.

The boy grimaced. “Can you call me Danny? Please?”

“Danny, then.” The yeti nodded seriously.

The half ghost forced a smile. He really was grateful to Frostbite. He appreciated the comfort, but… 

The boy yawned, a sudden tiredness coming over him.

“Ah, I should leave you to rest.” The chief stood. “Press this button if you are in need of any assistance. Sleep well, Danny.”

“Thanks.” The half ghost nodded. 

With that, the yeti left. The door closed and Danny was alone. Soon, despite his anxiously twisting insides, sleep took him again.

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VI

—echoes of desperation

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. asshole!pedro maybe? no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hi everyone, happy reading <3

masterlist!

October 19, 2019

Newport, Rhode Island

The crisp autumn air greeted you as you arrived at your friend Jennifer's wedding. The historic estate, bathed in the soft golden light of the setting sun, seemed like the perfect backdrop for such a special occasion. The large, opulent estate, adorned with seasonal flowers and fairy lights, buzzed with the excited chatter of guests.

Daniel was by your side, his arm casually draped around your waist. You’d opted for a classic blue dress, elegant and understated, which seemed to enhance the sparkle in your eyes and the quiet grace in your movements.

Jennifer greeted you with her usual infectious energy and a hug that felt like a balm to your nerves. “You two! I’m so glad you could make it!”

The ceremony had taken place 40 minutes earlier, outside in the estate's lush garden, under a canopy of white roses and twinkling lights. And now the reception was in full swing. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed your wedding for the world," you replied, returning her hug. "Everything looked amazing, and you were absolutely stunning in that dress."

She beamed at the compliment, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Congratulations, Jen," Daniel said, raising his champagne flute. You looked at him, his brown eyes shining with genuine happiness, and smiled. Jennifer took notice of this and grabbed your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. "Thank you both so much for being here," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "And who knows, maybe you two will be next to tie the knot."

Both of you laughed at the suggestion, but you couldn't help but feel a warm flutter in your chest at the thought. A strange warm flutter, something you haven't felt in months; sadness, perhaps?

No, it couldn't be.

For the past six months, everything with Daniel has been nothing but perfect. He's been the perfect boyfriend: supportive, caring, and always there for you. You couldn't imagine being with anyone else right now. So the idea of marrying him didn't seem too far-fetched at all. On the contrary, it made perfect sense. So this feeling of unexplicable warmth and ache must've been nerves and excitement, nothing else.

The time for your speech arrived, and you took a deep breath as you were handed a microphone. The room fell into a respectful hush, the chatter and clinking glasses fading as the guests turned their attention to you. You glanced around, taking in the elegant decor and the sea of faces, many of whom you recognized. The soft, golden light from the chandeliers cast a warm glow over the gathering, and the atmosphere was filled with anticipation.

You adjusted the microphone slightly, feeling its cool metal against your fingers. You didn’t feel nervous; instead, a calm confidence washed over you. After all, you were good at this—pretending you were the best.

“Good evening, everyone,” you began, your voice clear and steady as you introduced yourself. "I have the distinct honor of speaking about our beautiful bride tonight.”

The crowd responded with polite applause, and you smiled, taking a moment to find your rhythm. "Jennifer," you continued, “where do I even begin? From the moment I met her, I knew

she was someone extraordinary. It’s not just her infectious laugh or her incredible talent that stands out, but her heart. Jennifer has a way of making everyone feel like they’re the most important person in the room.”

A soft chuckle rippled through the audience, and you saw Jennifer’s cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. You continued, weaving in anecdotes about your friendship, each story punctuated by a touch of humor and warmth. Laughter filled the room, and you finally caught Pedro’s eye momentarily. He was sitting at a table near the front, his gaze soft and attentive. The first time you saw him that night was when you arrived at the ceremony; he was already deep in conversation with someone.

You couldn’t quite read his expression, but you felt a flicker of emotion as your eyes met for a brief second. As you moved towards the more emotional part of your speech, your tone grew softer and more reflective.

The room cheered and applauded as you wrapped up your speech. Jennifer got to her feet and walked to the front, her eyes glistening with emotion. You stepped down feeling a sense of relief. The reception continued with lively music and dancing. You and Daniel enjoyed the evening, laughing and dancing with the other guests.

The joy of the celebration was palpable, but it couldn’t completely erase the tension you felt every time you glanced in Pedro’s direction. Exhausted from all the drinking and dancing and seeking a brief reprieve, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

"I'll be right back."

You give Daniel a quick kiss, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

"All good, baby?"

"Marvelous," you reply before slipping away from the crowd and into the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom. Its marble countertops gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, the delicate scent of lavender soap mingling with the faint aroma of champagne and floral bouquets from the reception. You stood by the sink, staring at your reflection in the polished mirror, your fingers tracing the edge of the elegant marble as if it could ground you amidst the chaos of your emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of unexpected anxiety in your chest.

The silence was briefly interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

Well, so much for peace and quiet.

The door creaked open, and Pedro walked in with his usual confident stride, albeit slightly unsteady. His suit was pristine, the dark fabric impeccably tailored to his frame. Yet the disheveled state of his dark hair and the slightly rumpled collar of his shirt betrayed a night of indulgence. The contrast between his polished exterior and the evident effects of alcohol made him appear both charming and vulnerable.

Pedro’s eyes softened as they settled on you, taking in the sight of your dress—a stunning creation that clung to your form in all the right places, the deep hue accentuating your features. He stepped closer, his gaze lingering with an almost palpable mix of admiration and regret.

"I was looking for you," he said, his voice low and filled with a hint of longing. "And I saw you come in."

He locked the door behind him, the click echoing in the quiet room.

“You look incredible,” he said, his voice carrying the telltale tone of someone who had enjoyed a few too many drinks. “But then again, you always do.”

The compliment hung in the air, unacknowledged. You kept your focus on the sink, pretending to be absorbed in the intricate patterns of the marble. Pedro’s gaze remained fixed on you, sensing your reluctance and frustration.

“Not going to say anything? I come all the way in here to tell you how amazing you look, and you give me nothing,” he said, his tone a fragile blend of irritation and desperation. The words cut through the silence, revealing the cracks in his façade.

You remained silent, and the quiet only seemed to fuel his frustration. Pedro leaned against the wall, his posture both defiant and defeated. His eyes were filled with a mix of sadness and exasperation, reflecting the weight of the emotions he struggled to keep in check.

“What’s with the silent treatment?” he pressed, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We used to talk about everything, and now you can’t even respond to a compliment?”

The tension crackled like electricity in the confined space. Pedro’s dark and aching eyes betrayed the vulnerability he usually masked with confidence. He took a step closer, closing the distance between you with a sense of urgency.

“Is this how it’s going to be, then?” he asked, his voice a tremulous echo of desperation. “We’re just going to ignore each other until it all blows over again? pretending like everything’s fine when it’s clearly not.”

His proximity made your heart race; the warmth of his body and the intensity of his stare were both electrifying and suffocating. The room, once a refuge of privacy, now felt like a cage closing in on you, amplifying the emotional turmoil swirling between you.

"If I remember correctly, we already had this conversation," you finally said, your voice steady. “You come and go as you please, and then you act like nothing happened. How am I supposed to handle that?”

Pedro’s eyes filled with regret as he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they touched your arm.

"I’ve been trying to move on, like you told me to, but it’s impossible when you’re always on my mind." His touch was hesitant, the warmth of his hand a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside.

As the minutes ticked by, the two of you remained locked in this intense, silent exchange. The muffled sounds of the party outside felt like distant echoes, drowned out by the gravity of your shared history and unresolved feelings.

Pedro’s eyes, dark and glassy from the alcohol, bore into yours as he closed the distance, his body pressing lightly against you. You could feel the heat of him, the scent of whiskey clinging to his breath, mixing with something familiar—him. Your pulse quickened, the rush of emotions swirling uncontrollably as you met his gaze.

“You’re drunk,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out softer than you intended. The barrier you’d built so carefully maintained was beginning to crumble under the weight of his presence.

“And you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his breath grazing your skin. The way he said it, with that low, gravelly voice, made your heart stutter.

You wanted to hold onto the anger, to remind yourself of the hurtful words exchanged and the distance you had fought so hard to maintain, but his nearness was intoxicating. The warmth of his body, the brush of his fingertips against your arm—it was all too much. His scent, the alcohol, his desperation—it clouded your judgment, making everything hazy.

His gaze flickered over your face, searching for something you couldn’t name. “Do you love him?” he asked, and though he didn’t say Daniel’s name, the weight of the question nearly took your breath away.

You froze, refusing to answer, instead turning your head to the side, your eyes seeking solace in the marble counter or the door—anywhere but him. But Pedro, in his drunken determination, wouldn’t let you escape so easily. He gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to face him, his fingers warm against your skin.

“Look at me,” he whispered, the words barely a breath. “Tell me.”

Your eyes, betraying you, flickered to his, and in that moment, you felt everything unraveling. The years of history, the on-and-off again, the unsaid things—they crashed over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

“Pedro,” you managed, your voice shaky. “You’re drunk. Stop it.”

He ignored you, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a rawness that made it impossible to turn away. “No,” he insisted, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Answer me.”

The weight of his words pressed against your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs. You could feel your eyes starting to burn, the overwhelming need to cry pushing at the edges of your control. His touch was maddening—pulling memories to the surface that you’d spent so long trying to bury.

“Tell me, princesa,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the nickname slipping from his lips like a plea. “Do you love him?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. The question lingered between you, suffocating the space; the answer too painful, too heavy to voice.

Finally, the words came, slow and trembling, barely louder than a breath. “I don’t know.”

The admission hung in the air, fragile and heartbreaking, and you could see the way it struck him, deep and unguarded. For a brief second, his hand dropped from your chin, and the look in his eyes—the sorrow, the regret—cut through you like a blade.

But still, he didn’t move. Neither did you. The gravity of everything left unsaid, everything unresolved, weighed too heavily, pulling you both into a moment from which there was no easy escape.

“Would it change something if I said no?” you asked, your voice sharp, cutting through the charged air between you both. The words were cold, edged with bitterness, the hurt simmering just beneath the surface.

Pedro’s reaction was instant—he grabbed your face with both hands, rougher than usual, though not enough to hurt. You didn't feel afraid; he could never make you feel as such. His grip was desperate, trembling slightly with the weight of everything unspoken. His eyes, though hazy from alcohol, searched yours with an intensity that made your heart pound harder. He was trying to find an answer, a way to salvage something, but you weren’t done.

“Would it change something, Pedro?” you pressed, your voice rising as you spit out the words like venom. “Would it? If I said no, would that make all of this—" you motioned between the two of you, your chest tight “—would it make this easier? What if I told you I don't love him? What if I told you I still think about you all the time? What would you do?”

Each question hit him like a physical blow, and you could see the pain etching itself deeper into his face with every 'what if' you hurled at him. He didn’t respond, but his grip on your face tightened, as if he could somehow hold onto you through the force of his hands alone. His silence only fueled your fire.

“No,” you finally said, your voice trembling but firm, “it wouldn’t matter because you're too late, Pedro. It wouldn’t change a damn thing. You think saying something now and asking me these questions will make up for all the times you left, all the times you didn’t say anything? We’re broken. And it’s too late to fix it.”

