#hey this person is hurting and I need to say something

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART NINETEEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: you come back with an anxious ridden feeling that becomes worse as time goes by—all because of the stone faced girl.

wc. 3.1k

warnings: very angsty | authors note: sooo the weather….

(nowhere girl masterlist)

(Three months later…)

Mi-Cha was getting more anxious by the minute.

When she went to visit you in your dorm, you weren’t there. In fact, when she asked your roommate about your whereabouts she too hasn’t seen you all day. So, she’s standing outside your dorm with her hands on her hips to ponder. Where could you be? Who will know? A light bulb flickers in her mind when she thinks of the only person in campus who knows everyone in her major.

She sprints to the floor above and knocks on the door of one of the most luxurious dorms in campus. Yoon appears minutes after, her eyes glued to her phone screen which aggravates Mi-Cha.

“Yoon. Earth to, Yoon.” she says snapping her fingers in front of Yoon’s face. She blinks and smiles wearily at Mi-Cha.

“Oh, hey, long time no see. How was your summer?” Yoon asks, batting her eyelashes.

“No need for small talk just tell me where she is.” Mi-Cha huffs impatiently.

Yoon’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “She?”

“Seriously?” Mi-Cha crosses her arms and sighs. “Who’s the only other person that we are connected to?”

After pausing to think, revelation overcomes Yoon’s pristine face. “Ah! Yes—I think she’s at our communal studio. I haven’t seen her around the dorms—“

“But you are our new resident assistant?”

“Exactly! I’m so busy trying to keep everything and everyone in check how am I supposed to know where everyone is at every waking moment?”

Mi-Cha scoffs, even though deep down she knows Yoon is slightly correct. And with that she walks away and out of the dormitory building. There is only one communal studio space for art students to attend whenever they like. She is surprised you’d be there though—it’s not even the first day of classes yet. And in all honesty, she’s a little offended that that’s the first place you go to.

She hasn’t seen you since you left for your Italy trip and you were barely able to reach out to her during your summer there. But from the small tidbits you shared, it sounded like you had a riveting summer in Milan.

After opening the doors to the large and spacious studio, there were mounds of students present with piles of canvases and sculptures ready to be displayed or worked on. She pushes past the students with the goal of finding you in mind.

It feels like Mi-Cha was back at the art gallery with how crowded this studio is. Finally, she thinks she found you and she let out a huge breath of relief.

You were currently helping lift up a large canvas with the help of four other art students and leaned the piece against the wall. Your hair was all over the place and the baggy jean shorts you were wearing got unknowingly stained when you wipe your hands against them.

Whilst catching your breath you wipe the sweat off your forehead, still not noticing your friend running to your direction.

“I missed you so so so much!” Mi-Cha merrily says after trapping you into one of her bear hugs.

“Hey! I missed you too.” you say, grinning. However, there was less enthusiasm in your voice.

“Why haven’t you stopped by to see me? I’m hurt.” she pouts releasing you from the hug.

She eyes you from head to toe. Something was different about you she just couldn’t put her fingers on it. Although, your skin did glow with more radiance, that wasn’t it. And when she looks into your smiling eyes, there was a hint of nervousness surrounding them that was illegible. Maybe she was just overthinking it too much. It has been awhile since she’s seen you.

“I’m sorry. All of my work just flew in and I had to unpack them all otherwise they would have gone ‘mysteriously’ missing.” you say, using your fingers to sign quotation marks on the word mysteriously. “And I stayed longer to help some people who went with me on the trip.”

“And how was it?” she gapes. “Wait never mind don’t tell me—let’s go grab lunch after so you can tell me all about it.”

Your eyes squint. “I hear that the cafeteria food here is…not the best though.”

“Yeah—that’s why I told you to enjoy as much Italian food before coming back. You’ll have to start getting used to the campus food now.”

When you open your mouth to speak a colleague of yours nudges your sides to help them lift up a sculpture tightly secured in a large box. You signal Mi-Cha to momentarily wait for you to finish and she observes you with eyebrows quirking up. She thinks she’s pretty good at reading minds, you seem anxious. The entire time you spoke your eyebrows were knit and the corners of your lips twitching like the smile you had was by force.

You clap your hands together to wipe away dust and debris, your face crestfallen. “What?”

“Did you see her yet?” she blurts out, wriggling her eyebrows. She was louder than she expected.

That’s when you freeze and Mi-Cha catches on. It had to be that girl you were so fawned over this past spring. She saw it in the way your muscles grew tense. You play it off with a smaller smile.

“No, as soon as I got back I had to get everything in my dorm prepared and talk to my counselor about my new tuition.” you explain quietly. “I’m going to stop by later though.”

Now, Mi-Cha feels guilty. She’s so ignorant for thinking that your only problems were your love life when you have financial stressors to take care of.

“Yeah, I know it’s expensive but don’t worry. Focus on school and worry about debts when you get a stable job after.”

“Being an adult fucking sucks.” you grumble.

“Yeah, I know.” she says, clearing her throat in contemplation. “Are you alright though? With you know…life?”

You start chuckling nervously. “Yeah. I don’t know…Ever since I got to Italy I’ve just been stressed and I still feel weird even after coming back.”

“Did you say stress? What could possibly stress you out in Italy?”

Sae-byeok actually.

There is no words in the human dictionary to describe the amount of stress you’ve endured throughout your trip to Italy. All because of the stone face girl you’ve fallen head over heels for. You never felt such intense emotions about someone other than her, it got to a point where she was always luring in the back of your mind.

On the last week of your studies in Italy, you and a couple of your colleagues ventured out to Genoa to relax on a boat. And embarrassingly enough, your drunken thoughts couldn’t see anything but Sae-byeok. It was killing you and for one reason only.

She hasn’t reached out to you ever since you arrived to Italy.

At first you didn’t try to worry. You didn’t have much reception on your phone but whenever you got the chance you made sure to stay up late reach out to Sae-byeok when you knew it would be day time in South Korea. But nothing. Halfway through the trip, you try dialing Ji-yeong asking if everything is alright but nothing. And when you tried reaching out to them the second you got back to Korea, their calls went straight to voicemail.

They’ve gone off the grid and you couldn’t stop your mind from going in circles trying to figure out what’s going on with them.

But now that you’re back you are going to find out.

After you and Mi-Cha head to the cafeteria and catch up on each other’s lives the past three months, you decline her offer to go to a welcome party held at her dormitory wing. You felt guilty not telling her about what really happened with Sae-byeok, but you were so afraid to get her response because she is such a blunt person. What if she would’ve told you that Sae-byeok ghosted you and to move on from her? You are still in denial.

So, after lunch you walk back to your dormitory.

“Hey, what happened to you?” asks your roommate, Lee Gyeong-ja who was currently laying on her bed playing a mobile game. “Haven’t heard from you all day and one of your friends came to ask about you.”

“Busy unloading some stuff from my trip.” you explain flatly. “And I met up with her earlier.”

You kneel down in front of your bed to pull out two bags underneath it. In the bag contains all the stuff you gathered from the trip and each has the label ‘Ji-yeong’ and ‘Kang siblings’.

“Okay…” she trails off before focusing back on her game.

“Bye.” you say breathlessly and walk out the dorm with the bags on each hand.

To make it to their apartment faster, you took the subway rather than the bus even though you prefer taking the latter. The entire journey was stress inducing—you hope that they have a good explanation as to why they haven’t been contacting you.

When you arrive in front of the apartment complex, you took a deep breath in to soothe your mind. You hope they’re alright. You hope to see their faces soon. And you hope they’re thinking the same about you.

You place one of the bags on the floor to knock on their door. Again, you breathe in and out but your heart keeps thumping loudly in your ears. It just got louder when you hear rustling coming from the other end.

Your racing heart stops abruptly to sink down your chest.

“Hello?” greets a man who looks to be in his thirties. He slowly pokes his head out the door to survey you—appearing very suspicious about your presence here.

“Oh uh,” you stammer and look to the side of the door to make sure you got the right apartment number. This was it. You awkwardly smile at the man. “hi. Sorry—two girls around my age used to live here. Do you—Do you know where they possibly…moved to?”

“Two girls?” he questions. Right after, a woman who you assume to be his wife appears behind him. He mumbles something to her and she shakes her head in response. “We aren’t sure—we just moved here last month. But I think I remember the landlord telling us that the old tenants left sometime in the…beginning of summer?” he looks to his wife for reassurance and she shakes her head yes.

“Seriously? Oh my god…” you mutter, your voice trembling. Before they get any more suspicious of you, you bow quickly. “I’m sorry for taking your time. Thank you.”

And with that you grab the bag you had on the ground and make your way out of your apartment.

So, you weren’t just going crazy for no reason…If they weren’t here then where the hell are they? You don’t want to think of the worst just yet. There has to be a fine explanation for this.

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

(One week later…)

The bakery is no longer there. Instead, there was a large ‘FOR SALE’ sign on the entire building which includes your old studio apartment. And the only other sign in front of the abandoned building was ‘RELOCATED TO SONJUN.’

You desperately wish that you could drop everything to go to Sonjun and hope Miss Ahn or her bratty grandson could give you answers. If they have any. But you couldn’t fall behind in school, not when it’s all you have.

As if you were in a trance, you kept swirling your line brush around the red acrylic paint. You didn’t notice you were doing this for the past three minutes—but you couldn’t stop thinking about Sae-byeok. It worries you what might’ve happened to her. When she told you she was able to stay a float, was the lying?

You didn’t break away from your trance until faint familiar giggles enter your ears. Blinking, you see Yoon enter the communal studio with her portfolio tote. She heads to the other end of the studio and you just go back to swirling your brush around. It wasn’t until a shadowy figure engulfs you that you peer back up.

“Yoon?”

