#anyway she keeps being really weird and defensive about these articles that have SO many issues

[dampfoxes]

not to be dramatic but

[phaedo]

15 and 31 for the fic asks :)

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

ohhh my god unfortunately my favorite aus are all still wips. like i love tattoo au but like. well i think as far as concept goes my favorite au is the 90 day fiance au where jack, rose, and thirteen are stuck in england and the tardis is stuck in the us and instead of like. doing anything that makes logical sense they're like "okay well we're immortal anyway so we might as well take our good sweet time" and they do a series of green card marriages (jack poses as a us citizen, he marries rose, rose gets her citizenship and divorces him and then marries thirteen) and they go on 90 day fiance. the story is told through episode transcripts and news articles and such and i haven't figured out how to execute it yet but i want to show the audience like. slowly figuring out that these guys are weird. (i also want to set it like. just after covid lockdowns start to ease up so i can have an exchange in one of the episodes like "how were we supposed to know there was going to be a pandemic? it's not like we're time travelers" because of course they are time travelers and they just didn't remember)

my other favorite au (also a wip) is this like. thirteenyazrose thing that started as a fake dating au where rose is like. being hit on at work and thirteen is a new hire who comes up and is like "hey get away from my girlfriend" but like she does her threatening little growl But Also rose and yaz have been dating for years and so when rose tells this to yaz yaz is like "okay well if she's pretending to date one of us she's got to pretend to date both of us" and everything snowballs from there. this one also involves the pandemic because i was thinking about how canon yaz and rose both spend a lot of time away from the doctor and i think it would be interesting to adapt that to a human au by having the doctor be doing some kind of study abroad and not be able to come back on time. but this one has like a ton of prequel material of yaz and rose getting together but all of it is like. really rough around the edges and self-indulgent and not really like. in good shape yet to publish. and i'm having to rewrite the single chapter i had of the main fic because i remembered about making rose a mechanic. so now it's going to be where rose and human thirteen are mechanics and yaz is an emt. but like this au is my favorite because it's like. a comfort fic at this point it just is like a little home to me so i don't know when i'll ever post it but i do love it

31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

ough this has actually changed in the last year! i used to mostly write shorter stuff, but lately i've had a ton of trouble keeping anything short, everything i've written has expanded a ton. which i think is a good thing, i've been adding a lot more depth and detail to my works. like at one point i looked at like. a first kiss that i wrote when i was fourteen and compared it to a more recent one and literally the more recent one was like. whole paragraphs longer. which might also tell you how many people i'd kissed at fourteen but anyway. i've been enjoying the really long fics, my current long wip (tattoo au, aka when i run away (you're who i run to)) is at 75k and counting. but those fics do require a lot of commitment-- i love writing that length but i can only sustain one at a time and there's always a risk that i'll lose interest in it or ability to write it partway through. i've been trying to finish stuff or at least write super far ahead before i post too. so anyway i think my ideal length for like. regular posting is somewhere in the... 7-20k range? long enough that it feels meaty but not so long that it takes a huge commitment to write.

huh these were long but in my defense if you've read my authors notes you should expect me to be Like This

[bogkeep]

hmmmmmmmmmm maybe i’ll write an Introspective Musing Post about my relationship to religion and their depiction in stories because i’ve pondering about this topic lately

so for those who are reading this and DON’T know what’s been going on...  there’s this webcomic i fell in love with some years ago, about six years actually, that depicts a post-apocalyptic fantasy/horror adventure set in the nordic countries. it had, and has still, some very uncomfortable flaws regarding racial representation, and the creator has historically not dealt very well with criticism towards it. it’s a whole Thing. my relationship with this comic has fluctuated a lot, since there are a lot of elements in it i DO love and i still feel very nostalgic about, and like idk i felt like i trust my skills in critical thinking enough to keep reading. aaand then the creator went a teensy bit off the deep end created a whole minicomic which is like... a lukewarm social media dystopia where christians are oppressed (and also everyone is a cute bunny, including our lord and saviour jesus christ). which is already tonedeaf enough considering there are religious people who DO get prosecuted for their faith, like, that’s an actual reality for a lot of people - but as far as i can tell, usually not christians. and then there’s an afterword that’s like, “anyway i got recently converted and realized i’m a disgusting human being full of sin who doesn’t deserve redemption but jesus loves me so i’ll be fine!! remember to repent for your sins xoxo” and a bunch of other stuff and IT’S KIND OF REALLY CONCERNING i have, uh, been habitually looking at the reactions to and discussions around this, maybe it’s not very self care of me but there’s a lot of overwhelming things rn and it’s fantastically distracting, yknow? like, overall this situation is fairly reminiscent of the whole jkr thing. creator of a series that is Fairly Beloved, does something hurtful, handles backlash in a weird way, a lot of people start taking distance from Beloved Series or find ways to enjoy it on their own terms, creator later reveals to have been fully radicalized and releases a whole manifesto, and any and all criticism gets framed as harassment and proving them right. of course, one of them is a super rich person with a LOT of media power and a topic that is a lot more destructive in our current zeitgeist, and the other is an independent webcomic creator, so it’s  not the same situation. just similar vibez ya feel as a result of this, i have been Thinking. and just this feels like some sort of defeat like god dammit she got me i AM thinking about the topic she wrote about!!! i should dismiss the whole thing!!! but thinking about topics is probably a good thing so hey lets go. me, i’m agnostic. i understand that this is a ‘lazy’ position to take, but it’s what works for me. i simply do not vibe with organized religion, personally. (i had the wikipedia page for ‘chaos magic’ open in a tab for several weeks, if that helps.) i was raised by atheists in a majorly atheist culture. christian atheist, i should specify. norway has been mostly and historically lutheran, and religion has usually been a private and personal thing. it turns out the teacher i had in 7th grade was mormon, but i ONLY found out because he showed up in a tv series discussing religious groups in norway later, and he was honestly one of the best teachers i have ever had - he reignited the whole class’ interest in science, math, and dungeons and dragons. it was a real “wait WHAT” moment for my teenage self. i think i was briefly converted to christianity by my friend when i was like 7, who grew up in a christian family (i visited them a couple times and always forgot they do prayers before dinner. oops!), but like, she ALSO made me believe she was the guardian of a secret magic orb that controls the entire world and if i told anybody the world would burn down in 3 seconds. i only suspected something was off when one day the Orb ran on batteries, and another day the Orb had to be plugged in to charge. in my defense i really wanted to be part of a cool fantasy plot. i had no idea how to be a christian beyond “uuuuh believe in god i guess” so it just faded away on its own. when i met this friend several years later, she was no longer christian. i think every childhood friend of mine who grew up in a christian family, was no longer christian when they grew up. most notably my closest internet friend whose family was catholic - she had several siblings, and each of them took a wildly different path, from hippie treehugger to laveyan satanist or something in that area. (i joined them for a sermon in a church when they visited my town. my phone went off during it because i had forgotten to silence it. oops!) ((i also really liked their mother’s interpretation of purgatory. she explained it as a bath, not fire. i like that.)) i have never had any personal negative experiences with christianity, despite being openly queer/gay/trans. the only time someone has directly told me i’m going to hell was some guy who saw me wearing a hoodie on norway’s constitution day. yeah i still remember that you bastard i’ve sworn to be spiteful about it till the day i die!! i’ve actually had much more insufferable interactions with the obnoxious kind of atheists - like yes yes i agree with you on a lot but that doesn’t diminish your ability to be an absolute hypocrite, it turns out? i remember going to see the movie ‘noah’ with a friend who had recently discovered reddit atheism and it was just really exhausting to discuss it with her. one of these Obnoxious Atheists is my Own Mother. which is a little strange, honestly, because she LOVES visiting churches for the Aesthetic and Architecture. we cannot go anywhere without having to stop by a pretty church to Admire and Explore. I’VE BEEN IN SO MANY CHURCHES FOR AN ATHEIST RAISED NON-CHRISTIAN. i’ve been to the vatican TWICE (i genuinely don’t even know how much of my extended family is christian. up north in the tiny village i come from, i believe my uncle is the churchkeeper, and it’s the only building in the area that did not get burnt down by the the nazis during ww2 - mostly because soldiers needed a place to sleep. still don’t know whether or not said uncle believes or not, because hey, it’s Personal) i think my biggest personal relationship to religion, and christianity specifically, has been academic. yeah, we learned a brief synopsis of world religions at school (and i remember the class used to be called ‘christianity, religion, and ethics’ and got changed to ‘religion, beliefs, and ethics’ which is cool. it was probably a big discourse but i was a teen who didnt care), but also my bachelor degree is in art history, specifically western art history because it’s a vast sprawling topic and they had to distill it as best they could SIGHS. western art history is deeply entangled with the history of the church, and i think the most i’ve ever learnt about christianity is through these classes (one of my professors wrote an article about how jesus can be interpreted as queer which i Deeply Appreciate). i also specifically tried to diversify my academic input by picking classes such as ‘depiction of muslims and jewish people in western medieval art’ and ‘art and religion’ when i was an exchange student in canada, along with 101 classes in anthropology and archaeology. because i think human diversity and culture is very cool and i want to absorb that knowledge as best as i can. i think my exchange semester in canada was the most religiously diverse space have ever been in, to be honest. now as an adult i have more christian friends again, but friends who chose it for themselves, and who practice in ways that sound good and healthy, like a place of solace and community for them. the vast majority of my friends are queer too, yknow?? i’ve known too many people who have seen these identities as fated opposites, but they aren’t, they’re just parts of who people are. it’s like... i genuinely love people having their faiths and beliefs so much. i love people finding that space where they belong and feel safe in. i love people having communities and heritages and connections. i deeply respect and admire opening up that space for faith within any other communities, like... if i’m going to listen to a podcast about scepticism and cults, i am not going to listen to it if it’s just an excuse to bash religion. i think the search for truth needs to be compassionate, always. you can acknowledge that crystals are cool and make people happy AND that multi level marketing schemes are deeply harmful and prey on people in vulnerable situaitons. YOU KNOW???? so now’s when i bring up Apocalypse Comic again. one of the things i really did like about it was, ironically, how it handled religion. in its setting, people have returned to old gods, and their magic drew power from their religion. characters from different regions had different beliefs and sources. in the first arc, they meet the spirit of a lutheran pastor, who ends up helping them with her powers. it was treated as, in the creators own words, ‘just another mythology’. and honestly? i love that. it was one of the nicest depictions i’ve seen of christianity in fiction, and as something that could coexist with other faiths. I Vibe With That. and then, uh, then... bunny dystopia comic. it just... it just straight up tells you christianity is literally the only way to..?? be a good person??? i guess?? i’m still kind of struggling to parse what exactly it wanted to say. the evil social media overlord bird tells you the bible makes you a DANGEROUS FREETHINKER, but the comic also treats rewriting the bible or finding your own way to faith as something,, Bad. The Bible Must Remain Unsullied. Never Criticize The Bible. also, doing good things just for social media clout is bad and selfish. you should do good things so you don’t burn in hell instead. is that the message? it reads a lot like the comic creator already had the idea for the comic, but only got the urge to make it after she was converted and needed to spread the good word. you do you i guess!! i understand that she’s new to this and probably Going Through Something, and this is just a step on her journey. but the absolute self-loathing she described in her afterword... it does not sound good. i’m just some agnostic kid so what do i know, but i do not think that kind of self-flagellating is a kind faith to have for yourself. i might not ever have been properly religious, but you know what i AM familiar with? a brain wired for ocd and intrusive thoughts. for a lot of my life i’ve struggled with my own kind of purity complex. i’ve had this really strange sensitivity for things that felt ‘tainted’. i’ve experienced having to remove more and more words from my vocabulary because they were Bad and i did not want to sully my sentences. it stacked, too - if a word turned out to be an euphemism for something, i could never feel comfortable saying it again. i still struggle a bit with these things, but i have confronted these things within myself. i’ve had to make myself comfortable with imperfection and ‘tainted’ things and accept that these are just, arbitrary categories my mind made up. maybe that’s the reason i can’t do organized religion even if i found one that fit for me - just like diets can trigger disordered eating, i think it would carve some bad brainpaths for me. so yeah i’m worried i guess! i’m worried when people think it’s so good that she finally found the correct faith even if it’s causing all this self-hate. is there really not a better way? or are they just trusting she’ll find it? and yeah it’s none of my concern, it’s like, i worry for jkr too but i do not want her within miles of my trans self thANKS. so like, i DO enjoy media that explores faith and what it means for you. my favourite band is the oh hellos, which DOES draw on faith and the songwriter’s experience with it. because of my religious iliteracy most of it has flown over my head for years and i’m like “oh hey this is gay” and then only later realize it was about god all along Probably. i like what they’ve done with the place. also, stormlight archive - i had NO idea sanderson was mormon, the way he writes his characters, many of whom actively discuss religion and their relationship to it. i love that about the books, honestly. Media That Explores Religion In A Complex And Compassionate Way... we like that i’ve been thinking about my own stories too, and how i might want to explore faith in them. most of my settings are based on magic and it’s like, what role does religion have in a world where gods are real and makes u magic. in sparrow spellcaster’s story, xe creates? summons? an old god - brings them to life out of the idea of them. it’s a story about hubris, mostly. then there’s iphimery, the story where i am actively fleshing out a pantheon. there’s no doubt the gods are real in the fantasy version of iphimery, they are the source of magic and sustain themselves on slivers of humanity in exchange. but in the modern version, where they are mostly forgotten? that’s some room for me to explore, i think. especially the character of timian, who comes from a smaller town and moves to a large and diverse city. in the fantasy story, the guardian deity chooses his sister as a vessel. in the modern setting, that does not happen, and i don’t yet know what does, but i really want timian to be someone who struggles with his identity - his faith, his sexuality, the expectations cast upon him by his hometown... i’m sure it’s a cliché story retold through a million gay characters but i want to do it too okay. i want to see him carve out his own way of existing within the world because i care him and want to see him thrive!!! alrighty i THINK that’s all i wanted to write. thanks if you read all of this, and if you didn’t that’s super cool have a nice day !

[rhiezus]

i’m sorry. // erick x nancy

         ‘ you don’t owe me no fucking apology. ’ he was just too focused on the fidget spinner on his fingers to give nancy a proper answer at the moment, yet wasn’t a bad one either. the pretentious fucker wasn’t really concerned to turn their recounter into something sentimental or the slightest of uncomfortable. because he wasn’t known for dealing well with emotions and taking the fact that he is someone that handles others' well-being means he ought to be strong. actually, he wasn’t even hurt, he was more bothered than anything. nancy was an annoying person, one of those girls that think the world goes around her and wants to treat her like its queen so he was glad she made him realize this the minute she dumped him to be with someone that treated her with that same attitude. what bothered him for real was the fact that he was becoming truly opened to it -- for more, for something that he never had with anyone else. so yeah, it was a bummer that he wasted his time, money, and energy with a famous chick. fuck them all. ‘ i saw your texts, it’s pretty clear to me. ’ erick nodded in response giving her a look that he hoped would shiver her whole spine, just out of spite he hoped to be very, very sexy today, with messy hair and gazing eyes. he was a handsome motherfucker and he knew that, making it easier to use it for his own defense. the movements of his fingers stopped suddenly after connecting with her through that long eye contact. casual, erick, casual -- he thought once again, smiling in mischievousness to himself. ‘ my father’s lawyer is taking action, of course. ’ of all things erick thought he mind ended up caught up when his short labor began at the entertainment building, gossip was one he definitely didn’t consider. he maybe should’ve since he can’t really keep his mouth shut and does have some problems with being too open-minded with his relationships. it was a fun road but he never wanted to work for so many troublesome people again, at the hospital now things were crazier, hours were messier but at least the people didn’t have status, fame and everyone was just too busy to care about each other anyways. erick couldn’t help but read a few times all the nasties things people typed in the comments of those stupid articles. he shouldn’t ask how nancy handled them, she had far more people watching out for her than him in that company, so he wasn’t exactly concerned but still, it was just insane. ‘ for fucks sakes you’re so popular! at least that boosted your social media, i bet. ’ which sounded weird, like he was fucking stalking her or something, which he wasn’t to be fair, nancy just happened to be one of the people he followed that was constantly posting. he didn’t even know how many people he followed to begin with, so that’s beside the point. heavens, he was overthinking it. erick picked up his backpack and belongings left at the place he used to work with ease, getting closer to nancy wasn’t an option; she was just in front of him enough to stop and say something before he went. ‘ think it is better if you don’t contact me anymore. ’ he kind of whispered, carefully playing with her thoughts by taking a lock of her hair with his long fingers that were playing just a minute ago. he softly let her hair go with a smile, a quick sign, and the hands were back on the front jean pockets they knew they belonged. ‘ have fun, nancy drew. ’ having fun was way more important than actually dealing with something that you have no words for, at least erick thought so. perhaps she might never know of all the things going through his mind when they were having fun, but now that is over at least they would have memories and more fun, with themselves or other people -- happily, it wasn’t a concern of his any longer.

[bouwrites]

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 4

You took for granted all the times I never let you down.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

“Jon? Can I bother you for a second?”

Jon looks up from his assignment to Marinette. Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief to take a break from it. “Sure.” He says. “What do you need?”

“I’m planning to call Alya, soon. You know who she is, right?”

“Your best friend, right? Through a lot of grade school, I think you said. Is she the one that wants to be a reporter?”

“Yeah. She’s been bugging me to meet you, recently, so I was just wondering if you’d pop in to say hi for a bit.”

Jon smiles. “I get to meet your Paris friends? Cool. I’m down. You calling her now?”

“If you’re not busy.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got some homework, but I need to take a break anyway. I’m good.”

“Awesome!” Marinette chirps, taking out her phone. “Uh, fair warning, though, your parents are sort of her journalism idols, so she might be a little weird.”

Jon laughs. It’s not everyday someone outside Metropolis knows his parents well enough to bother connecting him to them, but the ones that do are all journalists, so Alya knowing makes sense. “And she hasn’t wanted to meet me before now?”

Marinette ducks her head nervously. “I… may have not told her your last name.”

“Pfft. Really, Marinette? Is she pissed with you for keeping that secret from her?”

“Oh, absolutely. In my defense, I didn’t know until almost the end of the semester! You told me your parents are journalists, but I don’t know names like Alya does. And she does talk about Lois Lane a lot, but I didn’t know your mom’s name. I just assumed it’d be Kent. I would have told her sooner if I realized.”

Jon shrugs. “That’s fair. Journalists aren’t really big names unless they’re, like, T.V. anchors. Can’t blame you for not knowing.”

Marinette snorts. “Tell that to Alya. Anyway, I’ll call her. Get ready, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She hits the call button, and nearly immediately another girl’s voice is coming from the speakers. “Marinette! Is he there?!”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Yes, Alya, he’s here.” She pushes Jon towards the couch and sits down next to him where they can sit comfortably close enough together for the camera to pick up the both of them. “See? Meet Jon, my roommate.”

“You’re Jonathan Kent!!!” Alya shrieks. She lets out a long string of something in French before taking a deep breath. “Marinette, I cannot believe you! You’ve been living with Jonathan Kent for months and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t know his parents were the people you’re always going on about! I told you as soon as I did!”

“Mari.” Alya draws out the last vowel in a long whine. “Lois Lane is my hero! How did you forget?!”

“Uh, because her name is Lane? I’ve never met Jon’s parents. I didn’t know his mom’s name. I just knew his is Kent.”

“And how many times have I talked about Clark Kent?!”

Marinette covers her face. “That I just forgot. To be fair, what are the odds that my roommate’s parents are your heroes? It just never occurred to me.”

Alya laughs boisterously. “Good point, girl. I guess I can’t be too mad at you, since you are finally introducing me.”

“Aha. Speaking of.” Jon says. “Nice to meet you. Marinette’s told me a lot about you.”

“Hi! Oh my god. Have you seen my blog?” Alya flinches. “Wait,” she says to herself. “Can I just ask if he’s read my blog?” She shakes her head. “Will you read my blog? If I can get feedback from the Jonathan Kent, I’ll be that much closer to being the best reporter I can be.”

“Alya!” Marinette chastises. “Jon is very busy with University. He doesn’t have time to review your blog for you.”

“It doesn’t have to be right away!” Alya protests. “He can do it when he gets to it!”

Jon clears his throat. “I, uh, also don’t speak French, so…” Alya curses. Jon thinks. It’s in French, but it sounds like a curse. He laughs. “I’m flattered, but I’m not sure I can help you much. I’m not a journalist yet myself, anyway.”

“But you are studying it, aren’t you?” Alya asks.

Jon rubs his neck. “Well… no. I’m still undeclared. To be honest, I’m not really sure what I want to do, yet.” He sighs. “And am quickly running out of time to figure it out.”