Pedro's breath was uneven as his fingers dug into your skin, not with malice but with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him before. His face crumpled for a brief second, his lips parting like he was about to say something—something big, something important—and you stopped him.

"Don't. Don't say it, not now," you whispered. "It wouldn't change a thing, so don't."

You were suffocating under him, until a sudden banging on the door jolted you both out of the moment. A voice called from the other side, followed by impatient knocks.

“Let me go,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. The words were for more than just this moment. You needed him to release you—not just physically. But in that bathroom, right then, it felt like the only thing you could control.

Pedro didn’t move at first, his hands still gripping your face as if he couldn’t quite let go. His thumbs grazed your skin, and for a moment you saw the flash of something behind his eyes—fear, maybe, or regret—but then it passed, replaced by the same helplessness that had filled the space between you for years.

“Let me go, please,” you said again, softer this time, but it felt like more than a request. It was the final thread holding the two of you together, and cutting it felt both terrifying and necessary.

His hands slowly dropped, the warmth of his touch leaving your skin cold in an instant. It felt appropriate, almost painfully so, that this was how it ended—here, in a bathroom at a wedding, with a banging door and the realization that no matter how much you wanted it, there was no going back.

You turned away, your body trembling, unsure if it was from the confrontation or the emotional weight pressing down on your chest. The moment felt fragile, like something you needed to step away from before it shattered completely.

You weren’t sure if it was the right decision, but in that moment, it felt like the only one you could make because someone else was involved now, and the consequences of continuing down that path were too great to bear.

November 10, 2019

Los Angeles, CA

Pedro’s day had started much like any other, but there was an added weight hanging over him, like the prelude to something significant. He woke up to the sound of light rain tapping against his windows, a rare occurrence in LA and a subtle reminder of the calm before the real storm—the Mandalorian premiere later that evening. He spent some time with his nephews, who had flown in for the event. They were excited about the premiere, already talking about how "cool" their uncle looked as The Mandalorian—though he couldn't show them much yet.

The early afternoon was a blur of preparations: phone calls from his team, final wardrobe checks, and trying to keep his mind from wandering too much into places he didn’t want it to go. Places that involved you.

He chose a classic black suit with a beige shirt, effortlessly tailored—the kind of look that made him feel composed, even when he wasn’t. The nerves were creeping in.

As the car pulled up to the red carpet, Pedro felt the energy shift—flashes of cameras, the buzz of fans, all converging in one chaotic, yet intoxicating, atmosphere. His nephews were with him, their excitement helping ground him. For them, this was magic; for him, it was part of the job. But he couldn’t deny the thrill of it—the anticipation of seeing the first episode on the big screen with an audience.

And then, there you were.

You stepped onto the carpet in a buttery yellow dress that made you look radiant—warm, untouchable, yet familiar in a way that left him breathless for a moment. The dress was soft and flowing, but the way you held yourself was sharp, like you had an invisible armor. He could tell you avoided looking at him at first, but when the group photos began, there was no choice but to stand next to each other, cameras clicking, people cheering. You posed for pictures together, smiling for the crowd, playing your parts.

Pedro could feel the space between you—so small, yet it felt like a chasm. The cameras didn’t catch that. He stole a glance at you as you laughed at something the director said during the photo op. You looked happy, at ease. He wondered if you were.

Inside the theater, the atmosphere was electric. The cast and crew gathered on stage for a brief panel discussion before the screening. Dave talked about the legacy of Star Wars and Jon about the vision of the show. Pedro listened, nodding along, just grateful for the opportunity to be a part of it all.

When it was your turn to speak, he watched you, waiting, unsure of what you’d say. Your voice was steady, confident as always, but then your words shifted.

You spoke about him.

“Pedro is... well, he’s a scene-stealer, as you’ve all seen from the trailers,” you joked, earning laughter from the audience. “But seriously, finally working with him has been one of the highlights of my career. His dedication, his talent, his kindness—it’s inspiring. I’m lucky to share this with him, and I hope we get to keep doing this for a long time.”

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words. He wasn’t sure if you meant it or if you were just saying what the audience wanted to hear. But for that moment, he let himself believe it was the truth. That you did still care, even in this small, professional way. But then again, this was your new normal—co-workers, partners on-screen, and nothing more.

December 25th, 2019

Perth, Australia

Christmas in Perth was like stepping into another world, a sun-drenched, easy-going atmosphere that felt miles away from the traditional snowy scenes of the holiday season. Daniel’s family welcomed you with open arms, not that you were expecting any less. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh seafood, and eucalyptus from the trees outside, creating a kind of domestic vibe that you hadn't realized you craved until you were in the middle of it.

Daniel was relaxed too—his racing season over for a few weeks now; he was finally at ease, the stress that usually clung to him gone. You spent every moment together, just soaking in each other’s presence. He even traveled with you to your last film shoot, attending your workdays like you had attended some of his races, a seamless give-and-take in your relationship that made everything feel, well, easy.

It was bliss.

On Christmas Day, after the exchange of gifts and an extravagant lunch, you received a call from your mom. You sat on the veranda, watching the cicadas buzz lazily in the midday heat, and spoke to her about how things were. She asked about Daniel, about his family, and about how you were doing with everything. You promised to visit soon, reassuring her that you were fine, happy, even.

But later, as you scrolled through Instagram, something pulled you out of that happiness, if only for a moment. A post from the Rise of Skywalker premiere a couple of days ago, you assume—a photo of Pedro and Oscar standing side by side, their smiles broad, their laughter captured perfectly in the shot. Pedro, inexplicably, was wearing... pajamas? Or maybe a robe? It was such a bizarre choice, so utterly him, that you couldn’t help but laugh aloud at the sight of it. The sound surprised you, breaking through the blanket of serenity you'd wrapped around yourself. But the pang that followed was sharper, unexpected. You scrolled past quickly, trying to ignore the ache it left behind.

•••

As New Year's Eve approached, the festive atmosphere grew louder, more carefree. You found yourself caught in the whirl of it all—the parties, the lights, the endless laughter—but always with Daniel by your side. On the night itself, amidst the dancing and celebrations with his family and friends, you received a call from Oscar and his wife. They both wished you a happy new year, their voices warm and full of affection. You exchanged pleasantries, caught up for a few minutes, until Oscar, in his usual thoughtful way, asked gently, “Have you heard from him?”

You paused, knowing exactly who he meant. “No, not really,” you said, your voice steady, but there was a crack in it that even you could hear. “But it’s okay.”

Oscar hesitated on the other end. You could feel his discomfort, the weight of watching two people he cared about drift into something neither of you could quite name. “I’m sorry,” you told him quietly, not sure why. Your words were soft, almost lost in the noise of the party around you.

“It’s no one’s fault,” he said, trying to comfort you, but it didn’t land quite right. There was a shared understanding, though—one that didn’t need words.

The conversation ended soon after, and you returned to the celebration, but it felt like a weight had settled back onto your chest, one that hadn't fully disappeared, no matter how much love surrounded you.

Later that night, as the party raged on downstairs, you and Daniel snuck away to your room, laughing softly as you closed the door behind you. The moment between you shifted quickly, from playful to urgent, as his hands found your skin and yours found his. It was quick, hot sex—an eruption of need in the midst of celebration. Afterward, he whispered, “Happy New Year,” his breath warm against your ear, and you nestled into his arms, letting yourself be wrapped in the comfort of his embrace.

But as you lay there, the world outside falling quiet, that familiar ache gnawed at your chest again. No matter how happy you seemed or how full your life felt, the longing never fully disappeared. It clung to you, a ghost from the past, waiting in the shadows for moments like this to remind you it was still there.

You wished, as you lay in Daniel’s arms, for the ache to go away with the old year. To leave behind all that hurt, all the unanswered questions, and move forward into the new year with nothing but joy.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it worked.

a/n: a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3 next part coming very soon!!

[awsugar]

And I forgot about the DRUMS!!! I think this is an album they may have been working on for years. I think they are going for a magnum opus

yea so i read this went you sent it at 6am cause ive been out of work sick for a few days now and my sleep is allll messed up. and i tinhatted EXTREMELY close to the sun on this one. but i kind of think im cooking. so let me explain.

also ill just say i think because we know somethings coming but we dont know what BUT we know there are threads throughout somehow connecting things from years prior like. all tinhatting is plausible until proven otherwise. if we want to draw a connection between two things we CAN. and i think thats why im so on board with mcr5 now when i havent been since 2019. bc ive done this before. i was in the trenches for the danger days rollout/promo and the transmissions on the website and everything and THAT was one of the most exciting times of my life and THIS reminds me of that. im glad people never gave up on mcr5 but they never gave me ENOUGH before now to really run with. and now they have and its a free for all. THIS is what being an mcr fan is about. tbh. this is what this fandom has been missing for AGES. when they dont give us teasers and lore and crpytic messages we devolve into like theorizing and arguing with each other about who they are as people. but this is the basis of mcr community to me....getting together with your pals inside your phone and inside your laptop (who now have grown ito irl friends for so many of us) and dissecting every shred of info they give us. thank god for my chemical romance.

ANYWAY sorry that. went down a path i didnt intend when i started. so yes um so what you said about them going for a magnum opus. let me tell you a little story. when i was in my first year of being a my chem fan, i was 13, i became QUICKLY obsessed, first with the black parade and then after i spent i think 2 months straight listening to nothing but the black parade on repeat all day every day (literally) i ventured into their other stuff and got like really sucked in to everything else, reading articles and interviews and watching every video of them youtube had to offer and talking about them 24/7 on the forums instead of doing homework, i would sneak the family laptop into my room at night so i could keep reading about them and talking about them instead of having to go to sleep it was THE most exhilarating and exciting time of my life. anyway. i remember (16 years later) reading a specific review of the black parade that said something like "my chemical romance will never top this album and they know it" and i STILL REMEMBER sitting on the couch and crying over it. because i had never listened to music that had made such an impact on me as the black parade IN MY LIFE. nothing had ever made me feel that way and that strongly as listening to that album. you know how we all always say we wish we could listen to my chem for the first time again just to have that feeling again. that was me. i had never experienced an album of their when it came out and i felt like the author of the article was telling me that i would basically never acheive that high again. it was devastating. i promise this is relevant. bc regardless of your PERSONAL FAVORITE my chem album, it is generally agreed upon that the black parade is their magnum opus. it just is. both in scale and musically and its impact on pop culture and its the best known to a general audience.

so you say they're going for a magnum opus. when the black parade is DEAD. they killed it. (in the new lore they were sent to the MOAT which i assume is some kind of exile and stripping of their status as the national band)

and so i started thinking about "in the face of extermination say FUCK YOU" and i think this applies here two-fold actually. MAYBE 3-fold. on one hand, in-universe. extermination being the concrete age, the dictator holding the people down and exterminating their livelihood. but also the extermination of the black parade! and then - irl - we have the extermination of mcr's chances of doing something huge again like this. music publications resigning them as soon as the album came out to never achieving something as epic and grand as that again.

and the FUCK YOU being, the opposition of the dictator from the people, the black parade being reinstated but? maybe they have plans to overthrow the dictator? IRL mcr saying fuck you, we can actually use the concept that you said was the best we would ever do, completely turn it on its head, and make something even more grandiose and epic and MAGNUM OPUS.

and also hail just reminded me obv of the UNKILLABLES drumhead in sydney. which both relates to franks personal experience there but also like. with this concept of in the face of extermination say fuck you. along with his end of tour post being a cockroach, notoriously unkillable! notoriously a target for extermination!!!!

god theres so many layers to this but i needed to get it off my chest do you still like me

[victoria-daydreams]

The Winner Takes It All ||Challengers

Part II: Maneaters

AN: I'm back y'all! I'm sorry for the delay in posting, classes are over but my god did work quickly fill the vacuum of the little free time I had. Buckle up everyone, we're experiencing our first time jump! And once again, a big thank you to has followed this story!

