#haha get boxed idiot <- said while actively crying

[southern--downpour]

gl!ranboo doodle sheet bc i am actually going insane

#generation loss #genloss #generation loss fanart #ranboo #ranboo fanart #haha get boxed idiot <- said while actively crying #virgil arts #this was drawn at like. 4-5 am while i watched my bf play a half life mod #dude this series has actually grabbed hold of my brain its so so good #also i was in fact looping puppet boy while drawing this #songs just good also started making me feel very sad about gl!ranboo and i think that was the point lmao

[manggojooz]

Foolish Love, Fake Love (Part 6)

pairing: idol!Jungkook x bodyguard!reader

word count: ~3,300

genre: idol!au; angst; romance; drama; enemies to lovers sort of thing

warnings: none

previous part: Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 |  Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

summary: If all you can give me is a fake love, then I will be the fool to pretend that it is all true.

Taglist: @a-hopelessly-imaginative-girl @dollwithluv  @sweetcheeksdna  @yeontanie21 @peachygiraffe14  @jeontaes-world 

One. Two. One. Two.  

The thuds on the punching bag resounded around the warehouse. Your knuckles made cracking sounds after the hours of practice. Your shins were swollen from repeatedly hitting the stiff black fixture. The sweat on your forehead continued to drip down onto your lashes.  

“Come and take a break Y/N”, a much younger and more energetic Ssam Chun shouted at you. Your breathing was heavy as you sat down next to Ssam Chun on the cold hard floor.  

“Ya, how many times do I have to tell you... if you keep pushing yourself like this, it won’t do you any good” Ssam Chun handed you a neon-coloured isotonic drink.  

“How’s the new girl?”, you questioned him instead of responding to his nagging. 

“Yuri? That girl... she’s been whining the whole morning about how her hands hurt,” Ssam Chun snorted, “... she reminds me of you when you just started training haha, do you remember that you used to cry because-”

“Excuse me, nobody cried...”, you were rather offended. You were certain it was just a little tearing and not crying.  

SsamChun puts on his best judging face and then gave a little sigh, “But now you don’t make a sound even after hitting that thing for a good one hour straight... sometimes I wonder is this what humans are like?”  

“What do you mean?” you asked in between a huge gulp of the weird-tasting drink.  

Ssam Chun grabbed your hand and pushed the bandages on your knuckles aside, revealing your red puffy joints.  

“It’s not that the pain isn’t there anymore... look at this... but why do you not feel it anymore?”, he asked.  

For a moment you thought he was making an attempt to nag at you again, but he was not.  

---

A bolt of light flashes and you look up sharply, hands still holding on loosely to the bracelet bearing the carving. ″5.2″.  

“Oh hahah I thought it would good to capture your reaction when you first see the bracelet”, a man holding a chunky camera quickly proceeded to explain as he notices your expression.  

“This is Jason, Y/N. He's the main photographer today...”, and then the assistant director’s voice trailed off in your mind again as you refocused on the bracelet in your hands.  

How much does Jungkook hate this arrangement? How much does he hate you? To the extent that he would engrave the clause number “5.2” onto this bracelet. Now it didn’t look like a jewellery, now it looks like a handcuff. One that intends to constantly remind you that you are imprisoned in this arrangement too.  

The assistant director was still kind and gentle as she helped you to put on the bracelet and as she explained that the focus of the photos would not be on your face but she joked that you still shouldn’t make funny expressions lest it makes Jungkook laugh instead.  

“Are we starting yet?”, Jungkook walked over and peeked at the bracelet which was now securely circling your wrist, the corner of his lips involuntarily raising a little.  

---

The photography session was quick, they only wanted one or two good shots after all.  

One of Jungkook’s hand was on your waist, his other hand holding onto yours which was placed on his chest, exhibiting the bracelet that felt cursed. Your back was facing the camera and Jason instructed you to rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.  

As if there were a thousand needles poking through his shoulder, you carefully pretended to rest your head, the side of your chin barely even touching the material of that fancy jacket he donned. Your other hand hovering behind his back not daring to touch him at all.  

The thin air between you and him formed the thickest barrier in this world. “Looking good, both of you...” Jason continued to say encouraging words as you listened to the shutter click away.  

Jungkook stepped away quickly once Jason shouted “OK! Done!” and now your hands were just hovering in thin air.  

You again felt that ghostly feeling of someone watching you but as you looked around there was no one suspicious at all.  

“We are leaving soon, go get changed.” Jungkook whispered in a hushed tone.  

You looked at him icily, not saying a word before stalking off.  

---

From then on time passed peacefully on the surface for a few days.  

The drill was simple. Wake up, go to work, look out for suspicious people around the boys, have lunch with Yuri, sometimes the managers joined you girls, head home when the boys’ schedule ends, make sure to check their apartment for any intruders or suspicious activities and then turning in for the night.  

The days were always long, as one would expect. During these long days you could not help but occasionally notice the metal cuff on your wrist. Every time you observed it, it hurts a little less.  

He hardly spoke to you ever, only meeting your eyes unintendedly now and then. There was once he looked at you for more than five seconds because your phone was ringing incessantly and Yuri had picked it up and yelled at the other side to “stop calling already!”  

But the moment you locked eyes with him, he looked away nonchalantly, without even blinking.  

---

The main schedule of the day is a filming for their own programme. The company had rented out a small studio near the office for the filming. It had been going on for hours and you had not bothered to go in to watch the progress.  

From the glass window you were sitting next to, you could see the sun slowly setting, indicating the near end of another tiresome day. You hear someone walking towards you and from the corner of your eyes it looked like a shadow – it must be Yuri.  

In her usual full black attire, Yuri strolls up to you, “I thought you would more excited to watch them film such things than I would be...,” she sat down next to you on the artsy looking bench in front of the clear window.  

“I should be excited...” you muttered and could not help glancing at the bracelet on your wrist.  

Yuri sighed, “It must be hard to know that all the while what you thought he was... was not real... but I don’t think he’s a bad person... you guys just met under the wrong circumstances.”  

“Actually... I’ve been avoiding him not because I think he is bad or anything... I mean yes he’s not the nicest to me but if I were in his shoes maybe I'd be the same too,” it was difficult for you to gather how you really felt, “but I feel somewhat bad about being his fan previously... I’m not sure if I’m feeling this way because now I realise everything was fake or was it because I realised how foolish I was then.”  

Yuri’s expression suddenly turned very serious, “What’s wrong with being a fan? You said so yourself to me... You like his music, you like the way he works hard to deliver his performances and you like the way he communicates with his fans, so what’s wrong with being his fan? Why do you need to feel bad now...”

Before Yuri could finish her counselling session with you, a bunch of people started flowing out into the hallway where both of you were seated – a familiar sight of people carrying clothing racks, huge boxes, files, cameras and all that fancy stuff.  

The last of the people to exit were a few of the boys and the managers. Myunghoon was around today too, it had been a while since you saw him with the other managers. He tilted his head slightly to signal that it was time for you two to get going too.  

Springing back on to your feet you walked up together with Yuri, gathering in the middle of the hallway. “We are still waiting a few of them to finish up...” Myunghoon said.

“I’ll go use the washroom for a moment then,” you whispered to him and he gave you a little nod.  

---

The water flushes really loudly and you used it to your advantage to cover up the sigh you let out, even though when you entered you were sure that there was no one else around.  

What was wrong with you? Yuri was right, you never thought of Jungkook as anything more than an idol that you liked because of their music and their performances. What were you so hurt over? You are feeling increasingly like an idiot by now.  

Just then, darkness suddenly surrounded you – the lights in the washroom had gone off. Immediately, you snapped out of all those thoughts and returned to the alertness that defined your occupation.  

With your left hand slowly grasping the door lock on your cubicle, you carefully tried to open the door. The door wouldn’t move. That was when you realised this was definitely not a simple power trip, someone must be outside.  

Without any warning to whoever was out there, you rammed your side into the cubicle door trying to barge through it. You could hear some shuffling noises and you made no attempt to say anything as you knew there would be no favourable response anyway.  

Your second attempt to burst through the door showed promising results, but the mysterious assailant shoved the door hard causing you to tumble back a step. Just then a shrill voice shouted through the rustic silence “I hate you!! You should die!!”  

You were stunned for a moment, but quickly lunged for the door again while shouting back, “Who are you?!”  

Then the final act came pouring down on you, quite literally. There was water everywhere, pelleting down on you harder than a thunderstorm. You could hardly keep your eyes open as you tried to look up for the source of the downpour.  

“YA!!! Who are you?!” you continued shouting. There was no response and no matter how hard you pushed the door would not budge anymore. You finally managed to find a blind spot from the storm in the cubicle and saw that the mugger had thrown two huge hoses over the top of the cubicle door, which were now spraying waterfalls onto you.  

The cubicle was completely sealed other than the top. You hastily took out your handphone and dialed for Yuri.  

“Yuri, someone attacked me in the toilet... don’t ask for the details now, I'm fine... it’s a girl I think... she might still be in the building,” there was not a moment to waste as you called Yuri to action.  

Once you hung up, you put down the toilet seat cover and mounted it. It was a good thing the cubicle walls were sturdy enough to sustain your weight as you lifted yourself up over it into the adjacent cubicle. Once you were out of your confinement, you saw that your cubicle door was blocked by one of those huge carts that the janitors use. Almost on the verge of swearing, you turned off the hoses and dashed out, avoiding looking at your state in the mirrors.  

---

You dashed across the hallway, leaving a trail of water behind you. Myunghoon stared at you in shock as you tried to run past him.  

“Where are you going?!” he shouted and grabbed you by the arms.  

“She must still be around, we need to find her!” you yelled back.  

“Yuri and the rest are looking for her” he chanted repeatedly as he dragged you towards the studio. Myunghoon pulls you through the studio set into the dressing room at the back. Seokjin, Yoongi and Jungkook were still in the room packing up their things and they looked visibly shocked when Myunghoon pulled you into the room.  

“Hyung.. What happened?” Jin stammered.  