He feels Marinette’s comforting touch on his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.” She says.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shakes his head, looking back to Alya. “Anyway, you have a blog? It’s about the superheroes there, right? Ladybug and Black Cat?”

“Chat Noir.” Marinette corrects him. “Ladybug’s name is in English, Chat Noir’s sounds so weird translated.”

Jon laughs. “What’s weird about Black Cat? I’m pretty sure there’s like, four different cat burglars going by variations of that exact name. At least.”

“Exactly. French, Chat Noir, is a hero. Black Cat is a villain name.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Chat Noir. I haven’t heard much on them lately. Not since the big news when they beat their bad guy.”

“They’re still around.” Alya says. “They’re doing more conventional heroism now. Or, at least, Chat Noir is. Ladybug hasn’t been seen for some time.”

Jon frowns. That’s news to him, but then since he’s off-duty he’s fallen out of touch with the most recent hero news. His dad has been respectfully keeping that stuff out of their talks, thankfully. It’s none of his business, anyway. “Huh. Hope she’s okay.”

“We think she is.” Alya says. “Chat won’t give us much, but apparently it was her decision.”

That’s relatable. “Ah. Cool. Good for her.”

Both Marinette and Alya give him strange looks. He shifts awkwardly under their stares. “I hear Superboy is off-duty, though.” Alya says. “Your parents are the number one source for super news. Would you happen to know what happened to him?”

Jon shrugs. “Can’t say. Mom and Dad usually don’t share details of articles with me, so I don’t know any more than they’ve made public.”

“You’re not worried about one of your superheroes just vanishing all of a sudden? The Justice League says he’s just taking leave, but don’t you think it’s a bit odd?” Alya asks. “It’s been months since anyone’s seen him.”

Good. Jon thinks. He laughs, but the sound rings bitter to him. “Why should I be worried? He’s Superboy. I’m sure he’s fine. The same could be said for your Ladybug, and you don’t seem worried.”

“Oh, I’m worried.” Alya says pointedly. Jon isn’t quite sure what the emphasis is for, but… talk about superheroes is normal, superhero business is none of his. Whatever Alya’s hinting at isn’t his concern. Ladybug is probably fine, if Chat Noir says so. “But I know the situation with Ladybug better than I do Superboy.”

“Funny, I’m the other way around. I guess there’s nothing to worry about, after all.”

Alya hums. “Maybe. I hope not.”

Marinette shifts the conversation to a lighter topic, to Jon’s relief, but something inside him stays unsettled. He doesn’t like worrying everyone, but he’s not in charge of the PR. The League is surely just trying to maintain some control over the situation, implying that he’s on some temporary break and not gone indefinitely, or maybe they just… don’t believe that he’s serious about this.

He can… he can buy that. The son of the boy scout in blue giving up heroics? Laughable. A Kryptonian living on Earth like he’s just a guy and not some god among men? Why would he lower himself that way? Because I am just a guy. Jon thinks bitterly.

The League does a lot of good in the world, and Jon respects them for that, but they just don’t understand having power and not wanting to use it. To refrain from using it makes sense to them. To hold back from using all his power is exactly what they want him to do. But they just can’t even imagine not wanting to use power that they have.

To be fair, there was a time that Jon thought the same way. His powers are a part of him, so why shouldn’t he use them? Now, when he finally has some semblance of peace, when he’s living his own life with ordinary people in an ordinary way… going back terrifies him. He’d rather lose his powers entirely than go back to using them to fight all the time.

He still feels guilty that his powers can be used to fight for good. He can, so he has to. That’s what his dad says. But… he doesn’t want to fight again. It doesn’t matter if he’s fighting for good if he’s still fighting. He’s tired, and he wants to live this ordinary life he’s found.

Super-hearing sucks. Jon decides this at God-knows-O’clock in the morning when he wakes up to the distinct and unfortunately familiar sound of glass being cut. By one of Damian’s Goddamned toys.

Damian, you motherf-

His thoughts are interrupted when he tunes in to the sound more and hears ragged, uneven breathing and the pitter-patter of liquid hitting hardwood.

Hell.

Jon throws himself out of bed and floats over the ground to make no noise – the last thing he wants to do is wake up Marinette – to go see what the damage is.

He enters the living room and there, naturally, is Damian. In his hero costume. Bleeding on Jon’s furniture. And there’s a hole in the window. There go our deposits. Sorry, Marinette. “I hate you so much.” Jon hisses.

“I’ll fix the window.” Damian snaps. “Just help me with this.” He’s holding his thigh tightly, trying to keep pressure on two different areas.

“Did you get… shot and stabbed? In the same leg?”

“I do not need your judgement, Kent. I need your supplies.”

Jon sighs and flies over to the bathroom to retrieve the first-aid kit. Luckily, Damian is more than capable of stitching himself back together, because right now Jon is doing his absolute darndest to not crush his friend instead of simply keeping pressure on him. As Damian focuses on the blade wound, Jon keeps pressure on the bullet wound, gritting his teeth all the while.

And while Damian focuses on his bullet wound, Jon gets the lovely job of cleaning up all the blood before Marinette sees it. Goddamnit, Damian.

Damian huffs. “There. Now suit up, I’ll need your assistance to finish this mission with my leg the way it is.”

Jon wrings out the towel he’s absolutely going to have to throw away now into the sink. “No.” He says. “I’m retired. Find someone else.”

Damian scoffs. “You’re clearly not busy. With you there it won’t take long, we simply need to-”

“I said no, Damian!” Jon throws the towel at him. At least Damian has the decency to start cleaning up the rest of his mess himself now that he’s not busy staying alive. “I’m not Superboy anymore. There are plenty of heroes who can help you. Call one of them.”

“Jon. Seriously.” He deadpans. “Stop trying to make this difficult. It will be simple. You’ll be back before sunrise; it won’t be any bother at all. Now come on.”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand? I’m. Not. A. Hero. Anymore. It’s bad enough you’re breaking into my home. I’m not getting dragged onto another stupid mission with you because you can’t understand what off-duty means.”

“What is wrong with you? I came here because I was bleeding out!”

“And now you’re patched up.” Jon bites. “So, bye!”

“You’ve taken a long enough break. While you act like a child, people’s lives could be in danger.” Damian growls. “Stop whining and suit up. I need your help.”

Jon’s gut screams at him. It sinks sharpened fangs into his flesh and tears and rips and revels, because Jon knows Damian is right. People are out there right now who need help. Help he can provide. It is beyond selfish of him to refuse for such childish reasons like he’s tired or stressed or shaking with barely suppressed terror at the very idea of putting the cape back on.

Before Damian shows up in his apartment, Jon doubts he’s a good person. Maybe he was once, maybe he was just acting in some facsimile of one in his dad’s shadow, but now? Now Jon is certain. He’s a failure. A disappointment. A blot, marring that almighty “S” everyone cherishes so dearly. Because even now, even as Damian, who has dragged him out on so many missions before, comes to him crippled and bleeding, asking for his help to save innocents, Jon can’t bring himself to go with his old friend. He begs to, he yearns to, but he can’t. Something cold and pale and stony holds him back and solidifies his… resolve seems too positive a word for it. It isn’t strength at the core of his refusal. It’s fear, pure and simple. “Find someone else.” Jon says. “You’re the one overstaying your welcome. If lives are in danger, you’d save them faster if you called in backup from heroes who are actually working.”

“How can you sit idly-”

Because I’m not the person you think I am. “Because I’m not a hero!” Because I’m not strong enough. “You’re the one ignoring procedure! It’s been made crystal clear that I’m not an active hero, anymore!” Jon fears Damian can see how his tightly clenched fists shake at his side. Damian is certainly too observant to miss such an obvious tell. Pathetic. “Superboy is retired! Don’t assume I’ll drop everything I’ve been doing to run out the moment you decide I should!”

“Jon! Superboy is needed! Will you just ignore the call of duty?”

Don’t ask me that. Please. “I will! That’s not my job anymore!”

“Then why did you help me?”

Jon sputters. Because you’re my friend. Because you could die. Because… I’m selfish and I can’t distance myself enough from you to stop. “Because you were bleeding on my floors. I don’t know what you’re doing, and I don’t care.” This much, at least, is honest. Jon doesn’t necessarily not care at all, but he cares far less than he should. And he does desperately wish to not know. “I’m done with that life. I’m finally starting to feel-”

“I don’t care what kind of tantrum your leave has been about.” Damian says. “You’re needed now, so come on!”

Stop pushing. There’s a tightness in Jon’s chest, restricting his breath, stronger than any chains. If you don’t, I don’t know what… “Are you just incapable of listening?!”

“…Jon? Wha-”

Thunk.

Everything falls into deathly silence as all three people in the room absorb what just happened. Marinette, in her nightgown, sleepy and disoriented from being woken up by the yelling, is standing there in the entranceway, wide alert now, looking between Jon, Damian, the window, Damian’s bandaged leg, the bloody towel on the coffee table, and the batarang firmly rooted in the wall an inch from her head.

Damian just threw a batarang at Marinette. At Marinette.

“Never mind.” Marinette says coldly. Jon’s heart turns to ice at the frigid tone. It doesn’t belong in her voice. “I don’t want to know.” She turns away, like Jon is up at such a dumb hour eating ice cream instead of fighting with a hero standing in front of a man-sized hole in their window.

When Jon hears the click of her door closing, he rounds on Damian. Self-pity, self-loathing, doubt, all of it leave his heart in an instant. All he feels now is anger. Something fiery consumes him and he sees red. “Get the hell out of my home.”

“I-”

“How fucking dare you! You break into my house, demand my help when I’ve already made it clear you shouldn’t call me for that, and you attack my roommate?! Do you realize what you’ve just done?!”

“She has remarkable reflexes.” Damian says.

“Get the hell out of my house!”

Damian clears his throat awkwardly. In a calmer state of mind, Jon will later remember this is a sign of Damian’s embarrassment, but at the moment he doesn’t care to think twice about the gesture. “Yes… of course. You clearly have damage control to do here, with your identity possibly compromised to a civilian. I’ll find someone unoccupied to assist with my mission.”

Jon just gapes at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Damian picks up the circle of glass and hangs outside the window for a moment to fix it back in place and seal it before he takes off.

The window looks good as new, but there’s a bloody rag on Jon’s coffee table and… the damage is done. Oh, God. He sighs, picking up the towel again and throwing it in the sink. Now what?

He has no idea how much Marinette heard, if anything, but even just seeing Damian here in his hero costume is dangerous. She’ll wonder how he knows Damian, why Damian came here.

All this, coming to New York, all this work in college, his entire life right now, is to get away from heroism. In one night, Damian breaks in and uproots all of it. Months of building up his life here, and now he’s in the deep end of the hero nonsense again. Great. Just great.

Maybe… maybe it’s salvageable. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe… there’s only one way to find out. He has to start damage control as soon as he can. God, I’m tired.

He spends another few minutes wringing the blood out of the towel. It’s as good as it’s going to get, but he thinks he’ll still probably buy a new one tomorrow. Then, with a heavy sigh, Jon trods over to Marinette’s door.

He raps gently on the wood. “Marinette?”

“I don’t want to know, Jon!” Marinette’s icy voice cuts into him. This… isn’t the reaction he expects. Especially with Alya as her best friend, he expects her to be asking him for all the details. He expects it’ll change everything, and he hates that it will, but he certainly doesn’t expect that all the kindness and warmth, all the friendliness and cheer, will vanish just like that.

He knows the batarang must have scared her. He deserves her anger, her confusion, her fear. That, he understands. But this? Cold fury, something deep, something hurt, like betrayal. A wall of ice built between them in an instant. He doesn’t understand, he can’t understand, but it hurts him regardless, to hear her voice that way. To hear the pain in her voice. “Marinette? At least let me explain.”

“I said I don’t want to know!” The door swings open, giving Jon a clear view of Marinette’s clenched jaw and white knuckles and her deadly glare. “I don’t care why he was here. I don’t care how you know him. I don’t want to know. Whatever your business is with heroes, I don’t want anything to do with it. Understand? Leave me out of it.”

She slams the door in his face.

Jon has never heard her sound that way before. It’s frightening, but mostly it makes him feel like his world is falling apart. Months of his life, all the normal he’s managed to find, gone. Just like that. With the slam of a door.

Now what?

Marinette won’t talk to him. Jon fixes the hole in the wall and snaps the batarang that caused it in half with his bare hands. He hides the pieces away in his closet where he doesn’t have to look at them. There’s a new towel in their kitchen. At any glance, the apartment is back to normal.

But Marinette won’t talk to him. She treats him like the plague. She comes home late, going straight to her room when she does. If she sticks around in the morning long enough to make coffee or tea, she makes her own cup and leaves. The few times she’s home for dinner, she cooks just for herself and eats in her room.

Life is… normal. He’s still going to class, he’s still living here in New York, his apartment is back to normal. But it doesn’t feel like normal. It feels like hell. It feels like everything he tried to run away from when he left the hero life behind him is kicking him square in the butt over and over again. Every time Marinette’s gaze sweeps over him and continues like he’s not even there, every quiet, quiet evening in when she’s not in the apartment and he doesn’t know if she’s out getting dinner or working late in the library, or… or anything.

It’s almost like she isn’t even there anymore.

Jon leaves a post-it note in the entranceway, right inside the door, before the hallway turns. It says to take off his shoes. He’s not sure if he’s trying to get her attention somehow or if he just misses her getting on his case about it. It works, though. He replaces his shoes with the indoor ones Marinette got for him early on. She doesn’t comment on it.

He can’t focus anymore. When he sits down to study, he just feels this dread hang over him. When he’s in class he just feels out of place. Like he doesn’t belong. It’s frustrating, and it pisses him off, and that only makes it harder to focus on his work.

He tries. He tries so hard. He’s doing everything he can, but he can’t sit still and let that overhanging pain consume him. He can’t stop to look at his notes, because if he does it’ll catch up with him and he can’t handle that. He feels like he’s always on the move, searching for something to do, something to distract him, but at the same time he can feel himself stagnating and it makes him feel dirty and gross and he hates it and he scrubs himself so thoroughly every day but the filth he feels never goes away.

Even being a hero was better than this. But then he listens for that tell-tale shriek he’s been shutting out for so many months and he’s not sure it’s not coming from him because the thought of flying to the rescue, of punching some thief and getting involved in something that’s none of his business makes him nauseous. It makes his heart race and he can’t breathe, and he aches all over, wondering what’s wrong with him.

A small, sensible part of him says, “You were ten. Of course, you’re messed up, now.”

A more cynical part says, “Damian was younger. He’s not having a panic attack because some lady is getting her purse stolen.”

Surprisingly, it’s that same cynical part of him that helpfully counters itself. “Sure, he’s still a hero, but do you really want to call Damian okay?”

Yeah, that’s fair.

This is all his fault, anyway.

Diligently, like clockwork, he works on the schedule that he built over his first semester. He goes to class, and when he gets home, he writes down all his assignments on the whiteboard over his desk. Marinette’s idea. It’s the only reason he made it through the transition to college from high school.

Now, though, he just stares at the assignments there in black ink and stares and stares and wills himself to do them but doesn’t ever actually move. He hates it so much. He’s never been just unable to do things before, but now the farthest he ever gets is pulling the paper out, then all he can do is stare at it until his mind wanders and he ends up clicking through websites like a tiger pacing it’s cage at the zoo. Always moving, always going back and forth, but never doing anything.

When he gets his midterm scores back, Jon decides he can’t do this anymore. If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll lose what grip he does still have on his grades and he won’t have a choice but to go home and back to… back to Superboy.

He can’t go back to Superboy. Whatever else this reprieve of duty has done to him, he just can’t handle that anymore. He knows what he needs. He had a taste of it. Just a tiny, tiny, prototype of it, but he had it. That normalcy. That feeling like he knows what he’s doing, that he’s okay, and that things will work out. He had it and he lost it. And he doesn’t know how to get it back.

“Mom?”

He hears his mom’s gentle sigh over the phone. That familiar, knowing sigh she does when she knows she’s gearing up for something big. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Jon explains the situation to her. No details spared. He tells her about Damian showing up, about Marinette seeing him, about her avoiding him and his slipping grades, and about how much going back to being Superboy terrifies him. He tells her how frustrated he is because he had, for just a moment, exactly what he wanted right in his hands and Damian came and knocked it to the floor and shattered it. He tells her how angry he is with Damian. With himself. With how he’s afraid what his dad will think of him if he’s so weak he can’t even save himself, much less be a hero worthy of being the son of Superman. He tells her how alone and stagnant he feels, how evil he feels for turning down Damian in the first place, and he begs her for help.

It’s a long, long, mostly one-sided conversation, punctuated by long periods of nothing but crying, but he tells her everything because he doesn’t have any other route to take.

“Sweetie, if you can’t be Superboy, then you can’t be Superboy.” His mom says. “Your dad and I do feel differently about it, but you remember what he said when you first talked to him about this? Good people help because they can. Honey, you can’t. And that’s okay. Not doing something you can’t do doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you normal.” And now he’s crying again. “He won’t be upset with you if you don’t go back to being a hero. He just wants you to be happy, same as I do. And it takes a lot more strength to admit when we can’t do something than to kill ourselves trying anyway. I’m proud of you. And he is, too.

“And I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you about Marinette. If she doesn’t want to be around you, then… there’s not much you can do but keep trying to be happy without her. I know she’s your friend, but… there’s only so much you can do. If she’s really against it, you might have to say goodbye.”

“I don’t want to.” Jon chokes out. “Mom, she’s my normal.”

“You found normal once. You can do it again.”

Jon frantically scrubs at his eyes, trying to stop the tears. “I… S’pose.” The thought doesn’t make him feel better, but it does make sense.

“And I think you should talk to Damian.”

“I don’t want to see him.” Jon growls.

“Jon, he’s your friend, too. You both woke up Marinette. It was wrong of him to ask you to help with his mission, but don’t blame him for what isn’t entirely his fault.”

There’s a spike in Jon’s heart, and it’s twisted because he knows she’s right.

“Don’t lose two friends over this, Jon.”

God, she’s right. Jon has to go talk to him. He doesn’t want to, but… he has to. Knowing Damian, he probably doesn’t fully understand why Jon’s even mad at him, so he has to. To at least give Damian a chance to understand.

Even if a part of him says good riddance, and that he’s better off without Damian always there to drag him back into the world of heroes.

Alfred answers the door of the manor and barely looks him up and down before telling Jon that Damian is in the batcave. Jon trudges past the old butler, following old paths through the manor he’d memorized a lifetime ago.

Damian catches sight of him the moment he enters and nods his acknowledgement. Jon notes that Tim is here, but he can’t bring himself to care.

It feels weird, walking into the batcave in an old flannel and worn-out jeans. It’s weird to not even have his suit underneath. This place feels so deeply entrenched with Jon’s memory of heroism that he feels out of place as he is. Underdressed, in a way.

“You should be talking to your father about returning to duty.” Damian says. “Hiding here won’t help.”

“I’m not returning to duty.” Jon says tiredly. “I’m here to talk to you.”

Damian pauses. He’s not expressive, per se, but Jon knows him too well. He knows Damian is embarrassed about the incident. Perhaps even… guilty? Jon’s too tired to think too much about it. “Ah. Right. Speak, then.”

Jon takes a deep breath to stamp down on the rage that bubbles up at Damian’s dismissive tone. Like he didn’t do anything wrong. Like he didn’t come by uninvited and… “You ruined my life.” Jon says quietly. “Do you understand that?”

Damian frowns at him. “There’s no need to get dramatic. This Marinette girl may have heard a bit too much, but she’s only one person. This can be solved easily.”

Jon groans. “That’s not what I’m talking about!” He pauses to breathe some more. He refuses to cry in the batcave. Especially not in front of Damian. “I’m not Superboy anymore. I’m not a hero anymore. I quit for a reason, Damian. I quit because I wanted… I just wanted one thing. I wanted something that could make me feel… okay. I can’t be Superboy, because I- because I…” More deep breaths. Stay calm. “Because I’m not okay. And I went to New York, to college, because I thought I could find something normal. I thought I could- I could be me and not have to fight all the time. And I did! I was happy! I felt safe, and I felt like I could- like I could- I felt like things would be okay.

“And then you came in. Now Marinette won’t talk to me. I’m all alone and I’m only getting worse, but every time I think about going back to being Superboy I panic because I can’t- I can’t fight like that again. I just… physically… I…” He sighs and focuses on his breathing again. “I thought I could be happy. But now that’s ruined.”

Jon notes that Damian stops looking at him somewhere along the line, but all he hears is Damian’s flippant retort. “You’ll get over her. Just because you love this girl doesn’t mean her not liking you is the end of the world.”

