#just ended up reminding myself how hard it is to work with group poses

[whyeverr]

Reunion dinner prep is no joke. Octavia recruited Cherry to help make dumplings and put Tyler to work building a new chair to accommodate their growing guest list.

Yes, Dawson will be joining us... Octavia wasn't sure about the idea of it at first—after all, reunion dinner is meant for family and close friends. But a party ended up being the perfect way for her to meet and get to know Cherry last summer. And if Dawson is sticking around Port Promise, she's sure he'll feel like part of the family in no time at all.

[tothepointofinsanity]

If I may, have you ever heard or played the game Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice? Since it has heavy themes on mental health and psychosis in particular, I was wondering how you, someone with schizophrenia, thought of the game, or at least the concept. Not that you need to be interested in it, of course, I just found it fascinating myself.

Anyway, your art is so cool and subversive. It really fits the theme and tone of madoka, especially sayaka.

Ah, thank you for the detailed ask ^^.

Firstly, I think I should clarify that I am [not] an individual who experiences schizophrenia nor psychosis. The “schizo-” term I throw around so often refers to the cluster of personality disorders that I do experience/have. This chart is an oversimplified example of Cluster A personality disorders, which is known as the “eccentric and odd” group. These symptoms can go way beyond just the ones listed below given everyone has their own unique experiences to begin with. They also do not necessarily always manifest as a prerequisite or side to schizophrenia, but they can intersect. It’s hard to find more diagrams for Cluster A that aren’t immediately slotted in with the other clusters because of how idiosyncratic they are, in a sense.

Essentially, what all this means is that I do not experience the positive symptoms of schizophrenia (such as hallucinations) on a basis that can be considered obstructive and result in a dysfunctional interaction between me and Reality. However, the disorder is of the Self, and instead poses hindrance to how I perceive and engage with people living in Reality. Energy is spent preserving yourself and 95% of your time is spent daydreaming and crafting intricate fantasies. Self fulfilment feels like a bottomless need and priority [to me anyways, since other schizoids have other values]. Both negative and positive symptoms impair facets of the individual’s life, most notably socially and interpersonally.

Just wanted to put this out there since it means I cannot provide a valid comment on how the game’s personally shows psychosis. Because I do not have it. Apologies for the confusion and ramble on my end as well as possibly explaining something you might already know.

However, from an academic standpoint, I had looked into the game, and apparently the developers worked alongside neuroscientists, mental health practitioners and even real people with the condition to ensure accuracy of portrayal, which is appreciated. Too many companies tend to consult only professionals on these topics instead of, well, people who live with these conditions. The end product is always different when you actually talk to people with it, and based on the clips I watched, there is definitely good research devoted into its craft. The times where Senua struggles with the darkness and has her thoughts scrambled all over the place while voices instruct her to do things seems to be the hallmark of this. She also appears to undergo dissociative states, which is something I do not often see in games; that realistic overlap of symptoms that aren’t just, “oh my God the voices!” Ah. That’s cool, to see more games put effort in such time into researching psychological topics and issues instead of building it sloppily on stereotypes. I like it, and I have read comments of how the game’s portrayal of Senua’s mental health resonates with a handful of people. If people can find comfort in it, I would not have anything to complain anyways.

Hellblade reminds me of another game with a similar premise. Have you heard of Cry of Fear? If you enjoy games that are more psychological, CoF is an appropriate contender. More games about mental health struggles are always neat since they tend to be founded on different mechanics and playing experiences.

And thank you for the kind words about my art works! Sayaka is my favourite character, and I struggled a lot with trying to draw her at the start as well as finding a suitable art style. I’m glad a lot of people end up liking it. 🙇‍♂️

[justauthoring]

Precious To Us [2]

In other words, you’re Seijoh’s manager.

This chapter, Oikawa’s fangirls.

A/N: Here it is! The second part! I had one person request an idea (thanks @minigranger) and I definitely plan on writing it soon but I love the trope of manager vs. fangirls that I can’t help myself. As usual, please send in ideas :)

Listen, Oikawa’s fangirls are mean.

They just are.

It doesn’t really matter to them that you’re a first year, if they’re supposed to be your seniors, they would probably still be bitches even if you were their seniors and in second/third year.

They seem to think Oikawa’s theirs, even though, of course, he isn’t and if asked, he definitely would deny.

And they see you as a threat.

A big, big threat.

Who gets to see Oikawa everyday? You. Who gets to see him practice every day? You. Who gets a front row to seat to every one of his games? You. And who does he flirt with? You.

It doesn’t matter if you reciprocate the flirting or not -- which of course, you don’t -- they’re jealous and they blame it all on you.

Honestly, the first month of managing is fine. 

Now that you know who Oikawa is and you’re around him more, you do notice the fangirls, but they don’t really bother you and you’re too focused trying to learn the ropes to really care about their constant presence. 

You know you’ve heard some of the other members, namely the third years, complain about them.

About how annoying and distracting they were when it came to practice, or just the mere fact that Oikawa seemed to revel in the attention and love.

You’ve heard them, but you don’t really say anything otherwise because they’ve never done anything to you so you don’t really care either or.

Besides, even if you do think it’s tad bit pathetic, you can’t deny they’re devoted and you guess, in some ways... good for them?

But when you don’t stop being manager, and the rest of the team, namely Oikawa, don’t get sick of you like they all expect them to, and a month passes and you seem to just be thriving, getting a long with everyone, and finally getting the hang of everything?

That’s when they attack.

You’re already late.

And even if you know none of the boys or even the coaches will be upset with you, you do like to be punctual and you absolutely hate being late. So, you’re rushing, practically sprinting through the halls as you try to gather your bearings and organize everything you need to.

You’re already thinking of what drills Oikawa will have the team do, and what you can do to help. Maybe you could bring up some of the notes you’ve made? You’re not a hundred percent on the terms, but Iwaizumi has been helping you, and you’re sure you’ve picked up on a few of the techniques and things you think the boys could improve on.

You didn’t want them to think you’re imposing, but this was the job of the manager wasn’t it? They always reminded you you were more then just a water girl, and that they greatly appreciated anything advice you had for them from an outsider point of view, so maybe--

Landing with a loud thud, a groan leaves your lips as you feel your chin smack against the concrete floor beneath you. It takes you a second to gather your bearings, baffled at how you were suddenly on the ground, and trying to ignore the pain at having bitten your own tongue. But the second you hear laughter, you realized exactly what had happened and your head turns around to stare at the three girls stood above you in bafflement.

They’re laughing at you, quite loudly and obvious mocking you, but your eyes narrow in bafflement when you realize you’re positive you’ve seen them before. You just can’t place your thumb on it. They’re not in your class, one of them doesn’t even seem to be in your year, and you don’t think you’d remember some random face you’d passed in the hall, so--

That’s right. You’ve seen them hanging around Oikawa before, and the one older girl had even snuck into practice one day.

Slowly pushing yourself to your feet, you move to gather your stuff, only for it to be kicked out of your grasp.

“What the--!”

“Listen.”

You blink when the older one, clearly the leader or whatever, is suddenly directly before you, barely a breaths away, glaring down at you.

“You need to quit being manager for Oikawa-san’s volleyball team.”

And your eyes widen, baffled, lips parting as you shake your head; “I don’t--”

“I think you perfectly understand,” the girl behind her sneers, eyes cold.

“We don’t like how close you were with Oikawa-san.”

“And we’re sure Oikawa-san’s sick of seeing your ugly face every day.”

You’re stunned silent. Honestly, you’re not really sure what to say.

“We’ll give you till the end of the week,” the head girl smiles, but it’s a sickly sweet, filling you with dread. “Okay?”

She doesn’t wait for you to respond before her and the other two are walking off, clearly proud of themselves if they way they walk and hold themselves is anything to go by.

It’s takes you five minutes to gather yourself before you start making your way to the gym again for practice.

Part of you wants to just skip and go home but you know the boys would be concerned, more then they probably already are given how late you are, and really, it would just cause more issues in the end anyways.

Besides, you’re never one to skip anyways.

You don’t cry. You’re not really sure why because you definitely want to, but the tears never come and then you’re suddenly in the gym and everyone's rushing towards you in concern, questions leaving their lips rapidly as to why you were so late.

You brush them off, and it almost works, before Iwaizumi takes notice of the dried blood on the corner of your lip that you’d regrettably missed when cleaning yourself up earlier and the scrape underneath your chin.

“What happened to your chin, Y/N? You’re bleeding.”

He steps towards you, but you brush him off.

“I just tripped is all. Bit my tongue.”

You smile and hope it’s enough to convince them, but even if Iwaizumi looks like he wants to argue, Oikawa’s already pulling him back onto the court.

“You’re so clumsy, Y/N-chan! You really do need to be more careful!”

Some of the boys laugh and you do too, forcing yourself to pretend like everything’s fine even though you can physically feel yourself shaking.

But even as he’s being dragged away, Iwaizumi is still eyeing you and you don’t let him grow anymore suspicious then you can tell he is. You send him a soft smile, and then turn, making your way over to the coach to see where you can help for the day.

And it continues on like that for week. 

By the next day, every seems to have forgotten you being late and only Makki makes a teasing comment about the cat themed bandaid on your chin to which you begrudgingly shove him away with a shrill “it’s the only ones we have!” and you seem more like yourself then you had the day before that by the second day, even Iwaizumi has relaxed.

By the end of the week, even he seems to have forgotten about it.

But you haven’t. 

And it being the end of the week has you scared.

Kindaichi seems to notice your weird behaviour in class, especially now that the two of you tend to stick together now that you’re acquainted. But you brush him off every time he asks, saying you just felt ill.

He seems to believe it fine.

Luckily for you, nothing happens.

You’re on edge all day expecting something to happen, but nothing ever does.

Aiko, the third year and clear ring leader of that little group, never approaches you. In fact, you don’t see her once all day, which that in itself isn’t odd since you’re in different years, but you had expected to see her lackies -- either Makoto, a first year like you, or even Nami, a second year.

But you don’t.

By the final bell, you’re relieved.

It was just a mindless threat. It didn’t mean anything clearly, and they had just been poking fun, and honestly you were fine with that -- so long as you didn’t have to deal with them again.

You’d just have to be more wary of the fangirls. Maybe they weren’t as kind as you thought you were, and clearly they thought you posed some kind of threat (even though you definitely didn’t) so you’d just keep it in mind and--

“I’m pretty sure we told you by the end of the week.”

It’s a harsh thud, you don’t fall to the ground like you did last time, but you do thud against the lockers which dig painfully into your back. And regrettably you let a small cry in response, which pales in comparison to the cry of pain that leaves your lips when one of them grab a chunk of your hair and tug, hard.

Pushing at the hands that grab at you, you spin, not surprise to see the same three as before, sneering down at you.

Aiko spits down at you. “Clearly you didn’t listen.”

“I’m not gonna just quit,” you whisper, feigning the confidence to speak up for yourself. Your eyes narrow up at her, even though your heart is racing madly against you chest, and shake your head adamantly. “I love managing the volleyball team, and it’s not even because of Oikawa-senpai! I love being will all the boys, and I won’t let you--!”

“You really are just a slut.”

You’re stunned silent, lips left parted.

“Listen, I gave you a week, you didn’t listen.” Aiko scoffs, shaking her head as she brushes her hair back, glaring down at you. “I’ll show you what happens when I don’t get my way.”

She strikes you hard, across the cheek, and naively, you think that’s it. You can handle some punches and kicks, because you really don’t want to give up the one thing that’s made you happy for the first time in a long time. Even as the hits continue, and your body starts to ache, you think,

I can handle this.

But still, you end up skipping practice that day. You blame it on the fact the fact that you just didn’t want to have to explain why you looked so battered and messed up, knowing this time no amount of lying was going to get you out of this one. Because, really, it wouldn’t just be Iwaizumi suspicious this time -- all the boys will be, and then they’ll probably talk to the coach and...

and, it’s just to much a fuss for you. So, you skip, sending a text to Oikawa explaining that you weren’t feeling well and you’d be back Monday and to please apologize on the coaches behalf for you.

But you don’t go back the next day.

When you open your locker the next Monday, your homework that you’d finished during lunch to previous day to get a head start is ruined. Completely and wholeheartedly ruined.

And when you glance around, the first thing you see is Makoto from across the hallway, smirking at you.

But you don’t have any proof.

So, you suck back the tears that threaten to fall, and sulk to your first class where you know the teacher will be less then pleased.

And of course she isn’t, but she simply sighs and tells you that if you don’t have it in by tomorrow, she’ll have to give you a failing grade. 

Embarrassed and upset, you walk to your seat, ignoring Kindaichi’s watchful gaze as you sink into your seat.

But it only gets worse from there.

The second class starts, a note is tossed onto your desk.

You eye, confused, glancing around for who threw it, only for everyone to be faced forward, before glancing briefly at Kindaichi’s whose watching your curiously.

Slowly, you open it.

Is it true you actually slept with all of the volleyball team?

Laughter echoes, but when you look up, there’s three girls staring at you, all mockingly.

Kindaichi leans forward, trying to grab the note but you pull it from his grasp, avoiding his gaze.

He cannot see that.

And when the class ends, you narrowly avoid Kindaichi who calls for you, rushing out of the class, only for someone to bump into you the second you make it out, shoving harshly into your shoulder.

“Slut.” The voice sneers.

Your lips part, and you glance up, feeling your vision blur, but when you glance around, you suddenly notice the looks everyone’s giving you, and the way they laugh and sneer at you.

But what really makes you break is when you turn, feeling like everyone’s against you, and find Kindaichi staring at you with parted lips, obviously confused, and you just can’t hold it back then, turning without another word, and running off.

The day continues like that, and after lunch, which you spent alone hidden in a bathroom stall, you see Iwaizumi and Oikawa ahead of you, smiling when they notice you.

They look as if they want to talk, but you know then you absolutely cannot like that happen, for multiple reasons, so you turn around quickly, running off in the opposite direction despite the way they call after you.

You don’t go back to practice like you said you would.

And neither do you Tuesday.

When Wednesday rolls around, and every laughs at you when you walk pass them in the halls, or sneers at you, or looks at you like you’re the most disgusting thing, you go to the office when you realize you can’t handle this any longer.

No matter how much you love being on the team and managing the boys. 

Little do you know, in class, Kindaichi notices the odd coloured paper in your hands and curiously, maybe even worriedly (because there’s a sinking feeling in his gut) peers over your shoulder as subtle as he can, lips parting when he reads the header.

Permission to quite a club form.

“I think Y/N’s going to quite the team.”

It’s the first words he says when he enters the club room that day, and it makes everybody pause.

Silence echoes, and slowly, unsurely, Yahaba shakes his head; “what-what are you talking about, Kindaichi? I thought Y/N said she just wasn’t feeling well, which is why--”

“I saw the form this morning,” Kindaichi shakes his head, “I know what I read.”

Oikawa shakes his head. “Y/N would’ve talked to us first if something was upsetting her. She wouldn’t just--”

“Haven’t you guys heard the rumours going around?”

It’s Kunimi who speaks this time, his voice the similar drawl it always is, but if you look at him close enough, it’s easy to tell that he’s concerned. Upset even. And he looks disgusted as he speaks, eyeing Kindaichi first, almost knowingly, before turning to the other boys.

Iwaizumi’s brows furrow; “what are you talk--”

“I think someone’s been bullying her,” Kindaichi frowns. “It started at the beginning of the week. Y/N came in with her homework ruined, which I thought was weird, because she always is so careful with her work and makes sure it’s done early. And then someone tossed this note onto her desk but she wouldn’t let me read it, and she wouldn’t talk to me or even look at me all class. Then, when class was over, people were... well--”

“There’s a rumour going around that’s she’s slept with all of us.”

It’s Kunimi who finishes it, Kindaichi’s face beet red, which quite a few of the boys mimic seconds later when Kunimi finishes.

But Oikawa? Oikawa just looks pissed.

“What?”

Kindaichi blanches, looking absolutely terrified; “I thought you knew! I didn’t--”

Oikawa storms past him, Iwaizumi quick to follow, and then Mattsun and Makki are right behind them. The first and second years glance at each other, before slowly following them, and sure enough the third years are heading straight for the gym, to which none of them are surprised to find you there, a form in your shaky hands as you stare at Coach Mizoguchi.

You turn to them with wide eyes, clearly having hoped to finish before any of the boys started practice. But Mizoguchi looks relieved. “Thank God you boys are here,” he breathes, standing up to which you try to stop him, but he isn’t listening, “Y/N wants to quit, but I really think she should talk to you first,” he’s looking directly at Oikawa, “she won’t tell me why. And please Y/N,” he turns to you, “I think you should reconsider.”

“We’ll talk to her,” Oikawa cuts in, voice oddly low before you can say anything.

Mizoguchi smiles, nodding at you before making his way over the gym obviously in search of Irihata. Instantly the tension thickens when you’re left alone with all eyes directly and solely on you.

It takes a second to find the words. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to any of you about it, but I...” And your voice falters, even you can’t help the way your voice quivers. “I think it’s best if I just quit.”

“You’re not quitting.” It’s Iwaizumi who speaks this time, and his voice is so firm, so sure, even if you’re not sure how to argue against it.

“But I-I--”

“You don’t need to quite,” Oikawa shakes his head, stepping towards you and pulling the form from your grasp with ease. You watch with parted lips as he simply rips it right in front of you, tossing it aside without much care, before glancing back at the rest, namely the other third years, turning back to you. “Now, tell us, who told you you had to quit?”

And your eyes bulge. How did he--

“Kindaichi and Kunimi told us about everything,” Iwaizumi starts, moving towards you, as your eyes fall to the first years, watching the way they both, even Kunimi, stare after you in concern. “We know someone’s been bothering you, so, just tell us.”

“We’ll help you,” Watari adds with a smile, hesitantly speaking up.

And you pause, unsure. But then you stare at them all watching you carefully, and see how all of them care so much, more then you ever thought they did and you’re reminded of why you’d refused to quit in the first place. Reminded of how much you love managing the volleyball team and no matter how much you were scared and hurt, you didn’t want to lose it all.

Lose them.

“It’s... It’s a few, three actually, of Oikawa-senpai’s fangirls,” you mumble, voice low, head turned downwards. “They... They don’t like how much time I spend with him, so they... they told me to quit and when I refused, they...” You don’t need to finish.

There’s a pause, before a slap echoes. 

“Somehow I knew this was your fault, Shittykawa.”

“Ow!” Oikawa cries, “Iwa-chan, it’s not like I...” But he seems to pause, lips parting as he glances down at you, his heart breaking slightly at the tears in your eyes.

Stepping forward, he pulls you into a hug, and you let him; “I’m sorry, Y/N-chan, I didn’t know they were hurting you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It kinda is,” Mattsun comments, stepping forward as he smiles down at you, ruffling your hair. “It’s easier to blame him anyways.”

“I agree,” Makki laughs.

And even you find yourself laughing lightly.

“Really, Y/N-chan? Even you too?”

“Sorry.”

Then, everyone turns serious; “I’ll talk to them,” Oikawa frowns. “What they did isn’t okay. I won’t let them get away with it. They’ll never bother you again, Y/N.”

And you’re surprised by how serious he is.

But things do get better.

Aiko never bothers you again, nor does any other one of Oikawa’s fangirls.

Oikawa even makes her apologize, and even you have to admit the absolute mortification on her face makes everything a lot better.

The boys try to stop the rumour, but it’s easier said then done, though, the fame of it all does dwindle and you’re not snided in the hallways so much anymore.

It’s kind of hard to when you usually have one of the third years walking you to and from class anyways.

Besides, they’re your friends, and even if everyone else hates you, they don’t.

And that’s all that matters to you.

[thestraggletag]

The Changeling, Chapter 3

Rating: M

Summary: Belle and Lacey had always been as different as two twins could possibly be, but always ready to do whatever it took for each other. Which includes Belle putting her life in pause to replace Lacey in hers as she checked herself into rehab to kick a drinking habit that could potentially end her modelling career. All she had to do is attend some fittings, do a couple of photoshoots, avoid if possible the slimey and two-timing Killian Jones and steer clear of Lacey’s boss, Mr Gold, and his suspicious nature.

How difficult could it possibly be?

A/N: Posting today because it’s my birthday and my present to myself is comment-based serotonin.

Belle made no mention of their small dinner date, and was glad when Gold didn’t seem inclined to share the interlude with anyone either. Jefferson would’ve for sure known about Lacey’s vegetarian status and that she would’ve never agreed to go out to eat with Gold.

Though there was a bit of a lull after the show things picked up again quite quickly. There was a lot that went into the after-show portion of launching a collection, including photoshoots. Belle was excited when she saw that Jefferson had managed to reserve a day in the Frick Collection to do most of the shots, having never been there before. The early 20th century building was done in the Beaux-arts style, with three stories and expansive gardens. It was lovely, and housed truly impressive works of art. Belle was particularly interested in the sculptures of Malvina Cornell and the busts of Houdon displayed throughout. 

She didn’t get to explore much, though, because she was kept busy from the start. Jefferson teamed with a photographer who clearly managed to capture his vision, an up and coming young woman called Alice, who was unlike what Belle had imagined a fashion photographer to be. She was very sunshine-y and not at all demanding, finding a way to guide people into looks and poses without barking orders or giving vague, unhelpful directions.

Being the face of the collection had its advantages. Belle got to get all of her single pictures taken right away, right after the artful group photos around the garden, with the models posing as woodland sprites in their makeshift forest. After she was finished she was allowed to wander around unaccompanied. She was admiring a sculpture of a nude woman holding a bow when she felt someone right behind her. She recognised the scent of leather, polish and sandalwood right away, even before the person spoke.

“Diana the huntress.”

Mr Gold looked from the statue towards her, and it was then that Belle realised she could have possibly been mistaken in time past for some mystical archer. Her flowy dress had an almost armour-like structure overlaying it, just enough to highlight the contrast of soft and hard. She smiled, trying not to notice the way his eyes took her in, the admiring glint in them. He was appreciating the dress, that was all.

“I didn’t know the great Mr Gold tagged along for photoshoots.”

Though she did not know much about the fashion world she could easily guess that Mr Gold, as the money, did not often get involved in these sorts of things. 

“Well, I was the one to arrange for us to use the Frick House. I suppose I felt obliged to tag along. Can’t say it’s a chore, though. Have you seen the whole collection?”

Though there was a small voice inside Belle that still reminded her that she should act like Lacey, who would have little interest in seeing the collection and even less in walking around with Gold, it was surprisingly easy to ignore it and follow Mr Gold around. He was both knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the art, having a clear preference for romantics like Turner and the porcelain objects. Afterwards they got to talking about books while they walked through the galleries around the gardens. He grudgingly admitted her recommendation for an urban fantasy book he would actually enjoy, The Shadow of the Wind, was rather enjoyable, though he had mocked her when she had first predicted he would like it. It was the first time either had dared acknowledge their little dinner date.

“See? There’s no genre so disliked that a good book can’t overcome. Pity we didn’t bet on it.”

“Why? What would you have asked for, if we had?”

The question was playfully asked, but there was something charged behind it, and between them. Belle felt something curl in the pit of her stomach, both frightening and exciting. He was looking at her expectantly, almost hungrily, in a way that could not possibly be mistaken. Belle wetted her lips, trying to formulate a reply, only for his gaze to drop to her mouth.

“Lacey, love, you’re a hard woman to get in touch with lately.”

Someone’s arm caught her by the waist, an unfamiliar chest pressing against her side. She frowned, taking in the newcomer, from his expensive suit to his sleek black hair, alarm bells immediately ringing off inside her head. Smarmy was the best way to describe the stranger, his clothing expensive but lacking in taste. His ostentatious tiepin alone was an eyesore and his clunky gold watch dug itself painfully against her waist. He also had an honest-to-God pirate gold hoop in one of his ears, and traces of eyeliner around his eyes.

“Jones.”

Mr Gold’s voice was like acid, unlike Belle had ever heard it. Not cold and indifferent like he had been with her at the beginning. Hatred dripped from it like venom. Killian Jones seemed happy to ignore him, tugging rather insistently on Belle’s waist to get her to come to him.

“Miss French is working, Jones. She doesn’t get to socialise on the clock.”

Though she understood that the animosity was with the newcomer it still stung Belle to have Mr Gold talk about her like that. But she pushed the feeling to the side, aware now that this was Killian Jones, and he meant trouble.

“You also shouldn’t be here. The building is off limits.”

“It’ll be quick, mate. Relax.”

Gold’s hand tightened around the handle of his cane, and Belle became worried some sort of physical confrontation would happen. Though neither man was showing anything but a thin veneer of politeness the tension was palpable. As much as she didn’t want to she knew the best option was to take Killian to a side and talk to him.

“I’m finished with the shoot anyway. A quick word won’t hurt anyone.”

She tried not to notice the way Jones smiled at Gold, like the cat that got the cream, all loathsome self-satisfaction and smugness. The Scotman, for his part, did not pay attention to the other man, but directed a look towards Belle that made her shrivel up inside, the disgust evident in his face. She told herself it didn’t matter. In a few weeks she would go back to California and likely never see him again.

Mr Jones- “Killian, love, please, we’re past that sort of formality.”- was all false charm as he lavished her with compliments on her beauty and gently chided her about keeping away for so long. From what Belle gathered Lacey had once been a regular at Jones’s bar, Neverland. She had gotten free drinks out of it and he had gotten good publicity and plenty of business from people dying to drink at the same bar as a supermodel. From what she could also sense, and what she had gleaned from Lacey, they had also slept together at least once. Thankfully, it was clear her twin considered it a mistake and had started to pull away from him before she had gone to visit her in California.

After some very painful small talk the Irishman finally got to the point, inviting her to his club for dinner. He claimed to have a ‘business proposal’ to pitch her, and that it would also stay platonic.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about that, Lace. I’m always open for a bit of a reconciliation on that front, if you know what I mean.”

Belle didn’t try to conceal the disgust in her expression, certain that Lacey would make the same face in her place. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Though she could firmly reject his advances it was clear based on his increasingly-threatening tone that she would not be able to avoid the dinner invitation. She reluctantly agreed, managing to set a day far away enough to allow her to at least be more prepared for the confrontation. After the date was settled Jones, blessedly, took his leave, but by the time Belle made it back to where Alice was snapping the last of the pictures Gold was nowhere to be seen. She told herself it was for the best.

Things were strange after that. Belle was sure that Mr Gold was avoiding her, which she told herself over and over was a good thing. But it did not make her feel relieved, and though they hadn’t met often around the fashion house Belle felt the absence keenly. The few times they managed to be in the same room he ignored her quite with surprising ease, as if theirs was a passing acquaintance easy to discard now that he had found something objectionable in her again.

She took refuge with Ruby, who had by then become a genuine friend to her, one she would miss when she went back home. Her thesis consumed a lot of her spare time as well, especially after she got to visit the NYPL Rare Book Division, which provided with a lot of additional information on the topic she was writing about, the inherent value of rare book collections in the age of digital preservation. It felt liberating to dedicate entire swatches of her time to something other than living her sister’s life for her.

The relative standstill the company seemed to be in was broken finally with the arrival of a private show. Select fashion icons and representatives were invited to take a closer look at the collection, see more of the details. Private shoppers and stylists would perhaps select an outfit for one of their clients’ major events, or an editor would choose whether to make the collection the centre of their next month’s edition. It was altogether a more relaxed affair, the looks toned down to make the outfits more wearable and the pressure also low. The models were expected to be professionals and make the clothes look good, but nothing quite like the magic they needed to conjure up for major fashion shows.

Being backstage for a second time was altogether a nicer experience for Belle. There were no surprises, and she more or less had gotten used to dressing in a semi-public space- though Ruby had commandeered, once again, a corner of the room for the both of them- and having people touch her constantly as they adjusted her hair, applied more blush as she passed by or rearranged her hair with barely a warning.