“Hey!” she beams and bends down to give you a side hug. You awkwardly reciprocate it back by patting her shoulders and frown seeing her pull up a chair beside you. “How was Italy? Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, it was beautiful.” you reply coolly. “How was your summer?”

That’s when she lets out a biggest groan, disturbing some of the students around you. “Awful! First of all, I had to work at one of my parents cafe chains all the way at the end of town because they were short staffed. So, do you know what I had to do? Remove my acrylic nails! Then soon after, I stopped hearing less and less from Yen-ho and he’s seriously gone off the grid because I had to report him missing to the police! But of course they don’t care because of…you know. The criminal stuff. But anyway—yeah I haven’t heard from him since. It was seriously stressing me out that I couldn’t relax properly on my trip to Jeju all July. I hope that all the school work will keep my mind at bay…Seriously why should I be so worried over a prick like him? I’m sorry for ranting but no one besides you would understand.”

“No, it’s okay.” you say, your eyebrows knitting. “But when did you say he went missing?”

“I reported him in the beginning of July after not hearing from him for like over three weeks. Fucking asshole. I need to get over him quickly.”

“And he never mention where he was going or anything?”

She throws you a suspicious glare. “Are you seriously concerned about him?”

“No it’s just…” you say, sighing in frustration. “Don’t tell anyone but remember my friend who you saw at the art murals? Well, she’s moved out of her apartment sometime in June or July and I haven’t heard from her either. And she used to know him. Do you think…?”

“What? Was she a part of his gang or something?” she gasps. When you nod she starts rubbing your back soothingly. “Oh, honey…”

“I know it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not. I mean…it’s very likely that they joined forces again though.”

“You think?” you raise a brow.

“Do you know how many times Yen-ho vowed to me that he would never go back to the gang? So many times.”

No, that can’t be it. Sae-byeok isn’t Yen-ho. She has too much to risk with Cheol under her care and too much of a caring heart to do that to him. It just seems unfathomable. But, how unlikely could that be? What if she couldn’t find a way to pay rent and asked Deok-su if she could join back in his gang…No. That can’t be it—she owed him a ton of money. That’s not possible—however, this piece of information about Yen-ho is very interesting.

“I’ll—I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Yoon.” you murmur after careful thinking.

She sends you an enthusiastic smile. “Aw, look at us bonding over our love for criminals!”

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

(One month later…)

You were starting to forget how they looked like. Whenever you think of Sae-byeok, the image of her in your mind is blurry and not all there. It’s funny, you thought you’d never forget a face like hers but you can’t even recall her most distinct features—her eyes. You remember them being sharp and cold, but you don’t have the clear picture of it in your head. Now, you regret leaving your sketchbook of all her drawings behind with her. It’s hard to believe it’s been five months.

Luckily, school has helped in some ways to keep your thoughts at bay. You drown yourself in your paintings and sculptures—learning new techniques thanks to your study abroad program you became more skilled in drawing portraits.

You sigh in defeat starting at the fully worked canvas before you. It was another failure. You didn’t get her eyes right again—this is the fifth portrait you have failed to perfect. If anyone knew how much time you were putting into drawing Sae-byeok they’d think you’ll need to be sent away. But you can’t forget her. You just can’t, but your mind is betraying you.

The alarm goes off in the back pocket of your jeans—altering you that you have things in your life you need to do outside of Sae-byeok. You click to turn it off and drape over the portrait with a long piece of fabric.

Texting Mi-Cha, you let her know you will be a few minutes late for dinner and to save you a spot. When she replies back with a thumbs up you put your phone back in your pocket and head over to the building where the financial support center is located.

Because you no longer have an internship and you don’t know when the next one will come, you did your best to sell your paints and sculptures you made back in Italy as a form of income. But it’s hard. After only selling three of your works, you only had enough money to pay a portion of your tuition—a small portion.

“Hi, I’d like to submit a deposit for my tuition.” you say to the worker sitting across the desk who was busy clicking away on the computer.

“Of course, I just need your ID, please.” she says robotically, still starting at the screen. You sigh and slide down your card to her. She grabs it, merely glances at it and starts typing away. After a minute of clicking and typing, her eyes slightly narrow. “Hm…”

“Hm?” you repeat. She throws you a look, making your cheeks go pink.

“It seems like your tuition is entirely paid off.”

Your jaw slackens by the miracle of this news. There your heart goes again, hammering like it was trying to burst out of your chest. “W—What? Are you sure you got the right person…?”

She purses her lips at you but turns to do more typing. You bite your bottom lip in anticipation when she looks at your ID and back at the screen. “Yes.” she answers flatly.

“Could—Could you tell me who paid it off? Because it wasn’t me.”

“The system says it’s been paid off by closed cash. Usually closed cash doesn’t provide a name in our system. I’m sorry but I can’t provide you the information you need. Perhaps it was your parents or legal guardian?”

You swallow back a scoff at her reply. However, that was the only plausible explanation. Was this your parent’s way of trying to make amends with you? But it doesn’t make sense—why now? Besides, your parents aren’t filthy rich it’s not possible for them to pay off your entire tuition in full. Ever since you left for Italy, your entire life began flipping upside down.

“Yeah…Thanks, ma’am.” you whisper, your eyes cloudy with thoughts that you forgot to bow. She grimaces when your back is turnt.

When you step out of the building, you just stand outside to ponder. The first day of October air strikes your burning cheeks, cooling them.

“What the fuck is going on?” you mutter to yourself.

You glance up at the sky and see the sun almost going to meet the horizon. If it’s not night yet, you could still get some answers. So, you pull out your phone and text Mi-Cha that you can’t make it because of a last minute homework you forgot to do. Then you check your phone map and to find the quickest route to your parent’s house.

In spite of the fact that you should feel terrified to meet your parents again, there is numbness instead. You have Sae-byeok to thank for that. At least this time you won’t storm off from your parents bawling your eyes out. Or, that’s what you like to tell yourself at least.

When your dad is the one to open the door, your chest pangs. The wrinkles on his forehead are more visible and his eyelids appear to sag more. He stares at you blankly for a moment before raising his eyebrows up in surprise when he realizes who is standing before him.

“H—Honey…you’re here?” he stammers breathlessly. He opens the door wider to instinctively to let you in, but you just glare at him and remain in your spot.

“Hi, dad.” you greet icily. It infuriates you the way he is looking at you like some wounded puppy when he let you go so easily—twice. They had two opportunities and now maybe three. “I just need to know, did you or mom pay off my tuition?”

“Your tuition?” he queries and pauses to think to himself. You can see the tints in his cheeks get more hue, he was embarrassed. “We—uh, we didn’t. Someone paid it off?”

“Yeah. I don’t know who. Anyways, thanks.” you say, your voice low and flat.

“Wait!” he says quickly. You stop yourself from turning around and look back at your dad, eyes squinting. “How are you? How’s school?”

“Great. I just came back from a trip to Italy. I got offered an internship to study there for the summer.” you say. It felt good to brag—especially with how floundered he looks.

“That’s…wonderful.” he stutters.

Disappointed. That’s how you feel. You aren’t sure what you expected him to say, but not that. You feel ashamed for still wanting your parents praise. When you exhale, a cloud of cold smoke puffs out into the air.

“Bye, dad.” you whisper and spin around.

“Hold on—“

“Yes, I’m still a lesbian!” you bellow unintentionally. His face falls and he’s staring at you blankly—exactly how he looked at you when you packed your things after getting kicked out. Those cruel eyes haunt you. “Have a good life.” and with that you head back to the subway station.

Half a year later, it hurts just the same.

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

(Another month later…)

Sae-byeok’s message is loud and clear. She doesn’t want to hear from you anymore. Your only theory is that they all moved to a different location after Deok-su found them. And maybe the reason why they cut contact with you is because they want a fresh start—and you’re part of a haunted past they don’t want to face anymore.

The walk was peaceful. The November leaves were colorful and full of life. The tones of browns and oranges covering the sidewalk gave you hope for a new start. That’s what you love about fall, although the change of leaves is because they’re withered and dead—you portray it as change. That change is for the better and it’ll make life all the more beautiful by the time spring arrives again to wake up the leaves.

This is your last chance. Your last resort and you’re fucking terrified. You officially haven’t heard from them for six months. This is the only other option you have and if nothing comes from it you have to move on. It terrifies you but you’re at a stage in your life where you can’t let this consume you or you will spiral. Even if they don’t want anything to do with you, you just hope they’re okay and most importantly happy with life.

You stand in front of Cheol’s elementary school and you gulp. This is it. If nothing comes out of it, you vow to never look back at the past again. You take a deep breath before stepping inside and to the main office towards the front desk.

“Hello, may I help you?” greets a man around your age with a chipper smile.

You blink at him and struggle to speak at first. It’ll be hard to explain this without it sounding off. “Hi, um, I know this might sound strange but I’d like to know if a student is still enrolled in this school. You see, his sister has gone completely missing and she’s his only guardian so I’d like to know if—if he’s…I don’t know—I guess if he’s okay? His name is Kang Cheol.”

“A—Alright?” his peppy voice wanes. He’s clearly new to this as he glances over at his more senior co-workers. “Let me get back to you on that. Normally, we don’t disclose information about a student unless you’re a parent or guardian but let me see if I can give you that information.”

“Thanks…” you trail off and chew on the inside of your cheek.

From the corner of your eyes, you watch him whisper to his older workers who shot weird glances at you every so often. You unknowingly tap your fingers aggressively against the counter, full on anxious. The waiting is killing you but you have a sense of hope when you see them checking the computer screen. You seriously hope Cheol is okay.

When he comes back, clearing his throat, he deadpans, “So, it says he’s no longer enrolled in this school.”

Your legs feel like jelly. “Huh? Why—“

“I’m sorry that’s the only thing I can tell you since you aren’t a parent or guardian. Which I assume you aren’t?”

Practically in the middle of feeling lightheaded, you feel yourself shake your head. “No. Thanks.” you think you murmur to him and stumble out of the office and out this building.