That’s where Jon sees red. He stalks up and grabs Damian by the collar, half-surprised that Damian lets him, but not hesitating to lift Damian into the air. “Don’t talk about her like that! You don’t understand anything! Don’t trivialize this like that! It’s not about love, Damian! I’m not in love with her! She was my normal! She was- She was…” Jon chokes on his own words and drops Damian so he can turn away and focus on keeping his tears from slipping free. “You don’t get it. I don’t know why I came here. I’m just going to- I’m going to go.”

“Wait, Jon.” Jon stops, turning back to look at Damian. Damian sighs, though it comes out as more of a huff. “I’m sorry.” He says. “I… I didn’t know why you quit, and I assumed… I shouldn’t have, and I apologize.”

It’s not much, but it’s an apology. It doesn’t fix anything, but it does make Jon feel just a little less broken. “Thanks.” Jon says quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I was yelling, too. It’s not entirely your fault she woke up.”

Damian just nods stiffly in acknowledgement, still refusing to meet Jon’s eye. “Would you… like help reconciling with Marinette? Perhaps if I-”

“God, no. For Christ’s sake, please don’t even step foot in New York.” Jon says it more biting than he means, but that doesn’t seem to bother Damian much. “Marinette doesn’t want anything to do with heroes. Quite frankly, I don’t disagree. If you come in trying to fix everything, it’ll only get worse.”

“…I understand. If you do need my assistance, I will be available for you.”

Jon stares at him for a while, wondering how he feels about that. He’s still resentful, a bit, but Damian is trying. He’s a far cry from that bratty thirteen-year-old that dragged little ten-year-old Jon around on wacky, life-threatening adventures. Jon supposes he’s pretty different now himself, too.

“Thanks, Damian. I appreciate that.”

-------=-------

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe  @moonlightstar64 @amayakans <3

[swanqiu]

A STUDY IN CHARACTER LAYERS.

——— slight mentions of: drugs, death

LAYER  001 :   THE  OUTSIDE.

NAME.   zhang qiu / “cho chang”.

EYE COLOR.   light brown.

HAIR STYLE / COLOR.  black, although more of a dark brown in most lights. she usually wears it down, if not in a neat bun at the office or a nice plait during matches.

HEIGHT.   5′3��

CLOTHING  STYLE.   black jeans! athletic shorts! small pieces of statement jewelry! turtlenecks! sleeveless tops with lacy straps! rayon blouses with 3/4 sleeves! tapered slim-fit pantsuits! shoes with some height that also pair with many different outfits! muggle hoodies supporting the local rugby and football teams! she “borrows” her partner’s tees and sweaters and casual wear, so lol add those to the list. she’s big on practicality and comfort over flair and height of fashion, but she does like keeping up with trends and coordinating her outfits to reflect that.

BEST  PHYSICAL  FEATURE.   her smile! it’s absolutely very cliche, but when she smiles and her nose does that crinkly thing and her eyes get all starry, it’s very unfair how powerful it is. alternatively, she also has a great ass, so there’s that.

LAYER  002 :   THE  INSIDE.

FEARS.   losing people she loves. having someone d*e during a healing procedure and her mind just shutting down during it.

GUILTY  PLEASURE.   parfaits! going for a late night fly! being on top!!!

BIGGEST  PET  PEEVE.   people who sneeze/cough without covering their mouth and nose. people in the magical community who somehow think muggles are “less developed” or “behind” without magic, when they’re the ones who haven’t even moved beyond printed news and radios to circulate current events and pop culture tbh.

AMBITIONS  FOR  THE  FUTURE.   to successfully campaign for a british seat at the international confederation of wizards (delegate timeline); to patent a line of at-home salves and develop at least one healing spell by the end of her residency (healer timeline); to just be the best mom and partner possible, honestly! (divorced verse)

LAYER  003 :   THOUGHTS.

FIRST  THOUGHTS  WAKING  UP.   huh. 6 AM already?

THINKS  ABOUT  MOST.   how other people are doing.

THINKS  ABOUT  BEFORE  BED.   any of the interactions she might have had that day.

WHAT  THEY  THINK  THEIR  BEST  QUALITY  IS.   her ability to depend on herself. her sociability. her commitment to fight for what’s right.

LAYER  004 :   WHAT’S  BETTER ?

SINGLE  OR  GROUP  DATES.   single (unless you’re harry potter and have to meet up with hermione later in the day). group dates are sometimes useful for gauging potential partners’ ability to crack on with her friends, though.

TO  BE  LOVED  OR  RESPECTED.   loved. respected. both?

BEAUTY  OR  BRAINS.   brains— for herself and for a potential partner. BUT i can’t lie, if we’re being really honest here, i’m absolutely tempted by the idea of cho being with a heart-of-gold jock whose sole purposes in life are to get gains, look good, and love cho. cho x himbo king is canon btw; the muggle she marries is a *checks notes* brickhouse rugby player who rescues animals on the side and doesn’t know the first thing about how getting sick works but will gladly and fondly listen to her explain everything from antibodies to the common cold to why wearing a mask helps.

DOGS  OR  CATS.   both.

LAYER  005 :   DO  THEY…

LIE.   not really, and never with bad intentions. as she gets older, she learns to use it more for self-preservation.

BELIEVE  IN  THEMSELVES.   yes.

BELIEVE  IN  LOVE.   yes. always.

WANT  SOMEONE.   no. in her divorced verse, the answer strays more toward yes.

LAYER  006 :   HAVE  THEY  EVER…

BEEN  ON  STAGE.   yes. ravenclaw common room parties are a whole event. terry boot may or may not have the negatives of the one time she sang karaoke to abba’s “dancing queen” on roger davies’s 17th birthday.

DONE  DRUGS.   yes. her muggle psychiatrist recommended medical mar*juana to cope with the very rare night terrors. she tried it for a little while, and it worked, but she ultimately prefers the calming potions made by healer pye. she used sleeping draughts for a little while after the war (who didn’t), but she hasn’t used them since.

GOTTEN  DRUNK.   lmao yes. me, ess the mun, cupping my hands around my mouth: baby girl’s a light weight, y’all!

CHANGED  WHO  THEY  WERE  TO  FIT  IN.   no. part of the reason we read about her experiencing ostracization at school (through harry’s pov) was because she didn’t waver in her defense of marietta and was quite open with her emotions (although she ended up having to repress a large part of her grief and anger anyway). she’s very firm about sticking to her resolutions and not bending who she is in order to do that. (that might get slightly lost in romantic relationships, though.) in her moved-to-the-muggle-world verse, she definitely changes her external habits and way of living to blend in, but it’s not so much a change of her character or her person.

LAYER  007 :   FAVORITES.

FAVORITE COLOR.   beige. light purples. dark greens.

FAVORITE  ANIMAL.   swans.

FAVORITE  MOVIE.   the princess bride (1986). in the mood for love (2000). miss congeniality (2000). remember the titans (2000). 2000 was clearly a big year for her and movies.

FAVORITE  GAME.   lmao as if it would be anything other than quidditch! i’m not exactly sure how fans keep up with the sport if they’re not watching in-person, but when league cup season rolls around, the television is on, the radio is tuned, the newspaper articles about game highlights and star players are read, the plumpton tutshill jersey is ritualistically worn...

LAYER  008 :   SLEEP.

HEAVY  OR  LIGHT  SLEEPER.   light sleeper.

WHAT  SIDE  OF  THE  BED  DO  THEY  SLEEP  ON.   the right side— when she shares a bed with someone, it’s more comfortable for her to cuddle up to them if they’re on her left. in her divorced verse, she sleeps on whatever part of the bed the kids didn’t claim in the middle of the night.

WHAT  DO  THEY  WEAR  TO  BED.   old quidditch stuff— she has one or two ravenclaw scrimmage jerseys that are so old the house insignia’s already faded away. she also has endless tutshill tornadoes shirseys and tees that she’s worn and washed so often that the fabric’s become so soft now and is definitely susceptible to hem stitches unraveling. her favorite sleepwear combo is a pair of cotton boyshorts and to go braless under one of her oversized tutshill tees. comfortable— and as flattering and as easy access as possible, for those nights.

WEIRD  THINGS  THEY  DO  IN  THEIR  SLEEP.   she mumbles a lot sometimes.

LAYER  009 :   LOVE.

BIG  DECLARATIONS  OR  SMALL.   small, from her end, but she’s extremely appreciative (and only a little embarrassed) of big declarations toward her.

OPEN  OR  CLOSED  OFF.   open, although she wisely exercises caution with some people and thus becomes more closed off.

LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT  OR  SLOW  BURN.   slow burn! this is also me, ess, exposing myself for my love of a good slow burn.

ONE  TRUE  LOVE  OR  A  STRING.   a string, but maybe it leads to comfortably settling into that true love. she definitely doesn’t believe that there is only and exactly one love out there for each person. that myth is a terrible and disheartening way to go about life, frankly.

LAYER  010 :   FINISH  THE  SENTENCE.

I  LOVE.   "...that things do get better. my friends. the people i consider my family. my children (added for divorced verse).”

I  FEEL.   "...insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. content with where i am, usually. but mostly, i tend to feel everything, unfortunately all at once.”

I  HIDE.   “...the parts of my feelings that lead into anger.”

I  MISS.   "...the simpler days. hogwarts days, honestly.”

I  WISH.   "...i could have had more time. to do things. to be with people. to enjoy certain moments. sorry— a bit vague, huh?”

tagged by: @gramenviride​ ( 💕 )​ tagging: lol i’ve already tagged a lot of you in these dash games/character studies and likely blew up your notifications over the last week; this turned out pretty long and might use more brain power than usual, so i’m gonna go with a general call for anyone that sees this and wants to fill this out to please do it! and tag me if you do! 

[drshojo]

The World, My Childhood And My Hero Academia: Vigilantes

Hello friends!  

Its Dr. Shojo coming at you with a post that will be divided into three parts!

Part One: The world as we know it! 

The world has changed a lot since we last connected. For starters, TOILET BOUND HANAKO KUN HAS NOT ONLY A PHYSICAL RELEASE BUT A GORGEOUS ANIME! And not only that, but MY NEXT LIFE AS A VILLAINESS: ALL ROUTES LEAD TO DOOM! IS GETTING AN ANIME AS WELL! The last time I wrote about Katerina there wasn’t even an official English translation of that long-ass light-novel-title. And now?

A WHOLE ANIME. A BISEXUAL HAREM AWAITS! I am JAZZED!

Do you think it’s my fault? No matter, I’ll take all the credit. All the manga I talk about are getting anime adaptations. I’LL DO MY DUTY AND TALK ABOUT SOME MORE!

But first. Let us address the Covid-19 shaped elephant in the room

I deeply regret that it took a whole-ass pandemic to get me back to writing. In my defense, I bought an iPad and started drawing like 900 kokichi oumas. I was really busy with that. And then I started reading fanfiction. Then that got me thinking about how fanfiction such an interesting look into how people interpret fandom, use it for wish fulfillment and escapism, and good god is everyone OK cause that bulimia fan fic was super detailed....and I am officially on a tangent. Off track. Ahem.

We are all staying inside a whole lot more which means y’all probably need some reading material and Dr. Shojo has your back! Go read “Horimiya”! It’s amazing! Ahhhh, my work here is done! I'm serious, if you’re here for a Shojo rec, that’s it! There's also like 8 million more Otome Isekais to check out now. It’s like they’re multiplying like rabbits..............

As a Doctor, I must advise you to stay inside and read some manga and practice social distancing. Embrace your inner hikikomori. 

Allright? All good? Okay now one final disclaimer:

This post is going to be talking about something a little different than usual and I want to start by giving you some context about who Dr. Shojo is in real life. 

Part Two: Dr. Shojo Exposed 

You see, when I was little I was obsessed with Japanese media. This doesn't surprise you at all I can tell. Probably because I walk around calling myself Dr. Shojo and shout about manga that you should read.

Anyways, the reason why I was obsessed wasn’t because of the big eyes or the spikey hair or the interesting new culture. It was because it tended to have more character development and overarching plotlines than the media I was used to in Canada. Dexter’s Lab, Magic School Bus, pretty much everything I saw on TV was episodic in nature, so imagine how much my mind was blown when I saw Naruto and Card Captor Sakura, heck, even Pokémon had the Indigo Plateau! Here were kids that were learning more and more each day and got to see enemies become friends and vice versa. They lived and grew older just like me. Except they were cooler than me. And had more interesting lives than me. I gotta tell you, I was so sad when I was 12 and Kero didn’t tell me I had latent magical powers. But there was magic in my life and it was the magic of a complex narrative story. And not only that, it had a sense of movement and had cool costumes. I was hooked immediately.

Also, fun fact, at that age I happened to be a complete and utter tomboy! I loved pretending to fight my friends in the playground and was really worried that puberty would ruin my life because being a girl sounded so CUMBERSOME.

Which leads me up to my confession. Before I became Dr. Shojo, I was in fact......Dr. Shonen.

Bleach? Naruto? One Piece? I've read every single chapter there is.  

Hundreds of hours of watching fight sequences. Another fun fact, I only got into shojo because my aunt bought me volume 7 and 8 of Fruits Basket thinking “all mangas like the same right? Kids love comics?” It’s a tribute to how episodic western media was back then that she thought buying volume SEVEN and EIGHT was a REASONABLE PLACE TO START READING.

Now you might also say, Hey! Dr Shojo! Cardcaptors was a shojo! And you are right! but back then the anime was marketed to boys over here in the west and they actualy like, edited out episodes that they thought wouldn't interest boys?! Second fun fact, Once when I was in Grade 3 I was told I was not allowed to join a club under the stairs cause I was a girl and it was BOYS ONLY. The point of the club? To talk about how great Cardcaptors was! I Kid you not!

So anyways, your pall Dr. Shojo loves Shonen manga to this day!

The only reason I made this Dr. Shojo blog specifically about shojo is because, being a tomboy with no female friends, reading shojo manga was the first time I really thought about what it meant to be a girl and fall in love. And y i k e s. Shojo manga, like most media, fails miserably most of the time in displaying real world relationships. Or at least, it  doesn't prepare you for how disappointing everything can be. When I had my first kiss, I was thinking about how it didn’t feel at all like how I felt reading Zen and Shirayukis kiss in Akagame No Shirayuki Hime. Those were formative years, and shojo was one of the only places I saw romance being talked about for younger audiences. I liked reading romances where no one had any sexual experiences and were figuring out what love meant to them. But let’s shelve this topic for now.

The point is that gender roles are dumb and if you have an open mind there's a world of stories out there for you. Take this time inside to read something you wouldn’t normally. Critically think about the ways that the worlds you see in stories and how you experience the world differ. What are the messages a story is trying to tell you? And why do you like the stories you do? Reflect on how the stories you tell yourself color your view of the world. Even mindless entertainment leaves an impression on us. Anyways.

Whilst you're doing that, I'm going to absolutely lose my hecking mind over the Shonen Jump series MY HERO ACADEMIA: Vigilantes!

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

Part Three: I downloaded the one month free trial of the Shonen Jump app and made you read all that, so I can tell you that today Dr. Shojo is going to rant about a spin-off of a shonen manga

THAT’S RIGHT, OF COURSE I READ HERO ACA AND YES I DID PICK UP THE SPIN OFF SERIES. SHONEN JUMP LETS YOU READ ALL THE NEW CHAPTERS FOR FREE ON THEIR APP. KIDS, IF YOU LIKE SHONEN AND YOU’RE PIRATING ON A SCANLATION SITE STILL GET OUT BECAUSE YOU DON’T NEED TO SEE THOSE WEIRD PLASTIC SURGERY AND DENTISTRY ADDS ANY MORE.

SHONEN IS HERE AND ITS LEGAL AND ITS FREE FOR YOU. GET OFF MANGA FOX OR MANGA ROCK OR WHATEVER THE KIDS ARE USING THESE DAYS.

OK, so by this point in the article you have learned two very important things about me: 1) I love Shonen manga and 2) I read a lot of fanfiction.

Specifically, I read an absolutely biblical amount of My Hero Academia fan fiction and let me tell you, A solid chunk of it is vigilante/ Deadpool / criminal with a heart of gold themed.

So when I saw Hero Aca had a spin off, and it was about vigilantes, I was NOT SURPRISED IN THE SLIGHTEST. Ao3 sure is powerful.

Now, if you will permit me a tangent in a post full of tangents—HOLY CRAP, THERE ARE TOO MANY VIGILANTE AUS. I CAN'T KEEP TRACK OF EM. IT’S THE ISEKAI PROBLEM ALL OVER AGAIN. I GET AN EMAIL A FIC HAS UPDATED AND I’M LIKE IS THIS THE FIC WHERE DEKU HAS AN ABUSIVE MOM OR THE ONE WHERE HE HAS SPLIT PERSONALITY DISORDER OR THE ONE WHERE HE’S VIGILANTES WITH HITOSHI. OH WAIT, nvm, it’s the one where deku has a healing quirk.

OH WAIT WHICH OF THE 6 DEKU WITH HEALING QUIRK VIGILATE AU FICS IS THIS ONE?! ARGH WHY DIDN’T I WRITE A DESCRIPTION IN THE BOOKMARK FOR THIS!

My gripes aside, there's a reason why there's such an abundance of vigilante story telling—

Deadpool made like an absolute buttload of money and people love sass and memes.

People have a desire for a story in which they see themselves. Or, how they think of themselves.They like a story about someone who maybe came from nothing. Someone who has less money, maybe someone who is unlucky and had some bad breaks. Someone who never learned they had magic, never got their Hogwarts letter, never saw Kero, someone who never got that God-level quirk from All Might. And if your on Ao3 They want someone who also has seen a lot of memes and kind of wants taco bell and is also questioning their sexuality a bit?

Enter our new hero VIGILANTE DEKU.  

But the cannon can't do this, cause hey, Deku is the chosen one. Albeit, chosen by All Might, He’s got his own thing to do. But how can we still cash in on a vigilante story?

And thus enter our New-New hero KOICHI HAIMAWARI—code name Nice Guy and then later The Crawler. True to his relatable roots. He’s just a dude in an hoodie who can go about as fast as a bike.

First off, I love Koichi. He wants to be a hero and fight crime, but most of the time he has to run away because at the end of the day he's just a dude.

He’s cute but not wildly good-looking, A bit of a nerd but not like an extreme okaku. He’s got a part time job and hates violence.

And this is where Koichi really shines—in every day stuff. He helps out wherever he can. Often, that just means listening to people complain and maybe helping his friends out with whatever they’re going through. He’s the kind of guy who smiles, not because he's especially brave, but because he just takes things one at a time and doesn't sweat the past. I think it’s really telling that he missed getting into hero high-school because he skipped the entrance exam to help someone. He’s the kind of person who lets us experience the superpower of human decency and empathy. And you know what? That’s something the world need desperately.  

This theme of human decency is really the driving force of Vigilantes—it’s a manga about how the laws are there for a reason but sometimes they unfairly impact the poor and vulnerable. It's about how a lot of criminals are just people who fell into bad social circles or on bad times. People have the capacity for cruelty and violence but that’s never all they are.  

Now, speaking of crime, the entirety of Hero Aca falls into some murky water when it comes to its evil doers. Much of the fandom has a huuuuuge problem with how much the franchise is willing to sweep under the rug in the name of redeeming their baddies. RE: people getting mad about forgiving Endeavor’s child abuse, or Bakugo’s suicide baiting. Or Mineta’s blatant sexual harassment.

But this theme is in Vigilantes even more than it ever was in the main series. To start off with, there’s this guy who tries to rape Pop Step early on, and the later he later winds up befriending everybody. It becomes a running gag that each new villain winds up befriending the other villain guys and then they all open a cat café together.

Using jobs as a way to lift people out of lives of crime is great and all but in the story there is no nuance or consequences for past wrong and well.....it feels very weird.  It's like Vigilantes plays at having an opinion about moral ambiguity and the complexity of human existence and then just.......lets everyone get along because who has time to get into all that. Make of that what you will but it sits weird for me personally.

Anyway, let's move on and talk about POP STEP our main girl!

I love pop stars and I love vigilantes and a guerrilla performer is defiantly a character I could get behind. And I think they do a good job with Pop. She is actually kind of shy, but has this secret edgy persona she puts on when she performs. She is every girl on tumbler in the early 2000s. I also looooove that they make her not that great a singer. SHE’S GOT PASSION AND CHARISMA and maybe not born talent but like why should that stop you! Talent can be earned through practice and this is a great lesson to show people.

Unfortunately, Pop is also a great example of everything wrong with romance in Shonen.

It’s established early on that Pop loves Koichi because she is the girl he rescued all those years ago and yada yada yikes we’ve heard this one before. Many times before.

Sure, it's fine that they’ve met before, but gosh am I sick of damsels in distress. It's like she can't love him just because she respects what a great guy he is in her life and in the community at large, no no, she just needs to be rescued on top of that. And LOLOLOL isn't it funny he never noticed she was a girl because she was a child with short hair?! Once he realizes she has boobs now they will for sure fall in love! That’s how love works!