What she had not counted on was the fact that she could see people this time. The runway was low, a few feet off the ground at most, and the lights were not focused on the strip itself, and were altogether more natural. It meant she could see the audience sitting down, clustered all around the catwalk in groups. She caught a glimpse of a woman wearing glasses and a pageboy cut surrounded by a small army of assistants that she recognised instantly, and heard at least three different people speaking French all around her. Jefferson flitted about the room, going from cluster to cluster to answer a question, socialise or attend to a VIP guest. 

She didn’t spot Gold till she was at the end of the catwalk, striking a few poses before turning around. He was immaculately dressed, as always, and not alone. A gorgeous brunette, a few years older than Belle herself, was sitting next to him, both looking very cosy. She was dressed sharply, her looks matching his own. Like a power couple. Belle felt both their eyes land on her, Gold’s quickly flickering away and the woman’s lingering almost speculatively. She did not stay more than she absolutely needed to, deftly avoiding Ashley as they met halfway on the runway. The blonde was clearly bothered by something, and had been a pain to deal with since early in the morning. Even Ruby, who sought to always get along with everyone, was being short with her. 

In retrospect Belle realised she should’ve paid more attention to Ashley’s volatile mood, which was that day a step above her usual snippy, confrontational attitude. There was something almost desperate about it, and desperate people do desperate things. In Ashley’s case it meant that, when she could not get Belle to bump into her she resorted to, accidentally, jamming one of her stilettos into her ankle through the flimsy layers of see-through tulle of her skirt. Belle went down like a ton of bricks, one of her hands clutching her ankle as the other kept her partially off the floor. She took a moment to breathe the pain out and when she was convinced she hadn’t broken her ankle or twisted it she stood up shakily, thankful she was already on her way backstage. Hoping that the voluminous skirts would hide most of the hobbling she hurried out of the catwalk before she was too teary-eyed to see properly. 

No one backstage had seen what happened, too busy with the near constant work to be done, so no one stopped her as she went behind the folding screens Ruby had set up for them and sat down on a cushioned stool. By then she could feel the sole of her foot getting sticky, which meant that though she had managed not to twist her ankle, the stiletto had torn through her skin. Gingerly, trying hard not to move too much, she struggled to unbuckle her shoe. By then she was crying, a delayed reaction to the pain, and could barely see what she was doing.

“Let me see.”

Mr Gold’s voice came out of nowhere, startling her. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, gingerly kneeling down, his right leg placed awkwardly to keep his ankle off the floor. Instinctively, she hid her own ankle under the skirt of her dress, but he made a chiding sound.

“None of that. Let me see.”

“I’m okay.”

She was, really. She had been lucky to land the way she had, and knew that though there was a lot of blood the injury was unlikely to be serious. She would have to bandage it and ice it, but it was better than it had felt and currently looked. The real danger was not her ankle, but Gold’s close presence in such a small, secluded area. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. Can’t be too careful with an ankle injury.”

Reluctantly, she extended her foot, watching as he unbuckled her shoe and took out a handkerchief to wipe out the blood. His hands were soft and his movements sure, but the look on his face was murderous.

“I’m gonna fucking fire that little twit Ashley. She’ll come crying out to Jeff about it all being an accident but that’s a fucking lie.”

Though Belle wasn’t particularly fond of the blonde at the time she baulked at the idea of getting her fired. There was something strange about the other model’s behaviour, something that was beyond the petty, mean-spirited nonsense she had pulled from the start.

“I’m alright, no need to fire anyone. No need to fret. Go back to your date, I’ll get this wrapped up for the last look.”

He looked up at her then, a frown on his face.

“Regina? She’s not my date, she’s my protegee, though she’ll deny it. Helped her out when she was just starting out in the fashion business. She’s married. To a woman.”

Belle tried hard to pretend she did not feel a wave of relief at the revelation. The pain in her ankle was dulling, making her more and more aware of other things: the warmth of Mr Gold, the tension between them as she stared down and he stared up, the gentleness with which he still held her ankle, solicitously keeping his folded handkerchief pressed against the wound. Later she would wonder who moved first, or if they both did at the same time. All she remembered is that one moment she was struggling to control her breathing and the next his lips were pressed against hers, the hand caring for her ankle travelling upwards to curl around the back of her calf, pulling on it in an effort to move closer to her. She opened her mouth with a sigh of relief, her hand going to the back of his neck to pull him closer. It felt like something that had been building for weeks, since the beginning, was suddenly exploding around them and all she could do was cling to him and let herself go. There was no hesitation when she tugged on his hair or dug her fingers into the expensive wool of his jacket, no doubt when she felt his tongue stroke against hers, tentatively at first but gaining boldness once she sighed and tugged on his hair, showing her appreciation. He growled, the sound passing like a vibration between them, and shifted the hand on her calf towards the back of her thigh.

“Lace? Are you okay?”

Ruby’s voice washed over them like electricity, making them instantly aware of where they were and what was happening around them. They pulled apart, staring at each other for what felt like forever before Belle urged him to stand up, feeling panicked.

“She’ll be here any second. She can’t find you here.”

Ruby would kill her if she found out, and with reason. Thankfully, Mr Gold didn’t fight her, laboriously standing up, and disappearing along a corridor Belle had not noticed before. She, in turn, struggled to get a hold of a compact mirror to wipe the lower half of her face clean, the lipstick having smeared in the heat of the moment. By the time Ruby got to her she was by no means presentable but could blame her botched make-up on her crying.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix it in no time. And Granny gave me this plaster to tie you over till the last look is done. After that I’ll take you to the ER myself. Gotta make sure nothing is broken, sometimes the pain takes a while to set in.”

Belle could only nod, her ankle the least of her problems at the time.

The day after the second runway show was dull. Jeff was taking the day off, as were most of the seamstresses and some of the models. Belle had gone to the House of Gold as if on autopilot, too used to the routine to think about changing it.

Having nothing to do meant that she wound up going to her preferred writing spot, not at all surprised to see that Gold was there already, waiting for her. He looked almost unlike himself, uncertain and almost shy, altogether a rather adorable combination that had her resolve to put the kiss behind her wavering. Still, she hovered near the doorway, feeling a bit like she was a deer, ready to spring away to safety at the first sign of anything that could be remotely construed as danger.

“Oh, good, you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.” Her stomach did an odd little summersault, but he made no move to grab her, instead walking over to a corner of the room. She had noticed long ago the empty glass display case, but when she approached she saw that it was now occupied by what she knew immediately to be a very expensive book. It was bound in contemporary calf, showing the slightest bit of water damage,  with some wear and tear to the upper spine.

“Is this…?”

“A second edition of the first part of the Quixote, translated by Thomas Shelton. Original woodcuts and engraved title page. Been keeping it at home, but I’ve always meant it to go here. I just never felt motivated to arrange the move. But then yesterday I remembered the Quixote was a particular favourite of yours so I thought you would like to see it.”

He did not play fair, skillfully taking advantage of her weak points, luring her into the room with something he knew she could not ignore. She walked closer, taking in the small details obscured by time and deterioration.

“Would you like to hold it?”

She wanted to say no, but the glee in her face must have ratted her out. He offered her gloves and then fished out the key to open the curio, letting her carefully pick the book up. It was heavy, and felt sturdier than it looked. Though the cover had taken some damage over the years the pages were crisper than she had expected, and she could tell there had been some level of careful restoration done to the backing in order to keep the integrity of the piece.

“What do you think?”

The eagerness in his voice, his honest desire to hear her opinion, to perhaps confirm he had pleased her, was endearing.

“I think I’m holding a $60,000 book. Very rare. But it’s not just about the money, or even mainly about the money. This is a bit of history. The Quixote was revolutionary for its time, I can only imagine how it affected the person who purchased it the first time. It’s a piece of art, even down to its small imperfections. Priceless.”

Reluctantly, with the care most people would have while handling a newborn, Belle placed the book back on its stand, closing the glass case afterwards. The seal was hermetic, guaranteeing the best possible protection, and she could tell the glass was UV proof. Mr Gold certainly took care of what he found valuable, and it went beyond money. He had a real appreciation for what he collected.

“I should’ve had Alice give you a book to hold during the photoshoot. It would have made for a beautiful picture, some sprite laid down on the grass, cradling a book she was reading. You get a certain expression on your face when you handle a book that would have certainly added to the beauty of Jefferson’s creations.”

Her face must have lit up with excitement at the idea, because he smiled down at her, something soft in his eyes as he helped her remove the protective gloves from her hands.

“Your love of books is the thing that made me realise I hardly knew you, but I wanted to.”

She told herself to take a step back. Several in fact. Leave the library altogether. She had already messed up but if she got a hold of herself she could keep the damage to a minimum. But when he lowered his head, slowly, giving her ample opportunity to reject him if she wished, she took a step forward, meeting him halfway. His lips were as soft as she remembered, but the rest of him was hard beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. She sank into him gratefully, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, feeling as if her whole body was on fire. 

Though Belle was not a strange to sexual desire it did not happen to her the way it happened to Lacey, not in that immediate, magnetic connection to a stranger she found attractive or as an itch she needed to scratch. She needed to know the person, to let the heat simmer and build between them. She had been so preoccupied with everything, and later on so much in denial about it all, that she had completely ignored the tension growing between her and Gold. Now, however, she was drowning in it, in the heat and the almost uncomfortable tingling in her lower abdomen. It had never felt this bad before, to the point that she was too distracted to second-guess herself, to question her lack of talent in the art of kissing or whether Gold would expect someone more experienced. All she could do was cling to him as they devoured each other, with little finesse or thought behind it. It was all need, like eating after being starved for a long time. At some point they changed positions, stumbling till Gold sat down, taking her down with him till she was straddling him, exposing her bare legs to the cool air of the room as her short skirt rode up.

Sexual desire, on a theoretical level, wasn’t something that Belle was unfamiliar with, but she had seldomly felt it outside of erotic stories and her own imagination. She had felt it for her first boyfriend, Will, who hadn’t seemed to mind her being an inexperienced virgin, and later on she’d felt the spark of it in the couple of short-lived relationships she’d had afterwards, but she’d always felt desire was something that she enjoyed more on her own, with her books. But not even the dirtiest of books had ever made her feel what she was feeling then, the utter consumption, the way her body felt like it was on fire, every nerve-ending acutely sensitive, almost to the point of pain. 

Below her Gold seemed just as possessed, hands gripping whatever part of her they could reach, his mouth so forceful in its attentions it felt bruising. This was the sort of reckless passion she had only read about, the kind she had always thought wasn’t real outside the realm of fantasy. She understood then why people did stupid things and blamed lust for it later.

“Oh fuck, Lacey…”

It was the name, her sister’s name, that brought her back to reality, like someone had doused her with frigid water. She pushed against his chest, scrambling to stand up, only then realising that she had ended up straddling Gold on top of the Chesterfield.

What the hell was she doing? She was supposed to be there as a temporary replacement for her sister. This was not his life but hers she was living. A borrowed life.

“I’m sorry.” She was breathless, still flushed and hot from their actions just seconds ago. “I don’t do this, ever. I don’t sleep with people I need to have a professional relationship with, and certainly not my boss. Whatever people may think, I'm not that kind of person.”

He seemed confused at first, befuddled in a way that would’ve been flattering under any other circumstances. It was as if she had kissed him senseless.

“I’ve never implied or thought-”

“Doesn’t matter.” She gathered her bag, trying to sound indifferent. “I can’t stay. I have a date with Killian later tonight.”

She saw her dig work, saw the moment his adorable confusion melted away and a cold, aloof expression took over his face.

“Wouldn’t want to make you late for that. Go.”

He spat the last word out, with venom she didn’t know whether it was directed at her or at Jones. Without a reply she turned around and exited the librarY.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Shut Eye

pairing/genre: idol!Yoongi x reader, fluff

premise: In a world where every night you meet your soulmate in your dreams only to forget their face and voice when you wake up, you’re now more desperate than ever to find them.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: I was listening to the piano version of ‘For Forever’ from Dear Evan Hansen while writing this...so maybe that explains it?? THIS IS SOOO CHEESY YOU GUYS

requested by anon - thanks for the fun request, hope you enjoy! a picture of your ask/request will be at the bottom of the post. Thank you!

_________________________________

You awoke with a gasp, the covers flung aside in an effort to grab the notebook and pen you kept handy on your nightstand. Not bothering to flip on the lamp, you used the little moonlight filtering in through your window to write down the events of your dream.

You spent most nights in the dreamscape with your soulmate, his face and voice a blurry mess in your mind. The two of you would talk for hours, that much you know. The general idea of the conversation would stick with you as well, but beyond anything else, you’d wake up with the same familiar feeling.

The specific brand of heartbreak that tends to accompany goodbyes. 

Tonight’s dream had been something entirely different, though. Try as you might, your mind can’t seem to conjure up the exact words your soulmate had so calmly whispered in your ear as you stood on a red carpet facing innumerable flashing cameras. However, one thing was for certain.

He was trying to send you a message. 

He was trying to find you out in this big world. 

You’ve made a bullet-point list now, with the words red carpet, famous?? and beautiful suit starting off the list. As the list continued on, you only grew more and more confused. Why did your soulmate choose that dreamscape? After years of the usual sitting room and long chats, something must have happened to make him change.

Frustrated, you scanned last night’s notes to see if anything out of the ordinary had happened. You nearly gave up before one of the final bullet-points caught your attention.

we talked about family

did we talk about our family??

Eyebrows scrunched and lips pouted, you wracked your brain for any recollection of the conversation from the night before. Indeed, you remembered waking up with the distinct feeling of discussing future baby names, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember what he had said he liked. What you did remember was that it was a name that had made you laugh, and that he had been upset about it for the rest of the evening. 

Not too upset, though. He’d still quietly warned you in the way he always did when he knew he was about to wake up. Softly lacing his hand through yours, running his thumb over the back of your knuckles until in the blink of an eye he was gone. 

There had been several occasions when you’d woken up still feeling the ghost of his hand on yours.

The notebook in your hands glared up at you, an unwelcome reminder that you were nowhere near close to understanding the meaning of your most recent dream. 

Normally, you would have just let it go. But today was different. Today you woke up just knowing that he had meant something by the dream. The way he’d brought you out on that red carpet, your arm linked through his as he led you toward a group that was already posing for pictures-

Wait. A group? You’d forgotten that part. Another bullet-point was added to the growing list.

part of a group (friends?)

Your eyes drifted shut as you tried to remember any more details, the ways the cameras flashed seemed to impair your vision as you’d looked at the group that had smiled as you neared. One of them had made some extra space for you and your soulmate, and you’d nearly keeled over when you saw who it was.

But who was it?

You sighed, scribbling one last bullet-point before your brain quit functioning.

I recognized the friends - famous?

It was a bit discouraging to look down at the list and see so many question marks, but you paid it no mind as you tossed your notebook back onto the nightstand and found the strength to get up for the day. 

You’d just have to wait until the next dream.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

“I have no idea where this is going,” you admitted while staring up at the ceiling,  sprawled out on your bed. “But I just know that he’s trying to tell me something. You know?”

Your best friend, Ji-eun, just laughed on the other side. “I’m sure he was...but honestly, who knows? Maybe he just wanted a change of scenery.”

“Ugh. You’re no fun.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but no more fun for you tonight. I’ve got to go to bed. Got to wake up early tomorrow, remember? It’s a big day.”

“Oh, that’s right! Are you nervous?”

You’d nearly forgotten that your best friend was also one of South Korea’s most beloved singers. On most days, you forgot her stage name, too. 

“No, not really. I just usually hate having to sit there by myself, you know? There are so many groups, and them I’m just by myself. Looking beautiful.”

“Aww, poor IU, all alone.” You teased. “I’d go with you, but-”

In an instant, Ji-eun, or IU, squealed and you knew that she had an idea. “Yes! Come with me!! I’ll sneak you in! You won’t even have to worry about the red carpet- wait.”

You winced, having held the phone at a distance from your ear so as to not immediately lose your hearing. “Oh no, now what? You know I’m not fit for award shows, Ji-eun.”

“Didn’t you say that your dream was on the red carpet?”

You blinked. “Yeah.”

“Sooo,” Ji-eun dragged out, “Maybe you’ll see him.”

A wry laugh escaped you. “What makes you think he would recognize me even if he was there? Or that I would recognize him?”

IU made an indecisive noise. “Well, you already described his beautiful suit-”

“Hey, no teasing. It was absolutely gorgeous.”

“Exactly! If there’s a guy that shows up wearing that suit, then maybe that’s him! And, maybe he’s part of a group! You would recognize the group if you saw them, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re just trying to get me to come with you,” you drawled, ignoring the little spark of hope. 

“Obviously. Hey, you know that really pretty red dress you bought not that long ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Wear that, and work your dreamscape magic or something to help him remember the red dress. He’ll recognize you when he sees you tomorrow!”

With an eye roll you’re pretty sure Ji-eun heard through the phone, you groaned. “If he’s even there. If.”

“So you’ll do it?”

In the end, it was the memory of having to say goodbye every morning without even remembering who you were saying goodbye to that had you agreeing. 

••••••••••••••••••

Falling into your dreams had always felt more like waking up, the urge to stretch and run around almost too much to deny. Tonight, you entered the familiar sitting room that you’d frequented nearly every night for the past few years.

Your soulmate is waiting for you when you enter, his back turned to you.

A part of you knows that the two of you have been through this many times before. You’ve technically met your soulmate hundreds of times - maybe even thousands at this point. But every night, it’s the same little feeling of anticipation as you wait for him to turn around. 

Always wondering who it might be. Always dreading the moment you wake up and forget his face all over again, waiting for the next dream to identify him.

He’s in the black, lightly checkered suit that he wore last night, not a single strand of his black hair out of place as he turns around with wide eyes.

Your breath is momentarily caught in your throat as you suddenly recognize him, not only from the previous dreams but from nearly everywhere else in the waking world. 

“Hey,” Yoongi mumbles, a soft smile gracing his lips as he looks at you. “You look beautiful.”

You looks down at the red dress you’re wearing, the same one you’re planning on wearing at the award show. Nodding at his suit, you grin.

“Are you wearing that to the award show today?”

He nods, stepping toward you. “I wish you could go, I know that I’d be able to find you-”

“I am.”

Yoongi stops, his mouth slightly open. He takes a single step toward you. “You are? How?”

“Ji-eun is my best friend, remember?”

He takes a moment to recall that tidbit of information about you, nodding. “So...we’ll see each other.”

“I hope so.” You tilt your head. “But will you recognize me? It was so hard for me to remember any details after last night’s dream, I feel like it’s getting harder.”

“I think it is,” Yoongi agrees, striding over to you and grabbing your hand even as a light pink dusts over his cheeks. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to forget this dress.” With a wink that belies his shy nature, Yoongi leads you out onto the red carpet, where cameras are waiting. 

He walks you through the event, glancing at you every few seconds as though afraid that you’ll disappear at any moment. That’s certainly a valid concern - it’s happened plenty of times.

You’ve just made it to where the rest of the members are standing when you feel the tell-tale pull back toward reality. 

You’ll be waking up at any moment now. Most likely because of that pesky nest of birds that have decided to camp out just outside of your windows. 

Instinctively your grip on Yoongi’s arm tightens, and he turns to you. He can tell by the look in your eyes that you’re about to leave.

“What if it doesn’t work?” You blurt out, taking in every last detail of him. From the way his cheeks are still pink to the fit of his suit. 

Yoongi absolutely shocks you as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, pulling you a little closer. His breath that dusts over your ear feels so real as he whispers gently to you.

“We’ll find a way. I promise.”

•••••••••••••••••••

It was the same dream as the night before; the same infuriating goodbye that seeped into your bones as you hurtled awake. However, this time, you could have sworn that you recalled a puppy-dog gaze that was begging you to remember him as you left the dreamscape.

You’d worn the red dress you currently had on, the red lace falling just below your knees. A part of you remembered the way your soulmate had reacted when you’d waltzed into the dreamscape, the way you had casually linked your arm through his as you walked onto the red carpet.

Today you couldn’t find the energy to write anything in your full notebook, opting to bury your head in your hands.

“Who are you?” You groaned. The feeling of his soft lips against your forehead has you sighing, wishing that you could replay it all over again. After shooting a glare at the red dress hanging in your closet, you grabbed your notebook to write down one note before getting up.

We love each other

•••••••••••••••••••

Ji-eun - er, IU, instructed you to wait for her at the entrance to the photo-op portion of the red carpet. She would be busy doing little interviews before that, which honestly didn’t seem that appealing to you. 

Especially not when you were so nervous you thought you were going to throw up.

Staring down at your red dress, you nearly jumped out of your skin when there was a hand on your shoulder.

“Ha! You’re jumpy today,” IU teased, “I wonder why.”

“Oh good, you’re finished.” You ignored her tease, happy to get moving. “You look amazing.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but she still deserved to be complimented. IU looked absolutely ethereal in her flowy green gown, the two of you looking like some sort of Christmas ad. 

“You look great as well!” She motioned toward the carpet. “I think we’re just after this group. Ready?”

Armed with a smile and your best friend at your side, you ventured onto the carpet. It was easier than you though it would be; most of the time you were stepping aside to allow the photographers a clear view of IU.

You’ve nearly made it to the end when a fresh round of screaming picks up. 

There’s only one group that can command that much attention.

You couldn’t help but crane your neck as you see BTS walk onto the carpet, just a couple of groups behind you. Your eyes widened on their own accord when you saw them, unable to shake the feeling of having met them before. 

Of course, they pay you no mind. However, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Suga took a moment to get up on his tippy-toes, looking around. You went to point it out to IU, nobody paying either of you any mind as you walk off the carpet. You lost all ability to speak, however, as you took a closer look.

It’s the suit. 

The one that is checkered with a light gray, the one that fit your soulmate just right. 

It’s the black hair that’s perfectly styled. 

And as Suga turned to look your way, you didn’t miss the way his eyes caught on your red dress.

Almost like he had been looking for a red dress.

In the span of a single heartbeat, you made eye contact with the idol, the same question lingering in your eyes. 

For Min Yoongi, that’s all it took. 

Abandoning all precepts, he took off down the carpet, heading straight toward you. From the way the other members took one look at you and your red dress and immediately began speaking to those present, you knew that they’d been waiting for this. Knew that they weren’t planning on keeping this low-key, because there was no real way to do that. 

Not as Yoongi saw you and knew. 

You managed to take three steps toward him before he was before you, grinning with his gummy smile even as his ears turned red. 

“Quick,” Yoongi breathed out, reaching down to take your hands in his. “If it’s really you, tell me what name we can’t agree on for a girl.”

The question threw you off guard, making you laugh. But after a moment, you found with a gasp that you remember.

You remembered everything.

The way the two of you first awkwardly stumbled into the dreamscape at the age of nineteen. How you eventually opened up to each other, grew to care deeply about the other. 

You remembered the nights when the two of you were rambunctious and laughing at stupid stories Yoongi told you about the boys. 

You remembered the nights when you sat in silence, dreading the moment you would have to wake up.

And you remembered that just a few days ago, Yoongi had brought up family. You’d spent the night talking about how many children you’d want, how you’d raise them, what you’d name them.

And there was one horrible name that he loved and you hated, and neither of you were willing to budge on it.

“Ugh,” you groaned even as you smiled. “We are not naming her Pearl! It would make her sound like a pirate ship!”

The cameras flashed, which made Yoongi’s eyes glimmer as he laughed along with you. Then, without a care in the world except for knowing for certain that it was all real, Yoongi tugged you closer until your foreheads touched and all you could see were his dark eyes pulling you in.

“I told you we’d find a way.”

Hundreds of cameras flashed, documenting the moment and effectively labeling it a dream come true.

masterlist

[cuddlepilefics]

Please Help

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Changbin

Caregiver: Minho

Changbin gets sick and while trying to hide it gets into an argument with Minho, who might be the only one there to take care of him.

Changbin’s POV.:

It was getting closer to four in the morning and I have yet to fall asleep. For some reason, my stomach had started to hurt pretty bad at some point during the late evening. I couldn’t tell whether it was something I ate but I knew if it wouldn’t get better soon, I wouldn’t get any sleep before having to get up for our schedule. Dance practice, something I really wasn’t looking forward to at the moment. Even if my stomach got better by then, I’d be way too tired for the intense choreographies we’d be working on. Just thinking about all the fast turns and jumps made my stomach churn uneasily. Considering there was no use in laying in bed stressing out, I slowly got up. Maybe some tea would settle my stomach, so I could get at least a tiny bit of sleep. I had to be carefully as I felt a bit queasy if I moved to fast. Wrapping one arm around my aching middle, I shuffled to the kitchen. I didn’t feel like turning on the ceiling lights as they were way to bright, so I ended up using my phone’s flashlight to find my way. After I turned on the kettle, I grabbed my favorite cup and popped in a bag of ginger tea. My mother once told me it helped with nausea and I prayed it really would because being up and moving made me feel increasingly queasy. Waiting for the water to boil, I moved a bit closer to the sink, unsure if the odd feeling at the back of my throat was just a fluke. My mouth was watering a little, which worried me quite a bit. If this got bad enough to make me throw up, I probably wouldn’t be better in a few hours, when we’d have to head out.

I was so distracted worrying, that I almost missed the water boiling. Snapping out of my thoughts, I prepare my tea before shakily making my way to the living room. The few minutes I had been standing seemed to have drained most of the energy I had left and I weakly plopped onto the couch, drawing my knees up to my chest. Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead on my knees and took a deep breath. By now, I was almost certain that I was sick. My head felt too light for me to just be tired and I highly doubted the dorm was as cold as it seemed to me. I couldn’t be sick now though. We were way too busy for me to take some time off. Usually, I’d be rather open about how I felt because I knew my friends would be by my side, comforting me until I felt better, but with how busy we were, I didn’t want to stress the rest of the group out. Completely forgetting about my tea on the coffee table, I sprawled out on the couch with my hand under my shirt, rubbing soft circles over my stomach. Exhausted, I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened my eyes, it was already dawn and when I sat up, reaching for my tea, it was cold. My stomach didn’t hurt as badly anymore, though it was still a bit sore. Checking the time, I realized we’d have to get up in ten minutes anyway, so I disposed of my cold tea and went to get ready. It was a bit of a struggle because although my stomach had gotten a bit better, my head had become foggier and I stumbled around clumsily, probably waking most of the members already with all the noise.

No one’s POV.:

Though he was up earlier than his friends, Changbin took quite a while to get ready, spacing out frequently. It all made sense with the fever he was running but the rapper didn’t think to take his temperature. Knowing about his fever wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway, as he had already decided not to say anything and to go about his day as if nothing was wrong. Chan noticed the younger not being fully awake and made sure the rapper would have breakfast, knowing he’d need the energy for their dance practice. Changbin figured that maybe, if he was lucky, having some food would help settle his stomach further and maybe, just maybe, he’d feel less dizzy after eating something. He was quiet on their way to the company building, still trying to shake the fog in his head as he knew he’d have to be more than just focused if he wanted to keep up with their dances.

They were still warming up when Changbin realized, his breakfast had been a mistake. His stomach was churning again and he cursed himself for not skipping out on the meal. The rapper had no idea how he was supposed to dance like this, afraid he’d make himself sick with all the fast movements. “Changbin, wake up! We want to start now, so move”, Minho ordered. The members were already on their starting positions, all except for Changbin, who seemed to be in his own world. Startling, the rapper nodded and quickly got into position. He didn’t even know which song they’d dance to first and anxiously waited for the first beats. Today was not his day. Of course, Minho would start with the most complex choreography first, so they’d have the time to perfect it. He didn’t know how but Changbin managed to go over all the moves, being only slightly behind the beat. It wasn’t good enough though for him not to be called out by Minho, reminding him to speed his dancing up a little, so he’d keep up with the music. Barely paying attention to what his hyung was saying, the rapper nodded along as sweat ran down his back. His stomach cramped and he tried not to wince before he was forced to go back to his starting position, so they could give it another try.

