#i will shut up now and turn my disappointment into actual productivity

[graysistance]

this is such a weird feeling.

no, dlf didn’t spit in my face. no, this wasn’t an utter shock. but after reaching a peaceful and EXTREMELY satisfying conclusion on how to continue rey’s story myself in a way i thought made sense in not just my main verse but also other aus...

to see star wars appear to initially give rey the same story as luke but in a way i’m sure is supposed to be “done right” is disappointing. i am feeling grief, yeah. i’m crestfallen. a good bit selfishly depressed. this isn’t what i wanted to see. 

and beyond the whiny “wah wah wah me me me meeeeeee”, rey deserves something unto herself. something to make her unique among all the jedi and sith and neither that came before her. she was the new cornerstone the force would be built upon, making her own way in the galaxy with others free to agree with her, disagree with her, and join in her way of treating the force. a Way that would be infinitely harder, requiring a balance more hefty than the jedi practiced, but would bring a soul and the force together, creating unity, peace, and justice. not pulling families apart. not leaving others behind, nor left alone, nor practically clueless as to how to use their newfound power. it would restrict only evil while encouraging stability, community, and love in spades. 

this is how the whole blog came to be, anyway. this electrifying character shit on for innumerable nonsensical reasons had such potential that we got true and amazing winks of in the force awakens and the last jedi. i’m even working with the palpatine lineage to create some amazing stories that make sense and FEEL RIGHT. feel like they make sense. rey deserves that much, be she rey nobody, rey palpatine, or rey skywalker. i’ve encountered enough derision for her online and in real life, writing her off as OP and a mary sue and a nothing burger for her to get any treatment but the best from here on out. 

but with the tros lineage going into this new time jump reysky film, here’s the problem:

she and luke are doing the same thing on the surface. skywalker son of darth vader commits to light and starts a school after killing darth sidious and finalizing the death of his father. “skywalker” granddaughter of darth sidious commits to light and starts a school after killing darth sidious. i wish there was infinitely more nuance here, but there isn’t a lot thus far. the new republic and its fall now has ten times more nuance than this parallel line they’re creating. this won’t be like eu/legends where the last known skywalkers and solos are treading a different path and setting the galaxy on a new trajectory. we’ll have to wait until more details come out about how long she’s had the school, what inspired her to start it, WHERE she started it (very important), how she’s teaching (the old jedi code from her books? her own code after seeing the failures of both jedi and sith? taking children or keeping families together? something entirely new that no one has tried before but she has the guts to?), and how long did she wait to start it after tros to see what’s up. 

there’s so much to wait on that i’m actively avoiding hope. i got greeted with this news on so many sides this morning and can’t pull myself into feeling anything except depressed about it. dlf didn’t slap me in the face, but it feels like it. just this little bit of news was enough to smack down the hopes i had for post-tros sequel content that were apparently too specific to happen. in other timelines, i’m hitting all the beats, but not here. and where’s finn? what’s he doing? he should have been the last jedi while rey gets to strike out on her own and they encourage each other the entire time. where’s jannah? where’s rose? what’s rose doing? where’s poe and kes? are they back at the farm? there’s just too many questions and too many gaps. 

well, i guess happy hardline canon-divergency day to my blog! and welcome back, daisy. please have your girl’s best interest at heart  💛

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 4

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation, attempted rape, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglamela, @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 , @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @mysssticc @babygirl-panda19 @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1

AN: Bit of a late upload for you night owls and a nice surprise for my early risers! Someone tell me to stop making the chapters longer, thank you LOL. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy! This is on AO3 as usual! :D

"So… uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert. "Dog? What dog?" he said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question. "You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

Read Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.5

Xavier drummed his fingers rhythmically on the glass counter, each tap growing more impatient as the seconds stretched on. His eyes darted around the cluttered store, scanning the shelves filled with everything from worn-out sneakers to high-end dress shoes. The store clerk had disappeared into the back room several minutes ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Xavier wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to find here.

He had strolled in with nothing more than a photo of a shoe print—a faint clue at best—but it felt more productive than sitting idly by, doing nothing while the answers to your disappearance slipped further out of reach. At least this was action, however uncertain.

Was this even a tangible way to find you? Was he grasping at straws, wasting precious time on a hopeless lead?

And the most haunting question of all—were you even still alive?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing them tightly enough could block out the flood of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind go there, not now. Pushing the fear and uncertainty away, he tried to focus on the faint glimmer of hope that had brought him here in the first place. Anything was better than surrendering to despair.

"This is all I could find on it. It's certainly a unique pair," the shop clerk continued, offering a slight smile. "I'm not as technologically advanced as most shops around here, so sorry to disappoint. But, may I ask—why come to my little shop instead of one of those fancy places downtown?"

Xavier took the pamphlet, glancing over the information quickly before shifting his gaze back to the clerk. "Well," he began, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I heard you were the kind of guy who could identify a pair of shoes just by its print."

The clerk chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing with the effort. "You've been a great help, actually," Xavier added, sliding the pamphlet into his jacket pocket with a nod of appreciation.

The clerk gave an approving nod, the lines of his face softening in quiet satisfaction before he turned his back again, settling into the familiar rhythm of his work. Xavier headed toward the door, the faint creak of floorboards beneath his boots echoing through the small, dimly lit shop. His hand hovered over the door handle, but just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, a nagging thought rooted him in place. He paused, heart pounding slightly as the question formed in his mind.

He turned back, the weight of uncertainty pulling at his voice. "Say... you wouldn’t happen to know where this shoe was originally made, would you?"

The clerk stopped, mid-motion, his hands faltering over a pile of worn soles. The question seemed to hang in the air, drawing out a moment of silence as the man stared down, his brow furrowing. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it in some time. Xavier felt a flicker of hope, unsure if it would lead him anywhere, but desperately clinging to the possibility.

The clerk finally turned, his face thoughtful, his voice quieter now. "Yeah..." he said slowly, as if pulling the memory from a fog. "Last I saw of that shoe, it came from a company based in the... er, N1—no, wait..." His brow furrowed deeper as he worked to piece it together. "N109 Zone. Yeah, that’s the one."

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight Xavier couldn’t ignore. The clerk’s tone wasn’t just casual recollection—it was tinged with something more, like the memory of that particular shoe stirred something deeper. Xavier felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten.

Xavier felt his breath catch in his throat. N109 Zone. The name alone sent a chill down his spine. He had heard plenty about that place—mostly rumors, but enough to know that it was a dangerous, lawless sector. Few dared to go there unless they had no other choice, and even fewer came back with stories worth telling. It was a no-man’s-land, a forgotten corner of land where control was lost long ago. The kind of place where people disappeared without a trace.

His mind raced, piecing it together. If the shoe had come from there... Did that mean you were there too? His stomach churned at the thought. The faint hope he had clung to started to blur with the creeping dread of what fate could have fallen upon you in the N109 Zone.

"You’re sure about that?" he asked, his voice betraying the slight anxiety creeping in around the edges. The clerk glanced up from his work, noticing the shift in Xavier’s tone.

"Yeah," the clerk said, more firmly this time. "I’m sure. That shoe—rare brand—hard to forget. The company folded years ago, but they used to operate out of the N109 Zone. Only place I’ve ever seen them sold."

Xavier swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. If the shoe came from N109, it could be a clue—a dangerous one, but still the only lead he had. He felt the urgency building inside him, a gnawing sense that time was running out, but also the undeniable question of what he might find if he went there.

Could you really be in a place like that? His mind struggled to fill in the gaps, but there were too many unknowns. Were you okay?

"I...appreciate your help," Xavier muttered, his voice thick with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing.

"You're not actually thinking of going there, are you?" the store clerk asked, his voice edged with disbelief as he raised an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward over the counter, studying Xavier with a mixture of concern and amusement. "No offense, but a pretty fella like you doesn’t exactly look like the type who could survive in a place like that. Not really worth the hassle for a pair of shoes don't you think?"

Xavier paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t turn around immediately, letting the weight of the clerk’s words linger for a moment. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm, almost casual. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice steady, though the tension in his body remained. "I've dealt with much worse."

The clerk blinked, surprised by Xavier's calm demeanor, but said nothing more.

Xavier turned to face the door once again, his hand resting on the handle as he prepared to step out into the cold streets. "Thanks again," he added, his tone carrying a finality that didn’t invite more questions.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the door and walked out, leaving the shop behind. His heart pounded a little harder now, not just from the looming threat of the N109 Zone, but from the resolve building inside him. There was no turning back now.

He had a tangible clue—a real, solid lead to your whereabouts. For the first time in weeks, the haze of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly. But now that he knew you were possibly in one of the most dangerous areas anyone could imagine, time was no longer on his side. Every second that ticked by felt heavier, pulling him deeper into the urgency of the situation. The N109 Zone wasn’t just dangerous; it was a place where people vanished, a place where hope died. He had no time to waste, but rushing in blindly would be suicide. He needed a plan.

Stepping into the cold evening air, Xavier pulled the pamphlet from his jacket pocket, its crinkled edges soft from being handled. His eyes scanned over the contents carefully. Make and model—simple enough, not much help now. A detailed diagram of the shoe—useful for recognition, maybe, but not a lifeline. Then his eyes caught something else—a faint address printed near the top. It was partially worn, barely legible, but there.

His heart skipped a beat. An address? Could this be where the shoe was made? Or where it was sold? Either way, it was another piece of the puzzle, and right now, it was the closest thing to a breadcrumb trail he had. He squinted at the faded letters, trying to make out every detail.

If this address was in the N109 Zone, it could lead him right into the heart of the danger. But it could also lead him to you.

His mind raced. First, he needed to confirm the location. Then he needed a plan—something better than just walking straight into the N109 Zone and hoping for the best.

Pulling out his hunter’s watch, Xavier quickly scanned the address printed on the pamphlet. The small device whirred to life, its holographic screen flickering as it worked to process the faint, worn-out text. A soft ding echoed in the quiet street as it started searching for the location. Xavier watched the screen intently, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

The map on the watch blinked, the dot moving erratically across an unmarked, shadowy area. It drifted back and forth, as though even the advanced technology in his hands was confused, struggling to pin down an exact location. Xavier frowned, watching the dot jitter across the screen. His stomach tightened with frustration. Was the address too old? Was it leading him nowhere?

Just when he thought the device might give up entirely, the dot paused. The holographic screen flickered once more, and with a soft chime, it glowed green in confirmation. The hunter's watch had finally locked on to a spot. Xavier stared at it, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The place it had marked was deep within N109 Zone, tucked away in the heart of the most dangerous, uncharted part of the city.

He exhaled slowly, his mind running through a million possibilities. The watch’s confirmation meant something tangible, something real—but what waited for him there? He couldn’t shake the thought that this could be a trap, a place where the trail might lead to nothing, or worse, to more danger than he could anticipate. But it was also the only clue he had to your whereabouts.

Xavier closed his hand around the watch, feeling its faint warmth through his fingers. He knew what he had to do, but the enormity of it settled on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a simple lead anymore—it was a beacon, calling him into the depths of the N109 Zone. And whatever waited for him there, he would face it.

Because finding you was all that mattered.

As Xavier made his way through the still, empty streets back to his apartment, the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a faint, orange glow across the sky. His mind was already racing, formulating a plan. Gear, weapons,—he’d need everything ready before venturing into the N109 Zone.

But just as he turned the corner, his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning quiet. Xavier stopped, his brow furrowing as he fished the phone out of his pocket. It was a jarring sound—no one should be calling him at this early hour.

He glanced at the screen, squinting in confusion. The number was unknown, unfamiliar. His immediate thought was Captain Jenna—she was the only one who’d be up this early, possibly reaching out with new intel—but this wasn’t her number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Unknown number. His instincts screamed caution. In his line of work, random calls at odd hours rarely led to anything good. The number could belong to anyone—a lead, a warning, or worse, a trap.

But then again, it could be something important—something connected to you. He couldn't ignore the possibility.

Should he answer? The phone rang again, and with each buzz, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach tightened. Whoever it was, they wanted to reach him badly enough to call at this ungodly hour.

With a deep breath, Xavier made a decision and swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" His voice was guarded, careful.

For a moment, all Xavier could hear was silence, a thick void that made his pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the sound of crackling static filled his ears, distorting the line. He frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. The static grew louder, chaotic, until it was abruptly interrupted by a voice—scared, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Xavier? Is that you??"

His heart nearly stopped.

You kept running until your legs gave out, your breath ragged and chest burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. An hour ago, you had been trapped, bound in your captor's suffocating bedroom, that thick invisible leash tightening around your neck with each passing day, stealing your hope, your strength. Every second felt like eternity in that room, but somehow, with some luck of a power outage of all things, you’d broken out of your cage. You’d ran—bolted into the cold night without looking back.

And now, you were almost free.

But “freedom” wasn’t what you had imagined. The streets stretched out before you, bleak and lifeless. It felt wrong. There was no joy in the air, no welcoming breeze to assure you of safety—only the gnawing sense that you had escaped one cage just to enter another. You recalled something Sylus, your captor, had mentioned in passing.

"Its always 'night' here", he'd said with a small smile, and now you truly realized he hadn’t been lying.

Darkness swallowed the entire area, a thick, unnatural veil over everything. Even though your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the eerie, half-flickering streetlights cast only dim pools of sickly yellow across the cracked pavement. The shadows loomed, stretching too far, hiding too much. You shivered, not just from the cold but from the haunting silence that wrapped around you.

The air itself felt thick, as if it was suffocating under the weight of secrets too dark, too dangerous to be spoken aloud. Each alley you passed felt like it was watching you, whispering silent threats from the shadows. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, and you had finally stopped, collapsing onto a broken bench under one of the few flickering streetlights that still worked. The cold metal dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, to steady your thoughts.

Where do you go now? You scanned your surroundings again, looking for anything that could offer direction, but the streets were as desolate as before. The same cracked pavement, the same looming shadows. No signs. No people. Just an eerie quiet.

A fleeting thought entered your mind—maybe there’s a train station nearby? The idea seemed almost laughable. Would it even take you to Linkon? And would you even make it to a station without getting caught?

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for the thought. Hitchhiking was another idea that crossed your mind—no way, you scolded yourself, brushing off the notion as quickly as it came. You probably couldn't trust anyone here. Not in a place like this. Here, trusting a stranger was as reckless as running blind into the dark.

But what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay still for long; resting too much would make you an easy target. With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand again. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you kept moving, hoping—praying—you’d find someone who wasn’t out to harm you. Something that could help guide you out of this nightmare. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of fear pressing harder on your chest.

As your bare feet dragged across the cracked concrete, the desperation gnawed at you more fiercely. You were lost—physically and mentally. Each street looked the same, the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Panic swelled in your throat. How long could you keep going like this? How much longer could you walk before your legs gave out? Before someone found you?

Your breaths came quicker, shallow with fear. You needed a way out, but the deeper you walked into the N109 Zone, the more it felt like the place was swallowing you whole. You were running out of time. Running out of hope.

And then finally, as if the cruel universe had decided to grant you another fleeting moment of mercy, you saw it—a faint glow of lights in the distance. Squinting, you could just make out a corner store, its soft, artificial light spilling onto the cracked sidewalk. A few people were loitering outside, giving the place a rare sense of life. A tired-looking woman clutched her child's hand tightly, and a man stood by, lazily smoking a cigar, his eyes scanning the street in disinterest. A couple of others hovered nearby, exchanging quiet words under the dim streetlight.

You couldn't believe your eyes. A store? Here? In the N109 Zone? It seemed almost surreal, like it had been plucked from another world and dropped into this forgotten wasteland. But it made sense in a grim way. Even in a place like this, people have to eat. Make a living.

With a rush of desperate energy, you hurried toward the store, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The people outside cast looks in your direction, but don't say anything. You stopped just short of the entrance, glancing down at yourself for the first time. You must look insane. A nightgown hung loosely around your body, dirty and torn at the edges. No shoes. No socks. Your hair was tangled and wild from the running. The sight of yourself made you wince in embarrassment, but there was no time to care about that now.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a dimly lit but surprisingly ordinary scene. The inside of the corner store looked like any other—aisles of candy, snacks, cheap knick knacks and toys stacked high. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, shadowy streets just outside. But one sight caught your attention above all: the food.

Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. You hadn’t eaten since the chicken dinner Sylus had provided before your “outburst.” You hadn't been able to finish it, and now the exhaustion from running had made the hunger almost unbearable. Your mouth watered at the thought of eating, but there was one major problem—you had no gold.

Your heart sank as you stared at the rows of candy bars and instant noodles. How were you going to get anything?

Anxiously, you shuffled toward the front counter, your nerves jangling with every step. When you reached it, you hesitated for a moment, staring at the small bell. With trembling fingers, you tapped it.

A disheveled-looking man, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts, glanced up from behind the counter. He had been glued to his phone, and the interruption clearly annoyed him. His eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, he just stared, taking in your disarrayed appearance before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Can I...help you?" he asked, dragging out the words as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but your mind raced with too many conflicting emotions—fear, embarrassment, hunger. What could you even say?

"I've been kidnapped," you blurt out, your voice shaky and desperate. You opened your mouth to explain further, to tell him everything—how you had escaped, how you were on the run, how you needed help—but before you could get another word out, the man snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said dismissively, leaning back on his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Who hasn't been kidnapped at least once around here?"

His casual tone hit you like a slap. The raw urgency in your voice was met with nothing but apathy. Your heart sank. He wasn’t going to take you seriously. You were just another story in a place like this, another desperate face with nowhere to go. You stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend how someone could be so indifferent to your situation.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the frustration welling up inside you. "Please, I'm serious. I just need—"

"Look," the man interrupted, cutting you off again, his eyes barely lifting from his phone. "You want something, buy it. Otherwise, move along. I’m not here for charity cases."

You glanced at the counter, the rows of candy, snacks, and drinks just inches away, knowing you had nothing to pay with. Desperation clawed at your insides. You were exhausted, starving, and running out of options.

"I don't have any gold... do you ha-have a phone?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill. How could someone be so indifferent to the obvious suffering staring him in the face?

"Broken," he said flatly, still not bothering to look up from his phone. His disinterest was like a physical blow. "And… gold? What are you, some Linkcunt citizen?"

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Linkcunt citizen? The insult was harsh, dripping with disdain, and it sent a sudden wave of anger rushing through you.

"Yes, I’m from Linkon," you correct, the frustration and fear bubbling over into your voice. "What’s with the attitude? What did I do to you? I'm asking for help!"

He finally looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking.

"What did you do? Nothing. That’s the problem. Linkon folk come down here thinking they’re better than everyone, tossing around their fancy gold and expecting the world to hand them everything." He shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt.

"You want help? Then you’d better figure out how things work around here real fast, princess. No one's gonna hand you anything for free."

You felt your fists clench at his words, the anger mixing with a deeper sense of helplessness. You hadn’t asked to be here. You hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, standing in this grimy corner store in the depths of the N109 Zone, it was clear that no one cared about your suffering. Not here. You weren’t in Linkon anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down, swallowing the anger rising in your throat. Getting into a fight with this clerk wouldn’t help you, not now. But the bitterness of his words lingered, and you realized just how alone you truly were in this place.

Silently, you turned your back to the greasy man behind the counter, his words still echoing in your mind as you began to walk up and down the aisles. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of hunger, thirst, and sheer exhaustion pulling at you. Your stomach growled, gnawing at your insides, reminding you just how long it had been since you'd eaten.