“Maybe you guys should clear out, on your way out can you get one of the other managers to look for some towels or clothes... I’m not sure if they have any spare though...” Myunghoon was aware that you probably hated to be seen in this state.  

To be fair, at this point you could not really be bothered by how they saw you anymore, but you still wanted to avoid any awkward conversations or eye contact.  

“I have some spare clothes,” Jungkook said a little hesitantly.  

“You do? It's spare or you need them for later?” Myunghoon marched over almost immediately.  

“I was planning to go to the gym after this so I brought some clothes...” just as his sentence ended Myunghoon snatched the bag from Jungkook’s hands.  

“Thank you very much then if that’s the case,” Myunghoon chirped. Jungkook look slightly taken aback though.  

You had been staring at an empty space on the floor for a while now, hoping they would hurry settle it and leave but then a white patch appears before your eyes. 

“I have a spare towel... thought I would sweat a lot from today’s filming but I didn’t get to use...” Yoongi muttered, his words slurring as always. There was hardly an expression on his face as he offered the pristine towel to you, raising it closer to your face when you failed to accept it.  

“Ah... thank you...” you replied as you took it.  

With that they left the room and you were on your own to clean up the mess that was yourself. 

---

Sejoon shoves a cup of hot tea into a whiny Jungkook’s hands.  

“What are you complaining about? Do you think she wanted it to happen? I know it’s not your fault that those sasaengs are crazy... but it’s not her fault either! And whose fault is it that her name has to be thrown out there as your fake girlfriend?” a rather stern Sejoon was chiding Jungkook to deliver the tea to you. 

Jungkook turned silent for a moment. The past few days he had been so immersed in his inability to control the public sentiment, and the lousy circumstances that made him unable to clarify and say what he wanted to. There was a lot he was not satisfied with, including how you, a fan, was allowed to be his bodyguard. He momentarily questions if he is taking out too much of his dissatisfaction on you.  

“You guys should have never let her become our bodyguard...” Jungkook gripes one last time and Sejoon was just about to tear him a new one but Jungkook escapes with the hot tea in his hands.  

---

“Yes, come in please,” you answered the knocks on the dressing room door while continuing to squeeze the moisture out of your heavily drenched hair.  

You sat up tensely when it was Jungkook who entered.  

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he notices you were now wearing his baggy black T-shirt and track suit pants. They were obviously ill-fitting and he wondered if you had always been this small; he never really noticed it.  

“Sejoon hyung said you should have some hot tea before we go off, they are still looking for the attacker...” he murmured as he places the cup onto the table in front of you.  

“Thanks...” you whispered back.  

He sits down on the couch opposite you and you looked at him in surprise.  

“Is it your first time meeting a sasaeng?” he asked curiously. 

You were suddenly reminded of the time he suggested that you could be a sasaeng too and a wave of emotions hit you again to know that you were being compared to this type of horror.  

In your trance you sarcastically replied, “Well I guess other than myself, this is probably a first.”  

He looked at you nervously, knowing clearly that you were referring to his past statement. He took a deep breathe before apologising, “I’m sorry for insinuating that you were a sasaeng... I was just really annoyed at that time...”  

You still looked at him coldly, his words only confirming the fact that he took out his annoyance on you.  

“Forget it...”  you responded after a pause, “I can see why you are so sensitive if such things can happen anytime like this.”  

He was so shocked that you let the topic go so easily that he blinked a few times confusedly.  

“It used to be worse,” he quickly said, as if he wanted to avoid giving you any chance to go back to being angry. “When I first encountered them I got so angry... scared... they would say such weird things and I had no idea what I was supposed to do or feel. But... nowadays I don’t feel it that much anymore, most of the time at least, but once in a while when it gets really serious I guess I still feel something...”  

He observed you carefully as he rambled on but you were busy packing all the wet clothes into a plastic carrier that Myunghoon had left with you.  

Without much warning to him and as you were stuffing Yoongi’s towel into the carrier, you suddenly asked “But why do you not feel it anymore?”

His gaze on you changed into one with a shallow depth. After a moment of contemplation, he seems to have found the answer.  

“For survival... how else do you think I am able to live if every such thing is going to get to me?”  

“So does that mean you regret choosing to be an idol?” you continued probing.  

He frowns at you, “Do you regret becoming a bodyguard?”

“At times... but mostly no,” you answered.  

“It’s the same for me too. At times, some times when I really cannot ignore it, I do regret. Why did you choose to do this though?” he felt this conversation was rather intriguing.  

“It was the one thing I could do I guess... or rather the one thing I could do and which made me feel like I am alive... That it was worth my time and my life”, you tried to summarise your thoughts.  

“Feel alive... Is it how it’s like in the movies? When something dangerous happens and you put yourself in danger to protect your “clients” and that makes you feel alive?” he asked a bit too earnestly.  

It was as if the time had hit a pause button, you couldn’t move at all. You never really thought about why you felt this way doing this job after all these time.  

He laughed softly, “They make me feel that way too...”, he concluded. The annoyance was returning back to him. He was ready to get up, dismayed to be reminded that it is the attacks, the harsh comments, the antis and the sasaengs who constantly remind him of his duties as an idol; is that what feeling alive is supposed to be then?

“There is a little girl I know who used to be really scared of “monsters” living under her bed...” you began saying out of the blue, “She would always beg me to check under her bed every night before she would sleep. I did it every night for her... It meant the world to a three-year-old. The way she thanked me and relied on me helped me survive the times when I felt like I had no other value in this world. She made me feel alive.”

Jungkook looks at you intently as you continued, “I don’t know if you get my point but it’s not about how much danger I overcame or how much pain I had to endure or what greatness I achieved. In the end I felt alive because I touched another life – I valued her and in turn, she valued me.”  

If he said he understood what you were trying to tell him it would probably be a lie, but he felt like it meant something more than he could comprehend in that instant.  

You stood up straight to try to match his height, “Don’t feel alive because of the bad things you have to go through. Look at all your fans who have been touched by you... the fans who love you. Feel alive for them.”

With that you thought the conversation was done and you picked up the bag of clothes, turning to head out of the room.  

“Were you...” his voice puts a stop to your steps, “one of them?”  

#series: flfl #btsboulangerie #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts #jeon jungkook #bts fan fiction #jungkook fan fiction #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #bts x oc #bts romance #jungkook romance #bts drama #jungkook drama #bts au #jungkook au #kpop fanfic #kpop fan fiction #bangtan #bangtan boys #bts imagines #jungkook imagines

[nat-20s]

A hopefully comprehensive list of moments from The Runaway Bride that make me go feral

how did ONE episode fit so much iconicness in it???

-Donna mysteriously appearing and IMMEDIATELY starts yelling. From the start we know she is LOUD she is ANGRY and she is GONNA MAKE IT TEN’S PROBLEM. She’s so fuckin sexy and valid!!!

-*cue literally like ten minutes straight of them running around like idiots while confusedly yelling*

-Donna, immediately after setting up one of my all time favorite set up-reminder-pay off jokes (what bride has pockets): no stupid martian is gonna stop me from getting married TO HELL WITH YOU

Ten, very tired and very out of his element: Im not..I’m not, I’m not from mars

-Ten and Donna finally hailing down a cab and “have you got any money?””POCKETS” (reminder)

-Donna actively being kidnapped by a robot santa (dr who slaps okay) and Ten actively barreling down the highway in a highly unstable box and still somehow finding time for banter

-”I’m in my weddING DRESS” “YES, YOU LOOK LOVELY”

-also the exchange of “your friend? did she trust you?” “yes, and she is very much alive!” OOF OUCH MY BONES

- all of the rooftop scene. all of it. the fact that ten has spent the last 20 minutes being Yelled At and for some reason that makes him decide to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known. Donna being like too bad it’s not a time machine and ten being like haha yeah..... Ten giving Donna his jacket and Dona responding with roasting him. When Donna tells him “it’s not your fault” and he gives the SADDEST and SOFTEST smile as he says “oh that’s a change” The Look they exchange during “with this ring i thee biodamp” “for better or for worse” The fact that you can see both of their freckles on display (that’s just for me babey). The fact that I know this is one of the few scenes where catherine tate is not wearing secretly wearing beat up sneakers. This behind the scenes photo from that part:

-They held the wedding reception without me! *looks at ten* THEY HELD THE WEDDING RECEPTION WITHOUT ME.

-Donna fake crying to get out of explaining herself and winking to ten because they’re official now and forever In Cahoots

-that rose flashback :(

-donna’s empathy coming out when the reception lows up and she’s like “never mind all that you’re a doctor people have been hurt” UGH SHE!!

-Donna going after ten because she needs Answers

-ten trying to dismiss her and lance and be like “i’ve got this” and she’s like absolutely not im coming 

-SEGWAYS

-”You better come back” “Couldn’t get rid of you if I tried.” :’)

-After Lance’s Shitty Mean Speech when Donna says a brokenhearted “but I love you” and his reply of “that’s what made it so easy” first of all DDDD: second of all LANCE CATCH THESE FUCKIN HANDS I’LL KILL U

-The Racknoss Empress threatening Ten and Donna IMMEDIATELY jumping in front of him and yelling “Don’t you hurt him!” “no no it’s alright” “NO I WON’T LET THEM”

-Ten being like. Guess I’ll fuckin uhh. Show Donna the creation of the Earth to make her feel better. This seems like a proportionate response. (they’re literally both so soft in this sequence tho it’s makes me lose my MIND)

-Ten whipping out the remote control for the santa robots: Guess what I’ve got Donna? Pockets! (PAYOFF BABEY!!!)