Once on the sidewalk, you press you back against whatever building you stumbled across and hold back tears. This stress is killing you from the inside out. What the hell happened to them? You don’t even care if they don’t want to see you anymore, you just want to know if they’re safe.

You keep choking back sobs as you were still in public.

Your blurry eyes fall down to the sidewalk and you focus on the leaves. Change—you’re supposed to change. However, you want one last cry.

“Hey—are you alright?” Mi-Cha’s normal tone dies into a worried one when she opens the door to her dorm and sees the state of you.

Your head is ducked low, you’re tightly clutching the sides of your coat, and your body is trembling. When she raises your chin with her hand she gasps at your red face and your even redder eyes.

“I—I don’t know…I just need to hug you.” you croak out.

Without furthering thought she pulls you inside her dormitory, is silently thankful her roommate isn’t here, and brings you to her bed where she solemnly wraps her arms around your shoulders. Your face sinks into the crook of her neck and finally, you let your tears flow like river streams. You two are in this state for a long time, with Mi-Cha rocking your bodies back and forth and you choking on sobs.

Once you finally calm down, you pick your head up and couldn’t stop hiccuping uncontrollably. “I—I don’t think Sae-byeok wants to s—see me anymore.”

She winces and pulls you back into her arms. “Fuck. Hey, don’t worry I’m here if you need to talk.”

But you didn’t want to. You just want to cry your emotions out until there’s nothing left but a void in your chest.

With every tear you shed, you wish it contains the memories of Sae-byeok that you want to forget about. But you don’t know what’s more painful, forgetting or wanting to forget.

If you know yourself, at some point you might’ve loved her. And now that she’s left you for good—you have to turn this love into grief. But grief is just as much a human complexity as it is love, and you aren’t sure how long it’ll take for you to endure it and move past it. It might take you a lifetime to forget about Sae-byeok.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts @wlvlurvsfimmia

[everythingseasoning]

Curses and Lifts.

Rafayel x Reader. // angst, fluff. abandonment issues, relief.

Rafayel has just finished telling you the story about his “friend” who’d gotten himself stranded on the surface, 800 or so years ago. Surviving only because of a woman who noticed and cared, his friend went on to live, saved in the same way you rescued that fish a minute ago. But Rafayel called it a tragedy.

“Because he fell in love with the girl who saved him?” You ask him. The night surrounds the two of you, a smooth midnight blue. It’s like the two of you are underneath the deep ocean itself, the air cool against your skin.

“Love?” Rafayel asks, confusion flitting across his face as he stares at the ground. It’s as if he’s taken aback slightly by the word.

Rafayel’s gaze suddenly locks onto your face, his violet eyes glimmering like stars in the lamplight.

“…Yeah,” he says, the weight of his gaze pulling you in like the tide. He looks at you like you’re his world, like he needs you, like you’re the oyster and he’s the pearl seeking refuge. It’s tinged with hurt.

Rafayel turns back to focus on the fountain in front of him, a thoughtful expression creased onto his features. “Love,” he repeats, the word solid as it leaves his mouth.

“Now do you see how dangerous the world can be?”

It’s suddenly silent. Rafayel has entered his mind space again. He’s lost in thought as you study him in all his quiet, the urge to know what he’s thinking growing stronger by the second.

Love is the most twisted curse of all. Be careful who you save. You might end up cursing them with tragedy instead.

Your soft, “Hey,” brings Rafayel out from his thoughts. His eyes have always been so expressive.

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently, your smaller hand reaching out to touch Rafayel’s cold one. He jumps slightly before looking wide-eyed at where your skin touches his.

His hand moves on top of yours in a flash, his grip surprisingly firm as his face closes the distance between you two.

“You can’t leave me again, okay?” Desperation and insistence lace his words.

“Promise me— promise me you’ll never disappear again,” Rafayel breathes, his violet eyes boring into yours. You blink rapidly.

“Rafayel— You…” you start, before swallowing. “That wasn’t really your friend in the story, was it?” You ask, believing now that he had woven fiction into his personal anecdote, making it up that his friend was a merman, that it was centuries ago. He had probably been left by a woman he took great interest in, instead. Your heart aches for him. You always knew he hadn’t been loved properly in his life; The signs were there. His clinginess, his immaturity, his urge to be cared for— they had all made it clear.

Rafayel ignores your question, imploring you again.

“Promise me.”

Your other hand moves to clasp his, both of your hands cupping Rafayel’s now. You swear you saw tears glimmering for a quick, fleeting moment.

“I promise, Rafayel,” you say, your gaze firm and gentle all at once.

Something passes in Rafayel’s eyes. You can’t name it yet. You can’t study it either— Rafayel has engulfed you in a hug before you can blink, taut muscle and warmth pressing against you.

“Good. Thank you,” he whispers before his voice comes back strong, “Don’t ever leave me.” Rafayel’s breath is soft against your ear, the little tickle contrasting the hard desperation in his voice. His arms squeeze you tighter. Tears spring to your eyes. Rafayel… you must have been through so much.

“You’ll never be alone again, Rafayel.” You breathe the promise into the night air.

You feel a sudden pressure against your jawline—

The warmth pulls away slightly. Rafayel stares into your eyes, your faces inches away, his strong arms still wrapped around you. The proximity makes your heart race, and you’re sure he can feel it too. His breath is hot, the sounds of breathing drowning out the nearby bubbling of the water fountain. As Rafayel gazes into your eyes, you realize he had kissed your neck.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, and he’s looking at you like he needs more— needs to be closer— needs to have you, needs to know you’re his, not just by words.

You respond in kind, cupping his face gently, pressing your thumb into his cheek, tenderly swiping his skin. He nuzzles into your touch, pressing another soft kiss onto your hand.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Rafayel looks at you, leaning forward more as his hands find your cheeks, holding your face in his hands. He stares down at you, murmuring into the small space between you two.

“You were the one who cursed me in the first place. It’s only fair that you lift it.”

…

To be continued?

…AN below:

my heart, I’m so sorry

You were just an unloved soul who didn’t know what love was until you were unexpectedly rescued, then abandoned.

No wonder you’re so fucking clingy and immature. No wonder you need constant communication. You never once tasted a stable love. Rafayel, you are so afraid of being left alone forever again. (I will never abandon him.)

[mybelovedwoo]

Could I maybe a request a “Ateez and their toxic traits/red flags”? And if you don’t it’s fine!! Anyway love your works<33

Thank you so much for your request! I hope you'll like it <3

ateez and their toxic traits/red flags

headcanon, angst

gn!reader x bf!atz

wc. ~0.8k

an: you can request headcanons if you want to!! if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

masterlist

hongjoong

you plan a cute movie night, but hongjoong gets caught up in his studio. when you remind him, he sighs and says, “just give me another hour,” but three hours pass and he’s still not done.

-the perfectionist leader

-he can be overly controlling, always needing things to go his way. if something doesn’t align with his vision, he might micromanage or get frustrated

-he sometimes prioritizes his work and ambitions over his relationships, which can leave you feeling second place to his career

-despite his flaws, Hongjoong will always go out of his way to show you how much he cares once he realizes his behavior has hurt you. he’ll write you a heartfelt letter or dedicate a whole day to making you feel loved.

seonghwa

you tease him about not cleaning the kitchen properly, and instead of laughing it off, he quietly stops talking to you for the rest of the evening, overthinking if he’s not “good enough.”

-silent overthinker

-seonghwa tends to bottle up his feelings, choosing to remain quiet instead of addressing problems. this can lead to misunderstandings or passive-aggressive behavior

-he has impossibly high standards for himself and, sometimes unintentionally, for you too. ee may subtly push you to be "perfect"

-when he realizes he’s being unfair, seonghwa will open up more, offering sincere apologies and sweet, thoughtful gestures to show he’s working on himself

yunho

you bring up something that’s been bothering you, and yunho jokes, “oh, come on, it’s not a big deal! we’re fine!” but you can sense he’s avoiding the conversation.

-mr. nice guy complex

-yunho can sometimes suppress his own feelings to keep the peace, which can result in resentment building up over time

-he’s overly optimistic, brushing off serious issues with humor or positivity instead of addressing them head-on

-his warm-hearted nature means he’ll do anything to make you laugh and feel better. he’ll sit down and have a serious conversation once he realizes the importance of addressing things

yeosang

you have a small argument, and while he doesn’t yell or fight back, he quietly distances himself for days, leaving you confused.

-yeosang can be emotionally unavailable at times, keeping his walls up and making it hard for you to understand what he’s really feeling

-he has a tendency to hold grudges and doesn’t easily forgive, even if he doesn’t outright show it

-when yeosang lets his guard down, he’s incredibly attentive and sincere. he’ll work on opening up and showing you just how much you mean to him

san

you’re chatting with a mutual friend, and san playfully but obviously interrupts, draping his arm around you and saying, “hey, don’t forget about me over here.” he brushes it off as a joke, but you can tell he’s a little serious.

-attention seeker

-san can get jealous or possessive when he feels he’s not the center of your attention. he loves being adored and might pout or act out if he doesn’t get it

-he sometimes tests your boundaries to see how far you’ll go to prove your affection for him

-san is quick to realize when he’s being unfair. his apologies are as dramatic as his personality, and he’ll shower you with affection to make it up to you

mingi

he sees you talking to someone on your phone and later asks, “was that a friend? you seemed… really close.” when you reassure him, he says, “i trust you, but I just… tend to overthink sometimes.”

-mingi’s tendency to overthink can lead to unnecessary doubts or insecurities in the relationship. he may read too much into small things

-he has moments where he can retreat into his own world and become distant without explaining why, leaving you feeling unsure

-mingi’s love language is reassurance. once he’s calmed down, he’ll open up and let you in, making sure you feel secure in the relationship

wooyoung

during a playful argument, he blurts out, “well, at least i’m not as annoying as you!” the moment the words leave his mouth, he knows he messed up.