She's just with him all the time—nothing romantic ever happens she just gets a little tsundere.

I am never ever going to believe Koichi likes Pop because he spends like sooooo much time with her and they never have like, a moment. The first time he considers her is when Makoto is like, ‘hey I would love to get together with you, but have you thought about if you are crushing on Pop’. (Also this entire plot point is suspect—she's arbitrarily falling for Koichi cause he.......is the protagonist?)  

Say what you will about shojo, they give you the emotional conversations, the moments where you think.....ahhh I can see why she is falling for him. They give you context! Shonen likes to just say HERE’S A GIRL YOUR AGE. YOU CAN DATE LATER WHEN THE ADVENTURE IS DONE.

Just when they might get together, Pop suddenly turns evilllllll. The evilllll beeeees made her eeeevilllll (and more sexy).

*Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh*

Because why on earth would they get together if Koichi didn’t get to rescue Pop one more time?

I’m tired. These troupes are tired. I’m sure you are too. HOWEVER! If your still with me, Let’s move into why I'm really writing this post. Let’s get to the part that got me screaming to my friends, who by the way, don’t even care bout Hero Aca….but listened anyways. May you all find nakama like these my friends.

Anyways,

HOLY FUCK ERASERHEAD’S ENTIRE BACK STORY IS IN THIS AROUND CHAPTER 60 AND IT IS WONDERFUL AND ABSOLUTLY HEARTBREAKING AND IS ONE OF THE BEST CHARACTER BACKSTORIES I HAVE EVER SEEN AND IS THE REASON WHY THIS SERIES IS A MUST-READ FOR MAIN SERIES FANS.

AND BY ALMIGHT.  

WHY. IS. IT HERE.  

I present to you my late night text messages to my friends

ALSO, AIZAWAS TEACHER IS PRINCE?!?!?!

AHEM, so as you can see, I kinda lost my shit.

And now, I would like to formally defend my claim that DESPITE HOW AMAZING IT WAS, ERASERHEAD’S BACKSTORY HAD NO BUISSNESS BEING IN THE VIGILANTES SPIN-OFF MANGA.

Eraserhead, aka Aizawa Shouta, is a side character who is working with the police on some crime stuff. He is not a main cast member in this spin off. He’s a guest character that fans of the main series will be like OH COOL. GRUMPY CAT MAN LIKES CATS ON HIS OFF HOURS TOO. LOVE THAT FOR HIM.

So, my imagine my absolute surprise when Aizawa runs into Koichi and the following happens:

It starts to rain, so, like in any good manga, this means some great FORCED BONDING TIME

Except no. It doesn't because rather than start talking, Aizawa JUST STARTS REMEMBERING—ABSOLUTLY SILENTLY TO HIS OWN PRIVETE SELF—HIS ENTIRE TRAGIC BACKSTORY.

AND THIS GOES ON FOR CHAPTERS.

THIS GOES ON LONGER THEN ARC ONE IT FEELS LIKE.

I LOVE IT, BUT KOICHI IS ABOUT TO JOIN ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA IN THE DUBIOUS CATEGORY OF “PROTAGONISTS THE SERIES FORGOT ABOUT IN LIEU OF COOLER SIDE CHARACTERS”.

AND LO IT HAS NO BEARING ON THE REST OF THE PLOT, CHARACTERS, OR STORY

What the ever-loving-just WHY?

WHY?

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

SURE, IT’S A COOL TIE-IN.

YES, OF COURSE I LOVED IT. I SHIP ERASER MIC, I DREW THIS FOR HECK’S SAKE:

AND YET I AM ANGRY.

I AM ANGRY BECAUSE MY FRIDAY WAS RUINED BECAUSE VIGILATES SUCKER PUNCHED ME WITH AN AMAZING STORY THAT REALLY WASN’T PLOT RELEVANT AND PROBABLY SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE.  

IS THIS WHY THEY TOOK LIKE NEXT-TO-NO CARE WITH POPS ARC?!?

I mean its ongoing, so it’s too early to say but—

In conclusion—

Excuse me one more,

AIZAWA WAS TAUGHT BY PRINCE!?!??!?!?!?!? PURPLE RAIN PRINCE!?!??!?!?!? WHAT!??!?!?!

It’s so ABSURD that I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I HAD TO WRITE PARAGRAPHS TO JUSTIFY YELLING ABOUT THIS ONE THING. WHAT THE ABSOLUTE—

Ahem,

Anyways, I hope you liked this weird rant/personal-story/random-diatribe in three parts.

If you’re reading this, thank you, stay safe, and I’ll be back with more shojo manga next time.  

Ciao!

Dr. Shojo

(aka Dr. Shonen)

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 61

~*~Sebastian~*~

It had been a long day of uncomfortable conversations, meetings, interviews, lunch with strangers, and an early dinner with friends. I'd left my room at nine and it was after eight when I slid the key card in the door.

The smell hit me fast. Roses. I flipped on the light to locate the source. Sitting on the glass dining table was a vase of red and black roses. That's a little scary. Then I noticed something with black polka dots and a bow.

"No way." They couldn't be. I pulled them free and they were. Disney mouse ears. I started laughing. There was only one person these could be from. The card said, "From one Disney lover to another. Sunt al tău, copil. Xoxo, Emma."

Emma has sent me roses signed “I'm yours, baby.” Had I not already moved my Wednesday dinner to Sunday I would have been on my phone making up shit to get out of Canada a day earlier. On the back of the card was an explanation. Red roses for romance and desire. Black for new beginnings and change. I was thinking love and hate, but this better.

I put them on and sat at the table in front of my laptop. I was about to hang up and text her when she picked up, "I'm here. I’m here. I was in the bathroom changing." Her fingers touched the screen, "You like your ears?"

"I love my ears. And my flowers. It smells great in here. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I hope you got the sarcasm. We don’t love Disney, but are Disney lovers."

"I did." It kills me that she's turned an NDA into a joke between us. Mice can't tell time and roses with ears. Emma is simply the best. She was also slowly sliding sideways.

"Are you drunk?" I turned my head to the side following her tilt.

She rubbed her hand under her nose with her eyes closed. "A little drunk. My nose itches." She repeated the action.

"Did you have a fun spa day?" I held up my hand with crossed fingers.

"I did!" She listed a little more to the side and I smiled. "There was a lot of seaweed."

"Seaweed?"

"A lot of seaweed. It started with a salt scrub, which felt really good. Then I was wrapped in seaweed and left to marinade for a while."

"Marinade." I curled my lips in trying not to laugh. This was a different drunk. She was silly.

"Next was their signature "four-hand" massage. Two people."

"That sounds fun."

"You'd think, but it was weird and creepy. I felt like I was being prepared as a virgin sacrifice to a lesser known god or maybe a volcano."

"Except you're not a virgin."

She frowned and huffed out a disgusted breath, "You don't know that."

I laughed, "Yes, I kinda do."

"Fine. I was very uncomfortable and sent one away after maybe two minutes. The massage therapist said it happens and was important for me to be comfy. It was a very good massage. She left and an aesthetician came in for my..."

She paused and I filled in, "Seaweed facial?"

She touched her nose and pointed to the camera several times. So cute. "We had a very yummy spa lunch. I had an avocado and chicken salad sandwich with these super crunchy fresh potato chips. And champagne."

"I wondered when the drinking was coming."

"Lunch when the three of us were brought back together. See, I'd had such a lovely morning and they threatened my happy and now relaxed mood. I thought bubbles would keep away the negative juju."

"Juju." I kept repeating these strange words.

"We went into this room with pedicure chairs all wrapped in white fluffy robes. The whole thing repeated itself on my hands and feet. Salt scrub, hand and foot massage, seaweed wrap, and marinade."

"I bet there was more champagne too."

"There was! We had to choose mani-pedi colors. My colors are blush and bashful. I have chosen two shades of pink, one is much deeper than the other.”

The champagne had brought out her accent even more and she fired up the Steel Magnolias’ quote. "Are your toes pink?"

"They are. I'll show you." She pulled her foot up in front of her phone instead of, you know, moving her phone to her foot. I got a brief glimpse of her toes before she fell over and slid onto the floor. "Ow."

"You ok, sweetie?"

She sat up and leaned against the side of the bed, "I am fine. We got dressed and did some shopping. Then called dad to take Katie out so we could continue day drinking by the pool. It turned into evening drinking. Ironically, I will be spending the morning at a shelter with one of my rehab therapists with a champagne hangover."

"You can do a Ted Talk on making positive choices prior to conducting volunteer services."

"You're a funny boy. Funny, funny boy." She did the weirdly cute nose scratching thing again. "I know better than to drink this much champagne. It makes my nose itch. And it's a strange bubbly sort of drunk." She pointed a finger at me, "Let me tell you something, baby boy, my mom and twin juiced up on champagne kept the day smooth. We talked skincare while lying in the sun. The irony of which is not lost on me. Oh god! There it is. When champagne is exposed to sunlight it becomes sewage." She moved very close to the screen, "Your eyes are pretty. The blue changes with your mood and they're so expressive. I want...”

Emma stopped talking and just smiled.

"What do you want, baby?" This was either going to be very sweet or very dirty. I was up for either.

Emma moved back from the screen a little. She laid her head to the side with the slightest smile, "I want to lay in your arms and look in your eyes for hours, just to see what they say."

"I think that can be arranged."

She nodded then yawned, "I'm sleepy. Will you read to me again?"

"Absolutely." I made it through a paragraph before she was asleep.

I flipped my phone over and over in my hand, trying to decide if I should call. That I couldn't decide was the decision.

Celie picked up on the third ring, "Hi Sebastian."

"Hey Celie, I hope it’s not too late."

"Not at all. It's not even nine. What's going on?"

"I just spent twenty minutes reading Winnie the Pooh to my drunk girlfriend who's a thousand miles away with her dysfunctional family. She fell asleep in less than one."

"Why'd you keep reading?"

Even though she couldn't see, I shrugged, "I wanted to." I knew she wouldn't accept that answer. "I didn't want to break the connection."

"Because you felt connected or because you felt insecure?"

"Connected."

"Good for you, Sebastian."

"Yeah." I nodded. It was good. "This morning I was insecure. I had to ask Emma to sign an NDA."

"NDA's aren't new for you."

"It's usually her people and my people working it out and I sign by the sticky arrow. I had to be involved in this one and it was gross. Made it more personal." I huffed out a breath. "Probably should have been before. I know it should. Emma and I had already talked about it and she said she didn't have a problem signing paperwork for something she'd never do anyway. But when it came down to asking her to sign it, I was terrified. What it said about her. What it said about me. What it said about us. I didn't want to hurt her or have her feel like I didn't trust her. I do trust her. All the things I’ve learned, the things I'm doing, we're doing, I was terrified they'd be ruined by this stupid NDA. I told her all that and by the time we hung up I felt more connected and secure. I think facing it and talking about it made me feel closer."

"That's what real intimacy does. You can't have real intimacy without having difficult conversations and talking about emotions. Being vulnerable. Not shutting down. Not using sex to create a hormonal and false intimacy. Risking letting your partner see you. Being emotionally available."

"Yeah." That's what I thought.

"What was Emma's response."

"She told me she wasn't going anywhere and mice can't tell time."

Celie laughed, "Mice can't tell time?"

"Disney is the only studio on the NDA. They sent it half-hour early. I went from scared to furious in a heartbeat. They sent it early because Micky Mouse, mice, can't tell time. Later she sent me roses that came with those mouse ears on a headband."

"I like her."

"Me too. I don't want to fall back into old habits. I like this. All of it. How do I keep this?"

"Keep doing the hard stuff. Having the conversations you want to avoid. You're taking risks and getting the emotional payoff. You build on that. When you hit a bump, and you will, you go back and try again." She paused, "Sebastian, you are doing things differently. When you question, check yourself, because you know what you’ve done in the past. I encourage you to take the risk to do it differently. Use your resources. You are not alone. I am here to help. You have good friends who will tell you the truth. And most importantly, you have Emma."

I laughed, "Wow, you're good."

"You don't always make it easy, but right now you are." She laughed too. "It's nice to see your hard work coming together."

"Thank you."

"You could also Google “How to know if your boyfriend is emotionally unavailable" and do the opposite."

"You know I’m going to fall down a rabbit hole now."

"In your different mindset, you may make some connections you haven’t previously. Have a good night, Sebastian."

"You too, Celie."

I thought I was in for a sleepless night with the internet. I was wrong. I made it through three articles before I shut my laptop down. The first two started with a simplified explanation of why someone is emotionally unavailable. I was already familiar with the long version. Both had lists. Roughly the same lists. Lack of serious relationships, not making an effort, and not wanting to have real conversations has never been me. I want and do them all. Difficult to reach and defensive sounds familiar. Then there were the very familiar ones. Inconsistent affection. It’s about what and when it’s acceptable; not as simple as public and private. Sometimes it wasn’t ok in private either. Misunderstanding and being dismissive. The number of times I've said “that's ridiculous" is embarrassing. Usually, it wasn't. Inability to stay present during conflict or emotionally laden conversations. "That's ridiculous" also puts a stop to those. Wanting control of the relationship. Yep, who can know what. Thinking emotions are weak. Not weak as much as dangerous. Pulling away. Everything else was just another way of pulling away.

Two lists more than covered what I know I'm guilty of. However, the familiar things are things I did and said to myself much more than to anyone else. Except the pulling away. If you tell yourself your feelings are ridiculous, put limits on what’s acceptable, and check out of emotional conversations pulling away is what happens. All those create distance even if it’s you doing it to yourself.

It took a while to find the third one. I was looking for something hopeful. If it wasn't a list of traits it was tips to make him fall for you. Emma has managed to do that quite well without the manipulation on those lists. A few pages into my Google search I found how to tell he's changed. Some were things I'd learned already. The new things with Emma: lets you in on his past; wants to change; your opinion matters; protective; and his words match his actions.

I could do these things, what sticks out, is I'm not constantly running myself down for my feelings and when I give voice to things that lead up to those feelings she doesn’t either. Emma meets me where I am and shows me a way out. A way through.

I am almost there and what I struggle with she helps me. I think that's why we have relationships. We need other people. I'm never going to be perfect and will need support. When I think of my friends, they're not perfect. I'm there for them when they need me. The last couple of days I've been there for Emma. She didn't handle it all on her own. She called me and let me be there. Let me listen and emotionally support her.

I looked at the roses she'd sent me. The ridiculous polka dot mouse ears that match her bikini, except my ears have a red bow her bikini doesn’t. I climbed out of bed, put on a shirt, and took a picture. Me in ears with a wry smile and a caption saying, "Disney lovers." went up on Instagram.

[wincestisasincest]

2000 Man (A beatle!reader story) - Part 1: Madam Beatle

Hello friends! Yes I absolutely am starting a new series when I haven’t finished another one. I was just so intrigued by the idea of a beatle!reader that I had to start something. 

Credit to @casafrass for literally all the ideas and a few of the headcanons, I’ll name which ones I’m using for each part of the story.

Anyway, the story is framed through an interview that our dear reader is having in the year 2000 as she tries to promote her new book, Madam Beatle, which chronicles the story of her life. Expect a lot of flashbacks, and a lot of angst as the stories goes on. Kinda inspired by Slumdog Millionaire. I don’t know how long this is gonna be yet, but expect a L O T. 

Anyway, let’s start, and get ready for more.

Description: It’s the year 2000, and y/n, the fifth member of the Beatles, is advertising her new book, Madam Beatle, in her first interview of the year. We see snapshots of her life, from when she joined the band, to the trials and tribulations, to the death of the band, and everything in between. Loosely inspired by Slumdog Millionaire. 

Part: 1, 2

Headcanons: How the fans would react, how the press would react/how defensive the boys are 

Words: 1,967

Pairings: None, at the moment, just general fluff and friendship 

Warnings: Rude people and language

“Welcome back to the show, y/n. I hate to be the one to say it, but I haven’t seen you since the last millennium.” 

“Thanks for having me, Harold, though I honestly didn’t think I would live to see the next one.”

“Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say that we’re glad you did. How else would we get to see the release of, what was it, Madam Beatle?” 

“Yup, that it was.” 

“Now, I mean this as so insult to your creativity, but I understand that this title isn’t your own thinking, is it?”

“Well, no, it was actually one of the many titles that the press had given me back in our early days. The first article that I read that was specifically about me, was, in fact, titled, ‘Madam Beatle, Yay or Nay?’. It was in a section of a teen magazine, I don’t even remember the name at this point, but it was where the magazine would pose a question in the previous issue, and fans would send letters with their responses. It was usually some sort of yes or no question. I’m afraid I don’t recall the whole thing, but I did save that page of the magazine, and I had it printed in full in the book.”

“Was this article particularly significant to you.” 

“I’d like to think so. I remember reading it and thinking to myself, ‘Wow, this many people I don’t know have strong opinions about me.’ It sounds a little weird saying it out loud, but it was just such a strange concept to me, and was almost completely foreign at the time, though I grew used to it.”

Your hands sealed the envelope closed as you slammed it on top of your growing pile. You felt a little bad not putting the return address on the front of the letters. Of course, you knew full-well that that was Freda’s job, but there was simply so many. She would have to dedicate an hour, at least. 

This response had been something special. Greta, a seven year old from Idaho, had sent you a drawing of herself and you, and you wanted to respond with something equally as awesome, so you sent her a drawing of yourself and her à la colored pencils instead of crayons. Something about children always brought out your soft side, even if it took an extra 10 minutes to answer. 

You tore open the next letter without even checking the front. The address wasn’t really important, it was the name inside. Out fell a small sheet of paper and a crumpled page of a magazine. 

The paper was about the size of a post-it note, with words scrawled on it in thick, black pen: “I’m not the only one who thinks you’re a whore.” 

Shaking, you picked up the crumpled magazine page. You couldn’t figure which magazine it was, but you recognized the format of the column. A point-counterpoint type column, with the page split in half, headed either ‘Yay’ or ‘Nay’, and a collection of responses on either side. Or, they’re should’ve been, as the heading under ‘Yay’ was completely scribbled out by the black marker, leaving only the ‘Nay’ section visible. 

The title of the article was ‘Madam Beatle, Yay or Nay?’, and under the title, in confident, showy lettering, was the question: ‘What do you think of y/n of the Beatles?’

You turned the page over and refused to read it. You knew what this was. You had heard of it. And you had also heard that the best way to deal with hate-mail was to not give into it. To not answer. But you weren’t very good at avoiding temptation. 

There was a knock at the door. You peered through the fish-eye. Yup, it was the four lads, who had almost certainly all lost the room key. You pulled the door open slightly, only to have it stopped by the door chain. 

“Y/n, love, you’re supposed to open the door the whole way.” You didn’t even have to look up to know that it was Lennon, dripping with sarcasm as usual.

“I dunno if I should. I was told by our very esteemed manager Brian that I should keep all riff-raff out of the hotel room.” You began rolling your rs in the way that posh people do.

“Then what are you doin’ in there?” Ringo joined the arena.

“I’m a beacon of morality.” You giggled as you unlocked the door. 

The four blew in past you, moving to all corners of the room, and stretching out on whatever chair or sofa they could find. 

“Was it worth it?” You blew some hair out of your face.

“Nah, he wasn’t home.” George crossed his legs on the coffee table while sitting on the sofa. 

“Too famous for you, I guess.” You crossed your arms and took in the room of disappointed faces. If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t like to say ‘I told you so.’ But, you really did tell them so.

“Ah, just you wait. One day, we’ll be rejecting Elvis when he tries to come over.” John was scrounging through the kitchenette looking for snacks to fuel his sarcasm. 

“Y/n, what’s this?” Paul, who hadn’t spoken yet, was hunched over the table with your fan mail sprawled out on it.

“Jus’ some fan mail that I was getting done, you know, being productive, while I was waiting for you four to get rejected.” You were silently praying that he wouldn’t notice that one shred of hate mail that you had. Of course, it had to be the hate mail that he noticed and not the thousands and thousands of wonderful letters that you had received. If anyone would make a big deal, it would be Paul. 

“No, no, I mean this letter, if that’s what you can call it.” Paul, don’t you do it.

“What does it say?” Ringo called over everyone’s head. 

“I don’t wanna say it out loud, but-” 

“Paul, it’s fine, there’s no fans around.” You just wanted to get this whole thing over. 

“What does it say?” John was looking over Paul’s shoulder at your table. 

“Guys, it’s fine, I don’t ca-” 

“Someone sent y/n hate mail.” 

“What? What does it say?” Ringo and George both went over to join the group, hovering over what you had just opened. 

“Yeah, but it’s like, not a big deal,” you walked back over to join them, “I got all these nice letters from other people, if one person is angry, I don’t really mind.” You patted the top of your stack of letters as there was a small silence. 