About an hour in, Changbin wasn’t doing any better. His dancing was at least as off-beat as it was the first time and his moves grew increasingly sluggish. The rapper had already excused himself to the bathroom twice, feeling like he needed to be sick. He hadn’t thrown up and had made his way back to the practice room either times after accepting that it had been another false alarm. By now, Changbin contemplated just sticking his finger down his throat, as he’d probably feel better after getting everything out, so dancing wouldn’t torture him as much anymore. Pausing the music again, Minho sighed: “Bin, can you at least pretend you’re taking this seriously?” - “S-Sorry, hyung, I am”, the rapper apologized, trying to pull himself together. He just couldn’t focus, no matter how badly he wanted to. Changbin swallowed hard, fighting the rising nausea. “Well, you’re moves don’t really make it seem like you are”, Minho commented, “Put a little effort into it, would you?” Not daring to open his mouth, the younger nodded, making himself dizzy.

Minho’s POV.:

Changbin had been slacking off ever since we started and was really getting annoying. It didn’t look like he was even trying at all, his moves all over the place. The more time passed, the worse it got. We needed to get this perfect soon because one of the company’s choreographers would stop by towards the end of our practice to see how we were progressing, which in my dongsaeng’s case was backwards. Taking a deep breath to calm my temper, I reminded him: “Pull yourself together, Changbin, alright? Someone will watch our dance later and if you keep fooling around like this, all of us will get in trouble.” – “S-Sorry, I-I need the bathroom”, he stammered, already fleeing without giving me the chance to say anything else. I had lost track of how many times he had already escaped ‘to the bathroom’, probably trying to kill time till our practice was over. Giving Chan an exasperated look, I went on to help the rest of the members polish up their moves. The leader only shrugged, contemplating going after Changbin but by the time he had made up his mind, the rapper already returned. He took his time, getting a drink first before joining us in the middle of the room again, causing me to pinch the bridge of my nose and remind myself to stay calm for the sake of the other members. I was really irritated but needed to be professional, otherwise we’d make even less progress.

No one’s POV.:

The remainder of their practice session passed just the same and before they knew it, they were joined by the choreographer. Changbin blinked confused. He had forgotten they’d have a visitor, no matter how many times Minho reminded him. Swallowing convulsively, the rapper prayed his stomach would stay where it was. He hadn’t thrown up yet but the number of false alarms was ridiculous. Spacing out while the dance-racha talked to the choreographer, Changbin snuck a hand under his sweaty shirt to palm his cramping stomach. He couldn’t suppress a shudder, feeling chilled to the bone in his sweat-damp clothes. It was confusing really, how he could sweat that much when it was so cold in the practice room. They had surely turned the aircon down to arctic temperatures. Seeing the other members gather in the center of the room, Changbin dizzily made his way over and prayed he’d be able to get through the entire song. He really didn’t want to get sick or faint in front of everyone, especially now that someone else was present, expecting him to be professional. One of the jumps made his stomach lurch, acid rushing up his throat. The rapper panicked, gritting his teeth and quickly swallowing it back down, while trying to not miss a beat. In the end, he surprised himself by striking the ending pose without passing out, despite the black spots clouding his vision.

Still panting, Changbin saw the choreographer walk up to him. He could hear the other talking but couldn’t comprehend anything he said, too distracted by his stomach sloshing nauseatingly. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple as he nodded along to whatever the choreographer was saying, mainly focused on staying upright without puking on the other’s shoes. When the older finally stopped talking and bid the group goodbye, Changbin plopped down on the ground, assuming their practice was finally over. He was startled when a fuming Minho walked up to him. “Why couldn’t you just take it seriously earlier?”, the dancer spat, “I have so many other things to get done today and now I need to stay behind until you get it right.” Blinking at the older confused, Changbin muttered a tired: “What?” – “Didn’t you listen to a word he was saying? I really can’t believe you! You and I are forced to stay here until you get it right, so get up! We’re starting right now, no breaks just dancing because I also need to practice my vocals later and am not planning on staying here all night”, Minho snapped, grabbing his dongsaeng’s wrist and hauling him to his feet. Blacking out for a second when he was upright, Changbin swayed on his feet but managed not to fall.

The other members were already packing up their things while Minho got a drink before walking over to the sound system to start the music again. Sensing the tension, the group quietly left as they didn’t want to irritate Minho further. When the dancer turned around again, he had top realize that Changbin had slipped out of the room unnoticed. Angrily gritting his teeth, Minho paused the music and went to go look for his dongsaeng. Considering he hadn’t been gone for long, the rapper had to be somewhere close by, so Minho decided to check the practice room next to theirs. It was empty and closing the door again, the dancer’s eyes fell on the bathroom a little further down the hallway. His anger dissolved when he heard muffled sobs through the door, already assuming it had to be Changbin. Minho’s prediction was correct and he found the younger curled up against the far wall, feeling guilty as he could see now that the rapper hadn’t been fooling around but was actually struggling. Quietly sitting down next to his crying dongsaeng, the dancer draped his arm around the other’s shoulders. Changbin hadn’t even noticed his hyung walking in and startled when he was suddenly touched, flinching away. “Hey, ssh, it’s okay”, Minho hummed, finally taking a closer look at his friend. His heart broke when he noticed how pale the rapper looked, barely distinguishable from the wall behind him. His sweat-soaked practice clothes clung to him uncomfortably.

“I-I’m sorry”, Changbin whimpered, not looking up, “Hyung, I’m so s-sorry, please- Hyung, please he-help.” Trying to make eye contact with the younger, Minho promised: “It’s okay, Binnie, I will but you need to tell hyung how. What’s going on?” The rapper only choked on another sob, squeezing his eyes shut. Gently brushing back Changbin’s sweaty bangs, Minho cringed when he felt the heat radiating from his dongsaeng’s forehead. “You’re burning”, he stated sympathetically, “Haven’t felt well all day, hm?” The younger defeatedly shook his head, shifting and trying to get up. His face had taken on a slightly greenish tint, so Minho helped him up, getting the rapper settled in front of the toilet. “H-Hyung, I can’t”, Changbin muttered shakily, before ducking down with an unproductive gag. Comfortingly rubbing his back, Minho instructed: “Deep breaths, then explain what you can’t and how I can help.” The rapper coughed weakly before drawing in a shaky breath and admitting: “Can’t throw up. Always feel like it but nothing’s happening.” – “That’s why you’ve been running off all the time wasn’t it? I’m so sorry I never took the time to ask you if everything was alright”, Minho cooed regretfully. Nodding, Changbin tensed with another gag, hand going up to his throat that ached from the strain. Getting back up, the dancer promised: “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get you some water. Maybe drinking something will speed things up. Just hang in there.”

Minho hurried to retrieve his dongsaeng’s water bottle from the practice room, all the while beating himself up for making assumptions earlier. In hindsight, it was obvious that Changbin hadn’t been alright. He would never slack if a choreographer was present. The dancer’s eyes landed on his own sweatshirt, carelessly thrown next to his bag. Quickly grabbing that too, he rushed back to the bathroom, only to find Changbin in pretty much the same position that he had left him in. Resting a gentle hand on the younger’s shoulder, Minho hummed: “I got you a warmer shirt too. You’re not going to get better if you’re running around in wet clothes. Do you want change first?” Shivering pathetically, the rapper nodded and struggled to get his sticky shirt off. Minho helped him pull it off before handing him the sweatshirt. It was a bit tight around his dongsaeng’s broad shoulders but it was a lot warmer.

Changbin slumped with his back against the toilet stall, closing his eyes and bringing his fist up to his face to muffle a queasy belch. “Do you want to have some water? Either it helps your stomach settle or it makes you sick, so you can get it over with and I can take you home”, Minho offered, already uncapping the bottle. The rapper winced but accepted the bottle. He didn’t really want to be sick but after so many false alarms, it’d be better to just get it over with than be stuck in this limbo forever. Taking a few tentative sips, Changbin realized the water certainly wouldn’t settle his stomach, so he started to chug it quickly, struggling to keep from gagging. He barely got to finish his drink before dropping the bottle and scrambling over the toilet bow, as the water gushed from his lips. Minho was there in a second, running his hand up and down his dongsaeng’s back to keep him calm as wave after wave of clear water shot up his throat. Choking a little, Changbin gave a painful cough and reached for his hyung’s hand. He yearned for comfort, needing a hug but his stomach wasn’t yet done. It clenched again, causing the rapper to pitch forward with a strangled retch. Biting his lip, Minho took Changbin’s hand, that was still blindly feeling around for his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

It took a while for Changbin’s stomach to calm down again but they were in no hurry. Unlike his earlier claims, Minho would definitely stay the entire night at the company building if that was how long the younger needed. When it didn’t seem like the rapper was going to bring anything else up, Minho carefully pulled him back let him lean against his chest while he tore off some toilet paper to wipe his dongsaeng’s lips. Changbin dizzily closed his eyes, huffing shaky breaths while the older cleaned him up. He was glad he finally got it over with but now he was so spent that it didn’t feel like he could get up at all anytime soon. There was a gentle hand on his forehead, brushing the damp bangs back before softly scratching his scalp. “Feeling at least a little better now?”, Minho whispered as he continued to run his hand through the younger’s hair. Lacking any energy, Changbin could only give an uncertain hum and kept his eyes closed as he slowly relaxed in his hyung’s hold. Checking his fever again, the dancer promised: “You will soon. As soon as you feel ready to move, I’m taking you back to the dorm, so you can rest in your bed and I can fetch you some medicine but don’t worry, there’s no rush, you can take as long as you need.”

Changbin drowsily went in and out of sleep as Minho didn’t have the heart to wake him, so they could go home. The dancer had no idea how long they had been sitting there but it didn’t matter all that much to him. Yeah, he wanted to get the younger home but if the other needed to regain some of his energy first, that was fine with him too. Minho was deep in thought, guiltily recounting all the opportunities he would have had to realize his dongsaeng was sick, when Changbin sleepily sat up. “Hyung, can we go home? I’m tired”, he muttered, voice scratchy from throwing up. The older nodded and got up before extending his hands to help the rapper up. Changbin’s head spun when he stood and Minho was quick to wrap him in a hug to steady him until he had adjusted. Even when the rapper nodded that he was okay now, Minho kept one arm around his waist, just in case. They slowly made their way back to the practice room, where the dancer hurriedly threw their stuff into their bags before slinging both of them over his shoulder.

Their walk back to the dorm seemingly too forever as Changbin dizzily stumbled next to Minho, who tried to keep his dongsaeng from falling. Unlocking the door, Minho quickly kicked off his shoes before helping the younger with his. He walked the rapper straight to his room and placed his bag next to his desk after sitting the sick boy down on his bed. Changbin instantly curled up, struggling to pull his blanket over himself as he still shook with chills. Cooing sympathetically, the dancer helped him with the blanket before turning to leave the room. “Hyung, can you please stay? I-I know you have a lot of other stuff to do, so you don’t have to, I just- I-”, Changbin rambles sleepily, needing the comfort he had been craving since last night but still remembering the older’s temper earlier. Face softening, Minho crouched next to the bed. He gently cupped his dongsaeng’s feverish cheek and whispered: “I will, don’t worry about it, yeah? I will stay with you as long as you’ll have me but I need to get a few things first, so we can try and bring that fever down at least a little.” Changbin nodded and closed his eyes, hoping his hyung would be quick. He had lost all sense of time, so he had no idea how long it had been before the mattress dipped beside him. “Bin? Do you feel like you could drink something? I don’t want you getting dehydrated after getting sick and sweating so much during practice”, Minho asked carefully. The younger shrugged propping himself up on his elbow and accepting the water his hyung handed him. The dancer had also gotten a bucket, figuring Changbin would throw up again before he was able to get over his bug, and a cold washcloth to place on the rapper’s forehead. When Changbin handed the water back, Minho placed it on the nightstand and got into bed beside the younger, cooing when the other up on against him. “Your head must be hurting a lot, so I’ll put something cool on it that will hopefully help your fever”, the dancer whispered, draping the washcloth across his dongsaeng’s burning forehead before running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. Giving a satisfied hum, Changbin relaxed and soon drifted off to sleep but still heard the quiet: “I’m sorry, Binnie. I’ve been a shitty hyung today but please know, I will always help if you ask me to.”

[seesgood]

can we very gently talk about call out posts / culture really quick?  not in a judgmental way, but in like a: i just want to pose a thought and explain why i’m never going to buy into it and why i wish it would become less of a trend instead of more of one? and i’ll add the  disclaimer  here: i totally get not wanting certain people around you for various reasons, that is all your prerogative. that’s your comfort level. but in emphasizing “your blog should be a safe space” we’re kind’ve losing sight of the fact that the rpc should also be a safe space, and as much as your comfort and safety matter, so do other people’s. and not just the person who hurt you, but the third parties and other mutuals and 99.9% of people who are not at all involved in any way in whatever happened. so, anyway here goes, read it or don’t, we all have different opinions or reasons, i just want to be heard:

people are allowed to change.  think back to who you were last year. two years ago. think about the stuff you said when you were seventeen, or twenty-one, or hell whatever age you were. current-you would probably cringe at the kind of stuff past-you had to say. because you grew. you learned. you had life experiences. in hindsight you have the freedom to be like “oof yeah that was not the best version of myself right there damn i don’t want to be like that again.” the growing trend of ‘here’s a 10+ page google doc complete with out of context screenshots that sometimes date back to like 2017 or earlier’ makes this kind of change impossible. because right there, you’ve just frozen a person in time, probably not at their best, removed any and all amounts of context, and put it on the internet and let other people judge it for themselves. 

so that leads into another point that i want to just kinda present to the community at large: the act of documenting behaviors and storing them for months / years at a time, in itself creates a super unsafe environment, not just for you, your friends, the people who have hurt you --- but also for anyone else that isn’t at all involved in whatever happened. like, for example, i like to think that i’m a pretty nice person. i actively try to be a nice person. am i sometimes not having the best day? have people definitely caught me in bad moments? oh hell yeah. but am i, as someone who tries really hard to be nice and welcoming, constantly thinking through every message i send to someone knowing that a) i could have a reputation that makes them read into context that isn’t there and that could contribute to them misinterpreting words i meant in a different way, b) very aware that every post i make, ask i send, message i send can at any moment be screenshotted and posted and taken out of context and either serve as someone’s only opinion of me or pile on to someone’s existing opinion of me? yeah. so in my experience, and based on people i’ve talked to, we now have this thing where you can be surface-friends wtih a lot of people, but if you want to survive in the tumblr rpc you should really only have 2-3 people that you really trust that you can actually talk about shit with. 

and lately i’ve been seeing a resurgence of posts on my dash about like “bring back xyz in the rpc” or “the reason the rpc is like this is because of xyz” and i both agree and disagree with a lot of this, but primarily i think the reason the rpc is Off lately is because everyone and their cousin has a DNI, which is --- again --- your decision and i understand and respect that, but while you know the context of every name on that DNI, other people don’t. and to be honest: other people don’t really care and honestly maybe they shouldn’t care. --- and don’t get me wrong, your friends should care if someone has hurt you. that’s important. but joe billy bob who just wants to write their character with yours is going to read through your rules, they’re going to see “do not interact with me if you follow with or interact with these people you’ve never heard of and if you want me to tell you why just message me” (which no one is ever going to do, i’m sorry to say). and say, joe billy bob also followed that other person because they were like ‘omg this blog looks cool’ --- now joe billy bob, who just wants to write cool plots, is suddenly the middle-man in some type of drama that they do not understand, and maybe they’re able to remove themselves from the situation, but even then it’s still in the back of your mind. 

this is getting long. it’ll be longer, but let’s take a brief break for me to remind you that in some cases, it’s definitely good to give your mutuals and friends a heads up when someone has done something really, really bad. like, remember x amount of years ago when some dude was like ‘i’m gonna make up a new person and say they died by suicide as a social experiment’ or ‘hey this person actively tries to force very triggering plots about abuse / rape / incest onto people and has been doing so for years and does not seem to change their ways no matter how many people try to educate them’ that’s shit people should probably know about. and it’s also okay ( in my opinion ) for your friends to be able to message you like ‘hey i saw you’re writing with x and i just wanted to let you know i had this experience with them’ if that’s something they feel comfortable doing. and if they are comfortable with you still having the autonomy to make your own decision regarding the person. 

i’ll be honest, for a second: i’ve been part of friendships and groups that have turned really toxic for one reason or another. a handful of times. there are probably people out there that are like “yeah this chick is really fake and manipulative and etc, i was friends with her back in 2019″ which, okay. yeah. i’ve definitely done shit and said shit that was not the most representative of who i want to be and who i want to become, and you probably have to. because we are human beings and we are a product of our social groups and the community around us. and you shouldn’t be chained to a version of you that isn’t you anymore. people change. they grow. you don’t have to like them, but you should respect that sometimes people don’t mesh, and that doesn’t mean any of them are bad people, it just means the experience was bad. 

a few additional notes i would like to make but i’ve already gone on way too long:

90% of the callout posts that i’ve seen and the DNI’s that i’ve seen can, in my opinion, be classified as a friend group thing. you were friends with x, x did something, now y and z aren’t friends with x anymore. pain is a very, very real thing and people hurting you should never be minimized, but at some point i just want you to remember that not every friendship is going to end happily, but both you and the other party should be allowed to move on and grow better, healthier friendships after. rehashing Friend Group Gone Wrong instances removes that ability for not only person x, but also person y and z.

you putting out a callout says just as much ( maybe more ) about you than it does about the other person. which sucks. because i’d like to think we all have great intentions, and i’m not saying that you should swallow your pain, but it might not be the kind of thing that impacts the community at large, and maybe you should try to find a better way of working through it with a trusted friend(s)

i’m going to be very real and very blunt on this one: literally no one cares. i say that with love. i’m good friends with people who have each other on their DNI’s. establish a baseline of respect and ‘i’m not going to say anything to them about you and vice versa because there’s no need for me to do so’ and move on. but seriously. no one cares. most outside people read callout posts because they like being in the know about the drama, not because they actually care. 

person a and person b who are mentioned in the DNI / callout aren’t the only ones who are going to be affected. your friends, your mutuals, your writing partners are now all put in a weird spot where you have to pick sides on an issue you know nothing about and shouldn’t have to know anything about. you’re asking people to choose sides on an issue they cannot fully understand, and that’s not fair to them or to you. and it drives great people away. and then we all lose out on having more awesome people in the rpc.

you’re entitled to your safe space, but this is a public platform and you are also responsible for maintaining your safe space. you shouldn’t put it entirely on other people to do that for you. you can block, blacklist, make up funny names for, or spitefully erase from your many anything and anyone that you wish. but you shouldn’t make your friends do it for you.

there’s always an inherent power imbalance when any kind of drama occurs between those who have more followers / friends / connections and those who do not. and the smaller blog is always going to suffer a little bit more because they don’t have people blindly coming to their defense. 

bad moments, bad experiences, bad decisions DO NOT equal bad people. 

allow people to make up their own mind about something or someone

anywho, if you read through this whole thing i think i owe you financial compensation. but also thank you for reading / listening / considering. even if you rolled your eyes through the whole thing like “stfu lia” that’s fine. i’m just presenting an alternative thought. i’d like to once again state: i’m not judging you if you’ve made a callout/DNI or if you’re on a callout/DNI. like i literally don’t care. and frankly, in my opinion, i shouldn’t have to. because i, and you, and your friends, and your mutuals, and your non-mutuals should be allowed the space to make up their own opinion and mind on something or someone without being told that there will be consequences if they don’t agree with you. set boundaries. communicate in healthy ways. you don’t have to forgive the people who have hurt or wronged you, but you also don’t get to decide that their actions make up 100% of who they are as a person, or decide that that is the only side of that person people should get to see. 

[ahopelessromantic]

No Grave ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of blood, surgery, a gun wound, quite some angst, Spencer and Reader are next level whipped for each other

Is there truly nothing that can get in-between true love? Spencer and you are forced to find out in the most painful way. 

(A/N: I kind of let myself get away with this one, it’s dramatic af lmao. But I listened to Hozier’s Work Song while writing it, so can you really blame me?)

Derek Morgan normally prided himself in having fairly quick reflexes. He had played college football, his rifle scores had always been consistently good, he was able to take down an unsub in less than a minute. But none of that had helped him when a psychotic suspect had shot down his best friend. He had to watch it happen as if it was in slow motion, his voice failing him and not even allowing him to yell out a warning. Spencer had sunken to the floor with a surprised look, blood already beginning to seep through the fabric of his shirt. He coughed weakly and immediately all of Morgan’s attention was on him. Full of worry, he barely even noticed Hotch arriving on the scene and taking down the suspect. “(Y/N).” Spencer spluttered out; his voice hoarse. Now, all of a sudden, everything was happening way too quickly. Morgan frowned in confusion at his friend’s words. “Is that the Unsub’s accomplice? Come on, Reid, stay with me.”, he growled, applying pressure to the gun wound. But he could feel Reid’s body growing limp. “Call (Y/N).” Was the last thing Spencer weakly whispered before passing out.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Emily hummed calmly, placing her arm around Morgan’s shoulders. He took a deep, shaky breath and shook his head. “Then why am I here and he isn’t? Why wasn’t he wearing his goddamn vest?!” He made a move to get up in agitation, but Prentiss pressed down on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. “You know Spencer would have taken it off to negotiate with or without your blessing. And blaming yourself isn’t going to help anyone right now. We’ll know more soon, okay?” He nodded, burying his face in his hands. It had been three hours of surgery already, and it wasn’t looking good for Reid. “Has Garcia found anyone with the name (Y/N) in the unsub’s life yet?” JJ shook her head, watching Morgan and Prentiss with a worried look on her face. “Nothing. Are you sure he said that name?” Morgan was about to snap at her, mad that she dared to criticize his memory at that moment, but then a nurse headed their way. They must have made up an odd group, just a bunch of tired-looking agents draped over various chairs and even the floor. “You’re with Doctor Reid?” This time there was no way for Prentiss to stop Morgan, he jumped up from his seat and towered over the unsuspecting nurse. “Finally, we see someone from your staff! Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve gotten any updates?” The nurse flinched, then regained her composure and straightened up to meet Morgan’s glare head-on. “If you’ve been here for so long already, you probably know that we’re not allowed to give you any information on the patient.” Morgan visibly deflated. “Can you at least tell us if he’s alive?” The nurse sighed, a conflicted look on her face. “Listen, his emergency contact is on its way. Maybe they can tell you more.” With that she disappeared down the hallway, leaving behind a clueless team. “Reid has an emergency contact?” Rossi asked but only got confused faces as an answer. After that, it was back to waiting. Just when Morgan thought he was going to lose his mind; someone came their way again.

You were sure you looked like an absolute mess. You had woken up from a terrible nightmare, and ten minutes later the hospital had called you. Before the staff member had even begun to speak you had already known that something was wrong. Like a madman, you had bolted through your apartment and carelessly gotten dressed. You were sure you had forgotten about half your purse’s usual contents back in your apartment. With some spare clothes and a hot to-go cup of coffee, you had gotten into your car and driven as fast as never before in your life. At some point, you had either switched on autopilot or gone into shock, or maybe even both. It was only in the hospital’s garage that you tuned back in, wondering how you had even gotten there in one piece. Upon seeing your reflection in the elevator up to the ICU you became painfully aware of the fact that you were wearing Spencer’s sweater. And with that, your emotions overcame you, threatened to pull you under like a deathly avalanche. With tears streaming down your face you made your way to the front desk, stating your name as calmly as possible. Your whole body was shaking and after the first whiff of hospital air you threw up into the nearest trash bin. One of the nurses had been so kind as to lead you to a waiting area and explain that Spencer was still in surgery. The people sitting there matched the descriptions of his team members and you weakly smiled at them. “You’re with Spence, right?” One of them jumped up from his seat and nodded, looking at you expectantly. “He’s- They told me he’s still in surgery.” Was all you were able to bring out before you broke down sobbing. A woman with dark hair pulled you into a much-needed hug, and if had you been less worried about your loved one’s wellbeing you would have felt bad about ruining her shirt with your tears. “I’m sorry if it seems insensitive, but I think we all have to ask.” A serious-looking man spoke up once you had slightly calmed down, now sitting next to the kind woman in one of the hospital’s dingy chairs. “Who… are you?” You were still so deep in thought that you hadn’t even heard the question, absently playing with the ring on your left hand. It was a habit Spencer normally called you out on, taking your hand whenever he spotted you doing it. It was also how the team’s glances landed on your ring, their breaths catching in their throats. “I’m Spencer’s wife.” You said with a heavy voice, swallowing down a sob. The team looked like they were about to bombard you with questions, but then a serious-looking nurse made her way over to you. You felt every single muscle in your body tense up. “Doctor Reid is out of Surgery.” For a moment you felt as if you were floating, ready for more good news, but upon seeing the expression on her face you could swear your heart stopped for a moment. “Would you please come with me?” You nodded and got up, your legs feeling like jelly. The nurse led you to the front of a hospital room. “You can go in and see him now, but I have to warn you. Your husband suffered a gunshot to his heart, and although the surgery has been successful, he’s still in a critical condition. He’ll only be somewhat safe once he makes it through the night.” You nodded, and without stopping to think for a moment you stepped into the room. If your heart hadn’t been broken before by the mere prospect of never looking into Spencer’s beautiful eyes again, it would have surely shattered into pieces now. Seeing his lifeless body on the hospital bed filled you with an indescribable ache like someone was physically trying to claw their way through your chest on the search for your now cold heart. The hot tears on your cheeks were the last reminder of warmth in your body, and you quietly whimpered. You sank into the chair next to his bed and felt yourself completely break, burying your head in the hard mattress. The eerie beeping of the heart monitor and the sound of the oxygen tank posed the soundtrack of your demise and for a while, you completely lost all track of time. You had known that his work was dangerous, and you had always been somewhat prepared for something bad to happen one day. You set up as his emergency contact was proof of that, of a partnership whose very essence it was to constantly fear losing each other. But nothing could have ever prepared you for this, sitting next to his pale form and feeling like you had been shot just as bad as him. It didn’t quite want to fit into your head, that this could be it. This could be the last breaths you would ever witness him take and it made you want to scream in pain. If everything had gone according to you, your life with Spencer had been nowhere near to being over. Hell, it had only just started. You gripped his hand, more to anchor yourself than anything. “Spence, baby. Do you remember the day we got married?”, you whispered in a last fit of broken hope. Maybe talking to him would bring him back to the land of the living, bring him back to you. Your wedding had been such a spontaneous decision, and yet, somehow, it had been the best day of your life. You had been speaking about the concept of marriage over breakfast, how commercialised weddings had become over the years, and then suddenly he had looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug and asked you if you wanted to get married today. There hadn’t even been any nervousness in his voice, he had been so certain that this was the way for you two to go. You had laughed at first, asked him if he was crazy, to which he had just retorted that he was crazy about you. “Nothing is going to change anyway. I’m yours and you’re mine for the rest of our lives, right? Might as well save some taxes while being together.” His words had been so profound that you hadn’t even had the chance to say no. So, that day, you in your prettiest sundress and Spencer in his best suit, the two of you had gotten rings from the jeweller around the corner and then driven to the courthouse where you had signed your lives away to each other. Now, sitting next to him in the glum hospital room, all of that seemed like a far-off memory. A sunlit moment of joy in a now so dull seeming world. “Your life is mine, and my life is yours, remember?” You whispered with an aching soul. “My life is going to end with yours and I’m not ready for that yet, okay?” Your voice broke. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.” You started sobbing again, and at this point, you were surprised you even still had tears in your body left to cry. All night long you weren’t able to get a minute of sleep, your gaze continuously fixed on the rise of his chest. If he was going to stop breathing, you had to be there. A doctor came by to check on Spencer in the early morning hours, looking somewhat hopeful. “He’s made it through the night, that’s good. Your husband is a fighter, Mrs Reid.” You almost hugged the poor guy, so grateful to finally have received good news again. “He should be waking up slowly, once he’s awake we can transfer him to a regular care room.” You nodded and looked back to Spencer, hooked up on various machines and tubes. The shadows under his eyes were dark, and although you wanted nothing more than to see his face full of life again you wished he would just take his time waking up. Normally you always had to force him to go to sleep. The team had been a huge help in keeping you sane, all of them had been camping out in the waiting area, waiting for any kind of news. Of course, you had wished to meet them under different circumstances, but nothing to bring you together like your husband almost dying, right?