-wooyoung’s fiery personality means he can be impulsive, saying or doing things in the heat of the moment that he later regrets

-he has a competitive streak that can sometimes turn into unnecessary comparisons or playful jabs that might sting

-wooyoung is the king of dramatic apologies, complete with puppy eyes and endless affection. he’ll always go above and beyond to make you laugh again

jongho

you tell him about a bad day at work, and instead of comforting you, he says, “well, maybe you should handle it differently next time.” his words sting, even though he’s trying to be practical.

-jongho can be incredibly stubborn, refusing to admit when he’s wrong or refusing to budge in an argument

-he has a tendency to be overly blunt, which can come off as insensitive even if he doesn’t mean it that way

-jongho’s love language is acts of service. he might not say the words “I’m sorry” outright, but he’ll go out of his way to show you he’s sorry through thoughtful gestures and his unwavering support

taglist: @dinossaurz @soso59love-blog @tiredlittlevirgo @everythingboutkpop @engentiny @abibliolife @k-zuzu @ateezswonderland @oc3anfloor

[holylulusworld]

Bad Santa (4) - The special room

Summary: You’re an evildoer. This year, Santa is going to punish you. His evil twin brother has other plans.

Pairing: Santa!Ari Levinson x Naughty Lister!Reader x JackFrost!Steve Rogers

Warnings: naughty lister reader, painful memories, mentions of bruises, angst, mentions of neglect

A/N: For my story, Jack Frost is Santa’s twin brother.

Bad Santa Masterlist

Catch up here: Bad Santa (3) – Punishment

“Slow down!” You try to get away from Ari, the strict Santa, and back to Steve, who already misses you. While you wiggle in his iron grip, unable to free the wrist he holds in a tight grip, he stomps toward the room he was talking about. “Hey, shouldn’t you be gentler and a little nicer? You’re Santa Claus, aren’t you?”

“Naughty listers do not deserve kindness,” Ari bites back. He’s still angry at himself and his brother for the moment of weakness you caused. “How dare you seduce me, succubus!”

“If I remember right, it was your brother seducing me with his ice play and glorious cock. You joined him without hesitation. You are the bad guys in this,” you chuckle darkly. “Anyone hearing the story of how you kidnapped an innocent woman only to use her like a whore would arrest you.”

“Silence,” Ari stops in his tracks, dropping your wrist. You rub the sore skin, wincing as you can feel bruises form. “You won’t speak until you are allowed to speak!”

He glares at you, but his features soften when you rub your wrist to ease the pain. Ari sighs and closes his eyes to calm down. He failed to help you become a better person and made it his mission to turn you into an angel.

“Give me your wrist,” he holds out his hand, but you won’t trust him.

“I’m good, really,” you press your hand to your chest. Still butt-naked, you feel a little underdressed next to Ari in his costume – or are these casual clothes to him. You don’t know.

“Y/N, give me your hand.” You stare into his eyes, feeling lightheaded as he calls your name, almost chanting it like a prayer. You willingly place your hand in his large palm, feeling the warmth spread through your whole being. “There you go. A little gift from Santa because you made him feel good.”

“Am I forgiven?” You carefully try. If you can get into his good graces, he’ll bring you back to reality, back to your old life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. “Can I go home now? I promise not to bang my boss. I bet he can’t keep up with you or your brother.”

He huffs but says nothing. “Your wrist should be fine now. If you stop moping and being a bad girl, I’ll get you some food and grant you rest for five hours. Tomorrow morning, you’ll start working with the elves.”

“Working?” You echo while looking at your wrist. Ari is right. The pain is gone. How he did it, you have no clue. Maybe it’s some kind of trick. “I already have a job in the real world. Listen,” you sigh deeply. “I get that to you; my lifestyle must look bad. But I’m not hurting anyone. All my life, I had to take care of myself.”

“Go inside, and don’t come out. There should be something to wear for you, too,” Ari is not impressed. “Have a rest. You’ll need it.”

Ari unlocks the room, pushing the door open to let you in. He waits for you to enter the room before slamming the door shut behind you, locking it.

Trapped once again, you sigh. At least the room is warm and comfortable. Something is off with this place, but you can’t quite put a finger on it. The air feels wrong, just like the warmth surrounding your bare body.

“What’s this?” You look around the room, watching it change from a warm and cozy room looking like a hotel room to a colder place. It looks a little familiar, too, if you squint. “What is this?”

You shudder, feeling coldness surround you. Where a warm and cozy bed was standing not seconds ago, stands now an old bed with a lumpy mattress and dirty sheets. An old teddy bear, dirty and wetted with tears, lies on the mattress. Lost like its owner.

“No—” you choke out a sob, stepping away from the bed. “Why are you doing this? This is all your fault! I only ever wanted for Daddy to come back, but you brought me nothing but this fucking teddy bear!”

You ram your fists into the door, hammering against the wood, screaming at the top of your lungs.

“I begged you to bring him back, to make mommy love me again, and for her not to run off with strangers during Christmas! But you only brought me cookies, candy, and another toy I traded for food! If anyone is the bad guy in this story, it’s you. You suck!”

The room changes immediately. It turns back into the cozy bedroom, but the teddy bear remains on the bed. It looks brand-new, unused, and fluffy.

On the other side of the room, Steve fights with his brother. He throws icicles at his brother, ready to freeze Ari’s ass off.

“She’s not ready to face her past. This,” he points at the room, growling his brother’s name, “is cruel. You fucked this, her up. All she is today – Naughty Lister, whore, candy thief, is your damn fault.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? Back then, I was at my lowest, doubting my purpose. I lost my faith and did only the bare minimum. She needed a friend, someone helping her, but I gave her a teddy bear…”

Tags in reblog.

[come-as-you-are-111]

“Left On Read”

Warnings: nothin just angst

You don’t know when it started. The silence. The slow fade of what used to be effortless. One minute, Matt was your best friend—the person who knew you better than anyone. Late-night drives, deep talks, and inside jokes that no one else would ever understand. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

At first, you tried not to overthink it. You told yourself he was busy. That life got in the way sometimes, but he’d come back when he could. It wasn’t until the ignored texts started piling up, until the invites were met with, Sorry, can’t tonight, that you felt the first real crack in your chest.

Then came the moment that shattered everything.

It was late—past midnight, when the weight of missing him became unbearable. You sat in bed, staring at your phone, scrolling through months of old messages. Conversations that used to be filled with excitement, warmth, and care. Messages that now felt like echoes of something long dead.

You tried to ignore the lump in your throat as you typed.

Matt, if you don’t want me in your life anymore, just say it.

I don’t know what I did, but if I hurt you, I’m sorry.

Please just tell me what’s going on.

Your thumb hovered over the send button. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe you were making a big deal out of nothing. But deep down, you already knew the truth.

You sent it. The message turned blue. The seconds ticked by.

And then—

Read 1:14 AM.

Nothing.

Your stomach twisted painfully. Maybe he fell asleep before he could answer. Maybe he needed time to think. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

You turned off your phone, rolled onto your side, and let the weight of it settle over you like a heavy, suffocating fog.

The next morning, you woke up with dry eyes and a hollow chest. You checked your phone once, heart racing despite everything. But the screen was empty. No message. No explanation. No closure.

He wasn’t going to answer.

—

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. The pain didn’t leave, but it changed. It became quieter, duller, slipping into the background of your life. You stopped checking your phone so much. Stopped replaying old conversations in your head, wondering what you could have done differently.

But the reminders were everywhere. Songs that used to be your songs. Places that used to be your spots. People still asking, Hey, what happened between you and Matt?

You never had an answer.

And then, one evening, it happened.

You were halfway up the steps to your front door when something caught your eye. A single envelope, tucked into your mailbox, your name written in familiar, messy handwriting.

Your stomach dropped.

No return address. No indication of who it was from. But you didn’t need one. You knew.

Your hands trembled as you ripped it open.

I know you hate me. You have every right to.

I never meant to leave you like that. I thought I was doing the right thing.

I didn’t want to hurt you, so I left before I could. But I see now that I just hurt you worse.

I miss you. More than I can explain. But I know it’s too late.

Your breath hitched. The words blurred as your eyes stung.

I hope you’re happy. Even if it’s without me.

That was it.

No explanation. No apology that actually mattered. Just a half-hearted attempt at closure that came far too late.

You stood there on your porch for a long time, gripping the letter like it might disappear.

And then, finally, you pulled out your phone. The last message you had ever sent him still sat there, unread since that night. A message that never got a response, because he had decided you didn’t deserve one.

Your fingers hovered over the screen.

You could text him now. You could say something. Anything.

But instead, you folded the letter, walked inside, and tossed it into a drawer without another glance.

This time, you were the one leaving him on read.

A/n: Hi my lil monsters!! How we likey? Just felt like writing some angst today so hope yall liked it!