Trigger warnings: slight homophobia

Word Count: 6.1k

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopeless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kalikailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstali @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey @summerssover @hummusxx @callumturnerwife23 @whitewashedghanian @brunettegirl @igotmajordaddyissues

I tried to tag everyone who commented, but tumblr is being weird so I don’t know if you’ll get the notification.

Part III: The First Crack

13 YEARS LATER - NEW ROCHELLE, AUGUST 2019

In the mostly empty lobby bar of The Ritz-Carlton, a woman occupied the furthest seat of the counter, alone. Her eyes were glued to the screen of her iPad Air as vibrant, moving images reflected perfectly in her eyes. "Electric Lady" by Janelle Monae played in the background of the video while several women and a few men were dancing or goofing around against a lilac backdrop. The camera cut to a shot of a smiling woman, striking several posses for it, showing off the makeup flawlessly applied to her face. Suddenly, the woman was lightly shoved out of the frame by two laughing women all sharing resemblance of each other as they began using the camera as a mirror to apply lipstick or lip gloss. The camera zoomed in on the round and square tubes of the products, displaying the white lettering printed across it.

Another model popped up on screen doing a twirl before the camera focused in on the eye makeup painted on his face. Just as the music was slowly beginning to fade out, the camera positioned itself into an overhead shot, showing the set in its entirety. On both sides, models were crowding in front of mirrors inside a beauty bar. The woman from the beginning of the video confidently strode down the middle of the space, the camera slowly panning down to bring it down to eye level.

"Ace Beauty. Keeping your game face effortlessly chic and always classic," she recited smoothly, a charming smile on her face as she signed her name on the lens with lipstick.

Gianna stared at herself in the video, the end of her Apple Pencil pressed against her lips. Her own makeup line, Gianna could hardly believe that's a sentence she could say. It made sense to pursue the business endeavor though, her makeup looks off the court were always being discussed by her fans. Her Instagram comments were constantly flooded with questions: what techniques does she use, how did she achieve a certain look, what products is she wearing, etc. The makeup line scheduled to drop the same day as the start of the US Open Tournament, this of course was by design; what better way to promote your new brand than doing it on the same day when millions of eyes are already on her.

"You actually came,"

The sound of his voice made a grin tug on Gianna's lips.

"Well why wouldn't I, Patrick?" she questioned, placing the stylus down onto the bar. "I said I would I come, and here I am," she said, turning to look at the dark haired man with a laugh.

Gianna slid down from the stool and onto the floor, holding her arms open invitingly for an embrace. Though they were a few feet apart, she couldn't help but notice that Patrick was a little worse for wear. Like he was constantly at war with life itself and lost many battles in the process, but somehow was still here. Gratefully, Patrick accepted the hug, but Gianna was unprepared for how tightly he held onto her. He was like a child holding their favorite stuffed animal, it couldn't have been clearer to Gianna that Patrick was in need of comfort. In need of a friend.

"Okay, okay, Patrick, it's great to see you too buddy," Gianna said, patting his back lightly a couple of times. But you are squeezing the life out of me," she wheezed, and Patrick immediately released her.

He pulled back, running his hands down her arms while letting his eyes roam over her freely.

"You look damn good Gianna," Patrick complimented, shaking his head and laughing.

She shrugged her shoulders, "Hmm, I know," she agreed, twirling around in her ivory Ralph Lauren sleeveless jumpsuit. "You don't look so bad yourself, Patrick," she complimented back.

Those gray eyes, worn and tired, but still the same eyes that lit up whenever he had seen her. Still the same boy underneath it all.

"Come, sit with me," Gianna encouraged, walking back to her corner stool.

Taking a seat next to her, Patrick propped his arm up against the counter and leaned his head against his fist.

"How's your dad?" he wondered curiously, smirking a little.

A breathy chuckle escaped her, "It is very brave, kind really, of you to ask about the well being of my dad," Gianna commented, something which Patrick laughed at. "He's fine all things considered, misses coaching me, but with his heart attack it's best he focuses on his tennis academy. Less stressful," she answered, unlocking her IPad.

"And what does father dearest think about you coming to a challenger tournament to see me?"

Another laugh left Gianna, this one harder than the previous one, "You do not want to know," she warned, dragging her finger across the screen to start her makeup ad from the beginning.

"Come on, what did the old man say? You piqued my curiosity now," he said, wearing a challenging smirk.

Gianna's eyebrows shot up, her head tilting to the side to wordlessly convey the question of, "You sure about that?" It only made Patrick's smirk deepen.

"Alright, you asked for it, but don't say I didn't warn you," she began, lifting her hands up. "My dad said it was beneath me to even be anywhere in your proximity," Gianna answered bluntly.

"You know, I gotta admire the old man for his never wavering in his hatred of me," Patrick joked. "At least you still came and didn't listen to him like you would've before,"

"Yeah, I did take some words of wisdom from you the day we broke up," she admitted, looking over to him. "You were right, you know? I always allowed my dad's words to sway me much too easily," she remarked. "Though, you are wrong about one thing. My dad doesn't hate you. Initially, he did," she informed, watching Patrick's eyebrows rise. "No, what he hates is watching you squander the potential you had as a tennis star," she corrected, shrugging her shoulders.

"Ouch," Patrick said, pressing his hand over his chest in fake pain.

Gianna thought she saw a brief flash of hurt in his eyes, but in an instant, it was gone and she was forced to think she had imagined it.

"Listen, not saying this tournament won't work out for you, but if doesn't, I have a proposal that my dad is probably going to kill me for," she said, resting her arms on the counter.

"And that is?"

"I'll get you a position at the Maurice Langdon Academy as an instructor," Gianna offered.

Patrick's head jerked up from his hand, "You serious, Gia?" he asked, a glimmer of gratefulness shining in his eyes.

"Serve normally, and I can almost guarantee you that my dad will take you on," she assured, pointing her finger at him.

"This isn't charity, right?" Patrick asked, a flash of skepticism appearing on his face. "My dad, who's a big fan of yours and a donor to your dad's academy, didn't put you up to this?" he questioned.

"Patrick, the only person who put me up to this was me," she answered. "Plus, it's like what you told me over the phone, you have one good season left in you. Who's to say after this challenger you don't go on to achieve your dream," she suggested, shrugging slightly. "This is a job offer, Patrick, one that is waiting for you no matter which way the wind blows," she said simply, smiling at him.

Before Gianna knew it, she became the receiver of a very tight bear hug that seemed to last for an eternity. Patrick shook with laughter, the sound reverberating against her as Gianna found herself smiling at his reaction just before he pulled away from her.

"This is the kindest fucking thing someone has done for me in a longtime," he informed, his voice slightly muffled against her shoulder. He pulled back. "Tennis superstar, Olympian, philanthropist, fashionista, friend," Patrick listed, shaking his head as another laugh escaped him. "Is there nothing Gianna Langdon can't do?" he wondered.

She chuckled, "I'm still working on that last part," Gianna said, shaking her head. "I haven't been the greatest at it in the past," she admitted, her eyes lowering.

Patrick grabbed a hold of her hands, "But you're here now, Gianna," he pointed out, bending his head so he could meet her stare. "I called your number with little hope that you would pick up, but you did," he reminded softly, running the calloused pads of his fingers across the back of her hands. "Hell, I thought the moment I dialed your number it would go straight to voicemail," he confessed, with a small smile before the two shared laughter.

Gianna glanced up, "It means a lot to me that I was the first person you thought to call for support," she confessed.

"Couldn't think of a better woman to be in my corner," Patrick reasoned, letting a lopsided grin grow on his face.

Just like that, old butterflies that Gianna believed had gone dormant awakened inside her stomach, fluttering and flickering about wildly. Giggling, she slowly pulled her hands from Patrick's and ran one of them through her freshly silk pressed, honey brown hair.

"Control it," she thought.

She cleared her throat, "You forgot to add one more feather to my cap," she commented, deliberately changing the subject.

"And what's that?"

"Entrepreneur," she beamed proudly. "Patrick Zweig, you are looking at a future beauty mogul," she proclaimed.

"You know once upon a time, the woman in front of me was worried no one was going to take a chance on her, glad to see those worries were unfounded," he recalled, mirroring her expression.

"I am too," she agreed. "Want a sneak peek of the fruit of my labors?" she offered.

Answering with a grin and nod, Gianna unlocked her IPad and tapped play on the screen. Just as Patrick began to watch her commercial, Gianna let her eyes wander into the hotel foyer until they landed on a pair of strikingly blue ones. Her breath hitched uncomfortably in her throat, while her heart nearly stopped in her chest. For a fleeting moment, time suspended itself and it was as if they existed in a universe all of their own. Nothing was there, nothing except for those bright blue eyes, boring into her own. Gianna could hardly believe, stomach, who the set of eyes staring back at her belonged to, for it was none other than Arthur Donaldson.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as blood thudded audibly in her ears from the erratic rhythm of her heart beating. Gianna swore the thumping of heart would drown out the sound from the video and be heard by Patrick. They stare at each other, nearly a decade of unspoken words flowing between them without either of them ever opening their mouths. In truth, the silence was far louder than anything they could have said. Confused shock painted itself all over Art's features, an expression mirrored on her own.

Instantly, Gianna's mind was flooded with memories with the force of a tsunami. The two of them goofing off in her dorm room when they were supposed to be studying for class. Her birthday dinner date, that was not a date. His touching gift to her on her birthday which led to a moment of weakness that set off a terrible domino effect. Gianna remembered everything. The catalyst event which decimated a friend group within a single day, tore best friends apart, and formed a rift which Gianna believed would never mend. She couldn’t forget their history, it defined who they were now.

"Were those your sisters in the commercial?"

Patrick's voice was faint and faraway, everything for Gianna was muffled and distorted, like voices being heard underneath water. The impact of a hand on her knee ripped Gianna out of her trance. Blinking a few times, Patrick's face came back into her focus.

"I-I'm sorry what did you ask?" Gianna questioned, pointedly ignoring Art's eyes being trained on her and burning holes into her face.

"Was that Alicia and Farrah I saw in the commercial?"

"Yeah—Yes, they were," Gianna confirmed distractedly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You alright Gia? You've been looking over my shoulder for a solid minute now," Patrick remarked, raising a brow. "Is there someone you know here?" he questioned curiously, beginning to turn around.

Gianna had never moved quicker in her life, her hand darting out to grasp his chin with two fingers and redirecting his attention back to her. The world's awkwardest ex-friend's reunion was not going to happen on her watch.

"No one worth mentioning or addressing," Gianna assured, an easy smile on her lips. Releasing his chin, she lightly hit her palm against the counter. "Let’s have a drink, yeah?" she suggested, getting the bartender's attention.