Spencer woke up around noon. At first, you hadn’t even noticed it, but then his hand had twitched next to yours and your brain had immediately switched back into hyper-focus. He scrunched up his face, and then with the faintest morning voice ever he mumbled out a quiet “Ow.”. You started laughing and crying at the same time, pressing kisses all over his hand. “Why does my chest hurt?” He grumbled; his eyes still closed. “You were shot in the heart, honey.”, you reminded him, your voice almost matching his. It was then that he opened his eyes and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You were never again going to forget how beautiful they looked. He weakly gripped your hand in his, his expression still more confused than anything else. “Is that why everything hurts?” You laughed and nodded, leaning your forehead against your joined hands. “I’ll go get the doctor in a minute. But do you even know how much you scared me?” Spencer lifted your chin and looked at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “How does that song you like so much go again? No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her? You’re not getting rid of me that easily my love.” You breathed out in relief, leaning into his touch. “I love you so much, Spencer.” For a whole moment you got lost in his eyes, and it was there you knew that you were never going to take another moment with him by your side for granted. You were going to hoard them like a greedy madman and hold onto them until age or death would have to pry them from your hands. But then life picked up its normal speed again, doctors came swarming into the room to check on Spencer and you were filled with nothing but gratefulness to the universe for giving you more time with him, more time to make memories for your collection.

With a smile on your face, you watched the team spill into the room, all of them looking more than happy to see your husband alive. It had been two days since the surgery, and the nurses had only now given Spencer the clear for visitors again. Morgan sat down across from you, punching Spencer in the shoulder as gently as possible. “That’s for almost dying on me, and for not telling us that you’re married! We could have notified her much sooner, man.” Spencer had half a heart to look guilty, distracting himself by playing with your wedding ring. “You guys know how dangerously close Unsubs sometimes get to us. (Y/N) is all I have; I couldn’t risk her ever getting hurt. It’s got nothing to do with you, I promise.” Emily crossed her arms, looking down on Spencer in feigned anger. “Well, that’s good because we really happen to like your wife. She forced us all to sleep while she was waiting for you to make it through the night.” Spencer’s eyes met yours and you basked in the warmth flowing through you. He already had a cheeky grin on his tired face again. “Why does that sound so familiar?” You chuckled and rolled your eyes, gripping his hand even tighter. There was no way in hell you were going to remove yourself from his side during the next few weeks. After a few days he was cleared to return home, and you couldn’t wait to have your home feel like just that again. Home just wasn’t the same without him.

“Sir, you have absolutely no business still looking this good after getting shot in the heart.” Spencer laughed in surprise, shoving his wet hair out of his face. He had taken his first shower by himself today, finally able to fully move his arms again without ripping the stitches open. “Honey, I haven’t worn anything but hoodies and sweatshirts since getting back from the hospital.” You could see the familiar blush on his cheeks he got whenever you complimented him, and it filled your chest with warm honey to see him like that again. “Still. Being alive suits you.” He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, getting into bed and patting the empty spot beside him. “I know it’s early, but come sleep with me?” His painkillers made him constantly tired, but you’d prefer a sleepy cuddly Spencer over a Spencer in pain any day. “Like you even have to ask.” You giggled, turning off the lights and cuddling up next to him. “I know it’s a weird question.” You spoke into the darkness after listening to your husband’s calm breathing for a while. “But when you were on the other side… did you see anything?” You could feel his chest vibrate with a half-hearted chuckle next to you. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).” You shook your head and further curled up into his size. “I’m gonna need to hear you breathing for at least thirty minutes more before I’m able to fall asleep.” He took a deep breath and started drawing circles on your skin through the fabric of the ratty old MIT t-shirt of his that you always slept in. “It was just… lonely. And cold. So cold. For some reason, I knew you weren’t there. So I decided not to stay.” You tried to wipe away the tear that had snuck down your cheek as discreetly as possible. You had expected many answers, but nothing quite like this. “God, I love you.” You whispered with a trembling voice. Spencer turned to fully face you and caressed the side of your face. “I love you too. More than you can even imagine. But you should sleep now. I’ll still be here tomorrow, I promise. I’m never letting go of you again.” You nodded and snuggled into your pillow, a hand on Spencer’s chest. “Are you… checking for my heartbeat?” Eyes already closed, you giggled. “Shhh. I’m not letting go of you again, either.” With that, the two of you fell asleep. Spencer hadn’t lied to you. He was still there the next morning, and every morning after that as well for many more years. No matter how dangerous life became, he was always going to crawl back to you and you to him. No graves could hold your bodies down.

[dysphxtric]

Mental Illness - My Mental Health Story

TW: Depression, Anxiety, Self harm, Suicide, Sexual Harassment

“You should smile more.”

“It could be worse.”

“Just don’t think about it.”

These were the phrases I heard throughout all of my elementary and high school years. There was never a time when my peers and teachers, would not mention some bizarre, ignorant statement revolving around mental health. Not to mention, my family also contributed heavily to the stigmatization of mental health issues. Essentially, my family approached the subject of mental health with extreme hesitation, they refused to talk about how it affects people of all age, gender, ethical background (etc.) Every time I would say “I’m feeling lost” my family would automatically dismiss my frantic worries and it was not any different when I went to school. My peers would continuously remind me that my pain was not valid and that I need to stop being so sensitive. My primary parental figures, my mother and brother did not have the adequate knowledge or tools to be able to hold space for me. I would frequently hear my mom say, “I could understand someone suffering from PTSD feeling upset or sad but you’re so young and healthy honey, you have nothing to worry about” or the old classic “Someone else has it worse than you”. Whether I was at home or at school, I heard the same ignorant statements spewing out from what felt like everyone. And I could never comprehend what was the point of these falsely “encouraging” statements and why profusely use them? These kinds of statements do not uplift, nor do they empower those struggling with mental health issues, if anything it makes it extremely debilitating when your emotions are not acknowledged nor validated. One cannot expect to simply brush away another person’s emotion, thought or feeling as though it means nothing.

With that being said, growing up, I lived in a dysfunctional household alongside my mother, my older brother, and my grandmother. My mother would always be juggling work, schooling, and her dating life. My brother was very reluctant about staying home so he would always vanish after school, hang out with friends, party hard and engage with various street substances. Now my grandmother? It was not long after she immigrated that she began to immerse herself within the Jehovah’s Witnesses ideology and “religiously” strayed away from us as my mother likes to say. My mother was never fond of religious practices that were not “orthodox”. My grandmother wanted to indoctrinate my mom, brother, and I into joining her religious little club but failed which resulted in countless fights, yelling matches, and multiple dents left in our walls. The back and forth with the yelling was what scared me most in my childhood even if it was over something as small as not closing the cabinet door. I think it was around this time period I experienced violence/ trauma at home and truth be told I was extremely stressed and anxious all the time as a kid. My mother would cover the punched indents by taking magazines and sticking pages onto the indent. Often times my stomach would turn as I looked at the pages covering the area where my brother punched the wall with brutal force. Moreover, I felt impending sadness because all I ever wanted was for everyone in my family to be able coexist and not argue. I was trying to keep the peace between everyone, yet I was always the one that got caught in the middle of everything whether I liked it or not. I would get blamed a lot for trying to mend things for everyone. Even though all I wanted was the best for all my family members.

Fast forward to my pre-teen/ teenage years. By this point, my brother and grandmother were no longer living under the same roof as my mother and I. My brother was living with his ex-girlfriend while working as a security guard meanwhile my grandmother was living in her own little subsidized apartment preaching the word of Jehovah. At that particular time, my mother and I lived in a marvellous urban semi-detached house in a peaceful neighbourhood. My mother’s boyfriend had moved in with us and for the most part I was really happy because at least it was not just me and her.

My mother’s boyfriend lived with us while I was going to school. He was a really nice, caring and warm-hearted individual although I could never understand why my mother argued with him so much. I once told him “You should propose to her, I can see you two together forever” to which he replied with a welcoming smile.

But eventually just like with all good things, there comes an end. The inevitable breakup my mom went through was very bitter and I had to be there for her. Afterall, I was technically the only child that was around to emotionally comfort her. Ironically, the breakup occurred during the time I was being bullied in school. And it was difficult to be fully present for my mother while dealing with a lot of negativity at school. I had been experiencing cyber bullying on MSN by a bunch of peers calling me “weird”, “ugly” and “different”. To make matters worse, the group of kids that bullied me online ended up following me everywhere I went for recess which posed as a big obstacle for my well being. I had to eat inside the portables when teachers weren’t around or inside the girl’s bathroom stall just to avoid being teased. I never felt like I had a safe space to myself where I could be vulnerable and open up. Not to mention, it was a difficult time and there was practically no one I could confide in. I didn’t have a social circle of supportive friends, after all I was an antisocial person. Fear washed over me as I worried about disclosing my unpleasant experience to my mother because she was already dealing with so much, the heartbreak, the bills, work problems (etc.), it was then and there that I decided to lie instead of telling the truth. Ultimately, lying became my cooping mechanism to deal with the ongoing pain.

I kept up the lying for a long time in order to make it seem like everything was okay. I lied to everyone from family members to school peers to the teaching staff to principals to counselors.

For the longest time, lying sheltered me from all sorts of unnecessary questions. No one could really tell whether I was truthful or disloyal because I was able to make it sound believable. When I was a teenager, I continued to go down the same destructive path by being dishonest with myself and others. Many times, the thought of suicide crossed my mind and when I started to think about it and plan/coordinate the intricate details it did not hit me that something was very wrong, and I needed urgent help. A big part of the problem was that I was so used to downplaying my pain, given my family circumstance and stigmatization I experienced growing up with. There is no denying that I would engage in negative self talk convincing myself that I deserved the pain and suffering for not being likeable enough or for not being smart enough.

Sometimes I think that is the thing… people do not understand that I lied because that was what I was required to do in order to survive my childhood. I, myself do not tolerate lying and I think it is a form of betrayal and if I were to be completely honest, I would have NEVER lied to my mom had it been safe for me to express myself authentically in my household.

I did not live in a household where it was safe to speak my mind freely and disagree with my mother. Disagreeing was always the last thing I wanted to do, disagreeing meant I got the belt, my devices would get confiscated or that I was going to get grounded. They say, “Honesty is the best policy” and I do not disagree however, it is not as black and white as one may think. In my situation, lying was not only an adaptive coping mechanism but it became a survival mechanism to keep me safe from harm/threat.

I did not have very much individuality growing up. I felt as though having an opinion of my own was bad. In order to perpetuate this fixated mindset that I had, my mother constantly deemed certain attributed behaviours or thoughts as “good” or “bad”. So, say you were upset about a recent breakup with your partner, my mother would scoff and say, “You know life isn’t just about love right?” and play it like it means nothing to the person affected by the situation.

The first time I ever felt depressed was when I was 13. At that age I did not understand why I was feeling what I was feeling. All I knew was that there was something wrong with me. It did not help when I was being picked on by my classmates telling me “Go die”, “You belong in a ditch ugly bitch.”

The moment when things started getting out of hand was when I was first started my Art and Family Studies class in the same semester. In both classes I was placed into groups amongst other students. In Family Studies I had to be in a collaborative group that would divide responsibilities and tasks accordingly. When it came to cooking, my group consisted of four snobby, rich yet immature peers who were unwilling to help and contribute in any shape or form, I had to become the bigger person and sure enough I took all the responsibilities on myself. Though, it was not a smart move. But I was super shy and felt anxious to do anything different least to say speak up and advocate for myself, so I did what I had to do which was prepare meals, clean, and wash the dishes. At the end of the day, none of my peers thanked me, the only thank you I got was getting groped while washing the dishes and getting laughed at.

After what happened I ran to my best friend in tears to tell her what happened just to find her say “It’s not that bad, you’ll be fine” I felt like my blood was going to boil and I was about to start fuming. I stood thinking “Huh, that is so weird, is this how you comfort a person after being sexually harassed?”

Not to sound all grim but that experience showed me that no one really cared about me. No one cared that I got groped or how I felt in that moment. Let alone not even my “best friend” who was supposed to fulfill her role and be there for me. All I wanted was comfort and to be heard out. I could not even tell my mother about this experience until I turned 21 because of how ashamed I felt carrying around that experience and not having the ability to open up and mourn what happened that day and to be able to heal that damaged part of myself. I carried that incident with me for 7 years in silence because I was scared of being honest.

That specific experience was very detrimental to my mental health. Everything began to spiral out of control, I sprawled into a dark depressive state. I began to have intense panic attacks, insomnia, forgetfulness (etc.) After a certain duration of time, I had thoughts of suicide lingering at the back of my head. I questioned my worth, my identity, my culture, my everything.

The bullying and name calling persisted and became so intense that I ended up missing weeks of school time. Some of the boys in my Art class found it funny to make fun of my last name and call me “Prostitute”.

One day in the early springtime, my Art teacher noticed the marks on my wrists as I was painting and had not said anything until I made it to my last period class. I was called down to the guidance counselors office and was interrogated with questions.

“It has come to our concern that one of the staff members noticed cuts on your arms.”

I sat in silence trying hard to contain my anxiety.

“Are you struggling with depression or low mood? Is everything okay at home?”

It came to the point when I got so tired of lying about my pain that I admitted “Yes, I am struggling, I need help”. I dived into the bullying occurrences, the cat calling, my low grades, my self-esteem, the groping, my home situation (etc). After that, I was told that my mother would have to be called down to the school for “safety” reasons even though my counselor promised not to disclose any personal information to my mother. My greatest fear was that I did not want my mom to know that something was wrong.

Of course, my mom came to my school. She was told everything that had happened. I met her at the counselor’s office just to find her wailing in distress “You are such an embarrassment” and “Your counselor told me what you did, how could you do this?”. When the counselor gave us resources for help, my mother grabbed the papers and shoved them into the trash, got up and yanked me out the office.

The next three days that followed, my mother withdrew into her room not saying a word to me. I felt really uneasy and upset. She had her right to be alone but locking herself away from me and avoiding communication altogether? Didn’t make much sense.

I felt extremely guilty for not opening up to my mother sooner. But instead of choosing to be compassionate and caring she chose to resort to anger. She furiously blamed me for being “quiet” and “not trustful” which all landed on my shoulders again. It was “my” fault I thought.

Bottling this up resulted in a full-blown mental breakdown. I could not focus or concentrate because of everything building up. It came to the point where my mom had to choose between living in a toxic community or starting fresh elsewhere.

And even though my mother kept subjecting me to her harmful stigmatizations, the transition from my old school to my new one helped me greatly. When we moved away, I gradually started to feel better emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. Very quickly, I ended up adapting to my new high school where I finally made friends.

One thing I cannot deny is that there definitely was a silver lining to all of this. Although I went through severe bullying and torment at school and home, I managed to reclaim my power and through that I discovered my inner peace after being extracted from my toxic high school. The new school that I ended up attending completely changed me and inspired me to become a more authentic version of myself. It was almost as though I did a complete 180°

My new peers and teachers were enthusiastic, open-minded and caring. The new community I was surrounding myself in was a very positive one that broke down stigmas and encouraged deep understanding and acceptance. My mind was blown when I found that it was easier to conversate with girls and guys at my new school, I was gradually becoming confident and more vocal, and I liked the feeling of not hiding myself away from the world. It felt rejuvenating to finally be heard and seen by others.

Slowly but surely, I began to partake in various activities at my school. I joined the Poetry Club which I would have never considered joining had I stayed back in my old school due to fear of how I was perceived. Ultimately, I started caring and nurturing myself more. My new friends supported me, and teachers began to openly listen to my stories and encouraged me to write. When I started writing, I realized that I could use this medium to cope with my depression and anxiety. The acknowledgment made a major difference in my life like never before.

If it were not for the transition from my old high school, I would have not made progress in developing into the woman I am today. I know that I am not my pain, I am not my mistakes.

Do I still struggle and have bad days? Yes, of course. Just like any human being I have my days when I am not feeling the greatest however, I am more open to learning about how to engage with my mind, body and soul in order to soothe myself during turbulent times. I still have that inner critic however, I have been engaging with activities such as bike riding, painting, drawing, and reading to help occupy my mind which as a result has reduced the time that I spend ruminating. Occupying myself has worked magic, I am now able to reduce and control how much time I spend self-loathing, criticizing, and judging myself. Rather than judging every thought, I’ve learned to slow down and observe.

If you stuck along until the end of my story, I want to thank you for reading through my experience. My hope is that my story can shed some light on the myths and stigmas surrounding mental health, especially within the Eastern European community. I want you all to know that you are ALL valid and I wanted to be able to share my story so that my readers know that they are not alone.

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: I Still Get Jealous

Pairing: jealous dom! yoongi x reader ft. JK

Warnings: established relationship, jealousy themes, public sex kind of, smut, like filthy nasty smut, degradation, cum eating, spitting just a little, daddy kink, fluff if you squint at the end, teasing, oral (m) receiving, spanking, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks!)

Rating: 18 and over

“Cheers to us!” You shout, slamming your shot glass into that of your coworkers. You and your team had hit your sales quote for the end of the year, and you all wanted to celebrate, so you head out to a local lounge after work to get drunk. “Let’s dance!” Your coworker Alice pulls you over to join her on the dance floor. “I’m waiting for Yoongi.” You shout over the music. “OK well, he can find you shaking your ass on the dance floor. Now come on!” You laugh and give in, shaking your hips to the music.

This would be the first time Yoongi would be meeting people from the team, which was fine by you. There was only one person you were nervous of him meeting; one person in particular. Jungkook, the office hottie, who looked more like he should be posing in one of those firefighter calendars rather than pushing malware sales. Yoongi was always super jealous and so you made sure to stray away from talking about JK and the fact that all the women at your office would drool over him in the work group chat, yourself included.

It definitely didn’t help that he was your direct partner in sales or that he had a huge crush on you. Try as you might to avoid it, you couldn’t help but flirt a bit when he threw on his charms. “Don’t look now! JK!” Alice yells, arms opened wide as he joins you both on the dance floor. “Hey pint size.” JK greets you with your office nickname that pokes fun at your height and you can’t help but smile wide. “You look amazing! Definitely not pint sized tonight! ” He comments, pulling you close to his body as he sways you back and forth to the rhythm of the music. You dressed in a black mini skater skirt, black thigh high socks, and black booties offset with a white crop top sweater. Your intention was to drive Yoongi wild tonight, it seems however to be catching JK off guard. You blush profusely as he drinks you in.

“Finished up the last of your work?” You inquire to take his mind off undressing you with his eyes. “Yeah. I wanted to make sure all of our numbers were sent in before the end of business. Sorry I showed up late.” “No worries. You haven’t missed much.” He smirks at your comment, drinking you in once again, and your stomach knots. Your mind shifts to Yoongi and how he’d react seeing you right now. “You ok?” JK whispers in your ear, briefly placing his hand on the small of your back. You nod quickly. “I’m good, yeah.” “I just want to say. I think you’re an amazing partner. I couldn’t have met my number if you weren’t by my side.” JK praises, lifting his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. You see his eyes scan your face, your lips, your neck. You clear your throat, feeling your face flush. “Uh, you, are so awesome also, like we make a good team. All of us, really, are great.” You try to bring the focus to the entire team. “Yeah definitely. I couldn’t agree more but I guess what I am trying to say is that I would really love to get to know you on a more personal level. Take you out to dinner sometime.” He smiles seductively, twirling your hair around his finger before pulling your waist into his. You stumble over your words, feeling your body tense. “JK, that’s nice of you but…” You begin to explain and push his waist away before being interrupted.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Alice whispers in your ear while stepping between you and JK, “but please tell me that that gorgeous guy sitting on the couch in our VIP section staring at you is not Yoongi.” You scan past her, searching, feeling as if you could gag as your eyes meet those of Yoongi’s. He sits slightly bent over, mouth open, looking your body up and down. His palms are pressed together while his chin rest on his thumbs. Your breath hitches at how amazing he looks. He shows no emotion but you can feel his heat from across the room. You swallow thickly as JK wraps himself around you, bringing you both into a slow sway.

Yoongi’s eyes darken at the sight of another man’s hands on you. He stands quickly and smirks at you, walking over to you and JK. He stands before you both and cocks his head to the side. JK notices and pulls you closer causing Yoongi’s lips to pull into a tight smile. “What’s up man? Can I help you? Do you know pint size over here?” JK questions. Yoongi smiles seductively at you and a chill runs down your spine. “Pint size and I go way back. Don’t we baby?” Yoongi nods to you then brings his lips to a pout. “Uh, JK, this is Yoongi, my boyfriend.” You turn to announce to JK’s surprise. Yoongi gives JK a shit eating grin. “Oh wow,” He pulls his body away from you but still holds onto your hip, “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. Sorry man.” Yoongi raises his eyebrows briefly. “No worries friend. Pint size loves keeping things fun and exciting for me, don’t you baby?” “Don’t be a dick Yoongi.” You snip. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are pet names only for, I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Yoongi points at JK. “Jungkook.” Yoongi nods but keeps his eyes locked on you. “Tell me Jungkook, does she have a cute pet name for you?” “Five alarm.” JK responds with confidence and your heart drops. Yoongi looks at him in complete confusion.

“Like five alarm fire. All the girls at the office call me that. They joke that I look like a fireman.” He chuckles. Yoongi joins in for a brief moment before excusing himself, heading to grab a drink at the bar. You scurry behind him. “Don’t be upset. It’s not what you think.” You say as Yoongi throws back a shot. “I’m not mad pint size.” He licks his lips, turning to face you. “Don’t call me that ok. You’re just doing it to be an asshole.” Yoongi hums, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Tell me whore, are you loose with your mouth tonight because you think daddy won’t bend you over in front of all of your little friends?” “No.” You reply meekly, feeling your core heat under his lust filled gaze. He runs his slender fingers along your jawline before walking off to join your group of friends. You bite your lip, trying to calm yourself as JK approaches you.

“Everything ok?” “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” “Your boyfriend seems uncomfortable. Just wanted to check on you…” He nods in Yoongi’s direction and continues talking but soon his voice fades off as you look over at Yoongi who is seated watching your every move. “Y/N, hello?” “Huh? What? I’m sorry.” “I said that I would still like to take you out sometime. I know you have a boyfriend but I figure we can still have dinner as friends.” “Sure, uh, yeah. I’d like that.” He smiles wide and pulls you into a hug, nuzzling into your neck. You tap his back awkwardly and watch as Yoongi cocks his head to the side. “We should get back to the group.” You pull away and head over to sit beside Yoongi. You scan his face for any sort of emotion but he gives you none. He never even looks over at you, instead striking up conversation with Alice. As the night progresses, Yoongi does everything in his power to ignore you. He moves through the party with ease, mingling with all your coworkers as if they’ve been friends for years. Alice laughs loudly, throwing her head back obnoxiously, at something Yoongi has said and you shoot them both a deadly look, having had enough.

You pull Yoongi from the couch and over towards the dance floor where you can speak privately. “Everything ok pint size?” He drawls. “Are you serious? You’re going to act like a child and ignore me? And cut the shit with the nickname ok, I’m over it already.” Yoongi looks over at your coworkers who are all engaged in conversation before grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you into his body. He forcefully yanks back your head to expose your neck to him and licks a long stripe from the base of your neck to your chin, digging you into his growing erection and sway you back and forth as if your dancing. “Keep talking whore, I’m just taking notes for when I have you all to myself. I can’t wait to have you repeat everything you’ve said tonight with my cock stuffed down your throat.” “Fuck, Yoongi.” You pant, grinding your hips into his hard on. “Such a cock whore for me. Dying for me to wreck you. Maybe I should pull you into the bathroom and fuck you stupid while five alarm and all your coworkers wonder where you’ve gone. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Having your little work crush come looking for you, find me pounding your needy cunt. Do you think he’d stay and watch? I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you whore? Have him palm his cock to the sounds of your desperate moans.” Yoongi whispers into your ear, placing kisses along your lobe. You moan softly. “Answer me whore.” “Yes daddy. I want you to fuck me so bad. I want to be punished.” Yoongi chuckles softly into your ear. “Hm, that’s too bad, only good girls get fucked and right now you’re being a very bad girl. ” He grabs a handful of your ass, kisses your neck gently, and walks away with a bite of his lip. You clench your now soaked cunt around nothing, whimpering as he leaves you high and dry. You loved and hated when Yoongi was in a jealous fit. He was unreasonable outside the bedroom, always unwilling to give into your antics as you made attempts at seeking his attention but inside the bedroom, he was the most amazing lover. He was always sure to tease and please you in the most delicious way, reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

You collect yourself and walk over to the group, taking a seat on the arm of the couch since your seat next to Yoongi has been occupied by Alice. Your blood boils as he stares so deeply at her, biting his lip, and giving her all his attention. You know he is just trying to make you feel the way he is right now, he has no interest in Alice, still it eats at you, provokes you even. “So, JK, when did you wanna grab dinner?” You say loud enough for Yoongi’s ears to perk up. “Uh, whenever you want. I’m free whenever.” “Cool, how about during the week, after work. Let’s say Monday.” JK nods. “Yeah, I’m down. Any place in particular you want to go?” You shrug. “You pick. I love being surprised.” You smirk, rubbing your hand along his bicep, and you swear you hear Yoongi growl. “How about a dance Alice?” Yoongi offers, getting up and extending a hand to her. “Uh, if it's ok with Y/N.” Alice turns to you. You scoff and look at Yoongi. “She doesn’t mind, right pint size? Now come on gorgeous, show me how you move.” Alice giggles and allows Yoongi to lead her out on the dance floor.

You watch as Yoongi takes Alice by the hips and maneuvers her body around. She all too willingly allows him to control her every move. She wraps her arms around Yoongi’s neck, seeming to have found a steady rhythm, and bravely pushes her hips into his. He smiles in amusement at her before looking over at you. “Sorry, had to run to the restroom. What did I miss?” JK pops up again, handing you a fresh shot. You drink it happily, rising from your seat and taking JK around the neck. “Let's dance JK. You’re such a good dancer.” You giggle, feeling JK trail his hands along your spine. “You sure that’s a good idea.” You nod slowly, pulling him towards the dance floor, taking a spot right beside Yoongi and Alice. “Y/N, you never mentioned Yoongi was such a good dancer.” Alice calls out to you, spinning around to press her small ass into Yoongi’s crotch. You seethe watching her act like a bitch in heat all over your man. “You shouldn't start what you can't finish." Yoongi warns as you and he spin past each other. You raise your eyebrows at him in defiance and decide to take matters into your own hands, turning just the same as Alice, grinding your very plump ass shamelessly into JK’s crotch, unbothered by your skirt hitching up a bit.