Love ya, Twilight

Sturniolo taglist:

@sturns-mermaid

[toastyyjams]

TELL US ALL OF YOUR ORV THOUGHTS MY HSY BRAINROT IS SO BAD I LOVE HER SO MUCH

TY FOR GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO RANT ABOUT ORV OMG

if any pjsk followers of mine reading this dont know orv its a series called omniscient reader's viewpoint!

i highly recommend reading the webtoon first for visualization but definitely read the novel starting from the chapter 180s (theres . like 551 chapters it took me months to finish but it took my older sibling like 3 weeks so it depends how insane u are /lh)

def recommend it if youre a huge fan of found family dynamics mweheheh and also mythology . its like a heart wrenching story disguised as a BL

gonna get into spoilers from the novel so heres ur warning !

anyway u said all my thoughts. so here we go

hsy oughhhh i love her sm shes more than just 'girlboss' i think shes more girlfailure cuz how do u manage to plagiarize ur own work smh /j

YOOHANKIM DYNAMIC MAKE ME ILL like the author cant exist without a reader . but the story also cant exist without an author . but you cant read anything if theres no author to create that story yk like THEYRE ALL TIED TOGETHER ITS AGHHH

during the previous ask i mentioned how orv handles platonic love and im still super happy how its portrayed esp kdj and ysa ... ik alot of ppl ship them romantically and/or often make them exes or such

but ive read rly good kdj x ysa platonic soulmate fics and OUGHH MY GOSHHH it made me go crazy cuz they care about e/o sooooso much

like how that one scene where kdj randomly traumadumps on her and as a defense mechanism he goes haha . just kidding XD ! but then ysa just . quietly holds his hand and shuts him up

bc ysa will never understand what hes gone thru but she can and will listen/support him when he needs it yk theres no words that need to be said shes holding his hand as kind of an anchor like 'hey ik u said u were joking but ik ur not and thats ok'

jung heewon too oughhhh when she goes "this is no salvation" I WENT BONKERSSS kdj stop hurting your companions!! u want them happy but u deserve it too!!!!!! shaking his shoulders YOURE KINDER THAN YOU THINK THE STORY YOUVE LOVED FOR YEARS AND KEPT YOU ALIVE LOVES U BACK KDJ AUGHH

i love the fact that 98% of the novel is in first pov of kdj and the fact that hes an EXTREMELY unreliable narrator . like i usually dont like first pov but orv does it well

esp when all of a sudden during the epilogue it started being third pov when kdj split into the 49% and 51% IT GAVE A RLY GOOD SENSE OF "wtf is happening . something is wrong" it rlly gives us readers the same feeling the characters have like uhmmm kdj ur ok now rigjt. right! i remember feeling so confused and uncomfortable at the sudden third pov ITS SO CLEVER

can i just also say i absolutely hate the live action . orv is meant to be consumed as a novel LIKE OF *ALL* POPULAR WEBTOONS TO ADAPT ITS THE ONE THAT WOULDNT WORK AS LIVE cashgrab ass scheme smh

i also hate and admire the fact that anyone who has finished orv is a kdj fragment . i hate how anyone who finished the entire novel kins kdj in some sort of way . like when i kin pjsk characters for example im just like haha i relate #relatable but when it comes to kdj . hes just so uncomfortably relatable for me like i need to put him under a hydraulic press

"you who reads this will survive" ITS SOOO CLEVERR its addressing kdj and YOU! the whole theme of the novel is just so . personal lowkey so when the live action got announced and some annoying ass mfs were making fun of orv fans for being upset i wanted to rip my hair out THE STORY IS FOR US kdj himself would be rolling in his grave at the disrespect for a webnovel fr

[the-edge-of-great]

I once read a oneshot about Sonic finding out that the Resistance didn't keep close contact with Tails during the War, and it was really good, but I feel Sonic wasn't as angry as he should've been. So here's my two cents written from the outsider perspective of the Rookie character.

(This might soon become a whole story, but for now, this is it)

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

After six months of the world mourning Sonic the Hedgehog, the Resistance has finally brought him home.

Not to brag, but I was the one to bust him out. Well, kind of. Other members of the team hacked into the Death Egg’s security system and freed Sonic from his chains. Then, Sonic fought the leader of the Deadly Six (not sure who they are, exactly; fingers crossed we don’t run into them) and during his escape, he found me courageously fighting a few badniks all by myself. He gave me a hand, not that I needed it. From there, I called Knuckles the Echidna, mission leader, on my wrist communicator and led Sonic to freedom.

So it was a team effort, but I was the first person in the world to see Sonic the Hedgehog alive. 

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d find inside the Death Egg. Everyone seemed convinced that Sonic was killed in battle. Even the leaders of the Resistance, supposedly his closest friends. The only person who firmly disbelieved this was a kid named Tails, but he left the HQ long before I showed up. I’ve heard bits and pieces about him, but for the most part, he’s an Off-Limits Topic. Though I know to mind my own business, I always wondered how a little kid could be so important to a cause like this.

In the next room, something slams against the table. “Stop stalling, Knuckles!” Sonic the Hedgehog hisses. “Tell me where he is.”

Knuckles sighs. “He’s probably at his workshop—”

“Probably? You don’t know?”

“I’ve been a little busy, if you hadn’t noticed,” Knuckle snaps.

“Busy.” Sonic scoffs. “That’s not an excuse.”

“We tried to make him stay, but he wanted to leave.”

“I don’t care that he isn’t here. I care that you don’t know where he is! He could be hurt, or worse.”

“Don’t think like that.”

“How can I not? I’ve been locked up for six months, the world has gone to shit, and my little brother is in the middle of it—alone!”

A chill jolts through me. Little brother?

“How long has he been gone?”

Silence.

“I’m losing my patience here, Knux,” Sonic growls.

“Four months.”

More silence. It stretches long enough for me to contemplate glancing inside, just to make sure they’re both still breathing.

Then a blue blur races past me. I don’t have a chance to move before he knocks me into the wall. Once I find my footing, I run after him.

The front door hits something hard when I push it open. Metal scrapes under my feet. Confused, I step over the mess and continue into the street. I don’t see Sonic, but he definitely came out here.

The entire street before me is littered with carnage. Badniks torn in half. Blue and red wires strung out like entrails. Smoke billowing from piles of robots who still twitch and spark, as if they’re in pain. At the center of it all, I finally spot him: the great and legendary Sonic the Hedgehog rips the power source out of a badnik’s chest and crushes it in his hand.

I can’t move. In minutes—seconds, maybe—he did what it takes a squad of Resistance soldiers to accomplish in hours.

Tossing the badnik to the ground, Sonic finally spots me. My stomach turns. I know he’s the One Who Saves the World, the Good Guy, the Hero… But right now, I wonder if it’d be safer to retreat and stay out of his way.

I’ve been locked up for six months, the world has gone to shit, and my little brother is in the middle of it—alone!

“Hey, you’re the one who rescued me from the Death Egg,” Sonic says as he approaches. His sudden calm demeanor is startling.

“Uh y-yeah, that’s me,” I stammer.

“I never thanked you for that. Knuckles said you’re new to the Resistance?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. With more people fighting back, we’ll take back our planet in no time.”

“With you here, we should be able to take him down tomorrow.” I try to laugh as I glance around at the wreckage, but it comes out shaky and awkward.

Sonic’s smile is sharp and not quite friendly. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’ll be a bit longer than that. I’ve got something to take care of, first.”

I nod. “Right. You wanna find your brother.”

Green eyes cut to me. Immediately, I regret everything. 

“Thought I felt someone listening in there,” he mutters.

“I–I wasn’t eavesdropping. I mean, I didn’t mean to—” I wince. “Sorry. I’ve just heard a lot about Tails in the last month, and I… I didn’t know he’s your brother.” 

“That seems to have slipped everyone’s minds.”

“I can help you find him, if you want.”

Sonic snorts. “Thanks, but I think it’d be better if you stay here.”

“Remember when I saved you from the Death Egg while still being new to the Resistance?”

“Remember how scared you were when you stepped outside a minute ago?”

I bristle. “I wasn’t—”

The knowing look he gives me snaps my mouth shut.

“I was just surprised.”

“Right. Surprised that the Hero could be so violent?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Sonic observes his destruction. “Gotta be honest here, I’m not ready to jump back in and save the day. Don’t get me wrong, Eggman’s reign of terror will be ending very soon. That’s a promise. But the only thing I care about right now is finding Tails. So if you’re expecting the Hero, you'll have to wait.”

I frown. Who is Sonic the Hedgehog if not the Hero?

Against my better judgement, I realize I want to find out.

“Well… I kinda wanna meet this infamous Tails.”

He smirks. “He’s definitely worth the trip.”

“Then, what are we waiting for? Any idea where he might be?”

Sonic eyes me. Then his smirk softs into a smile, and he leads the way to Tails’s workshop. I fall into step beside him, trying to ignore the scrape of metal at our feet.

[baestruly]

heyyy!! i love your works!! i was wondering if you could maybe do a single dad!jj maybank x single mom! reader? maybe jj is in the store with his daughter/son and suddenly they throw a tantrum because they can’t afford a toy or something.. and jj is getting frustrated and trying to make them quiet down.. and reader is like “it’s okay” and giving him advice and stuff. and she and jj is like so thankful and then they go on a date and her daughter/son, and his daughter/son have like a play date and they’re js so happy. idk if this makes sense😭😭 i’m sorry

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 )  jj maybank x fem!singlemomreader

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ IN WHICH you and jj are out to get a gift for each of your sons when you cross paths

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - fluff

a/n - this was lowk requested a while ago so i'm sorry for how late this is </3

You pushed open the door, having to let go of your little one's clammy hands. You never complained, though, because he would never let you go, and you had no problem with it.

Theo was your son, and yes ━━ you’re young, blah, blah, blah, that’s what everyone says! You’re so sick of hearing the same things every day, especially the weird looks of people. Why were they so quick to judge? For all they knew he could be your little brother!

But he wasn’t and you never regretted having him for a second. Okay ━━ you regret ever getting with your now ex-boyfriend, but you’ve always tried to look for the good in situations. If you’d never met him you wouldn’t have had Theo.

Theo was a ball of joy. He loved the outdoors, especially playing near the water. The small boy would build castles with sand and collect rocks to decorate them with. Sometimes, if he found prettier ones, he would bring them back to the house and add them to the collection on his shelf. He just loved anything that had to do with nature, and it made you smile. He was growing up to be like you.

Today was his fifth birthday and to celebrate, you decided to treat him to a visit to the closest toy store not far from the beach. He had plenty of toys at home, but Theo was always grateful for anything you offered him, like new toys, books, or foods he’d never seen. He was always curious to try and learn something new.