"To celebrate you or me?"

"You, silly," she answered, before motioning to her drink for a refill and ordering for Patrick. She still knew his drink of choice despite the passage of time. "And a little bit of me as well," she admitted playfully, moving her head side to side. "I'm serious though, Patrick. I know how much this tournament means to you and how much you have riding on it. I am proud of what you accomplished, truly," she praised, her eyes twinkling in delight.

"Receiving high praise from Gianna Langdon," Patrick began, as their drinks were slid across the counter in front of them. "I'll be damn near unstoppable on the court now," he joked, grabbing his glass.

Gianna grabbed her own drink, "To future successes," she wished, raising her glass.

"To future successes," Patrick echoed, the rim of his glass softly clinking against hers. They both take a sip of their drinks and Patrick grinned against his glass as if he just remembered something. Lowering the cup from his lips, he placed it on top of the counter. "I forgot to wish you a happy belated," he mentioned.

"Birthday?" Gianna asked, bringing her glass down from her mouth. "That was way back in early spring, but thanks regardless," she said, with a laugh.

"No, silly," Patrick said, with a grin. "Happy belated Pride! Congrats on coming out as bisexual!" he cheered.

"Oh fuck off!" Gianna said, laughing heartily and hitting his arm.

"What? It was very brave of you to do so," he complimented, laughing himself.

With a playful roll of her eyes, Gianna shook her head.

"Bravery had nothing to do with it," she corrected. "I mean, it's what I am. I discussed coming out to the public with my dad, and he said no better time to do it than in the month where it celebrates folks like me," Gianna recalled, shrugging and lifting her glass to her lips. "I'm already a beloved athlete, it was only going to be a net positive for me," she reasoned, leaning back against the backrest of the barstool.

"Always about the optics with you, Gia," Patrick said, his tone biting.

Gianna lifted her drink to her lips, "I am my father's daughter," she said dryly. "For better or for worse," she added quietly, knocking back the rest of her drink.

~~~x~~~

13 YEARS EARLIER - STANFORD UNIVERSITY, 2006

Move-in day was hot. Scratch that, it was scorching outside underneath the California sun. The blistering heat made the task of transporting Gianna's belongings to her dorm room a miserable one. The thought of forgoing her clothes all together floated about in Gianna's head if it meant some relief from the heat. Though, she knew her mom and dad would be none too pleased at the gesture, especially since the two helpers in their amidst was Art and Patrick.

Being the ever helpful boyfriend, Patrick lent his hand in assisting both Gianna and Tashi move into their dorm rooms. Despite his helping hand, Gianna's dad was still none too impressed by Patrick.

"I don't like it, he's too arrogant for my liking," the salt-and-pepper haired man groused, shaking his head, clearly displeased by Gianna's taste in a boyfriend.

Mrs. Langdon snorted softly from her seat within the trunk of their truck.

For as long as Gianna could remember, her mother had always exuded an air of sophistication and chic that she hoped she could match one day. Of course, when her mother being a former American Ballet Theatre ballerina, it came with the territory. People always told her she had mother's soft face or most commonly said she, “stole her whole face from her momma”. To Gianna, her mother was absolutely stunning, like straight out off the front cover of Ebony magazine. More importantly, her mom was the yin to her dad’s yang, her gentleness balanced his sternest.

"What? He's just a younger version of you Maurice, but," she paused, tapping a finger to the palm side of her hand and smiling at her husband.

"Well, unlike him, I didn't have wandering eyes," he retorted, taking off his horn rimmed glasses, to wipe away the fog from his lenses. "Gia, darling, are you sure that Patrick is dating you for you, or because of your access to Tashi?" Mr. Langdon questioned sincerely, his brow arching.

"Ohh, this is awkward," Gianna thought.

Telling her mom and dad she and Tashi were both dating Patrick, she would simply have to be waterboarded for them to get that information out of her.

"Patrick is dating me for me," Gianna reassured, nodding her head while wiping at the thin line of sweat trickling down her forehead.

"Your dad is worried about Patrick, while my concern is with your friend, Arthur," Mrs. Langdon stated, shifting her body to face Gianna fully.

"Art?" Gianna repeated, disbelief all over her face. "What, come on? Art is probably the nicest, sweetest guy I've ever met," she defended, an incredulous laugh belting from her.

"Honey, those are the ones you have to be the most careful of," Mrs. Langdon warned, placing her hand on Gianna's knee. "Boys like Art, are able to get away with much because people believe the same way as you do," she explained. "I've seen the way he looks at you, how he looks when you and Patrick get affectionate with each other," she noted, staring pointedly at Gianna. "I say this as your mother, as a woman, be careful around Art. I fear he's the type to throw stones and then hide his hands, if it means getting what he wants," she advised.

Gianna rolled her eyes, "Mom, that's ridiculous," she protested.

"Gia!"

"Speak of the devil," she thought.

Standing at the doorway of her dorm building was Art with his trademark backwards Stanford hat and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"I guess that's our sign to hit the road again," Mrs. Langdon noted, with an exhale. "Your dad and I still have to go to UCLA to visit Farrah and make sure she's all squared away for her sophomore year," she reminded, pushing herself up from the trunk bed and reaching her hands out for Gianna.

"Call me the moment you make it to campus," Gianna ordered, taking her mom's hands to jump down onto the ground.

"Yes, ma'am," Mrs. Langdon answered, nodding her head and chuckling. She ran her hands up and down Gianna's arms, giving her a once over. "Can't believe I'm dropping off my baby girl to college!" she exclaimed, bringing her in for a tight hug. "One step closer to being a big name tennis superstar!" she cheered, as Gianna returned her hug. "I'm so proud of you!" she stated, pulling back from her.

Gianna beamed at her mother's words as the older woman pressed a kiss atop of her head.

"Your mom offered you some words of wisdom, now it's my turn," Mr. Langdon said, gathering Gianna in his arms for another tight embrace and swaying them side to side. Pulling away, he gave her biceps a squeeze as his demeanor became a little more serious. "Don't let her run you," he instructed vaguely.

Gianna frowned, "What?" she questioned, her head tilting.

"Do not let Tashi Duncan run you," he repeated slowly. "You've allowed her to get away with it for too long, but starting today, that shit dies," he said sternly.

"Tashi does not run me, Dad," Gianna disagreed, scoffing quietly. "I think we both witnessed that at Juniors this year," she pointed out.

"You seem to have a great handle on that, tennis wise," Mr. Langdon began, pressing his palms together. "But for life in general, you're lacking severely," he retorted. "Let this be the last day I ever hear you say the words, 'Tashi says', 'Tashi wants', or 'Tashi believes', alright?" he questioned, staring over the rim of his glasses. "I'm trying to make you a superstar, not a sidekick to another superstar. It's time you shed that image once and for all, and to do that, you must start thinking for yourself. Making a name for yourself. Got it?" he asked, both his brows raising.

"Yes, sir," Gianna answered tightly.

Mr. Langdon nodded approvingly, "Atta girl," he replied, before bringing her in for a second hug. "Have fun in college, but not too much fun," he murmured, against her head. "Kick ass and take names, we have a dream to fulfill," he said, with a pat against her back.

"Yours or mine?" Gianna thought bitterly.

Her dad released his hold on her, moving to shut the trunk door close. Gianna watched her parents get into the truck, the doors slamming close in unison.

"Gia, just please consider what I said earlier, for me," Mrs. Langdon said, looking back at her from the passenger seat.

"Yeah, I will, I will," she answered, brushing off her mom's concerns.

With one final wave, her parents pulled off from the parking lot and Gianna felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. She was finally free. For the first time in her life, Gianna would be able to navigate life where tennis and her dad were not wholly the center of her universe. She now had the chance to do something she always dreamed of doing, just being a normal 18 year-old. Exploring old hobbies and new, hanging out with friends, going to parties, it was all there for the taking now that her dad could no longer constantly breathe down her neck. Smiling to herself, Gianna turned around and jogged to the entrance of her dorm building where Art patiently waited for her.

"Everything good?" Art wondered, as she climbed the last step up.

"Never been better!" Gianna answered, a delighted smile on her face.

Walking past him, she nimbly snatched Art's hat from his head and ran into the building.

"Hey!" he cried playfully.

Gianna sprinted up the staircase to her floor, giggling every step of the way as Art was hot on her trail and laughing along with her. Just as she approached the doorway to her room, she suddenly felt herself being lifted off her feet and spun around, briefly feeling weightless.

"Your girlfriend is a thief!" Art informed breathlessly, with a laugh as he put Gianna back down on her feet.

Another series of giggles left Gianna as they entered her room, "Do not listen to such slanderous lies! I'm innocent!" she proclaimed, placing Art's hat on her head.

Making a beeline to her bed, she plopped down on it next to Patrick who was casually stretched out across the mattress. In an instant, his arm naturally wrapped itself around Gianna's waist while he shifted himself into a sitting position.

"Look at this face Art," Patrick began, using his free hand to take her chin in between his fingers and playfully squeeze her cheeks. "Does this look like the face of a thief?” he questioned. Gianna shook her head in his grasp, her eyes warm with mirth. "Exactly Gianna, that's what I think as well," he agreed, before swooping down to attack the side of her face with kisses.

"Patrick!" Gianna shrieked in laughter, writhing in arms.

Tashi started making fake gagging sounds and Gianna eyes flickered over to hers.

"Don’t be like that Tash," she said, a fake pout on her lips. "There's plenty of love to go around," she reminded, outstretching her hand towards her girlfriend.

"You sure about that?" Tashi asked, her face contorting in a look of faux outrage. "Because it seems like Patrick is hogging you all to himself,"

Gianna only snickered in response, her eyes rolling before meeting Art's stare. It made her smile falter when she did. There was the faintest twitch of a muscle in his jaw, a scowl threatening to cloud his features. His eyes hardened at the edges to the point they resembled ice. And she was the only one noticing the drastic shift in Art's cheery demeanor, it sent shivers down her spine. Vaguely, Gianna felt Patrick's lips peppering kisses up and down her neck while talking to Tashi in between each one. Without taking her eyes off Art, she reached behind her and lightly tapped the side of Patrick's face.

Gianna cleared her suddenly dry throat, "Alright, alright, easy there lover boy," she joked, tearing her eyes from Art's face for a quick glance to his throat where his Adam's apple bobbed in agitation.

Patrick chuckled against her skin and pulled away from her, resting his back against the wall while bringing her down with him.

"So uh, what do you guys wanna do now?" Art wondered, his usual bright attitude returning without missing beat. "The day is still young," he added, lowering himself down to have a seat onto the plush rug covering the floor.

"Hmmm," Gianna hummed in contemplation, adjusting Art's hat to fit snug on the top of her head.

It was an action that left Art's gaze lingering on her. Gianna wished he would quit staring at her like he was a man dying of thirst, ready to drink her up and gulp down like a glass of water when placed in front of him. And it was not because she found it creepy, it was the fact that it was stirring up physical and emotional responses she should not be having when her boyfriend and girlfriend are literally in the room with her.

"I think—" Gianna began.

"We should go hit around on the courts," Tashi suggested, swiveling back and forth in the desk chair. "Can't think of a better group to do it with," she reasoned, her lips curling upwards.

"What? Oh come on, no!" Gianna complained, raising up from Patrick's chest. "We're all gonna have plenty of opportunities to hit a tennis ball around the court," she said in exasperation. "We're in college guys—well most of us are in college," she corrected, earning her a squeeze to her side from Patrick. "Let's be normal college kids and have some fun for once and enjoy our freedom," she suggested.

"What did you have in mind Gia?” Patrick asked, his fingers softly trailing up and down her waist.

"There's a mini golf course not too far from campus. I saw it on the way here with my parents," she answered, looking around at everyone.

"That does sound fun to do," Art grinned, nodding his head in agreement.

"Gia, you know complacency breeds mediocrity," Tashi warned.

"God, does she sound like dad!" she thought.

Gianna spoke before she could stop herself, "Yes, and, being hyper focused on one, single thing makes a person super fucking boring too," Gianna shot back.

The swiveling of the chair came to an abrupt halt. Gianna could almost physically feel all the air sucked out of the room. Nobody moved and Gianna found herself engaged in a staring match with Tashi in a battle of wills.

"Are you calling me boring?" Tashi challenged, her eyes narrowing.

Art breathed out a nervous chuckle, "Tashi, I don't—" he started.

"No, no, let Gianna answer," Tashi interrupted, holding her hand up in his direction without looking.

"Yes," Gianna thought.

"I didn't say you," Gianna pointed out. "It was a generalized statement," she continued.

"Is that so?" Tashi asked, doubt coloring her tone.

"Yeah, it is," Gianna answered, arching her brow in challenge.

"Come on Tash," Patrick called, sitting up from his spot against the wall. "It's not a bad idea, all of us are going to have our hands full for the next couple of months," he said, his eyes dancing between the two girls.

"We can make it a going away party for Patrick before he's off to the pros," Art chirped in.

"Yes, exactly Art!" Patrick agreed. "And what better way to be sent off than having my two, beautiful girlfriends by my side,”

Gianna stole a quick glance at Art after hearing Patrick's words and she swore she saw his forehead vein pulse with unusual intensity.

"Okay, fine," Tashi huffed, and Gianna's eyes flitted from Art back to her.

Gianna softly pushed Patrick's arm from her waist and stood up to sit on Tashi's lap.

"It'll be fun, Tash!" Gianna promised, looping her arms around Tashi's neck. "You'll see," she encouraged, pecking her forehead.

"Yeah, yeah," Tashi groused.