But something else gnawed at you too—something that made your skin crawl with discomfort. You hadn't changed your pad for hours, and now the sticky, damp feeling clung uncomfortably between your legs. The sudden realization hit you, a wave of disgust washing over you as you winced.

Swallowing hard, you glanced over toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Rows of necessities lined the shelves—pads, tampons, basic supplies—just out of reach. You stared at them, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't just food you needed now. You couldn’t go on like this.

But you had no credit cards. No way to purchase anything. Nothing.

Your eyes flicked back toward the front of the store, where the disinterested clerk sat, still engrossed in his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He didn’t care. Nobody here did.

You felt a knot tighten in your throat as the harsh reality of the situation settled in. You had to steal. There was no other choice. You hated the thought of it—hated how low it made you feel—but survival wasn’t a matter of pride. Not here. Not now.

Your fingers trembled as you looked back at the shelves. You knew what you had to do.

The clerk still wasn’t paying attention, his face lit by the glow of his phone. His indifference might be your only saving grace. You could do this—quickly, quietly, and then you’d be gone.

With shaky hands you reach for a plastic bag that had fallen on the ground. The bag felt like a shield, something to hide the weight of what you were about to do. You didn’t think twice as you moved toward the feminine hygiene aisle, knowing you couldn’t walk any further in your current state. You reached for a pack of pads, your movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that it felt like the entire store could hear it.

Next, you hurried down the snack aisle, grabbing a few protein bars, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of water, all of which disappeared into the bag as your pulse raced in your ears.

You glanced toward the counter, your body tense with anxiety. The clerk still hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in his phone. The faint, unmistakable sound of pornography drifted from his speakers, making your stomach churn in disgust. You twisted your face, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you, but you couldn’t afford to stop now.

He was utterly oblivious to your frantic movements, his attention locked on the screen, but that didn't ease the gnawing sensation in your gut. Every step felt like you were tiptoeing across a minefield, a ticking clock counting down to disaster. Even though he wasn’t watching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was.

With the bag now heavy in your hands, you made your way toward the exit, each step carefully measured, your breath shallow as you fought to keep calm. The distance between you and the door seemed endless, as if every inch stretched into miles. But finally, your trembling hand closed around the cold metal of the handle.

Your heart raced as you crossed the threshold, bracing yourself for the inevitable—a shrill, deafening alarm that would shatter the silence and expose your crime to the world. You waited for it, your breath caught in your throat, ready to bolt at the first sound.

But nothing came.

No alarm. No piercing siren. The only thing you could hear was the frantic beating of your own heart as the door swung shut behind you with a quiet click.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen in place, not daring to move. The cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you in the eerie quiet. The world outside the store felt impossibly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to register that you had made it out—unseen, unheard.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down as you hurried past the few patrons lingering near the store. Their eyes followed your every step, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you, judging, curious. Did they happen to care, or did you just look that insane?

The woman with the child pulled her daughter closer as you passed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The man smoking his cigar gave you a long, leering stare, as if trying to figure out what your story was. The others whispered quietly among themselves, but you couldn’t make out the words, nor did you want to. You kept walking, willing yourself to be invisible, but the tension in the air made your skin prickle.

Once you were a safe distance away from the store, you ducked down an empty alley, the shadows wrapping around you like a cloak. The world outside was still bleak, the flickering streetlights casting only the faintest glow, but here in the quiet, you finally had a moment to breathe.

You found a relatively clean spot, tucked behind an old dumpster, and set the bag down beside you. Your hands shook as you reached into the bag for the pack of pads. The discomfort and itch between your legs had grown unbearable, and the relief of changing, even in such a grim place, was something you couldn't put off any longer.

Quickly, you adjusted yourself, wincing at the feeling of the old pad peeling away. You worked fast, knowing you couldn’t linger here for long. Once you were done, you felt a small sense of relief—at least one problem had been solved.

Next, you pulled out the snacks. The hunger was still clawing at you, and the sight of the protein bars and chips made your stomach ache even more. Tearing into a protein bar, you ate quickly, barely tasting the food as you devoured it, desperate to fuel your exhausted body. The bottle of water came next, and you drank it down in large, gulping swallows.

For the first time since you had escaped, you felt a flicker of calm. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t last, but here in this dark corner, with food in your stomach and a small bit of comfort, you allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe.

But the quiet didn’t last. You knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. You had to get moving at some point or Sylus would find you. This place was unforgiving, and survival demanded more than just temporary refuge.

Tucking the remaining items back into the bag, you sigh in satisfaction, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. The streets were still empty. For now, you were alone. You had survived one more step in this nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t over yet.

Some time passes and you can slowly feel yourself falling asleep against the dumpster.

As you crouched in the dim alley, trying to fight off exhaustion and gather your thoughts, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Slow, steady, and casual, accompanied by a faint, off-key whistling. You stiffened, instinctively pulling the bag closer to your chest.

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then came the voice—low, cautious, but curious.

"Hey, you okay?"

You glanced up warily, your eyes landing on the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, maybe in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair that fell just above his eyes. His clothes were worn—faded jeans and a jacket that had seen better days—but he didn’t look like the rough types you usually imagined when you thought of the N109 Zone. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you, a flicker of concern—or maybe something else—dancing behind them.

His face was hard to read. He had a slight stubble covering his jaw, giving him a rugged, almost tired appearance. His lips quirked in what might’ve been a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was curious, but also sizing you up. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made you wonder why he’d stopped to talk to you at all.

"Are you... lost?" he asked, stepping forward slowly, the whistling tune dying in the air. His voice was softer now, almost as if he was trying to be gentle, but his presence made the space around you feel even smaller.

"What happened to your arm?"

You swallowed hard, trying your best to keep your gaze on him. You had honestly completely forgotten about the scar on you arm. As much as you wanted to explain, every instinct screamed to stay wary. This wasn’t a place where strangers helped out of kindness, and you knew better than to trust easily. But as exhausted and desperate as you were, you weren’t sure if you could afford to push away help, even from someone who might have their own agenda.

"I—I need help," you stammered, your voice shaky, barely managing to push the words past your tightening throat. Your body trembled, a mix of nerves and exhaustion leaving you on edge. You hugged the bag tighter to your chest, every muscle in your body tense. "But... don't come any closer just yet."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting, though he made no move forward. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, the dim streetlight casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with tension as he watched you.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice calm and even, though the curiosity in his eyes never wavered. He tilted his head, taking in your ragged appearance with a deeper interest. "No problem. I’m not here to scare you. Just trying to figure out what you're doing out here all alone."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. You needed help, but trust was a dangerous thing in a place like this. Still, you were running out of options. Your mind raced as you tried to decide what to say next.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you weighed the risks. Could you trust him? Telling the truth might make you vulnerable, but lying wouldn’t get you far either. You had to say something—anything—to explain why you were here.

"I was kidnapped," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, a tremor of fear running through you as you spoke. "I escaped… I don’t know where I am. I just need to get somewhere safe and rest so I can get home later."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He studied you, eyes narrowing as if trying to assess whether or not you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, making your heart pound faster in your chest.

"You’re serious?" he finally asked, his tone more subdued now, almost disbelieving but not dismissive. He took a small step back, showing that he wasn’t going to invade your space. "You really got away from someone?"

You nodded, the tension in your body still coiled tight, waiting for his reaction. You couldn't tell if he believed you, but you hoped—desperately—that he wouldn’t press too hard or turn you away.

The man stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture softening just slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you're telling the truth... then you’ve got bigger problems than just being lost."

He glanced around, checking the street behind him as if making sure no one else was nearby, then he looked back at you, his face more serious now. "You can’t stay out here. This place— the N109 Zone—it’s not somewhere you want to be wandering around alone, especially if someone’s looking for you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You already knew the N109 Zone was dangerous, but hearing it from him made it feel even more real.

"Look," he continued, his voice softening. "I’m not gonna hurt you. If you need help, I can take you somewhere safer. But you’ve gotta trust me, and you’ve gotta move quick. If they’re after you, it’s only a matter of time before they find you out here."

He waited, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see if you’d accept his offer—or run.

You hesitated for a long moment, scanning the man’s face for any sign of deceit. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, but something about his demeanor made you feel that, for now, you didn’t have much of a choice. If he meant harm, he could’ve acted already. Swallowing hard, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded in return, offering nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and motioning for you to follow. "My place isn’t far. You can rest there, maybe clean up a bit. It’ll give you a few hours before you have to figure out what’s next."

You fell in step behind him, your bare feet quiet against the cracked pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of passing cars. You hugged the bag closer to your chest, still tense but too tired to think about running. As you walked through the dim streets, a question lingered in the back of your mind.

"I'm surprised you stopped to help me," you finally said, your voice tentative. "Most people here…they wouldn’t have even looked twice."

He glanced back at you, barely breaking stride, and shrugged. "I’ve seen worse things in this place. Trust me, a girl lost in an alley isn't the strangest thing I’ve come across." His tone was casual, almost detached, as if this was just another day in the chaotic world of the N109 Zone.

His nonchalance unnerved you. Why was he so calm? Your anxiety spiked for a moment, thoughts racing. Maybe you had made the wrong choice. Maybe he had his own agenda, like everyone else in this place. But then again, he hadn’t tried to harm you. If he wanted to, he would've done so. You weighed your options, feeling the tug of paranoia, but exhaustion and desperation had their hold. You pushed the doubt aside. For now, you decided to trust him, even if only for a few hours.

As you walked in silence, the two of you eventually came across something you hadn’t expected to see: an old, grimy phone booth, its glass cracked but still intact, standing at the edge of a corner. A relic from another time, long since forgotten by most.

Your heart skipped a beat. A phone. You might be able to call Xavier.

"Do you have any… uh, quarters?" you asked, your voice tight with desperation. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Linkon City had long left behind the need for such old currency—everything there was digital, clean, modern. But here, in the N109 Zone, where everything felt stuck in time, of course they still used quarters. It made sense in this broken-down world.

He stopped, watching you for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, hang on." He fumbled in his pockets for a few seconds, fishing around with a slight look of annoyance. After a bit of clattering, he pulled out a few quarters, handing them over to you without a word.

Your hands trembled as you took them. This could be your chance—your lifeline. You stepped inside the booth, hoping that the old machine would still work, and stared at the dirty receiver.

You stared at the old rotary dial for a moment, panic rising in your chest. You tried to remember how it worked as you slipped the coins in the slot. It had been so long since you’d read about one of these—everything in Linkon was sleek, touch-based, connected by the web. But here, in this forgotten part of the world, you were holding a piece of the past. The process felt foreign, archaic.

Your mind raced, desperately trying to recall Xavier’s number. What was it? You racked your brain, images of his scribbled phone number from messages, fragments of conversations, all blurred together. The numbers danced in your head as you tried to piece them together.

Your heart pounded louder, matching the beat of the seconds slipping away. You were running out of time. With a trembling hand, you began dialing the numbers, trying to focus on every movement, praying you’d gotten it right.

The dial clicked as it spun back after each number, the mechanical sound unnervingly slow. The receiver crackled in your ear as the phone began to ring.

Please, Xavier... please pick up.

The ringing felt endless, each second a heavier weight pressing on your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the receiver tight. The noise around you seemed to fade into the background as you waited, hoping, praying that on the other end of the line, he’d be there—ready to hear you, ready to help.

The phone rang again... and again.

Your breath caught in your throat, a prayer hanging on the edge of each ring.

"Hello?" A timid, cautious male voice came through the receiver, muffled by the crackling static, but it was unmistakable.

Relief crashed over you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed right there in the grimy phone booth, your knees buckling as the sound of Xavier's voice reached your ears. After everything—you finally had a connection to him. Tears welled up in your eyes, your breath shaky as you clutched the receiver tighter.

"Xavier!! Xavier, thank god!" you cried, your voice raw with desperation. "I don't even know where to start..."

But after your outburst, only silence greeted you. The line crackled, sputtering with age, the static drowning out whatever response might have come. Frustration surged through you as you gripped the receiver, shaking it in a vain attempt to clear the line. You banged the phone against the booth, biting back a sob as the interference persisted. This thing must be older than you thought. How could it fail you now?

Finally, the crackling stopped, leaving only a tense, quiet hum on the other end.

"Xavier? Is that you??" you asked, your voice trembling, barely holding back the panic. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing this fragile connection—this one thin lifeline.

The line crackled for a moment before Xavier’s voice came through, steady and calm, but with a layer of unmistakable relief.

"It’s you…," Xavier said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d been holding onto hope for so long that hearing your voice felt like a lifeline. "I’m so glad you’re alive. Are you okay? Where are you?"

The sound of his voice sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. You sob, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone. He had been looking for you, and now, he was coming.

"Xavier…I was kidnapped," you sobbed, the words finally breaking free, the fear and terror of the last few days pouring out. "I escaped. I’m cold, hurt and scared..."

His response was immediate, his tone both calming and steady, as if he was trying to comfort you even from miles away. "I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? I’m coming for you. I just need a better idea of where you are."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears threatened to spill over. "I don’t know where exactly… all I know is I’m in the N109 Zone. I found a phone booth near a corner store. Everything around here looks abandoned."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Xavier processed the information. "Alright," he said firmly. "Stay there, I'll try and track the location of the phone booth. I’m on my way. Just… hold on a little longer, okay?"

"I—" you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the man who had helped you. "I actually found a really nice man. He’s letting me rest at his place. He hasn’t hurt me at all, so don’t worry. He says his place isn’t far from here. I’ll come back to the phone and give you the details after I see it."

Xavier’s voice tightened slightly, the concern clear. "I don’t like the sound of that. Just… be careful. I’m coming as fast as I can. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? If anything feels wrong, leave. Fight like hell if you need to."

"I will," you whispered, gripping the receiver tightly. "Just hurry, please."

"I promise I’m coming," Xavier said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He paused, just for a second, before continuing. "One more thing though—do you remember who took you? I’ll need a name, in case…in case I don't find you when I arrive. I don’t want to lose you again."

Your heart raced as memories of your captor flashed in your mind. "Yeah! His name is S—"

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for an additional 3 minutes," the automated voice cut in sharply, drowning out your words.

Panic surged through you. The call had abruptly ended, the receiver in your hand now silent except for the monotonous prompt asking for more coins. You frantically searched your pockets, but you had no more quarters.

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for—"

You screamed, the frustration boiling over as you kicked the phone, the clanging metal reverberating through the phone booth. Your hand gripped the receiver so tightly your knuckles lost circulation, and with a final surge of anger, you thrashed against the booth, the tears you’d been holding back now streaming down your face.

"Xavier!?" you yelled into the dead line, your voice cracking with desperation. He had to hear you. He had to. But all that came through was the cold, indifferent tone of the automated voice, endlessly repeating its demand for more quarters, as if mocking your panic.

You slammed the receiver down, the booth suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Every second that ticked by was a second lost, a moment Xavier might not know who had taken you, might not know how to find you.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out of the booth, blinking away the tears.

"Do...you have any more quarters?" you ask, more tears threatening to spill from your face at any moment now.

The man outside the phone booth shifted awkwardly and shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and the dark street. He had watched you from the moment you’d rushed into the booth, but now, as you sobbed, his discomfort was clear. He took a slow step forward, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to do.

"You, uh... you okay?" he asked finally, his voice soft but uneasy. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as if he wasn’t used to being in such an emotional situation.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the tears kept coming. The overwhelming frustration of losing the connection with Xavier left you feeling exposed and helpless. You didn’t know what to say to the man, couldn’t find the words to explain the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

He hesitated, then sighed, taking another step closer. "Look, uh… if it’s about the call, I’m sure your guy’s coming. Sounds like he cares. You just... you know, gotta hang in there. We’ll get to my place soon, and you can rest."

His words, though clumsy, were an attempt at comfort. But even as he tried to reassure you, his uncertainty showed in the way he avoided your gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle someone breaking down in front of him.

You sniffed, nodding slightly, feeling drained from the outburst. "Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine," you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your nightgown, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

The two of you resumed walking, your steps slow and heavy as you sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill. The man walked beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at you now and then with an awkwardness that was hard to miss. He wasn’t saying much, just occasionally looking around as if he wished there was something more he could do, but he seemed completely out of his depth when it came to comforting anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of breaking down.

"You’ll, uh, feel better once we get there," he mumbled, his voice low and sheepish. "It’s not much, but at least you can get some sleep. Maybe eat something."

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought to compose yourself, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you again. The air between you felt thick, filled with unspoken words and awkward tension. He kept glancing at you as if he wanted to say something more, but each time, he swallowed the words, guiding you quietly through the darkened streets.

The city around you was eerily quiet, the desolation of the N109 Zone even more pronounced in the silence. The flickering streetlights barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. You hugged your arms close to your body, your mind still reeling from the failed call, but you focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "I’m… not really good at this kind of thing, you know," he admitted, his tone awkward, almost apologetic. "But you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. His words were clumsy, but there was a strange sincerity in them. Despite his unease, it seemed like he really was trying to help, even if he didn’t quite know how to do it.

As the silence stretched on, the weight of everything hanging between you, you glanced at him through the dim light. His awkwardness, his uncertainty—it was all so clear. But despite everything, he had helped you. He had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. Given you the last of his quarters. You swallowed, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

"I didn’t catch your name, by the way," you said softly, your voice still a little shaky.

He blinked, as if surprised you’d asked. His steps slowed for a moment before he gave a small, awkward shrug. "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t say." He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground as he seemed to search for the right words. "It’s Reese," he finally muttered. "Not much of a name, but it’s mine."

You offered a small, tired smile, your voice soft. "Reese… thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You stopped yourself, the weight of your situation pressing on your chest again.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, well… I’m no hero. Just didn’t seem right to leave you out there. Not in a place like this."

As the two of you walked in silence, Reese cleared his throat, glancing over at you with a bit more confidence than before. "So… what’s your name? Figured if we’re gonna be walking together, I should know who I’m helping."

You hesitated, your heart racing slightly. Trust wasn’t something you could afford so easily, not here, not now. Despite his awkward attempts to help, you weren’t ready to give him your real name. Better to be cautious, you reminded yourself. You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It’s...Mephisto," you said, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could second-guess it. You had vaguely remembered Sylus calling out the name to someone from outside the door, to who you weren't sure. One of his men probably.

Reese nodded, seemingly taking your answer at face value, no suspicion in his expression. "Alright," he said, giving a half-smile. "Nice to meet you Miss Mephisto, despite the strange name."

You nodded back, feeling the weight of the lie settle inside you. It wasn’t much, but it gave you a small layer of protection—just in case. You still didn’t know Reese’s full intentions, and trust here could be a dangerous thing.

"Nice to meet you too, Reese," you replied softly, glancing around the darkened street.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dark, desolate streets of the N109 Zone, you and Reese finally reached his place. The house stood at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between two crumbling, abandoned buildings. It wasn’t much to look at—dingy, with peeling paint and windows that seemed to have long lost their clarity. The front door sagged slightly on its hinges, the wood scuffed and weathered, as if it had seen better days a long time ago.

Reese unlocked the door with a bit of effort, pushing it open with a low creak. Inside, the air was stale but warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The place was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. The furnishings were old, mismatched, and worn—a threadbare couch sat in the corner, covered in a faded blanket. The walls were bare except for a few crooked picture frames, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Still, despite its grimy appearance, there was a strange sense of comfort to the place, like someone had lived here for a long time and had made it home in their own way.

"You can sit over there if you want," Reese said, motioning to the couch. "It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets."