The doorbell rang as you entered the colourful room, the walls painted with rainbow and different safari animals. Theo was already in awe as his eyes excitedly scanned the tall walls. It was funny that was the first thing he’d noticed, but of course, his eyes shifted to the Lego on the back wall and he immediately sprinted to it. 

Of course, only resulting in him knocking over another kid in the process. 

Oh no. Please don’t start crying━━

People have assumed you were the mean snobby type based on not only how you dressed, but what you were classified as━━a kook.

Not all kooks were snobby. So, you quickly ran up to Theo and helped him up before turning to the boy he’d knocked over, he hadn’t hit his head, but you could tell he wanted to cry and was trying his best not to.

“Oh my gosh━━I am so so━━”

Suddenly, a guy about the same age as you━━maybe his older brother? ━━ came into view above where you were crouched on the ground to talk to the little boy. He looked worried and confused about what just happened.

Immediately, you tore your eyes away to help the boy up, meeting his small blue eyes. “You okay, buddy? I’m so sorry━━Theo, say you’re sorry.”

Theo sheepishly looked up as he’d been staring at the ground, ashamed. “Sorry.” He drawled, playing with his fingers. 

You were glad no one got hurt and then you remembered the other guy standing right beside you. 

“Hey━━I’m so sorry for all of this, I'm glad he’s okay, sorry for the trouble—”

“Relax, relax. It’s fine, right bud!” He poked the boy in the arm, making him giggle and squeak with laughter. Then, he eyes Theo. “Just a slip-up, no need to feel bad.”

You smiled, grateful that he wasn’t that type of person and just nodded before following Theo to the legos.

After about three minutes, Theo picked out the Lego trucks as his birthday gift. Guiding him to the check-out, you noticed the boy from before stomping his feet angrily and the other crouched down trying to hold him still. He looked frustrated and it was obvious he was trying to keep that emotion at bay for the sake of everyone in the store.

But a little boy wouldn’t get that, so he just continued yelling━━something along the lines of “You promised!” And “you said that last time!.”

Scrunching your brows, you went in line behind them, hesitant because you didn’t want them to feel pressured, but that only made the boy scream louder after eyeing the toy you held for Theo.

The guy firmly placed his hands on the little boy's shoulders. “Here, listen, when I finish working for the Cameron’s boat next week, I can get you two toys instead of just one, how does that sound?” He whispered with a tough smile, trying to reason with him. 

The boy had stopped his meltdown, but his anger quickly turned to disappointment with the news as his shoulders sagged once the guy took his hands off them. “Okay.” 

You watched with sorrow as the guy stood up, ready to leave. But before you knew what you were doing, your hand grasped his arm.

Okay━━maybe that was bad on your part━━y’know, touching a stranger and all, but they were in a hurry, and you wanted to do something good for someone, which could also make up for the little mishap that happened earlier. 

“Hey! Uh━━not that I was eavesdropping or anything, but━━um, it’s okay, y’know? I can get it, it’s no big deal.” You offered with a welcoming and reassuring smile. 

The guy's face turned confused with the offer like it was the weirdest thing he’s heard in a while. Maybe it was, especially coming from a kook, to which all pogues viewed as rich stubborn brats. But that wasn’t the case with you and nor did you want Theo to be brought up like that either.

Then he shook the confusion away, face turning cold. It wasn’t some kind of setup, but he’d seemed to be going against you. “No━━I can’t accept that, thanks for the offer.”

Your voice turned into a whisper. “No, really, it’s okay.” You smiled. “Do something nice for him and forget about this, okay? I don’t know you guys, but you deserve it.”

The guy seemed hesitant as he nodded, still weary and unsure. But he looked down at the small boy standing at his side, completely unaware of the conversation between the two of you, and he stood taller. 

You nodded back, going ahead to pay for Theo’s legos and an art set you guessed the other picked. The cashier seemed to notice the good deed and gave you a smile before handing you back two gifts after you paid. 

Outside the toy store sat the two boys while you held the art kit in your hand. 

“Hey! it seemed to be a glitch in the system, I think the person ahead said this was for you?” You looked at the boy, and his eyes immediately lit up. 

“You did get it?! Wow━━thanks so much, Dad.” He yelled, bubbling with excitement as he jumped in his━━you guessed━━dad's arms.

Dad.

The words that flew out of the boy's mouth made the guy look sheepish. You knew that look all too well, the same kind where you felt you were being judged with every move. Little did he know, you were free of any judgment here!

“Hey━━uh, thanks so much, I really appreciate it.” He said gratefully, a smile on his face as he looked at the little boy and Theo, who were showing off their new toys to each other. 

“It’s no big deal.” You said back, but you could tell what he was thinking━━you were a kook pitying a pogue, but that’s not what it was like at all. You’d been at his position once before and everyone deserves to live happily, whether it was just a nice gesture or a little help with problems at home. “Really. This is my little one too.” 

You smiled at Theo, now immersed in some sort of giggle fit between the two boys. 

“He looks a lot like you, he’s a really sweet boy.” 

You smiled, “thanks.” Your heart warms at his comment. He was smiling too, but not at the two boys below, but at you. As you look up and his eyes meet yours, he awkwardly smiles again with a nod, going to grab his son's hand. 

“Time to get going, buddy.” He says to him cheerfully. “It was nice to meet you guys.” 

“Wait!” 

His head snapped back, stopping in his tracks as his son turned too. 

“I never really got your name, did I?”

━━━━━━━━

The date was set. After more talking between the two of you ━━ JJ, asked if you wanted to grab dinner later that day, of course, you said yes. 

You weren’t sure where you were going to go, but in the outer banks, there were lots of nice outdoor places near the water, complete with good music and mellow lights. You couldn’t hide the excitement on your face.  

“Mommy ━━ why you so happy?” Theo questions, head turning to the side momentarily before he continues driving his red toy car up the side of the wall. 

You smiled. “Remember the nice man at the toy store?” 

“Oh, ya! Can I pretty please have a playdate with the other boy?” Theo pleaded, abandoning his truck and running up to you, wrapping his arms around your legs. 

You laugh, playfully prying him off of you. “Don’t dirty my new jeans you rascal!” 

As you begin running after him, Theo’s giggles all around the room as he screams before the doorbell rings suddenly.

Did he come all this way? You could’ve met up with him, so he didn’t have to go to the kook side. Apparently, he had some enemies ━━ if that’s what you would call it. 

You open the door, heart pumping fast. You’re met with a mop of blonde hair and a charming smile. “Hey.” 

“Hello!” His son. 

“Wowo, Mommy he did come back!” Theo screamed excitedly, not because he was talking about JJ, but because his new friend was there too. 

JJ smiled sheepishly, “he couldn’t stop talking about Theo. I figured we all could see each other.” 

You laughed, looking at the two boys as Theo ran inside to show JJ’s son his red toy car. 

“I know a great recipe for chicken alfredo?” You question, unsure of the new situation. 

JJ claps his hands, head swinging. “It’s a date.” 

━━━━━━━━━━

masterlist              jj masterlist

[neithriddle]

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?" “Aegon’s fiancée.” “Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?” “Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

I mean, I get Sunflower. How can you not be not into a person as Aegon????🤨🤨🤨

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

I'm crying he knows her so well that he already knew that she didn't cancel it, I love him, I want him as a husband!!! 🥹🥹🥹

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

I gotta admit it, I laughed here, both of them so chaotic together I loveeeeeeeee it (let's underline that he was almost flashed by Sunflower's chest!!!!)

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

I'M CRYIIIIINGGGGGG. What have they done to him to be like this, i want unwrap him and then put him in a blanket burrito to hug him.🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

I would have done the same, i'm honest.🫣

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

I don't know, she's not telling me the truth and Aegon doesn't seem very happy to me😔😔. I don't like Becca much i hope it's only temporarily because she doesn't seem bad but neither good, i want to know more about her🫠 (especially when she and Aegon will break up!!!! Wait- what if Aegon abandons Becca at the altar for Sunflower?????? 😱😱😱)

A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,” Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone now. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

[cursed-elo-images]

Hi so I’m actually feeling a lot better! I feel more in control of my emotions and I feel more calm and happy. Something came up a few days ago that I had to attend to and trust me, it was a very sad, yet necessary experience for me. It still makes me sad from time to time but not like how it originally did. I’m just growing accustomed to it, I’m still trying to make sense of it, and I’m…handling it better.

I know…this isn’t an ELO related post so it might be strange to post this on this blog… but… ah—I just felt the need to say this so that everyone knows I’m doing okay.

[theood]

I went to no one's mad at you island and all your friends were there and they told me they all love you and could never hate you and they don't mind that sometimes your emotional responses are bigger than the actual problem and they asked where you were. They miss the shape of you in the group and how your laugh and smile and the way you speak weaves the group together. They wanna see you again soon and hope you call.

[sluckythewizard]

BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

[etansel]

Hey, you know how you say in that first paragraph how you don’t condone any violent actions yet then go on and attempt to literally discredit survivors in the name of the “truth”? That’s not how this works. You can’t just write up something like this and then try to set some kind of disclaimer at the top that says how these people are very bad, no good men, in an attempt to shield yourself from any negative backlash. Like, you’re saying they’re bad and vile but then saying the survivors are lying. So which is it? What makes them bad and vile if every accusation is apparently false? You contradict yourself throughout your whole post dude.

Honestly, this whole post reeks of parasocial behavior. The number one thing I implore, need, this community to understand is that the public only sees and knows what is shared with them. You probably see 5-10% of a creator’s life and your brain fills in the rest. You do not know these creators personally, stop jumping to their “rescue”. Stop putting them on a pedestal. The public is not owed anything. Fans are not owed anything. You are not entitled to anything. There are so many reasons why a survivor may speak out or why they may choose to not speak out. Same thing goes with timing, how many details they decide to share, if they stay anonymous or not, etc. You’re not entitled to anything. You are not owed additional details. This isn’t a late night television show you’re watching for entertainment. These are real people who were harmed and you’re only hurting them more.