-”Doctor! You can stop now!” FUCK DUDE FUCK

-Them clinging to each other and joyously and semi deliriously laughing over a drained Thames ? That’s the Goode Shitt

-every single second of the ending scene makes me need to lie down for 45 minutes. him making it snow for her? “I think you need someone to stop you”? The hope in his voice when he asks her to come with him? The sad and baby in his voice when she says no? The fact she just reads his entire life? Offering for him to come to christmas dinner right after she’s said he scares her to death?The don’t say im a martian line in yet ANOTHER really good set up reminder payoff goof? “’will I see you again?’ ‘If I’m lucky.’”  “And just..be magnificent” (which is what i’m convinced if season 4 had ended with them getting separated instead of donna’s memories being wiped is what Donna would’ve said to ten because call backs SLAP) HER NAME WAS ROSE? All of it fills me with an inexplicable and somehow joyous melancholy that makes me feel like I’ve gotten the vapors 

-in conclusion im so fucking glad that donna got a whole season because if she hadn’t you KNOW to this day i’d be like. Wish donna had gotten a full season it’s what she deserved. 

#donna noble #tenth doctor #the runaway bride #nat talks doctor who

[skia-oura]

Orange Lilies 6/?

A/N: On to the next chapter! 

Prologue // Previous // Next

ff.net ao3

Chapter 5: Filly has a Very Bad Day

           Torako spent the next day, night, and half the day after alternatively sleeping and crying at Officer Nathan’s apartment. Then, heart still heavy, eyes red and nose stuffed full, she willed herself to get up. Then, after she managed to do that, she forced herself to make dinner and stop being such a burden.

           “Sweetheart,” Hepsa said when Torako brought her dinner, her knitting falling off her iron nails, “you didn’t have to! I was going to call in for food. You need your rest.”

           “And you need yours,” Torako said back. She straightened the jacket Bentley had sigilled for her, back in her cult hunting days. “Besides, you’ve put up with my caterwauling for the past what, thirty-six hours? And fed me? It’s fine.” She set the tray down on Hepsa’s lap, then sat in the stool next to her.

           Hepsa frowned. It was intimidating, and Torako couldn’t stop herself from squirming and glancing away at the reinforced closet doors.

           “They’ll find him. It will be okay.” Hepsa reached out, and Torako obediently held her rough hand, slightly cool to the touch from the denseness of Hepsa’s skin.

           Torako swallowed and closed her eyes. They stung. She was sick of crying, but it just wouldn’t stop. She wanted Dipper. She couldn’t have Dipper unless she went home. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted Bentley back, and Dipper there, and she had no access to either of them.

           If Dipper had been around more this last week, she couldn’t help but wonder, would Bentley still be at home? She pushed the thought aside as soon as she had it, not ready to face the idea.

           Hepsa squeezed her hand, lightly, careful of Torako’s relatively fragile skin. It reminded Torako of Dipper, and she clenched her teeth to stop herself from turning back into a saltwater fountain. “They will. You have to have faith.”

           Torako laughed. At least, she tried to; it came out like the dying squeak-crackle-sigh of a Timber-Tinder-Sprite. “That’s all I have,” she said. It was mostly the truth; she knew Bentley wasn’t dead. If he had died, Dipper would have…

           Would he have told her, though? Torako pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed in again. Knowing that idiot, he probably would be too guilty to tell her. At least she’d know if Bentley died within a few days afterwards; Dipper would tear whoever did it apart, leaving such a bloody mess that it would be all over the news.

Fuck. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want that, they couldn’t have that. If Ben died—Ben being gone was bad enough, but if Ben died, violently, Torako thought maybe Dipper would die a little too. He would die enough that he wouldn’t be him anymore for a long time. Long enough for Torako’s life to pass, and another after that, and another after that. She was a demonologist. She knew the trends.

Hepsa rubbed her back, pulled her close. Torako didn’t know when she’d moved the tray of food out of the way. “I know it’s hard,” Hepsa said. “But Bentley will come back to you. They’ll get him back. You’ll get him back, you and Tyrone both.”

She’d told Hepsa, Officer Nathan, everybody who asked, that Tyrone was on a trip. That she couldn’t reach him; he’d gone into an area without service, and that she’d try to contact him as soon as possible. But Torako had let them handle talking to Bentley’s work, and after that his aunt—she couldn’t face it then. She still couldn’t.

Apparently Meung-soo was still leaving the next day. She had offered, Officer Nathan said, to stay for Torako, but Torako just. She felt like sleeping so that she had the smallest, tiniest chance of getting up the next morning and finding her boys in the apartment, where they belonged. She didn’t feel like mourning with a near stranger, no matter how nice she was. So she said no, and Meung-soo Ellig didn’t cancel her return ride home.

And now Torako was crying again. Great. Fantastic. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was dehydrated before the weekend was through.

“You will,” Hepsa crooned, though it was more gravelly than a croon should be. Torako was laying on the bed, somehow. A sudden wave of derision and self-loathing overtook her—why should she be sitting still, doing nothing, when Bentley was out there somewhere suffering—and it took all she had not to shoot off the bed right away. Instead, she took a deep breath, and gave Hepsa a hug.

“Okay,” Torako said. She took another deep breath, in and out, like she did sometimes with Bentley when it got to be too much. The realization hurt. It was also a piece of him. She held it close. “Okay. I will. You’re right. I will.”

She needed to get up. She needed to move. Torako gave Hepsa one last hug, and shimmied off the bed, which ow, was so much harder than the couch. She would die sleeping on this bed, and she would die sad.

“Where are you going?” Hepsa asked, concern around the set of her mouth. She didn’t restrain Torako, though; just let her stand.

           “Who said I was going anywhere?” Torako asked. She wiped her eyes, hard, with the heels of her hands and sniffled a little. In, out. In, out.

           Hepsa crossed her arms and stared at Torako. Torako fidgeted, then grinned nervously. “Okay, yes, you’re right, okay. I just…I need a walk. I need to move. I can run down to the grocery store and grab, I don’t know, ice cream?”

           Hepsa stared a little longer, then nodded. “All right. I’ll hold you to that. There’s money on the—”

           “No no no no no,” Torako said, holding up one hand. “No. I’ve mooched off you and Officer Nathan for long enough. I can buy my own ice cream. I’m an intern paid a decent salary.”

           “Are you sure—”

           “Absolutely sure,” Torako said. “I have money on me. I can get the ice cream. If I’m not back in an hour, tops, you know to call the cops.”

           “I’ll call them on the second,” Hepsa warned, relaxing back into her pillows. There was only a little give. Torako straightened her spine at the thought of sleeping with those, and her back cracked a little. “So let me know if you’re running late.”

           “Will do, promise,” Torako said, backing out the door. She watched Hepsa drag her tray of dinner onto her lap, and thought of her own on the kitchen counter; she’d eat it later. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

           “Go,” Hepsa said. “Bring me one with little copper shavings, in the specialty section.”

           Dipper kind of liked copper shavings too, sometimes. It was never a good sign when he did, but he still liked them. Torako smiled wide, even if it felt a little plastic to her. “Gotcha in one, Hepsa! Later, gater.”

           Hepsa waved, and Torako turned to head down the hallway, glancing at the pictures of Hepsa, and Nathan, and their families. The smile fell from her face, but like she told herself, ice cream would help. Ice cream and moving around was a good first step to getting her feet back again so that she could actually start getting Bentley back. She would get him back. She would.

           Bentley dreams.

           He can’t remember how long he has been dreaming, only that he is, and that he is afraid, and that seconds pass like hours, that hours pass like years, or maybe it’s the other way around and time has no meaning, anymore. If he closes his dream-eyes, he finds them open. If he covers his ears, he finds his hands down by his sides. He can only watch, and listen, and know that everything that feels real, that doesn’t feel real, is all fake.

           It’s hard to do that under the still phantom, but growing, sensation of being eaten alive. He screams, and the noise comes back hollow to his ears. He clutches himself hard enough to turn his knuckles white, but can barely feel his nails in his arm. He blinks, and strains his eyes so much the pain is acute, but there is nothing. He can feel himself unravelling, his mind pulling apart. He clutches it, but feels powerless, helpless, against the weight of nothingness.

           He dreams.

           Officer Nathan called her five minutes from the grocery store. Torako fumbled with her phone, then held it up to her ear. “What’s up Off?”

           Silence.

           Torako felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She dipped into the space between crowds at the juncture of two shops, and spoke at a lower register. “Haha, get it? It’s like, Officer, you know, but you’re supposed to not be working anymore so you’re Off, right?”

           Nothing. Two seconds, three, Torako held her breath, and then—a grunt, distorted by static, and the rasping clang of a metal bat against brick. Maybe most people wouldn’t know that noise, but Torako did, after a solid year of hunting with Mizar’s infamous weapon. Torako swallowed down most of the fear that rose up in her, sharp and barbed with grief, but her hands still shook as she navigated her phone to the ‘track user’ function she and Officer Nathan mutually enabled in their third month of working together. “Just in case,” he’d said.

           Just in case had probably been meant for her, not him, but Torako wasn’t going to split those hairs. She started to track Officer Nathan’s phone to a few blocks away.

           She dodged a couple of families, keeping up a one-sided conversation while banking on the supposition that she’d been muted. The line was still active. She heard Officer Nathan rasp something out, a growl, but she couldn’t distinguish the words. Then an unfamiliar voice spoke up, and she needed to be there now. “Haha, yeah,” she said, slipping into a thankfully abandoned alleyway. Torako broke into a sprint, glancing at her phone every once in a while to make sure she was going the right way. Just a couple minutes later, she was close, and she slowed down to more of a stalk. She breathed light, through her nose, and listened.

           “…little dumbass, this one’s got no magic!”

           “You said we needed a big one! I’m low on power, I can’t tell anymore if they have magic or not!” Somebody with a shrill voice said. Torako crept closer, stepping over a discarded and trampled box. The voices were coming from the side-entrance to the next alley over, somewhere between the ends of a pet menagerie and a tech fix shop. Torako used to be amazed that alleys still existed, until somebody pointed out that not having a manual access through cities begged for magical and technical failure and thus utter, concentrated chaos. Dipper said alleyways helped disperse magical storms, which Torako was unsure as to the wisdom of, but she wasn’t a weather person or a magician. She was just a demonologist.

           “Be quiet, dimbolts,” a third one hissed. Torako side-shuffled past a couple of alley rats—one was bright purple, must have gotten into some color-change powder at the shop a few blocks down—and sidled up to the gap between the alleys. “Mkell made a mistake, big deal. Maybe it’s got enough magical residue on it to at least tide Alû over until we grab something else.”