You nodded, stepping inside cautiously. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details—the scuffed coffee table with a few empty bottles on it, the stack of old magazines piled up against one wall. It didn’t scream danger, but you couldn’t shake the wary feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Something about the whole situation made you uneasy. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the smell of old dust, or just the lingering doubt about trusting someone so easily in a place like this.

Still, exhaustion weighed heavily on your body, and the promise of rest—any rest—was too tempting to ignore. You sat down on the couch, the worn cushions sinking under you, and pulled the bag of pads closer to your chest. Reese seemed harmless enough, but you reminded yourself to stay on guard. You weren’t out of danger yet.

Reese busied himself, tossing a few items around to clear space, but the house remained eerily quiet.

As you settled into the couch, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible, a sudden noise from the backyard broke the uneasy silence. It was faint, but distinct—a thud, followed by the faint sound of something shuffling or dragging. Your heart leapt, and you sat up a little straighter, your eyes darting toward the back of the house.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice tense as you turned to look at Reese.

He froze for a split second, the calm, awkward demeanor you’d come to expect from him faltering. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "It’s just… my dog. Yeah, he’s in the shed out back. I forgot to mention him earlier."

You watched him closely, feeling the tension spike in the room. There was something off about the way he said it, the quickness in his tone as if he were scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"Your dog?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of your mind.

"Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "He’s old, doesn’t like people much, so I keep him out there. No big deal."

His words didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing his response, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time, creeping up your spine.

"Right," you muttered, still watching him carefully, but you decided not to push further. Not yet.

"Um... coffee?" Reese blurted out suddenly, his voice still laced with that nervous edge. He offered a forced smile, clearly trying to redirect the tension hanging thick in the air. He rubbed his hands together, glancing toward the small, cluttered kitchen. "I could make us some. Might help, you know, after everything you’ve been through."

You hesitated, still on edge from the strange noise outside and his quick, jittery explanation. Something didn’t feel right, but you weren’t sure if pushing him now would help or only make things worse. You forced a smile of your own, your mind still racing with questions.

"Sure," you said quietly, your voice flat as you tried to calm your nerves. "Coffee sounds good."

Reese nodded, too eagerly, and moved toward the kitchen, fumbling with an old coffee pot. The clattering of cups and the rush of water filled the silence, but your mind was still focused on that noise outside. A dog in the shed? It seemed like a weak excuse, but you didn’t know him well enough to push it.

You leaned back into the couch, the worn fabric sinking beneath you as your eyes drifted toward the back door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Reese wasn’t telling you everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were exhausted, but you couldn't let your guard down.

Reese finished brewing the coffee after a few moments, bringing it over to you in a green, cracked mug. You took it from him with a polite smile, setting it down on the coffee table untouched. The steam curled up from the cup, filling the small room with the faint scent of stale coffee. Reese sat across from you, sipping from his own mug, but you couldn’t help but notice how distracted he seemed.

He kept glancing toward the window, then back at his watch, over and over. Each time, his face tensed a little more, as though he were expecting something—or someone. Your wariness only grew.

What is he looking for?

The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the noise in the backyard wasn’t as innocent as he’d made it sound.

"So…uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert.

"Dog? What dog?" Reese said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

"You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, and then you saw it—realization hit him like a brick. His eyes widened as he turned to look at you, panic flickering across his face.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to race. He’d lied. And now he knew you knew.

"Uh, I mean—" he stammered, his voice shaky, "I meant, uh, Rex. Yeah, his name’s Rex. Sorry, I’m just… distracted." He forced a weak smile, but the panic was still there, clear as day. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

You shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the room thickening with every second that passed after Reese's panicked slip. His eyes kept darting between you and the window, as if something outside demanded his attention. Your pulse quickened as the uneasy feeling deepened. Something wasn’t right, and you knew you had to get out of there.

"I should…go," you said, forcing a smile as you slowly stood up, trying to keep your voice casual. "Y'know... Xavier’s probably found the phone booth by now. I should go back and meet him."

Reese blinked, his expression tightening for a split second. The forced calm he'd been trying to maintain wavered as he set his mug down on the table a little too quickly, the clink of the ceramic against wood echoing in the silence. "Go? Already?" He scratched the back of his neck again, his voice strained. "I mean, it’s cold, and it’s not safe out there… Maybe you should wait a little longer."

You swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. Every instinct told you to get out, but you had to keep your cool. "Thanks for the coffee and everything, but I don’t want Xavier to worry," you replied, taking a step toward the door. "I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse, remember?"

Reese stood up as well, his movements stiff, like he was trying to decide whether to stop you. His gaze flickered toward the window again, and his voice dropped. "Yeah, I get it. But, uh… maybe just a few more minutes. You don’t want to be out there alone, do you?"

You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface now felt like a solid weight pressing down on you. Something was very wrong, and you needed to leave—now.

"No, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything, but I need to go," you said, your voice steady despite the panic bubbling under the surface. You tried to move past Reese, your eyes focused on the door, your heart pounding with the hope of reaching it before things got worse.

But then Reese stepped in front of you, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. "No," he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the awkwardness and sheepishness he’d shown before. His tone was cold, almost emotionless, as he closed the distance between you with startling speed.

Before you could react, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body froze as the unmistakable sensation of a gun pressed hard into your skin.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His earlier nervousness was completely gone, replaced by something dark and dangerous. "Sit back down."

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling for a way out, but all you could feel was the sharp edge of fear coursing through you. You swallowed hard, trying not to move too quickly, knowing that with one wrong step, things could spiral even further out of control.

"Reese… please," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. "You don’t have to do this."

His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation—but his grip on the gun didn’t waver. "Just sit down, and no one has to get hurt."

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but for now, all you could do was comply and hope that Xavier was still coming for you.

"I promised them a girl..." Reese muttered, his voice trembling slightly, though the gun still pressed firmly against your neck as you looked up at him from the couch. He glanced away from you, his guilt briefly flickering in his eyes. "Then you just... happened to be there. Right place, wrong time, I guess. So...this is how it has to be."

His words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I’m sorry," he added, though there was no comfort in his apology—just a hollow attempt at easing his own conscience.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process his words, the full weight of the situation crushing down on you. He wasn’t just some awkward guy helping you out of kindness. He had been waiting for someone—anyone—to fill a promise. And you had walked right into it.

As you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your neck, the door creaked open. Another man stepped into the room. He was taller than Reese, with a thick, rough appearance—his face shadowed by the dim light. His eyes swept the room, landing on you, taking in the situation with a detached indifference.

"Is this the girl you promised?" the man asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he’d been through this kind of scene too many times to be surprised by it. His gaze shifted briefly to Reese, then back to you, narrowing with interest.

You felt a chill run down your spine as his question hung in the air.

Reese didn’t move the gun from your neck, but you could feel the tension in his body shift as he glanced over at the man, clearly nervous about his arrival. "Yeah, this is her," Reese replied, his voice tight. "I just… need a few more minutes to get her to cooperate."

The other man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. His eyes raked over you, cold and calculating. "No time for that," he said flatly. "Get her in the basement. You know how this works, Reese."

Your pulse quickened, fear gripping you tighter as you looked from one man to the other, your mind spinning with panic. What were they planning? You needed to find a way out, and fast, before things escalated even further.

"You’re making a mistake," you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "Someone’s coming for me. If you don’t let me go, it’s going to get a lot worse for both of you."

As the weight of your words hung in the air, you weren’t even sure who you were referring to in that moment—Sylus, the man who had kidnapped you in the first place, or Xavier, the one coming to save you. Both names were tangled up in your desperation, your mind too frantic to distinguish between them. All you could do was hope that the threat would ring true, that it would be enough to make Reese think twice.

The taller man smirked, clearly unimpressed. "We’ll see about that," he muttered, turning his back toward the door to pull up the carpet, leaving you alone with Reese and the gun still pressed to your neck. You watch as a metal trap door with a handle is revealed to have been hidden under the carpet and you gasp.

Instinct kicked in, and without thinking, you twisted suddenly, using the brief distraction in Reese’s hesitation to try and break free. You shoved his arm away with everything you had, knocking the gun off balance. For a moment, you thought you had a chance, adrenaline flooding your body as you fought with all the strength you could muster.

"Let go of me!" you screamed, thrashing and kicking as hard as you could. Your elbow connected with Reese's side, and he let out a sharp grunt, but his grip tightened. His face twisted in a mixture of frustration and fear, and he fought back, grabbing your arm and wrenching you toward him.

"Stop it!" Reese growled, struggling to maintain control, but you weren’t going down without a fight. You kicked at his legs, but his hold on you only grew stronger.

The door to the basement creaked open, and before you could react, the taller man reappeared, grabbing you by the other arm. His grip was like iron, and between the two of them, they overpowered you. Your heart pounded as you screamed and clawed, your feet scraping against the floor, but the force of their combined strength was too much.

"No! Please—" you gasped, trying to twist free, but they dragged you toward the open door.

The tall man grunted with effort as they forced you toward the dark, looming stairwell. "Get her down there already," he growled, his tone sharp and impatient.

You struggled even harder, but your muscles were weakening, the adrenaline starting to fade as fear took over. They shoved you roughly down the narrow staircase, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the damp wall. The dimness of the basement swallowed you whole, the air cold and musty. You could feel the fear wrapping around you, tighter with each step they forced you to take.

The taller man was close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cold, damp basement. You felt his rough hand grab the bottom of your nightgown, his fingers curling into the fabric. Panic surged through you as his cold hand snaked across your belly, the touch sending a shiver of disgust up your spine.

You screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, but his strength overpowered you. The man leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Wouldn't hurt to try her out before the boss gets here..." His voice was thick with lust, and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that turned your stomach.

His hand slid lower, his fingers beginning to snake inside your underwear. You could feel his hard on pressed against your backside. Fear and revulsion took over, and you knew you had to do something—anything—to stop him.

Thinking fast, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, your voice desperate and shaking. "I'm bleeding! I'm on my period!"

The words seemed to stop him in his tracks. His hand paused, the twisted hunger in his eyes faltering for a moment as confusion flickered across his face.

"You’re what?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip loosened just slightly, enough for you to take a sharp breath, your heart still racing.

"I’m on my period," you repeated, your voice trembling. "It’s—it’s bad. You don’t want to do this right now."

For a brief second, his disgusted expression told you that he was weighing his options. The thought of period blood clearly repulsed him, and his hand slowly pulled away from your underwear, his lips curling in frustration.

"You’re lucky," he growled, wiping his hand on his pants, his face twisted with disdain. "But don’t think that saves you."

His hand shot up before you could react, grabbing a fistful of your hair and dragging you across the rough concrete floor toward the makeshift shower installed in the corner of the basement. Your scalp throbbed with each pull, the pain sharpening with every step, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out.

He threw you against the cold, damp wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You barely had time to catch your breath before he twisted the rusty shower handle. Water burst from the nozzle, freezing and unforgiving.

“So filthy,” he sneered, standing over you as the icy water soaked your clothes, plastering them to your skin. “Maybe this will help?"

The cold bit into your bones, and you hugged yourself, trembling, struggling to stay upright as the water pounded down. He stood there a moment longer, watching with twisted satisfaction, before finally turning away, leaving you shivering on the cold, wet floor of the basement.

Sobbing on the cold, unforgiving basement floor, you shiver, your body pressed against the damp concrete, each breath heavy with despair. The chill seeps into your skin, a numbing cold that echoes the hollow ache inside you. Your tears fall, silent and unnoticed, merging with the grime beneath you as exhaustion pulls you deeper into its grip. In the silence, a desperate wish slips through your mind for someone to save you—anyone, even him.

Though Sylus had stolen you away, his presence now haunts you like a ghost. In this unbearable solitude, even the memory of him feels like a twisted solace. You long for his shadow, for those red, gleaming eyes that once pierced through the darkness, and his stark white hair, a glimmer against the void.

At least he gave you warm baths.

The thought slips through your mind, shame twisting in your chest. How could you even think of Sylus now, when poor Xavier was likely out there, rushing to save you, unaware of the torment you’re enduring? Guilt coils around you, tightening with every heartbeat, yet you can’t shake the cruel comfort of that memory. Sylus, for all the wrong he had done, had never left you to freeze, never left you to shiver and break alone.

Your vision blurs as the weight of everything crushes you, and you can almost see him—an apparition of salvation in your mind. His image flickers, vivid and sharp, as your consciousness begins to fray at the edges. The world slips away, piece by piece, and the cold wraps tighter around you.

The cold water finally stops.

In this fading moment, you cling to that impossible hope, that he, with his red eyes and cold hands, might come for you—if only to save you from a fate worse than death.

[naranjapetrificada]

Izzy becomes a "real boy"

So obviously I haven't been able to shut up about the way Izzy has been written in season 2 and I stand by my disappointment and criticism, even knowing that the writers were given a herculean task of cramming 10 pounds of season into an 8 pound bag. Even knowing that, his "arc" such as it is has felt very off to a lot of people, present company included. I'm a cogitator at heart (thanks AuDHD!) and that can turn "make it make sense" into a prime directive sometimes. So here I am, trying once again.

I felt a particular way about Izzy after the end of season 1, which I would describe as "not especially strongly" because I primarily saw his character as a storytelling tool/useful foil more than anything else. But his presence and characterization in season 2 have been haunting me this time and not in a good way, because I've spent this season trying and failing to make it make sense. But something just occurred to me that I hope I can explain in a coherent way:

If season 1 Izzy was more a storytelling tool than anything else, maybe season 2 was an attempt to turn the puppet into a Real Boy. And if so, maybe things did not go as planned.

There are so, so many good posts going into the things that don't work about how Izzy has been handled this season, to the point that I'm not gonna try reinventing the wheel. Some of the reasons it hasn't worked for some of us include:

Much of his alleged growth apparently happening offscreen, most likely due to the reduced budget and episode count.

The lack of connective tissue between many of his scenes, some of which can be attributed to the previous point about corporate fuckery but other parts of which are hard to explain beyond "idk I guess the writers felt like it?"

The unfortunate connotations of sidelining nonwhite characters like Jim, who was the only character beyond the central pair to receive a detailed backstory, flashbacks, and a multi-episode character arc

The unchecked racialized comments he gets to drop about Edward (calling him a "wild dog" or seemingly mixing him up with Roach) that in season 1, would have resulted in violent retribution as a sign of the story's disapproval

The lines we get from Izzy that feel like they should have been said by other characters, and maybe that would have been based on the expectations of the show that we left season 1 with

The way it seems like Izzy's suffering is being used as a stand-in for actual moments of reflection or atonement, which is a pretty fucked up dynamic to set up as precursor to redemption

The way Izzy now gets to partake in the very behaviors he denigrated in Ed last season, which would be a cool and moving character beat if there was a single, solitary narrative acknowledgement in the harm caused by his treatment of Ed in s1e10. Ditto for him apparently just being cool with shit that once would have been his worst nightmare.

The fact that so many of these issues could have been addressed in a quick throwaway line or two that showed that the narrative understood what was wrong to reassure us all because by definition if a character is getting a redemption arc, it's because they did something wrong, right?

There's plenty more of course, but that's not why I made this post. I made this post because regardless of why the decision was made to handle Izzy this way this season, the attempt was made to flesh him out in ways that his role last season may not have been initially written for. Con's performance and certain production choices hinted at a depth to his character that may or may not have been on the page, but helped make for a pretty interesting season 1 antagonist.

For season 2 they decided to make Izzy a real boy, but the combination of a reduced budget, a lower episode count, and whatever creative darlings they couldn't seem to kill in order to give us more development of his transformation made sticking the landing impossible because we're lacking certain elements for basic comprehension.

Imagine you know almost nothing of the story of Pinocchio and someone starts up the Disney movie version of it for you but it's a weirdly edited version of it. There's no narration from Jiminy Cricket, mostly because there's no Jiminy Cricket at all. We see Geppetto crafting a wooden puppet, but not the part where he wishes for him to be a real boy, which makes it kinda weird to then see the part where the fairy brings him to life and says he can become a real boy but okay, let's go with it.

Now let's say the one thing you've always heard about the story is that Pinocchio's nose grows when he lies. So we get to the scene where he lies to the fairy but for whatever reason, his nose doesn't grow. No one comments on the inconsistency, and when you mention the nose thing all anyone wants to talk about is how great Pinocchio's nose looks.

Then Pinocchio goes to Pleasure Island and while the animation and acting seem great as usual, and the language of cinema appears to be setting up something dark on the horizon. Then Pinocchio's new friend Lampwick starts transforming into a donkey, this random well-dressed cricket shows up to admonish Pinocchio, and our puppet friend is randomly immune to the thing turning other kids into donkeys. No one comments on that either. Maybe Pinocchio even gloats about it a little, which seems like a weird storytelling decision that merits a follow up discussion later.

And I guess this is the part of this over-extended metaphor where you remember you have somewhere to be but you'll finish the film later, because as an audience we won't know how things shake out for season 2 Izzy until the finale. Presumably we'll still get the scene where he magically turns into a real boy, but there isn't exactly time for anything else like all that stuff with the whale. Maybe the real boy scene will happen, but for whatever reason the animator kept drawing him like the wooden puppet and every time you point it out no one will take you seriously.

Wouldn't that be a weird thing to experience?

[716chr]

Chihiro Natsuyaki Novel - “Choose Me!”

Track 5 - Grand Finale

“Ah, the Grazie Comedy Festa is starting!”

Tao, my roommate at HAMA Tours' dorm, suddenly remembered and quickly turned on the TV. A high-definition holographic television appears on an empty wall.

I was propped up against a cushion next to Tao as I fiddled with my phone, but decided to get up and watch the show with him, “Tao, you really like comedy huh?”

Normally after dinner we would be finishing up our lessons, but since our next live show would be a bit bigger than our normal guerilla ones, our manager, Nayuki, had banned us from practicing after 9 o’clock. That’s why there was some spare time for us to watch TV.

When the comedy show started, I saw a familiar face among the commentators.

"Our guest today, Komu-kun, is a member of the popular idol group '13's'...”

When the MC introduced him, Tao reacted with a 'Geh!' and hastily reached for the remote. Knowing that he was aware of my past, he was likely just being considerate of me.

“It’s fine, Tao. I’m alright now, so let’s just watch it, okay?”

“R-Really?”

Tao looks at me sitting beside him worriedly.

When I replied that I was really fine, he said he understood and backed off.

This is one of the things I like about Tao.

The Komu-kun on TV looked much more polished and refined than the Komu-kun I knew. He was dressed in an outfit that was more befitting of an idol now, with perfectly styled hair.

But of course, he still had that genuine smile that everyone loves.

——I can still recall that day, that moment.

It was during the final audition, when they were announcing the 13th place winner who would take the last spot for the next-gen idol group.

1st to 12th had already been decided, and neither Komu-kun nor I had our names called yet.

"......We will now reveal the results.”

After the MC announced this, there was a long, drawn-out pause.

Komu-kun was the chosen one.

I wasn’t chosen.

Even now I still don’t know what was going on inside my heart at that time, that moment.

Komu-kun cries as he steps up onto the elevated stage. The other twelve chosen members embrace Komu-kun as they celebrate together.

.....Bathed in the dazzling lights pouring down on the stage, his figure shone like a star.

I could only gaze up at him along with the others that weren’t chosen.

Helplessly.

…..The curtains to “Chii’s” dream had been drawn.

That’s what I thought.

I don’t remember much from after that.

As I was heading back to the waiting room, I ran into the director who suggested I do a gyaru persona back then.

I bowed my head listlessly, and he commented, 'What a pity.'

I think I tried to smile.

It made a lot of bad memories for me, but I thought the production team had their own reasons.