“Good girl, y/n,” John strolled to your side and put his arm around you, “Lads, this is the grit that we’re gonna need to have if we’re gonna make it past this milestone.” 

“What the hell are you on about, John?” Paul had finally given up his fascination with the hate mail.

“We’ve got our first hate mail. We’ve officially made it.” You joined a chorus of sighs, but John only chuckled. 

“In fact, I think this calls for a celebration,” he pulled away from you, “Pour the champagne!” He whipped a bottle of champagne out of one of the cabinets and swiped give champagne glasses from the shelf. John and properly confronting the situation was often not a good pairing. 

“Where the hell did that come from?” George chided, though it was through a smile.

“What does it matter? We’re fucking famous!” The champagne was overflowing in the glass that he shoved into your hand. You felt a smile creeping up your face. You couldn’t tell if he was just trying to ignore the situation, or if he was genuinely happy, and frankly, you didn’t care. 

“To hate mail!” The five of you clinked your glasses, somewhat unexpectedly, but no one was gonna turn away a champagne celebration. You took a long sip. He was right. This was just another lesson to add to your collection of things that you had to deal with in the public conscience. First, it was the press, and now, it was some very pissed off fans. Only a little longer until you learned not to care about breathing. 

The next few hours were a blur. Champagne had taken the place of the brandy that you took before shows to ease your nerves, though you obviously weren’t thinking about it at the time, and thus, were slightly more tired and drunk than usual.

Still, the show went fine. You honestly could’ve stood there for an hour and those fans would’ve screamed their heads off anyway. And life was good. 

You stepped into the car that would take you back to the hotel, your feat aching, as they always did, and your eyelids begging to shut. The car lurched forwards. 

“Y/n, I found this for you.” Ringo sat across from you and handed you what looked like a magazine, with his thumb marking one of the pages. You and him had stepped into the car earlier than the rest, as the group always took different routes in order to ease the escape from fans. 

“Thanks, Rings.” You flipped it open, and your eyes recognized the page that you’d landed on. It was the same article from earlier, except that the ‘Yay’ column was no longer blacked out. You smiled. 

“Aww, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know, I know, but I wanted to make sure that you have the, the good opinions with the bad, and all that.” 

“Another successful night, lads, and now, to the bar!” John hopped into the car, a tidal wave of fans following close behind. Paul and George then slinked in and the door was slammed shut behind them. 

“What’s that you’ve got there, y/n?” Paul squeezed himself next to me. 

“Ringo found me the same magazine from earlier. Wanted me to see all the  ‘good opinions’.” 

“Awww, Rings! Looking out for our y/n like that.” John ruffled his hair as he shoved himself into the seat next to him.

“I never knew how nasty girls can be towards girls. I always thought it was just the press.” George added his pensive two cents while looking out the window. 

“Hey, hey, it’s the fans, not girls in general. And I’ll have you know, I got several adoring letters from both our male and female fans.” You leaned back in your seat. 

“We have male fans?” Paul laughed. John snorted.

“But seriously, y/n, they don’t mean shit, those girls. We don’t like ‘em either.” John was bad at emotions, you knew this, but his words were some odd comfort. 

“Wow, very nice, you could’ve said that without a bottle of champagne, y’know.” Brian jammed himself in the car next to John and Ringo.

“Here comes the killjoy.” Paul muttered under his breath.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that drunken stumble tonight, Lennon. And don’t think that the audience didn’t notice, either. Very unprofessional.” 

“The only professional here is the driver, Brian, and even he’s speeding a little.” What a comedy duo. The rest of the car cracked up with laughter. 

“Do watch that, Lennon. The rest of you, a little better, but do try to stick to brandy next time.” He took out one of his finer cigars. 

“Tonight we’re sticking to more than brandy.” You added, and the group let out whoops of joy.

“Cheers, love.” Paul gave you a light shove.

Brian’s attempts to control the group were futile. The driver fulfilled his purpose and flipped off someone while slamming on the gas to pull into the lane. You and your best friends sped into the night, leaving all your inhibitions far behind. 

[tinybookgirl]

Phone Calls are Extremely Stressful- Chapter 3

((Human AU Amethyst meets her birth sisters))

Amethyst fell onto the couch the moment they entered the apartment.

“That was…” she paused. “Amazing.”

And it had been, especially after Steven showed up and made things ten times less awkward. They had finally gotten around to actually ordering pizza, and once she was no longer struggling to say a single word, Lapis and Peridot had rejoined the table as well. Amethyst had just meet her sisters. Real, actual, biological sisters.

“You shouldn’t have been nervous,” Peridot sat herself next to Amethyst. “We told you it would be fine.”

Lapis snorted. “You said nothing helpful.”

“I was extremely helpful!”

Amethyst nudged Peridot with her foot. “No, you weren't.” She sat up. “But who cares about that because I have sisters now.” She flopped down onto her back again. “And Steven invited them to his party, and they’re coming.”

“So?” Lapis sat on the other side of Amethyst. “You like them.”

Amethyst threw her arm over her face. “I do like them. But Steven invites everyone. Which means they’ll end up meeting everyone.”

“We met everyone.” Lapis said.

“You are my girlfriends. These are my sisters. Somehow, that is worse.”

“Tell them not to come,” Lapis suggested.

“I can’t tell them that!” Amethyst moved her arm. “I want them to like me!’

“Then let them come.” Lapis said.

Amethyst groaned.

Amethyst scanned over the cars gathered around the house as they drove up. Lapis was stuck at work, so it was just her and Peridot. She was slightly relieved to see that it didn’t look like any of the Deitz girls were here yet. Maybe something had come up and they would be able to come at all. She shook her head. Lapis and Peridot were right. She wanted them here. She wanted to hang out with them. And if that meant them meeting every single person in Beach City… then that would have to do.

“Amethyst!” Steven was on the porch, dressed in an truly hideous Hanukkah sweater. He ran down to the street as Amethyst and Peridot got out of the car.

Steven grabbed one of Amethyst’s and Peridots hands, tugging them inside. “Your sisters are coming, right?! I was telling Pearl and Garnet about it and they think it’s really cool-”

Amethyst laughed, pulling Steven off their arms. She ruffled Stevens hair. “Yes. They’re coming.”

The house was already half full of people. Holiday music was playing and Amethyst recognized as something Greg had written. She was a tad impressed Steven had convinced Greg to actually let him play it. There was food and decorations all around, and Steven had been sure to pull out plenty of extra chairs.

Steven grinned, “Yes! They were so cool! Do you think they’ll want to come to more stuff? Cause I can make sure to invite them next time-”

“Slow down” Amethyst urged, “Let’s just see how this goes, alright?”

Peridot had gone off and was talking to Pearl about something. Amethyst was slumped on the couch with a glass of punch. She wished there was alcohol but Steven insisted parties were more fun without it.

“Hey, mini.”

Amethyst looked up. She sat up straight, almost spilling her cup when she saw Kaylee standing in front of her, dressed in a leather jacket.

“Hey! When did you guys get here?”

Kaylee sat herself on the couch next to Amethyst. “About five minutes ago. Steven showed up and insisted on introducing us to everybody. I told him I had to use the bathroom and slipped off. Cause I don’t feel like personally meeting every single person here.”

Amethyst looked around at the crowded room. “Steven throws pretty big parties.” She took a sip from her cup. “Did you call me Minnie? Like, the mouse?”

Kaylee laughed, “Like you being short.”

“I’m not that short!” Amethyst argued even though it was clearly a lie. She was shorter than any of the Deitz girls, and shorter than most of the other party guests as well. She didn’t argue against the nickname. She was thrilled that Kaylee had decided to give her one.

“So,” Amethyst said after a second. “What’s being a security guard like?”

“Boring mostly,” Kaylee shrugged. “I mean, even in Empire City people don’t steal as much as you’d think. Mostly I just end up dealing with lost kids.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Couple times a day. I think they always come to me cause I’m one of like, three girl security guards in the whole place.”

Amethyst considered that. “At least your bathroom isn’t crowded.”

Kaylee burst into laughter. Amethyst felt another thrill.

Kaylee leaned back as the laughter subsided. “Man, I wish we found you sooner.”

Amethyst hoped having sisters would never feel normal. She liked it this way, as though every single interaction with one of them was the most amazing thing on the planet. She liked it feeling special.

“How did you find me anyway?” Amethyst asked.

“We started looking a couple years ago,” Kaylee said. “Then Jay saw a newspaper article about the wrestling tournament you were in and decided you kind of looked like us.” She shrugged and nudged Amethyst with her shoulder. “We dug around and now here we are. At the Hanukkah party for our little sister’s brother.”

Elle suddenly sat herself next to Amethyst, followed shortly by Gina and Jayna. Gina grabbed a stray chair and pulled in in front of them, while Jayna took the place next to Kaylee.

“Why is everyone you know named after a rock?” Elle asked.

“Everyone I know is not named after a rock!” Amethyst argued,

Elle began counting on her fingers. “Let’s see, your name is Amethyst, you’re dating two girls named Peridot and Lapis Lazuli. Steven just introduced us to Pearl, Garnet, Fluorite, Rhodonite, Ruby, Sapphire, Padparadscha-”

“Wasn’t the girl you fought in that wrestling tournament named Jasper?” Jay interjected.

“Fine,” Amethyst relented. “I know a lot of people named after rocks. In my defense-” she added. “Ruby and Sapphire’s weird family naming conventions are not my fault.”

“Your last name is a rock too.” Gina added.

Amethyst groaned. “I can’t win this can I?”

“No,” Jay said. “You can’t.”

The party was finally ending after a couple hours. Amethyst had spent most of it talking to her sisters in the corner, occasionally joined by Steven or Peridot. By now, almost everyone had gone home, including the Deitz’s who said they wanted to get back to Empire City before it got too late.

Amethyst was in the kitchen with Pearl, helping her put away the leftover food. Amethyst snapped the lid onto a container of cookies.

“Hey, can Peridot and I take these?”

Pearl glanced over, busy rearranging more containers in the fridge. “You might as well,” She stood up straight and shut the fridge. “There’s too many leftovers just for Steven.”

Amethyst set the container aside so she wouldn’t forget it. “Thanks.”

“Steven introduced us to your sisters.” Pearl said suddenly.

Amethyst turned around to look at her. “What do you think?”

Pearl was silent for a moment. “They seem like lovely girls.”

“They’re amazing,” Amethyst said, unable to keep herself from smiling. “I like talking to them and having them in my phone and-” She looked out to the living room where Garnet was helping Steven take down the streamers he had hung up. “I like having them to come to stuff like this too.”

Pearl nodded as she put away unused paper plates. “I’m glad.”

“Hey, Pearl?”

Pearl hmmed as she turned back around. “Yes?”

“Did Rose know I had any family?”

Pearl pause in the middle of gathering up the bowls and platters they had used. “There… there wasn’t a lot of information about your birth family. Rose thought that-” she set the dishes in the sink- “If there was someone who could have been taking care of you, they would have been. She thought about looking a few times- but she wanted to wait until you were old enough.”

Amethyst nodded slowly. “You think she would be glad I found them now?”

There was another second of silence. Then, “Yes. I think she would be.”

[everly-kindred]

Eve’s Diary - Entry #44

Synopsis: A very snowy week of January passes, and Eve collects her thoughts on the happenings. 

Words: 1,501

Date: 17th of January, 2027

Dear Diary, 

Well. It has been quite a week. I feel like my mind is too full of things, and I’m definitely looking forward to the weekend to process some of it. I’m gonna at least write down what I remember, to sort of… unload and unpack.

First of all, I finally approached that Persephone Vitrac girl. I didn’t mean to, but I stumbled upon her and kind of just… started asking all those questions about werewolves that have been bouncing around my brain. I had been reading those old Owl Post articles, after all, so I was really curious. 

What I learned was: 

Dittany and silver are used to heal werewolf injuries - silver does not hurt werewolves. And this is the only thing that can heal those wounds, thus why almost all, if not ALL werewolves are also magical folk. 

Werewolves face so much discrimination because of their violent nature, that it drove them to the Dark Lord’s army, as they believed they would finally be safe and in a community of their own. 

The discrimination stems from the fact werewolves do not retain their human mind when changed and have a weird and strong desire to attack other humans…

UNLESS they take wolfsbane, which was only invented around 50 years ago, and magical folk live really, really long so many remember life before wolfsbane.

Werewolf related injuries are considered curse damage and will never heal properly.

No one really knows where the curse of lycanthropy started. 

The Lovelace woman I read about in the papers is the one who turned Persephone, several years ago, and was the one doing the Hogsmeade attacks that I read about, dreamed about, even had a vision about. 

I think that’s everything she told me. Anyways, it gave me a lot to think about. Especially because we had our full moon just last week - and ironically enough, January’s full moon is called the ‘Wolf Moon.’ Or at least, that’s one of a few nicknames for it. It’s also called the Old, Winter, or After-Yule moon. 

For this moon, I asked my tarot deck to present me with a card that would show me what to expect between this moon and the next. I know that I should do a larger reading for esbats, but I honestly don’t have the energy to. 

Anyways, I pulled judgment, which tells me imminent change is coming, and I will have to make a very important decision of some kind. I’m unsure of what this could be, so for now, I will sit tight, continue my studies and practices, and wait to see how life unfolds. 

Most of my dreams have been nonsense, like, the other night I dreamt that Talula owned a shop inside the school, and she made and sold really pretty velvet dresses, and then this boy who was really mean came and lit the shop and the school on fire. But, like, Talula thought it was funny? And it just didn’t feel like how any of my serious dreams felt, so I sort of brushed it off. 

Though I did have a dream about Aures, too. She was really sad and was sitting in the snow alone, when three roses grew from seedlings to buds, to fully blossoming in a circle around her. And then these roses began to glow and turned into three foxes curled around her, and the foxes seemed to make her happy. So I took some of the wood from artificer club, and a knife and paint, and carved Aures her own little wooden fox that I put in a terrarium for her. 

Speaking of, Bonnie has been showing us how to carve our own wands in Artificer club. I tried to make mine look like a berry branch… Maybe Holly or Blackberry, I’m not sure. We’re going to paint and polish our wands next week. I want mine to be colourful rather than just polished wood. I feel like there are so many creative opportunities with wands that don’t get explored!

Also in Artificer club, I talked to Bobby and this older boy who had approached us to talk to Tal, about making a jellyfish lantern. If I get a floaty fabric and a jar, I could probably make it.. I’d have to learn how to cast bluebell flames and a few floating spells like wingardium leviosa, and I feel like there’d have to be some level of enchantment involved, but maybe Bonnie could help me! I think it sounds so nice to have a glowy jellyfish floating above you as a nightlight. 

We had Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Vikander had something really noisy in some sort of cage covered in cloth that looked stained with either blood or jam. I hope whatever it was is closer to the latter, and not the former. Anyways, Vikander asked us about dark creatures, what makes a creature dark, and that sort of thing. And Aures said something that sort of echoed and reminded me of a thought I’d had when we were talking about dragons. And I’ve come to the conclusion that humans, both magic and muggle, really are the most deadly creatures on the planet. 

History is really… bloodstained, and we’ve caused so much damage to all living creatures, ourselves, and our own planet. So we must be the darkest creatures of all, even if we have the capability of being the opposite. We can choose to be different, we can choose to be light. So that’s what I’m going to do. I will be one of the lights in the darkness. I have to be. If no one did it, we’d all drown and cease to exist. 

Speaking of dark things like this, I need to remember to write Aisling a letter and ask how she’s doing. The attacks have continued to be addressed, and they’re apparently still looking for the guy who has been going after animagi. I hope they catch him. 

On lighter notes, some fun things have happened this week, too! Like, Professor Banks was substituting for Transfigurations this week, and we were talking about the basic functions of Transfigurations and whatnot… And I think… Well, I asked her if it’d be possible to use magic to turn oneself into a faerie, and she wouldn’t answer, which tells me it is! If I can just make myself really small, and give myself wings and maybe pointy ears… It’d be wonderful! And dangerous too, of course, but you know… 

I went to Arithmancy and learned that even though numbers and my brain don’t really get along, it’s an interesting class! Professor Rask made all these pretty shapes in the air with the wand-writing spell, and we were meant to copy those shapes and sort of do something to comprehend them, but I couldn’t get my wand to work with me. I also met a few new people - a boy named Colin Mackenzie (who called me Lady Kindred, thank you very much! Makes me sound like a knight or a princess or something!) and a girl named Maddy Hemlock, who tried to help me cast the spells. 

There was this girl in that class who was really mean to one of the older Hufflepuffs. She called her a loser and told her to get out of ‘her seat’ and it was just… really odd, but no fights were started or anything. She was just kinda loud about it, but the Hufflepuff moved and didn’t kick up a fuss. I didn’t like it though.

In Herbology, Ruby’s friend Octavia sat next to me. It was her birthday, so I gave her a chocolate chip biscuit with some icing. I guess she really liked it, because she got really energetic afterward! I also gave one to this other girl who was sitting next to me, another Slytherin, because her stomach rumbled and it was close to dinnertime anyhow. 

And then tonight, I had divinations with Bonnie. We were continuing our eye study, and so Bonnie told me to look in her eyes and tell her what I saw. Basically, to no one’s surprise, Bonnie is a brilliant mind and will have many opportunities before her. But I warned her not to burn herself out by putting too much on her plate. 

I think I want to paint her eyes, as well. So maybe I’ll do that this weekend… paint some eyeballs and write Aisling a letter. 

It’s been snowing like crazy. I feel trapped in this castle, in a way, and comforted in another. Like the snow is a clean, sparkling blanket against the stone walls, keeping us safe to be cosy by our warm fires. I’m certainly much sleepier this time of year. I love all of the seasons, honestly, and I especially love when things shift and change, so I’m really getting ready for spring. I know that’s a long way away, though. 

Anyways, it’s super late and I need to go to sleep. 

Much love, Everly

About the Character: Everlina Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page. 

About the Author: My name is Katherine! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr! 

Outfit Credits:

Hair - Magika - Hair - Faye

Eyes - Gloom. - Walkers Collection - Undying ((Now at Epiphany!))

Skin - DeeTaleZ *Appliers* for Genus Heads *Sienna* Nordic

Head - GENUS Project - Genus Head - Baby Face

Headband - Mossu - Fleur.Wreath

Sweater - neve top - sharp

Book & Pose - *!R.O!* Knowledge BENTO Pose

Choker - Whisper ~ Teeny Choker 

Ring - ^^Swallow^^ Lock of Love Ring

[rmg91]

The Woes and Antics of Living Together-5

This chapter behaved much better than 4 and I'm really happy with it as this is just one of the many scenes I've been wanting to write. Also I still love writing Branch when he starts to freak out XD

Enjoy! And A big huge Thank you! to all who’s read so far! I can’t tell you how happy it makes me~

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter; AO3/FF.net

@writerofberk Chapter 5 is here!! And I’m nice to Branch for once! And to answer your question from last time, Creek is currently just an annoyance but we both know he’s a creep and that will come out later.

                                                        ~*~*~*~*~*~

It was another dreary and overcast day in Bergenville and the last few weeks had a been a test for Branch's patience. He had found out that Poppy loved to sing or just play music late at night while she stayed up studying or scrapbooking. And, sure, Branch could admit he loved her voice to himself, but he really disliked being unable to sleep because she couldn't keep it quiet enough. He even threatened to throw her radio out the window! It had worked...until the next time it happened and she got caught up in the music as she claimed. He had made a mental note to invest in some ear plugs.

Then there was the 'Laundry Incident' where somehow some of her...unmentionables had somehow wound up in his hamper. Branch hadn't known how to react to seeing the lacy scraps of fabric settled among his clothes so he had turned around and walked out of the laundry room. He had returned a few minutes later, a confused Poppy in tow and gestured to his basket as he told her to remove the offending articles. She had at least looked a little embarrassed as she picked them out and claimed she had no idea how they got in there but Branch had already been ignoring her excuse and trying to forget it even happened. He later found out it had all been some sort of weird prank by Smidge and Cooper as he returned to the apartment.

Mix in the normal stress of university and trying to find a new job and you'd get a very irritable Branch who was going just the tiniest bit stir-crazy. Gristle had managed to tempt him out of the apartment a few times to hang out and play video games but Branch needed something to do besides the chores around the apartment. Something to keep him from letting all his pent up feelings for Poppy flow out into poem after poem or even the grey thoughts that circled around in his head somehow finding their way onto paper and making him feel worse for having acknowledged them. And having the means to pay his half of the rent that was coming up would be nice too.

Branch felt himself bring the knife down on the carrots he was chopping with a little more force then was necessary before he focused once more on the task at hand. Right, dinner. He was making stew and needed to concentrate so he didn't cut himself and have to be sent to the hospital. Finishing up cutting the root vegetable, he threw the pieces into the pot alongside the onions and celery, giving everything a little stir afterwards. Branch then started to prep the rest of the ingredients just as the door opened and the pink haired party girl flounced in.