           Just a demonologist was turning out to be a really lucky career plan at the moment. Torako eyed the width of the gap, decided she didn’t like it, and looked up. If she could climb up the walls, she would—it would sure make for a fucking stunning entry. But there were no good handholds, and she didn’t have her special boots on. Pity. She missed jumping off roofs and beating up cultists.

           Well, if she couldn’t scratch one itch, she was certain to scratch the other soon enough.

           “Where’s the holly stake? Gotta make sure he’s out of order.”

           Officer Nathan moaned, like the rough squeal of stone on cement. Torako entered the gap without another moment of hesitation, but stepped slowly, carefully.

           “Stake’s in the bag. And damn, a lot of people have pissed this person off, whoever they are,” the shrill one remarked absentmindedly.  “Number three? This is getting serial.”

           “With this money, I don’t care,” the third one said. Torako slid up against the side of the wall closest to the voices, to lessen the chances of them seeing her.  She could hear the zip of a bag being opened. She breathed, in and out, and considered calling Dipper, but—no, Officer Nathan was there, he couldn’t know. This close, and he would know. She pocketed her phone, still recording everything going on, and waited.

           “Yeah, but two demons? Alû and Xlixlis?”

           Torako controlled her breathing. She would not gasp. She was not one of the cliché heroines of her not-so-ironically-beloved-anymore books or teleshows. She was a professional. She had a badge. And a year of kicking ass mostly solo under her belt.

           The fact that the cult had summoned that other demon was frightening, surprising, and set Torako’s fingers tight into fists. She swallowed. How the hell did a cult manage to summon Xlixslis and not slowly bring the city down around them? Why did they even risk that?

           “Ah, found it,” voice one said. The bag zipped shut. Officer Nathan groaned again, and Torako very quietly slid out into the other alley. Alone. Unarmed.

           This wasn’t a bad idea at all, she told herself. Not at all, she thought, taking in the three figures standing around Officer Nathan. The one with the stake was short, with sandy hair and light complexion. There was a larger figure furthest away, with short fur growing from their elbows and knuckles, eyes set wider apart than most humans. And then there was another, of average height, built thin, hair cropped around chin-length and sporting a muscle shirt that didn’t do much for them in the absence of any muscle.

           Shorty was raising the stake when they saw her. Torako bent her knees and launched herself at them, grabbing the wrist with the weapon in her left hand before smashing the heel of her palm into Shorty’s nose with an audible crunch. Shorty screamed. She twisted their wrist around, sharp, hard, and it snapped. They screamed again, dropped the stake, and she kicked them away from Officer Nathan’s prone body.

           “Hi!” She said. She stood in front of Officer Nathan, catalogued where he was hurt: head, definitely, and he was holding his side like he’d been slammed by something. His fingers were broken. Torako remembered what the shrill one had said about being low on power, and guessed magic. “You’re kind of really breaking the law. A lot. You’re arrested. Come with me and there won’t be any more broken noses, or wrists, or anything. Nice deal, right?”

           “What the actual fuck?!” Shrill said, stepping away. Their fellow cultist, Hairy, stepped forward. They cut a pretty imposing figure in the dim lighting, Torako thought. She didn’t move.

           “I think you need to leave,” Hairy said.

           “I think you need to come with me, quietly,” Torako said back. She smiled, small, and kept her grip on the stake neither too loose nor too tight.

           Shrill tugged on Hairy’s sweatshirt sleeve. “You can’t let them leave, they’ve seen us.”

           “Oh.” Hairy tilted their head. “You’re right. Sorry. You stumbled on the wrong alley. You can’t leave.”

           Torako raised her eyebrows. “I’m with the police, shitheads.”

           They were both silent. Shorty’s screams died down to whimpers and whines. Torako didn’t stop smiling.

           “Then you double can’t leave,” Shrill said. They stepped forward, glancing at the bag to Torako’s left and back up at her face. “Triple, even. You gotta die.”

           “How intimidating,” Torako said. “‘You gotta die.’ Very fear-inspiring.” Underneath her, Officer Nathan groaned and curled up a bit. Torako glanced very quickly at the bat next to the bag, and took note of the giant dent that bent it forward about forty degrees. Right, yes, jail, after she shook them down for information. Which was hard to do, because her good-cop-bad-cop routine relied on Dipper as Very Bad Cop. But. But. It would be very satisfying to punch their lights out.

           “Guys,” Shorty moaned out, words slurred from their collapsed moan. “Guys. This is number three.”

           Torako blinked. “What?”

“What?” Hairy asked.

“You know,” Shorty said, tight with pain. They waved at their forehead. “Dumb colored bangs person’s friend.”

Torako stopped smiling.  

“Pathetic whimpering?” Shrill asked. “That person’s friend? Wow. Too bad the bodyguard wasn’t there that night!”

Torako could feel the fury rising up in her. It set her shoulders stiff, made her fingers tremble, tightened up her throat. Pathetic. Dumb. Bentley.

           “Oh shit,” said Hairy, the only one who seemed to be paying attention to her expression.

           Torako said, “You’re fucking right,” and swooped down to pick up the bat. The dent had caused a couple of sharp ridges to pop up, metal glinting in leftover light. Torako ran a finger over the ridge and sure enough, it tore the skin. She stuck the stake in her back pocket and held the bat in her right hand. It didn’t have the same weight as Mizar’s. “Now, that was pretty interesting information. You should tell me more. Like: where the fuck did you take Bentley.”

           Hairy crossed their arms, tilted their chin up. Their expression was flat enough that Torako knew they were scared, or at least she hoped they were. “We’re not telling.”

           Torako smiled again, thin and showing the slightest edge of teeth. She swung the bat. “No, I think you want to tell me. I’m giving you a chance you don’t deserve, not after assaulting a child, not after taking my best friend from me, not after threatening me and the entire world. No, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

           Shrill scoffed, and crossed their arms in solidarity with Hairy. “Wow, you sure think highly of yourself. Entire world?”

           “Torako, just…” Officer Nathan said, sounding woozy. “Run. Get help.”

           She should. She should be careful, call for backup, let the police handle things. But Torako was angry. Torako kept thinking about Ethan, the poor Cyclops boy. She kept thinking about Bentley, about his recurring nightmares and the absolute traumatic shitshow it must be to be stuck in one. She kept thinking about Dipper, with both Bentley and herself gone, with nobody there to throw themselves into the dangerous position of voice of reason. As much as he shouldn’t rely on them so much, as much as he was growing to rely on others, she knew, she knew, knew the entire country would go up in flames.

           She lived in the Californian Island Federation. She knew what happened when Alcor went out of control.

           “I’ll get help, Officer Nathan,” she said. Shrill was now breathing in a way that screamed magic. She couldn’t wait for them to try it. “It just might not be the kind anybody here likes, except me.”

           It was all she could do to keep her breathing steady, because her heart was racing and she was angry, angry, angry.

           Shrill made an abrupt gesture. Torako threw the bat over a spell that hit the air a centimeter in front of Tora, and grinned wider at the face Shrill made when the magic didn’t connect. She almost laughed when the bat smacked Shrill right in the face a split second later and sent them crashing into the alley wall.

           “So nobody wants to do the easy way?” Torako asked. She was met with silence. Hairy looked to be on the edge of rushing her, both their fellow cultists on the ground. She bared her teeth, lifted her finger to the circle sewn into the inside collar of her jacket, and said, “Hey, Dipdops, I’ve got some company you’d love to meet.”

           Bentley dreams.

           The dreams run together. He dreams that Torako hates him for being Mizar. He dreams that Dipper and Torako leave him after deciding he’s useless. He dreams that Philip realized how bad of a son he was, leaving his father all alone in that apartment and rarely ever coming home. He dreams Dipper devours him, hurts him, smiles wide and sharp the entire time he does so. He dreams that Dr. Fantino stands in front of him and drops a bouquet of orange lilies on his chest, hands burned, and says This is why I strive to be as logical, as not-emotionally-driven as possible. He dreams that Meung-soo catches him summoning Dipper, that she renounces him and says that he’s a disgrace to his mother’s memory. He dreams that a magical storm engulfs the country. He dreams Torako dies without him. He dreams, he dreams, he dreams, and as he dreams he unravels.

           Bentley is so tired of dreaming.

           By the time he was called by the familiar tug of his personal circle, Dipper was about five tense minutes away from checking in on Bentley. Maybe three. Dampened anxiety from that end wasn’t uncommon, so to say, but every time Dipper’d paid attention to his link with Mizar, it had been anxiety. Fear. But pushed down, dimmed, without direction, and that was a little concerning. The only thing stopping him from blipping out of the Mindscape was a) his short interaction with Soos’s mom (Ford, of all people) and b) it had only been a few days since he saw Bentley and Torako last, and c) Torako hadn’t notified him of anything yet. So when he felt the personal circle’s call, Dipper was out of the Mindscape like a shot—Torako had finally noticed what was up with Bentley.

            The alleyway was a bit of a surprise. As were the cultists, the two conscious ones staring up at him in blank horror.

           Dipper blinked. “You’re getting back into the bashing game now?”

           Torako ignored his question. He looked at her and flinched back, just a little, at the awful bruise-black radioactive-green splotches in her aura, at the pink shocks lancing through in a kind of tired fear fear fear worry guilt fear.

           “Torako?”

           She smiled at the cultists. It was the nastiest smile he’d ever seen on her face, and everything screamed at him that something was wrong, very wrong. “So! Here’s the hard way. No easy way now. Sucks to be you! I was going to be nice, but you took too long.”

           Behind them, there was a gurgling choke. Dipper looked back, and froze at the sight of Officer Nathan staring at him. At him, eyes black and gold, ears pointed, claws filed to sharpness. At Alcor.

           Torako would never summon him in front of a friend who didn’t know. She had been so careful, especially after Philip’s funeral. He looked back at her. “Torako, what’s wrong?”