I knew people didn’t like me, but I thought it was just part of the job.

But the instant he whispered in my ear, my smile vanished.

“You were actually the 13th. But Komu-kun has more charm, so the votes were tweaked a bit.”

The director then continued, “By the way, it was the producer who gave the order.”

He followed up with a laugh, leaving me baffled.

Was that a joke? Or was he being for real?

I ranked 14th, with a vote count that was just 200 votes behind Komu-kun’s.

My head was pounding, I felt sick to my stomach, and I felt like I was going to pass out.

I wonder how I even made it back home that day.

There were moments when I thought that expressing my anger and grievances might be able to flip my ranking around, but I knew it was probably useless.

After all, I don’t know if I was actually 13th place.

I was fed up with everything and shut myself in at home.

Mom was disappointed in my failure and berated me every time we saw each other. Before long I found myself unable to take a single step outside my room.

My whole life had crumbled apart.

I began to question whether there was any point in living anymore…..

But about a month later, when I checked social media for the first time in a while, I found lots of messages from people saying they missed me.

They said they wanted to see “Chii” dance again. I felt bad for suddenly disappearing for a month and worrying everyone, but it also made me happy to see how much they cared.

I've got to get back to work.

My sisters' school fees wouldn’t pay for themselves.

I knew I couldn’t just abandon them.

So I decided to start moving forward little by little and began my activities at Dazzle.

I thought I’d try living as “Chii” again.

Even though it felt like the remnants of a bygone life, at the moment, it was all I had.

All of my frustration, fear, pain, along with the burning desire to curse the world; I poured all of it into my dances.

I knew about all of “13’s” impressive accomplishments after my failed debut, but I tried not to look into them.

I got a DM from Komu-kun once, but I couldn't bring myself to reply. I didn't even read it in the first place. I was scared that if I opened that DM, I'd be consumed by jealousy and turn into a monster.

While I had plenty of haters, I also had people who supported me.

So... that's why, I had to survive. I had to keep on living.

To do that, I needed somebody, anybody to see my worth...

I think I’ve been desperate for that for a long time.

As I watched the comedy show with Tao, memories of the past flashed in my mind, coming and going one by one.

On the screen, Komu-kun was smiling from ear to ear and seemed to be genuinely enjoying the comedians' performances.

——Komu-pi must know I was arrested for fraud, right?

It was in the news, after all.

He might also know that I made my return as a prisoner idol, and that I was active in Ev3ns.

——Nah, there's no chance a member of the famous “13's” would know about a low-level idol like me.

Through the TV screen, Komu-kun spoke with that same honest smile he had back then.

“I'm from KOBE. Now that I’ve shown my parents my gratitude, I’m thinking of doing something for my hometown next.…..”

“…..This Komu-kun guy, I was his roommate during the audition show.”

“Eh, really?”

I muttered it offhandedly, but Tao seemed surprised. His nonchalant attitude made my complaints slip out.

“Komu-kun’s smile is pure and innocent like an angel’s, isn’t it? It’s nothing like my fake one, and it’s cute too.”

Ah.

Alarms were ringing in my head.

I told myself that I was over it, that I wouldn’t compare myself like that anymore.

But I still couldn’t help the self-deprecating words that spilled out. It was like an old bad habit that was ingrained in me.

My heart pounded, an uneasy feeling settling in. I was terrified of Tao’s reaction so I lowered my gaze.

But the answer I received was unexpectedly straightforward.

“Hmm, really? I don't really get it. I like your smile though.”

Hearing him say something like that so casually, I raise my head without realizing it.

Tao continues with a straight face.

“Isn't it up to personal preference? I've always liked your cat eyes more than those droopy ones.”

…….

Woah, Tao.

“Tao! You’re such a meanie!”

Before I knew it, I was punching Tao in the shoulder.

Tao let out a “Hah?” and looks at me with a confused expression from the sudden punch, but I think it's deserved.

“Man~…. It’s hard being in the same room as someone who's naturally gifted at attracting delulu simps”

“Delulu? Simps? What are you talking about…..?”

Tao usually looked a bit put off in these kinds of situations.

It’s hard to explain but….

….this side of him makes me feel at ease.

My sadness disappears, and this time I’m able to look at the TV again without comparing myself to Komu-kun’s smile.

Because I know there’s at least one person here who likes my smile.

I wonder if I can read Komu-pi’s DM now? It feels a bit late, but I was the one who got jealous and cut ties on my own after all; I want to try to face him again.

But my DMs were flooded with so many hate messages now that I might not be able to find it again.

“.…Y’know, my DMs from my dazzle days were always full of hate.”

“Oh, really? Why’re you bringing this up all of a sudden?”

Ignoring Tao, I continue talking.

“Since starting activities with Ev3ns, I've been getting some really nice messages. I can see the first few lines, so I read the ones that seem nice and positive.”

“Hmm, that’s good.”

“In the pile of such trashy DMs, y’know, there are occasionally some that shine like jewels.”

“Is that so?”

Tao listened with a “So what's your point?” look.

I thought it was funny and laughed a little.

Tao probably can’t picture it, but to me, those happy messages I get once in a while are like pretty flowers blooming in the mud.

Without a doubt, I’m covered in mud.

Ev3ns isn’t a star-studded idol group like 13’s. But flowers that bloom in mud are still beautiful in their own way.

I kind of like the me who can think that way now.

At least, much more than I did before.

The curtains to “Chii’s” dream might have been drawn, but the stage for Chihiro Natsuyaki’s dream is still set.

Someday, when I can shine even more brightly——

Will I be able to make all of “Chii’s” other dreams come true too?

……To give mom the affection she wants, to give Big Sis the peace of mind she needs, and to give my little sisters the future they deserve.

If I can do that, maybe someday I can meet my father too.

I think about it for a moment, not knowing if it’s a wish or a dream.

Next to me, Tao is laughing loudly at the comedy show.

As I laugh with him, I think about how I’ll dance my best again tomorrow.

The only thing I can do.

Be it on days of joy or days of sorrow.

Whether in cramped rooms or on wide streets, whether someone is watching or no one is looking.

It’s the gift that God has given to me,

I can dance.

And with that…. I finally decided that I had no choice but to live.

TL Notes:

In reference to the usage of the word “delulu” up there in regards to idol culture, with the original word Chihiro used being リア恋, in the context of "oshi-katsu" (activities supporting one's favorite idol or character), the terms リア恋 (riakoi - commonly used for women) and ガチ恋 (gachikoi - commonly used for men) are used to describe a state where the fan harbors unrealistic romantic feelings and want toward their bias, not just supporting them but also having the desire to date or marry them, often exceeding beyond the scope of being fans.

The target of these リアコ typically refers to idols, anime characters, or other unattainable figures from different worlds, thus it is not used for individuals who are realistically reachable as romantic partners.

リアコ is characterized by the following:

Imagining/wanting a romantic relationship with their bias.

Feeling distressed when seeing their bias with someone of the opposite sex.

On social media, some fans view those who support the same bias as their romantic rivals, leading to the term 同担拒否 (doutan kyohi), which means rejecting connections with those who have the same bias.

Sometimes ガチ恋 and リア恋 can be used in derogatory manner as well, depending on the context

On wikipedia, the definition for “delulu” is as follows: “Used as an adjective or a noun, it referred to individuals who harbored unrealistic hopes of meeting a celebrity of whom they were a fan, indicating a parasocial relationship characterized by delusional beliefs. The term was often also used by users in the context of joking about being deluded themselves.”

TLDR: “delulu” is the only fandom-based word that correctly captures the nuance carried in リア恋 and ガチ恋, with minor differences. Regardless on your stance on the word, as someone who suffers from psychotic depression, it is just an internet slang from a decade ago used in idol cultures, the recent definition and usage of the word has nothing to do with what it was created for.

Track 1 | Track 2 | Track 3 | Track 4 | Track 5

[besideprimroseshade]

ᴳᵒᵈ ⁱˢʰ ᵀʷˢᵗ ˣ ⁱᵐᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ CH: 2

CH: 1

"I'm getting excited on the contrary"

TW: Suggestive comments

    Y/N's current alias:

    Ell Clocke

    Alias No. 161

    Date: 1300

    "Why would you pick that book out of all?  I mean, it's nothing more than some fanatic's fantasy.  Nothing worth contemplating about".  He sighs and you shoot back Will you shut up for a few minutes?  I'm trying to read, you know, do something actually productive.  Instead of listening to whatever crap that comes outta your mouth.  Idle chatter should I say?"  He huffs "Ugh!  This is why you dropped out of school, my professors would be sorely disappointed in such a lackluster person like yourself".  You remember what page you're on and set your book to the side "Good thing I don't suck up to professors then, unlike someone here.  People actually enjoy my presence, dunno if you've noticed, but everyone here would kill you if it were legal".  He blanches and mutters something "Y-you're wrong, such a notion is inconceivable.  The people adore me, a brain such as mine surely deserves respect!" you shrug "Tell that to the townspeople, everyone here fucking hates you, and the fact that you with your great brain can't see that your holier-than-thou attitude is the reason why you don't have anyone who would actually care if you died is something..."

    "Wait... are you revealing to me that you wouldn't care if I died?" he freezes, a sort of realization washing over him.

    "Wow, the great mind finally realized.  What did you expect?  Me to cry when you die?  The guy who said that I'll be nothing 'cause I got B's and not A+'s?  The guy who every day told me that my dreams weren't anything, that mom and dad just had me to compare my dullness to your brightness?  You should've been a comedian instead of a scholar, 'cause that's too fucking funny".  Your words cut like the sharpest of ice, frigid and unforgiving.  

    "I... I was joking!  Of course you couldn't take a joke, you're too sensitive..." comes the attempt to shake away the guilt.

  "At least I can feel things…” you quip back.     He takes a furious sip of his tea and coughs it out “W-what curious concoction is this?  This is surely not my tea!”.  Your eyes move to the snow white Persian cat in the corner of the parlor, lazing on her pillow.  Cotton, your mother’s most prized pet, a spoiled cat given as a gift from your father.  “Oh, Cotton peed in the cup, it must’ve slipped my mind to inform you…”

    The memory fades as you fade back to your tea, the faces swirling like the milk in the tea.  “That damned dipshit” you utter before grabbing a broom and flinging open your front door.  Your porch was decently decorated, with starch white paint on the walls and the beams supporting up the thing.  Thankfully the paint did not contain lead, or maybe it did, that might’ve explained why the townspeople avoided you like you were crazy.  A few plants in pots stood in neat rows by the front window, delicate little flowers grown from a variety of seeds.  But now was not the time to admire your handiwork.  Angrily sweeping your front porch and ignoring the clouds of dust that plague your vision.  Your brother never did get his dream…     You learned that for all of his labor, he was only remembered as a pretentious wannabe who tried so hard to make it big in the world of knowledge that he ended up only becoming famous for his attempts.  A local legend of your town.  After centuries of him being dead, you were still petty.       Continuing your furious sweep you barely notice the child staring at you from behind one of the poles.  Only stopping your sweep to take a few breaths, “What do you want kid?” You turn to meet their gaze.  A tiny lanky thing, who probably didn’t even reach your hip, with striking eyes the same shade as the blazing garnet ring your least favorite aunt always showed off.  Thick dark hair that reminded you of ink, silky and black, cut short above their shoulders.  Their outfit prim, with a neat white shirt dark brown pants.  Their ears confirmed that they were a fairy, small and pointed.       “You appear to be angered with something” they observe with a voice so quiet it seemed hardly a whisper.  They stand there, hiding, unsure of whether to approach the curiously angry stranger, or run off back into the forest.  “Just blowing off some steam” you reassure them before leaning your broom against the wall.  “I’m not gonna hurt you, ‘sides, you’d probably be more of a threat to me than vice versa” you admit, watching as their grip on the pole lightens, a few creaks from the wood reverberating off the porch’s roof.  “So uh… what brings you to my place?  Pure curiosity?  Or did I anger a fae?”  You continue, waiting for any sort of reaction.         “I hast stumbled upon your abode by chance, tis an interesting place.  Any sane human would place their home as far as possible from a fairy.  But your abode is right in the middle of our territory.  I can feel the magic everywhere” they respond at last.     

    “I’m not like most humans…” you say, half joking half seriously.  “I can feel that, there is something heavy around you.  Many feelings are wound up inside you, like a boiling pot of stew, ready to bubble over and burn at any second” comes their swift response.  “Thanks for the reading… but I don’t have anything to give ya’ unless you’re hungry for some leftover bread and cheese from this mornings meal” you admit.  They shake their head, “No thank you, my lady said to never trust strangers.  There is no shortage of people willing to take advantage of you”.  You nod slowly “Your lady is right, tis better to be safe then found dead in a ditch I suppose”.       “Shall I call you something?”     “Fae never give out their names”     “That’s right, you’ve got good instincts too”     “Are you going to give me your name?”     “Nah”

    That was the beginning of your encounters with that little faerie.  He never did give you his name, but simply told you that it was similar to a flower.  You ended up telling him your name though, so that he would stop calling you the ‘abnormal human’.  He wasn’t wrong though, normal humans weren’t immortal.  Normal humans didn’t challenge gods in hopes of death.  Normal humans didn’t use their fathers invitation to a school and assumed his identity.  You learned more about your little visitor.  He was a servant of nocturnal fae’s princess.  A little bat fae at the very bottom of the fae hierarchy, raised in luxury.  Trained to serve his lady’s every whim.  What a dreary existence… you thought. 

    In exchange for tidbits about his life you gave him some from yours.  How you challenged a god and got immortality in return.  “You are an idiot” he thought aloud as he took a spoon from one of your cabinets and grabbed a dish labeled for him.  “What is this?” He inquired suspiciously “A treat, leftovers from a friend’s party” you reply.  The little fae sniffed it curiously before digging in.  “Pear…” he said at last before finishing the dessert in a few seconds.       “Someone’s hungry” you grab a few cherries from a basket full of farmer’s market goods.  "That is none of your concern" he comments.  "Damn, you're quick to anger" you slightly tease.

    That was the last time you saw him that small, he never did grow much taller.  But there was something different about him, not just that he was visibly different.  But he seemed different, bore a different air about him, something sickening, but you could never put a finger on it.  It was unsettling, the curious gleam in his scarlet eyes faded away in favor of a hateful sheen.  His slit pupils constantly in a state of fury.  How he shook off your concern with a glare, was this how your parents felt with you?  His hair was now welcome to dyed streaks of red, a unique choice for sure. 

    You dabbed one of his more severe wounds with a cotton ball.  "Humans can never keep their hands to themselves" you mutter as you rub a salve on his injured arm.  Tone akin to a chiding parent's as you clean and bandage his arm.  "Tut tut, I told you not to play with those mean boys and their toys", the boys in question being men and the toys being weapons.  "You're not my parent dumbass" to which you shake your head teasingly "I know, but seeing you grow up to be such a strong fighter has certainly had some sort of parental affect on me".  He side-eyes you "That's so fucking sweet it's annoying...".  Playfully wacking the top of his head you smile "Language little one..."

"Fuck you" he mutters irritated.

"No one will sadly..." you respond with a sigh.

"I hate you"

"Such is the fate of every parent, I suppose.  Whatever happened to that sweet little faerie I encountered?  Now there's just this crass thing in his place"

   •✧• Centuries later •✧•

    Current Alias

    Hanakoto Y/N

    Orientation went smoothly, you personally didn't care which dorm you were placed in, so long as you'd be left alone for the most part.  You rolled your shoulders back as you stepped up to meet the gaze of the Dark Mirror.  For some reason the Ceremonial Robes felt heavier upon your arms.  As if they were weighing you down... pulling you away from your fate.  Feeling the hundreds of eyes staring at you with a variety of emotions.  The weight of their gaze not helping. 

    You stared at the Mirror as it boomed the familiar words to you that it had to many students before you.

   "The shape of thy soul is..."

   "Tenacious... therefore you are fit for Pomefiore"

    As you walk down the steps to the crowd of Pomefiore students, you hear a scoff.  Turning to face the student you're face to face with some pretty blonde student with tacky violet ends and amethysts for eyes.  "Is there a problem?" you scoff back.  He glares at you before turning back to see what new students would be joining him.  Grumbling about "potatoes".  You take an empty spot between a couple of fellow first years.  "The fuck is his problem?" you mutter glaring daggers at the back of his head. 

    Vil Schoenheit could feel holes being bored into the back of his head, probably from that insolent potato that he just bothered to stare at.  What was their problem?

   The dinner at your new dorm was luxurious, it felt like the dinners that fae had described to you, while the Queen of Briarland was entertaining nobles. There were plates piled high with delicacies, food that you had only read about, it was absolutely delicious, but that damned student from earlier kept shooting you glares.  As if everything you did earned his ire.  Like he was personally offended by your existence...  You were from a family of farmers but damn, his attitude towards you was worse than those falsely compassionately officals that pretended to take pity on the plight of farmers.  The same people that made it possible for them to stuff their faces with rich sauces and soups, those addicting desserts and prized drinks. 

    Not to mention that blonde with the bob who sat next to him kept smiling and complimenting him, lathering on the praise for him until it creeped you out.  You could've mistaken him for your brother, always showering famous scholars that he encountered with so much praise you thought that he was in love with them.  Those crusty old men who sat pondering alongside other crusty men who agreed with their every word.  This guy was more of a devout worshipper than fellow student.  What made him so good that someone would treat him like a god, or perhaps, what made him so rich?  So worthy of being praised, so worthy of being devoted to?  How curious...

    You were currently writing down your record of the first week of school, the classes, the teachers, the many students from all walks of life.  Finishing each sentence with a flourish.  You set your journal down.  You learned that the blonde with violet eyes was some model named Vil Schoenheit.  And the blonde with the bob was Rook Hunt.  Two insignificant people that you'd probably forget in a couple of centuries... or well, that's what you assumed at first...

    Resting your back against the wall you inhale quietly, your mind taking you back to the memories of a bygone era, a bygone you.  "Whatever became of that faerie?" you mutter standing up from your spot.  Stretching your arms you toss the journal into your bag.  You hadn't heard much about him after he left, you never learned his name after all, it was hard to look for someone when you didn't know a basic fact about them.  Did he die in the war?  Did he have a family?  Those questions would continue to go unanswered most likely.  You missed him, that nocturnal fae that you watched grow up, the fae brought up by royalty, a mere peasant by hierarchy's standards.  But status didn't matter to you, and he appreciated that. 

    That was then however, this is now.  Seeing the students rush to classes, take their time chatting with friends, and teachers exchanging lesson plans.  The similar sights of your school back when you were mortal.  You sat by yourself at lunch time, occupying yourself by listening in on the busy chitter.  Sitting silently as you picked at the your meal for today, pondering at the pangs in your chest that struck as you reminisced about a time no longer.  Idly poking at the lukewarm pile of mashed potatoes with your fork, taking small bites of the tender steak.  Too caught up in your memories to savor the flavors of the meat. 

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

Author's Thoughts

Scarlet-eyed fae - 'A good kid. Deserved better in life'

Vil Schoenheit - 'Nothing worth mentioning, dunno why he's famous'

Rook Hunt - 'desperate, fucking desperate'

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

A/N: thank you guys for being so patient!! have a wonderful day/afternoon/night :>

[scriv3lloirl]

Gen question, why do you hate the 2019 production

Jesus. This is gonna be a really long post. Check under the cut.

Honestly? I'm not quite sure m'self. It's jus.. not good and I don't know how to describe it. No hate if you like it, Anon, but I listened to the soundtrack once n I couldn't get through it. Once 'Dentist!' turned on, I had to shut it off halfway through the song, which I never do, cus it was that bad.