"Oh, Roomie~! I'm home!" Poppy sang as she dropped her purse on the foyer table before skipping into the kitchen, bracelets jingling, "And guess what?!"

Branch rolled his eyes and continued with his food prep, "What?"

Poppy giggled before slapping down a piece of paper on the counter, "I picked you up an application for a job I think you'll like!"

Branch paused and looked at her before glancing down at the application, at a loss for words, "...You, uh...didn't have to do that."

"I know." She chirped, "But I was heading home after getting some more streamers for Biggie's big photo exhibit and I saw this sale at this cute boutique on the way home." Branch rolled his eyes as she started to ramble. "Anyway, on my way back to my car I noticed a place advertising for some help wanted and I thought it'd be perfect for you! Guess what sort of place it is?!"

"I'd really rather not," Branch sighed, "Just tell me."

"No fun." The pinkette mumbled before she continued, "It's a camping-outdoorsy sort of store! Sells all that equipment and stuff and I figured what was the harm of picking up an application for you, cause you always liked camping when we were kids and being in the garden and such!"

"That..." Branch was once again at a semi-loss for words, impressed she remembered that, "I'll...give it shot. ...Thank you."

Poppy smiled happily at him, "No prob, my dude. So!" She then clapped her hands together, looking at the unassembled ingredients, "What's for dinner?"

Branch shrugged as he stirred the vegetables, "Nothing fancy. Just some stew."

"Still sounds great. Can I help with anything?"

"No!" He vehemently refused, "I'm not letting you anywhere near real food again! Not after last time!" Said last time being when she decided to experiment by adding too many spices to the sauce for a lasagna he was making. He swore never to let her near his cooking again.

"It was a mistake! I didn't mean to add that much!" Poppy cried in her defense, hands flying to her hips.

"Don't care."

Poppy huffed and crossed her arms, "Not fair..." She then hummed as a thought hit her and Branch suddenly felt fear as she went to grab her camera.

She fiddled with it for a moment as she turned it on before she started talking to it, "Guys! Branch is being so unfair! He won't let me help with dinner because of one little mistake!" She brought the piece of equipment over and almost thrusted it in his face, "Tell them, Branch! Tell them how mean you are to your precious roommate!"

Branch ignored her as much as he could as he started to cut up the meat, "Poppy, we've been over this. I'm not talking into a camera to people over the internet. Now turn that thing off and get it out of my face. I'm trying to cook."

"Rude!" She exclaimed before pouting into the camera, "Guys, comment below and tell Branch how rude he is."

"Quit involving me in your internet shenanigans! I want no part of it!"

"Too bad~ As my roommate you are contractually obligated to appear in my vlogs."

Branch gave her a flat look, "I remember nothing about that in our deal. No where did we talk about you trying to film me!"

"It's one of the many unwritten rules of friendship, Branch, duh. And no where did we talk about you being such a sour puss all the time and yet..." She trailed off with a shrug.

Branch rolled his eyes, exasperated, "Go do something that's not bothering me."

She grinned cheekily, "Aww, but it's my favorite hobby! The 'Bother Branch' game is fun for all ages."

"Poppy..." He groaned.

She giggled as she turned off her camera, "Fine, fine but only because I don't want you to cut yourself."

"Gee, thanks so much."

Giggling, the pink haired whirlwind skipped away to her room and Branch thought maybe he'd get to finish cooking in semi-peace until she came back out, arms laden with scrapbooking materials. She dumped all of it on the coffee table before turning the stereo on and bouncing in her seat to the pop song playing. Branch heaved a sigh and tried his best ignore the overly preppy music, reminding himself to invest in a pair of earplugs as soon as he could.

                                            ~*~*~*~*~*~

The next day found Branch standing in front of the store Poppy had told him about, application in hand. He had to admit as he looked though the windows it definitely looked like a place he would have loved to explore when he was younger. He had always loved the outdoors and the sense of accomplishment whenever he managed to succeed in a task that would aid him if he ever had to face the wild alone. He also remembered spending almost all of summer camped out in the backyard and begging his grandma to let him stay there just one more night whenever the new school year started to approach. But that had all stopped when-No. He wasn't going to think about that or any other time before else he'd never get this over with and right now, finding a job was more important than thinking back on times that were never going to happen again.

Steeling himself up with a deep breath, Branch entered the store and took it in. A display for a tent sale sat in the front with aisles of supplies stretching toward the back, all manner of camping items in stock. Tents, sleeping bags, lanterns, chairs, portable stoves and just about anything else one could possible need was there, which was just a little impressive for how small the shop appeared on the outside. Off to the side was a single check-out counter and a cashier wearing a green and brown vest, playing on his phone. He glanced up and put it away before addressing Branch.

"Hey. Welcome to Clever Camping. How may I help you?"

It was now or never. Branch cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah. I saw you were hiring so I filled out an application." He hoped that didn't sound as awkward as it felt as he handed over the piece of paper.

"Great!" The blonde exclaimed, "I'll give this to the manager. He's actually in the back right now if you want to wait a few minutes. He may be able to give you an interview today."

Branch sure wasn't expecting that but nodded anyway, "Sure. No problem."

"Nice. Be right back!"

As the employee scampered off to the back of the store, Branch let out a slightly panicked sigh. Okay, sure, he could do this, it's not like interviews were nerve wracking already! He just had less time to prepare that was all! He quickly brushed off his shirt and tried to make himself look somewhat presentable as he paced around. He could do this, it was fine, this could be good! Or bad, very, very bad.

As Branch continued to try a fight off the impending urge to run and hide, he failed to hear the little bell above the door chiming. He was completely unaware of no longer being alone until the other person spoke up.

"Excuse me, young man?"

Branch tried very hard not to yelp as he turned to face an elderly woman. She had grey haired wrapped up in a bun, a crocheted shawl around her shoulders and was holding a cane. She smiled at him, wrinkles crinkling as she did so before adjusting her glasses. She had a very grandmotherly aura about her and Branch tried very hard not to think of his own at that moment.

"Um, yes?"

"Do you think you could me?" She asked before pulling out a list from her purse, "You see, my grandson is going on a camping trip with his scouting group and I'm afraid we don't have much of anything that he'll need. Could you help me find them?"

Wait...Did she think he worked there?! He had to tell her she was mistaken! But then another traitorous thought of his own grandmother slipped though and he knew she would be very disappointed in him if he refused to help this lady. She had raised him to be a gentleman after all. Sighing, he nodded and walked closer so he could take the list from her.

"I can try."

"Oh, thank you so much~" She grinned at him.

Branch nodded awkwardly and unfolded the piece of paper she had handed to him. Tent, extra tarp or canopy, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, repair kit, pillows, extra blankets, headlamp or flashlight, lantern with appropriate energy source and a plethora of other items. Branch was impressed by how thorough this list was, it was almost as if he'd written it. Glancing around the store to figure out where to start first, he grabbed one of the hand baskets and began leading the woman around.

The first aisle they went down had portable stoves and the like, making Branch wonder if maybe he should have chosen a different aisle as there didn't seem to be anything they needed down this way. However just when he was going to suggest they try a different row, he spotted the lanterns and flashlights. He had a brief thought about how it would be more efficient if perhaps these items were put toward the front of the row but pushed it back as he looked at the different items, wondering which would be best to suggest.

"So, uh...How old is your grandson?" Maybe knowing the age of the kid would help him determine the item.

"Oh, he's nine going on ten." The old woman gushed, "He's so excited for this trip. The first time he's ever been camping."

Branch tired to flash a smile at her before nodding toward one of the better battery powered lanterns, "This one would probably be best then. It runs on batteries but it's a good sturdy plastic and waterproof, so no one would have to worry about fuel or rusting. It's also in a good modest price range, in case you're wondering."

"Well then that sounds just perfect." She grinned brightly, "I truly appreciate you helping me."

"It's..uh...it's no problem."

They continued like this up and down the aisles, Branch pointing out the products he thought would be best, remembering more of his own experiences with camping. He suggested an extra raincoat. insect repellant and a small first aid kit, stating that it never hurt to have some back-up in case something happened to whatever the scout leaders brought. Branch was just double checking everything so far before they went to look at the tents and wondered where the employee that had greeted him was and if he was going to come back anytime soon.

"Ok, so it looks like all that's left is a tent and maybe a sleeping bag? Was this already checked off?"

"Oh, I thought we had one, so yes it was but it turns out it was horribly moldy after getting wet somehow. So yes, we do need a new one."

"Alright, this way."

He was perusing the different styles of tents, trying to find the best one for a kid when a tall, broad shoulder man came around the corner from the back. He had chestnut hair, brown eyes and wore a grin and vest like the other employee, the only difference was he also had a pin that dubbed him the manager.

"Hello, there!" He greeted warmly, "So sorry for the lack of greeting when you came in. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, no. Your employee here has been so helpful and has given so much advice for my grandson's upcoming trip."

The manager smiled down at the woman, "I'm afraid he doesn't work here...yet." He then turned his grin on Branch, "Tell me, son, are you the one who turned in the application Denis brought me a little while ago?"

"Uh, yes?" Stupid! Don't sound so unsure!

"Reed Langley!" The man proclaimed, offering his hand to Branch.

Shocked for a second, Branch startled before shaking his hand, "...Uh! Branch Hawthorn, sir."

"Well, Branch, you're hired!"

"Huh? But, uh...What about an interview?" Was this really happening?

Reed laughed, "I think helping this lovely lady here when you didn't have to speaks volumes more than me asking you some questions. So what do you say?"

What did he say? Oh right! "Um, sure. Yeah! Of course! Thank you?"

"Not a problem!" Reed laughed again, "Denis! Go take the sign out of the window!" There was brief 'yes, sir' from the other worker before Reed continued, "So, Branch, why don't I let you finish helping our customer here and then while Denis is ringing her up, we can talk and set up your schedule. Alright?"

"Yeah, sure. Okay." There was no way that just happened, right?

                                            ~*~*~*~*~*~

A few hours later, Branch had wandered back to the apartment, still somewhat in a state of a shock. He just couldn't believe he was hired right on the spot like that just for helping someone! That just didn't happen! Of course he wasn't going to kick a gift horse in the mouth, it..felt kind of nice to have a job again and the store really wasn't the worse place to be in. Still, Branch couldn't help but be wary of the universe and wonder what it would do to him this time to knock him down again.

Sighing to himself, he was grateful Poppy was gone as he needed a few moments to gather himself and to work out a new plan. He wandered over to the couch, flopped on it, and flinging an arm over his head went over what had happened after he helped the old woman find a tent and new sleeping bag. His new boss didn't mind that he would be working part-time, said Branch going to school was great thing and that if he ever needed to take an extra day off to study for a test or midterm to just let him know ahead of time. He would start his new job in two days and he'd have a twenty percent store discount, which would be nice if Branch ever decided to go camping again. However that meant he'd have to work out some sort of chore chart with Poppy as he wouldn't be around as often, even if that would mean trying to trust her in the kitchen with actual food now.

Making a few mental notes to himself, Branch yawned and shifted on the couch, finding a comfortable spot. He felt himself grow drowsy and knew he probably shouldn't fall asleep on the couch, he didn't want to temp Poppy into pulling some sort of prank. But as sleep claimed him, he decided he just didn't feel like caring if she drew on his face or covered him in glitter.

                                                      ~*~*~*~*~*~

Yay! Branch has a job again! And at a much nicer environment! I can't tell you guys how much I've been wanting to write Reed (even if he didn't have a name until I started writing that part XD) and that whole scene. And to be fair, Poppy can cook, she's just better at baking and accidents with overly large holes in spice containers happen.

I hope you enjoyed! Stayed tuned for the next installment!

[lostinaseaoffictionalbliss]

Only In My Dreams Part 5

Summary: Courtney begins to realize just how different things are between the two lives shes living, but it gives her even more questions than answers.

Pairing: Sam X OC

Warnings: fingering

Word Count: 1534

Courtney began to wake. She expected to feel her head throbbing, sticky blood on the side of her head, and possibly nausea. However she felt none of that. The pain she felt was in her arm and her chest. With a slight groan she opened her eyes only to find she wasn't in the mall anymore. She was back at the hotel with Sam and Dean. For a moment she was confused, but at this point she was beginning to think that anytime she went to sleep she was going to wake up in a different place. Not that that answered any of her questions, though.

No matter how much thinking she did she couldn't figure out what life was real, which memories, which world. And with her going back and forth every time she woke up she doubted she would be able to figure it out. Was it possible that both were real? That she was somehow living two different lives with no way of knowing which one was her real life. Courtney was beginning to wonder if she should even try to figure it out. So far she had came up with nothing. And she had no idea where to look next.

Movement behind her had her turning a little. Seeing Sam she smiled softly. His eyes opened up and he smiled sleepily at her. His long fingers brushed her hair from her face before trailing down her side to rest on her hip. “Morning beautiful. How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice still rough from just waking up.

“I've been better, but I'll live. Just some pain. I won't be able to hunt til I heal.”

Sam hummed. “If we find a hunt you'll have to hang back. Just until you're better. But I could help take your mind of that pain.” He squeezed her hip softly and raised a brow. He was wondering if she felt up to what he was proposing. He certainly hoped so as it had been a few days since they had been together. Courtney quirked a brow not entirely sure what Sam had planned with her being as injured as she was, but she nodded her head. A smirk was her response as Sam's hand slowly, teasingly moved away from her hip to rest on the edge of her shorts. He rubbed the small amount of skin showing before sliding his hand past her waistband. “You'll have to be quiet babydoll don't want to wake Dean,” he whispered.

A sharp intake of air was the only sound Courtney made as Sam's long, thick fingers brushed against her clit and then slid inside her. He was slow, but deliberate as he crooked his fingers to brush against her g-spot, his thumb grazing over her clit. It was almost impossible for her to keep quiet with how well he seemed to know her body. She was gripping his arm with her good hand and biting her lip to keep from crying out. Fire burned through her veins and she knew Sam's hand had to be soaked, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was in heaven right now as he used two of his long fingers to fuck her.

Sam leaned down and nibbled on her ear blowing hot air on it like he knew she liked. “Cum for me,” he whispered. Her back arched and her walls fluttered around him as her orgasm came crashing down upon her. “Good girl. You stayed quiet.” He kissed her softly and pulled his hand away. Courtney smiled at him in bliss and closed her eyes, but didn't go to sleep.

About 15 minutes passed as she laid snuggled up to Sam before Dean woke with a groan. He made everyone get up and they headed to a diner. As they were eating he found a case. Something about a healthy marathon runner dropping dead from a heart attack. They decided to check it out, but Courtney would be staying in the motel. Sam refused to let her go hunting while being injured; something she was grateful for as she didn't want to go out and hunt anyway. She wanted to stay where it was safe and do a little research of her own. Though she doubted it would turn up anything.

As they rolled into the new town Courtney continued looking out her window trying to decide where she should start her search. This was the first time she was going to be able to look up anything at all. She should probably know where she wanted to start before she started.

“Hey, we're checking in,” Sam said startling her out of her thoughts. Courtney turned and smiled at Sam letting him know she had heard him. “You alright babe? You've been kinda distracted lately. Is there something we should talk about?”

Courtney shook her head. This was definitely not something she wanted to talk about. “Just a lot on my mind. Taking out Lilith for one, our powers, what happens next, and now I'm trying not to think about how much my arm and chest hurts, and how I'm stuck in the motel.” It seemed like a good excuse. If what they told her about her loving going after the monster then surely it was normal for her to be upset about being stuck in the room.

Sam laughed softly and climbed out of the Impala and opened her door for her. “I figured you were pissed you'd be stuck, but it's only for awhile. Soon you'll be right back out there with us.” He kissed her forehead and took her to the room.

As soon as she was alone, Courtney pulled out her laptop. Try as she might she couldn't come up with a good place to start, but remembering what she had been doing right before she woke back up with Sam did give her an idea. She booted up her laptop and once the Google search engine was up she typed in ‘Richard Jackson' thinking her boss was a good enough place to start.

She scrolled through the links and finding one she thought was competent, she clicked on it. The article was about some charity event in New York. She frowned and started reading it.

New York's best defense lawyer, Richard Jackson, who received his degree at a young age and quickly rose through the ranks to become the most recommended lawyer in the US, was seen at this week's gala with none other than Jacqueline Myers, world famous model. Both were in attendance to show their support for The MacArthur House for Women. An organization that helps young women who have been battered, raped, or are simply having a hard time getting on their feet. MacArthur house has also been known to help single mothers who are struggling. Something Richard knows well enough as he watched his own mother suffer the same hardship. After leaving his abusive father, Darla Jackson, was left to care for young Richard on her own, working three jobs just to make ends meet. Richard says this is one of the many reasons that he supports the organization. He was quoted saying, “Growing up, seeing how my father not only physical abused my mother, but emotionally with the drinking and cheating and then her working late nights and long hours to take care of me, I'm glad there are people out there to help. This organization helps women, like my mother. And I'm proud to know that I can show my support to them by making donations and telling others about them.”  Things like this make us wonder how the handsome lawyer is still a bachelor. It's hard to believe he hasn't been snatched up yet with his good looks and all the charisma he exudes.

Courtney read through the article and looked at all the pictures. She couldn't believe what she was reading; her cheating pig of a boss was a really nice single guy. Not only that, but he helped charities and spoke out about women's rights and how women should be treated with respect and kindness. This was nothing like the Richard she was used to back in California where she worked for him as a paralegal.

Research had only added more questions than answers. Not only was she a completely different person in this world, but apparently her boss was as well. “This is all so fucked up. What the hell is going on?” she mumbled just as her phone started to ring. She snatched it up and answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, so it's definitely a case. Three men dead from heart attacks all with healthy hearts and weird scratches on their arms. We're going to talk to the sheriff now. Just wanted to check in. How are your gashes doing?” Sam said.

Courtney shifted in her seat. “I'm alright. A little sore, but alright. Think I'm going to take a shower and then grab some food. See ya soon?”

“Yeah we'll be back soon.”

“Don't forget the pie!” She heard Dean yell in the background.

Courtney laughed softly. “I promise I won't.” But with as jumbled as her mind was she probably would.

[croatian-magician]

It doesn’t mean anything

Pairing: Rakidric, hints of Sejan

Summary: Luka would never meet his soulmate, he knew it since his childhood. He was fine with it. Or at least, he pretended to be…

Word count: 3931

Notes: Did somebody say soulmate AU?

Luka’s soulmate died during the war.

At the time, he didn’t really care. He already had too much to grieve for anyway, just like he was too young to completely understand the meaning of the mark resting on his shoulder. When it faded to grey, he just shrugged it off and coped the only way he knew, by practicing football.

The looks of pity he got didn’t bother him either. As a refugee, he was used to it. What’s more, he had no time to waste with it. Not when he needed to train harder than anyone else to prove that despite being shy and small, as coaches so often blamed him, he could still do great things on a field.

However, this changed when he started playing for bigger clubs. Celebrity was seen as a great way to find your soulmate. You just had to put your mark on display, and boom, it was all over the news, making it easier to find your promised one.  So Luka started hiding his fading mark under bandages. He didn’t want the whole world to know he was doomed to never find his other half.

That simple thought still stung, so he didn’t want to have a thousand articles written about it. Also, he wanted to be judged on his football, and his football alone. Of course, that didn’t stop journalists from making hypotheses about his reluctance to show his soulmate mark to the world.

For some, he was acting out of shyness, while others deemed him too full of himself to ask for help in the search of his soulmate. Once more, he decided not to listen nor to care about their opinions and to go on with his life.

Things got better once he met Vanja. She was kind and understanding and everything he could have hoped for. With her by his side, the burden of his mark felt less heavy.

Of course, she had a soulmate and it wasn’t Luka. The colors of her mark still shone brightly on her  skin, yet, she was just as uncomfortable with it as Luka was with his own.

She’d told him the story, once. How she had met her soulmate a few years before meeting him and how it didn’t work out, at all. It was rare, but not unheard of. Sometimes, fate itself made mistakes.

With her, Luka could be himself without worrying about the secret of his mark. They started dating, then got married and from this moment, the whole world believed she was his soulmate and the rumors ended. It didn’t bother him, on the contrary. Sometimes, he even wished it was true.

It was nice when journalists stopped questioning him about this sensitive matter. With time, he even stopped looking at his faded mark when he bandaged it. He had a supportive wife and wonderful kids so he didn’t see the point of mourning a life that would never be.

Among his team mates, his mark was a subject everyone knew to avoid, may it be with with his club or when he played for his national team. He was thankful to see his friends respecting his private life to such an extent. No one shot weird glances at him when he went to the shower with his arm still bandaged, no one raised up the subject of soulmates when he was around to make sure he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Sometimes, he wondered what he had done to be lucky enough to have such great friends.