           Her eyes were flat. “Yo, Alcor, these three have some information in their heads they’ve decided not to part with. I can’t understand why! I want to make a deal with you for it.”

           Dipper noticed her worn hunting jacket, the cuffs frayed, the faded bloodstain on the right shoulder from when she was thrown into some rubble and landed the wrong way on the wrong thing. He noticed her pants, the ones that Bentley stole whenever he was sad and the ones that Torako almost never wore just in case Ben needed them. He noticed Bentley wasn’t there.

           “Torako,” Dipper asked, starting to float a couple inches higher, worry roiling around his gut in a mimicry of humanity, “where is Bentley?”

           She finally looked at him. She was so, so angry. “You know, I’d like to know that too. I asked them nicely, but they won’t tell me,” she looked back at the cultists, “where. They. Took him. So you know what? I’ll give you anything you want for that information.”

           “Torako!” Officer Nathan said behind them. Dipper stared at Torako, wide-eyed. He stared in at her, at her soul, so bright and warm and delicious and he thought about how it would feel in his hand. He could have it, just for some paltry information that he didn’t even care—

           Dipper paused. He looked at the cultists too. “You…don’t know where Bentley is.”

           “No.”

           “They do.”

           “I don’t know.”

           Dipper waited for the next words. When they didn’t come, he said, “But?”

           “But they’re the ones who took him,” Torako said. “Thursday night. They summoned Alû. And Xlixlis. And took Bentley away, and the wards were broken, and they called him pathetic, Alcor, they called him pathetic.”

           She was breathing hard, like she was on the edge of a breakdown. Dipper stared at the three cultists. They hadn’t moved. Maybe they hoped if they wouldn’t do anything, he would forget they were there. Prey instinct, maybe.

           Torako didn’t know where Bentley was. Alû was involved. Alû, of nightmares. Xlixlis, chaos and shadow, so slippery it was hard for even him to find her. And these cultists were…

           “Torako,” Dipper said, pushing down all thoughts of blood, of soul, of limbs and years of life. “I want all the Moffios you have in the apartment. I know you’ve been stockpiling.”

           Torako stuck out her hand with a short nod, still staring at the cultists. He watched the fingers tremble against each other, numb inside. Then he reached, intertwined her fingers in his, and with a burst of blue the deal was sealed.

           Anger and fury overtook him. He didn’t let go of her hand, even when the flames vanished. He felt himself growing, felt himself make the alley grow dimmer, darker. The cultists finally tried to run—the two who were conscious—but he just made them stop in their tracks, trapped in their bodies like Bentley was undoubtedly trapped in his. Then he made them turn around and walk back, made it abundantly clear who was in control of this situation.

           “Now,” he said. “You’re going to spill e̤̳̤̩̜v͎͖͈̹̻͍͕er̫͢y͓͓t̗͔͖̹̞h̥͡i̥n͕̭g̳͔̰ ͎̙͔͕̪͈ you know. If you don’t, I’ll r̞̜ͭi̬̹̻͉̞̬̘̒͠p͍̲̥̞̈́ͮ͗̚͜ͅͅ ̝͊ ĩ͇̳̙̘̪̙̟́ͫͪṭ͔͈͓̹̮͗́̀ ̵͗ o͍͍̣̪ͬ͛͂ư̈͑̑̍ͤt͉̎ͯ̔̾̉̐ ̻͖̯̙̮͍͖͊̉ͥͮ̏̚̕ o̐̈̎͘f̷̟̜̭̞̞̒ͥ̆͂͌́ͪ ̥̅̾̒͌͗̿̚͢ y̘̲ͪ͊͗ͯͯͯo̓u̞̺̗͙̦͋̈r̹̱͉̺̆ͨ͆ͭ  ̧̮͎̼͓͎͛ͥ̒̽̉̾̚s̴͇̼̺ͩ͑̒͊̿̚k̓̉u̖̭͖̣͔͇͒͆̃ͭ͆̚͞l̜̙̺̖̆̐̒̐͑̇l̥͔̺͈̂̓ͣṡ̵͈̟̞.”

           “I want them to live,” Torako said. Part of him bristled at what came off as an order. The larger part of him listened. “I want them to live and I want them to regret and I want them to hurt.”

           “They could ruin you,” Dipper said. He thinks about Officer Nathan behind them, and wonders if Torako would be fine with some memory alterations. If she would make a deal for it, a small one, for candy. He wanted her happy.

           “Then make them not able,” Torako said. She gripped his hand tighter. Her voice shook. “I just want them to suffer.”

           One of them, the short one with the bloody nose, made a noise. Dipper stared at them—at her, at her, and he smiled, as wide and unnatural and sharply as possible.

           “I can do that,” Dipper said. He crooked a finger and the short one came closer, legs stiff and jerky. “N̢̘̫̟̼͍̠ͪ͊ͧͨo̠͖͈͟ẘ̸̤͈̜͙̹̯͍͊, I know that my friend here said you can’t do the easy way anymore, but it’s your l̨̕͝͠u̴̢ć̶͠ḱ̷̢̡y̸̨͜ ̀͟d͏a̵̵͝y̶͞͞! You have two options: the hard way, or the excruciatingly painful way. Which sounds better?”

           The short one—her name is Filly, she has a mother and father and a twin brother who works as a fast food manager, who she supports with her accounting job and she wanted more in life, Filly wanted more so she joined a cult and she’s always been a little apathetic about some things, so it was fine when they were sacrificing small stuff, like animals, and nobody human had died yet so it was okay. Not even that pathetic human they’d kidnapped a couple nights ago—as far as she knew, he was alive. She was fine, everything was fine. But the short one couldn’t even swallow, couldn’t cry, couldn’t move her mouth. Even if he let her, she’d be too scared to.

           Dipper patted her cheek, soft. Torako stood slightly behind him, stiff, a tree with shallow roots in the middle of the hurricane. She was unsteady. She hurt. So. So he had to do it fast, and he made a snap decision.

           “Oh, too bad, t̘̦̦͕͕̙̬͖͐͒̋̈̽͋͝i̼̭͇̙͒͞m̨̗͍̂̈̃ͩ͑ͧę͍̫̫̪̺̮͛̀́͆ͮ͑ͤ̕’̴̩͕̈́̉̾̚s̼̖͖̹͖͈̪͓̔̿̈́̏̓͗̀̚ ͧ͐̈͒̒̇͂҉̶̧̙̭̭̼̩̝̖u̮̭̹̳̝ͮ̓̈́̋̀p̡̡̨̩̺͈̝̓̑̂͋ͮ͑͑ͅ,” he said. “Plan B it is!”

           Then he reached into Filly’s head, his hand vanishing up to the wrist into her forehead, and pulled.

           Bentley dreams, he dreams, he dreams and dreams and dreams and dreams and when will it end, please just let it end please he doesn’t want this anymore, he’s so scared his heart has been racing for so long he’s surprised he isn’t dead    he wants to be                         no no that’s not what he wants, he wants, he wants—

           where's dipper

           where’s tora

where are they            where are they                        where  are       they

where

 he wants his friends

hes so scared

please

             Bentley dreams.

           They knew more, in the ten minutes it took for Dipper to harvest and sort through all the information the cultists had been hiding in their heads. They were trapped there, now. Unable to speak, unable to move. Maybe it would get better with age, but they could do nothing to hurt another person ever again. They couldn’t hurt Bentley. They wouldn’t touch a hair on Torako’s head. Dipper had wanted to tie bricks to their feet, grant them the ability to breathe underwater, and then dump them over the deepest part of the ocean when he found out that she was next.

           He told her everything, which was:

 Apparently, the cultists were paid by an anonymous person. Money for summoning Alû twice: once as a decoy, once for the target, which was Bentley Farkas. Money for summoning Xlixlis, with instructions to hide the presence of the target until it reached its eventual destination, at which point measures would be in place to keep unwanted eyes out. They summoned Alû twice, once with the decoy’s name—Freddie, the shrill one, had been frustrated with this one kid’s tendency to walk through their lawn on the way to school—and once with Bentley’s. Fuck yes Torako, kick Freddie. What a s̨h͜it̸h͝ea͟d͡. Anyways, the schoolkid had been easy for Alû to find, but they ran into a problem with Bentley: the demon couldn’t find him.

So, they contacted the client. The client didn’t raise a fuss. Actually, instead of demanding they find a location, the client got back to them in less than a week with an address. No, they didn’t know who the client was, or how they got the address—the Farkas-Lam-Pines household was off the public registers, ostensibly because Torako was a police employee—and they communicated through a complicated set of proxies. No, they didn’t know more, Torako, not even if you punched them—okay, they deserve the punch, go for it.

Go for it again. No, Officer Nathan, this is not exce—look, I promise I won’t bite you, just keep resting against that wall. I need to—there’s more.

(Dipper didn’t want to say the next part, but he did)

Once they got Bentley out of the apartment—lifeless, whimpering, Alû’s grip tight on his mind—they took him to a store in the area. Then—the CCTV? Oh, they had somebody loop a minute’s worth of feedback everywhere they passed through. Yeah, that’s a security issue. Somebody on the inside. I guess your team needs to be looked through. So, back to the store. It’s a hardware store, I think Denny’s? Fun fact, they used to be a food chain before branching out and eventually losing the food part of the equation. It happened about two hundred, three hundred years ago? Only lasted so long because of a couple enterprising hobbyist demonologists. One of them called me, actually, I—

Sorry. I’ll get back on track.

Denny’s. They took Bentley to Denny’s, and grabbed a specialty order fridge out of the back. The specially ordered fridge was arranged through the client, apparently. They’d broken in and ‘stolen’ it once, but Naksha there is a Denny’s employee, and he was charged with hiding it in the back. They dragged the fridge to the back of a truck, hooked it up to a generator, and. Put Bentley in.