Christian Borle as Orin Scrivello? I despise it. He's not a good Orin, n I will die on that hill. He seemed so.. bored while playin the role n I don't understand how you can be bored playing Orin.

I sat down to actually watched the slime tutorial up on YouTube, cus I wanted to give the show a chance n I hoping it was jus the cast album that was bad, but watchin the video jus made my dislike grow but I stuck it out n watched the whole thing.

There is one thing that I can appreciate bout Borle playin Orin, though, n it's that he's bringin a lot of new fans into the fandom! He's a popular actor n a Tony Award winner; a lot of people know him as Vox from Hazbin plus other roles he's played that I can't think of right now—and ev'ryone wants to check him out in Little Shop!!

Enough of Borle though—Time for Jonathan Groff as Seymour.

I don't have as many problems with him as I do Borle. Jonathan is a fantastic actor, but he's not a good Seymour. When he sings all I can hear is Kristoff from Frozen n it brings me out of whatever song we're in. The way Groff acts as Seymour is.. odd. It jus doesn't feel like Seymour, y'know?

Tammy Blanchard as Audrey? I don't really have words for her, she is awful pretty I gotta say. When I listened to the songs on album, it seemed like she changed actresses halfway through songs. I dunno what's up with that. It was weird.

But in the slime tutorial I saw, Joy Woods played Audrey n—hoo boy. I love Joy Woods. She's a fantastic Audrey (the main inspirations for my black Audrey design) but she really disappointed me in the video.

Feed Me (Git It!) is always a make it or break it song for me—with how almost all of the main cast will be on stage—n ev'ryone was.. eugh. Nobody had any emotion durin the song (especially durin that one part where Orin literally smacks Audrey. Orin sounded so flat.) n Christ, it really pissed me off.

Anyway I have a lot more thoughts on this production but, I don't really know how to continue on with this post.. I jus don't like the cast n they don't sing well t'gether. I dunno.

Thanks for your ask, Anon!

[chooey]

really wanna own a pair of boots but. good quality boots? in this economy?????

[karlie-what-you-want]

I'm going to try to word this correctly, because I'd like your take and I don't want my point to be misconstrued. The tldr is: I'm kinda bummed 1989 TV is such a commercial success. Here's the long of it. 1989 was my favorite album for a long long time and I was of course, excited to check out the vault. But I feel like these numbers are based on hype, not on product. Which is... fine, commercially speaking. Go girl, make those dollars. But... the result is a receipe. What perfomed the best for a long time is a record that was heavily branded by a stunt with a boy(band). What has now performed the best was a re record dropped in the middle of a tour that was completely overshadowed by the boybranding again. I feel like the rush was a mix of weird Haylor gossip thirst, football dude easter egg hunt, return of girlsquad branding... I admit, it stings that 1989 TV didn't even get a promo interview, a music video, or anything. (No, but we didn't forget the merch drops, tho!!) And it makes me sad, because... folklore, man. That had ZERO hype. Bam. There. And we ate that shit up. We loved THE MUSIC. I want the wild ride to be the music. And 2023 feels like Taylor has fully retreated inside the Taylor Swift TM persona and we're buying the TS Brand, not Taylor's music. What I was hoping for was: more 1989 vibes on vault songs, more "directed by Taylor Swift" creative expressions. What I got was: Ken and Barbie on tour. I'm sorry this is kinda rambly. I know anon asks don't take into account line breaks so this will be even more confusing. But. Yeah. I'm just a bit bummed out and I was wondering if anyone else was a bit disapointed, too? I mean. I genuinely don't know. Do people enjoy the soap opera and I'm the only one who's only turning up to check out the shoes Taylor wore in candids and for her artistic expression? Maybe I'm the weirdo. The market certainly seems to say I'm not in the majority.

Hi Anon 💕

I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way, and I can absolutely relate! It can be really difficult to separate the stunts from the music on a mental and emotional level. It’s something I still struggle with occasionally, and when the music is something so personal to you, of course you can feel protective or even disappointed when the PR goes off the rails. That is completely valid!

It saddens me that any fan would feel the shine of Taylor’s actual work has been dulled by the PR schemes.

I, too, am surprised that we haven’t seen any music video for 1989 TV yet, but I’m also not completely convinced that the book has been closed on that front. Let’s wait together in hopeful anticipation 🤞

I don’t blame you at all for how you are feeling, but I think in times like these, the most helpful thing for me is to draw that mental boundary—whether it’s a boundary between the music and the PR, or myself and the PR. Sometimes, I just don’t check the news, or I scroll away quickly if I happen to see something. These stunts are a lot, so when I feel myself becoming overwhelmed, I really try to shut down my mournful thoughts with a “NOPE! That’s not good for me right now” and then scroll away, or shut my phone off, or turn on Taylor’s actual music instead.

I am in love with 1989 TV. I’ve had it on repeat since it dropped, and hearing the vault tracks especially makes me so happy. I feel like there’s a real story there—things we didn’t get to see when the album originally came out. I have to imagine that even now, there’s so much happening behind the scenes that we can’t know. I’m just grateful for the chance to peek a little farther behind the curtain for a period of time that was very special for the T Swift community.

Lastly, regardless of the PR stunts, this drop has been huge for Taylor. Perhaps we’ll never know for sure whether that’s because people have come flocking for her music itself or they’ve grown curious due to the over the top PR, but I have a feeling that Taylor doesn’t care much either way. I think she’s at peace with the way she gets her attention, because at the end of the day, people ARE listening to her music. If they saw her at a football game cheering on some meathead and got curious enough to check out 1989 TV, what they will discover is a woman with great intelligence, a depth of emotion, and an insane amount of talent. That is just to say, it will always be her music and talent that shines in the end.

I’m reminded of YOYOK, where Taylor sings I looked around in a blood-soaked gown and I saw something they can’t take away.

No amount of stunts or bad PR (or good PR!) will change her undeniable talent. Even better that 1989 is truly Taylor’s now. I just find it comforting that regardless of how people find Taylor or why they first buy her music, they will get to enjoy it for the beautiful work of art that it always is.

Sending love, anon! You are not alone in your feelings, I promise 💚💛💜❤️🩵🖤🩷🩶🤎💙

[crystalelemental]

Now that I’ve completed all the supports, time to talk about the effective S-supports.  This is my ranking based on how well the support goes.  Given that some are romantic and some are just friends, I’ll be treating them a little differently.  Ultimately, the vibe of how well they work plays into it, but for romantic partnerships, the question of whether earlier supports pinged romance and whether the confession is actually cute will have to factor in as well.  I will try, though not promise to succeed, in putting my bias for or against certain characters aside.  I also want to note, these are ordered by how they appeared in the Somniel, so these aren’t intra-tier ranked.  As for how the tiers are structured, for your consideration:

S: Super sweet.  Like, if friends, this is the good dynamics.  If romance, they’re actually like...really selling me here.

A: Actively adorable, friendship is strong or roman

B: Fairly cute, like the dynamic presented, but played the wrong way.  Either they’re just friends when it shouldn’t have been, or they’re romantic when it doesn’t feel right.

C: Bland, but not strictly bad.  Romance as an option from them doesn’t really...work to me, or friendship is dull.

D: Really boring, feel like nothing is offered.

F: Actively do not like how this goes.

S-TIER

Pandreo - Oh, I really like this one.  Like, the fact he’s directly part of the church that worships you had me on edge, but he makes it really up front that hey, this would be improper, but as a person I really like you, thanks for hearing me out I gotta go.  And Alear stops him to insist that hey, I never signed up to be god, and I am down with this.  It kinda rules.  And he’s super sweet afterward?  Like his line in the still image is strong.  Good work, party monk.

Veyle - She’s precious.  S-tier.  “Okay but the content?”  It’s S-tier.  Shut up.  In all seriousness, it echoes a lot of others, where it’s them giving you something too, but it’s Veyle, okay?  That’s baby, I will kill for her.

Amber - Oh damn that’s adorable.  “Your place is right here, by my side.”  Damn boy, that’s well done.  Also Amber’s just precious in general, so grading a bit on a curve, but I’m really pleased at how this turned out.

Anna - Absolutely adorable.  Such a fun conversation that focuses on what make baby Anna so precious.  I just love how she’s sentimental enough to hold off on her best works as a gift to you, and then immediately turns it around into mass production of your necklaces and how we’re going to be business partners.  Fantastic.

Hortensia - It’s precious.  They’re engaging, it’s funny, it’s heart-warming.  I really liked this one.  Hortensia turned out to be a really strong character as it is, being one that’s not as clear with her emotions and is trying to improve as a person, but I feel like hits a very believable state.  It’s not too over the top, but it’s charming and quirky and fun.

Celine - Now that’s just great.  She worries you’ll be disappointed in her harsh stance, and you instead turn it into the confidence that you’ll always have her back.  Great continuation, great character, love how it goes.

Goldmary - My girl.  So, I noticed a thing.  When the romance option is male, they’re always leading off with how they feel and why.  When the romance option is female, Alear is leading off.  I kinda like that Goldmary is the exception that’s like nope, absolutely not, I’m going first.  And she’s really direct and clear.  A lot of supports seemed kinda on the fence to me, either could’ve been romantic until proven otherwise or could’ve been platonic until you see where the ring is.  I like that Goldmary’s both assertive and clear about what she wants, while still being playful about how no one else gets to be this happy.  Best girl indeed.

A-TIER

Alcryst - Actually really sweet too!  He had a gemstone for you too, and it has all this significance to it.  It’s a cute exchange.  And overcoming the inherent shyness to be a bit bold?  Good stuff. The only reason it’s not S is because Lapis exists.  It feels wrong.  Like I’m a homewrecker.

Panette - This is pretty cute.   The fixation on how a relationship can sour, anxieties over allowing it, it’s a more dynamic confession that way.  The whole situation plays out well.

Alfred - I think this is an inversion of Alcryst; someone normally confident and peppy being reserved and almost coy but working up the courage. It’s cute.

Framme - Pretty cute!  Promoted to Number One Ally.  Sorry, Clanne.

Chloe - They’re cute.  The fairy-tale focus lends itself well to a romance, but I feel like it doesn’t quite...land as perfectly.

Rosado - A very cute friendship bit.  Knowing how Rosado is about being the cutest, conceding defeat against you because of how precious you are is a very cute gesture.  But.  I’m annoyed by the whole “like” thing.  Social media isn’t real.  What the fuck are you talking about, Alear?

Zelkov - The leadup feels kinda weak, but the presentation of the gift and its meaning, alongside dropping his speaking quirk because he feels like everything said here is meaningful?  That’s strong.

Clanne - It’s really cute.  And similar to Framme.  I am picking favorites between the children.  Terrible of me, really.

Yunaka - Yunaka’s incredibly cute in general, and the continuation from previous supports works really well here.  But I’d be lying if I said it felt particularly...romantic.

B-TIER

Bunet - Actually pretty sweet?  I have to deny the S more because Fogado exists, and homewrecking and all that.  Fogado did not search you out for years just for you to leave him, Bunet.

Seadall - I’m so mad his is actually cute.   I’m docking points for their earlier supports not doing anything particularly useful in the setup, and referencing the damn savory food thing again.  Just eat, damn you!

Vander - I’m a sucker for the whole “renewing knightly vows with fuller understanding of what it means to me” thing.  However.  He’s wearing the ring on his ring finger, and as a romance, it’s not doing it for me.

Boucheron - It’s pretty cute.  But it’s also not anything particularly profound.

Kagetsu - Actually surprisingly charming.  I wasn’t expecting to be attached to the idea of him swerving from friend to romance and being jealous about the prospect of you binding your life to someone else, but it’s kinda cute.

Fogado - This would’ve been incredibly sweet if it weren’t for “allies.”  Why is this one not romantic, IS?  Is there some reason Fogado shouldn’t be a marriage option?  Hmm?  Do tell.

Louis - I like Louis well enough, but this feels like it didn’t try as hard as it could have to get something interesting going.

Citrinne - This is a really, really cute friendship bit.  I like them a lot. Citrinne being taken aback about receiving a gift, because she doesn’t usually get them. Sincerely though, why isn’t this romantic?  This feels like it should be.

C-TIER

Mauvier - By general structure it’s not bad, but it never pinged romantic before now?  I dunno.  I just don’t vibe with it.

Lapis - It’s fine.  I don’t really get the romance vibes, but apparently she’s meant to be read as romantic?  It doesn’t feel especially so.

Saphir - It’s a little bland.  There’s just not much substance to the situation, I feel.

Timerra - “It’s so tough having close relationships but wanting to be truly free.” Then fuck off.  Though on the other hand, I guess this means we’re friend married, and not planning to have romantic relationships at all?   That checks out.  I have adopted a lot of cats.  And Rutile Marmots, apparently.

Merrin - It’s not that it isn’t cute, it’s that the earlier supports were super bizarre to me so it doesn’t land like it should.

Etie - By friendship, it’s fine.  I just wish they gave Etie a bit more than just...the workout fixation, you know?  Not much is spent on developments that make her shine.

D-TIER

Lindon - It’s just kinda...meh.  Not really doing anything for me at all.

Diamant - He’s kinda boring.  It wants to be cute but he’s so bland.

Jade - Similar.  Just kinda boring.

Jean - It’s pretty cute.  I don’t have a whole lot to say about it, though.

F-TIER

Ivy - It’s not a good romance, and it weirds me out that we not only don’t address the whole worship thing by insisting Alear is their friend before their deity, but actually leans into the whole devout thing.  Unpleasant.

[seraphimart]

Caught

(Akumu doesnt do blackmail)

Rose sat bolted down and chained onto a steel chair, powered by old alchemy. She watched the figure pace back and forth.

"I'm telling you right now that you're wasting your time."

"Quiet."

Darkeethus paces more, tossing things around and muttering to himself. Rose was a bit concerned for the mental state of this man.

"Getting his attention this way never works. Trust me. We will be sitting here for weeks, months even. He doesn't do blackmail."

He grabbed her by the hair and pushed her head down, cranning her neck, and pulling the chains taunt by the pressure and force.

"I said SILENCE!

I know he'll come. You're his best soldier. His right hand. Killing you will lose him millions that he can not afford, but i won't have to do any of that if he just listens."

Rose frowned, unimpressed, and looked up through her bangs. Her neck was a little tight after being shoved down so roughly.

"You think so highly of me. I'm kinda flattered. But if you knew him like I do, you can stop wasting both of our time and shoot me already. He's not going to bother-"

"-saving his daughter?"

Rose's voice gets caught in her throat, almost making her gag.

Rose looked back at Darkeethus.

"W-what?"

His lips stretched into a disconcerting smile.

"Oh it took a lot of digging and lots of righteous sacrifices, but I know who you are now. I know how you came to be.

Scarrlette."

Rose started sweating. Things usually get complicated when they know who she really was.

He turns so his back is facing her.

"Or should I say a clone of Scarrlette. A faulty product, a failure."

There were questionable tools on the table that made the bottom of her stomach tighten. She knew what they could be used for.

Darkeethus messed with a few of the objects on the table, inspecting each one closely before giggling manically to himself. He turned around, holding a weird scoop like tool very surgical with sharp edges. He showed it off to her, causing her face to pale when she realized what it was.

Darkeethus leans over the bounded redhead.

"Now let's see, what can we remove to show him we are serious?," He makes a show of pondering as he tapped his chin, "Oh yes! That beautiful eye of yours."

Rose feels the panic start to bubble up in her chest as the scientist holds a different tool, which is supposed to keep the eye socket open.

"Wait, wait! You wanted him to listen to you, right, I can relay that information to him! I can bring him here guaranteed, with no eyeball removal."

Darkeethus thinks for a second making Rose assume he's actually taking the offer. Her hopes shattered when he shook his head.

"No, this way will do, my sweet."

The tool started to move close to her eye, hovering a few inches away.

"Shit fuck shit shit."

Sweat starts to bead down her forehead.

She shuts her eyes, teeth clenching in anticipation. A small, "Agghhh!" Escaping her lips.

When suddenly shadows start to form behind the mad scientist. It clumps up like millions of bats until a physical body is created.

A clawed hand gripped Darkeethus' shoulder tightly.

Then, he flings him back with ease. Darkeethus hits the wall, and pieces of wood shattered. His body slides down as blood poured out of the gash across the back of his head.

The new figure stared at the scientist that they flung, making it difficult for Rose to see who it was. Her eyes caught sight of the black hair, and the way it flowed flawlessly in the wind. She was shocked, and maybe she could even say relieved. Was it really him?

"A.. Akumu..?" She tried.

Red eyes looked over their shoulder to the bound redhead.

The figure turns around, and the second time that day, her hope shattered. It was Akumu's pet vampire, Liam Von Goethe.

Rose tried not to feel too disappointed, her smile wavering.

"L-Liam! What are you doing here.."

"My leige does not have time to deal with whatever this is, so he sent me."

He crossed his arms, looking at her.

Liam doesn't say anything else after that and stares. Rose starts to get uncomfortable with how awkward the stare is.

"Are you gonna untie me? Or just stare..." Rose asked, feeling quite flustered under that gaze.

Liam stands there with a hand on his chin as he studies Rose.

Another voice chimes in. "Beautiful.."

Liam turns his head to the scientist. They were sitting upright, leaning heavily on the wall, face covered in blood, a large contrast against their pale white hair.

Darkeethus stared at Liam in complete awe, one eye swollen shut.

"You're absolutely beautiful."

Liam became flustered a deep frown stretching his lips.

"Are you an angel?"

Liam scoffs, a look of disgust on his face.

"Che, you're delusional from blood loss."

"And you." He turns to face Rose his clawed hand reaching out.

"How much more will he tolerate before he sees you as a liability, I wonder.." Rose looked up at him with a frown as he caresses her cheek. It made her stomach twist from how gentle he was being.

He stared a little while longer before suddenly getting up. He dusted his cloak off from imaginary dust and started to leave.

Rose watched him go for a few minutes. The door slammed shut behind him, shaking the walls with force.

She looked down at the steeel chains and bolts, powered by alchemy, keeping her in place.

"Fucking asshole didn't untie me."

She tapped her temple with her shoulder, hitting her intercom and waited for the call to go through.

"Yo?"

"I'm calling in that favor you owe me."

[andtheghost]

01/11/24 - Disappointed Idealist

I quit a what most people would consider a good job back in 2022. Higher than average pay, guaranteed vacation, a 401k. There were a lot of things happening at the time, but the breaking point was when I had spent the entire twelve hours killing myself trying to keep up with a machine because no one was willing to shut it off to fix it. Downtime means no production. No production is bad. Can you keep up with the work a machine can produce? No, but I don’t give a fuck what your fragile little human body is capable of doing, do it anyway because my numbers are worth more to me than you.

And FINALLY the machine broke down on its own. And after a whole day of constant alarms going off and panicked running back and forth and watching as the product came out at a pace I knew I could never possibly keep up with, everything was quiet, and nothing was moving, and I looked around for the first time in almost twelve hours. Bins everywhere, overflowing with product that was going to need to be fed through by hand. Hours of time that literally nothing got done, because THE MACHINE CAN NOT BE TURNED OFF!!!!!!!! THERE AREN’T ENOUGH EXCLAMATION POINTS IN THE WORLD TO PROPERLY EMPHASIZE HOW IMPORTANT THIS POINT IS!!!!!!!!!