Of course, it didn’t leave him free of any insecurities. He still remembered the day Šime and Dejan realized they were soulmates, the first time they changed together in the locker room while playing for Croatia. He still remembered the awe in their eyes, the tears of joy streaming down their faces, their happy laughter. Luka was glad for them and wished them the best, but deep down, it hurt to know he would never experience anything like this.

Playing with his national team also meant playing with Ivan. From the very first time they met, somethings had just clicked between them. They understood each other pretty well, and Luka found it surprisingly easier to overcome his shyness when Ivan was around.

Their friendship grew strong, stronger than their rivalry. Luka laughed when journalists expected them to become sworn enemies just because he played for Real Madrid and Ivan for FC Barcelona. On the contrary, Luka was glad to have him as his opponent. Ivan forced him to keep working hard, to always get better, to surpass his limits every time they played against each other.

After each game, it was always the same. Ivan would come to him, take off his jersey, then hand it to Luka. The cocky words on his lips never changed.

“You played well, Luka. Now, here’s your beloved shirt.”

As always, it was just innocent banter, with Ivan reminding him again and again that he had once expressed his admiration for Barcelona, back when he had no idea fate would lead him to Real Madrid.

It quickly became a habit. Luka would answer with a smile and return the teasing as best as he could. He accepted the jersey every time, though. It was almost ridiculous, to be honest. By now, he had an entire shelf at home filled with FC Barcelona jerseys, with the name Rakitic printed on the back of each one. Maybe keeping them all was silly, but he couldn’t find the strength in himself to discard them. They were gifts from a dear friend, after all.

He just got home after a clasico, a new jersey in his hand, when his mark began to itch. Luka froze in his track and he gripped at his shoulder. The feeling was almost unbearable. Luka fought the urge to scratch his skin hard enough to draw blood as his eyes grew wet with tears.

He knew it could happen at some point. After a while, faded marks would start to peel off, just like skin did after recovering from a bad sunburn. But Luka’s soulmate died so long ago he thought it would never happen to him. All of a sudden, the pain he had tried to ignore for so many years overwhelmed him. He would never meet his soulmate. A piece of him would always be missing, no matter what he did.

Luka only realized he was still holding Ivan’s jersey after he buried his face in it to muffle his sobs. The fabric felt soft under his fingers and for some reason he couldn’t fathom, his friend’s smell soothed him. The ache in his shoulder slowly reduced until he stopped wanting to rip his own skin off. His chest was still heaving hard, but he wiped his tears off quickly. Vanja and the children weren’t home at the moment, and he didn’t want his family to see him in such a miserable state.

He quickly made up his mind and decided to act as though nothing happened. Luka wasn’t going to let this ruin his life, not after all the struggles he overcame to get where he was.

Just like he promised himself to never look again at his disappearing mark, not even while changing his bandages. He didn’t need another pathetic breakdown.

Wearing his country jersey always made Luka proud. When he was fighting for Croatia, he put all his personal problems aside just so he could give it his best. Today was no different. It was only a friendly game, but he had fought his way through it with all his strength to bring the victory to Croatia. He came back to the locker room exhausted but content, the thrill of success still burning in his chest. His team mates shared jokes happily, but Luka decided it was safer to head for the showers when he spotted Domagoj with a couple of beers in his hands. This screamed of mischief and Luka didn’t want to be caught in the middle of some prank.

Ivan grabbed a bottle of shampoo and headed the same way as him. Despite their victory, he was frowning and his jaw was clenched. Luka’s heart twisted at the sight. He decided he had to do something about it, as the captain of the team, but also as his friend.

“Something’s the matter, Ivan? You don’t look well. Did you hurt yourself during the game?”

Ivan looked lost, as if he was just waking up from a nightmare, but he quickly shook his head.

“No, don’t worry. I’m fine.”

Luka didn’t buy that, not when he could see the way Ivan’s knuckles tensed enough to turn white as he talked.

“Listen, whatever is happening, we can talk about it. I don’t know what you’re sheltering yourself from, but…”

“Why are you always covering your soulmark?”

Ivan’s tone was harsh, almost aggressive. This was as unexpected as the question itself. To Luka, it felt like a punch to the guts. He instinctively put his hand over the hidden patch of skin, as if to hide it better.

“It… It is none of your business, Ivan.”

Luka didn’t mean to be rude, but his voice came out sharp as a knife. When it came to his mark, it didn’t take much for him to get all defensive. Obviously, it wasn’t the good way to react, because Ivan’s eyes turned dark and for a second, Luka was almost scared of him.

“Really? Who’s the one sheltering himself, then? We’ve been friends for years, I thought you would trust me enough by then, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Ivan, what is this about? I don’t understand you. Let’s not throw a tantrum because of this.”

“Wow, so I’m throwing a tantrum? What am I to you, a reckless child? I’m not asking for much, just for you to show me what’s under this…”

Ivan reached for his arm and Luka shrieked when his fingers closed around the bandages covering his mark with the clear intention of ripping them off. He couldn’t believe his friend would betray his trust in such a way, invade his privacy without a thought for his feelings. However, Ivan seemed to realize it too because he stopped at the last second, his hand resting over the bandages.

“Fuck… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have tried to do this… Please forgive me, Luka.”

He took a step back and Luka started breathing again. They stayed silent, facing each other, for an awkwardly long time. Ivan’s eyes were full of regret while Luka was still shaking slightly.

“Please, Lukita, say something. I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear. I would never… You mean too much to me. Please…”

Before Ivan could break into sobs, Luka ran into his friend’s arms. What had just happened, it wasn’t them. Maybe Ivan was just worried with a soulmark matter and hoped to find some support in him. This wasn’t worth fighting over.

“Don’t worry, Ivan, it’s alright. It’s just… What’s under those bandages, it’s not even worth mentioning. Trust me, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything, really.”

Luka wished he believed in his own words. Anyway, for now, this was all the strength he could gather. Maybe one day, he would be confident to tell Ivan the whole story, but not today.

However, he didn’t expect Ivan to push him away, nor to see tears running free on his cheeks. Luka had never seen him so defeated before. A bitter laugh escaped his friend’s lips but soon turned into a painful sob.

“It doesn’t fucking mean anything! Yeah, I suppose I should have guessed sooner.”

“Ivan, you’re frightening me. Please, tell me what’s happening to you. Why are you speaking of soulmates all of a sudden?”

“Don’t. I’m not doing this, I can’t. Just leave me alone.”

Luka wanted to protest, but he didn’t get the chance. Ivan stormed out of the locker room, all thoughts of taking a shower forgotten. Luka tried to run after him, but in vain. No matter what he did, his friend managed to avoid him until it was time to take the plane to go back to their respective clubs.

His fight with Ivan left a painful hole in Luka’s chest. Not only that, but his mark started to burn him where his team mate had touched it. The itch was nothing compared to this. It felt as if someone had spilled molten iron on his skin. Ignoring it just wasn’t a possibility anymore.

Somehow, he managed to get home after his plane landed, even though his memory of it was blurry. He rushed to the kitchen sink, ripped off his shirt and his bandages, then covered his shoulder in ice cold water. Still, he kept his eyes closed, not wanting to witness the cruel sight of his markless skin. He let out a cry of pain when it didn’t do much to help.

“Oh no, Luka!”

He barely recognized Vanja’s voice through the pain. She rushed towards him then hugged him tightly, worry in her eyes. However, she calmed down when she noticed the pain was coming from his shoulder. Gently, she ran her hand through his hair in a soothing way.

“Don’t worry, I already know for your mark, I noticed it a few days ago. To be honest, I hoped you would come to talk to me about it.”

“What for?” Luka groaned. “Just so I could cry about how my mark is disappearing? I know I’ll never meet my soulmate, I accepted it 25 years ago.”

“For the love of god, Luka, please tell me you looked at it these last few days!”

“Of course I didn’t. I don’t see the point in hurting myself more than I already am.”

Vanja sighed, but she cupped his face in her hand gently, wiping out his tears.

“Just take a look at it, honey. For your own good.”

Luka couldn’t find it in himself to deny her, not when she was being so kind to him. He turned his head, his heart in his throat, before looking at his shoulder. A gasp of surprise escaped him when he discovered that his shoulder wasn’t bare as he had expected. There was no faded mark on his skin, either. Instead, a bright soulmark adorned his arm. The number seven, checkered in red and white.

“It… It can’t be. My soulmate’s dead.”

“I know, Luka. I didn’t believe it could happen either, not until I made some researches about it when I saw your mark changing.”

Vanja smiled, before explaining to him how in some rare cases, your soulmate could change if you became close enough to someone compatible with you. Luka listened with bewildered eyes, all the while grimacing because of the pain, even though it was getting more tolerable.

“Vanja… Your mark… Did it change?”

Deep down, he already knew the answer, but he had to be sure. He lived with Vanja, she was the mother of his children, so maybe fate would be kind enough to…

“No, but I’m still glad you asked. Anyway, let’s be real. We both know who your soulmate is.”

“Ivan.”

The name left his lips in a whisper and the moment he pronounced it, Luka suddenly understood his friend’s strange behavior, his sudden questions about soulmarks, and…

And Luka had told him a few hours ago that his mark didn’t mean anything to him.

“I’m just a fool, I rejected him without even realizing we were… that he was my… At least it explains why my mark is hurting so much right now.”

And Ivan was the rejected one, which meant his own mark certainly hurt ten times more. Breaking the bond uniting soulmates was extremely painful, everyone knew this. Vanja had also shared everything with him about her own experience. Luka felt sick to his stomach. The mere idea of being responsible for putting Ivan through so much pain… Now he hated himself.

“What should I do, Vanja? I’m not supposed to have a soulmate, I…”

“Go to him.”

“But… But what about you? I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry. As long as you keep a place for me and our kids in your heart, I’m fine with it. Ivan is your soulmate, love. Don’t give up on him, not even for me.”

“You’re the best, Vanja. I don’t deserve you.” Luka let out, hugging her tightly, tears in his eyes.

“Of course, you do, don’t say stupid things. Now hurry, I’ll take care of the kids while you’re gone.”

Luka didn’t waste a single minute. It was already dark when he took his car and he knew that driving all the way to Barcelona in his state wasn’t the best idea in the world, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to see Ivan, to tell him he was sorry, that their bond did mean something to him.

Each minute separating him from Ivan was pure torture. His arm tingled and itched and burned while his mind was a mix of fear, eagerness and excitement. He had a soulmate. Even better, Ivan was his soulmate. He only needed to clear the misunderstanding and then…

He sobered up when he arrived in front of Ivan’s flat. The lights were still on, the proof that his friend wasn’t able to sleep. Luka parked his car as quickly as he could before rushing to the front door and ringing the bell. He waited for a few seconds, but no answer came. He repeated his action, only to be rewarded with silence once more.

Ivan was at home, sure, but he didn’t want to see anyone, it seemed.

Luka couldn’t give up so easily. Not when he had the power to soothe his friend’s pain. He looked up, all the way to the balcony above him. The idea that crossed his mind was ridiculous and looked like it was taken straight out to a Romeo and Juliet comedy, but to hell with it. If this was what it took him to reach Ivan, then so be it.

He started climbing clumsily, thanking his years of football training for his strong muscles. The effort took him all his strength and he was out of breath when he reached the balcony. Getting on the other side was going to be another story, or at least he thought so before someone caught his hand. He looked up and his eyes met Ivan’s.

His friend looked miserable, with his eyes red and puffy from crying. He helped Luka up, but with no enthusiasm. Before Luka could get enough air back in to talk, he snapped at him.

“I don’t know why the hell you’re here, but you’d better leave this instant. I don’t want to see you.”

“Ivan, listen…”

“No, leave me alone! I don’t want to hear empty excuses. All this doesn’t mean anything, remember?”

“I drove here all the way from Madrid, Ivan. Do you really think I would have done it if you didn’t mean anything to me?”

“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before.”

“I didn’t think I had a soulmate.”

“Yeah, rig- Wait, what?”

“You heard me well. My mark faded when I was a kid, so I assumed my soulmate was dead, that I would never meet that special someone. That’s why I covered my arm, to avoid drama in the newspaper, but also so I wouldn’t be reminded of it everyday. I’ve stopped looking at it years ago. When my skin started itching, I thought the mark was disappearing and I didn’t want to look at that either. That’s why I said it didn’t mean anything. But now… Now I know the truth. Your mark must have changed as well, right?”

Ivan nodded shyly, before uncovering his own shoulder. He still looked suspicious and Luka could tell it would take him some time to regain his trust. Ivan’s mark looked strikingly similar to his own, except it was a ten engraved on his shoulder. Luka’s number.

He didn’t even think before kissing the mark softly. Ivan flinched at first, but he soon relaxed into the touch. Luka could feel the pain in his own shoulder decreasing until it turned into a gentle thrum.

“You really had no idea?”

“Not a clue. I’m lucky Vanja actually told me. I didn’t understand why you were suddenly acting so weird. And my soulmark has always been a sensitive matter to me, so…”

“And I thought that you didn’t want me. I tried to get closer to you during training, to touch you more than usual, so that you’d know that I was okay with this, with us. I started wondering if you weren’t covering your mark so I wouldn’t see it. I tried to understand why you didn’t want me...”

“It’s alright, I’m here now, Ivan. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

Luka wrapped his arm around him, not protesting when Ivan buried his face in his neck and started crying quietly. He ran his fingers through his hair tenderly, trying his best to bring peace to Ivan. To his soulmate. In his hurry to protect him from suffering any longer, he was only now grasping the true meaning of these words. Ivan was his soulmate.

“I’m so glad it’s you, you have no idea.” He whispered.

Next thing he knew, Ivan trapped his lips in the most intense kiss he had ever experienced. Luka closed his eyes and let the other man take the lead, moaning softly under his ministrations. All he breathed was Ivan, all he tasted was Ivan, and it felt oh so right.

“Well, I guess Šime and Dejan won’t be able to brag anymore about how they’re the only soulmate couple in the team, now.” Ivan laughed after they parted.

“You know them, they’ll find something else.” Luka chuckled. “I’m so sorry I made things so complicated for us. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His voice grew soft as he leaned into Ivan. The exhaustion caused by his improvised trip was catching back on him. Ivan’s arms felt safe around him and right now, they were his favorite place in the world.

“I forgive you. I was stupid too, I should have confronted you directly instead of throwing hints around in hope you would understand.”

“That’s not true, I’m the one who panicked when you began talking about soulmates and…”

“Shh, it’s no use blaming yourself now. You look so tired, Luka, wanna join me in bed?”

Luka blinked, not knowing if this was an innocent proposition or if Ivan was actually suggesting more than sleeping. But before he could figure it out, a loud siren started roaring down the building and Ivan sighed.

“I think climbing your way up here to see me wasn’t your most clever idea.”

“You wouldn’t let me in! I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Maybe, but I think the neighbors just called the cops on you.”

Luka groaned while Ivan showed no compassion for him, too busy laughing at the situation they were in.

“You won’t be this happy if this story ends up on the news.” The smaller one protested.

“I admit, explaining this won’t be easy. But finally being with you will be worth all the struggles, no matter what happens. Not to mention that even if journalists start talking about it, it will make a pretty love story, you climbing up my balcony to declare your undying love to me.”

“Shut up, this is embarrassing!”

“Yeah, love you too, Lukita.”

Tag list: @tinymodric @arduango @slashandsports @mamaopal @zadarskabagudina @flemishyugotalian @man-dzukic @domo-no-domo-yes @mrsmodric

Just ask if you want me to add you to the tag list ^^

[ddaenghoney]

SERIES: HALLOWEEN BETWEEN MIDNIGHTS

Chapter 12.2

On October 1st, you attend a Halloween party in an abandoned house rented by some friends. As scary as the idea of cult owners is, nothing could have prepared you and BTS(regular people) for the mayhem and terror that follows until October 31st.

This is an INTERACTIVE fic. At the end of each part, readers will be able to vote to decide what happens next. Analyze everything(except the time) carefully. Choices decide romance, friendship, and deaths; and yes, ANYONE can die.

In other words, please read at your own risk; anything goes in this story.

Start here | Previous part | Next part

Following a long sleep in two clumps squished into your small bed, you eventually got back into the groove. Scribbling some notes on the margin of a scholarly article you needed to read for the next day, you largely ignored Yoongi who stayed curled on the corner of your bed. His hands scrolled through whatever he found on his phone to entertain him, yawning a couple of times due mostly to the many tiny waffles you both consumed when you woke up around noon.

“Are you going to do anything productive?” You teased, rolling back on your chair to watch as Yoongi only pouted his lips.

“If I’m alive then my body is being productive on its own.” You ignored the growing smirk on his face due to you rolling your eyes. Tossing your pen to the tiny shelf of the desk, you went to hop your knees into the plush beside him,

“What are you looking at? Cures for being the worst-”

“Nothing, loser,” He held his phone away from your playfully grabbing hands, using one of his own to grab your wrist, “It’s a secret.” You ceased, an eyebrow rising to acknowledge the words with skepticism, “You look intimidating,” He smiled, holding your hand against his chest when you lightly pat against him, “It’s nothing illegal.”

“Next thing I know you’re involved in a bank heist.” You giggled, trying barely to tug your hand away, but he held it in place. Eyes moved contemplatively around the room, a smile growing,

“How’d you find out?” You shook your head at his dry done, and contrastingly warm smile,

“Give me my hand back, nerd.”

“If we do something, I’m getting bored.” He began, whining towards the last phrase as his head fell back against your pillow. His hand contained yours against his chest.

“I wanted to go check up on Jimin, actually.” You admitted, beginning to prod against his chest by use of your trapped fingers. A smile blossomed as he released your smaller appendage with a quick jerk from the tickling sensation. “Want to tag along?”

“I was going to go see him later actually,” Yoongi say upright, eyebrows knitting in consideration. “I was gonna go on my own though.”

“Oh, because you hate me; I get it.” You sighed dramatically, jerking when he poked his finger into a ticklish spot on your side.

“No, angel.” He chuckled, as your hands defensively moved as little shields in case of more prodding. “No, we can go together.”

Jeongguk’s arm slumped onto the wooden desk, sneakers tapping at a slow pace just as a means to stay awake. Taehyung in the chair beside him, scribbled nothing in particular against a blank leaf of his notebook. Jeongguk yawned, trying to make out what it was the image intended to be,

“Did you even sleep at all when we got back?”

“Not really,” He murmured, fixated on what seemed to be a flower maybe, “You?”

“In and out, but not longer for an hour probably.” Jeongguk watched Hoseok walk in from the far door, his hoodie slung up over his head and no doubt wishing he too was asleep at his dorm. “You need to figure out a way to sleep though, dude. You haven’t really in the past two days now.”

“Yeah, well,” His voice trailed off, avoiding the conversation, though he wished it hadn’t been Hoseok who came over to properly change the topic.

“You guys holding up okay? This is both of your last class too, right?”

“Yeah, luckily enough.” Jeongguk rolled the joint of his neck around, trying anything for blood to stimulate better and keep himself awake. Taehyung continued drawing, then turned the page to scribble down the date and the class name.

“You know,” Hoseok sighed, hands tucked deep into the pouch of his hoodie, “I didn’t cheat on her, and we really didn’t have a huge fallout. I don’t know why you’re so mad at me still.”

“You still made her really sad.” Taehyung didn’t even glance up, “And besides now that you’re done with your rebound you just want to go back to her.”

“There wasn’t a rebound, Taehyung. Did Y/N even tell you why we broke up?” Taehyung looked up at him, eyes narrowing.

“We’re all sleep-deprived,” Jeongguk intervened, a hand ghosting atop of Taehyung’s tensed shoulder. “Let’s not talk to each other when we’re so annoyed about the sleep thing, okay?”

“Is she feeling okay though?” The question went towards Jeongguk, as Hoseok disregarded the sigh Taehyung exhaled before going back to his notebook. “Jimin’s doing alright, I went by to see him earlier.”

“Yeah, she’s ditching classes today with Yoongi.” He nodded, gesturing his neck to the free space beside him, “So just taking it easy.”

“I haven’t seen Yoongi in our Music Theory lecture in over a week now.” Hoseok laid his backpack on the desk, moving around to take a seat.

“He’s thinking about dropping out.” Taehyung spoke up, relaxing back against his seat, “Not sure why though.”

“Hopefully it’s just for a semester or something. He’s really close to getting a master’s.”

Jimin grinned pulling the door to his room wider as you ushered yourself in, a bag of food in hand. Hugging onto you, Jimin spoke up excitedly,

“First Hobi and now you. IT’s great my friends love me so much.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself as he shut the door on the way in.