JK grips your hips tightly, a small moan escaping his lips. You run your hands up into his hair and press your back into his chest, falling into a sensual rhythm with your dance partner, all the while watching the color fade from Yoongi’s face. He whispers something to Alice, who nods simply. Yoongi walks over to you and JK, staring down at where your hips are connected. “It's time to go.” Yoongi states calmly. JK scoffs and wraps his arms around you completely. You drop your hands from his hair and wrap them over his, allowing him to pull you closer. “I can drop her off later friend.” He remarks, nuzzling into your neck. You watch as Yoongi’s eyes light on fire. “I wasn’t talking to you, friend.” He’s so hot when he’s this pissed off. You decide to push your luck. “What’s the magic word Min Min?” You tease playfully. JK laughs out loud whilst Yoongi says nothing. He doesn’t have to; you watch as he grips tightly around his belt buckle and you know what he has in mind. He’s had enough of your antics and if you aren’t careful, he may just take you right here on this dance floor, in front of all these people as warned earlier. You turn to face JK. “This was fun. I should really get going though. Dinner Monday yeah?” “Yeah definitely! I had such a good time with you tonight, shame it has to end early. Get home safe. It was nice meeting you Yoongi.” Yoongi nods, hurrying ahead to get away from your group.

He takes you by the wrist, bobbing and weaving through the crowd. “Please don’t be mad at me daddy. I was just teasing. You know how much I love to push your buttons; you’re so sexy when you get riled up.” Yoongi just ignores you, still pulling you along. Annoyed you yank your hand away causing Yoongi to stop and look at you. “If you’re going to ignore me, then I think we should go to our respective apartments tonight. As a matter of fact, I’ll just rejoin my friends and enjoy the rest of my night with them.” You turn to walk away but are immediately yanked back. Yoongi’s lips are on yours in no time, pulling you into an angry kiss. You moan lustfully into his mouth reaching up to cup his face. He grabs your wrist and pulls your arms behind your back, continuing the assault on your mouth. “Yoongi, please. There are people watching. We can’t.” You begin to plead breathlessly between kisses, wriggling in his hold as he trails kisses down your neck, lifting your sweater to fondle your breast. “Afraid of everyone knowing what a cock whore you are?” He growls, nipping at your nipple through your bra.

You yelp, frantically looking around, hoping no one sees. “Oh god, Yoongi, the security guard is walking this way." You cry out, feeling Yoongi suckle your erect nub through the sheer material. He mutters a curse under his breath and begins to yank you behind him once again. “You’re going the wrong way,” You shout at the back of his head, “the exit is the other way.” He pulls you hard into the restroom and slams the door shut being sure to lock it behind him. He presses you against the door, lifting your sweater up, once again latching onto your nipple through your sheer bra. You moan loudly, wrapping a leg around his waist. He takes the opportunity run his hand up your exposed thigh, slapping it hard before gripping the plump flesh. “God damn, Fuck me daddy, please!” You cry out reaching down to stroke his massive erection. He releases your nipple to watch in pleasure as you mewl and wriggle against him, dying for his cock. “My greedy little cock whore. So desperate for cock, didn’t care who filled you tonight did you?” He pants against your ear, grinding into your throbbing cunt. You whimper at the sweet sensation his cock against your clit causes.

“Please, daddy, I only want you.” “Really,” He drops his head to your neck and bites down hard, suckling soon after to create a large purple mark in its wake, “I remember someone else’s hands on these hips.” He replies, lifting you off the ground, wrapping both legs around his waist. You cuss over his lips, shoving your tongue into his mouth as you buck and grind against his jailed member. “I need you, want you inside me.” You pant, feeling your core tighten with your quickened pace. “That’s enough whore.” Yoongi groans, dropping you to your feet. Your legs are shaky, and you feel your climax fade away. “What the fuck Yoongi?” You shove him back. His eyes darken as he smirks at you, pulling you away from the door and leading you further into the restroom. “I’m not playing around Yoongi! Fuck me or let me leave. I’m not going to stroke your ego tonight. Especially when there are other people out there who want me.” “Other people huh? Like your little work boyfriend?” “Exactly right, and please believe he’s more than eager to taste this cunt.” He chuckles now, unbuckling his belt. “Lean on the sink whore, lift that skirt, show me your ass! Right now!” You watch him for a moment longer, then excitedly turn and pull your skirt up, leaning on your elbows, pushing your ass out as far as you can. “Always so eager.” He growls. “Anything for you daddy." “That’s my girl.” He praises before coming down on your exposed ass with his leather belt. You cry out at the burning sensation. Your cunt clenching and soaking through your sheer thong. He hums in approval at you as you twirl your hips side to side, coming down again with another thwack. You gasp, pressing your forehead against the cold counter, pushing out further for him. “Fuck my whore is so sexy. Look how red this sweet ass gets for me. My cock is so hard for you baby. How’d I get so lucky?” You pout and twirl your hips some more. “Don’t stop daddy. I need more. I’ve been so bad.” Yoongi dips his head back so overcome with lust as a low growl escapes his throat. He gladly obliges with two more hard cracks of his leather, one across the ass, the other across your thighs. You scream his name with each one, earning low groans from him. “Such a good whore.” He praises, slowly lowering down to his knees, unbuttoning his jeans. “Get on all fours right now you fucking slut.” You nod and lower yourself before him. “Open your mouth for me.” He pants, freeing his thick length. You moan out whilst opening as wide as you can. Yoongi strokes himself gently, moving towards your gaping mouth. He slowly swirls his head around your lips, coating them in his salty pre-cum. “Tongue out.” He commands. You roll your tongue out, curling it around his length as he slaps his member against it. He takes you by your hair and slowly shoves the whole of his cock into your mouth, hitching his hips forward ever so gently. You moan around him causing him to grip your hair tighter.

“God has never made a better cock sleeve.” He grunts, slamming into your throat, eliciting a body trembling gag. He moans loudly at the feeling. “No one takes cock like you baby. Do you think I’d ever let that inexperienced bag of muscle touch you? He’d cum just from the scent of your needy cunt.” He hitches forward once more, hissing as you gag and drool all over him. “Still wish it was him in your mouth? Still wish he could watch?” He growls pulling out slightly, allowing you time to catch your breath. “No, daddy.” You pant. He pouts at you, shoving himself deep into your throat again. “I love when you lie.” He moans, coming down on your ass with a hard thwack of his belt. You shove forward swallowing more of his cock, your nose pressed against his pubic bone. “Fuck!” He cries out, coming down again with his belt. A loud slam on the door causes you pull off his cock much to his surprise. “I wasn’t finished whore.” “Someone’s knocking.” You swallow hard, nervously looking at the door. Yoongi stands now, helping you to your feet. “I don’t give a fuck who’s at the door.” He lifts you up and onto the counter. You cry out at the sting from the cold against your fresh formed welts. Another slam on the door causes you to jump and attempt to lean forward. Yoongi shoves you back, dropping his hand between your legs to rub your clothed center. “Occupied,” He yells before turning his attention to you, “already soaked through huh whore? I bet I’d slide right inside you, wouldn’t I?”

You grind against his hand, nodding excitedly. “Use your words whore!” He shouts, pinching your sensitive bud through your panties. You hiss, bucking forward. “Yes! Fuck yes!” He smiles wide at your reaction. “You like that, do you whore?” “Yes.” You quiver, opening your legs wide. He shoves your skirt up, yanking down your thong. “Spread your lips for me.” You drop your hands down, opening your folds for him. He bites his lip looking over your exposed pussy. “So. Fucking. Wet! Look at yourself whore, dripping down onto this counter with your fucking need.” He hums to himself, dropping his head down to your exposed hood and slurping up your clit in his mouth. “Jesus, God! Yoongi!” You yell, thighs shaking at the twisted feeling of pleasure and overstimulation. He nips at your clit, lifting his head up to your dismay. “What did you call me?” “I’m sorry,” You pant, “please don’t stop.” He smiles. “Don’t stop what?” He muses, shoving two fingers into your sopping pussy. You clench instantly as he begins to pump in and out of you. You throw your head back against the mirror. “More.” You barely manage. “So, fucking greedy.” He replies softly into your ear, shoving a third finger into you. You whimper, grabbing hold of his rock-hard cock, stroking him from root to tip. “Please can I make daddy cum? I want you to cum all over my face. Use me as your cum rag.” You breathlessly beg, hastening your pace. Yoongi pants against your ear, moving his fingers in and out of you at the same pace in which you stroke his length. “Faster whore.” He goads, removing his fingers from your clenching cunt. You whine at the sudden loss of his touch but revel in his glorious lust filled stance. He grips your thighs for balance, tossing his head back, spewing curses under his breath, his bangs sticking to his sweat covered forehead.

Soft moans escape his bobbing throat. “I’m going to cum. On your knees!” You slide off the counter quickly, still stroking, hitting your knees with a loud thud. He takes his cock from you, rubbing large circles around his tip with one hand, and guiding your head back with the other. You open your mouth for him as he cries out, the first shot of his hot seed shooting into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, he guides his quivering cock around your face, releasing long strands onto your cheeks, your lips, and your chin, sure to avoid your eyes. He moves his tip against your lips, rubbing it softly against your tongue, the last bits of his climax coating the tip of your moist appendage. He pulls his cock away wrapping his long slender fingers around your jaw, keeping it wide open for him, a small moan escapes as you watch your lover drop a small amount of spit into your mouth. “Swallow whore.” He commands, releasing you. You gulp down the concoction happily, opening wide to show him what a good girl you are. He breaths raggedly, watching you in approval, lifting a hand to swirl his cum around your face and into your mouth. You lap up all the sweet/ salty mixture you can reach with your tongue before Yoongi swirls his coated fingers over your lips. “Such a cum whore for daddy. Look how you eat up my cum up like it’s your favorite treat. I could drain my balls and you'd still want more.” You suckle at his fingers, swallowing his thick fluids, and nod. “I love daddy's cum.” He helps you to your feet and spins you around, bending you over the counter. “You’ve been such a good whore for daddy. Is my whore ready to cum?” “Yes daddy, please.” He bites on your earlobe as he slowly enters your sopping cunt. You both gasp at how desperately your walls clench and grip at his thick cock. “Fuck, always so fucking tight for daddy.” He admires you for a minute in the mirror, your mouth wide, holding back a sob whilst he shoves deeper inside your tight walls until he bottoms out. You cry out as he begins to slam in and out of your cunt, curving his body slightly to rub his full head against your g-spot. He takes a handful of your hair and lifts your head up so you can see yourself in the mirror. “I want you to see what I see whore. I want you to see why I love you so fucking much. Just look at how gorgeous you look when you take my cock. Fuck, I could explode just watching you come undone.” His words cause your belly to burn as your climax rises from your toes, you can barely even form words, only able to babble as drool forms at the sides of your mouth.

He smirks at your fucked out look, swirling the fresh drool with his dried cum, and bringing it into your gaping mouth. You moan around his fingers, sucking hard at his digits. He yanks his fingers from your mouth, coming down hard on your ass with a loud slap. “Whose sopping cunt is this?” “Yours daddy! It’s all yours.” “Damn fucking right it is!” He grunts, taking you by the hips, quickening his pace. You hopelessly claw at something to hold onto as he rams into you. His animal like sounds bringing you closer and closer to your finish. Your toes curl in your shoes and your calf muscles tighten as you try to maintain a steady footing. Yoongi wraps an arm around your waist to help steady you, bringing his free hand down to make figure eights on your swollen clit. “Uh, fuck, I can't, I'm gonna fucking come so hard daddy.” “Mm, that’s right whore, cum on daddy's cock. Scream for me, I want to hear you cry for this cock.” Your climax begins as a slow tremor within your walls that burns deliciously into an explosion of forceful pulses throughout your cunt that has her clamping down on Yoongi’s cock so intensely it pulls a sob from his throat. You don’t hold back, so overcome by the crashing waves of bliss you yell out his name until your throat is raw. He continues fucking into you his breath becoming more and more uneasy as his balls tighten against you. “It’s too much daddy.” You whine, overstimulation hitting you. “Fuck! This glorious fucking cunt!” He shouts, slamming hard into your cervix, his release pulsing against your cervical opening. His thrust become sloppy as he comes down from his high, his cum slowly seeping out of you. He rests his head on your back, allowing you both time to catch your breath. “I love you. I fucking love you so much.” He pulls out of you, helping you up, and pulling you into a soft kiss. You melt into his warmth, nibbling at his plump bottom lip. “I love you too.” “I’m sorry if I was too rough,” He rubs his large hands over your sore ass, “I still get jealous. I’m trying to be better.” You laugh at his pouty confession. “If you keep fucking me like that, I might just keep making you jealous.” He scoffs kissing you softly again. “Let’s go home for real baby. I’ll take care of you.” You nod in approval, fixing yourselves up. Yoongi holds your hair back as you wash your face in the sink, once you feel you look presentable again, you stuff your thong in his jacket pocket and make for the exit. You unlock the door anxiously expecting a line but luckily there is no one waiting. You both shove through the crowd toward the exit when you feel a tug on your hand. “You’re still here?” JK smiles at you. “Uh, well, we uh.” “Fucked in the bathroom.” Yoongi offers up with a straight face. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as JK laughs out loud. “Wait, what? Are you serious?” He looks from you to Yoongi and back again. Yoongi laughs wide, exposing his gums. “I’m fucking with you kid!” JK huffy a bit before breaking into a full laugh. “You’re funny man,” JK bumps his fist into Yoongi's shoulder, “Hey get home safe again ok pint size, dinner Monday night.” He winks with all his might at you, walking off into the crowd. Yoongi rolls his eyes, resting his hand on the small of your back. He places a soft kiss on your temple, lowering a bit to whisper in your ear. “You know you’re not going to dinner with him right?” You chuckle, leaning into Yoongi’s chest. “Will you fuck me in the ass as punishment if I do?” Yoongi bites his lip, “Such an insatiable appetite my whore has.” He whispers, swatting you on the ass. “I’ll never get enough of you daddy.” You mewl, savoring the feel of the night air on your face.

[lifewithsyfe]

PLAYING WITH FIRE

Not quite sure how to put this into words, but someone else needs to know what I know. This story can save so many people and I won’t feel right until it’s consumed by as many as possible. I can’t express how many times I’ve tried to get this out. I almost even gave up on it, but God wouldn’t let me. So, let me make another attempt at it - this is how I escaped the devil: 

-

It was a Friday night, April 5th, 2019. 

I’m at El Rey on U street, having a few cold ones by myself. Just got off work, taking it easy...

-

Then, I end up running into and old “friend” I used to hangout with. Known him for about 7 years at the time: (Dave) - tall, black, dreads, above average build.

-

After a couple of drinks, he asks if I want to hangout at one of his friends house. Said we can smoke there and that she has a lot of drugs. 

So I accepted cuz I was originally going to let the night unravel on it’s own and it didn’t sound like such a bad idea at the time.

-

It was a habitual routine I developed during my heartache…

I’d go out alone, run into a group of people I knew, bar hop ‘til we ended up at an after hours spot (or someone’s place) and shamelessly sleep my next day away.

-

So we get to the front of his friend’s building and it’s like a 60sumn-year-old lady: 

(Robin) - fat, white, short, blue hair, top row gold grill and “ride or die bitch” tattooed on the back of her neck (amongst a couple others, but that one stood out most cuz it was in my face, while she was unlocking her apartment door).

-

At first, I thought it was a descriptive-type of tattoo. Like, she was saying that that’s what she was.

But in retrospect, it was almost like it was something she was saying to me - you’ll see what I mean later, if you don’t get it now.

-

Oblivious to what was about to happen next, I continued to walk through that door...

Something felt off, but I just figured it would be something low-level weird. 

I’m always seeing signs that show somebody dabbles in magic or the dark arts, but I figured “if I’m not actively practicing divinity or doing weird rituals, it won’t personally affect me…if I don’t create a ceremonial invitation, then I’ll be okay.”

-

Now, I’ve already had a good amount of spiritual experiences at this point (good and bad), but for some reason I just didn’t think anything like this would happen…at least not to me. 

-

I thought I had it all figured out, cuz I thought I’d seen it all - or at least enough. 

I should’ve known though…I was just so emotionally numb at the time, I was doing anything to feel anything.

I mean aesthetically, she looked like she’d have a few good stories or something. Needless to say by now, but I ignored the red flags. 

-

So, moving forward...

We walk in, sit on the couch, watch skate videos and start breaking down.

After a few minutes of small talk, they offer me some acid from a vile. Emphasizing how it was very high grade stuff - but I didn’t need much convincing anyway. 

-

I was very into psychedelics and considered myself extremely experienced in that realm. 

But just because I did it a lot, didn’t mean I was. You couldn’t tell me I wasn’t though.

It was usually my go-to for when I needed that unrivaled escape from reality. 

So yeah, I took the witch’s brew thinking it was something I considered fun.

-

Once it starts to kick in, I can feel her beginning to stare at me from the end of the room - with a big grin on her face.

She then suggested that I take my jacket off cuz I’m going to end up getting really hot, and cackled like it was the funniest thing the world to say.

-

It was something she said a couple of times too. At first I didn’t know exactly what she meant, I just thought she was a basket case - but she was implying that I was going to end up in Hell…you’ll see what I mean.

-

A few moments go by and they suggest we move the party to the rooftop cuz her place was limiting and we could see more from up there. 

Plus, she wanted to blow bubbles…and I figured “tripping indoors is boring anyway, why not?”

-

Now because I took my jacket off and left it in her apartment, I began shivering after a while. 

I didn’t expect for it to be that windy, I wanted a nice little breeze.

So she says she’ll get me one, cuz she had to go in for more soap anyway - comes back and asks to put this fur coat on me. 

It was a nice coat, so I let her.

-

So I’m cozy now and she gives me a tour, showing me the cool visible parts of the city.

Telling me not to be afraid of my true potential and that I can obtain everything I want. 

I was feeling pretty good about those words, until I thought “that sounds familiar…what if she isn’t speaking in general?” - but I just chalked it up to her being an old hippy. 

-

She then grabs my arm and tells me to look at this red wall, as we walk to the other side of the building. I figured it’d be something visually enticing she was trying to share, but this was going to be her first attempt at hypnosis.

-

She asked if it felt like my soul was being massaged - encouraging me to ride it out. Essentially, trying to get me to put my guard down, saying “this is where dreams become reality.” 

Then, I began seeing holographic outlines of people in the wall. The traces reminded me of a glowing snail trail.

-

Right after, I saw myself turn into a block of flesh and almost being slid into the wall if I stared any longer. 

But like I woke up in one of those falling dreams, I snapped out of it.

-

With a laugh attached, she says “damn, almost!” 

And that’s when I stopped letting myself be completely naive. The veil was clearly being lifted before me and I needed to be alert. It’s just, I had this slight muffle surrounding my common sense. 

-

Now I knew hallucinogens were considered sorcery in the Bible, but I figured - one more time won’t hurt. It’s not like I wasn’t still smoking and drinking. 

It’s just crazy, cuz it was after learning about what the fallen angels taught us, is when I decide trip again. 

I blatantly chose to play with fire and defy God that night.  

-

See, these hypnotic spells are telepathic contracts. Once the manipulator is installing a vision, it’s at the last second where it becomes your choice to see what happens next.  

-

It nudges at your curiosity, feeling like it’s a part of the trip you’re supposed to let ride out.

But every time I almost did, my heart wasn’t having it and I’d snap out of it again.

-

Every time she would cast a spell, I could feel my soul almost getting pulled out - with a malicious presence surrounding me. 

The goosebumps I got from this thing, felt like it was ready to defile me in every way possible.

-

In disbelief that what I thought might be happening, wasn’t - I tell myself “let me not cause a ruckus for no reason, I am trippin’ after all. Think of something positive.”

But now my eyes are shifting everywhere, cuz I keep getting a glimpse of whatever’s approaching. 

Even with that many peculiarities, something kept me in denial.

-

Still though, she tries another set-up and tells me to look at how high up we are, as she gestured for me to look down from the rail. As if I didn’t already know, but I go cuz I also didn’t want to be rude.

-

So I grab the rail and lean over…

(Dave) says “don’t let go,” giving me this wide-eyed look with a smile and said “you feel it, don’t you?”

Then just like that, my heart jumped and my mind began getting flashes of demonic symbols and images like subliminal messages. 

-

My vision was about to go black, like the circle closing at the end of a cartoon…until I snapped out of it and backed up with my head on a swivel, angrily questioning them. 

That’s when I caught (Dave) behind me, quickly hiding his hands. 

-

Now I’m on survival mode and it feels like I can’t even make a step without risking my soul. I can feel that I’m being made a fool out of, but of course they gaslight me and try to calm me down…

I still didn’t want to believe I was in this kind of mess, but I’d be naive to let all that slide so easily.

-

So with caution, I’m trying to plan my escape - playing it as cool as I can, but my body is getting heavier by the second.

She then lifts her speaker and says “listen to these different frequencies, it can change your mood.”

I really wasn’t trying to listen, because I needed to leave and I didn’t trust her at all now. Especially not with anything sound related.

But then out of nowhere, I hear a distorted garble come out of the speaker and hit my ear.

-

I said “huh!?”

Then (Dave) was like “oh, you heard that...?”

I looked away and acted oblivious, cuz I felt that if they knew I could hear that, they’d bring out the big guns.

-

(Dave) laughed, saying to Robin “wait, he still don’t know what this is yet?”

Unintentionally, or intentionally letting me know. 

So I tried to leave and they started laughing. Trying so hard to keep me there…

-

(Dave) said “you already ‘bouta do it, it’s better this way anyway.”

Then he was like “look at my hands, this shit trippy, right?”

Followed by him creating an infinity symbol with his waving hands. 

Now this infinity symbol was made of light and floating in mid-air in front of him after he did it. 

Right after that, he did the hermaphrodite/goat-headed deity’s pose, flipping his hands and head perfectly in a stiff dance.

Which then caused me to see it’s true form in my minds eye. I snap out of it once again, trying to get a hold of my reality.

-

Once I can see them again, it’s like time stood still and only I could move. 

I’d look around and they’d be frozen. 

At this time, I can hear them having two conversations, simultaneously. 

All I caught was (Dave) say “he can’t hear us in this plane.”

-

Then as he slowly got up - like I was tuning through a radio, I hear a screeching static clear up. The sound then becomes like an electronic bleating and bellowing from a goat, in-sync, surrounding him.

-

At this moment, I’m a part of their their collective conscious conversation - essentially telepathy.

Then they began letting me know who they were. 

Saying that they were angels, that they were around before us and that I can be like them.

-

The whole time they were talking to me, they were trying to weaken and hypnotize me with hand signs - trying to convince me. Thing is, when they did try to convince me, they’d always talk around the subject at hand - but once you know what the subject is, the situation becomes clear. 

-

A lot of people might think they’d get physical and get out of there. I just don’t think they’d understand how it is fighting sleep paralysis, awake. 

I also knew that one false move would take me to the ‘sunken place.’

-

I knew I couldn’t just stand there though, but right before I grab the door to get to the elevator, (Dave) says “okay, you gon’ be waiting on that elevator forever; this is a REAL trip…c’mon, I thought you liked this shit.” 

Mockingly he asked “yeah, I guess you gon’ think twice about taking LSD again huh?”

-

I was thinking in my head “fuck, did I really just lose my soul? Is this how it happens? Is this where it all ends?”

I thought that was it, so I was about to give in and accept the offer - see what benefits I could get, if any.

-

Then from there, every time we almost sealed the deal, I would feel a hungry fire approach me from behind.

The one time I decided to look for where it was coming from, I got a vision with an orange blur in it - slowly materializing, until I could make something out of it. With the bit that I saw, I knew it was me being swallowed by fire and not dying. 

-

Immediately after, almost as if I had touched the flames themselves, I yelled in confusion “wait, what? No! Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior!”

-

To which (Dave) nonchalantly responds “okay, you do that...that [N-word] died a long time ago.” 

I look at him with disgust and continued to pray.

Telling God that He would never abandon His children if they encountered evil and that if there was a way for Him to save me to do it.

-

(Dave) says that I’m blowing his trip and leaves to the gas station.

At this time I could’ve left, but I still didn’t want to be alone in an elevator with him.

-

So as I’m praying, I begin to feel the dark grip they had on my heart loosen up. It was like my heart was pumping electricity throughout my body, then all around it. I could feel the forcefield - Christ had arrived and I could move my body freely. No more fear in taking the wrong step.

-

So on (Dave’s) way back, (Robin) announces it and says let’s go downstairs and get him. That’s when I hear (Dave) say - not yell, “open up” from all the way downstairs and I was amazed...I was like “wait, can he still hear me?” 

With him responding “DUH! Damn, you some shit!” and continued on his way.

-

So if I was to leave, this was going to be my chance.

In the elevator she tries enchanting me again, but I rebuked every attempt. 

I’m trying to maintain focus the best that I can, so I don’t slip - which made this elevator ride unnecessarily more intense than it needed to be.  

-

Once the elevator door finally opens, I see (Dave’s) silhouette behind a thick glass rail, carrying an ominous slouch. 

Walking towards me, he notices that I’ve calmed down. So when he sees my face, he smiles and asks “oh, you’re good now?”

-

I replied “I am and I’m not with the goofy shit y’all up to - I’m gettin’ the fuck outta here.” 

So as I’m walking towards the exit, he yells “that’s not the way out!”

To where I respond “fuck y’all!”

-

You would’ve thought I opened the door before touching it, the way I left out so fast. 

As that door closed, I did a little jog to get across the street. 

But a few seconds later, I feel this tingle in the back of my brain, as though it had neck hairs that stood up. 

I look over my shoulder and noticed he decided to follow me…of course. Shortly after I noticed him - with that bull-like slouch, he started running. 

-

Now I was a little ahead of him, so I didn’t start running yet. I had to make sure I knew where I was going before exerting my energy.

Every time I moved my head, I could feel the tingle coming from his direction. 

So there was no losing him - but I am fast.

-

I couldn’t call a ride because my phone was dead and I couldn’t go to anyone’s house at the time, cuz it was around 5am now.

As (Dave) got closer, I felt my vision going black and my body getting heavy again. A lot stronger this time…time to kick it into high gear.

-

Once it clicks into my head that the easiest place to catch a taxi in such a heated moment would be in Adams Morgan, an opportunity presented itself.

-

Ahead of me was a crosswalk and the orange hand was counting down it’s last seconds. Everything I ever learned told me I wasn’t going to make it, but I wasn’t going to stop running either.

-

So when my foot lands off the sidewalk, is when the cars to my left and right begin to move. 

That’s when everything moved in-slow-motion…and a burst of energy launched me across the street.

I’ll remember that moment as my own Air Jordan.

-

That moment bought me time, but he kept going too. This is when I start hearing echoed garbles crawl off buildings and jump into my ear “you acting like a bitch - come back!”

Perfectly as if he was next to me…I look behind me and it’s like he hasn’t broke a sweat. Completely focused.

-

From the gas station diagonal to the 9:30 Club, to the McDonald’s in Adam’s Morgan.

My body wanted to give out most of the way, but soul wouldn’t allow it.

I just had to keep running until I found a taxi - which I did.

-

That’s when (Dave) caught up, yelling “you look like an unk right now!” cuz 4 taxis stopped for me in that intersection.

To where I respond “I don’t give a fuck, I made it out alive!” 

I get in the car and tell the taxi driver to drive towards Maryland, that I’ll give him the address on the highway.

-

Finally, after surviving a living nightmare, I made it home. 

I went to my room, played some worship music, got on my knees and wrung myself out of tears to Christ.

-

Afraid to sleep because I knew they could contact me in my dreams.

So I didn’t until the drug wore off in the afternoon the next day…

I even felt that burn on my back as if it was sunburn for the next couple of weeks.

-

I’m so grateful to still be alive, because I’m 100% positive I’d be in Hell (with something else in my vessel) if I didn’t call on God that night.

It was like I was tiptoeing on a needlepoint to keep my soul.