If you die on this floor, so be it. But your coworkers are going to have to work twice as hard now to make up for the production time we lost because of your death. We’ll give a speech about how sad your passing was even though I’ll have to look at my cue cards to remember you even had a name, and mention what a valuable asset you were to the company, but never mention how much of your life you missed in the process.

I ran into the clean room and had a panic attack.

And decided at that moment that I was done. I was never going to be a THING for some corporate fucking piece of shit because I am worth so much more than that. Everyone is, but somehow we all kind of forget that, don’t we?

But I can’t forget it anymore. I had another job briefly later that year, but I felt like the worst kind of traitor the whole time. Fucking liar. The anxiety was constant and, eventually, unbearable.

I haven’t had a job since August of 2022. I would rather slowly bleed the system than prop it up, but I don’t want to do that, either. It’s not really DOING something. Its like passively standing by glaring as the CEO parade comes by with their smiles and their floats and their confetti because they know my existence has no effect on them. A single cog worked its way out of the machine, and there are millions waiting in line to take its place. It’s not helping the system, but it’s not hurting it, either. I want to rip it to unrecognizable shreds with my fucking teeth and set it on fire.

And maybe there’s a third option, but I’m not sure what it is or how to access it, if it does exist.

But the reality is that until someone finds that third option, I would rather drain it than prop it up. There are a lot of people who won’t like that idea, myself included, but I’m just being honest.

That might make me selfish. It’s okay, I am selfish. Humans are inherently selfish animals. They’re also inherently loving animals, but it’s a lot easier to focus on that part than admit the other, and in turn we create a toxic existence where a whole part of our very nature is evil and wrong.

I realized I’m not a pessimist, and I don’t hate people. I’m an idealist. I can see how much better everything could be, for everyone, and I see most people actively working against it, and I can’t read minds. I don’t know if they actually believe they’re doing something good or if they’re just trying to make themselves feel better because they think there’s nothing they can do. I certainly don’t know if I’m doing something good. George Carlin said:

“Inside every cynical person is a disappointed idealist.”

I don’t know if that’s true of every cynical person, but I know it’s true for me.

[sidecharactersdomatter]

You're right about Nancy and Edward. It was so irresponsible of them to gift a baby a wishing wand that I don't know why the film didn't have her be aged up if I'm supposed to interpret she'll use it when she was older which is another point of criticism aimed at the film.

But anyway, I wanted to know a couple of things about the characters from The fairytale of my life if they're not spoilers from the story. Like, did Morgan enter any writing competitions? I read in one of your posts that Giselle's business was shut down, does she still make dresses but as a freelance seamstress now.

Exactly!!! You totally get me thank you. Disenchanted was basically a bunch of ideas that sounded interesting but they ended up being terribly executed. This is why Tftoml doesn’t have the Philips receiving the wand, because in my experience the wish granting wand trope has been overused by Disney. Examples being Disney Princess Enchanted tales: Follow your dreams, Keys to the Kingdom and Tangled the Series’ episode, Rapunzel: Day One.

If I was in charge of the plot I have 2 ways it could’ve been executed. They could’ve just had a magical bottle with an Alan Tudyk genie or an enchanted storybook with whatever you write in it magically becomes real, nothing would change. I think the enchanted storybook would be better than an unnecessary wand, whenever you erase or change the ending your world would end up going back to normal instead of Disenchanted’s disappointing ending where it just resets as another day. Maybe Disenchanted should’ve stayed in production hell a little longer so that way the story could get straightened out.

If Morgan made the wish, she would’ve wished for Giselle to not act so overbearing, but she wouldn’t be specific and the wish goes straight for the ‘evil stepmother’ persona and she would learn to respect and be grateful for her parents. If an aged up Sofie made the wish, they would’ve done what Pokemon: Spell of the Unown did and have her wish make her world like a fairytale so that way it could make life easier for her family but she’s unaware how’s it affecting Giselle, Robert and Morgan and she would have to tearfully learn that escapism isn’t always the answer and be grateful for what you have right now. Spell of the Unown perfectly pulled off the ‘Be careful what you wish for’ trope very well because Molly was alone in her home and the absence of her parents made her Separation Anxiety worse. So she wished for her life to be like the fairytales her father told her but she was unaware that she was causing harm outside her own home and decided to do the right thing by helping Ash and her friends defeat the Unown saving her home and I think she was also ready to face the consequences at the end of the movie.

If Disenchanted had better writers, came out in 2017 before Amphibia, Encanto and Turning Red, and made Morgan the main character. It could’ve started an era where Disney films don’t always have to have an actual or twist villain, but focus on an internal conflict, usher in films that touch on generational trauma, and where the female protagonist doesn’t always have to be happy go lucky all the time and can have more diverse personalities.

In the fairytale of my life, Morgan does not make the Memory tree, since to me it ended up being a poorly built up maguffin. Morgan does try writing activities at the Manhattan library and used to take an art class before the move to Grimmberg. Since Giselle’s business was shut down by a health inspector she did graduate An adult education class and as a stay home mom she does draw up new designs in her free time. I’m glad I aged up and made Sofie the tetartagonist and gave her an actual purpose in tftoml.

I hope this answers your latest question and tl:dr Enchanted symbolized a new age of films where their female protagonists go through character development, Disenchanted symbolizes that Disney’s still stuck in their old ways and are in desperate need of change such as Non white protagonists, LGBT+ and disability acceptance, and being able to deal with serious topics in a respectful way.

[ihatemyselfbutidolovetea]

10/23/23

This isn't good. This is just.... not good. It's relationship issues so it's not like I can go to my friends about it. As much as I can ask other people to affirm me and tell me I'm good, I need need need need NEED Jayson to let me know that he doesn't think I'm a failure, he's not disappointed, he forgives me for being late on graduation and he recognizes my accomplishments.

Here's how arguments have been structured for the last few years; We piss each other off somehow---> I notice Jayson is upset and then I try to make things right by apologizing saying where I messed up but I will try to advocate for myself and let Jayson know how he's making me feel---> Jayson does not receive my attempts and then goes on a barrage of criticisms towards me which is mostly "when are you gonna graduate???" "Why aren't you making progress with moving on yet??" "You promised you'd graduate last year and you didn't" "I believe in you but I've heard this all before." Even when the argument had nothing to do with school in the first place, that's always brought up 98% over every single disagreement. As much as I want to keep working towards it, this pressure just kills my motivation. It doesn't get my ass in gear it just makes me shut down, and have destructive thoughts. Trying to be productive in these conversations is a fool's errand, and I should have learned a long time ago, that when the conversation turns to this, that's when I bounce.

But I really messed up this time. I lied to Jayson, I told him I made an appointment with a guidance counselor when he asked. I didn't, I was planning on doing that when I got home. But by the time work came up this rat race I'm in was just damaging my mental state. I needed a break really badly. If I'm not on campus then that would mean I don't meet with a counselor. My lie would have been exposed. So I had to come clean. I tried making actual appointments with guidance and a career counselor to make it hurt less, but the damage was done. He was not happy at all. There was nothing I could do it make it right. I hurt Jayson by lying. He told me it would hurt less if I just told him "No I didn't make an appointment" upfront rather than lying. Now I'm left with Jayson really thinking I'm a failure. Not just in life but being a good partner.

I'm just so ashamed. The self-hatred is back. Why does living hurt so much? It hurts to be in a body and it hurts to be with other people. It hurts to survive. It hurts to keep up. It hurts to leave my house. It hurts having to face shame every day. Of course, I can't tell Jayson what I'm feeling right now. How could I? After what I did, Jayson might never trust me again... I just hate myself, I'm such a coward. How can I deserve a relationship when I'm this much of a mess... I have no one but myself in the end. It's me being a mess, not my anxiety or my childhood. I can apologize for that mess ad nauseam but the mess hasn't cleaned up. No one's gonna force me to clean, no one's going to hold me accountable. I will get no comfort from being a mess.

There's something wrong with me... Why can't I be normal? Why am I busted? I just ruin everything good I have with the way I am. My talents, my past successes, and all my efforts will never be enough. We are put on this earth to survive, survive with each other. You are responsible for playing by the rules.

I just want to feel better...

[iamvoid0]

EU Fires back at FTC, new PlayStation hardware in testing, and Call of Duty may come to PS Plus!

🕹️ The Console War Rages On

The EU clarifies its stance on Microsoft's Zenimax Acquisition and the ongoing acquisition of Activision-Blizzard-King - The European Commission has come to Microsoft's aid in the Activision Blizzard takeover case. US Federal Trading Commission (FTC) mistakenly believed Microsoft made 'commitments' to EU regulators not to release Xbox-exclusive content following its takeover of ZeniMax Media. In a new report published by MLex, the EU states that Microsoft never made any such commitments. The deal was approved because it "would not raise competition concerns". This means that even if Xbox made Bethesda's titles exclusive, it wouldn't significantly impact as rivals wouldn't be denied access to an "essential input". The European Commission says it has no comment on whether it agrees that Microsoft didn't stay true to its assurances to the EU on ZeniMax. Microsoft has told U.K. regulators that it makes sense for a Starfield to go exclusive and for a CoD not to. FTC is saying that if Microsoft told the EU it didn't need to go exclusive, then perhaps it'll do the same again with CoD. (Source)

Horizon Forbidden West: Burning Shores to arrive exclusively on PlayStation 5 - The new DLC expansion for Horizon Forbidden West, subtitled "Burning Shores", will arrive on PlayStation 5 exclusively on the 19th of April, 2023. (Source)

New PlayStation 5 hardware currently being tested - According to Insider-Gaming, the PlayStation 5 is set to get a unique overhaul in the middle of FY 2023, with the new console launching around September 2023. This new console will completely replace the A, B, and C chassis that have been in production since the console's launch. It's understood that this new PlayStation 5 console will be sold on its own or in a bundle with the detachable disc drive. (Source)

Sonic Frontiers has sold over 2.5 million units - SEGA tweeted on their official Twitter account indicating that Sonic Frontiers has sold over 2.5 million copies. They continued by indicating that more free content will come to the game in 2023. (Source)

Microsoft has offered to include Call of Duty in PlayStation Plus - Microsoft has offered Sony the right to include Call of Duty within its PS Plus subscription service. This is in addition to a deal that would also keep Call on PlayStation, Nintendo and Steam platforms for at least the next ten years. The move could boost subscriptions as a business model, which fits with Microsoft's strategy to grow this business area. (Source)

Megaman Battle Network Legacy Collection gets a release date - In a new trailer for the collection, the game was revealed to launch on the 14th of April, 2023. The game will also feature extended online play, trading, and PVP. (Source)

✨ Going to Events Spiritually

PlayStation Plus gets new games for December. The lineup includes Far Cry, Judgement, Yakuza 7: Like a Dragon, Yakuza 6: Song of Life, Mortal Shell, Middle Earth and more.

🎮 Where's My Controller?

Duelyst 2 came out this week. I was disappointed when the original was shut down. Duelyst 2 is a tactical turn-based card game on a grid. I gather that this sequel is a fan-made resurrection, so I will have to see how it is managed going forward. I enjoy this game, and you should check it out on Steam.

I've also been playing Marvel Snap. It is a fun game, but ranking up to get new cards feels like a slog. Actual PVP is set to be released sometime in the future. Right now, you are matched up against persons with similar ranks, and you grind levels to get to max rank. There aren't any ladders, so to speak.

💖 Enjoy this newsletter?

Forward to a friend and let them know where they can subscribe (hint: it's here).

[suga-kookiemonster]

ego 08

summary⇢ what’s a girl to do when her sweet, innocent baby lab partner isn’t quite so sweet and innocent? well, he’s a grown-ass man, and you’re about to learn that the hard way. pairing⇢ jungkook/reader word count⇢ 8.5k rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | humor | college!au | fuckboi!au | fratboy!au warnings⇢ none really, except that everybody and they mama in they feelings 😩 BUCKLE UP 😈

a/n⇢ THIS CHAPTER KEPT GETTING LONGER AND LONGER AND I’M GOING INSANE so i’ve finally just decided to split it lmao. please take this part now and anticipate the (actual) last chapter a lot sooner than i got this one out since it’s already 80% written!!! 

this chapter’s mood is this. hope you enjoy 😩

chapters⇢ previous | next | series masterlist

You knew your best friend.

You were perfectly aware that ignoring his texts and calls would not make him go away—that not responding in a timely manner would only result in him seeking you out. But, at the very least, you were sure you had bought yourself a couple of days. The fact that Namjoon was currently standing in the doorway to your living room, a plastic bag dangling from a couple fingers, was proof that you had been wrong.

Your eyes narrowed, immediately looking past him to where your traitorous roommate was casually rooting around in the refrigerator. “Meen! I thought we agreed no visitors!”

“Since when is Namjoon a visitor?” Mina snorted, not even bothering to spare you a glance. “He practically lives here.”

“Mina.”

“My bad,” she replied mildly, not sounding sorry in the least. She shut the fridge door, taking an unbothered sip from her newly-procured beverage as she headed back to her room with a shrug. “Maybe next time you should specify.”

“Really?” you hissed, but she didn’t even acknowledge your indignation as she left.

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you, unimpressed and slightly offended. “I know you did not just try to call security on me.”

You let out a loud huff, turning away from him to moodily stare at your tv, intent on getting back to your Snapped marathon. “Joonie, go away, I’m done with men. All they do is disappoint me.”

“Hmm, are you sure about that? I brought you that Italian sub you like.”

At the sound of crinkling plastic, your attention rather predictably drifted back to where he was tauntingly swaying his bribe.

“…your pass expires in twenty-four hours.”

Namjoon ignored your grabby hands, instead choosing to join you on the couch and set the bag just out of reach on the coffee table. The cushion bounced a bit when he determinedly plopped down next to you, the two of you staring at each other in the stretching silence, waiting for the other to break. In the end, your best friend’s current patience turned out to be shorter than your current pettiness levels.

“What happened?” he asked rather gently. And just like that, his obvious concern easily reawakened the swirling emotion that you had been spending all day pushing down, down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just fine, Namjoon,” you sniffed, eyes shifting away. Down, down. “Just fine and dandy.”

From the look on his face, he didn’t believe you, and frankly, you didn’t blame him. Yes, it had been a few hours since you had essentially had a meltdown and manipulated your mutual friend into giving you his car, but that wasn’t nearly enough time to pull yourself together and rope your feelings into something more muted and productive. Joonie knew that—he knew you—and so he had clearly found you as soon as he could, seemingly hopping right off the BTS bus and making pit stops only to drop off his bag and pick up your sandwiches.

However, despite the logical part of your brain plainly laying all of these facts out for you, the panicky part still reigned supreme, reflexive in its feigned ignorance.

“_____, you are clearly not fine.”

“And so what if I’m not? What, did you come all the way here to comfort me by letting me rest my head on your bosom?”

He looked at you flatly. “For the last time, I do not have a bosom.”

“And for the last time, you do. Now stop fighting me and let me put my face in your titties. You know that always makes me feel better.”

“So you’re admitting that you feel bad,” Joon pointed out triumphantly.

Damn. You had walked right into that one.

“Who said that? Can’t a girl just get motorboated in peace?”

“AHT!” Namjoon interrupted, raising a warning finger.

“What?” you asked defensively.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You know what.”

“What?”

“The whole shutting down and shutting people out thing you always do whenever you get really upset. I’m gonna need you to communicate and stop deflecting!”

You blinked, reflexively tensing at being read so blatantly. See, this was exactly why you had tried to stay away from Namjoon for as long as possible in the first place. He knew you way too well and wouldn’t allow you to properly wallow in your misery like you wanted. Rude ass.

At the look on your face, Namjoon let out a long sigh, simply opening his arms in invitation. You only paused for a moment before taking him up on the offer, pressing your face against his chest and immediately slumping into his warmth. As much as you teased, you hadn’t been lying about how comforting his chest was—your best friend gave the best hugs, and this was a perk you always made sure to take advantage of.

“Sorry I ruined the weekend,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“Eh, you didn’t really ruin anything,” he told you, squeezing your shoulder. “There’s drama at the formal every year. I would actually be surprised if this one passed without any, honestly. And besides, I would say Mark created much more drama than you did.”

You perked up at the promise of good gossip. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Well, Taehyung was very blatantly checking out one of the busboys at breakfast, and didn’t seem to care that everyone—including the dude he invited as his date for the weekend—could see him doing it. So Mark threw a bagel at him.”

Your eyebrow rose in surprise. Taehyung had always had a bizarre ability to catch pretty much everything that was thrown his way, even when caught off guard. His reflexes were so ridiculously on point that you once asked him if he had ever considered trying out for your school’s baseball team. (“Ehhh, I feel like that wouldn’t be a very welcoming environment,” he had replied vaguely, tacking on a damning wink. You had rolled your eyes, unsurprised that he had apparently run through enough of the baseball team that the environment was too hostile for him to even consider joining.)  

“He caught it,” Namjoon confirmed at the confusion on your face. “But that just made Mark more mad. So he grabbed Jimin’s orange juice and poured it over Tae’s head.”

“Yikes,” you grimaced in sympathy, lowkey sad you had missed the spectacle.

“Yeah, Jimin was pretty mad. It was fresh-squeezed and the kitchen had just run out of oranges, so that had been the last glass. But anyway, I basically had to nip a giant food fight in the bud and everyone forgot about any sort of alleged drama that could have involved you after that.”

That was a relief to hear. Despite your personality tending to edge more on the dramatic side than not, you were never the type to cause unnecessary drama, and loathed when other people did. Just the thought of your quick exit causing a scene made your stomach twist in embarrassment.

However, when Namjoon leaned slightly away from you so he could properly meet your eye, you realized that you weren’t completely in the clear. “Jin-hyung seemed pretty pissed off, though,” he said lightly, watching you closely for a reaction. “Wouldn’t tell me why, and only bothered to eat two plates, which we both know for him is unheard of. Especially at a buffet.”

You stiffened, lips unconsciously pursing shut.

“You gonna tell me why I had to stop him from whipping his French toast sticks at Jungkook like he was taking the Chunin Exams?” he prodded gently.

“…Ugh, you’re such a weeb.”

“And you understood that reference, so clearly so are you. Now what did I say about deflecting?”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, the silence stretching between you as Joon patiently waited you out. Because as much as you knew your best friend, Namjoon also knew you. He knew that you would only speak when you were ready, and so he was never one to pry—he would always simply make it clear that he that he was ready to listen whenever you needed to, and wordlessly offer his support in other ways. Like sandwiches. This was one of the qualities you really appreciated in your best friend.

“…It’s all just a misunderstanding,” you answered reluctantly.

The look Namjoon gave you was nothing short of incredulous. “You weren’t upset,” he deadpanned.

You didn’t blame the skeptical twist of his lips—you had suddenly zoomed off like a bat out of hell. “I was upset at me,” you tried to clarify, though you weren’t even sure you were convincing yourself. “Because I knew better. I knew better, and yet I still decided to be out here embarrassing myself and looking stupid. So I had to leave. That’s all. Can we please drop it?”

The furrow in Namjoon’s brow suggested he didn’t necessarily believe you were telling the whole truth. Still, he chose not to press you, and you were silently grateful. You weren’t lying about how mortified you still were, and the wounds were still too fresh for you to go into detail about what happened to your friend who, while supportive, would no doubt still hit you with some variant of Told you so. He didn’t say anything though, simply gave your knee a couple reassuring pats before finally reaching for the food bag.

You cleared your throat, ridding it of any collected emotion. “Does it have salami?”

“Of course it has salami,” he scoffed, handing you one of the sandwiches and starting to unwrap his own. “Who the fuck orders an Italian sub without salami?”