~~~x~~~

With pursed lips, Gianna drew her arms backwards then forwards to make sure that the little, white ball was aligned with her club before gently swinging at it. The precise hit sent the ball rolling down the green in a perfectly straight line, right into the hole.

"Nice shot Gia!" Art cheered, sticking his hand out for a hi-five.

"I try," she smirked, slapping her hand against his. "Your turn, partner," she said, motioning him to take his position.

It was Gianna's idea to split the group into teams, that way both Gianna and Tashi could both somewhat get what they wanted, a fun but fierce competition. Art set his ball onto the green, getting into his stance and took aim.

"So, are we gonna talk about it?" he asked, the club solidly hitting the ball in the center.

Gianna frowned, "Talk about what?" she asked back, watching his ball stop just short of the hole.

Art turned around, an incredulous look crossing his face at her question.

"What happened in your hotel room," Art supplied as if it was the most obvious answer, before moving closer to his ball.

"Oh, that..." Gianna trailed off, following behind him. "What about it? What is there to talk about?" she questioned dismissively, twirling her club in her hand.

Just as the questions left her lips, Art tapped his ball into the hole with ease.

"That what happened between us is constantly replaying in my head 24/7," he explained, turning around again. "And it's torturous," he went on, his eyes desperate.

Gianna only blinked in response, genuinely perplexed on what Art wanted her to do or say about that.

"Well get it to stop," Gianna suggested lamely, lazily tossing one arm up. "I don't know what you want me to tell you," she added, with a shake of her head.

"Get it to stop?" he repeated, in disbelief while taking a step closer to her. "Gia, you gave me a handjob!" he exclaimed lowly, so only she could hear. "You can't do that to a guy and expect him to just forget it!" he insisted.

"What I did could hardly qualify as a handjob, Art," Gianna argued, her voice matching his. "It was one pump at max," she pointed out.

Gianna knew this was childish, to be arguing the technicalities of what is a handjob, but she needed to quash what she thought Art was poking at. They didn't need to talk about that ever again, it was… it was a good time, it basically meant nothing. All she had to do was bury her budding feelings deep down, and make an active effort to never acknowledge them again.

"Why did even tell me this, knowing I'm dating your best friend?" Gianna questioned, anger rising in her voice.

"Because despite that, I think you like me too," he countered, his frustration growing more palpable by the second.

"Look Art, we had some fun in my hotel room. You, me, and Patrick, we all did," she deflected, shaking her head again. "Fun," she emphasized.

"Fun? That's all that was?"

God, did she feel like a bitch, watching Art's face crumple made her almost reconsider everything, but she was in too deep now to back out now.

"In that instance, yes," Gianna answered bluntly, watching how that verbal blow knocked the wind out of him. "I'm sorry, did you think it was more?" she asked coldly.

With each word she uttered, it visibly pained Art and the lines in his forehead grew deeper and deeper. He looked like a kicked puppy, and god did she hate when he looked like that. Silence fell between them, the most uncomfortable silence of Gianna's life.

"Fuck! This was supposed to be a fun night!" she groaned, before turning away from Art and walking away from the hole they were at.

"You never denied it," Art remarked, his words were spoken softly, barely a whisper, but to Gianna they were deafening. So much so, that she abruptly froze mid step, her shoulders visibly stiffening. "That you had feelings for me," he finished quietly.

Gianna was like a deer in headlights. She had hoped the harshness of her words would cause Art to fail to notice what she didn't say. He was far more attentive than she realized. Swallowing uncomfortably, Gianna all but sprinted to where Tashi was, not daring to look back.

"Hey Tash," Gianna greeted, forcing a smile on her face as she approached her. "How's your game going? Where did Patrick go?" she questioned, praying she wasn't noticeably acting strange.

Tashi didn't bother looking up at her, "Oh, you know," she began, her voice monotone. "It goes," she answered, barely making an effort to hit the golf ball into the hole. It pitifully only moved a few feet from them. "Patrick, on the other hand went to buy food for us," she answered flatly.

Gianna felt her grip tighten around her club, "You know could at least make an attempt to actually try and have fun," she commented.

Tashi's head whipped up, a frown already etched on her face.

"I didn't want to come here in the first place, and you know that," Tashi stated, carelessly letting the golf club fall from her hand. "Fun, fun, fun. That's all you seem to care about now!" she snapped, folding her arms against her chest.

Gianna rolled her eyes, "Excuse me for daring to indulge in my newfound freedom from being under my dad's thumb for the first time in years," she responded sarcastically.

"I'm sure he'll be just thrilled to learn the placeholder for his own lost dreams immediately took her eyes off the prize the second he left her alone," Tashi said, a derisive chuckle leaving her.

"Fuck you! That's a low fucking blow even for you Tashi!" Gianna hissed, stabbing her finger in the air toward her best friend. "I pray you never find yourself in the same position which I've been put through," she wished.

Once upon a time, much like Gianna, her father was a talented tennis prodigy who was on the cusp of a promising career in the pros. However, just as his career started, it was snatched away within a blink of the eye with death of his father, forcing him to return home to take over the family horse ranch. And Gianna has had to suffer for circumstances beyond hers or her father's control ever since.

"You don't know what it's like, to have your own dad be your coach as well," Gianna went on, her fist balling up. "And being forced to reckon that you begin to see him as less of a father and only as a coach," she added, faintly feeling her nails digging into her palm.

"Poor fucking me, I'm Gianna Langdon who's had a silver spoon in my mouth since I could walk," Tashi mocked. "My life is so difficult because I have to play a sport I'm wonderful at and my dad has went above and beyond to make sure I excel at my craft, like having a fucking personal tennis court built in my backyard!"

"And you think that's a blessing?" Gianna asked, the pitch in her voice rising. "It was a curse! My own personal gilded cage, a constant reminder that I've never really had any say at all to explore life outside of tennis," she exclaimed, dropping her own club now.

"You like baking,"

"Ooh one whole hobby," Gianna deadpanned, raising her hands and shaking them. "You know what you're supposed to do at college besides learn?" She questioned. "Party and find yourself,” she listed, ticking them off with her fingers.

"You're at Stanford to play tennis on a full ride scholarship," Tashi reminded firmly.

"Well it's a good fucking thing I can multitask," Gianna retorted. "Come on Tashi, think about it. Outside tennis, what else do you and I do in our spare time? Talk about boys?" she said exasperatedly.

"Yes, and its worked for us this entire time. Why change now?" Tashi replied, a soft frown creasing her forehead.

"Because we were friends then, but now we're girlfriends—"

Tashi scoffed, "Girlfriends? You haven't even publicly came out and stated that we're dating," she pointed out.

Gianna could only bite her tongue, because Tashi was right, she hadn't. Although, she had her reasons, they were wholly self-serving, but there was logic behind them.

"I know you haven't told your mom," Tashi began. "And I know damn well you haven't said anything to your dad," she stressed. "So, what is it? Are you afraid of ruining your ‘golden child’ title if your parents find out you're queer?" she taunted.

"You think my parents care if I'm gay?" Gianna asked incredulously. "They've known Farrah is a lesbian for nearly two years now," she informed.

"She plays women's soccer, I'm positive your parents weren't surprised about that revelation," Tashi said dismissively. "The closet was made of fucking glass," she quipped.

If Gianna wasn't so frustrated and infuriated with Tashi, she would've laugh at Tashi's remark.

"Alright, fuck it, you want to know why I don't to want go public? Why I refuse to?"

"I'm waiting with bated breath," Tashi answered sarcastically.

"It's because I have a goddamn name and image to uphold," Gianna said frankly. "We both do," she added, her tone softening.

"Oh my god!" Tashi complained. "It's always about image with you, with your dad!" she snapped.

"I'm being pragmatic here and you know it, you're just being too stubborn to realize I'm right," Gianna claimed, crossing her arms.

"Billie Jean King, a tennis legend is an open lesbian,"

"Yeah, and did you skip over the part where she was forcibly outed, shunned, and lost all her endorsements soon after?" she shot back. "Do you want that fate for the both us when either of us have barely even made a start in our careers?" Gianna questioned, no trace of anger in her voice only sincerity.

Tashi never got the chance to respond as an arm snaked its way around Gianna's waist.

"Now, what are you doing around in these parts?" Patrick asked humorously. "Is Art doing that bad you had to switch sides?" he guessed.

Gianna looked over at him, "I came to see how you two losers were doing," she lied, grinning at him.

Her eyes found Tashi's once more, their argument from moments before still raging silently between in stares, and all the while Patrick is none the wiser. He didn't notice the obvious growing tension between his two girlfriends, between two best friends.

Part IV: Cocky Af

[jokeringcutio]

Helloooo I have a Halloween request for Arthur Fleck x female reader

I was thinking it could take place on Halloween while he's working for Ha Has, so he's walking home in his clown costume not realizing it's Halloween until he's passing a house/apartment party and gets invited inside by someone assuming he's their friend who also dressed as a clown. Maybe he goes along with it because he's never been to a party he wasn't performing at, but doesn't know how to act. Maybe the host pulls him to introduce to the reader and he has to come clean that he's not the guy everyone thinks he is. And she's just really sweet relieved because she didn't like the guy she thought he was, and tells him how she's never dated so people keep trying to set her up.