You go on to say that the creators have been subjected to disgusting treatment from fans over the years? Consider your post lumped in. You are only doing harm to this community, to the people involved, with this post because the only people you appear to be trying to appeal to is Jeff and Adam. So, here’s a big piece of advice to take home: neither Jeff or Adam give a fuck about you. 

In fact, let me clear something up, real nice and easy: Jeff did what he did. Adam did what he did. End of story. Period.

How fucking dare you say Heather’s situation is dubious. How fucking dare you. This is the most vile fucking thing I’ve ever read. To even suggest she’s lying because there aren’t more pictures of her and her abuser together online? Do you even hear yourself??? “If this girl were a real victim…” Fuck you. No one in the EMH crew has discounted Heather or called her a liar either. Stop spreading this schlock. I have no idea where this rumor is fucking coming from. Heather is a friend. No one supports Adam. 

I read your post multiple times but I just do not see what the point here is. What is your end goal? It’s certainly not the truth as you’re trying to claim. Neither Jeff or Adam are scapegoats for anything, neither is being accused of “all mortal sins”. They’re being accused of abuse because they abused people. There isn’t anything to reconsider. Saying that the community should apply critical thinking before lobbying accusations is such a double standard. You’re literally doing the same thing, except baseless in your case. There is no critical thinking in this post. There is no thought period in this post. This whole hit piece is just calling everyone a liar. You have mountains of evidence and you’re still sitting here cherry picking things and contradicting your own opinions. 

You go from calling Heather a liar because she didn’t share any personal photos to “prove she knows Adam” and then you literally turn around in the next paragraph to discount another survivor because “pictures cannot be considered proof of a sexual relationship”. And then in Eve’s paragraph you say “Her story is more believable, if her screenshots aren’t fake.” Right. Gotcha. So what you’re saying is, Adam did nothing wrong. You’re literally saying there isn’t any evidence because: ‘If you were there: You actually weren’t. If you took pictures: You didn’t take the right kind. If you took screenshots: You faked it.’ This is a wild take.

There is no amount of evidence, nothing, that will satisfy you because you are an Adam Rosner apologist. You are literally excusing his behavior by saying none of it happened. You then shame the survivors and try to attack their character. A minor is still a minor. There is a power imbalance. Abuse happened. This is simplified into “Well what was she wearing?” which literally is just victim blaming rhetoric that shifts the blame onto the victim.

You’re not doing the “work” you think you’re doing and your opinion means jack shit in all of this. This isn’t the gotcha moment you think it is. Your “investigation” is nothing but looking over everything publicly available and the personal accounts of those who have come forward and saying these people are all lying lol. All you’re attempting to do is find some relevancy and interject your opinion where it isn’t welcome. You say how bad cancel culture is because it spreads misinformation yet you’re assisting in that misinformation by doing this.

That said, let me take you on another journey that your peanut brain probably didn’t consider. Not only do insensitive, empathy lacking posts like this do great harm to the survivors by causing them to re-experience their abuse, forcing them to have to defend themselves against frivolous accusations that discount their very existence, etc. But you’re also hurting these creators that you seemingly love so fucking much to the point where you’re willing to absolve them of all guilt without ever even speaking to them. When you get up here and bear your soul, try to be on their side, and do all these gymnastics in an attempt to spin the story so that your favorite creator (or really, your favorite character) didn’t do the bad thing(s) they did all so that you can continue to enjoy them: What you’re actually doing is hurting them. You’re enabling them. They need continuous help and they need to be offline. They cannot heal or do better in this space or any similar spaces. They need to be appropriately held accountable for their actions. Posts like this only assist in undoing any work they are actively doing on themselves. Wish them well in the appropriate way: hold them accountable. They did what they did. They admitted they did what they did. Stop it.

You risk the chance of relapsing them by trying to welcome them back into this space. You (this fandom and the spotlight) are exactly their drug of choice. Stop putting them back in the spotlight. All this does is further hurt the community, harms the survivors, and also perpetuates the harm that these people (that yall can't seem to stop worshiping) do. It also ensures they will never take accountability. They will never do better.

You also hurt those that were close to these people. They were our friends, our family. And to see them hurt other people, to hurt our other friends. This whole fucking thing sucks. Hard choices were made to hold them accountable both on and offline. But remember, all you see and know is what those involved want you to. Everything is offline because you are simply NOT ENTITLED to any of it. It's not some grand conspiracy that’s going on that needs to be uncovered. You just aren't invited or welcome. You are not significant. So, please take your own advice, apply some critical thinking before you open your mouth (or post a really long message about things you have no connection to outside of a parasocial one). 

Log offline. 

Touch grass.

We have seen the harm that comes from false accusations in this community before but this isn't it champ.

I want to make an appeal to the entire Slenderverse fandom. The fandom is sick and you are ready for this conversation. The fandom is sick not only because of the actors, but also because of the fans. Important note: I do NOT condone any violent actions on anyone's part, I just want to know the TRUTH and do not support either the madness of the fans or the inadequacy on the part of some actors. Also in this post, I will cover not only the situations with the actors of EMH and the Marble Hornets, but also the specific situations with Jeff Koval and Adam Rosner. We all remember how Brian was sexualized and threatened, how Tim was bullied, and how Evan was harassed and threatened. And this is just the tip of the iceberg, because in fact, many actors have been subjected to varying degrees of disgusting treatment from fans. Threats against the actors, death wishes not only for the actors, but also for their loved ones, insane harassment. And even if the fan frenzy has subsided at the moment, it's still there.

If we talk about the actors themselves, then when it comes to Jeff Koval, one logical question arises in my head: "why did they hush up what happened?"Jeff was an abuser and a manipulator and, of course, he is a vile person. The way Jeff treated his girlfriend and Evan is truly disgusting. And indeed, it seems to me very hypocritical and twofold how Adam was canceled, but Jeff was considered "not the same thing," and here's why: I conducted my own little investigation into Adam's situation and also looked at all the evidence here and I haven't found any convincing evidence that that he's a rapist, even though he's a really NASTY person. And before you start writing about how I justify him, let me explain my position: for me, Adam Rosner is an unpleasant, vile person with whom I would never want to have any personal contact, he certainly did and said a lot of disgusting things, but there is no evidence specifically that he's a rapist, and I'll explain why.

Now let's talk about my own little investigation into all the accusations that have been leveled against Adam Rosner. Personally, I consider him to be a vile person, but my goal is to find out the truth, not pin all mortal sins on him. So, let's see what I found out.:

Let's start with zoophilia. From what I saw, the "screenshots" come from only one person, there is no one else who could confirm them and say: "Yes, it really happened, I saw these messages from Adam not in screenshots.", or: "Yes, Adam personally told me about it." (with the real evidence base behind these statements). Usually, in such shocking situations, screenshots are taken not by one person, but by several. Also, the "screenshots" themselves don't look reliable, they look very strange. Regarding this, I share the same opinion as Ford Muybridge. If there is a real evidence base behind these screenshots and Adam Rosner mentioned somewhere else about his predilections for animals, then notify me about it, I will study the information and if it is reliable, I will edit and include it in the post.

The situation with Heather also looks extremely dubious. At least because based on how specifically the situations are described, the identity of this person will be quite understandable to those present at that party, as well as to Adam himself. And considering that literally the entire Internet is now on the side of Adam's victims, if this girl were a real victim, she would have no reason to maintain her own anonymity in wider circles either. There's nothing to be afraid of when you have so many people behind you, when you WILL DEFINITELY be supported, considering that other actors have turned their backs on Adam. I don't want to say that I don't believe the victims, I want to say that I consider it unwise to accuse without presenting evidence, at least because anyone who has at least some material or psychological benefit from this can say: "This man abused me." Please, kindly, if you are accusing someone of something, then show proof. Heather didn't attach anything to the post, even something trivial that would make it clear that she really knew Adam. And it's not necessary to reveal your identity to the readers of this post, it would be enough just to show some photos with Adam that are not publicly available. I can't believe that over the years of friendship, there can't be some personal photos or at least something that could confirm her personal acquaintance with Rosner. According to one of the commentators, under the full list of charges the actors from EMH have officially refuted Heather's words, but I personally have not yet verified this information and cannot say that this is true, however, I felt it necessary to indicate this here, as the commentators, who will also be like me, are not lazy to understand this, they may try to find more accurate information on this subject, and I will include it in the post if it is reliable.

About the situation with some screenshots and Adam's statements. His vile fetish for "little sisters" turned out to be really true, he confirmed this in his apology post, posted either in 2016 or in 2017 (I saw both dates and I do not know which one is correct). As well as some disgusting statements about some people. Well, to add to that, what's disgusting is disgusting, and I won't deny it. The only thing I would like to point out is that his apologies really look vague, without any evidence or specifics.

Regarding the situation with Ress. A shared selfie cannot be considered proof of a sexual relationship. But as for the screenshots, there are really big questions for Adam, however, there is still no direct mention of sexual contact, so I would like to see and know more, it's hard for me to draw unambiguous conclusions from hints and fragments, but I do not deny the possibility that Ress may be telling the truth, her words still sound more believable than Heather's words.

About Eve. Her story is more believable than other stories, given that the number of screenshots and photos is much greater than other people's. If the screenshots are not fake, then it turns out that Rosner was really in love with an underage teenager as an adult, which is certainly disgusting. But one thing is bothering me - why was Eva unhappy about being ignored with Adam Rosner's disregard? After all, if you think about it that way, then realizing his feelings, he tried to distance himself from her quite reasonably.