[bbyboybrock--archived]

Shipped (Colby Brock Imagine)

Summary: *REQUEST* Omg your requests are open!! Can you do something about colby and reader dating in secret and she’s always hyping him up on everything and fans just think it’s cause they are best friends. But she posts a post wearing the love for hire letterman on accident and the fans connected it because Kat and Tara have it to so they figure out they are dating and go crazy (in a good way) for them 🥺❤️

Written: 2020

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: Major fluff, Swearing

Masterlist

I harassed Colby into letting me listen to their new music. Let’s just say, when you guys hear this, you’re going to be glad One Direction is on a break. Can’t help but stan L4H!! #numeber1fan

I press "send tweet" before plugging in my phone and taking a quick shower. When I get out of the shower I grab my phone and throw myself onto Colby’s bed. It’s our bed at this point. I spend more time at the trap house than I do my apartment, I might as well move in. I go and read the comments under my tweet. Most of them are good. Some fans want me to leak the boys' music, others are freaking out over mine and Colby’s friendship. Someone makes it a point to mention how cute Colby and I would be as a couple and linked an edit that they made. Someone commented that fans like them, the one that posted the edit, are the problem and the reason why Colby doesn’t have any friends who are girls. There is a whole fight going on under that comment.

I quickly try to defuse the situation between the fans before exiting twitter altogether. I take my towel off of my damp hair and walk back into Colby’s bathroom to detangle it. When I finish doing my hair I grab the first jacket of Colby’s that I see to get warm. Lucky for me, it’s his Love for Hire lettermen jacket. For whatever reason, this jacket is more comfortable than any hoodie I’ve stolen during our entire relationship, maybe it’s because it smells strongly like him. Or maybe it’s because I get to finally live out my high school dream of wearing my boyfriend’s lettermen. Either way, Colby knows that this is my jacket now and he’s going to have to fight me to the death for it back. I don’t know if it’s because I freshly showered and my hair is fluffy, or because my skin is thanking me for not putting makeup on it yet, but something is compelling me to take a selfie in Colby’s bathroom mirror.

I get up on to the counter and try to position myself comfortably. I take a few selfies, while carefully not exposing Colby’s messy counter. I do cute poses with peace signs and my tongue sticking out. I do serious “model” poses with hair looking like I’m in a photoshoot. I take a couple and post them on my Instagram story. I triple check each one before pressing send to make sure they end up on my close friends’ list and not my public story. That would be disastrous. I saw how people were acting in the comments of my tweet supporting Colby when a fan posted an edit wishing we were dating. I can’t imagine how his fan base would react if they knew we really are dating and have been for well over a year.

Well, I can imagine how they would react, I’ve been around Colby long enough to figure out how his fanbase functions. Most of his fans would be supportive. Of the majority, there would be roughly half who constantly would show their support over our relationship. The other half would keep quiet and try not to mention it directly so they don’t “jinx” it. No matter how open Colby is with his fans, there is still so much of his life that he has to keep private from the rest of his fans who wouldn’t be supportive of our relationship. The obsessive ones who think that Colby is a toy and belongs to only them. In all honesty, Colby and I probably would have been together longer if it wasn’t for them. We probably wouldn’t have been friends. There was a period in his life when he wouldn’t make any new female friends because of what his old friends had to go through. Because of that, Colby has always been protective of me.

Even though we’ve been friends since he moved to Los Angles, he only introduced me to his fandom two years ago. Even then, it wasn’t like, boom: “here’s a girl that I’m friends with, be nice!” Colby made sure I was properly acclimated to his side of internet stardom by having me appear in all of his other friends’ videos and photos first before a strand of my hair was placed in one of his videos. And then he said, “here’s a girl that I’m friends with, be nice!” Being a Youtuber myself, I have some experience with fandoms. But nothing could prepare me for his intense fans. For the first couple of months after Colby put me on his channel, I understood why Colby kept so many of girl friends in the dark or why some chose to stop being friends with Colby in general. It’s only a select few fans, but when there are so many comments of harassment and death threats it can get overwhelming.

Those comments died down after a while though. Mostly because I either mute certain words from my comments or I don’t read them. Colby and I try really hard to hide our relationship. If we’re in videos together, we don’t sit too close. We keep our hands to ourselves; even a simple hand on the shoulder can cause a frenzy. We only post our couple pictures on our actual secret Instagram accounts and close friends list. Our friends know not to post anything where we might look too much like a couple. We make it a point to bicker like siblings whenever we do work together. Hell, the reason I still have my apartment is to avoid people finding out we’re dating. If I have my own place, people just think I’m visiting the guys whenever I’m over. And it works, everyone just assumes that we’re really close friends.

“I’m back and I bring food!” Colby yells as he opens the door to the room. I plug my dying phone back into the charger before abandoning it in the bathroom to greet Colby.

“Oh thank God, I was beginning to think you were with your hoes. But then I ran into Sam, Jake, and Corey in the kitchen so I relaxed.” I give Colby a quick kiss and help him with the shopping bags in his hand. I set them on the bed and start going through them.

“I wish, but they were too busy for me. So I went and got us stuff for this weekend.” Colby sets the food down and helps me unload the bags.

“Oh that reminds me, we need to stop by my place after dinner so I can pack my things.” Te whole friend group is renting a log cabin in woods for Thursday to Monday morning for bonding and to get a few collars done. Colby went and got a few road trip snacks without me. Probably because I would get distracted at Target and we would never leave. It’s fine, he remembered to get my favorite snacks.

“Yeah, okay, I figured. We could have gone earlier but I had to let you sleep in after you spent all night watching tiktoks.” Colby walks over to the couch and starts to set up our lunch in front of the tv.

“To be fair, I’m not responsible for the time lost when I’m on the tok. Besides, I learned more dances to teach you!” I take off Colby’s jacket and set it at the foot of the bed before joining Colby on the couch.

“Of course you did. You know how much I love learning a new TikTok dance every day.” Colby jokes before kissing my forehead. He hands me my food and turns on Netflix.

A few minutes into our show, there’s a loud, rapid knock at the door. Annoyed, Colby paused the show and puts his food down.

“What?” Colby asks as he gets up to open the door. Sam stands on the other side, relieved. The last time Sam knocked on the door like that, Colby and I were busy… rearranging furniture.

“Oh Colby, you’re home. But I’m not here for you. Y/N, did you mean to post that on your story?” Colby moves aside to let Sam in.

“Haha, Sammy, I’m not falling for that one. Colby already tried that on me last week.” I go back to eating my food and ignore Sam.

“No, I’m being serious. Katrina said she kept trying to reach you but you’re not answering. Fans are freaking out on twitter.”

“Oh shit!” I quickly put down my food and grab my phone in the bathroom. There are miss calls and texts from Kat, Tara, and Devyn. I unlock my phone and open Instagram to check my story. Sure enough, I accidentally sent one of my selfies to my main story instead of my close friends. The selfie looks harmless enough, except I’m wearing Colby’s jacket and it’s very obvious that I’m in his bathroom. Jake moved in some of the cardboard Colby’s into Colby’s room and one of them faces the mirror, you can kind of see it in the selfie. Most people might think nothing of it, but earlier this week Kat and Tara posted pictures of them wearing Sam and Jake’s jackets. With that association alone, everyone is going to find out.

“I don’t get it, there’s only a selfie on here. Did you already delete it?” Colby yells from the bedroom. I slowly walk out of the bathroom with a confused look on his face.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I open up my story and check how many people have seen it.

“What, I’m lost… Oh… Oh! Oh, fuck!” Colby finally gets it and does something on his phone.

“‘Oh fuck’ is right. So many people took screenshots that even if I deleted it now, it would be pointless.” I walk to the bed and throw myself facedown, like a teen in a movie after having a shitty day at school.

“And you guys are trending on Twitter,” Sam says. I almost forgot he was still here.

“Dude,” Colby warns.

“Not helpful, I get it. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” Sam leaves the room and I let out a scream as soon as I hear the door close. I feel the spot next to me sink as Colby sits down and starts rubbing my back.

“Hey, Y/N, these aren’t as bad as you think. I’m only seeing positive messaged. Look,” Colby gently pats my back to get my attention.

“Really? Let me see.” I sit up, sniffle, and peek at Colby’s phone as he reads.

“Are you crying?” Colby asks as he wipes my face.

“I immediately got overwhelmed. Let me read the tweets.” I take Colby’s phone scroll through the tweets. He’s right, they’re mostly positive. I haven’t seen a negative tweet yet. That’s the opposite of how I thought this would go. A few people are telling other fans to stop assuming, but even those are calm compared to the fight I saw earlier.

“See, I guess we were stressed all this time for no reason. We can do normal couple things like our friends and not go out of our way to hide everything.”

“That’ll be nice. It was getting exhausting. What do we do now? How do you want to approach this? Live stream? Youtube video?” I look at Colby and he has a big smile on his face.

“Right now, let’s just finish lunch. We can deal with this later. Now, I’m going to take this back. I don’t want you to start crying again.” Colby strokes my hair and kisses my forehead.

“I love you, Colbs,” I say softly.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[ilguna]

Anteric - Chapter Nine (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. MURDER PLOT, MURDER, SUICIDE MENTION SEVERAL TIMES.

wc; 9.3k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The next four days follow the same nightmarish pattern of facing your fears early in the morning, and then wielding a gun or a knife in the evening. You think that Caspian and Laurel are really testing fate by allowing a group of unstable teenagers near anything dangerous. 

Sure, all of you have to be prepared to be able to wield a gun and defend yourselves in hard situations. But you wouldn’t say that it’s the brightest idea ever, too. You’re not entirely convinced that some of your fears correspond to shooting directly after. The only exception in this case, would be the one where you’ve watched Finnick die.

Despite all of this, you think that you’re beginning to get a hang of the fear-facing, to the point where you’ve managed to increase your time to five minutes. While everyone else works hard to make their time smaller and smaller, you’ve been trying to go against the current to make yourself look less suspicious.

You’ve figured that it’s easier to calm yourself down once you realize which fear you’re in. It’s only the four that repeat themselves, being buried alive, watching someone bleed out and die, and being trapped in an enclosed space with spiders. The easiest of them being buried alive, mainly because it’s not as hands-on.

You’re not forced to save someone, drowning in their blood as you try to cover wounds that will only become insignificant in the end. As more and more appear on the other’s body, screwing your focus and making you forget that you’re in a simulation. And you aren’t aware of the fact that you have to keep moving around for as long as you can without being covered in the spiders.

With the coffin, there’s no imminent danger, no real threat is hanging above you, besides the sure. Sure, you’re being buried alive, the dirt will eventually end up suffocating you. Yet, it’s not chaotic. You’re not fighting anything, you’re just forced to sit in darkness, feign some fright for a while, and then you’re free. If you were being buried without the coffin, that might be a different story. But that isn’t your fear, the coffin is a detail for a reason.

The others don’t seem to be as lucky as you are. They’re stuck in the same loop of facing their fears, and not knowing what to do after. At least you can say that your nightmares aren’t making your skin crawl anymore. For them, they shake when someone asks what they’ve gone through, and wake up screaming at night.

However, there are a few of you who are outshining the others. And it seems to be the people who hadn’t done too well during the first stage of initiation that’re getting the hang of this one. Which is a shame, because their progress isn’t really going to pay off until the final stage, when they beat the rest.

The few that you’ve noticed are Sydney, Nestor and Cass. They act a little differently than the others do. Sydney and Nestor have always been laid back. You can’t really say the same for Cass, since you don’t know her as well. But they definitely have a different attitude when they go into the room, compared to someone like Thyme.

Then there are the people who are naturally good or bad at the simulations, and it’s typically hard to tell which is which. Like Laurel told you, your friends are close to the twenty minute range, and as far as you know, you’re the only outlier. You can always time people on your watch, but it’s not the same, not really.

Anyway, it’s been about four days since you’ve so much as glanced at Finnick in front of Thyme. It was a smart move to make, because she might have started off stiff, but she’s officially cooled down. She’ll still glare at you occasionally, then again she was doing that before the party, so it’s not a surprise or a change of routine.

Because of that, the only times you’ve gotten to talk to Finnick was in bits and pieces when Thyme wasn’t around. Which was practically never, considering that she attached to him like a parasite and doesn’t let go. You’d hardly be able to get a full sentence in before she came around again. Laurel wasn’t much help either, she didn’t give you any accidental golden chances either.

The more time passed, the more anxious you got over the fact that Finnick might have been thinking that you were backtracking. You were making no real effort to get alone time, not to mention you felt like your grasp was slipping. You said so yourself, you had Finnick in your hold. And leaving him with Thyme for four days all alone might change things.

In order to finally ease the stress that’s been eating away at you, you went ahead and sealed the leap of faith. It’s taken you four days to finally come to terms with the fact that you have to tell Finnick that you’re Divergent, whether you like it or not. You can tell yourself that it’s an unnecessary risk, and that he might already have some biased ideas somehow. But the truth is, you won’t know until you try.

A slight problem is you didn’t get to invite Finnick to the chasm before Laurel called you into the fear room. So, you had to ask Laurel for a favor, which was to call Finnick in next and send him through the second door in the room that will bring him to the dark hallway. It’ll be completely out of the way of Thyme, you won’t have to worry about accidentally running into her on the way to the chasm.

Fortunately for you, today you had to be locked in a coffin underground, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. You hope that the same goes for Finnick, because you really would like him to be in the right headspace before you go ahead and dump your biggest secret onto his shoulders. You don’t want it to end up being the last straw that does it.

You twist your wrist towards your face, making the watch light up in the hallway. If you’ve been tracking the time correctly, it’s coming in fifteen minutes. You should have another five to go, and even that might be an overestimation. 

You yawn, cracking your knuckles before getting to your feet. The last time you jumped out at Finnick from the wall, you scared him pretty bad, so you’re not entirely sure if there’s a way to get around it this time. There’s no lantern for you to steal from the wall, not that you’re sure if you’ll be able to do that, anyway.

About a minute or so later, the door finally opens. You emerge from the wall, standing off to the side of the hallway with your arms crossed. There’s just enough light from the room to light you up, so Finnick spots you easily. 

He has one hand reached up and placed over the spot where Laurel injects the serums. For a second, his eyebrows draw in like he’s confused, but then a smile slowly comes onto his face. You lean around Finnick to thank Laurel, she’s already holding a hand up, and then shoos you.

You hold out your hand for Finnick to take, and you watch as he takes it. You pull him along, he lets the door slip shut behind him with a gentle click. The hallway falls back into a pitch black, and you’re left to guide Finnick. You remember when it was the other way around, with you relying on him to warn you of where you step.

“What are we doing today?” he asks, “Another secret party?”

At the thought of your confession, an ache starts in your chest. If only it were something fun, “No, I think I’m going to tell you everything today.” With the exception of one thing, one little thing that doesn’t exactly have any connection to the blackmailing problem.

“Oh.” he says, you’re not sure you’d have anything to say in response to that, either.

The hallway finally splits into two, you head off to the right. It’s only a hundred or so more feet when you begin to hear the rushing water. You have to swallow to ease the growing tension in your throat. Finnick should be fine, you’ve known him a long time. He’ll give you a chance to explain yourself before judgement.

At least, you hope he will.

You let go of his hand in the doorway, continuing to your spot on your own. To the same place you stood last time you spoke to him. This time, you don’t lean against the railing. Knowing you, you’ll get caught up in the conversation and end up falling off backward.

Finnick resumes his spot across from you on the wall.

You have to remind yourself to take deep breaths, “I need you to listen all the way before you make any judgement calls, okay?”

You don’t want to look at him, this will be so much easier if you don’t look.

“Okay,” he agrees.

You know where to start, you’ve rehearsed this exact moment several times, thought up every single possibility. You found the best way to explain why, all you have to do is start speaking.

You swallow.

“It starts with the aptitude test,” you begin, eyes focused on the toe of your shoes. Is this too far back? No, it’s where the root lies, “Normally people get a straightforward result, but I got inconclusive.” you have to look at his face, it’s neutral besides his eyebrows, “Which means that I didn’t place for just one faction, I placed for three. Abnegation, Erudite and Dauntless.”

You pause for a moment, letting him process this. You feel like you’re speaking too slowly, he isn’t a baby. But this is new to him, right?

“How?” he asks, the confusion is setting in.

“Um,” you're hyper aware of your shaking hands, “Well, the choices in the aptitude test are supposed to eliminate a faction each stage. The cheese was for Amity, and the knife was for Dauntless. I chose the knife, so that’s a Dauntless oriented response. But I was vulnerable to the dog, which is Erudite thinking. Then I threw myself in front of the dog, bringing out Abnegation.

“Candor was ruled out when I didn’t tell the truth, and Erudite and Dauntless were brought up again when I posed some stupid question and stood up for myself. And technically it wasn’t a conditioned Abnegation response, either.” You lace your fingers together, “I hold equal aptitude for Abnegation, Dauntless and Erudite. The term for it is Divergent.”

Now you hold your breath, watching the gears turn in his head. You’ll be patient, let him come to conclusions on his own. Maybe he’ll suddenly solve the Thyme problem on his own, only allowing you to fill the gaps. Maybe he won’t, and he’ll demand more information.

The silence is overwhelming, “My legal result is Abnegation.”

His eyes flicker to you, “Why do you say Divergent as if it’s a bad thing?”

You think you’ll cry, “Because I can be killed for it if people find out.” 

Finnick understands, you can tell by the way he goes rigid, “You’re not kidding?”

“No.” 

Please don’t start running. Please don’t have ill intentions. Please say that you’ll keep it a secret.

“Okay, I can understand why you’ve been like this,” he slumps slightly, a frown coming over his face.

You know what he’s thinking, “Finnick, don’t think that I don’t trust you,” you move forward a little, “I don’t…” you take another deep breath, “A lot of people know right now, and my worst nightmare has already happened.”

He’s still watching you, “Like what?”

A metallic taste spreads over your tongue, “You asked if Thyme said anything to me, and I said yes,” your throat is closing, “You remember that?”

He nods.

“Well, when our families came to visit, Mox and his small family came and visited me,” Finnick raises his eyebrows, he must’ve missed them, “Just before they left, Mox told me that Caspian knows I’m Divergent, and he’ll look out for me. Then he told me that these two stages of initiation are going to be easy, because of the way my brain works so I need to be careful not to get caught, whatever.

“I went to leave the area that we talked in, and Thyme had overheard everything.” Your eyes find Finnick’s face again.

And he is bright red, eyebrows turned down, “What did she say?”

“She said that if I don’t stay away from you, she’ll tell everyone I’m Divergent.”

He doesn’t move for a long moment, jawline becoming more obvious each time he grits his teeth. His eyes cast towards the path you have to take to get away from the chasm.

You feel like crying, this is the exact reaction you were looking for. Anger because the person that’s been playing sweetheart and hanging off his arm has secretly been blackmailing you for a week.

“Is that all?”

No.

“Yes.”

There’s something else that you need to tell him.

“Does she know that they’ll kill you for it?”

You shrug slightly, “It’s Thyme we’re talking about, do you really think she’d care about that?”

“Probably not.” he mumbles.

You scuff your shoe against the rocks, pressing your lips together. You should tell him, do it real quick to get it out of the way. You’ve already spoken about so much, what’s one more?

When you open your mouth, the words lodge themselves in your throat, refusing to move. You settle for sighing instead.

He catches this, raising his eyebrows, “What’s wrong? Is there something else?” 

Tell him.

“No, I told you everything.”

Finnick doesn’t lessen his gaze. 

Just tell him you like him.

You smile, he doesn’t smile back, continuing to wait.

You’ve told him so much already, what’s one more?

“Come on, (Y/n),”

What if he doesn’t feel the same?

Silence.

It’s a chance you have to take.

You clear your throat.

No, you’re going to ruin recently established peace.

“I just wanted to apologize for the final fight, is all.”

What a lie.

Finnick doesn’t believe you, he turns his head to the side a little.

You shrug again, “I didn’t want to bring it up because I don’t want to bring up things in the past if you aren’t bothered by them.” you play with your fingers, trying to figure where to go next. Then you realize that there is a problem that you left unsaid, “Ah, right, I remember now.

“Besides the obvious reason why I was mad at you, I realized something during the fight which made it a whole lot worse,” you rub the back of your neck, trying to ease the growing tension, “You--um--you see me as an equal, right? Cause for a second, I was convinced you thought of me as lesser and that doesn’t… sit right with me…”

Finnick’s got his eyebrows screwed in, “An equal?”

“Yeah, like we’re on the same level ground and I’m not in some ditch or whatever.”

His face twists, “I’m sorry, but shouldn’t this had been in the meaningless conversation the other day?”

You open your mouth, eyebrows in. Once he starts laughing, you snap your mouth shut.

“I’m kidding, of course we’re on the same page.” he grins, showing his teeth, “I mean, if we weren’t, we wouldn’t be friends, would we?”

You purse your lips, “I guess not.”

“You guess?” he laughs again, “Anyway, I don’t care about the fight. You won fair and square, even though you were definitely hyped up on adrenaline.”

You smile.

Finnick eyes the hallway for a moment, the humor slowly fading from his face, “So what are we going to do about Thyme?”

Your heart twists when you hear the word ‘we’, “There’s no real way to get her to shut up, Finnick. Unless we somehow make her get cut during stage three.” you clench your teeth, “All my ideas have been permanent and illegal.”

He nods, “I can see why.”

“It’s a lifelong thing she can hold over me.”

“You can always tell Caspian.”

“He already knows,” you lean your head back and watch as Finnick looks at you, “You know when you caught me that morning getting ready super early?”

Finnick nods.

“Yeah, well, the leaders of Dauntless and our trainers will eat breakfast way before everyone else so that they can discuss initiation and stuff. So I got Caspian away from them and told him about Thyme, and he said he can’t help me anymore because Thyme accused him of interfering so he really needs to back off.”

You crack a smile, “Actually, he told me that I should tell you the truth about everything and have you work with me to find some solution. The problem is that he can’t know what I want to do with her, and he told me not to be too brash but it’s not like I have a choice.”

“We,” Finnick corrects, “It’s not like we have a choice.”

You give him a soft smile, “Right, we.”

Finnick stretches, arms above his head, letting out a groan, “I’m going to go ahead and guess that your plan includes murder.”

“Honestly, it was my first thought when she made me agree to it on Visiting Day.”

“And I don’t really see any other option besides beating her up and throwing her to the streets, but she’ll just tell the factionless that you’re…” he doesn’t say the word, eyebrows furrowing, “...and that would be the end of it.”

“Yup.”

He makes a face, “We should probably think it over some more.”

“That works, I guess,” you check your watch, thirty minutes have passed since the beginning of the conversation, “Alright, you go ahead and go back, I’ll follow after you in a couple.”

“Sure,” he says.

You expect him to start into the hallway immediately, but he comes towards you instead. You lift your head from the wall, face twisting in confusion. He holds a hand out for you, you go ahead and take it, not entirely sure what he wants. Is he going to bring you somewhere?

No, he pulls you into him for a hug. His arms wrap around your back, underneath your arms. Immediately, your face feels like it’s on fire, heart pounding in your ears. It takes you a moment, but you hug him back, placing your ear against his chest, closing your eyes. The last time you hugged was before the Choosing Ceremony, when you weren’t sure if you’d see him ever again.

Your thought from earlier boomerangs back, much louder and begging this time for you to tell him that you have a crush on him. That you’ve had a crush on him for years, you just couldn’t say so before because of Abnegation ideals and how taboo a relationship is.

You can’t though. You’ve said too much today, told him everything on your list. This confession, the very last one, is not as significant as the rest. You can tell him some other time.

Finnick gives you a gentle squeeze, “Thank you for trusting me.” he murmurs.

You swallow the tightness in your throat, “I’ve always trusted you more than the rest.”

He moves away first, a smile on his face, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Yeah.” Why are you dizzy all of a sudden?

He leaves now, all you can do is place your hands on your head, fingers interlaced as you turn to the railing. There’s tears in your eyes, and you don’t even realize it until they’re rolling down your cheeks. You sniff, and then huff out a laugh, bringing your hands back down to wipe them off.

You and Finnick are okay.

It’s a thought that keeps running through your head over the next hour. You’re okay, there’s no need to worry anymore. And he thinks that your problems are his again, it’s a good sign. The hug really topped it off, but it’s also the thing that broke you. He must’ve known that you needed one.

You loosely wander back to the dorm, having had enough of the chasm for one day. You’re more than sure that everyone is done facing their fears now, so it should be safe for you to come back without any suspicion. When you reach the door, you softly push against the wood and slip through the crack that’s barely big enough.

You expect to see everyone off in their usual corners, maybe a few people napping because the daytime is the only time when they can sleep anymore, maybe a few people missing. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that everyone is gathered together around the chalkboard that had given the first stage’s rankings.

Caspian is standing within the half-circle, his eyes follow you on your way in, “Now that (Y/n) has finally made it, I can show you.”

A few people glance over their shoulders, none of them dirty looks except for Thyme. You ignore her, and Finnick, going to stand on the side of Blaire that’s away from them, as if he’s some sort of shield. In classic Blaire behavior, he slings his arm over your shoulder.

“Are these the rankings for stage two?” you ask.

“Progress report,” he says, “Caspian’s showing us where we’re at so that we’re prepared for stage three and how badly we need to improve before then.”

An uneasiness grows in your stomach, heart skipping. Everyone is about to see where you’re at, and how far ahead you are. And with Thyme’s accusation of Caspian interfering, this is not going to look good.

Your teeth sink into your cheek, right into the wound you carved up earlier when you were with Finnick. The warm taste of blood crosses over your tastebuds again, the pain sharp.

Caspian doesn’t say another word as he reaches up to hang the board on the designated nail. He stands in the way for a moment, blocking the view. Then, he shoots you a look before stepping aside, a silent warning that you are not as undercover as you’re supposed to be.

And he’s so right.

Your name is the first one on the list.

Your breath hitches, body rigid, eyes glued to the board, blood running from your face. Three minutes and forty-five seconds. This must be your time from the first fear simulation, and you are so incredibly grateful that your two minute one hadn’t been put up there. It would be a lot worse, then. Suddenly, the predator would become prey.

The person in second is, unsurprisingly, Finnick. He has nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds. There is a five minute gap between you two, and it is so significant that it makes your stomach twist.

Someone looks at you, you think it’s Eytelle. Judging by the corner of your eye, she is incredibly angry, compared to Blaire, who has a tight grip on your shoulder, shaking it to bring you back to life. You think it’s praise, you think that he’s excited for you.

His name is in the third slot.

You look past Blaire, eyes finding Finnick for comfort. He’s already looking at you, his lips are pressed together. Thyme could easily mistake this as displeasure towards you, good. To you, this looks like worry. You told him you had to be careful, and this does not look like careful.

When you look at Thyme, you can see her arm loop around his, pressing her body into his side. She doesn’t speak very loud, only enough for Finnick to hear. Unfortunately for her, in Abnegation you’re all used to the silence and working around it so that you don’t disturb the others.

“She’s cheating.”

You elbow Blaire slightly, trying to get his arm off of you, “Laurel warned you about accusing me of cheating already.”

The silence in the room is overcome by the blood rushing in your ears, body heating up. You’re tired of people saying that you’re cheating, Thyme, Ameer, now Eytelle. Is it so hard to believe that you can be in first place without cheating? That you don’t need help to get there?

Thyme looks over at you, face twisting until her mouth drops and her eyes widen. She looks at Caspian, shaking her head, “I didn’t even say anything!”

“Except you did.” Cass says, she’s standing further back than the rest of you. Which means she’s got a clear view of Thyme, “You mouthed it.”

“But I didn’t say it, there’s a difference.”

“So you’re admitting to it?” Caspian asks.

This is when Thyme pales, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Come with me.” Caspian starts towards the door, “Tomorrow’s a day off, don’t waste it.”

Thyme shoots you a nasty look on the way out.