“I was just asking, don’t sass me!”

“Don’t ask stupid questions then,” he replied matter-of factly, taking bite and chewing obnoxiously.

Your eyes narrowed. “Twenty-three hours and forty-eight minutes, Kim.”

He waved you off, markedly unconcerned by your threat. And in that moment, you couldn’t stop the small tug of your lips. Despite your pitiful day, Namjoon had somehow made everything feel almost normal again, like the two of you were eating dinner together because it was simply another night.

You both ate in silence for a few moments, more focused on the food than anything else. But the second Namjoon’s eyes drifted to the tv and he realized what was on, he froze, shooting you a wary glance.

“What do you say we watch something else,” he suggested, cautiously reaching around you for the remote with the same care one would give an easily-spooked animal.

You paused in reaching for one of the bags of chips he had brought, attention moving to the satisfying reenactment of a lady running over her abusive husband with her car. “What? Why?”

Namjoon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “No reason. Just feeling like it’s a B99 kinda night.”

You shrugged noncommittally, too interested in deciding between barbecue and salt and vinegar to notice his sigh of relief. “Knock yourself out.”

“C-Cool. How’s the sandwich?”

“Bussin’,” you answered honestly, too into the food to be anything but.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

It didn’t escape you that not too long ago, it had been Jimin who had made your gut clench in anxiety. But now that you found yourself in this situation, you could blatantly see the difference. Feel the difference. Jimin had been perfect on paper—handsome, sweet as pie, and seemingly into you—and so it hadn’t been hard for you to fixate on the progression of your relationship that you had been sure was happening. It had definitely stung when you finally realized that wasn’t the case.

But your sporadic Jimin flirtation couldn’t hold a candle to the time you had spent with Jungkook. The literal hours, months, spent simply chatting, at first about the class that forced you into each other’s orbit in the first place, but quickly about everything else. You knew his quirks—knew that he bizarrely enjoyed doing laundry, and actually took the time to separate his whites and colors and delicates and use all the appropriate settings. A college fratboy who literally had a favorite brand of fabric softener. You knew that he got the little scar on his cheek from fighting with his brother when he was young. And he knew that you often pulled all-nighters, because you were a terrible procrastinator. (He had never seemed anything other than amused when you fell down Youtube blackholes at 3am and sent him videos of how to survive if you were ever swallowed by a whale). He knew how, during a family vacation when you were young, your aunt had unthinkingly given you one of those shitty disposable cameras. How you had taken immortalizing your vacation on film bizarrely seriously for a child, and that the developed photos had revealed that you had enough of an eye for the visual arts that your parents decided to start enrolling you in classes.    

Yes, Jimin’s rejection had stung. But it hadn’t felt anywhere near like what you were feeling now, now that you had actually opened up. Had actually let your guard down and offered pieces of yourself.  

You hadn’t been lying to Namjoon—you were embarrassed. Positively mortified that you had ignored all reason, had somehow convinced yourself that Jungkook actually liked you. Liked you how you wanted him to. Liked you the way you liked him.

But you should have known better. You knew better, and yet you still ignored your instincts, still ignored logic.

Because, like you had told Mina all those months ago, you got attached in relationships.

And Jungkook didn’t.

You weren’t dumb—you knew he liked you too, knew he definitely enjoyed being in your company. He couldn’t fake that—the two of you had spent enough time together over the last few months that genuine camaraderie and affection had bloomed. But at the end of the day, it was clear that you cared more than he did.

Against all your efforts, what the two of you had done actually meant something to you. Had actually altered something between you that, at least for you, couldn’t be changed back. But to Jungkook? You had been a welcome challenge. Nothing more than a game that he had finally won.

How could this have happened? How could you have read things so completely wrong?

When Namjoon finally went home and you were once again left alone with your thoughts, your brain wouldn’t stop going over every single moment from the past few months, searching for the signs of deception you had to have missed. It was hard, because Jungkook was one of the most genuine people you knew—his emotions were often visible on his face, and he said what he meant and meant what he said. At least…at least you had thought so...but the more you pondered, the more it became obvious that you had been set up.

He had charmed you, broken down your carefully-built walls brick by brick. He had noticed right away that his usual strategy wouldn’t work on you, so instead he switched tactics and backed off. Simply lured you in with carefully-placed bait. Made you relax your defenses so gradually that you hadn’t realized you were doing it. The soft smiles, the casual hand on the small of your back or on your knee, the warm arm slung over your shoulder. The hotel room with only one bed that he had “forgotten” to mention to you. The way he had made sure to take your bag to the room himself so you wouldn’t see the single bed until you were too tired and drunk to care.

All he had to do was wait—and you fell right into his trap. A sheep led to slaughter, just, as Jungkook had made sure to point to you, like the other girls.

So yes, you were embarrassed that you had fallen for it. And yes, you couldn’t help but also be upset at him, despite the rational part of your brain repeatedly reminding you that he had promised you nothing. So, to try to let your emotions simmer down enough for your rationality to return, you felt it best to keep your distance from Jungkook for a while.

He had called you on your frazzled drive home from the hotel, but you had gotten away with ignoring him by sending him a quick text telling him that you were a bad driver and didn’t want to be distracted. When he texted you a few hours later, you didn’t respond right away, and when you did, you told him that you still weren’t feeling well, and had passed out as soon as you got home. But that excuse didn’t work out the way you hoped it would.

[02:45] jeon 😒 Wow, are you sure you’re okay? I can bring you some medicine or soup or something

[02:55] no, don’t worry about it! I’m pretty sure it’s just a stomach bug, but I don’t want to expose you just in case

[02:56] jeon 😒 Babe, I’ve been exposed all weekend lol

[02:56] jeon 😒 whatever it is, if it’s contagious, I definitely already have it 😉

His casual allusion to what the two of you had done easily triggered your stomach into knots, and you found yourself unable to answer him, mind whirring about how you should reply. And after Namjoon had barged in and stolen your attention, you essentially ended up leaving him on read.

The BTS formal being scheduled right before finals meant that you were lucky enough to only have to soldier through one more week of class. Blessedly, there were no more chemistry labs for the semester—just one last lecture, and you easily skipped it to avoid him, praying that the slides your professor uploaded later were thorough enough for you to get the gist. And then after that, you were essentially free, able to easily avoid the areas he often frequented and focus more on getting your portfolio together and preparing for oncoming exams.

Jungkook did still try to contact you, of course. Because you were too much of a coward to block him and be done with it, you still saw it when he tried to check in on you (missed you in class today ☹️ ) and randomly sent you funny memes. This was all normal behavior before, but now, now that your heart had escaped its ribcage and seemingly made a new permanent home in your throat, your responses came off as rather lukewarm, even to you. The excuse that you still didn’t felt well, an lol that looked like the afterthought that it was.

A few days into finals week and a solid week after you had abandoned him at the lake, Jungkook tried again.

[02:56] 🚨❌🚨🚫 Hey, do you think we could get together and study? My notes say “meniscus” everywhere

[02:56] 🚨❌🚨🚫 miniscust? menisqus??? it’s spelled differently every time I wrote it 😩

[02:57] 🚨❌🚨🚫 what the fuck is a mainissiscuss, please help

Your chemistry final was in a couple days, so it made perfect sense that he would want to get together and go over things one last time. Still, you found yourself staring at the words, anxiety spiking at the thought of seeing him and pretending that everything that had happened between you never did. That nothing had changed between the two of you and everything was normal.

[02:57] sorry, I’m just really swamped rn

[02:58] but i think the meniscus has something to do with test tubes

[02:58] I feel like the professor always told us to look for that

He never replied, and, strangely, that only made you simultaneously relieved and more anxious.

Your chemistry final was being held in a larger lecture hall than the class had taken place in—multiple classes were being tested at the same time and seating was alphabetical, so it was easy for you to slip into the crowd and disappear without catching a glimpse of Jungkook at all. Good luck he had texted you, and you had responded with a simple you too.

You were running, just like you always did. And, to your surprise, the universe was actually letting you. But, as is always the case, just when you started to relax, just when you started to breathe again, the rug was pulled from under you.

You had been really careful to avoid all places you knew Jungkook might appear. However, you had been so focused in your task that what you hadn’t stopped to consider was that he knew all your places as well.

Jungkook finally caught you where he had caught you once before—your favorite library, in the lesser-known room about medieval medicine. You had been studying there for hours, preparing for an upcoming exam, and the way the words were starting to move nonsensically across your vision was the clue you needed that you should probably take a break. So, with a tired sigh, you gathered your things, intent on stopping somewhere for a quick lunch before heading home. But when you turned to leave your small alcove, you were startled to find Jeon Jungkook standing there like some sort of wide-eyed hallucination.

The sudden appearance of the man you had been actively avoiding for weeks almost made you jump out of your skin, and Jungkook jumped too, your surprise triggering his.

“You scared me,” you breathed, a hand resting on your chest as a reflexive comfort to your racing heart. Unfortunately, now that your initial scare was subsiding and your brain had more time to process the situation, your fight or flight response was not likely to back down.

Fuck.

He looked the same as the last time he had found you here so many months ago—wide-eyed, draped in sweats with a backpack slung over his shoulder. But at the same time, he looked much different. His hair had gotten longer over the months, his shaggy bangs wisping over his eyes to such a degree that he now needed to part it to see, the view of his forehead that had once unnerved you now such a common occurrence that you didn’t even notice anymore. He was still big—had been so from the first day you met—but now, inadvertently trapping you in this small space, he seemed especially so. And, of course, the energy between you had changed completely. Gone was the sense of harmless flirtation, and in its place was unspoken tension. A sort of hesitance.

You cleared your throat, eyes shifting slightly to the side, focusing on the space over his shoulder so you wouldn’t have to look at him directly. “What are you doing here?”

“I just stopped to get some Starbucks up front,” he replied, lifting the cup he had apparently been holding. The insignia indeed claimed it to be from Starbucks. “And I remembered you liked studying back here sometimes, so I thought I’d check to see if you were here.” He shuffled a bit from foot to foot. “Um, are you feeling better?”

What a loaded question. A fair one, but much more complicated than he realized.

“A little bit, yeah.” You let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s been a weird couple of weeks, but finals wait for no one, right?”

“Right.” He shifted again, and your eyes couldn’t help but stray back to his face. His eyebrows were pinched slightly, in a tic you’d come to learn he did when he was thinking. That renewed the urgency in your veins—you didn’t want to be around when he gathered his thoughts.

You walked forward with intent and he reflexively stepped back, freeing you from the corner he had unintentionally trapped you in. “Well, I was just heading out, so—”

“W-Wait! Um, I’ve been meaning to show you something, but I haven’t been able to catch you.”

Before you realized it was happening, the timidity of his tone intrigued you—made you forget about the alarm pumping through your veins. The words halted your quick escape, and you had no choice but to pause to regard him again, body still cautiously angled towards the door. “What’s up?”

His smile was small and shy. “I got accepted into my major.”

This was news to you, your surprise melting away any and all reservations as you turned to face him fully. “Major?”

He grinned, too much teeth. “Fine Arts—painting and drawing.”

You moved without realizing it, your excitement propelling you forward. “Oh my god, Jungkook, that’s so great!” you exclaimed, pulling him into a delighted hug. “You never told me you had even decided on one. I’m so proud of you!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Jungkook breathed against your hair, his voice a smile. He hugged you back easily, arms comfortably circling your waist and pulling you against his body.

He smelled fresh and clean, like he had just hopped out the shower and pulled on clothes straight from the dryer. He felt big against you, the warmth of his body enveloping yours, but you found that comforting and familiar.

The unbidden memory of exactly why you unconsciously recognized the slot of his body against yours hit you like a truck, breath catching in your throat. Abruptly, you lifted your head from his chest and made to step back.

But Jungkook didn’t let you go right away, not privy to your distress. Arms still around you, fingers comfortably laced together and resting dangerously close to your ass. Warily, your gaze lifted, dragging up his chest to his face. He was looking back at you, smile big, eyes crinkling in the corners. “It’s all thanks to you, noona,” he said softly.

And that’s when you realized—with growing horror—that his face was getting closer.

He was going to kiss you.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Alarmed but trapped, you managed to turn your head at the last second, his lips to landing on your cheek instead of their intended target. Jungkook pulled back, visibly perplexed.

“Y-You don’t have to thank me,” you spluttered, tone too high, even to your own ears. You stepped back, and this time, he confusedly let you out of his hold. “I just pointed out other possibilities. The rest was all you!”

Jungkook’s mouth opened and closed a couple times before he seemed to find the right words. “Noona,” he hedged, tone careful, but unsure.  “Are you…mad at me?”

Your heart stopped, head a little too quick to shake to not rouse any suspicion. You hoped he didn’t notice your alarm. “No.” Because if you were mad, you would have to explain the humiliating reason why. “Why would you think that?”

“Well it’s just…” There was a little wrinkle between his brows as he contemplated your words, and for a moment, his lips parted like he was going to tell you exactly why he thought that. But Jungkook seemed to think the better of it, a single shake of his head ridding him of the thought. “Never mind.”

You let out a laugh, manic as you started backing towards the exit. “Anyway, I have to go—I was just leaving.” Shit, he was probably going to follow you out. He had to leave too, after all. “Um, gotta run to the bathroom beforehand so. See you later—congrats again!”

An expression crossed Jungkook’s face—bewilderment mixed with something else—but you didn’t let your eyes linger on him long enough to analyze it. Instead you booked it to the door, not bothering to check if he  was following you, then headed straight for the bathroom down the hall so you could properly hide. So you could lock yourself in a stall and try to catch your breath, head in your hands.

You expected some sort of followup—expected a text or three. But your phone stayed remarkably quiet over the next few days, a testament to your friends—and Jungkook—being too preoccupied with their own exams to hound you. But despite the knowledge of that small respite, you still found yourself tightly wound, almost as if you were waiting for something to happen. For the other shoe to drop.

Your work became a welcome distraction. For the next couple days, you practically lived in your photo studio, posted in front of your computer. And yes, your photography final was right around the corner, but it didn’t slide past you that while you were busy trying to perfect the final touches on your portfolio, you were also conveniently spending a lot of time behind a door that required a keycard to open.

And just like that, the universe allowed you to simply exist, hidden deep in a bubble of your own creation where everything was fine.

Until it didn’t.

And it wasn’t.

The day of your final arrived more quickly than you expected it to. Which was inherently silly, because you had been preparing for it all semester, had known its exact date down to the minute for weeks now. Still, you found yourself sweating a bit under the sensible blazer you had thrown over your dress that day in an attempt to appear more professional.

You weren’t the only one who had put effort into your appearance. Although your photography final wasn’t being held anywhere special—simply in the lower lobby of the fine arts building—your department had somehow managed to make it look legit. As there were only six people in your seminar, there was enough space for all of you to really spread out your portfolios and give them room to breathe. This resulted in what was technically your final exam giving off the feeling of a true art exhibit. Hell, light refreshments were even being served, and your professor’s previous instruction to invite whoever you wanted meant that, despite it being 3pm during finals week, there were a decent amount of people flitting between all of your pieces. This naturally all culminated in you turning into the nervous artist, hoping your work would be well-received by your professor and everyone who walked by.

The hard part of your project already completed, your assignment now was to simply hang around for a couple hours as strangers perused your work and your professor slowly made his way through all portfolios and settled on the final grades he felt were befitting. The strange time of day, particularly during finals week, meant that not all of your friends were able to come, but the few that were able to support you did. Earlier, while the exhibition was still technically closed and you had been carefully arranging your pieces to your liking within your allotted space, Yoongi had briefly stopped by, silently perusing all of your photos before circling back to you and patting your shoulder with an appreciative nod. That had been high praise from the relatively quiet man, who unfortunately couldn’t stay very long due of his own academic commitments. Still, you were truly touched that he took the time to show up and support you at all.

More of your friends trickled in during the appropriate scheduled showing hours. You couldn’t help but be surprised when Hobi was your second visitor to appear, his signature dazzling grin making an appearance as well as he idled towards you, hands casually in his pockets.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you breathed gratefully, pulling him into a quick hug.

“Of course I would come,” he scoffed playfully, giving you a responding squeeze. “Why wouldn’t I?” Naturally, his attention was almost immediately drawn to your photos, visibly impressed as he glanced over the pieces closest to where the two of you stood. “Wow. You’re actually good.”

You snorted, amused even as your eyes narrowed. “I can’t tell if I should be offended or not, so for your sake, I’m just gonna take that as a compliment.”

Hoseok laughed, holding his hands up unthreateningly. “It is one. That just came out wrong!”

Your witty retort was diverted by an arm slinging over your shoulder, and there was Namjoon, dimples on full display as he grinned ear to ear. “You did it,” he greeted happily. “Congrats!”

“I did it,” you agreed, grinning back. Considering he had been the primary unfortunate soul who had to listen to you bitch about this project all semester, feelings of relief and pride were no doubt shared by both of you. “Thanks for coming, Joon.”  

He waved you off easily, as if what you just said was ridiculous. It was then that you noticed Lisa lagging a few feet behind him, the pictures you had displayed on the walls clearly distracting her from making her way over immediately. The clear awe on her face really touched you, but were even more so that she had taken the time at all to come out and support you.

“Wow,” she breathed, mouth a little slack as she finally meandered over and reached out to hug you. Her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn by the nearby photo you had taken of her and Namjoon, smiling at each other and sitting side by side on the ferris wheel. It actually was one of your personal favorites—you had somehow managed to catch the exact moment they had looked at each other and had obviously seen nothing else. Because the photo had been spontaneously taken on your little drunken outing at the formal a few weeks before, you had captured it using your cellphone instead of your Nikon. Still, the quiet emotion of the moment had still managed to translate beautifully in print.

You hugged returned her hug, warm inside. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” she smiled sincerely. “Wow, _____, this all looks amazing!”

“I think it ended up working out,” you agreed hesitantly, a bit shy at her praise. While your other friends had been exposed to your photography throughout the years, this was a first for Lisa, and it always felt different to have new critics. Besides, while it was common for there to be traces of the artist in their work, it wasn’t until you finally started narrowing down and editing photos for your own that you realized just how personal this collection was. How close it ended up being to your heart.

“I think I’m gonna take a look around,” Hoseok said suddenly, giving you a distracted pat on the shoulder.

Curiously, you followed his line of sight…right over to where your friend Luisa, who must have snuck in while you had been chatting with the others, was sipping on a drink and contemplating a photo you knew to be of Hoseok himself. You snorted, fully aware that Hobi had shown up solely to support you, but was also on a neverending quest to get his dick wet. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be looking, alright,” you retorted with an amused shake of your head.

Your slutty fratboy friend only responded by throwing you a peace sign over his shoulder, already fully zeroed-in on his target and striding away. Luckily for him, you knew Luisa to be able to handle her own, and you were much too nervous about your portfolio to really stick your nose into his business like you normally would. Besides, it didn’t take very long for you to become distracted by a much more pressing issue.

An elbow tapped you in the side, and you turned to find Lisa, shooting you a rather sly look. “Looks like somebody else came to see you.”

Bemused by her teasing tone, you naturally followed the pointed incline of her head. But what you found there knocked your breath immediately out of you.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, staring at a photo of himself in what could only be described as wonder.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You couldn’t ignore him—now that he had been pointed out to you and you had obviously seen him, both Lisa and Namjoon were looking at you expectantly. Just waiting for you to do something when truly the only thing you wanted to do was dart under a table before he saw you.

There was no clean way out of it. Either you went to him or he came to you, and you would rather have the upper hand.