“Wait, if he got you food then I’m going to eat this-” You grinned as he snatched away the bag, sitting down on his bed criss-cross.

“I’ll share the fries with you?” He offered, looking up with eyes pleading to keep most of it. Shrugging, you just took the space beside him,

“No, you can eat all of it. I’m stuffed on waffles.” You repressed a chuckle as Yoongi heaved himself into the desk chair, rubbing his still full stomach with an unnecessary sigh. “You’re doing alright though?”

“Yeah, since Yoongi went to go and get you all to come rescue me.” He ate two fries at a time, not noticing the immediate frown overtaking Yoongi’s expression. You looked over at him, also confused by the words. Jimin caught onto the lack of replies, and glanced between the two of you, “Is that not what happened after you left the house?” “I thought you said you didn’t go to the party.” You frowned. Yoongi’s head shook,

“I didn’t, I mean.” He paused scanning through the dents in his memory, “I don’t think I did.”

“You texted me though.” Jimin disregarded the bag of food to the side, watching Yoongi reach into his pocket for his phone. “Up until that guy found me hiding. We were texting each other.” Yoongi further frowned, frustrated that there were a string of texts in his phone he didn’t remember typing in, but now that he stared at them he somehow felt similar emotions that would be attached to the memory. He held the phone to Jimin, not minding that you peeked over his shoulder to also take a look.

“Those ones at the bottom,” Jimin swallowed, biting his lip at the texts sent from his phone, “I didn’t type those about meeting up with you to escape… That guy must have.” He rolled up further, nodding as he found familiarity in earlier texts, “But yeah. We were talking about you coming to the party. I’m glad you took whatever way you did to escape, otherwise you could’ve ended up in the same state as me down there.”

You gripped tighter onto your leggings with the discussion. Wishing this could’ve ended last night, you sighed and looked towards Yoongi who was staring towards his shoes. Focused. “You can’t remember,” You paused at the idea. “Any of it?”

“It was traumatic-- maybe you suppressed it-”

“No,” Yoongi reached up to rub his head, lips tightening into a line as he thought longer. “I remember. Now that I’m thinking about it more. I remember running out through the front, and I saw an owl-” He glanced towards you wondering if it was the same one you kept mentioning. “But after that-- after I kept running, I don’t know what happened. I just went home, but I don’t know why.”

Stepping away from the disperse of students leaving the building, Jeongguk mumbled something about hating the homework assignment, then stretched out his arms, “Should we go get lunch or something?”

“Nah,” Taehyung shook his head gently, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “I have some stuff to go do. I’ll try and meet with you later to study, or something.” Jeongguk raised an eyebrow at the evasion, but nonetheless gave a small wave before Taehyung began walking away. Eventually exhaling from the amount of weirdness that has gone on, he decided it was probably just everyone trying to get back to normal.

“I’m kind of worried about him.” Hoseok walked from the base of the stairs, glancing to Taehyung’s back as he dipped around a building out of sight. “He was really weird yesterday.”

“How so?” Jeongguk’s neck turned towards him quickly, “I mean we all were.” He added after a second thought. Hoseok only shrugged,

“I don’t know he just seemed different after the party. Maybe I’m reading into it too much though.” He reached for his water bottle, seemingly casual about the discussion, “Well anyways, I was gonna meet up with Namjoon and Seokjin. They’re gonna look at a video of the first seance. Did you want to tag along?”

feel free to send me comments, predictions, thoughts, etc. uwu

[greekowl87]

Fic: Midnight Blues

Sequel to (Tried and True).  I am tempted to maybe do a small series with this for early MSR since I don’t feel like I write it enough. Anyways, enjoy. Post ‘Beyond the Sea’ and ‘Lazaurs’. Tagging @today-in-fic .

Scully was a forensic pathologist. She studied death. She examined, recorded, and cataloged it. She can give the dead voice. She spoke from beyond the grave when they no longer could. But experiencing death, on a personal level--well, nothing was easy about it. She had hoped her objective, rational scientific views would make the blows easier, waging a war against her own emotions that threatened to swallow her. So far, she had been winning but her defenses were waning.

The death of her father and seeing a vision of him right before the news of his death had been delivered. Jack coming back from the dead not as himself. They were still fresh on her mind, the barest disturbance sending pain through her inwardly. She had witnessed and experienced things she could not understand despite her attempts to explain it through science. Scully was beginning to have a lot of days like that, especially when it came down to working with Spooky Mulder. Except he wasn't spooky or weird. The more time she spent with him as her partner, the more he pushed and challenged her, the more she grew as a person. He respected her and treated her equally. The more she realized the rumors about Mulder were just that: rumors. But after the latest incident of Jack not claiming to be Jack, kidnapping her, that deranged woman, dying...she could not make head or tails of it. Jack's death and also ravaged her still healing grief of the loss of her father. Both weighed heavy on her like the cursed albatross around her neck.

So that Friday, when the clocked ticked to five o'clock on a Friday afternoon with the promise of a case-free three day weekend, Mulder perked up and smiled. "No cases, Scully and a three day weekend!"

"Huh?" She blinked and shifted her focus to him. "Oh yeah. Big plans, Mulder?"

He paused before answering her. Mulder had a lot of difficulties reading Scully. She kept her cards close to her chest and rarely let her emotions show except 'I'm fine, Mulder.' He had glimpsed at the woman named Dana Scully briefly when the FBI SWAT team stormed the building in her rescue but she was quick to recover. "You okay, Scully?"

She forced a smile that could have fooled almost everyone but him. He was slowly learning her tells. "I'm fine, Mulder. Just going to catch up some errands and work on a journal article. You know me, living it large."

Another thing that Mulder had noticed that Scully thought she hid from him was the dwindling social life that she used to have. He was not stupid. He heard things and he could make the connections. His late-night calls and dragging her across the country was beginning to take its toll. Only a month ago they were ready to kill each other over space worms on top of the world and somehow, someway, something shifted and sparked between them, a very primordial trust. Maybe it had been born the night she came to his hotel room in Bellefleur, but something had changed on top of the world and somehow, despite his crusade, she was becoming a very important aspect of his life.

"Nothing with your family?"

"I kind of wanna be left alone," she shrugged. Her blue eyes shifted towards her briefcase. "I have a lot to get done."

"I'm sure," he deadpanned.

"What about you?" There it was. That false cheerfulness.

"Oh you know, hanging out in chat rooms, talking conspiracies and what not."

Scully had finished packing her things. "Well, don't get into any trouble so I have to save your ass. I want a quiet weekend."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave her a playful smile and she returned it with a slight quirk of her lips. "Have a good weekend, Mulder."

"You too, Scully."

She took a deep breath, sighed, and walked out into the hallways, her heels clicking against the sterile floors, each one making Mulder wince as he could only imagine what was going on through Scully's head.

. . . .

Scully had sat in her car in the parking garage beneath the Hoover Building for a half hour trying to decide what to do. She watched random agents pass, even saw Mulder loosening his tie as he jogged to his car, and she sat there wandering her place in the universe. Etha left after her first case and the first late-night call. Probably for the best. After seeing Ellen at her son's birthday and Tom Colton being a prick, what had been her social network absolved into one person, not including herself. Although she was annoyed with the late night calls, she enjoyed them. She enjoyed verbally sparring with Mulder and how he saw her as an equal. She kind of wished that he would call her tonight but she told him not to. But what were the odds he would listen? Then again, he looked awfully happy. Maybe he had a date. She was aware of what the female agents and sectaries said about him. As she shook her head and pinched her nose, the grief came back as a tension headache, like a spike being drilled into her skull as punishment for her father's and Jack's death.

Fuck it. She needed to numb it. She needed to numb those threatening emotions that wanted to drown her. She was going to treat herself tonight.

. . . .

What many people did not know about Dana Scully is that she was a woman of simple taste. Her FBI persona screamed ice queen and her apartment declared itself worthy of a photo shoot in a home decor magazine. But deep down, she liked to be comfortable. Comfortable clothes, comfortable food, comfortable atmosphere.

After she left the Hoover building, she headed home to change into a pair of jeans and sweater. She grabbed her jacket and purse and left her phone. She drove to a dive bar at the other end of Washington near to Alexandria and let herself unwind. It started with a glass of cheap chardonnay in a wine glass that seemed to be made of plastic or cheap glass. She sipped it tentatively, trying to prolong the eventual buzz the alcohol would produce, but she grew hungry instead. Throwing her habit of eating healthy and dieting to the wind, she ordered a burger with onions, bacon, mushrooms, and cheese, and of course, onion rings, the obvious choice. As the bartender took her menu away, she chuckled to herself, imagining what Mulder would say if he could see her at this moment.

She took a deep breath and tried to visualize the moment. Her head was already lightheaded from the wine. The bar was smoky. She could smell someone smoking pot somewhere (those were the college days). The leather stool was too plump and made her feel like a child. She expanded her hands across the grainy, splintered wood of the bar trying to purposely get a splinter and forget at the same time. The grief was too much. To feel was too much. Maybe she should call Melissa tomorrow.

Suddenly there was a chuckle, loud and very familiar. She opened her eyes and clutched the short wine glass and bowed over her drink. She could not let Mulder see her like this, outside her armor and so exposed.

"Scully?"

Shit.

She closed her eyes and straightened her back as she felt a comforting hand graze her shoulder in greeting as he slid into the barstool next to her. She forced a smile and turned to him. Mulder smile faded as he read her face.

"You here with a date," he teased, knowing she was alone.

She swallowed and nodded curtly. "I was but he ran off. Some big meeting or something."

"Those can be annoying."

"They can." Silence ensued and she played with the wineglass uncertainly, fidgeting, something Mulder had never seen before. "I don't want to keep you from your friends."

"They'd understand."

"Mulder!" A short man with glasses called. "You coming, amigo?"

"Come on, Mulder!" A tall lanky man with blond hair and glasses added.

Scully closed her eyes and turned down her head, bowing as if in prayer. At that moment, Mulder still to this day does not know why felt bad...he felt sad...he felt the need to comfort his greenhorn partner who was supposed to spy on him but had, unknowingly, become his friend. She played with the wineglass. "I'm fine, Mulder. Really. Have fun. I'll see you Tuesday." He could hear how her voice strained to keep from breaking. "I'm fine. Really."

Mulder looked to Lone Gunmen and with a simple shake of his head and a frantic wave of his hand, they left grumbling. "You don't seem fine," he stated softly.

"Is that the profiler in you?" She gulped her wine and grimaced. "Am I that pathetic?"

"No," he spoke softly. "You're not."

He rose his hand and ordered a Shinerbock quietly. The bartender asked about food. "I already ordered," she supplied weakly. "A burger."

"You want to halves like we usually do?"

She nodded slightly, unable to keep her defenses from crumbling. Why was she acting like this? She kept quiet, trying to figure out how to regain control of her emotions in as Mulder ordered the fried veggies basket and cheese sticks for them. Why now, she pleaded, was she coming undone? The bartender passed him the beer and walked away. Mulder gazed at the tv, watching the late night basketball scores scroll across the screen. "This seems very unlike you."

She shrugged. "You get to see a side of me that no one usually does."

"Beneath the Ice Queen is a warm center?" She glared him in annoyance and he gave a warm smile. "Sorry but not sorry. It's nice to see you so..."

"Normal?" She sighed in exasperation and rolled her head. "I hate when people automatically assume that I don't have feelings."

"I didn't mean that, Scully."

"I know, Mulder." She sighed. "I just needed to mix things up."

"How so?"

"Are you asking as a shrink or my partner?"

"I'm asking as your friend."

The forbidden word slipped between them like a grain of sand in an hourglass. Insignificant but still so powerful. Scully gulped and cleared her throat. "We're friends?"

"I...I like to think so."

She nodded and focused on her wine. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "It's the deaths. My dad and Jack. I can't...I can't explain it, Mulder. I know I shouldn't feel guilty but I do. I feel like it is my fault." She finished the rest of her wine and Mulder grabbed her wrist lightly. "What?"

"For once, let go?"

"What is that suppose to mean?"

"Don't behind those walls I see every day," he spoke softly. Scully's eyes lingered on him cautiously. She had heard the same voice from on top of the world. "Come on, Scully. I can see every day how much it hurts you."

Fucking alien worms and the top of the world. Scully waved her hand and ordered a vodka soda with an orange slice. Mulder ordered himself a second beer. "You really want to hear what I have to say?"

"I'm better than a preacher," he told her, crossing his heart.

She bit her lip and suddenly just surrendered. She surrendered to her emotions and to feel. She submitted to being the perpetrator of her father and Jack's deaths. "It's my fault that my father and Jack died," she confessed softly. "If I had not joined the FBI my father would still be alive. If I had acted quicker Jack would still be alive." She snorted as her bartender brought her drink. "I'm supposed to be the brave daughter, the dutiful one. Dad had his hopes long ago that I was going to make the family proud and be a doctor at a famous hospital. I shattered him by joining the FBI. Jack. Oh, Jack, what false love." She downed her vodka in a few quick sips that left Mulder stunned. "I've always been attracted to powerful men. And with Jack...I don't know what I felt, Mulder, but I know it wasn't love. I never loved him." Scully had tears in her eyes. "It's my fault they died. If I had done something different, maybe they'd be alive. It's all my fault, Mulder, all of it."

It must have been the alcohol talking, Mulder mused because his Scully would never be this open. But he reached out and took her hand. When was the last time someone had touched her so...purposefully? Intimately? Would she trust him? Not emotionally of course. No, she had built stonewalls that no siege could penetrate around her inner self. However, underneath all that, the warmth between them. But at the base level, her hear knew. The warmth of his hand swallowing hers and vibrating through her entire being spurned a memory and she recalled being held on top of the world. That after everything, she could trust him.  Without thinking or control of herself, Scully threw herself uncharacteristically into his arms and cried. Mulder stood in shock, if he moved, something would go wrong. Not knowing what to do, he patted her shoulder and tried to speak soothingly. It was the briefest minute that seemed to last a lifetime. Quickly, as if coming out from under a spell, Scully reclaimed herself. She wiped her tears and looked embarrassed.

"I'm sorry for my outburst," she eventually admitted as the bartender brought her a third drink, more vodka for the pain and for her embarrassment. She was averting her eyes, fixated on the gnarled wooden bar top. "It's not like me."

He reached out to reclaim her hand and squeezed it quickly, a sign of solidarity. As she shifted her gaze to their joined hands. Mulder coughed and quickly withdrew it in a weak attempt to hide a cough. "Scully, you're okay. What do you say? Stay here a little longer with me? I'm starving and haven't eaten dinner yet. We have all those food coming and I'd hate to waste it."

"I get first dibs on the cheese sticks," she mumbled.

"It wouldn't be right if you didn't."

About twenty minutes later as Mulder and Scully in silence, their food arrived. The scent of greasy and unhealthy foods mixed with the atmosphere of the dive bar caused Scully hummed appreciatively. Without thinking, Mulder plucked one of her onion rings. They continued to ear in silence as the clock ticked and Mulder could really study the rare relaxed and causal Scully.

"You want to talk about it?" Mulder pushed the cheese sticks towards her.

"Not really. I don't want to be reminded how depressing my life has become." She shrugged. She reached for a cheese stick, dipped it in marinara, and took a healthy bite. "Their deaths reminded me how alone I really am. My life is the work and that's it. No time for social lives or anything else. You remember when you were chasing the Jersey Devil and I was on that date? I was hoping that you would call so I could go away. I would rather go chasing monsters with you than some lousy date."

He weighed his words carefully unsure if it was the alcohol or her talking. "I...I know this has taken a lot from you, and I know you consider me a little arrogant."

She scoffed. "A little?"

He gave bet a boyish smile. "A lot." She finished her drink and ordered another one. "I just want you to know I appreciate you and everything you've done."

"What have you done with Mulder and who have you replaced him with?"

"Haha, very funny."

Mulder cut the greasy burger in half without asking and deposited part of it on his own plate. "You really went all out. Mushrooms, onions, bacon, and cheese? I should ask if aliens abducted you?" he chuckled.

Scully was just beginning to feel the warmth in her cheeks, knowing her pale face was already flushed. But sitting her with Mulder, some other warmth was working through her. The way Mulder just reached into her personal space without asking, how normal it felt. Maybe wasn't truly alone. "Do you know the probability of us both being replaced by aliens would be, Mulder? Besides, you know little green men don't exist," she dismissed, reaching for the ketchup.

Mulder paused and smiled slightly as Scully slipped into the comfortable thing they had, whatever it was. "Yes, well, if you are a replacement, your previous version at least knew how to share." He took some of her onion rings as well and pushed the fried veggie basket towards her. "I hope I didn't order this for nothing. You know I only eat the fried pickles."

She smiled softly and picked up a fried mushroom cap. She dipped it into the ranch sauce and took a bite, hissing slightly at how hot the food still was. He chuckled at her and she slapped his bicep. "So, did I steal you from those strange little people?"

"Hm? Oh, the Gunmen? No."

"The Gunmen? Are they a band or something?"

"Something like that," he smirked. He took a large bit of the burger and spoke while still chewing his food. "I'd much rather spend it with my partner anyway."

Scully was surprised by the admission and she knew he was telling the truth. She gave a knowing smile and looked down at her own food. It wasn't one of his late night calls that she got but this was so much better. He looked up to the TV and frowned. "I can't believe they're already talking shit about the Yankees and it isn't even spring training," he cried foul.

"You like baseball?" she asked, wondering what else she did not know about him.

He nodded and flashed her another smile (there are a lot those tonight) and she somehow knew they were just for her. "Yankees fan and Knicks fan are the main two. What about you, Scully?"

She shook her head slowly. "I really never had an interest or time to watch sports, Mulder."

"Really? Huh. Well, maybe we can go to Camden Yards and watch a game this spring." He shrugged absently. "Let's play twenty questions. You asked me one, I'll ask you. Who's your favorite author?"

She blushed and shoved an onion ring in her mouth to give her time to think. "Truman Capote," she said, still chewing the food. She swallowed the onion ring and smiled. "My turn."

. . . .

In a cab, she slept blissfully against him in thanks to the alcohol. It was two a.m. and in a rare change of routines for him. Friday nights, if he was not on a case, were either spent bullshitting with the Gunmen or drinking a local bar alone and passing out. But tonight...there must have been a blue moon or something. When he saw Scully sitting alone at the bar, he had been moved by pity. How many nights had he spent in the same position? So he went to check on her. Then he was moved to make her feel better. Caught between the guilty of death she should not carry and loneliness, he stayed with her. Something must have changed in the few short months between them that he couldn't explain. But he ended up staying, splitting dinner, talking and laughing, learning things about the small redhead agent that was sent to spy on him who he, at the end of this night, considered a likely friend and guaranteed ally in his quest. She only sought to help him and he would return the favor however he could. Right now, that was being the pillow to his drunk and passed out partner.

She murmured something and snuggled against his side as the cab slowed to a stop outside her Georgetown apartment. Mulder quietly paid the cabbie, ignoring the smirkful glares and got out of the car first. He did not have the heart of wake her so he fished for her keys and grasped them lightly in his hand as he bent back into the cab and lifted her easily. She really was small, he smiled slightly. Carefully he maneuvered her up the wake way and down the hall to her apartment. He unlocked the door with some difficult and closed the door with his foot.

Unsure of what to do and spying a blanket on the back of her couch, Mulder carried her into her bedroom and lay her on the bed. This was completely unknown territory for him and also very out of character, but somehow, she was bringing things out in him that he thought he no longer had. He strolled out into the living room, grabbed the blanket, and draped it over her. She murmured something in her sleep and he smiled. Taking a moment to sit on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly traced the shape of her cheek, and he smiled.

She murmured something, waking up in a haze. The darkness hid their faces but she somehow knew it was him. "Mmph. Where are we?"

"At your apartment," Mulder spoke in a low voice. Scully closed her eyes, remembering when he held her at the Icy Cape and how his chest rumbled when he spoke like that to her. She let the memory wash over her like a wave. "I'm going home. Call me in the morning okay?"

"Mm 'kay," she yawned. "Mulder?"

"Yeah, Scully?"

"Thank you. For everything tonight."

"It's nothing, Scully."

"To me it is." She yawned again. "Not alone. Got you."

"You're talking nonsense."

"'M smarter than you. Know what I'm talking about." She blindly groped for his hand and gave it a quick, light squeeze. "Take my apartment key. I have a copy. Meant to give that to you last week."

Mulder was touched by the additional gateway into her personal space. "Okay. Call me tomorrow when you wake up to let me know you're okay. I'll have a copy of my key for you, Monday."

She nodded. "Call you. Got it." He hesitantly reached for her face again and gently traced her cheek before getting up. "Thanks, Muler. Still got you."

"Always, Scully," he spoke softly. He bowed his head and smiled slightly. Quietly, he left the bedroom door and shut the door behind him.