The tension in the room doesn’t have time to grow, Blaire throws his arm back over your shoulder. You have to force a smile before you look at him, “Congrats.”

“Congrats to me?” Blaire’s laughing, the circle is beginning to form. They’re probably going to want to celebrate, “You’re in first!”

“I’m pretty sure (Y/n) meant to say, ‘Congrats for beating Lennox’.” Sydney laughs too, she’s in sixth, her hand is intertwined with Nestor, who holds the same smile. He’s placed in fifth.

Lennox makes a warning face at her, it’s playful. You can tell because he can’t keep the expression for very long before smiling. Lennox is in fourth. 

Trink, who’s in eighth place, is bouncing next to him, face suddenly lighting up, “Oh! That means that Lennox owes you his twenty points!”

Lennox lets out a groan, “No, don’t remind her!”

In order of first place to last, the list goes as follows: You, Finnick, Blaire, Lennox, Nestor, Sydney, Cass, Trink, Ameer, Mirza, Thyme, Allio, Eytelle, and Horace. The rankings from the first stage have definitely flipped. Allio was first, now he’s last. Eytelle’s isn’t all that surprising either, she nearly got cut on the last stage too. She was saved by Amos and Ossie.

There are fourteen of you. If Dauntless only accepts the top ten, then that means Thyme, Allio, Eytelle and Horace will immediately be cut. Which would partially solve the Thyme problem, only she would still know you’re Divergent and would be able to tell people later on,

When you look at Finnick, you think that he’s working on the same thought process.

“Well?” Sydney says, “Hand the points over, loser.”

Lennox punches her arm, “Shut--”

“Hey, Lennox,” you nudge him with your elbow, “You can just pay me five every month so I don’t run you dry.”

He stops, raising his eyebrows, “Are you sure?”

You shrug, “How else are we supposed to get celebratory tattoos today?”

Ameer and Mirza let out a whoop, leading the way out. They placed ninth and tenth, you’re not entirely sure if you'd be celebrating if you were them, but then again, they aren’t going to get cut. If they keep this up for the final stage, they’ll be golden. 

As expected, there are a couple of people that stay back, namely Eytelle and Allio, who are giving you dirty looks like Thyme normally does. Horace trails behind Ameer and Mirza since they’re refusing to leave him behind. You have to grab onto Finnick to make sure that he doesn’t stay here, either. 

“Hey Blaire!” You call, making him turn, “Finnick was wondering who you think the hottest leader out of all the factions is. He was thinking about Haymitch.”

“(Y/n)--?” Finnick strangles out, giving you an incredulous look. You flash him a smile, pushing him forward into Blaire.

“Really? I was thinking Mags.” Blaire snorts.

--

Even though it was risky, you and Finnick went ahead and got matching tattoos like a couple of idiots. It was a long process of trying to figure out a middle ground. You’d suggest something like the Abnegation logo and Finnick would look at you disgusted. Then he would suggest something vulgar, and it would be your turn to look at him like he was doing it on purpose.

Since it took a while, by the time you two made the decision, Blaire, Sydney and Nestor were the only three that were still willingly sitting with you. Lennox and Trink had disappeared sometime during the middle, Ameer, Mirza and Horace went to play a dangerous game near the Pit drop off. And Cass got distracted when she realized that her blonde hair was perfect for dying.

You can’t take all the credit for the tattoo idea, it really stemmed from Sydney and Nestor when they showed you theirs. If they stand side by side, with Nestor on the right and Sydney on the left, and lift up their shirts, they have a flutter of butterflies across their ribs that make a whole picture.

So, you and Finnick decided to get something like that, but a lot simpler. No color or shading, just the lining of two hands holding out their pinkies to make a promise. Yours is on your left shoulder, and Finnick’s is on his right. It can’t really be seen unless you force your shirt over, so there’s not a lot of risk.

Unless Finnick walks around shirtless, and someone catches a glimpse of your tattoo and Thyme somehow finds out and puts two and two together. However, you don’t see that happening any time soon. As far as you’re concerned, she’s completely oblivious to the planning that’s going on between you two.

You tie your hair in a knot at the back of your head, desperate to get it off the back of your neck. Next to you, Trink is twirling her hair around her finger like she always is. She’s also leaning into Lennox more than she usually does, so something definitely happened between them yesterday when they left.

Lennox seems to be making an effort to stick close to her, too. This morning, they had sat next to each other at breakfast, glued to the hip and refused to let anyone sit in the middle. It makes you think that they’ve officially started dating, but they’re not acting like it. Not like Sydney and Nestor.

Your eyes drag over to Finnick and Thyme, they’re sitting on the other side of the dining hall. She sits across from him, body turned so that she isn’t facing you. Finnick, on the other hand, has made sure that he can see you from where he sits. He’s not eating his lunch anymore, his cheek is cupped in one hand.

And his other is on his shoulder, where his new tattoo is.

You sit up a little straighter, wondering how long he’s been waiting for you to see. You and him decided to make a sign for if one wants to talk to the other, so that you two don’t have to keep waiting to talk to each other after fear facing. He suggested that putting your hand over the tattoo would be it, a telltale sign to go to the chasm after whatever you’re done doing.

Finnick briefly glances over, you go ahead and place your own hand over your shoulder, giving him a gentle nod before looking back at your friends. You need a way to get out, you’ve been sitting here, done with your lunch for a while. You’re sure that they’ll understand.

You place your hands onto the table, getting ready to push yourself up. This immediately catches Trink’s attention, she slowly tears her eyes from whatever Blaire is talking about, to look at you. Her eyebrows are raised, mouth parted.

“I’m going to disappear for a while,” you say, “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Trink pouts for a moment, “Can you be back before dinner this time? I thought we could all sit around and play some Dauntless games.”

You shrug with one shoulder, “Sure, no problem. I’ll keep track of the time on my watch.”

She smiles, “Thank you.”

You say your goodbyes to the others, punching Blaire’s shoulder on the way out. 

You’re the first to escape the dining hall, taking your time when you walk to the chasm. There’s no question that you’ll be back before dinner. Only in your dreams will you be able to hang around Finnick for longer than thirty minutes at a time, anymore. On the off-chance that you stay behind for a while, Sydney and Nestor know where to find you.

You get halfway down the long hallway that drops off at your corner, when there’s a rapid sound of footsteps behind you. You raise your eyebrows, a smile on your face when you spot Finnick running at you. He holds his hands out, making a noise that’s a mix of a snarl and a snort.

You get it, you’re supposed to run away.

You play along, running down the hallway in the dark. It’s dangerous, you could trip and fall. But then again, your whole life has been dangerous since the moment you finalized your decision of joining Dauntless. On your first day you jumped from a moving train to a rooftop! You hung from the chasm bridge by your fingers! You ziplined face first off of a building! You’re Divergent, for fuck’s sake!

At this point, you’re beginning to think that danger could really be your middle name.

Your guys’ laughter echoes off the stone walls, you can see your little dip for the chasm coming up, preparing to throw yourself against the wall to avoid Finnick. He’s much quicker than you, his hands clamping around your upper arms as he pretends to roar.

Tears appear in your eyes, you wipe them away, “Okay, get off of me.”

Finnick’s still chuckling to himself when he goes to his far wall. He doesn’t stand, though, he sits down immediately. You go ahead and follow, criss-crossing your legs and placing your hands in the gap in the middle.

“So, what’d you call me here for?” you ask.

Finnick shrugs, “I just didn’t want to be around her anymore. She kept asking me if she thought you were cheating. I think she’s a little on edge now that you keep ranking on top.”

“I can’t help it,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says, his legs extended in front of him, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

You smile, “Have any ideas on how to solve the problem?”

He shakes his head, “I mean, at this rate she’ll probably get kicked out, but that isn’t what we’re looking for, right?”

You press your lips together, “It’s not realistic.”

“I figured as much, don’t worry.” he looks off to the side, “What if we blackmail her?”

You don’t answer him right away, “We don’t really have any leverage.”

“But if we trick her into it?” Finnick asks, sitting up, “Like, I could hint at getting rid of you from number one somehow, which will keep her in the top ten so she wouldn’t get cut.”

You try to hide your horror when you remember just how alike you and Finnick are. Sometimes you forget that you’ve been around each other for so long that you ultimately have the same brain. You could be thinking something, and he’d probably be able to guess what.

“I’m… not sure…” you manage to get out, “if I still want to be the--um--center of the danger...?”

Finnick doesn’t question you, nodding, “But it’s an idea.”

“I guess? How about we put that on the back burner and try again?”

Finnick gives you a funny smile, “I’m not sure if any of my other ideas will be as perfect as that one so bare with me.”

“Sure.”

And he’s right, once the two of you try brainstorming again, you’re not really coming out with any ideas that you like. You’d really like to go for the first one, but you’re not sure how Finnick would even lead her in that direction. You have no doubt that Thyme wouldn’t have any qualms about murdering you to get ahead. To her, that would be the perfect solution to keep you away from Finnick forever.

The real problem would be to frame her for thinking it up on her own without getting Finnick mixed in there somewhere. Also, there would need to be witnesses--other than you and Finnick--because it’s already known that you three aren’t exactly the best trio when you’re around each other. You could end up getting in trouble, Thyme could figure out that you’re working with Finnick, and it could end right there.

Finnick suggests accusing her of being Divergent, giving it a little spin. You shoot him down, explaining that your results had to be entered manually. Not to mention, she could always spin it back on you, and then the two of you could be taken away together. 

He’s not very quiet when he calls you a buzzkill.

You glance at your watch.

“Is time up?” Finnick asks.

“Is it that obvious?” you joke, beginning to get up, “We can always brainstorm tomorrow, it’s not like we don’t have a week until initiation ends.”

You stretch your arms above your head. Finnick gets to his feet too, sliding his hands into his pockets, “Before I go, I actually had something I wanted to tell you.”

“Yeah, sure,” you smile, leaning against the wall.

“I know we just started being okay again...” Finnick trails off suddenly, eyes fixated on something in the dark. You open your mouth, going to ask what he’s looking at, but he takes a hand out of his pocket, palm-down as if to tell you not to speak.

“Who are you talking to?”

You can feel your blood run cold.

Finnick moves forward, “I was practicing.”

You knew that going past thirty minutes would be a mistake, but you didn’t think that Thyme would come looking. Did she follow you guys? No, she would have come out a lot sooner. Then again, she waited until you found her to say anything about you being Divergent.

And there’s only two people that know this spot is yours. Which means that Thyme might have gone asking about Finnick, she came up with some excuse, and ended up here.

You close your eyes, tilting your head up to the ceiling, holding your breath.

“No, there was another voice, I heard it. Who are you talking to?” Thyme demands, her shoes are loud against the floor.

You look over to Finnick, who’s trying to walk towards her to make her backtrack. 

“It’s (Y/n), isn’t it?” she asks, her voice is getting closer.

“Thyme, no one is there,” Finnick says.

“Then prove it, move out of the way,” she presses her hands to his chest.

You scoot to the left, moving away as you exaggerate a nod. 

You two can trap her here, and figure out where to go from there. The more you think about murder, the more your heart skips. You can’t just kill her, someone will figure out that it’s you two that did it. Thyme goes looking for you two, who are known for hanging out together now, and she doesn’t come back?

You have to convince her not to say anything about you being Divergent. 

Finnick moves aside, allowing her to look for herself. His eyes lock with yours, lips pressed together into a tight line, shaking his head. He doesn’t know what you’re going to do, but he’s sure that it isn’t going to work. You wish he’d have a little more faith.

Thyme comes around the corner, arms crossed over her chest, mouth twisted into an angry mess. You reach out, grabbing her arm and throwing her towards the railing, trading spots with her. She catches herself on the railing with her hands. You used too much momentum, she could’ve fallen.

Finnick moves around you, standing on your right side. Thyme slowly turns around, eyes landing on you first, “You’re so fucking stupid.”

You stare at her, not saying anything. She goes to walk around Finnick, but he moves when she does. He’s not going to let her through, and she doesn’t understand this at first. Only when he mirrors her movements again, does she shoot a glare at him.

“Finnick, you don’t understand what she is,” Thyme’s voice changes significantly, from anger to softness, “I don’t know what she told you, but it wasn’t the truth.”

“So it’s not true that you’re blackmailing her?” Finnick asks plainly.

Thyme gapes for a moment, clearly not expecting him to outright say it.

“You’re not a very good actress,” you say, “you should work on being less transparent.”

Her eyes flicker to you, and she’s back to being pissed, “I told you what would happen if you came near him.”

“And I warned you about what would happen if you did this to me, Thyme.”

She doesn’t get it, you can tell by the way her face scrunches up. The more the gears turn, the more her face relaxes and she pales instead. You’re glad you’ll be able to see the terror in her eyes, the same terror you felt when you realized that she had heard about your secret.

“You won’t be able to kill me.” Her voice isn’t as smooth as it was before.

“What makes you think that?” you ask, tilting your head a bit, “You think that just because Finnick’s here, he’ll save you? If that were the case, he would’ve let you go by now, don’t you think?”

No comeback.

“What’s the plan?” Finnick asks, glancing at you.

“Don’t let her think for you, Finnick,” Thyme blurts, “You told me yourself that you hate  it when she’s in your head like this!” she reaches out for him, he takes a step back, “And now that it’s happening again, you’re just going to let it go?”

“I never said that.” Finnick suddenly snaps, “I said I hated it when she’s in her head, like she can’t tell me anything.”

You ignore the wrenching feeling in your heart. You need to focus.

“Did she tell you that she has Erudite tendencies?” Thyme asks, not a hint of regard in her tone.

You straighten up, because it’s decided. She just sealed her fate by asking him that question. Had she shown a little restraint, a little bit of sympathy, then she would’ve been fine. But just saying it out in the open like that, trying to use it as leverage again…

You reach out, grabbing her wrist harshly, “Throw her over.”

Thyme’s face changes, façade dropping again. She raises her other hand up, fist formed and aimed at your face. Finnick catches her wrist, holding it above her head. She starts yanking her arms down, “No--no, let me go!”

“Give me her other wrist, you can take her feet.” Finnick says, “I can hold her up higher than you can.”

“Stop!” the scream is shrill, “No!”

Finnick holds both of her hands above her head. If he wanted to, you’re sure, he could pick her off of the ground like this. His arms aren’t even fully extended yet, that’ll come in when you have to pick her up to get her over.

“Finnick, please!” she tilts her head back, “Please don’t do this, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Finnick glares.

You sweep up her feet, holding her ankles together under your arm for when she starts kicking.

“(Y/n), don’t!” Thyme inhales, a sob follows after, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t say anything, please don’t do this.”

You let go of her feet when they’re over the railing, letting her scramble to find footing. Finnick doesn’t let go of her arms yet.

“I warned you,” you say again, staying on her right side. You place both hands on the railing, leaning forward so that she can see your face, “I warned you that you’d end up here if you went through with this. You’ll be lucky if they find your body this far down the river.”

“They’ll catch you,” she sobs, her eyes bloodshot, hair blowing up because of the wind from the river, “you won’t get away with this.”

You give her a smile, “No one in this faction will miss you.” you lean in a little, “They might even thank me.”

“Or think you committed suicide because there’s no way you’re surviving initiation.” Finnick says.

“Hey, being dead is better than being factionless, right?”

Thyme sucks in a deep breath through her mouth, “Help!”

You snort, “Thyme, we are so far down this hallway that you’d be lucky if someone heard you.” you look at Finnick, giving him a nod, “Any last words?”

“Finnick, I thought I was your friend!” she screams, leaning backwards, away from the river.

“I was wrong.” he says plainly, letting go of her wrists.

Thyme teeters for a moment, looking like she’s going to catch her balance. All it takes is one pat on the back to send her flying forward, “Good luck!” you shout.

Her screams are loud, and are cut off suddenly when she hits the water. You don’t move from where you stand next to the railing, Finnick comes up beside you, wrapping an arm around your back, hand squeezing your upper arm as he pulls you into his side. 

All you can think about is what your father would think, after being murdered by a factionless. How his daughter, who had suffered from this loss, went through with a half-baked plan like it was her only option. How selfish it was to save yourself.

You need a distraction.

You suck in a shaky breath, closing your eyes when your head dips, “What were you going to tell me before she came?”

Finnick’s quiet for a moment, “That I’m Divergent too.”

--

It’s late into the night when they discover Thyme’s body, and you’re already wide awake when Trink shakes you to let you know. You have to pretend to be groggy when she helps you down from the top bunk, already tugging on your arm to get you to move faster.

You couldn’t sleep, not after what you’ve done.

There are only a few people awake, you notice. Blaire is hovering over Finnick’s bed, a hand on his shoulder as he speaks quietly. When Blaire notices you staring, he nods at you. Finnick is rubbing his eyes, but his movements are far too soft for a person who just woke up. He wasn’t sleeping either.

Trink doesn’t stop to wait for them, bringing you right through the door and down a series of hallways, taking you deeper into the Dauntless headquarters than you’ve ever dared to go. There must be another place where the river shows up besides your corner, otherwise you don’t think they would have found her.

“How’d you know?” you ask her, trying to sound like you’ve just woken up.

She seems to believe it, “Lennox was trying to be cute by showing me where the river leads because I mentioned that I like it. And we followed it all the way back here, and I don’t know how he saw her body through the dark because I couldn’t see at all. But he saw, and told me to stay put while he got help.”

She looks at you, “When Lennox got back, he told me that one initiate dies every year because of their ranks.” she’s shaking her head, “But I don’t understand why she wouldn’t just choose to be factionless?”

You shrug, feigning a frown. The plan is working exactly like you hoped it would, not a single finger has been pointed toward you. Then again, it might be too early to speak, her body was just found. 

Thumping footsteps makes you and Trink turn back to see who it is. Trink gives room between you two to allow Blaire and Finnick in. Finnick comes right up your left side, his tattooed shoulder to yours. His hand finds yours, squeezing tightly.

You didn’t believe him when he told you he was Divergent. You were convinced that he was just telling you that to level out with you, to make you feel better and that you weren’t alone after all. But the more he kept talking, the details he was giving, the more you realized that he was telling the truth.

On the aptitude test day, Finnick had been stuck in the room with the Candor man. And that detail alone was enough to begin to settle the doubt because the Candor aren’t supposed to lie. An adult man in Candor shouldn’t have the urge to hide a Divergent teenager, especially if they’re supposed to be a danger to everyone else. Candor is supposed to be the law.

Finnick kept going, telling you that he took his aptitude test like normal. It was only after the test did he realize that something was wrong because of the look on the Candor man’s face. Finnick figured that the man was new, he looked confused and didn’t move from the aptitude test for a long time.

When Finnick asked what was wrong, he was told that the test accidentally gave him two results. One of them being Dauntless, the other being Abnegation. The Candor man went ahead and manually entered Dauntless, though, because the Abnegation part of him was ‘so insignificantly small’ that it couldn’t even count towards Divergence. But when Finnick caught a glimpse of the screen…

You were still confused on how Finnick didn’t know the terminology for it, then, if that’s the case. He said that the Candor man never explicitly used the word ‘Divergent’ or ‘inconclusive’, he just said that the results came out as an accident, it happened all the time, and there was nothing to worry about. That was the reason why manually entering results was possible in the first place.

And since you’re not supposed to discuss faction results, Finnick never had the reason to tell you his result or the aptitude problem in the first place. Honestly, he’s lucky he made it this far without casually telling anyone. Plus, you can’t imagine what he felt like while you were explaining your own Divergence to him, the realization of just how dangerous it is.

It explains a lot, though. Why Finnick’s time is so low when he faces his fears, but it makes you wonder why it isn’t as low as yours? Is it because he’s only Divergent in two ways instead of three? And a part of you thinks that Laurel should’ve asked him if he was Divergent, or figured that out on her own. Unless, of course, he’s still within the reasonable time range, which blocks him from being so suspicious.

So many questions, and no one to answer them

“When’s the last time you’ve seen Thyme?” Trink asks, looking over at Finnick.

“Just before I left lunch yesterday.”

Trink looks at you, her eyes lowering into a squint, “Which was a few minutes after (Y/n), right?”

You nod. She better tread carefully, because if she starts pointing fingers at you two…

“Oh my god!” She lights up, “Does that mean you two are…?”

She’s making a scissor motion with her fingers, chopping them together with a slight head tilt. You think she’s trying to ask if you two are together without realizing how odd her symbol for it is. 

“Dating?” you guess, Finnick’s grip tightens considerably, “No--”

“They’re holding hands,” Blaire grins, giving Finnick a wink.

Trink raises an eyebrow, “I bet you two are taking it slow, huh? Since you’re both Stiff’s.”

“We were Stiffs.” Finnick corrects her.

“Same difference,” she waves it off, “I’m just surprised you two can hold hands without being a mess.”

If she were standing next to you, you would’ve punched her.

“Anyway, did Thyme ever come find you?” Blaire asks.

You turn to your right to look at him again, “What?”

“Yeah, she asked us if we knew where you were, and Sydney told her that you were probably by some empty corner of the chasm. When Sydney asked why, Thyme said she wanted to apologize or something.”

You called it, you said that she probably went looking for one of you. And she did. If she had waited to eavesdrop, though, she would’ve heard you and Finnick speaking. She could’ve wreaked so much havoc, but she wasn’t patient enough for that. You’re thankful.

Your grip on Finnick’s hand is like iron.

“We never saw her,” Finnick says casually, looking at Trink, shaking his head, “(Y/n) and I were in the party room messing with the microphone for an hour before we decided to head back to the dorm.”

“Oh, it’s still in there?” Blaire asks, he sounds a little excited.

“Yeah! At least when we were in there,” you say.

“Huh,” Trink’s eyebrows are drawn in, “Do you think she was looking for you to make amends or something, and when she realized that you didn’t want to see her, she killed herself in that corner?”

“Didn’t Lennox think it was for ranks?” Finnick’s trying to steer her back to her original point.

“It could be both,” Trink shrugs, “I was just saying. It’s over here.”

She takes the lead, bringing you three around another corner before you all come to a stop. Lennox has his back to you guys, his arms crossed, but he’ll lift one every now and then when he speaks, like he’s trying to explain the situation. Off to the side, there’s a large puddle of water beneath a motionless body.

Thyme is soaked from head to toe, lying on her back. Her head is faced away, toward the ledge that has no railing. Wet hair, flattened against the ground and the sides of her face. Her clothes are like a second skin with the way they stick to her body.

A woman is holding a blue lantern up, staring down at Thyme. If it weren’t for the light, this whole area would be pitch black. And with the light, you’re able to see the ear piercing that you insisted on her getting when you and Finnick got nose piercings.

Finnick draws in a breath, and doesn’t release. Blaire stays on your other side, staring. Trink is the only one who moves forward, coming up behind Lennox to tell him that she’s brought you two. Her hand is gentle on his back, and he offers you three a half-glance, a nod, and then turns back to the man he’s talking to. Trink doesn’t leave his side.

“I’m… so sorry, Finnick,” Blaire says slowly, not being able to tear his eyes from the puddle of water.

“Don’t be, she wasn’t really my friend, anyway.” he gives your hand a squeeze.

Was she anyone's?

You try to bring out some sense of remorse, thinking that you should at least pretend to be upset, but what’s the use? Everyone in the transfer initiate group knows how much you hated each other, it would be weird for you to cry over her. In fact, it’s even weirder that Finnick isn’t crying over her.

Besides, you can’t fake an emotion that’s the complete opposite of what you’re feeling. In order to be a good actress, you have to feel what your audience would feel at that moment, and you just can’t do it. There’s something else that’s brewing, something more sickening and vile and would most definitely get you in trouble.

It’s pure gleeful laughter, the relief and satisfaction of knowing that you will never have to deal with her again. Much less worry that she could snap at any moment and get you killed. No more pressing your ears to closed doors, no more walking on eggshells...

At the rate the balloon is swelling in your chest, you’re not sure if you’ll be able to hold it in.

--

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae / @liaaacantwrite / @terezasworld / @i-dumb-bitch /

[all0nsyidjits]

Guess I'm going to out myself here just a bit. I'm a Lokean. In fact I'm a Godspouse have been since July of 2011. I came to realize who the imaginary friend I had as a kid who never really went away was via pop culture. Before you roll your eyes and dismiss me as a Marvel Loki fangirl let me explain. I didn't fall in love with Tom Hiddleston or his version of Loki. In fact a whole other fandom brought me to Loki. See I'm a fan of the show Supernatural and a favorite character was Gabriel who starts off as the Trickster then it is revealed that he is really the archangel Gabriel who skipped out of heaven and hid his true identity by pretending to be a trickster god, Loki to be exact. I wanted to write a fanfiction about Gabriel's time posing as Loki but I knew shit all about Norse mythology aside from the names of some of the Gods and Godessess. So I started researching and reading the lore and by accident stumbled across a few Lokean blogs. Shortly after Loki showed up and I proceeded to start to question my sanity. I'd gotten into Wicca in my early teens so I had some concept of Pagan deities and all things woo. Still having a god show up and just want to hang out and talk freaked me right the heck out. When he started flirting I was sure I'd completely lost my shit. Slowly he calmed me down and earned my trust. I found others who had been His for a long time and they helped me navigate this new relationship.

Then the Thor movies came out and suddenly everytime I went online there was a new Lokean Godspouse. Loki is not one to waste free PR I guess. I stayed active in the community for awhile but then the cattiness of some in the community made me decide to go solitary. Years passed I rarely missed the community. Loki and I just did our own thing. Sometimes Loki would be gone for some pretty long stretches. Still he was here and things were good.

Then 2020 happened. Look in all honesty I can be a bit of an introvert. I tend to withdraw from people if I sense to much conflict or tension. It's not so much my true nature but more a trauma response to withdraw. My childhood was well complicated. But I'm getting off track here what I mean to say is 2020 was a really shitty year for me and my family. In June I cought Covid 19 I never got all that sick, but the body aches and fatigue never quite went away. Then at the end of July my husband who is diabetic and has neuropathy stepped on a tac and ended up with MRSA. He nearly lost his foot and could have died. He was hospitalized for a month and out of work for three. I worked myself to a frazzle. At one point I had three jobs and was on the clock for 23 hours and 45 minutes one day. I was headed for a breakdown. My husband physically seemed to be on the mend, but his personality was no longer the kind, easygoing affectionate, man I had known for nearly twenty years. Then came the suicide attempt. Like I said it's been a rough since about this time last year.

When my husband made the suicide attempt Loki showed back up worried about both of us. Loki and my mortal husband know about each other. They like each other so please nobody suggest that Loki is trying to get rid of my mortal husband. When we married the priestess who married us was well aware that Loki was part of the ceremony and that I was marrying the both of them. We've been happily married and Loki always felt like I would be okay during his absences because I had someone else that he trusted there with me.

At first Loki tried to be my distraction from all the stress, he's really good at that. Then Loki started to worry I worried about mortal hubby and Loki worried about me. Many pleas to slow down before I had a breakdown too and Loki finally put his foot down I had to learn to say no and I had to take care of me if I was going to take care of anybody else. Finally the tears and the exhaustion came after my husband told a lie that made me look like a very bad person. My mother-in-law went off on me I had been up for three days with only about four hours sleep and those weren't even consecutive hours and I was reduced to a sobbing mess. Like so many times before Loki was there to catch me He let me cry, He let me rage, when the worst had passed I looked at Him.

"So I guess being the God of change you're going to tell me to throw away twenty years of my life and file for divorce." I asked.

"Oh you think you know me so well Little One." Even at a such a solemn moment Loki can't resist using an old nickname from back in my childhood when he was the imaginary friend who took me on wild adventures far away from whatever was going on at home at the time. It had went from term of affection for a child he had chosen to protect to a teasing dig at my 5'3 height compared to well all of Them.

"Well aren't you?" I asked.