So they bond at the party and meet up for coffee or something later. Bonus points if they lose their virginity to each other and fall in love.

Sorry if that's too long or not specific enough. I just like a sweet, supportive, Disney princess type girl that brings out the best in Arthur and vice versa 💞

Arthur Fleck x Reader - Sweet Halloween (contains smut)

AN: Follow me for more Halloween Reader Inserts. More stories will follow this month.

Fandom: Joker 2019 Pairing: Arthur Fleck (as Carnival) x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: You mistake him for somebody else, but that might be the best thing that happened to the both of you, for you end up losing your virginity to each other.

Warnings: Sexual content, Virginity/First Time.

1.

Those downtrodden streets with their faded yellow lights that made everything seem grey and bleak were familiar to Arthur. As he walked his usual route home, hands buried deep inside of his pockets, clown shoes kicking dirt and thrown-away wrappers and cans. He stared at the potholed pavement. There seemed to be more of a buzz around him, more noises. But he gave it no thought.

His Carnival costume hung loosely around him, his body too thin and too slender. He hadn’t had a good meal for the past God-knows how many weeks, and the lack of food was starting to have its effect on him. Arthur had grown easily tired and vexed and felt as if his hunger had left him completely. And so he kept his eyes pointed at the street, careful where to place his feet in case he might trip over the too-big shoes he had been too tired to swap for his ordinary pair. He would do it at home, he figured. He’d wash off the makeup there.

Being completely focused on the ground in front of his feet, he didn’t notice how he approached a house with an open door. A few young people stood on the porch, observing him as he neared. He felt their gazes, however, and made himself smaller than he was. His shoulders up high, hands even deeper inside his pockets and turned into fists – invisibly to their eyes. He tried not to draw too much attention to himself, eager to pass by without being picked on, laughed at, or even worse – beaten. He knew he was an easy target like this. And though the people he passed usually didn’t care, sometimes they would.

“Ah, there you are.” Before he had time to react, a gentle hand laid firmly upon his arm and he was ushered between the youngsters, pushed passed them, and into the house. It all happened so swiftly, that he had no idea how to react.

Soft hands pushed the small of his back, urging him into a hallway where they paused. Low thumps of music came from down the hall. There definitely was a party going on here. He tried to turn around and protest, but everything was happening way too fast.

“Josh, you can find Emma in the kitchen. She’s busy prepping the punch,” Arthur heard a female voice say from behind. It was a pleasant voice. One that sent sparks of warmth down his tummy.

He slowly turned around to face you, prepared for anything but you. A princess in every sense of the word. From your voice to your looks. You were even dressed in one of the prettiest dresses he had ever seen. Surely, if you were to come to work for Ha-Ha’s you’d be paid maximum wages. You’d have a booking every day. You-

You must be mistaken, he realized crestfallen as he watched you breathlessly. His shoulders slumped, his green eyes upon you. You didn’t want him here. You expected someone else. Some kind of Josh. What should he do? What should he do next?

There was a warm smile on your face. “Come on, let’s get going. I know you came just to see her, and I promise, no one is going to come in between the two of you tonight. This house got more than enough rooms for a bit of privacy.” You smiled at him and, once again, placed your warm hands upon him, pushing against his belly, probably to usher him in the direction of the kitchen. Then your eyes turned wide. Had you spotted he wasn’t Josh?

“Oh, gosh,” you gasped. “You really need to get some food in you. There’s some great apple and cinnamon pumpkin-shaped pies.”

So you hadn’t realized your mix-up, he thought. He followed your gaze as your eyes slid down his form. What must you be thinking of him, he wondered? This shabby clown, tired after a long day’s work. Your eyes darted lower and he followed your gaze. “Your shoes are so big. How can you walk without tripping?” The words spilled from your lips, melodious to his ears. Then your eyes sought his again. But instead of the judgment he had expected, your eyes sparked with joy and admiration. “They are amazing,” you said, warming his heart once more.

He blinked at you, confused. “I- I don’t think,” he started, voice too soft and being drowned out by the loud music that came down the hall. The realization came that you hadn’t heard him when you gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder and smiled.

“I know. Size matters! Well, you have an impressive girth,” you joked.

And then you were gone. The crowd had swallowed you, like a phantom. A ghost.

Arthur stood baffled. Had that just happened? As if in a dream, he glanced around him. The hallway was getting crowded as more people seemed to arrive at the party. He looked desperately but found no clue of you ever having been there. Had he entered the house himself? Had you been another delusion?

He leaned against a wall, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. Taking deep breaths, he tried to steady himself. Another delusion, he thought. Another dream vision.

But then, an unfamiliar girl came to stand next to him, dressed as a pirate in a very revealing short array. Her red bouncy curls danced around her when she reached up to pull him into a hug.

“Ah Josh, glad you could make it,” the girl said with a smile. Arthur could see how the lipstick on her lips cracked at the motion. “Come on over, there’s food and drinks waiting.”

Luckily, she let go when Arthur started to feel the hug was getting too suffocating, and then she gestured ahead, urging him to walk into the next room which appeared to be some kind of large hall, decorated as a ballroom. He felt the girl’s eyes upon him for a little longer, but when he glanced behind him she seemed to have turned away. He saw her at the far end of the hall. Not a vision then. But not the woman he had dreamed of either.

Carefully, Arthur, still dressed as Carnival the Clown, entered the festive hall. The chandeliers were adorned with bats and cobwebs. Tiny fake ghosts hung from the ceiling and pumpkins filled the corners, all with faces like clowns. He could not help but chuckle when he saw what a wonderful room he had walked into. Everywhere, people were dancing.

Had he held any hesitation, it vanished when he saw the pumpkin pies the princess of his dreams had told him about. They stood on a table in front of him, looking every bit as delicious as you had told. For once, he thought to himself, you deserve this. “Well,” he nasally said to himself. “I suppose one bite won’t do any harm. After all,” here he suppressed the upwelling laughter that threatened to leave his lips. “They invited me in.”

2.

The Halloween party was in full swing, the room bathed in a dim orange glow from the flickering jack-o'-lanterns lining the walls. Laughter and chatter filled the air as costumed guests mingled and danced. You expertly wove through the crowd, your body swaying to the haunting beats of the music. You were no stranger to dancing; it was an outlet that allowed you to escape the challenges of your life.

As you moved across the floor, a man dressed as a clown caught your eye. The colorful frills of his costume juxtaposed against the dark atmosphere of the party. You’d seen him before. At the time you had believed him to be Josh, that friend that Emma had invited because she wanted to date him. You knew better now. The real Josh had appeared half an hour later. It made you realize you’d invited a stranger into the house.

But this stranger, this man dressed as a clown… he was fetching. There was something about him that lured you in. Now that you knew he wasn’t Emma’s to claim, you became bolder, more daring. Moving closer to him, you deliberately started moving along with him, feeling the beat of the song resonate within you. When he noticed you, his eyes lit up like fireworks, surprise and delight radiating from his gaze.

The clown began to challenge you with his moves, his hips gyrating to the rhythm of the music. He had good moves, you noticed. Every gesture was graceful, like dancing came as natural to him as breathing. The rotating of his hips, while his eyes rested firmly upon you, was an invitation you accepted without hesitation. You danced closer, enticed by the mystery behind the painted face. His movements were fluid and surprisingly graceful, drawing you in even more.

As the song continued, you found yourselves dancing together, his arm snaking around your waist as he twirled you effortlessly. Your bodies pressed close, the heat emanating from him warming you as his scent – a mix of cologne and something uniquely his – intoxicated you. A sense of desire bubbled within you, fueled by the passion of the dance and the enigmatic connection between you two.

He twirled you around again and then pulled you in close, until your back was pressed against his front. You could feel his hot breath tickle your ear. His fingers splayed on your tummy, holding you like a lover’s embrace as you sensually pressed your hips against his. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle, and you had to suppress a moan.

The sensation of your bodies colliding with each beat was overwhelming. The dance became a sensual exploration, your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understood. And when the song came to an end, you lamented the fact that Emma stood several feet away, beckoning you to help her bringing the snacks from the kitchen. You reluctantly pulled away, feeling the sudden absence of his warmth. "Sorry,” you whispered, unsure if he could hear you over the starting tunes of a new beat, “I need to go help a friend.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you saw the Clown’s lips twitch into a smile. You assumed he had heard you, and quickly turned away, unaware of how the clown doubled over as he watched you go, grabbing his stomach as he tried to bite back the laughter that threatened to spill from his lips. He failed though, and in an attempt to escape the judging gazes from those around him, he turned around and pushed his way through the crowd.

By the time you returned with the snacks, your eyes wandered to find your mysterious dancing clown, but found no trace of him. Crestfallen, you put the snacks down on the table and scanned the room once more. Your clown seemed to have gone. But the tingling sensation deep inside of you still lingered, reminding you of the dance you had just shared.

3.

Time slipped away, the evening deepening as laughter and chatter filled the air. You found yourself wandering outside to get some fresh air. The cool night breeze was a welcome respite from the heat of the party. You’d almost given up on finding him, almost convinced yourself that it didn’t matter, that this stranger you had met was someone you would never see again. But then, there he was.

Sitting on the porch and smoking, was the clown who had captivated you earlier. The sight of him stirred something within you – curiosity, desire, and an undeniable connection that you couldn't shake. You watched him for a moment, silently admiring his enchanting silhouette. Then you stepped closer to him.

"Hey," you called out softly, drawing his attention. “Are you alone?”

His eyes widened in surprise, the cigarette between his fingers momentarily forgotten. As he looked up at you, you caught sight of his vibrantly green eyes and your heart skipped a beat. So beautiful, you thought. You felt your cheeks flush.

"You're a really good dancer," you quickly said, smiling warmly at him.

The man seemed to hesitate, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights, but he quickly recomposed himself. His shoulders relaxed again. "Oh, uh, thank you." He seemed almost embarrassed by the compliment, his cheeks flushing beneath the white face paint.

"Mind if I sit with you?" you asked, gesturing to the empty spot beside him before bunching up your skirt. If you showed him a little leg, well, that wasn’t entirely an accident. You could tell he had seen it, that he must have spotted your bare legs underneath your skirts, perhaps even the outline of your panties, for his cheeks flushed and he quickly glanced away. But you’d seen his pupils dilate.

"Of course not," he replied, snuffing out the cigarette. For a moment he stared ahead while you settled down onto the wooden steps. The warmth of his body radiated through the thin fabric of your costume, sending shivers down your spine.

“I thought I'd dreamed you up." His words caught you by surprise and you stared at him with eyes open wide. When he finally turned to lock gazes with you, his lips carried a shy smile. Almost as if he was afraid to admit it.

“Not a dream,” you assured him. "Definitely real."

For a moment, his smile broadened, an imitation of your own, and you were lost in his eyes. Their depths, their vibrancy… This man made you feel warm and alive.