…I know Torako. I know that entering one is dangerous to sentient—I know that Ben doesn’t need more PTSD on top of what he already—Torako. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I—I should have been here, I should have stopped this before it started, I should have been there for you and Bentley, I—

I’m not trying to turn this into a pity fest! Yeah. Yeah, I should have been here. I. I got scared, I—this isn’t the best time or place, okay? Don’t look at me like that, we’re in public, and the only reason this party hasn’t been broken up is that the cultists set up some fuc҉k̀ing҉ ͜ strong barriers to stop sound and magical signatures from getting out. So let’s wrap this up, okay?

That’s as far as it goes. They don’t know where the truck went, they don’t remember what it looked like aside from nondescript because there were some enchantments on the thing, they don’t know the client’s name, or the truck driver’s name, or the name of the person who commissioned the fridge or anything. They just found out today that you were the next victim. And if à̪͓̩ͭ̄̍n̴͓̺̳̘y̤͈̬̞̬͒ͮͫ͝ ̮̠̝̞̬ͨ̿̎͐̿̈́ͣ of them try to do anything to you, I will r̵̲͉͖͈̜̗̙͖̐͋ͭ̍ͭͪ̎į̜̫͖͎̜̰̯̇͂̇ͭ́p̧͔̖̭̙̩ͮ͗ͣ͠ ̨͎̬̫͚ͪ̓̃t̙̱̯͚͍͔̖̻ͦ͋̆ͥ̿̄͐͊͠h̴̭̠͂̆ͪ̃͐e͇̞̻̣̫ͯ̊́m̷̼̖̓̽ ̵̰̠̉͛̏̅̔̾̿͗͢a͂̀̇ͧ͏̴̫͍̩̻̘̹̻p̢̭̰̳̳ͥ̊a̛͖̜̤̥̠̒̐̏ͮ͐́̀͞r̷̬̜̬̄ͯ̎̔ͭ̔͂ͬ̏t̬ͬ̏́ͅ, te͠a̧r͘ thei͠r v҉er͏y͡ ṣ̸̤͖̥̪̦͋ͯ̔ͧ̍́͐̀͜͠ͅo̗͖̬̝̹͍̬̗͎̱̘̫͈͕̝̥̜ͤ̇̌͐ͬ͐ͥ̓ͫ͂̿͐̐̅̓ͮ͐̓̀͞ư̪̹̖̓̉ͫ̆͑̃̀̈́̎̎͑͞ḽ͖͖̮͔͇͖͔͉͈̪̩̫͉̖̍ͪͮͩ̕͜͝ͅsͩͮ̈͐͏̛͙̬͈͈̗̹̪͙͓̺̣̥͇̪̗̖̯̟̼́ ̴̫͕͔̰̮̘͚̯̤̟̞̰̣͙͕̀̋ͬ̔̌ͯ̏͊̋͜ͅ and h̔̐̐ͭ́ͩ͑̄̔̋̍ͨͥ͗̏́͂̓̒̕͟҉̝̱̳̟͈͈̤̗̮̖̥̹̺͚̘̦ͅu̔͐͗ͮͪͥ̈̉́͏̡̬͙̻͉̖͍̮͖͉n̡̧̯̮͎͇͖̖͕͚̥͍̟̱̗̲̏ͬ̐̌ͨ͛͛̂͟͡͞t̴̢̘̜̟̥͕͇͖͚̻̫͖̥̩̮͎̰̯͎̳̏ͯ̓̽̊̽ͮ͛̚̚͘͘ ̦̹͕̬͙̪̟͊͛̋͌ͣ͂̑͛̃̀̏ͫ̆̾̓͗̀t̮̯̲̲̻̜̘͙̼͙̤͖̫̘̦̭̼̊̉ͦ̄̓ͯ͐̾ͩͮ̌̊́h̸̨̨̯͎̱͖̦͓͕͓̲͚̯̔ͪ́̈̍ͧ̎ͯ͡͞ę̸̳͕͎̟̠̻̫̳̺͈̱͕̺̻̬̩̔̓͒̓͗ͮͩ̈ͭ͗͐̇̈͊̿mͥͭͩ̆ͦͥ͋̎ͤ̉̌ͨͬͭ̌͗̕͏̦̫̩̬̬͎͡ ̷̴̶̤̰̻̟͎̩̯̳͛͋ͤ͂̆ͫͥ̉ͪͪͪͯͫ́̅̏ͯ̉̉͘͡ͅd̴̢͚̻̰͇͐̔̊ͣ̇̿̌̕͡͞o͕͖̼̻̠͓͚̰̟͖͆͛̑̆ͮ̂ͨ̾̀̈ͧ̆͊͒͊̆́̕͝͞ͅw̛̗̣̲̙̹͓͙͔͙̳̹̝̘͎̩͈͇̑̈́ͯ̋͞͡͞ͅn̷̡̨̹̘͓̪͔͈͙ͦͭ̓ͮͥ̋̃͌̎̎ͭͣ̽ͪ̈́̆̀ ̵̸̢̬̳̦̰̼̹̪̯̭̾͗̋͂ͥ́̑͂͛͘͡i̸̠̥͉͉̣̯̦̺̳͋̋̃̅͛̅̌́́́n̸̵̵̩͈̙͕̲̦͉͓͙̞͚͇͍̱͈̊̆͆̍ͬ̏ͣ̈ͯ͑͗ͧͩ̉̈́̈ͯ̚͟͡ ̢̠̭͇͙̟̯̲͕̮͍̦̣̙ͫͦ̇͛ͥ̏̚͢ͅt͑̓ͯͧͭ̓̏͋ͣ͡҉҉̻͇̺̞͖̼̪̘̗͇̲͖̹̯͈̪͙̠͇h̉͑̇͑̉̿̒̈́͆̊̽̚͏̣̘̳̬̩̺̖͟ͅe̺͖̫̟͎̬̣̬̤ͥ̈͌̂͌͂ͭͬ͐̎ͩ͑̓̂͊̄͊͟͞ị̴͔̤̺̗͋͌̿͌̓́̋ͨ̾̾̂̍̉͑́́r̢̢̛̩̞͕̹͍̱͇̹ͬ̈̈͗ͣ̌͟͟ —

Wait, say that again? Uh-huh. So why did they target you? Desperation. I’m surprised you’re talking to me, Officer Nathan. It basically comes down to the efforts to keep magical pets inside, and for magical persons to travel in groups of two or more. They were getting nervous. Alû took a lot of energy getting through Bentley’s sigils, and demanded more for Torako. I’m going to eat that upstart shitt̨y͞ ̧l͟it̡t͞le d̢emon, who thinks they can take what is m̴͢i͟͞ń̛̛͢͜e̷̶͡, they’re m͒̈́ḭ͎͎̯̳͉̇͊̿͌n̡̳̩̯̟̗̘̰ͮ̚e̸̿͛̇̓ͬ̆ and n̩͓̆̉ŏ̸̱̯̺͈̹̓͌t̯̱̹̟̜̻̺̤͒͑ͪ́͞h̅̓̓ͨ͏͏̳̹͈̭̤̲͍i̸̷͉̜ͧ̐ͭ̈͑̑ͥ̈́̕n̨̧̥͇͍͉̪͖̈́̋̽̾̂̾̆͠g͈̭͙̺͎̻̓ͧͯͦͬ̏͑͂̕ ͪ͛́̏͂͊̅͒҉̨̮̟̠ wil͘l m̡ak̶e̶ t͏h͞at̨ ̵ḿi̵stàke̢ ę̛̙̜̞̣͍̪̖̠̤̞̳͑ͯͨͦ͋̽̓̓́̄͒ͬ̽̆̇ͪ̚͜͝͡v̍ͣͧͪ͋͋ͧ́̐̄ͯ̑͌̉͂͌́ͦ͆��͜͏̸̷̮̹͍̰̞͉̥̗̦̗̥̜̗̣e̴̵̩̩͈̗͕͇̬̗̩̲̠͍̬͋ͮ̂ͫ͂͊͐ͮͨͪ̊ͫ̏̉͋ͥ͟͝r̸̷̛͍̲̟͆̈͆ͦͦ͐̋̇ͥ̌͆̓ͬ͋ͅ ̻͙̥̥͓͔͖̳̩̙̹ͦ̆̑̌ͤ̿ͪ̐̎ͦ̏̋͜͞ą̪̯̦̺̖̟̮͐ͬ͐̎̿̈ͣ͘g̛̰̟̳̠̩̝̪͈̯͆̈̐̾̊̅̅̌̉ͭ̉̋͆̆̀͢ͅă̶̢̧̛̹͇̱͔̥̱͚̟ͤ̇̀ͨ̋͟ǐ̢̐͗̊ͨ͑͆̆҉͖͈͕̹̥̞͚̞͎̭̘̺̞̠̻͝n̟̗̦̲̏́ͭ͋̈́̃́̀͢.

             : and then, Torako tugged on his ponytail to make him stop speaking because Officer Nathan looked ready to pass out in fear. She looked like shit, but there she was, making sure he was decently civilized in the face of people who were meeting him for the first time. People who recognized him for the very dangerous, highly volatile demonic being he was, thank fuck there were still people with sense in the world.

           Then, Officer Nathan looked straight at Torako, and said in a quiet, rasping voice, “You can’t. I can’t let you stay on the force. Not like this.”

           Bentley is dreaming.

           Bentley is.

                       Is he? Is this

existence? If it is then bentley

bentley isn’t sure he wants to exist, not when dipper is

whispering in his ear, all the things he wants to do

how he wants to taste bentley’s soul

again, how       delicious

it would taste between his teeth

how bentley is a mizar

who     doesn’t deserve to be mizar

he’s too quiet

too sad

too serious

it would be better if torako was

and bentley hears torako say

that she regrets ever talking to him

she wishes

she wishes she could have her parents back

in her life, that

just because bentley

doesn’t have his father anymore

doesn’t mean torako should have to live        without             hers

she has two

she wants them both

she doesn’t want bentley

anymore, if it was a                            choice                           between philip

and                 bentley            she would

she would

she

 bentley feels philip behind him

feels his father

can’t turn around

he

he wants

he wants to see his father

he wants his father

father

father

papa

please

           bentley doesn’t want to           dream              anymore

           bentley doesn’t            want                to be anymore

 but

              bentley is

           and he dreams.