"Little one besides being the God of Change what else am I?" I start to rattle off titles and associations.

No let me rephrase that Little One who am I married to who are my Wives his voice somehow conveying the capital W that lets me know it is Sigyn and Angrboda he speaks of.

"Sigyn and Angrboda" I say.

And what Little one is my precious Sigyn the Goddess of?

Fidelity I answer and then it hits me She had stuck by Him through far worse.

So I'm here I'm staying but there are days when I just wish I had someone to talk to. Someone human.

This year has been hard the isolation brought on by Covid 19 precautions is wearing on everyone in one way or another I think. Add to that the fact that I live in a very rural, very Conservative Christian area where I have to hide my witchy ways. Knowing full well just how many people in my life would utterly abandon me if they knew about Loki and my true beliefs. I can't talk about Him to well anyone besides my oldest and there are things about being a godspouse you wouldn't want to discuss with your kid. I used to have my husband but now talking to him about the most mundane things is a cross between walking on eggshells and navigating a mine field. I got lonely, really lonely.

Against my better judgement I decided to dip my toe back into the Lokean Community after walking away from all the groups, blogs, message boards ect in about 2013. So about 7 years as a solitary Lokean witch and I was ready to test the waters again.

I found a Lokean on social media (I don't want to draw any negative attention to this person because they are doing a fantastic job with what they are doing) so much of what they were saying resonated with me and I wanted to talk. Hey maybe I could make a friend. I commented maybe a bit too much. I meant no harm I was just excited to talk to someone after so long keeping it all to myself. Well that went spectacularly wrong and I ended up with someone who I'm pretty sure thinks of me as a rival or an enemy now. Loki being Loki was quick to remind me that my ramblings don't offend everyone. I had commented on a completely unrelated post about Him a few days earlier and within hours of the well I fucked up incident I'm reading a post by someone thanking me for talking about how I experience Loki because it resonated with them an affirmed a few things.

Then Loki was like I want you to start talking about me. I want you to rejoin the community. I was like oh hell to the no. Well you can see who won that argument. So here I am hoping I don't come to regret this.

[pellucidity-is-me]

On Comparing Two Werewolves

Summary: Another scene from my fanfic (link in blog description) that can work as a one-shot. Dumbledore returns to his office the night before Halloween, argues with a few portraits about Remus Lupin’s place in Hogwarts, and decides to take a closer look on his own past with Fenrir Greyback.

Wordcount: 4396

Dumbledore returned to his office, humming Benny Goodman's Sing, Sing, Sing. He looked around and smiled at all the decorations on his walls. The group of Gryffindor boys calling themselves the “Marauders” had snuck into his office and decorated it as a little Halloween practical joke. It was very advanced magic (highly impressive for first-years), and it would have fooled anyone else. But not Dumbledore—and he was going to let the prank play out. It was harmless, after all.

Dumbledore removed the portrait-coverings from the walls. The portraits found it terribly annoying to be covered up like that, and Dumbledore did like having their input... most of the time. However, many of them held very hostile beliefs towards werewolves, and Dumbledore didn't want Remus to hear any of it. Remus had, of course, probably heard it all already. But the boy was eleven years old, and Dumbledore wanted to let him be a child as long as he could.

Even if it meant having his office expertly decorated for Halloween.

Especially if it meant having his office expertly decorated for Halloween.

"They've decorated your office," Eupraxia Mole said sternly from her portrait-frame. "A couple of boys. I think there were three. One of them was the werewolf." Dumbledore noticed the contempt with which she said the word and raised an eyebrow.

"I am aware, Eupraxia. And I do not see it fit to discriminate against Remus when you are quite literally a portrait. You're not even a living being, and I do not need to argue with you."

"The audacity!"

"I'd say you weren't fit to run this school if you weren't the best Headmaster we've ever had," said Everard, twirling his moustache. "I trust your judgement, even though I do not trust the boy."

"Thank you, Everard."

"I was a Healer before I was Headmistress, you know," said Dilys. "I've healed a few, and they are not completely ill-mannered, to my knowledge. Most of them seem to be normal at first. It is society, I believe, that drives them to be the monsters that we believe them to be. Watch him carefully, Albus. It is still possible that he will go down that path."

"Very insightful, Dilys."

"Half-breed, that's all he is," said Dexter Fortescue. "They all end up the same! Why you would put the school in danger by allowing him in, I have no idea! You ought to just put a stop to this nonsense and put him out!"

"You've heard our conversations, Dexter. He is no more dangerous than you or I."

"Whiny, snivelling little brat if you ask me," said Phineas Nigellus Black. "Doesn't seem to pose much of a threat. It's Sirius Black I'm worried about. I would recognize his voice anywhere, and this hijink will be reported directly to his mother. If he were anyone else then it would be acceptable. But he has a responsibility, as heir, to act his age. I've heard Walburga rant about him—he's a Gryffindor."

"No harm done, Phineas. I find him to be a bright and entertaining boy, myself."

"Of course you would," said Phineas snidely. "You let a literal monster into Hogwarts. That never would have been done in my day. It wouldn't have been done in anyone's day. There's a reason it's never been done before."

"Remus is an eleven-year-old boy. There is no reason to be afraid of an eleven-year-old boy."

"How do you know he's not a senseless monster? You have no proof," Euphraxia argued.

"Monsters are not pleasant, clever, kind, and mild-mannered," said Dumbledore evenly. He was getting a bit frustrated now. It should be such a small thing, letting a werewolf into Hogwarts. The portraits only disliked the idea of it because it had never been done before. It was difficult to talk with paintings that were stuck in the past, could not grow, and could not mature. Dumbledore again wondered why he was doing it.

"He's faking it." Euphraxia blew out a puff of air and let her portrait-y lips flap a little. "I can't believe you can't tell. He's not a normal eleven-year-old; he is a monster assuming the shape of an eleven-year-old, pretending to act as any other child would. It's obvious, Albus, that he's lying. You saw. He nearly lost control that one time. Had to stop, breathe, and take up his façade again. Remember?"

"He was stressed. I would have stopped to take a breather, myself. And, forgive me for saying so, but I excel at reading people. He is not pretending to be a person." Really. The notion was ridiculous. Remus was good at a great many things, but pretending to be a person for six and a half years was not something that he could do. It wasn't something that anyone could do.

"Don't get defensive, Albus," said Dilys. "We are only trying to protect the school. That is our duty, after all. I am inclined to agree with you, but I would be cautious if I were you."

"Thank you, Dilys. I accidentally allowed myself to forget that you are only portraits, and that I cannot easily change the mind of a painted inanimate object."

"I had no idea that you were so irresponsible," said Phineas, "letting my descendant go bad like that."

"What was I meant to do?"

"Re-sort him. Put him in Slytherin. That House will lead him right."

"The Sorting Hat does not agree."

"You mean the inanimate talking hat?"

"I see you've heard of it."

"This school is going to go up in flames!" Dexter continued. "A werewolf running rampant in a school full of children! I may be a portrait, but I've heard of the deeds of Fenrir Greyback! Mark my words, that boy will go bad!"

Armando Dippet cut in for the first time. "I remember Fenrir. I taught him, though he didn't go by the surname 'Greyback' at the time. You taught him, too, Albus. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Like the Lupin boy."

"Not all quiet teenagers are the same person, Armando."

"I know, I know. But I see my colleagues' point. I never would have imagined Fenrir to grow up the way he did. Something snapped, Albus. Something changed. He wasn't the same after being bitten."

"He became bitter because of a tragic event. I can't see Remus taking that route."

"And I couldn't see Fenrir doing it, either. I advocate for equality, of course. But I don't think you should have let Lupin into the school."

"And you," said Dumbledore, picking up his quill, "are only a portrait. I do not wish to discuss this any further. I make the decisions. You have all made your opinions clear, but my say is final. Sirius Black is a Gryffindor, and Remus Lupin is a Hogwarts student. And remember: you all are sworn to secrecy about his condition."

"Condition!" scoffed Dexter. "What a euphemism! It's not a condition, nor is it a sickness... it's a way of life! It's a species!"

Dumbledore closed Dexter's portrait with a snap. "I would like some peace and quiet. Do not make me permanently remove your portraits from my office."

The portraits were quiet (most of them even left their frames, perhaps to sulk somewhere else), and Dumbledore finished composing a letter to the Minister. But something niggled in the back of his head. He remembered Fenrir, of course. He had gone to Hogwarts. He had been human at the time. But what had he been like? He had seemed like a normal student. Dumbledore had never paid much attention to him.

Dumbledore rifled through his bottles of memories and found what he was looking for. He poured it into the Pensieve and entered the memory of one of his classes. Fenrir Greyback was sitting at a desk, his head bowed over a book and his fingers tapping on the desk impatiently. Dumbledore bent next to him and tried to remember.

It was almost unnatural to watch this boy—whose face was now constantly in the Daily Prophet—who was now one of the most feared people on earth. He looked so young and innocent: he was hardly the same person. It was no wonder that no one ever recognized him after he went bad. Dumbledore himself hadn't believed it; when the name Fenrir Greyback had become popular amongst fearful wizardkind, Dumbledore had thought that it was simply someone with the same first name. After all, he'd taught multiple Fenrirs. He'd even entertained the notion that the name was completely fake, or that he hadn't taught Greyback at all... he'd never once made the connection until he had seen that 1965 photograph of the man, and it was hard to believe even then.

Dumbledore studied the young Greyback's face, but could find no trace of Remus Lupin in his eyes. He simply looked bored, and Dumbledore could hardly fault anyone for being so in the middle of Transfiguration class.

Fenrir was quiet. Hardly ever spoke at all, in fact. He didn't spend any time around peers in his own House—he spent more time with the Gryffindors, in fact, than anyone else. Fenrir's chosen company reminded Dumbledore of James and Sirius, in fact. But he was always an add-on; someone who never had nor was ever considered a "best friend". He was just... there. Quiet. He reminded Dumbledore more of Peter Pettigrew than Remus Lupin, if Dumbledore was being honest with himself.

Dumbledore could hardly see the current Fenrir Greyback in the boy's appearance: the man who had grown out his nails and hair, who had embraced his condition and used it to become more wolf-like and intimidating. This eleven-year-old boy looked... sweet. Happy. Had he changed? The boy stood up and walked over to young-Dumbledore after class ended. Dumbledore only had to search the depths of his brilliant memory for a moment before he remembered this conversation.

"Professor Dumbledore," said the young Fenrir Greyback, his eyes bright. "I forgot to do my homework again."

"And what were you doing instead, Fenrir?" It was always so unnatural, hearing his own voice in a memory.

"I was... er."

"Yes?"

"I dunno, sir. Sleeping. Reading. Outside. I just didn't feel like doing it."

"First year is an excellent time to start applying yourself, Fenrir. Habits are formed when you are still young. Do you realize that you have not turned in a single homework assignment since school began?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why are you here?"

"Sorry, sir?"

"Why are you at Hogwarts, if you are intent on shirking your responsibilities?"

"It's not like I'm not learning the spells. I can perform them. I just don't want to do the written homework." Now, that sentiment reminded Dumbledore of those of James Potter and Sirius Black. But still not Remus.

"Which will help the spells to stay in your long-term memory," Memory-Dumbledore said. “We teachers rather know what we are doing."

The memory faded and reformed, and Fenrir was now in third year. Dumbledore looked on as Fenrir spoke to Armando Dippet, who looked thoroughly frustrated with the child.

"Fenrir," said Dippet, not unkindly, "You are still refusing to apply yourself. What do you plan on doing after Hogwarts?"

"Don't know, sir," Fenrir said dismissively, "and I don't care. I'm meant to be doing something more than sitting still and doing homework."

Dumbledore was almost amused despite himself. Well, that ended up happening, didn't it?

The memory shifted again, and Fenrir was laughing with his friends... running and chasing them around the Hogwarts grounds... playing catch and Exploding Snap.

All monsters had started out as boys and girls, hadn't they?

Dumbledore remembered a little more of Fenrir now. He hadn't been able to sit still for the life of him. He used to tap the desk with his fingers so loudly that the children sitting next to him would be driven to madness. He held grudges. He had gotten good enough grades, but only ever ended up doing enough homework to squeak by when exams rolled around. He had been innately interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts and was a decent duellist.

Dumbledore could see some traits in Fenrir that might have contributed to his current state. He was resourceful and cunning, yet didn't often think before he acted and was wont to give into current desires rather than make future investments. He seemed to value a "pack" setting—he was fiercely loyal to those he cared about and didn't seem to care whether anybody else lived or died. He didn't seem to show much empathy, save to a few of his closest friends, but he didn't exhibit a lack of empathy either. He was just... there. A student.

Could Dumbledore imagine him going bad? Sure. But people went bad all the time. Anyone had the potential to go bad; it was only a matter of choice.

This boy had been bitten by a monster shortly after leaving Hogwarts (according to Dumbledore's recent calculations), was shunned by the wizarding community, went through unimaginable pain every month, and had eventually decided to look after his own desires rather than the needs of others. Dumbledore could see him doing that. He could see many people going down that route.

But while Fenrir had been self-centered because of his condition, Remus remained others-centered.

No, that wasn't quite right in all respects. It was right in hardly any respects, actually. Fenrir had focused on others as the object of his hate. Remus had focused on himself. Remus never got angry with others for his suffering—not for long. He seemed to quite loathe himself on occasion, but almost never others. Remus was always focusing on himself, it seemed: he pitied himself, blamed himself, and overall thought about his own troubles quite a lot. It wasn't always a strength, but it was undeniably Remus.

Fenrir, alternatively, considered himself better than others—with or without the lycanthropy. Remus considered others to be better then himself because of the lycanthropy. Funny how that worked out.

They were different people, Dumbledore deduced. Greyback was a monster. Remus was not.

He had already known that, of course. And he was thankful for it.

But looking into Fenrir's young eyes, so full of life and energy, he couldn't help thinking of Remus'—the dead opposite. Remus always had a tired look to him, looked so much older than he really was, was much too mature, and had grown up before his time. Why did Greyback get a childhood and Remus did not?

So was the mystery of the universe.

Dumbledore resolved, then and there, that he would never let Remus Lupin go bad. He had allowed Grindelwald to do so in his childhood. He had already made the mistake of letting someone's faults take over until that person was no longer who they once were. He would not let the same thing come to Remus. He was going to invade the inner workings of the universe and fix things—that was his responsibility as someone who was both powerful and intelligent. Dumbledore knew how to fix things, and he was going to do it. He simply couldn't sit idly by and watch Remus' world burn.

But Remus didn't really need his help, did he?

He returned to his office, where all the portraits were sleeping—with the exception of Armando.

"Greyback, hm?" Armando asked. "Have you considered?"

"I have. My mind has not changed."

Armando chuckled. "Albus Dumbledore, changing his mind. That will happen the day that a Welsh Green becomes Minister for Magic."

"On this matter?" Dumbledore said. "Not even then."

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

There was one more memory that Dumbledore wanted to view, but he waited until all of the portraits were sleeping. He fished the vial out of the cabinet and poured it into the Pensieve, slightly dreading it. But it was perfect for Halloween, wasn't it?

And then there he was. That night that he had been out on the streets, walking on the cobblestones and singing to himself, enjoying the cool air and the streetlamps. His hair had been a little darker then, and his eyes a little brighter. It was only about five years ago, but it felt like an eternity.

Fenrir had been a werewolf now for... let's see, if he was eleven in 1948, and bitten at age eighteen, and now it was 1966, and he was about twenty-nine now... eleven years. Less than twice the amount of time that Remus had been a werewolf: present-day Remus had been a werewolf for six and a half. But Dumbledore didn't want to compare the two more than what was necessary, though he knew that it was inevitable.

Dumbledore saw his memory-self pause and look around. When Dumbledore heard a strange sound and he couldn't tell where it was coming from, he had a ritual of sorts. First, he would look up, because that's what the average person would least expect. Then he would look down. Then he would look to his left, because he was right-handed. Then he would look to his right. He watched his memory-self do all of this, and when he was doing the final step—spinning in a circle—he noticed the source of the sound.

It was Fenrir, of course, shrouded in a black cloak that was so ripped it barely covered him. Memory-Dumbledore did not recognize him at first. "Hello?" he said, drawing nearer. It wasn't until the thing looked up and met Memory-Dumbledore's eyes that he realized. Memory-Dumbledore recognized Fenrir's image from the papers, so he drew his wand and trained it on the creature, ready to attack if need be. "Fenrir. Fancy meeting you here."

Fenrir smiled, and both Dumbledores noticed his teeth—sharp, pointed, and stained with red... Very Halloween-y, thought Dumbledore, and also mildly disturbing.

"What are you doing out here, Fenrir? Do you need assistance in getting somewhere? Azkaban, perhaps?" Memory-Dumbledore pretended that he was not repulsed. Memory-Dumbledore imagined that it was only tomato juice or something on his teeth. Even Memory-Dumbledore, though, knew that this wasn't the case.

"Dumbledore. Long time no see." Fenrir wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were not those of the eleven-year-old boy at all. They were more dangerous. They were bloodshot. They were narrowed. Wolf-like was the first word that came to mind. Dumbledore's eyes drew to Fenrir's hand, which sported long, curled nails. He realized with a jolt that Fenrir had bitten Remus Lupin only about a year prior.

"You look a little worse-for-wear, Fenrir," said Memory-Dumbledore. "I deeply sympathize." Memory-Dumbledore did not yet know the extent of Fenrir's exploits. He remembered still the young Fenrir, full of life and a deep desire to do the right thing... Memory-Dumbledore had stupidly believed that he could somehow turn Fenrir to his own side, even though he'd been Voldemort's weapon for years now.

"You can't sympathize," said Fenrir. His voice was deep, gravelly, and scratchy, almost like a sinister record-player. He pronounced his R's in the back of his throat and ended his sentences a bit abruptly. How had his voice changed so much in a few short years? Remus' voice sounded nothing like that, so it had nothing to do with the lycanthropy. But Clark Darnall pronounced his R's that way—had Clark picked it up from Greyback or had they both gotten it from another place? "You can't sympathize," said Fenrir again. "You have no idea what I've been through."

Memory-Dumbledore, indeed, did not know. But current Dumbledore had an idea.

"I'm sorry, Fenrir. Is there anything I can do?"

"'Course not. It's not a problem anymore. I made the best of it. Made do with what I had. You know how it is."

"Hm. Have you been hurting anyone?" Memory-Dumbledore's hand twitched on his wand, knowing the answer—but he wanted to hear Greyback say it; perhaps, he thought, it would drive the man to conviction....

Fenrir was quick to confirm, and there was no guilt in his voice. "No more than they've hurt me. You've heard the stories, haven't you? You know what I've done."

Memory-Dumbledore looked at him intensely. "Fenrir," he said, "I am a very powerful wizard, you know, and I will not stand for that." Fenrir eyed Dumbledore's wand warily, but Dumbledore was not budging. "There is a way out, you know... we can keep you safe on the full moons. You are infamous for attacking children, my friend—but it's not too late to step away from all that... you'll have to pay for your crimes, of course, but we can keep you hidden from the higher-ups at the Ministry, who no doubt want to execute you. You're not trapped in this lifestyle."

Memory-Dumbledore had suspected that some of the rumors about Fenrir were unfounded, but he'd been wrong. He'd felt sympathy for the boy who had attended Hogwarts not too long ago, but he'd been wrong. Clark Darnall was in Dumbledore's ranks, and he'd warned Dumbledore of the horrific acts that Fenrir had committed... he'd already spoken to Dumbledore about Remus at this point. But Dumbledore had still thought, somewhere, deep down, that Fenrir could not have changed so much from when he was a boy—that he was only evil because he had not been given a proper choice—and Dumbledore had known that, if he could convince Fenrir, then he'd automatically have all of the werewolves in Britain on his side... countless lives could be saved.

Dumbledore was a brilliant man, yes, but he was sometimes incorrect. This was one of those times.

"Dumbledore. You know me; you taught me. Do you really think that it's so easy to convince me? You underestimate me—I wouldn't leave behind all that I've built, not for the misguided lie that there's a place for me amo-" Crack. Fenrir had, intelligently enough, Apparated away in the middle of his sentence. Nay, the middle of a word. Memory-Dumbledore had not seen it coming, and that was a rare occurrence.

Memory-Dumbledore marveled at the boy's—no, the man's—no, the monster's cleverness, and resolved to keep an eye out and figure out what he was up to before he could hurt more people. It wouldn't be that difficult. Memory-Dumbledore was already, so to speak, following the scent, and he was sure that he would have plenty more chances to apprehend the werewolf. Memory-Dumbledore walked away, less of a spring in his step, but confident and relaxed.

Current Dumbledore made his way over to the place in which his memory-self had once stood and peered down the alleyway where Greyback had been standing. A dead rabbit, still warm-looking and covered in blood, lay on the ground.

Dumbledore's stomach roiled a bit, but at least it wasn't a toddler.

With that comforting thought in mind, Dumbledore removed himself from the memory, sat down on an armchair, and opened a book.

He did not read it, though. His eyes skimmed over the words and his hand idly flipped pages, but his mind was back in the alley, watching the boy-become-monster.

The pieces clicked together in a way that they were wont to do in Dumbledore's keen mind. They were pieces that had come together in the past, yes, but now they did so even more securely.

Ten years after Fenrir was bitten, at age twenty-eight, he had attacked Remus. And he'd been savage for a long time before that. Remus had been a werewolf now for six and a half years: when Fenrir had been a werewolf for six and a half years, he had probably already begun attacking people.

The portraits had been wrong, obviously, and this proved it. But now Dumbledore thought about why.

It wasn't because Remus was a better person than Fenrir (though that was undoubtedly the case). It wasn't because he had somehow escaped whatever disease had made Fenrir go bad. It wasn't because the lycanthropy somehow affected him differently. So why had they turned out differently?

A mixture of personal choice and better circumstances, Dumbledore decided.

Remus was doing so well because he had such good parents—who had taught him right from wrong, who had spent time with him, who had loved him unconditionally. He would be further shaped by his professors and friends. He would learn, he would grow, and he would continue to live in human society—as he had done for his whole life. He'd made a choice early on to be this way, and now his choices were manifesting themselves in his personality. That was what made a person human (in the abstract sense of the word), not a species.

It was likely that Fenrir had not had systems of support like Remus did. That didn't force him to become what he was, of course, but it made it much more difficult. And then Fenrir had made a choice to do this—to give in to things that he knew were wrong—to let the worst parts of him invade his life and personality—thus Fenrir Greyback was born. Would things have gone differently if his parents had loved him unconditionally? Had they? What if Fenrir had still been in school (though Dumbledore knew that Dippet would not have allowed that)?

But one thing was for certain: it had nothing to do with lycanthropy. It was not biological. It, like many other things, was a matter of choice. It was one’s choices, after all, that showed one who they truly were—far more than their abilities.

And that was why Sirius Black, who had grown up a descendant of Phineas Nigellus, was a Gryffindor. That was why James Potter, who loved everything Gryffindor, was a Gryffindor. That was why Peter Pettigrew had chosen friends that did not match him in either ability or personality. It was all personal choice applied to surroundings: it wasn't even werewolf-specific. No one was biologically a monster.

Dumbledore had already known all that, but it was nice to put it into words.

Everyone starts out as children, he mused as he fiddled with a Disillusioned bat decoration hanging off the wall.

And as the memories replayed themselves in Dumbledore's mind well into the night, he meditated once again on the fact that having such a brilliant mind and a tendency to stick his nose in other people's business was both a blessing and a curse.

[bellafingadventure]

Let’s talk about irony. 

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

The sky six hours from now will be illuminated by fireworks, annually, yet people are still surprised this is a thing that happens. Large groups of overworked middle class Americans taking their first and last sip of booze for months. 

Irony.

We as a people, and even those  “above” us, dictate what “worth” means to us.

This comes with how much we work, VS how much we’re paid, sided with a hotcake of WILL. 

What are you willing to do for happiness? What are you willing to sacrifice?

I’m 27 years old and always seem to be in a battle with life. I used to think it was a battle with myself, but that's such a constant I usually don’t even give it the attention we all know it deserves. 

Now I just battle life. Ya know, the ones your folks gave you without consideration of the awful traits they’d pass along with debilitating features they've both buried for years... oh. 

I feel like the two of us signed up for a different post today, although this is usual, I figured that maybe I’d throw something new into the mix. Something a little more for my other blog. 

YES, I have more than one blog. - This account was started when I was in 7th grade if I’m not mistaken, ugh theeverydayblues...I’m 27 now, and although Tumblr has become an alternate form of expression for me throughout the years, it still gets the job done..exactly how I need it to - EVERY-TIME. 

It’s the 4th of July, again -  I’m 27 years old.

What would you expect I was doing? Where would you think I am?

I’m currently at a restaurant, one I’ve avoided for a long time. The last memory-worthy relationship I was in was with my x; CHANG. We dated for almost 8 years, crazy to think that much time went by, but I guess when you’re being gaslighted nothing seems real.

Towards the end of our relationship I ended up finding out that the gym he went to daily, the one I always asked to join, he had met a nice young lady.. - 

One who soon, less than a year later would be posing for the New Year in front of a IKEA photo he and I had bought for our apartment the first year we moved in years ago. 

It’s funny, these days- Saying these things out loud and processing them just as well..

I’m sitting at a restaurant on 4th of July alone, across from a couple who you can tell has loved for many many years.

I’m usually the person to want to know the secret, to ask “What does it take?!” - Hopelessly in love with the idea of being in love..I’ve stumbled through my life not quite understanding it’s the basics you learn from that form your existence. 

They sat as I was waiting for my desert, I’ve been working hard so I bought myself a bottle of wine and a steak to pair. My waiter had been charming and immediately caught my eye with his beautifully groomed Gentleman's stash.  I noticed them because they were sat by the host at a four person table while I sat with what felt like selfishly at a two person booth.  

Immediately they talked about how cold the place felt, how he wish he wore long pants instead of shorts and how she wondered if they’d be hated if they asked to move to a area with less of a draft. 

It’s funny because for a period of my life in this  industry I sat around and talked about how dramatic and selfish people with long left chapters felt about our air or seating. Usually when we’re going through something - we think selfishly. Even If it's just at a restaurant. We worry about ourselves. 

She asked where the powder room was, after a glance at her empty seat. and empty feeling I’m sure he felt looking over at me, he journeyed off as well in hope of either not being alone, using the restroom, or both. 

He came back quickly, anxiously looking around to make sure he didn't miss his love. The longest 15 minutes I’ve ever experienced.

When she returned, he made sure she was comfortable and ready to order. They chatted a little about the price and the indoor ambiance while waiting for the delightfully mustached server we both shared. 

Their meal started off coy, he didn’t take a bite till she did, and she didn't ask for a bite from his food VS her salad. Her eyebrows were painted on with a color that didn’t quite match her hair, her expressions were misleading. 

Although her relaxed face was writing the story of her 4th of July outing, her eyebrows seemed - uneasy. 

I perfectly timed my glasses of wine to the bottle I ordered. I saved 2 1/2 glasses.

2 G - Desert

1/2 G - Waiting for bill. 

After sitting alone, and watching them slowly start to talk and enjoy each others company throughout their meal, I melted. 

I know what I deserve and what I’m capable of, but admiring a love everlasting like that really puts things into perspective.

The battles you choose, the selfishness you provide, if you want it - you’ll have it. 

Nothing comes free, and sometimes sitting alone is the perfect way to remind yourself how you take care of yourself just fine - but not settling for the bare minimum from someone else feels just as good. 

I overheard a intodroduction between the two of them and my server Adam, If I evesdropped just right - their names are Monte & Lana. 

Those are gentle reminders, to be human, and to be selfless..

I’m going to go home now and watch some movies. Hopefully the text I just saw about us being open today are fake. 

FML. CIAO