But then his smile faded like snow in the sun, and he tore his eyes away from yours. Shyly, he looked down at his hands.  A deep frown appeared on his face, twisting his features. "I'm sorry,” he said, voice hardly more than a low mumble. “I’d better go.”

He shifted, jumping up to his feet without a warning, but you grasped him by the sleeve, preventing him from stepping away. He turned to look at you, surprise visible on his face.

“Why would you leave now?” you asked, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. Didn’t he feel the same? You could swear he did. You’d seen it in his eyes, how the two of you had been lost in each other’s gaze.

The clown hesitated. You could see the thoughts running wildly inside his head, the deep frown when he licked his lips before he shyly admitted, “Because I am not who you want?”

“Nobody said that,” you smiled, the grasp on his sleeve diminishing until your hand just laid gently upon his arm. There was no pressure there. If he still wanted to leave, he could.

“But I,” his voice had turned nasal, like a whine. Whatever was going through that pretty head of his was making him worried. “I know you mistook me for a friend of yours," he finally admitted, a frown still on his features.

You shook your head and smiled, your hand slipping from his arm for a moment. But he did not run away. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot, standing there, looking down at you with eyes full of uncertainty. It was obvious he wanted to stay. And you did not want him to go.

Your hand reached out once more to gently touch his arm. "I want you to stay," you whispered.

In the dim light of the Halloween-lights, you could see how his eyes widened in surprise. You felt his body grow slack underneath your hand. "All right.”

Slowly, he sat down again. His hip slotted against yours, the warmth instantly returned, making you breathe a sigh of relief. He was here again, where he needed to be.

“My name's Arthur, by the way," he hesitatingly said, as if he were shy to introduce himself to you.

"Nice to meet you, Arthur," you replied, your heart racing as you studied his face. Beneath the makeup, there was a vulnerability that drew you in. Your thoughts raced, emotions swirling as you tried to make sense of the magnetic pull between you two.

"The boy I confused you with, he is Emma’s new friend,” you confessed, your gaze drifting to the ground. "She’s always dating, never able to go without a boyfriend for long, so I hadn’t really seen him yet.”

Arthur remained silent, just watched you, his gaze enough to encourage you. “She keeps trying to set me up, but it never feels right," you quietly admitted, feeling how Arthur shifted by your side. He placed his hands in front of him, fingertips touching.

“Truth is, I've never had a boyfriend before," you continued, voice a soft whisper. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I've never even dated.”

Your eyes gently slid back to seek his. He was still looking at your face, his eyes desperately seeking yours. And when your gazes met, you could tell there was a quiet understanding in his. A deep warmth.

“How come,” he started, but had to pause to clear his throat. His voice was hoarse, filled with emotion. “How come no one ever claimed you as their own? Who wouldn’t want you?” he asked you, warming you up inside because that was a high compliment. Who wouldn’t want you? Who would? Then again, you shrugged and shook your head.

With a small smile, you looked up at him again. “It’s not fully up to them, is it?” you said, a small smile curling your lips. It took him a moment to understand what you were saying, but then his lips curled into a smile as well, the red of his makeup curling upward even more.

“You didn’t want any of them,” he concluded, and you let out a sigh of relief that he caught your meaning.

“Never really felt a click with any of them,” you admitted. Your eyes drifted down to his hands. Carefully, you sought out his hand with your own, placing your palm on top of his. He allowed you to touch him, even waited till you liked up again before he flashed you another smile. Emboldened by his reaction, you gently squeezed his hand.

"I meant what I said earlier on,” you started, shyly but suggestive. “Maybe we could, uh, find some privacy inside?" Your voice was playful, teasing. "There are plenty of rooms."

Arthur's eyes sparked with mischief as he met your boldness head-on. "I'd like that." He returned the squeeze with his hand, then carefully rose, holding your hand in his own. He waited for you to lead the way, an unspoken invitation that sent a thrill through you. With your heart pounding, you led him back into the house, your warm hands still touching. You could hear his rapid breathing and realized he was excited too.

Upon entering one of the unoccupied rooms, you closed the door behind you and locked it, your heart pounding with anticipation. The room was clean enough, pleasant enough for sure. A cream-colored bed, ordinary and plain, invited you to take this further. If Arthur hadn’t wanted to go this far, he would not have followed you in, would he? And so you turned to face Arthur, who stood there, hesitantly shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Go on," you urged gently, "take off your costume."

He looked at you oddly, as if you had said something preposterous, but then slowly started to unbutton his waistcoat. “You want to do more than just talk,” he murmured, and you blinked at him. For a moment he had you confused.

“I mean,” you started, suddenly feeling insecure. Where you going too fast for him? Was this the right thing to do? “Only if you…”

A deep groan tore from Arthur’s lips, interrupting you before you could finish. The waistcoat slid down his shoulders and without hesitation, he started to unbutton his fly. “You think I’d say no?” his voice was husky and low, thick with arousal. Hearing it sent a spark of lust deep down your core, making your pussy slick and moist at the sound of him.

“Oh no, my beauty,” Arthur continued, the words drawn and a low hum. His hand revealed his aching cock, firmly stroking up and down the hardened flesh. “No, pretty girl, I am going to make you all mine.”

Your mouth had turned dry at the sight of him. So eager. So wanting. “You’re beautiful,” the words spilled from your lips, earning you a groan as Arthur squeezed his cock hard.

“Don’t lie to me, princess. I am not much to look at,” he grunted, moving his hand up and down his shaft. His eyes never left your frame though, silently undressing you with his gaze. “Too thin, too meager. Not much of a man at all.”

“I disagree,” you said without giving it a moment’s thought. Your hands moved up your sides, slowly peeling the dress from your body, revealing all that you had hidden beneath it. His eyes lit up at the sight of your skin, then darkened with sinful desire. "You're more handsome than you give yourself credit for, Arthur."

He blushed at your compliments, his cheeks warming beneath the fading clown makeup. Despite his thin frame, you were drawn to him, captivated by the vulnerability in his eyes. The dress pooled at your feet, and then you stood there in just your underwear. His eyes roved over you, eager to take you all in. You loved it, loved the way his eyes took you in as if he wanted to remember all of you.

"Come here," you whispered, beckoning him closer. And when he was within reach, you cradled his face in your hands, looking deeply into his eyes before pressing a sweet, lingering kiss upon his lips, uncaring of the makeup that would surely smudge your own.

When you broke apart to catch your breath, the words that escaped you were a whisper.

"I want you to be my first, Arthur."

Something seemed to shift within him then, as if your words had unlocked a hidden desire. His restraint vanished, replaced by a hungry passion that matched your own. Arthur's hands found their way to your back, pulling you closer as he returned your kisses, tracing the contours of your body.

The two of you moved together as if you were dancing again. His body fit perfectly against yours, his hands led the way. You didn’t even notice that he had led you toward the bed until you felt the back of your knees bump against the mattress. His wig cap tumbled off his head, revealing brown curls underneath. It suited him, you thought. He was gorgeous.

Another kiss as his lips met yours hungrily. His hands ran past your skin, fondling your breasts eagerly, squeezing a bit too hard but making you feel exceptionally good.

Breaking the kiss you were sharing, you murmured against his skin. "Be gentle with me."

His green eyes sparked as he lay you down on the bed. The world outside the room ceased to exist; all that mattered now was this intimate connection between you and Arthur. The way his hands ran past your body and his fingertips danced down your skin, the way his scent enveloped you entirely like an embrace, the way he sunk deep into your core, letting out a shuddering moan.

If there had been pain initially, it soon ebbed away at his gentleness. He allowed you time to adjust, panting heavily above you while his eyes sought out yours. When you felt he was able to move again you gave an encouraging nod. He followed your command without a pause, gently thrusting his hips, first shallowly but deeper and deeper as time and your body allowed.

There was an experimental thrust of his hips, followed by another moan from his lips. His eyes squeezed close and his face contorted in ecstasy. As he slowly started to pick up a pace, murmuring obscenities about how good this all was, you suddenly realized that this might be his first time as well. As your bodies entwined and he gently rocked inside of you, you arched your back, spreading your legs to give him a little more access to rock deeper inside.

Arthur bit his lip and grunted. Another thrust, this time firmer, bolder. He hit a delicious spot deep inside and your walls fluttered around him as a result. It tore another deep moan from him. Again.

“There,” you pleadingly said, “there.” He obliged, seeking the right angle and thrusting inside of you with deep strokes.

“Is that good, princess?” You heard his low voice rasp. He sounded nearly dangerous now, voice drenched with lust. “Do you like my cock deep inside your pretty little cunt?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, hardly able to speak as pleasure overtook your body. Your pussy clenched down hard on his cock, gripping him like a vice, making him grit his teeth and groan.

“Hmm, too tight, princess,” the low murmur sounded near your ear. He was bent over you, rutting into you like a frenzied animal. You loved this wild side of him, his forceful thrusts. They helped sent you over the edge.

The intensity of your shared passion was overwhelming, yet you both navigated your newfound intimacy with care and tenderness. Your breaths mingled, hearts racing in unison as you reached the peak of your shared experience, an exhilarating crescendo that left you both breathless.

Exhausted and content, you held each other close, your body pressed against Arthur's as he cradled you in his arms. As the adrenaline subsided, you looked into each other's eyes, warmth and affection radiating between you.

"Was this…your first time too?" You gently ran a knuckle past his cheek, caressing him as you softly whispered your question.

His green eyes held yours even as he nodded, barely able to speak as he muttered, "Yes...” A pause, a bob of his throat as he swallowed. And then an admission. “I love you so much."

He buried his face against your shoulder, cradling you close to his chest. His brown curls brushed past the skin of your jaw. A smile formed on your lips as you basked in the feeling of being held in the afterglow. It felt good to be held by this man. It felt good to have been pleasured by him and to know you’d given him pleasure in turn.

You knew that something truly special had just transpired, a moment of beautiful vulnerability shared between two souls in a world where such tenderness was all too rare.

“Happy Halloween,” you whispered.

~ Fin ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) ♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡ Love you all

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Bye mystery what are your thoughts on the whole ‘SoNiC cAn’T cRy’ rule on Twitter and from some writers? I find it stupid. He should be allowed to cry.

Hi Hon!❤️✨

Ummm… I feel that we’re missing a bit of information here. It’s became a bit of a meme on Twitter. And I think that the “meme” kinda lost its translation, if you know what I mean.

I’ve looked through fan Wikis, Reddit, Twitter, and other social media outlets to see what these mandates are. I found a Reddit post implying that there are regulations, but suggests that these are for IDW comics only (IDW Reddit, 2020).

Sonic is absolutely allowed to cry, he doesn’t cry in front of others (Ohshima, 2019). To him, in tears are a private feeling. The tears of grief and loss are for him to experience by himself. And that’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t mean that he’s not allowed to cry. It just means that it’s an emotion he feels and experiences himself. Something that he needs to listen to in order to make peace with it.

Let me put into this perspective; when we cry, we’re feel many emotions. Sometimes it’s hard to understand what emotions were feeling and how many we feel when it’s released. And sometimes feeling everything can cause sensory overload. If one cannot begin to identify what we’re feeling at that moment of time, do we really want to share that with others yet? Not necessarily. Sometimes being alone is the best thing. Being alone allows one to contemplate on why they’re feeling all of these strong emotions and provide a sense of inner peace. Taking a step back to feel our emotions allows ourselves to search within our heart and mind to understand we are so moved to begin with. There are times that I may not want to be near others when I cry. Sometimes I need to be alone. Being alone allows me the chance to sit and contemplate on what my heart and mind want me to hear.