           Honestly, Torako saw it coming.

           “So you really are kicking me out,” she said. She was drained. She was so tired. She wanted to lay down and sleep and forget everything, forget her rash actions (even if she had to save Officer Nathan) and forget the consequences (she had been so angry) and forget that Bentley was gone and they’d shoved him in a stasis fridge—

           She wasn’t going to go there. Not now.

           “You have to understand,” Officer Nathan rasped, blinking slowly. They really needed to get him medical help. “I can’t. This job, with you, with him in your back pocket.”

           Torako laughed. She wanted to cry, but she laughed instead. “Yeah. A demonologist with Alcor the Dreambender in their back pocket? I’d muck things up. Throw the validity of my work into question.”

           Next to her, Dipper bristled. “Listen,” he said, “plenty of officers in the past have relied on my help, and none of their cases were ever—”

           “Maybe then,” Officer Nathan said, still looking at Torako. “But now? It’s barely been a decade and a half since incidents regarding the Dreambender have died down. I can’t let you stay, Torako.”

           Torako gave in to the impulse to sit down. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to focus, tried to figure out what it was she was supposed to do. But her thoughts were a storm, scattered, incohesive, ripped apart and unsettled by everything. By Bentley’s disappearance and the situation surrounding it. By the cultists, their screams and their faces as Dipper tore memories out of their heads. By Dipper’s absence. By his presence. By Officer Nathan, the assault on him, and how he was now one of the very few that knew the truth about Tyrone. Torako felt like her mind was being pulled a dozen different directions, down a hundred different paths all at the same time. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t plan. All she could do was breathe.

           Dipper, apparently, was better at compartmentalizing than she was, and she felt a stab of frustration and anger. Dipper, who left. Dipper, who came back too late, who came back right on time. Torako, in her storm of thoughts, had the clear realization that she didn’t like being the one left behind, that she never wanted to be left behind again.

           “What about her schooling?” Dipper asked. “This internship was her entire last year, what is she supposed to do now?”

           She heard Officer Nathan sigh. Torako didn’t care about the answer. At the same time, she wanted to cry at all her work, all her effort, gone in a rush of anger and desperation. “I…I don’t know. I can say that the disappearance of her partner has left her too distraught to keep up with the rigor of this internship. Torako has done good work, up until now, the school might make allowances. They might not.”

           She might not graduate. How the fuck was she supposed to explain that to her dads? Then she realized how stupid that thought was in the wake of Bentley being gone, and refocused on breathing. In, and out. In, and out. She would be calm, Torako would be calm, she would be.

           “So you won’t tell them, then,” Dipper asked.

           “I won’t lie in a court of law,” Officer Nathan said. “But I won’t volunteer the information. Not after…not after everything Torako has done for us. Me.”

           But not enough to let Torako stay. Not enough to make sure she could graduate, for sure. Not enough to—

           Torako pulled her palms from her face and looked at them. They were soft. So soft. She’d gotten used to desk work over the past year, gotten used to investigation and curse-breaking and everything that was the opposite of her gap year experience. She’d gotten soft. She’d stopped being so lonely. She’d started seeing school as important even beyond being near Bentley again, and now? Bentley was gone.

           Her mind snapped to one path. Bentley was gone. What reason was there to stay?

           “Right,” Dipper said, cold. “Of course. That’s the logical conclusion, after Torako has literally saved your life. Has helped directly solve four cases, or was it more? I can’t remember. Could you remind me?”

           Silence. Torako didn’t care, she was thinking, she could think.

           If she didn’t have to go to work, she had time. If Bentley were home, if Dipper were around, it would be devastating. It still was, a little. But Bentley was gone. Nobody knew where he was. The cultists couldn’t remember the truck’s appearance, or plate, or identification. They didn’t know the client’s name. They didn’t know where the stasis fridge came from.

           Torako stiffened at the realization.

           “What an honorable person you are, Nathan Akuapem,” Dipper said quietly.

           “Look who’s talking,” Officer Nathan said, an edge to his tone that didn’t come from the pain in his head. “I don’t think a demon can lecture me on honor.”

           “I don’t pretend to have any,” Dipper lied. Torako wanted them to shut up, thinking over and over the glimmer of hope they had for finding Bentley. She thought—it could be viable. She hoped it was viable, because if Dipper didn’t know where Bentley was now, then—

           “I understand,” Torako said. She looked up. “Really, I get it. Thank you for—for not reporting me.”

           Officer Nathan looked at her like he wasn’t sure what to think anymore. It hurt, but she’d half expected it to happen, so it wasn’t the blow it could have been. He nodded.

           “Do you think you could do me one last favor?”

           “Torako, you’ve worked so hard for this, what—”

           “Dipper. Shut up.” Torako didn’t even look at him. This was too important. She needed Officer Nathan to agree to this. She had to be able to do this as legally as possible, because she didn’t want to alienate her friend any more than she already had.

           Dipper shut up.

           Officer Nathan blinked, then said, “I can’t make any promises.”

           Torako locked eyes with him. “I just need clearance to ask about the fridge that was stolen. Manufacturing details. Order details. There might be something there. Or if you don’t trust me to do that, please, have somebody else look into it and just forward me the information. Please.” Torako fought to remain dry-eyed.

           Officer Nathan closed his eyes. He breathed. He was silent.

           “Please.”

           After a long, long pause, he said, “Okay. I’ll have Officer Zala look into it tomorrow, and I’ll forward the information to you.”

           Torako breathed out, and with that breath she released tension she didn’t realize she was holding. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

           He sighed. “You’re going after him, aren’t you.”

           “Of course I am,” Torako said. “He’s my partner. He’s my family. He means—he means more than anything to me.”

           Dipper set a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She let him. They stayed there, in the alleyway, just breathing in silence. The slightly damp, warm air, the odd quality of demonic energy that was both unnerving to something deep in Torako, but also familiar, like a warm bathrobe after a long bath.

           Finally, Torako said, “Let’s get you to the hospital, Officer,” and stood up on aching feet, because she had to.

           be n t ley         dr e am s

           he                                he                               he

doesn’t

 wa  nt  to        

drea m

  bentley is fucking sick of all this fucking dreaming he’s going to f u             ck        in g

              torako

cruel

her                   her words                    are

torako would never say those things she would never f ucking s a   y      th e m this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong this    is          wr  o n  

dipper

do        e s n     ‘           t   lov   e     h   im  

a ny mo           re                                he doesn’t wan t bent le y

this is wrong this is more than his brain usu a  a l l y does it’s har d to  t h I n k it’s hard but bentley is

Bentley is Sick as Fuck of Dreaming. This is Wrong. Dipper love s               hi         m  he

nothing

a v a c uu m of n o     t hi n g

crushing

him

suffocating

him

nothing

noth     i n g

no        t h         in g

dipper did this

and Dipper fucking a p o lo gized he apologized HE APOLOGIZED and

it was bentley’s fault too

this is wrong, he knows this already why is this h a pp          e          n in      g         something is

wrong

wrong

w r   o n         g

               bentley dre a m s

           and be n tl    e y is tire d         sick as fuck      of         this is wrong this is wrong

he’s dreaming

           Torako got the text at three the next afternoon. Sunday afternoon, when she and Bentley would usually be lounging about, needling each other to do chores that neither of them wanted to do.

           Instead, Torako got up early. She went on a run. She cleaned the apartment, top to bottom. Left the fridge alone. She pulled out Bentley’s art supplies for when he got back, pulled out all the nightlights they had in storage, made sure all the clothes were clean and ready to be zapped warm for maximum comfort. She pulled her hunting gear out of storage, put on her old charmed boots. Bought a new bag. Packed clothes, packed food, packed money and her international travel permit just in case.

           She packed Bentley’s favorite sweater, yarn mismatched in places where he’d fixed it. She packed his second favorite for herself, because. Because.

           “Your phone chimed,” Dipper said. He’d been quiet. They’d both been quiet. She didn’t like it, but she wasn’t sure how to start untangling her feelings, let alone spin them into words.

           “I know,” she said. She finished setting magnets into the backpack, then fixed the sigils Bentley had made into them. They were old, from her hunting days, and newer ones would be stronger, but Bentley wasn’t there. Torako was, and she could make sigils, but it felt wrong to replace them before they were dead.

           Just in case, she packed supplies to make extras. Then, only then, did she pick up the phone and navigate to Officer Nathan’s text.

           There were two pictures attached. The first was a compilation of screenshots regarding the information about the fridge. She scanned it, then saved the picture to a new locked folder called BUNNY BOY. Hopefully if her phone was taken, the people would just assume it was mildly embarrassing porn she’d saved.

           The second picture was of Officer Nathan, hooked up to special IVs. Hepsa was next to him, in a wheelchair. She’d left last night, after Torako told her what had happened Torako offered to bring her to the hospital, but Hepsa said she would take a cab. That it would be better to take a cab, Tyrone had just come home, Torako should spend time with him.

           Torako had let her. She hadn’t told her more. That was up to Officer Nathan. Who had, it seemed, attached an actual message to the images.

           She means more than anything to me, too. Good luck.

           It took a few moments for the significance of the message to sink in. Torako smiled a little, even though everything felt a little dull, and pocketed the phone.

           “Well?” Dipper asked. He’d demolished the Moffios out of her sight, thankfully, but sometimes she saw marshmallow bits caught between his teeth. She would give up all the Moffios in the world if she thought it would get her Bentley back.

           “A city in North Africa,” Torako said. “Some coastal place called Parakou,.”

           Dipper made a face. “Benin isn’t even that far north, why is it called North Africa now?”

           Whatever Benin was. “Beats me.” Torako tilted her head. Then, she did that shrugging thing Dipper was so fond of, just to see him smile. Bentley had adopted it more than she had, but. But. Bentley wasn’t here.

           But she was going to get him. She was going to find him. And they were going to come home.

           “So what’ll you give me to power this international trip?” Dipper asked. There was a gleam in his eye that Torako didn’t like, that Torako knew he couldn’t help. She let it be.