“I’m gonna go say hi.” You cleared your throat, hoping to dislodge the knot that was forming there. It didn’t move. “Why don’t you guys take a look around? Don’t forget to have some of those little sprinkle cookies. Those are good.”

“Me, ignore free food?” Lisa scoffed incredulously, linking her arm through Joon’s and dragging him towards the refreshment table. “Hilarious.”

You watched them leave, taking a few measured breaths. A few moments to steel yourself. And when you were sure your defenses were properly built back up, you made your way over.

Jungkook was too immersed in the photo to notice your approach, dark eyebrows furrowed deep thought. It took a pointed clear of your throat for his eyes to reflexively dart in your direction, recognition of you chasing away the haze in them. “_____!”

“Hey,” you greeted, tone carefully polite. “What are you doing here?”

That seemed to throw him a bit, blinking a few too many times before answering you. “You invited me, remember?” He offered you a small, hesitant smile. “A while ago. And, um, Namjoon-hyung mentioned a few days ago that it was today, so I just thought I’d drop by. I hope that’s okay?”

You had invited him, hadn’t you? And of fucking course Namjoon would conveniently open his big mouth and remind him. “Yeah, of course. Thank you for coming,” you exhaled, defeated, but still meaning it. Because despite everything, he was still here to support you—and even if that was just as friends, you were grateful.

“I told you I would,” he replied, a bit too fondly for your liking. Your defense trembled, but ultimately stayed strong. Jungkook’s attention returned to your photo. “Wow, noona. You’re really talented. Is this really what I look like?”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s…” You swallowed, unsure how to respond but deciding to go for honesty. “That’s how I see you.”

You inwardly cursed at unintended softness of your voice, fighting to hold your composure as Jungkook looked at you again. He didn’t say anything, a glint of something in his gaze as he stared you down. The silence that settled between you started to slowly suck the oxygen from your lungs, but finally, a few seconds later, he returned his attention to the photo and set you free. “What was the subject again?”  

You were on such high alert, adrenaline pumping wildly through your veins, that you didn’t respond to him right away. Jungkook took your silence as confusion, attempting to clarify.

“Of your project.”

Ah. Yes, your project. The reason why, despite weeks of careful evasion on your part, the two of you had still ended up closely occupying the same space at this very moment. You completely understood why he was asking—you had taken an interesting, more intimate approach to the prompt that you hoped would pay off when it came to your final grade.

“Light.” You shuffled a bit from foot to foot, the nerves you had from sharing your art overtaking the ones you had from being forced to interact with him. “I was really struggling with that direction when I tried to take it literally, but the longer I sat with it, the more I realized that light could mean different things and come from different places. That it could even come from people.”  

It was only when you had stopped putting so much pressure on yourself, going through life and naturally taking snapshots of the time spent with your friends, that you finally discovered the true form of your portfolio. Namjoon and Lisa gazing at each other on the ferris wheel. Yoongi casually smoking late one night, the embers of his cigarette glowing rather hauntingly as he took a pull. The glow of a laptop screen, carefully balanced between two pairs of Snuggied legs. A handful of others taken of your favorite places; of your favorite people.

And the photo of Jungkook at the lake, hair wisped by wind, smiling so hard and with so much teeth his eyes crinkled in the corners. The sunlight that refracted from the ice haloing him in glittering rainbow.

The center of your exhibit. The moment that had sparked your revelation. The subject who had allured your muse.

That lump in your throat was back, threatening to trigger the burning behind your eyes. It was time to go.

“Anyway, thank you again for coming,” you tried, making to move away. “It was nice seeing you—”

But Jungkook caught you by the wrist, freezing you in your tracks. Slowly, reluctantly, you turned to meet his fervent gaze. “Things are weird,” he insisted. Tone somehow simultaneously soft, but sure. “Why are they weird?”

“What are you talking about?”

He gestured between you. “Us. Things are weird between us, and I don’t know why. Are you sure you’re not mad at me?”

“No.” You held your breath, unable to meet his eyes. Subtly shifted out of his hold, though obviously not subtle enough, from the way Jungkook’s lips pursed at the action. “Why do you keep asking that?”

“Well, aside from the fact that you’ve been avoiding me for weeks and how even now you act like you can barely stand being near me, why wouldn’t I think that, _____?” He shuffled restlessly, running an agitated hand through his hair. “It’s just—is this about that day?”

Nope. NOPE. Your hackles raised, adrenaline starting to pump through your system in preparation for the impeding fight you now knew without a doubt was about to occur. “We’re not doing this,” you said quietly.

Jungkook huffed out a humorless laugh. “Not doing what?” he shot back, tone laced with enough audible irritation that your guard shot up even more. “Talking about what happened between us?”

This was not happening. Shut it down, shut it down. “Jungkook, can we please not do this right now?” He looked a little perturbed at your words, and if you were smart, you would have shut your mouth there. But if history had taught you anything, it was that you weren’t very smart when it came to Jungkook.

So you kept talking.

“You know what? We should just forget it—”

“Forget it ever happened?” he snapped, a storm visibly raging through him.

And there it was. He was pissed. Pissed at you, and no longer willing to bite his tongue. He stepped closer to you, jaw clenched, and the intensity of his gaze refused to let you look away. You had emotion bubbling beneath your skin, but, you quickly realized, so did he.

“Forget it happened, like we always do?” he continued, rapidly shaking his head. “Well I can’t. And I don’t want to.”

“Jungkook,” you hissed, entirely overwhelmed. People were starting to stare. Your professor, slowly making his way through grading everyone’s pieces, was curiously looking over at you from across the room. Your hands were starting to shake, and you had to curl them into fists to hide them. “Can we not do this here?”

“Then when?” he demanded. “Where? Because you never want to—never even try to—” His voice started to crack and it surprised you both, Jungkook cutting himself off abruptly. He stepped away from you, flustered and still shaking his head. A shaky breath escaped his lips, volume dialed almost to a whisper when he spoke again. “You know what? Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you. Congratulations, your photos are beautiful.”

You could only hollowly watch as he turned on his heel and quickly walked away, exiting the gallery and leaving you rooted to the spot. Leaving you standing in front of a giant picture of him, smiling and happy and full of so much light.

You bit your lip, pointedly focusing on the taste of metal instead of how your stomach was twisting and vision starting to blur.

The difference of life vs. art.

You were left alone for a little while, your other friends too busy meandering through the area and admiring your classmates’ projects to truly notice the way you were frozen in place, unseeing. It was only when Namjoon crossed your path again, intending to peruse the other side of the room, that the look on your face made him do a double-take. He warily took a couple steps back until he stood before you, getting straight to the point. “What’s the matter?”

The pause you took between his question and the answer you were scrambling for was apparently too long, a deep frown settling in his features. He immediately started looking around, catching on much too quickly for your liking. “Where’s Jungkook?”

“I don’t know. He left.”

The look in his eye was suspicious. “Why would he leave? He literally just got here.”

“We had a fight, so he left,” you answered, a clear defensive edge to your tone. “Now can you please drop it?”

Your best friend let out an audible exhale, letting the silence marinate between you for a few moments as he pointedly looked at the photo you both were standing in front of. Happy, sparkly Jungkook looked back. “You had a fight, huh? Was it because of this?”

“What about that?”

Namjoon laughed, but there was no humor in it. “What about that? Are you serious?” You chose not to reply, and Joon took that as an invitation to no longer hold back. “You know, I promised myself that I would stay out of this little cat and mouse…situation you two have going on. But at this point, I’m exhausted. And I know I can’t be the only one—you guys gotta be too. So can you just cut the bullshit?”

“Excuse me?”

“Really, _____?” he groaned, looking heavenward for guidance. “If you don’t want to be with him, that’s fine, but at this point, this is all starting to be too cruel.”

You sputtered, taken off guard and mind spinning.

“Please stop pretending you don’t know what am I talking about,” he continued flatly. “Jungkook. You’ve literally spent all semester being upset about Jimin’s mixed signals, but you’re pretty damn good at sending those yourself. You’re breaking that boy’s heart!”

“…Breaking his…” You stared blankly at Namjoon, your thoughts whirring past so quickly that they barely stuck around long enough for you to process them.

“You can’t seriously be this dense. _____! He likes you! Like, a lot. A LOT.” He rubbed his temples, a growl of frustration leaving him. “Look, if you don’t want him, fine, but please stop dragging him along. He’s a good kid.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” you scoffed, heart still pounding at his words. “What happened to you insisting that he’s a sex-crazed monster who would only use me and toss me away like a tissue?”

Despite his obvious irritation, Namjoon’s lips still twitched into a small smile. “That definitely used to be true, but these past few months have shown me otherwise. The way I hear him talk about you…”

You rapidly shook your head, hands clutching each other in an effort to mask the way they were threatening to shake. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he demanded. “Telling you the truth you need to hear?”

“The truth?” you scoffed. “The fuck is this supposed to be—you get yourself a lil’ girlfriend and now all of a sudden you’re a relationship expert?”

Namjoon’s lips immediately thinned in annoyance. “Cut it out,” he snapped. “You’re pissing me off and I’m trying to help you.”

That gave you proper pause. As exasperating and stubborn as you knew you could sometimes be, Namjoon could be just as much so—and that similarity was somehow one of the things that made your friendship work. That, and the fact that neither of you hesitated to check each other when need be, making sure you never went too far.

And right now? Namjoon was checking you.

You bit back the snarky rebuttal that was ready and waiting at the tip of your tongue and took a deep breath to try to calm yourself. Namjoon sighed too, running a tired hand through his hair. His roots are growing in, you thought rather deliriously.

“_____,” he tried again. Softer this time, holding your gaze. “When have I ever lied to you?”

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off before you could even attempt to deflect. “When it mattered?” he pressed. “When have I ever lied to you when it mattered?”

There was no truthful reply you could give him. Because he was right. He was your best friend, and he would never lie to you.

Despite knowing this, you still found yourself shaking your head. “Then I guess you just don’t know him as well as you think you do. I was just a challenge to him, Joon. It was all a game.”

“A game,” he deadpanned, looking at you like you were stupid. “You’re kidding, right? You really think he’s playing games after what he submitted with his major application?” At your confused silence, he could only heavenward for guidance. “You two are ridiculous.”

Your brain was scrambling, racing to try to keep up with the partial information Namjoon kept casually flinging at you. “H-His application? I really don’t see how that matters—”  

“Of course it matters! Just ask him.” His tone left no room for arguments, his patience clearly thin. “Ask him to show you. And then make up your mind before he makes it for you.”

You wanted to pry more, wanted to get him to spill whatever it was he was obviously privy to that you weren’t. But it was at that moment that you noticed your professor making his way over to you, having decided that this exact moment was the perfect time to come chat with you about your project. Namjoon noticed him too, shooting you a pointed look that warned you that he wasn’t quite done telling you about yourself, but would let it go for now.

“I’ll ask,” you promised quietly. “After this. I promise.”

Namjoon simply gave you one last look before shaking his head and walking away. “When did my life turn into an episode of The Hills, Jesus Christ,” you heard him mutter to himself.

“_____! What do we have here?” Your professor greeted you with a smile and a friendly clap on the shoulder, looking up at the giant Jungkook photo. “Wow, this is certainly a statement, huh?”

Bile climbed up your throat but you ignored it, forced to put your current crisis on the back burner in favor of attempting to focus on small talk and your final grade.

⇢ previous | next | series masterlist

[beyondspaceandstars]

congratulations! 📚 could you do promos 4 & 7 from the smut with Natasha Romanoff???

by the way, I hope you have a great day/night!

Brat

Relationship: CEO!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, fingering, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I went a bit CEO!Natasha with this one - hope that’s okay, I thought it lent well! Also, thank you! I hope you're having a nice day/night as well :)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You really didn’t want to go and Natasha knew this but she was also quite the persuasive one, having such a dominance to her that you could rarely, if ever, say no to.

So, that’s how you found yourself a bit grumpily sitting in the car passenger seat while your girlfriend drove you two to whatever charity banquet this was.

Natasha was constantly getting these invitations being the high-up, fancy CEO that she was and usually you were fine with them. You liked the little appetizers and flutes of champagne. You especially liked your girlfriend parading you around, showing you off to fancy city people.

But tonight just wasn’t the night for you. You had had a ridiculous day at your own job and frankly, you just wanted to lounge around with your girl, maybe order pizza, and have lazy sex. Natasha had shut down your idea, saying she already RSVP’d for you two. Grudgingly, you shoved yourself into a dress and let her whisk you away

Little did she know, though, that you weren’t letting down easily. You had some potential ideas for the night, hoping that maybe — just maybe — you can rile Natasha up enough to keep her focus just on you and not the millionaires trying to network.

Upon arriving at the event, you hunted down the first tray of champagne you could find, taking a swig of the alcohol promptly. Natasha followed your path, stopping every now and then to chat, but once she was free of the schmoozing, she marched right towards you. An arm made it was tightly around your waist.

"What is your problem?" She gritted in your ear just below a whisper so no one could pick up on the tension. Your eyes darted around the room

"Nothing," you responded, taking another sip of champagne.

Natasha scoffed. "Well, you’re acting like a brat." She grabbed your glass out of your hand. You gasped but before you could protest, Natasha asked, "Is this because I made you come here tonight?

You shot her a look before taking back your champagne and finishing it off. "I’m gonna go get another drink."

Before your girlfriend could pull you back to her, you were already on a rampage for the bar. Luckily, no one tried to stop you. Thanks to your relations with Natasha, you had worked up a bit of your own status but it wasn’t like anyone genuinely cared. You weren’t negotiating deals.

You leaned on the bar and signaled for the bartender. You asked for something a little stronger. He nodded politely and got to making the drink. You turned your attention to the freshly polished wood of the bar.

Running a finger over it carelessly as you waited, out of the corner of your eye you noticed someone approach beside you. It was a man you somehow didn’t recognize. He looked very well put-together, almost like he was trying too hard, with his designer pressed suit and hair that could go up in flames from all the product in it.

You tried to ignore him, turning your attention to the bartender who was still at work, but it was hard when the man was not-so-subtly inching towards you. This wasn’t going to go very well, you thought. But you weren’t stopping it.

"In need of something to get you through the night?" The man suddenly asked. Your gaze shot over to him.

"Excuse me?"

He chuckled, "I meant the drink."

As if on cue, a glass was placed right in front of you. You wrapped your hands around it, slowly bringing it to your lips for a sip as you eyed the stranger. He was watching you quite intensely.

You hummed, delighted by the cocktail. "These things can sometimes be…draining."

He sighed. "Tell me about it."

The conversation fell into a lull. You tried glancing around at the other patrons, all completely oblivious to the bar, but just couldn’t shake this man and his eyes which were still watching you. They shamelessly took in the curves of your dress and even lingered a bit on your chest.

Your stomach dropped as you suddenly saw him step even closer, his finger lightly brushing your arm in the process. You froze but still made no chance to dash away. Maybe your goal of annoying your girlfriend tonight was going a bit too far…

"You know," he began, his voice dangerously low, "if you wanted to sneak away for a bit—"

"She doesn’t," Natasha gritted as she suddenly approached you two. You just about let out a sigh of relief as her arm came around your waist, pulling you into her side. You yelped at the action, stumbling a bit, but she held you tight.

The mystery man looked you two over, a bit of a pleased expression graced his face. But he didn’t press further, probably very deterred by the daggers Natasha’s eyes were shooting at him. He collected his drink from the bar and raised it at you two as if in some awkward toast.

"Fair enough, ladies," he said, and then he was back in the crowd, lost in the sea of aristocrats.

You didn’t know what to do now, opting to stare down at your drink.

"What the hell was that about?" Natasha asked.

"I- He just came up to me," you pouted.

Natasha shook her head in disappointment as she began walking you two away from everyone else. You didn’t know where she was leading you until you were roughly pulled into the women’s restroom. It was empty, thankfully, and you heard the turn of the lock as you placed your drink on the counter.

"He just came up to you," Natasha repeated. She was sauntering over, looking very much more like some powerful CEO than your sweet girlfriend. You gulped and gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. "He may have came up to you but I didn’t see you making any moves to walk away."

"Well—"

"And you let him touch you," she scoffed. "Don’t think I didn’t see his fingers on your fucking arm." For emphasis, she gripped the spot he had brushed over. You yelped. "What made you think he could do that, hmm? What, did you forget who you belong to?"

"No, Natasha, I didn’t mean—" You pleaded but she wasn’t buying it.

"I’m not buying it," she said as she roughly turned you around, her back pressing your front into the bathroom counter. "In fact, I think you need a little reminder."

You held your breath in anticipation as Natasha began gathering the skirt of your dress. You knew what she was going to find underneath. And you certainly knew it wasn’t going to help your case.

Sure enough, once your lower region was exposed, Natasha let out a gasp. “No panties? Are you kidding me right now?!”

"Natasha, please—"

"You really are a fucking brat, aren’t you?"

You tried shaking your head but it was no use. Her mind was made as she pressed into you even more, her hand now coming to caress your inner thigh. You whimpered out your girlfriend’s name as her fingers began slowly circling your clit. She chuckled in your ear before collecting some of the wetness dripping from your folds and putting attention back on your clit.

"So wet for me," Natasha murmured. "It is for me, right? Or did that man out there get you dripping like a needy slut?"

You groaned, captivated by the action happening between your thighs. "Just for you," you said as your eyes slowly fluttered. Natasha picked up the pace adding slight pressure as well. You squealed.

"That’s it," she whispered, holding you tighter around the waist. "That’s my girl."

Suddenly, though, she moved her fingers back to your folds where, without warning, she shoved two fingers inside you. You yelped, twisting in her grip. She didn’t even budge. You cried out as the fingers flicked upwards, hitting just the right spots.

"If you want to act like a slut you have to deal with being fingered like one, got it?" Natasha said. Her mouth was practically on your ear, she was whispering so lowly it sent goosebumps up your arms. She was pissed and serious. You were loving it.

"Y-Yes, Natasha." You barely managed to get the words out but your girlfriend seemed very pleased. Her fingers picked up — significantly. A squelching noise now filled the bathroom, coming directly from your wetness which was not stopping any time soon it seemed. Natasha was also taking the moment to make sure her hand was hitting your clit. With every single pump. It was getting overwhelming very, very fast.

You spoke again, "Please, please… I’m gonna cum."

"Yeah?" Natasha mocked. "My little slut needs to cum?"

You nodded your head profusely. "Please, please." The begging was becoming second nature at this point, your only instinct. Natasha seemed very pleased with that.

"Fine," she huffed. "Cum all over my fingers you greedy little girl. And you better scream when you cum. I want every single person, especially that man, to know who’s treating you so well."

Her paced picked up even more (how that was possible you didn’t know) and your body reacted wonderfully. Within moments, you were crumbling like a house of cards. Your orgasm rushed over you as you cried out much louder than you had actually intended. You couldn’t stop as Natasha continued to work you through the orgasm. She didn’t give up until you were limp in her arms.

She chuckled, watching your body practically collapse from pleasure. "Was that good, honey?"

"Yes," you mumbled, leaning into her body. Natasha fixed your dress and brought her hand to caress your cheek.

"Good," she said and placed a quick kiss on your lips. "Maybe that’ll teach you to behave."

Now it was your turn to laugh. "Why would I behave when that’s what I get for being bad?"

Abruptly, Natasha’s hand came around your neck, forcing you to look at her. Her gaze was dark, her CEO stance still very much engaged. "Don’t even tempt me."

You bit your lip teasingly but nodded your head slowly. You certainly didn’t mean it, though, already secretly planning the next time you could ruffle her feathers.