I’ve shared with you all in the past that it’s okay to cry. Everyone should cry. What I haven’t done a good job in communicating is that you don’t always have to share your thoughts and feelings right away. I’m sorry for that. When we cry, it’s message from within our heart and soul that is screaming for attention. Sometimes crying and anger and any other strong emotion is your body asking for attention. It’s a message that needs to be heard and reflected upon in order to understand. This message helps us grow and become a better version of ourselves. It’s personal growth. It’s a lesson that only you can understand and appreciate what it’s teaching you. The message needs to be internalized before it can be shared with others. And sharing with others is entirely up to you! Feeling a strong emotion and healing from it could be private. It gives you a chance to look back from where you began and fully appreciate the growth that you’ve made from it.

I can completely understand where this misleading information comes from. He’s not emotionally constipated/out-of-tune as some fans claim. This does not mean that Sonic doesn’t trust his friends. Not at all! He’s very open and honest with others. Taking the time to be by himself to cry allows him a chance to release all of the emotions inside before he shares what he feels in his heart. He needs that peace to understand why he’s feeling the way that he feels in order to properly heal from it.

Does that make sense? I hope it does. If you need further explanation, let me know. I’m more than happy to reexplain if needed! I hope that this answers your question, my dear!❤️✨

[minimickzy]

Pretty In Pink || Misty Quigley

For the lovely and talented @peach-and-bugs sometimes we all need a story to escape into.

-and guys I haven't written fanfic since like 2019- please be kind lol! I wanted to have this done tonight so I actually wrote this during a 4 hour car ride (Also Blane is the love interest from Pretty in Pink and Molly Ringwald is the actress)

Characters: Misty Quigley (pre-crash) x Reader,

Word count: 2118

Sophomore year of high school you knew two things about Misty Quigley.

She was incredibly misunderstood and

She was in desperate need of a friend.

You knew it would be easy to at least start a friendship with Misty. She was talkative and was happy to get any type of attention. All you had to do was slide into one of the many empty seats at her lunch table and smile. From there it was never-ending conversation and hangouts.

To your surprise- and slight concern- Misty had walls built up pretty damn high and wasn’t easy to gain the trust of. She picked up more social cues than people gave her credit for. She had just been bullied to the point that the idea of you- let alone anyone- actually wanting to be her friend was unbelievable.

When you finally cracked her you could see her personality flip. Her eyes lit up, and smiles filled her whole face not just her lips, even her posture straightened up a bit. Who knew all it would take is saying that you liked The Phantom Of The Opera?

As soon as the walls fell she was an open book. Entrusting you with her deepest, darkest, secrets and in turn listening to yours. She would pick out tiny little things about you and gush about them to anyone who would listen. She even became the equipment manager after you joined the soccer team.

After two years of friendship, you couldn’t imagine life without her. And she seemed to feel the same.

Your friendship with Misty was different. No one outside of the two of you understood. She was just a little… quirky. She would put notes in your locker every day with complaints- sometimes coming off as tiny but stalkerish but you found it endearing. Sometimes if someone was even the tiniest bit rude to you, the next day their locker would randomly have rotten fruit in it. (one time a guy's car had its tires slashed after he called you a bitch).

People harassed her incessantly. You tried to stop it, even getting into a few fights over it but it was never ending and Misty had become a pro at brushing it off.

After all, as long as she had you it didn’t feel like it mattered what others said.

You weren’t sure when your feelings had changed from platonic toward your best friend. You had only realized when, as embarrassing as this is, you had walked in on Van and Tai in the locker room. They didn’t see you- thank god- but it was a push you needed to confront that seeing them felt right the way couples like Jackie and Jeff never had.

That event sent you into a spiral. You thought back to your so-called crushes. All boys from school- none of which you realized you had any urge to even hold a conversation with. You started to analyze movies. Seeing how the love interests interacted, looked at each other.

It started to click. There was only one person you felt that way towards.

A month or two into senior year was when everything came to a crashing halt. You and Misty were having your usual movie night like all other Saturdays. Slightly curled into each other on Misty’s bed. Her hair was pulled half up, p.j. top slowly slipping further down her shoulder. She had put her retainer in before the movie so all of her little quips had a slight lisp to them.

Adorable. She was simply adorable. This was a common thing for you to acknowledge now. What made tonight stand out from all the other movie nights for the past two years was a small conversation between the two of you.

Pretty in Pink played on the screen. It was one of the few VHSs that she owned, you two had probably seen it a good 20 times. You didn’t mind though. It was great background noise for your thoughts. Wandering from the last soccer match, to Misty’s bouncy curls, to the math quiz you should probably study for.

“Hey, do you want to know a secret?” You peered down to meet Misty’s eyes, her neck craning to look up at you from her position slightly further down the bed.

“Always.” You cracked a smile at how giddy she had become.

She pushed herself up to face you, kneeling- waiting for you to mirror her.

When you were sat facing her she took your hands, lifting and dropping them as she spoke. “You have to promise not to tell.”

“Of course.”

“Like never. Not a single soul.”

You took one of your hands from hers and stuck your pinkie in front of her face.

“Swear”

She took your pinky in hers and smiled, momentarily squeezing before wrapping her hand back around yours and setting them in her lap.

“Okay so-“ she whispered, looking around with wide eyes to check that no one was around, “you know when I said that I thought Blane was hot?”

You nodded, a little confused about where this was going.

“That wasn’t true- I just wanted to be him. Molly Ringwald is so pretty! I know it’s like totally wild but I want to kiss her so bad!”

Your brain stopped. Just for a second.

“Oh!” It came out as a yell, much more sudden and loud than you had meant. “I totally get that- yeah like- how could you not want to kiss her?” You could feel your hands becoming more clammy by the second.

“I know right!” Misty giggled and rolled her eyes happily as she turned to face the screen again.

With her gaze locked onto the TV, you took a deep breath- you felt like you needed to run away. Escape back into the safety of not having to confront your feelings. But you knew you had to stay. Firstly- did wanting to kiss a girl even mean that you’re gay? Or did girls do that to friends and people they admire? And if Misty had just come out to you- If you left now she’d probably think that you were disgusted by her.

So you stayed. Trying to act as normal as possible. Pretending to be asleep to avoid late-night conversations that normally lead to loose lips.

~

Come practice on Monday, the sleepover was still on your mind. Misty picked up on your funk. She always did. You brushed it off that you were up late the night before. It wasn’t a total lie. You spent half of the night replaying every moment in Misty and your relationship, trying to find any hints.

You earned a few glares from Tai and Jackie. You didn’t blame them. You were off your game.

At the end of the day, Misty was heading towards you at the team bench but Coach Martinez called her over to help with clean up before she could reach you.

You let out a sigh of relief, wanting to avoid any more awkwardness for the day.

“Woah, trouble in paradise?” You jumped a bit. You hadn’t realized Van was still on the bench behind you.

“Huh?” You asked stupidly.

“I just thought you and Misty were close. Are you good?”

Van was nothing if not perceptive. No one on the team understood- or even seemed to like Misty. Most of them refused to interact with you outside of practice too. Acting as if you’d pass on her “crazy” to them.

Van was never like that though. She seemed to have her own run-ins with bullying. She would sometimes make small comments and jokes but would still be kind to both of you.

You looked at her. Trying to gauge if she actually wanted to know if you were good. Her look wavered, becoming more serious. “Dude, are you okay?” She tried again.

You sat down next to her. Your eyes refused to meet hers as you looked out across the field towards the school.

It was just the two of you.

“Can I ask you something personal?” You knew that Van would say yes. It didn’t matter that the two of you weren’t close. She was always there for anyone on the team.

“Sure- I reserve the right to plead the fifth though.” Always one to try and keep it light.

“How did you figure out that you and Tai were gay?”

Van sucked in a breath next to you. “I uh- Tai isn’t-“

You finally turned to her. “I saw you guys. In the locker room.” The redheads face went pale. She seemed to brace for impact. “I won’t tell anyone. I just am confused. I don’t know who else to talk to.”

Van didn’t relax.

“Please”, the variability in your voice surprising even you.

She nodded and it was her turn to break the eye contact. “I don’t really know. To be honest I thought Tai was straight. Right up until the moment she kissed me. Fuck even after that I thought she was just a curious straight girl who pegged me for a dyke.” She let out a dry chuckle and winced towards the ground. “Do you think you’re gay? Or…”

You nodded. “Yeah, I figured that out a few months ago.”

Silence lingered between the two of you. Van kicked her feet, ripping up bits of dirt and grass with her cleats.

She spoke up gently, “Do you think Misty is gay?”

You dropped your head into your hands. “I don’t know. I think so.”

“Look- fuck- I don’t know Misty and I don’t really understand her but I do see a lot as a goalie. And Misty is obsessed with you. She looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.”

You chuckled, “Yeah- I know. But she’s always been like that. I think she’d treat anyone who was her friend that way.”

“Or she’s just always been into you.”

“Oh.” You furrowed your eyebrows, “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

Van barked out a laugh. The heaviness of the conversation gone. “Has she ever hinted at being into girls?”

“Well…” she looked at you expectingly, you debated on keeping Misty’s secret but decided that after Van had opened up and trusted you about her and Tai it's only fair you return the favor “On Saturday she told me that she was into Molly Ringwald.”

“Dude that’s totally dyke behavior!” She slaps your arm.

The two of you walked back to the locker room together. Misty was waiting for you, as she always did. As soon as her eyes landed on Van you could see the anger- jealousy?- immediately.

“Woah, Misty, I’m not trying to steal your lady- cool it” Van held her hands up in surrender and turned to wink at you so Misty couldn’t see.

Misty huffed and tapped her foot as Van quickly grabbed her stuff and saluted to you as she pushed open the locker room door.

When the door banged shut after her Misty pinned you to your spot with a worried look.

She opened her mouth and you saw her lip quiver. So naturally you blurted out, “I’m gay!”

Her mouth snapped shut and she looked at you confused. “Okay?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “that’s it?”

“Well yeah- I mean I already knew that?”

“What?”

“We’ve been together for like a few months.” You looked at her like she grew a second head, “Misty what the actual fuck are you talking about?”

“Do you not remember?” She let out a exacerbated sigh and laughed lightly, “This makes so much sense! I was wondering why you got so freaked out about the Molly Ringwald thing. I thought you were jelous and mad at me!” She laughed again and moved to take one of your hands in hers as you stood in shock. “When we were on the bus back from the game at West Side, and I told you that I loved you and you said I love you too. I meant like love love.”

You took your free hand and face plamed. “Oh my god. You’re joking.”

She laughed gleefully, “No! I was getting worried you were losing interest or someone else had got your attention.”

“I don’t think that’s even possible.”

Her eyes were sprakingly under the bright fluoresces of the locker room. “Does that mean that I can kiss you? Because believe me I’ve been holding back.” She squeezed your hand excitingly and shifted more into your space.

“Yeah- that sounds cool.” You were still smiling when she lunged towards you, bumping you back into the lockers with the force. You laughed into the kiss and she let out a tiny squeal of glee.

~

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