           “I think,” she said, pulling out a bag of gummy worms, “that these’ll do the trick, right?”

           Dipper grinned wide. Torako did her best not to think about the cultists. She hadn’t watched any news that day just to make sure she didn’t know what had happened to them, after they’d been left in that alley. “It’s a deal.”

           He reached out with hone hand. She placed the gummy worms in it, and then shook. Blue demonfire raced up her palm, making her skin tingle and the hair on her arms stand up.

           “But before we go,” Dipper said, pulling a patch of material from thin air, “I think you should carry this around. Just in case.”

           Torako took the patch, rubbed a thumb against its familiar, warm edge. She smiled, sharp, and slapped the embroidered image of Mizar’s bat on the wrist of her left jacket sleeve. The enchantments took, stuck the patch to the fabric, and Torako felt ready. She pulled on the backpack. She put on her cap. She rolled her shoulders, stood up straight.

           “Let’s go,” she said. In the space between breaths, they were gone, the apartment was empty, and nobody was any wiser. In ten other places, identical demonic signatures flared, forming a perfect circle. At the epicenter was Timothy Janning’s home. That home had a basement. The basement had candles, and chalk, and a dozen assorted magical creatures ready to be sacrificed.

           Timothy Janning was arrested two days later.

Bentley dreams

           he fights

He dreams of things like being hated, of hating himself, of being abandoned and left behind and mocked for it

           but his friends, his father, none of them would say those things and this is w ro ng this is wrong he fights

He cannot stop crying

           there cannot be this many tears in even a dream, bentley would know, he would know

He can barely breathe

           if bentley fights, and fights, and fights, he can feel a pressure on his chest, on his entire body, like time is standing still and something is wrong

He can barely think

           especially if he fights a little, but if he fights a lot coherency returns and he feels an unsettlingly familiar, an unsettlingly unfamiliar sensation crawling along his skin, less physical than mental but real and wrong

But he keeps dreaming

he keeps fighting, in fits, where he drowns and resurfaces and drowns and resurfaces and d ro w n s

He dreams

he’s so sick of dreaming

#orange lilies #transcendence au #tau fic #bentley #torako #dipper #<3

[adventurousaries]

My tale of School days, A Flashback

Yes, Its about a girl who stumbled with her studies and her gang of friends who tolerated her like no one in the universe can do.

With no idea of which school I am gonna get in after my 8th Std, my mom chose the best one for me as she always do. Next comes a very dangerous part “The entrance Exam”. “Oh man, how can you just be so dumb Sneha” my mom blasted after realizing that in the battle between me and math, I won. Yes, I was very poor in math as well as Hindi. But somehow I cleared my entrance. With my newly stitched uniform and with so much of anxiety to meet new people I stepped into my school. I asked the way to my classroom to a tall gigantic dumb guy who ran away without any response. With all mixed emotions somehow I reached my classroom, found a place that suits my height and got settled. All were starring at the new joiners as if we were from some mafia group. There comes an announcement from our teacher with a very firm voice “Get ready for the assembly students”. Standing in a height order myself at the last as always, we headed towards our ground. There I slowly started to talk with my girl classmate who was also a new joiner and who was also as dumb as me. Our craziness and mischievousness comes out only when you are in a right company and I found the one right on the first day in the assembly. We ragged a guy who was standing next to us saying there is something on his head. But there was no reaction at all. Then we asked another girl who was not a new joiner that what’s wrong with all these psychic guys in this school, and her reply made our eyeballs bulge out. “We are not allowed to talk to boys” that was the line kept on echoing throughout the day. Days passed by and I became friends with everyone. But, the girl’s mindset is that even if she gets millions of friends there will be only somebody with whom she gets heart level attachment. As said, we were a gang of three. We were like very thick friends that alI other girls were jealous on us. We used to roam every single street in our area. Since we were very beautiful too we had many fan followings. Haha, I still remember a postman following us for months and he ran away when we threw stones and slippers. If two girls are besties then they will gossip about the entire world, but if that’s a gang of three, then the two will gossip only about the third one. Likely, we had a one who just irritate us with her endless dramas. But we loved her so much that only because of that crazy idiotic buffoon we both had become close. The most wanted girls were both of us that every teacher wanted to change our seating. She went to the third bench and mine at the last. Words cannot explain seeing our friend getting close with her neighbour girl in class. That too I was literally planning to create some mess between both that she comes back to me. But myself being a chatter box got close with my benchmates too. We were excel in all activities except studies, that we used to roam all the streets after school hours, get an old tape recorder, find a friend’s house whose parents can tolerate us, dance like a mentally retarded goose for mass hit Tamil kuthu songs. Our craziness over dance and acting skills made us to dance for a famous dance company for a mass number song. A lady from the audience was cheering us too hard and she completely enjoyed our group dance. She personally called me and appreciated for my makeover ,costume and dancing style. That was the first appreciation I had got and that made me completely fall for her and admire her that what even a small appreciation can make someone’s day. My school always had stringent rules which not only students should adhere to but parents should also follow. If a parent could not attend a so called PTA meeting then the student will not be able to attend the next day class. As a punishment, parent should take their children with them to the school with an apology letter and need to wait for the principal for accepting the apology for the whole day. If they attend the meeting also, they will not be allowed to get outside in the middle. But, my gang was the only gang who completely enjoyed, never bothered about the rules, happily enjoying the punishments, thoroughly enjoying when our bestie gets caught because of us, standup on the bench moments, fighting for one tiffin box, happiness in untieing our friends hair ribbon, roaming each and every street in our half broken cycle after school , that running moment when our teacher finds us roaming after school hours, cutting cream buns for birthdays due to budget problems, soups and chats during night class, getting caught and having extreme fun while principal starts scolding us, chemistry and physics teacher’s atrocities, doing every wrong things correctly and not having any regrets about it. The most precious thing that a school can gift its students is arranging for a tour outside that too for a gang like us. With a luggage full of snacks, sweaters and music systems we headed towards kodaikanal. More than the place we are going, the company with whom we are going really matters and because of not having such good company many did not make it for the tour. It started off with a huge scream of heyyyy the moment our bus stepped out of school. Immediately turned on the audio system in the bus, danced as if that is going to be our last day on the earth. It was like a minute we started to dance but we reached the railway station so soon. Those times we spent by doing non-stop gossip about every girl and boy in our school, imitating our friend’s mannerisms, taking crazy pictures which is even more crazy when we watch those pictures now. After reaching madurai, we were literally praying god that our gang must get a separate room and not even a single teacher should share our room, and luckily god heard our prayers and we got a very big luxurious room unlike others who need to stay with teachers that too only 4 can stay in a room. We ten crazy cartoon characters started off the nightstay like, 2 were busy in choosing what night dress to wear, 4 were fighting for one chips packet, 3 fighting for one remote controller and one crazy dumb jumping and bumping on all of us. After finishing off our dinner,with lights off, TV been switched off, all together on the bed, one’s leg on other one’s shoulder,one’s head on another other one’s thighs, we started off with all the ghost stories we knew. All at the peak of scariness we heard someone’s sound inside the room and we are all holding everyone very tightly and didn’t even move a inch, after sometime only we noticed that it was a heavy snoring sound of a mentally retarded species in our gang. We broke into laughter and continued to talk and talk and talk that it became 5 am in the morning suddenly when the same mentally retarded species phone alarmed not more louder than her snoring sound, but nothing made her to move even a little bit from her posture. The completely irritated us, kept on the mobile phone inside her ears immediately when she kicked me like an ass that I started to roll on the bed, suddenly my gigantic well built friend lying on the other side of the bed stopped me from falling down. Everyone were laughing like a hell that even our intestines would have come out if it had continued for some more minutes. Those fights on who has to take bath firstly so that others can sleep for sometime, again fighting for the remote,fight for hairclips, combs and kajals, where some silently went to the terrace and finished off their breakfast and started bullying others. We started off to a temple in madurai and by afternoon we headed towards kodaikanal, where none of us had a drop of energy to even speak because of the last night tragedy. All of us had a very tight sleep during the journey, and suddenly the temperature became so cold, which we were not able to withstand. Slowly we started off our mischievousness by kicking everybody hardly as we were not able to withstand the cold temperature. We had a very good sightseeing at kodaikanal and returned chennai completely drained off. The first week in school after tour, we spoke about the fun and comedy scenes that happened in our tour. Slowly days passed and we were sitting on the last day of our board exams. So much of prayers, so much of sadness on everyone’s heart completely filled with silence, tears rolling down when we hardly tried to study, all those memories flashing like a dream and it finally broke down when one started to cry out. Everyone were trying to console each other, wiping out their own tears. So many hugs and kisses, those pinky promises we made that we will be together forever, exchanging cards, gifts, letters and scrapbooks. We completed our exams, and with a very heavy heart we bid last good byes to some of our class mates, teachers, the last time view of our school, we left home without able to control our tears. Though we met during our annual holidays, those times in the school cannot be replaced at all. Those times when our friend calls us to accompany her to the loo, that moment when our friend sings like a crap with us during boring lectures, the way we play hand cricket wrongly every time, the way we used to eat all the time during night class, those times we wantedly delay inside the loo knowing that our friend is waiting outside for her turn, that moment when our friend asks for an extra paper during exam where we wouldn’t have completed the main sheet itself, that moment when we will be caught because of some idiotic fellow, those days when our bestie consoles us with a hug and a letter after a fight, those prank calls we make to irritate our friend, the hard times that would easily fly when we lye on our friend’s lap, the happiness we get when our friend shares her shoulders which even a million dollar salary can’t bring, the peace in our inner heart when we feel their presence, cannot be expressed out in words. Six years passed, we are still the same, and we all love each other for no reason and we are still ready to do anything for the other. Though we are all far apart just in distance, half of my heart always beats with you all and this distance taught me how much we are ready to do anything for the other.

This is my first blog in tumblr, and kind apologies if I had bored you all with my storyline.

-Sneha VJ 16/01/17

#friends #friendship #love #schooldays #memories