The situation regarding his phone call is ambiguous. In my opinion, two people are responsible for sexual intercourse. If a girl took birth control pills and knew exactly when to take them, as well as how much they work, then I have questions for her, because the pills she takes are her area of responsibility. Adam's area of responsibility is to inquire about the duration of the pills and read the instructions for them. In my opinion, they both behaved irresponsibly. In addition, she claimed that everything was fine when he was interested in both her condition and her financial situation (the situation in which she gave him the money). Agree, when a person constantly assures that everything is fine, but in fact it is not, then this is already his area of responsibility, since people around him cannot read minds. I am shocked that I have to explain such elementary things, given that the girl, as I understood from the phone call, had also inadvertently become pregnant before (starting at 08:20 in the recording of the phone call, the girl says that she had already become pregnant unplanned before not from Adam, correct me, if I was mistaken, English is not my native language). Given her previous unplanned pregnancy, wasn't it her area of responsibility not to have sex, realizing that her morning pill wasn't effective for the entire day? As for Adam's excuses, I don't like the way he tries to shift his part of the responsibility to the fact that he was young, as well as his phrase that he always regrets being in debt more than anything else in life, is really strange. My opinion is that they both behave like irresponsible and very impulsive people. I don't like Adam himself or the girl. My personal conclusion about the situation with Adam Rosner in general: of course, he is a disgusting and vile person and there is a high probability that he could REALLY be in love with an underage teenager, as well as have consensual sexual contact with a minor. However, it is just as likely that he is NOT a rapist or a zoophile. I think it is extremely wrong to pin all the sins of humanity on a person, let him be responsible for what he really did. And yes, this does NOT negate the fact that I find it disgusting that he fell in love with an underage girl, being an adult, it makes me sick, BUT he is not a monster, not a rapist, not a murderer.

Returning to Jeff Koval, I want to talk about the fact that the main claim against his manipulativeness and abuse is very similar to the claim against Adam, given that there is no real evidence that Adam Rosner committed violence (which does not negate his other vile actions, but we are now talking specifically about violence). And Jeff didn't do any better than Adam, not at all.

I am not calling for any cancellation or harassment of any of the actors or fans. I consider the "cancellation culture" to be a very ambiguous and in many ways destructive phenomenon, it's like how people stone a person, making him a scapegoat. The "cancellation culture" is disastrous due to the fact that it is lynching, and lynching is not always correct, it can spread a lot of false information. I don't want to say that the victims are "guilty" of anything, but seriously, do I have to explain why lynching is a bad thing? If we talk about people who turn out to be victims, then proving your words is important. Of course, one should not immediately blame someone who claims to be a victim, but I believe that the presumption of innocence SHOULD also be taken into account. Without proof, the world just turns into chaos. Indirect evidence may also not always be something that would really prove a person's guilt. The world is not black and white, please do not forget this and check the information PERSONALLY, use your critical thinking.

I would also like to discuss separately the topic of T12 cancellation in general. It seems very unwise to deny the importance of this project to the entire Slenderverse fandom. Of the main complaints about the plot from people who devalue T12's contribution to the fandom, only a couple of complaints turned out to be significant. Most people talk about things that are described and explained in Milo's journal. Correct me in the comments if this is not the case, but Milo's journal was written personally by Adam Rosner, therefore, this is canonical information. And I'm pretty sure that if this whole situation with Adam hadn't happened, the information from Milo's journal would have been included directly in the videos themselves. Read the journal and you will find that many plot holes are closed just by describing the events from there. Adam Rosner is a good screenwriter and creator, but a bad person. I also don't want to devalue his contribution to the Slenderverse fandom, although as a person and person he disgusts me.

I think I'll draw a general conclusion from all this and summarize it. I think that people in the Slenderverse fandom should reconsider their attitude to everything that is happening. Many actors no longer want to have anything to do with Slenderverse and Creepypasta, because fans have an extremely inappropriate tendency to treat actors as radically as possible, and there is definitely a problem with sexualization, bullying from series in the fandom, etc. It is inappropriate to wish someone dead, to find out where a stranger lives and threaten him. And yes, understand that lynching is not a good thing, and I'm surprised that I need to explain exactly why this is a bad thing. Check the information, ask for evidence, and stop trying to find scapegoats. Adam Rosner and Jeff Koval are really nasty and unpleasant personalities, but before accusing someone of all mortal sins, it's worth figuring out what's true and what's not. I would like the Slenderverse fandom to become better and less radical, as well as for people to engage in critical thinking before throwing serious accusations at anyone.

[thedandelionresistance]

Repeat after me: something being unhealthy or otherwise causing the person doing it distress does not make it morally wrong.

(This is part of healthism.)

[king-spite]

.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

"normal" meaning "unquestionable" & the embrace of that cropping up anywhere such as an aim to be on the unquestionable side of a Normal / Weird binary, thus surely being a comfortable effortless indelible version of Good that stems from "just be normal"

ppl out here like freud 2.0 where well they had the sufficiently normal Nuclear Household family(tm) experience so they're sufficiently normal for it, versus the weirdos who had the Questionable family times so as to end up with Issues, surely unlike all those who are Family Issue free, i.e. normal, no question. like how also Going To School is Normal, so of course there's that idea that anyone who didn't go to school normal style or did but Did That Wrong are the people made Weirder with Issues. & when what's Normal is what's Good is what's Unquestionable it's like why would i need to question it when it's so normal? why wouldn't some rando asshole nepo man be Meritous & Good at business when he's so Successful at it. speaks for itself, same as Your role of being treated entirely differently does, this can't be questioned, blame it on your own failures; again how the supposedly "questionable" experiences (unlike other ones, which need no Legitimate questioning) are pathologized like. people talking about disabled ppl's lacking "social skills" being this meaningful Driver of ableism just like poor people's lacking "financial literacy" being that darn cause of classism & resource extraction, the already Questioned vulnerable [you're just doing it wrong / failing] people are the cause of their own mistreatment, Normal people who are so socially & financially successful are helpless, this victim blaming (can't question it. Normal) sure totally doesn't speak to abuse being "normal" as well

which, good thing abuse totally isn't Normal i.e. in the territory of unquestionable things (with, obviously, the idea that Abuse (Real abuse, if you like) must be Exceptional in addition to, if not to Really be, "obviously" questionable) since if something can't be questioned then surely it's also How Things Were In The Beginning, Are Now, & Ever Shall Be (catholic prayer paraphasing re: god, for referential context) & there's just nothing to do but invest in & play into it For Success & resent / punish / try to eliminate disruption, like people just existing but doing it Weird, c'mon, be a better person please, obviously....meanwhile people out here approaching queerness in a way that accepts & acts according to the unquestionable normal of abuse of queerness, such that oh the "abnormality" of being queer (that is, "normal" people's abuse in the face of awareness of queerness) is unquestionable, such that Oh No, investment in that abuse now & forever world without end amen, & now punching down on the people who are just Being Weird & Disrupting this embrace of the norm: radfems invested in "all bodies will be classed as men & women & the former abuse the latter" & hate women who already disrupt this premise; pointing out ace exclusionism as terf logic just applied in the different context where queer vs nonqueer binary is neatly detected just as the gender binary is & people who already prove that & the way it's defined is not the case are the real problems, infiltrating Unquestionable (Normal) Queerness & delegitimizing it i.e. being The Cause of e.g. homophobic abuse, which will also unquestionably exist, so if we're gonna blame someone as Needing To Change it'll have to be uhhh already also affected Weird people who are ruining things, they're the Real causes of this abuse, so they're basically men, basically cis, basically straight. boooo to trans ace bi pan aro nonbinary gnc people....hardest to be binary gender "same sex" "romantic" "visible" Truly Queer couple currently holding hands in public or in front of family, & it's You Mfs who make it harder, not, yknow, the people who were already always embracing & perpetuating the abuse bolstering Normal(tm) Cishet Just Being Normal. and of course don't forget going after poly people & others disrupting / not accepting premises about Unquestionable Relationship Structures/Requirements. so not just being normal

also the beloved concept broken out that, of course, Being Normal = Being Good, b/c hello, unquestionable?? where it's like meaningless ideas that abuse is Abnormal like ":( hurt people hurt people" (inherently a framing to counter any response to [person is hurting me] that's not silent secret sympathy forever i guess. nobody's using this catchphrase to argue for Hey Quick let's all intervene to stop someone being hurt, lest they go on to hurt anyone themselves) like & yet everyone is hurt, yet not everyone is doing shit where these arguments are broken out after they're already getting away with nonsense & we're telling others to just stop complaining, while also not everyone isn't getting shit on for being "disruptive" & perchance the real hurtful problems for trying to Stop being shitted on, or just have a little more breathing room to day to day live while it happens. everyone's hurt bitch let's get you some "what's the actual patterns & context of supported power imbalance made emergently evident by whose choices & life are constrained & undermined & made smaller" like. or the expanded idea as that well all abuse comes from Being abused, i.e. the Cycle, never mind that abuse is everywhere as per its being Normal, & nobody's intervening every time it manifests despite its supposed exceptionality thus rareness & supposed indication that someone's Being abused to cause it. just gotta roll with it, wow. & pathologize being victim to it, abuser in the making, Vulnerable People are dangerous, those insulated & given more access to systemically backed power in an oh so Normal way are surely oh so Safe as well. the very rich families are all lovely havens. the abused people are treated so well & embraced & supported by all the more Normal people they encounter, certainly not Also isolated, bullied, victim blamed by these Normal friends family coworkers new partners randos in public randos who are "professionals"

but yknow uh literally just be normal lol. aaand post. and like "lol being Anti Being Normal? just like a weirdo" like yeah of course. and what, i'm gonna try to win the heart & mind of someone like "of course you have blue hair & pronouns" & convert them, as would definitely happen if only all transgenderists were Normal about it? and the perspective of "what Unquestionable Good is ever actually coming from striving to get to point at Others as Weird" involves going like "nooo i wanna see myself & be seen as Just Being Normal" instead of like having ideas / arguments about how to be considerate towards people which can be articulated in any other way & involve effort & said consideration (ft. anything able to be questioned)