the only one who left a mark on my person after getting out of the cinema

“You’re a store clerk and oh shit I just spotted my ex please let me hide behind your desk-thing” AU

I saw this prompt earlier and I HAD to do it for Zutara!

The thing about hearing your name being called out is that it’s almost automatic to look around, even if - like Katara - you knew the voice calling it and didn’t want to. The thing about having a name like Katara’s was that ignoring it wasn’t much of an option, either - how many other Kataras were likely to be walking around? The shock of dark brown hair heading her way was, even from this distance, unmistakeable.

Crap,” she hissed, jerking her head back around and quickening her pace, even as she knew it would do no good - Jet was on the track team. This isn’t hiding, she thought to herself as she slipped into the nearest store, some tiny teashop. This is a tactical retreat.

The empty shop was small and quaint and - most importantly - completely devoid of places to hide: it was all tiny tables and squashy chairs. The only possible place was the desk at the back where the cash register was, and she hurried across to it, ducking under the door flap to find, to her dismay, a mess of cardboard boxes on the floor behind the desk. It seemed there was only room for one person to stand, so, grimacing, she started clearing the boxes away when she heard someone clear his throat.

“Is this… a robbery?” asked the guy looking at her, who must have just emerged from a door she hadn’t noticed before - a store room, probably. “Because if it is, it’s a really bad one. I could hear you all the way from the back.”

Keep reading

Headcanon #19 - Dating The Triplets {Ben Solo, Kylo Ren, Matt}

so before I write this I want to write a disclaimer that ofc I didn’t think of the triplets :) I saw it on thirst-disorder-confessions {which during my absence was deactivated and idk why or how etc} and it’s been in my head a lot recently and I felt I neEDED to do it okay so here we go!

Originally posted by waiefu

Ben Solo:

☒ You met Ben Solo more likely in a bar. He kept buying you drinks and eventually you left the bar with him - to get food! Honestly, Ben is the more out-going Triplet but he certainly isn’t in any way confident in bedding you on the first night!

☒ After he bought you a late night dinner, he asked for your phone, in which you gave it to him. He texted himself so that you’d have eachothers numbers.

☒ As cheesy as it sounds, it was love at first sight for Ben, and he knew his parents would love you too.

☒ The next morning, Ben woke up on his couch, and it wasn’t until he heard his brothers make a commotion was that he realised he let you stay in his bed last night.

☒ Ben’s not too keen on pda, for the simple reason he believes not everything lasts, and doesn’t want to get too attached to get hurt.

☒ He’s not very romantic, but he has his ways of showing you he cares.

☒ He’s very protective though. Especially around his brothers, even though he knows they won’t make a move on you.

☒ He’s a passionate lover. Leaving many marks on your body to show your taken.

☒ He’s certainly not fussy about where you guys do it after the first time. Whether it be in the comfort of his home or in public, as long as it’s with you, he doesn’t care.

☒ Family. He doesn’t want a family. He prefers the idea of a pet more than children. Does that upset you? Maybe he’ll change his mind if you persuade him.

☒ He might not want children but he certainly wants to put a ring on your finger.

☒ his parents love you, and agree that you are the best for Ben.

Originally posted by theforcesource

Kylo Ren:

❏ You met Kylo on Star Killer base. You worked with General Hux, strictly professional, and the minute Kylo saw you through his mask, he swore he drooled a little bit. It was a really uncomfortable moment for him.

❏ It took Kylo months to muster up the courage to talk to you. And when he did, you were clearly scared and intimidated by him. It was at the moment, he realised he needed to try harder if he wanted to win you over, and so he did.

❏ He left you little notes on your desk at work, sent flowers to your room and even persuaded Hux to give you more breaks.

❏ “I may be a creature in a mask, but I’m in love with you y/n.”

❏ He stumbled over his words, and ever now he occasionally gets nervous around you.

❏ He doesn’t take his mask off around you. E hates the way he looks, but he also looks iDENticAL to Ben Solo, his triplet brother.

❏ You assure him it’s okay, and that you don’t care. You know your Kylo from a Ben.

❏ He had frequent meltdowns. Caused mostly by his insecurities and hatred for the world (pretty much tbh XD).

❏ you were the only one who could calm him down, and it often resulted in you staying in his quarters over night to help him sleep.

❏ Many people have seen you leave Commander Ren’s quarter extremely early in the morning to be doing a job, and so get suspicious about whether you two are having sex.

❏ When someone mentions it, you get flustered, and Kylo gets angry because he doesn’t believe you could ever want to be intimate with him.

❏ That night you turn up to his quarters late, and began to strip him of his clothing, wanting to show him that you love him and want to be intimate with him. You demand he take his mask off. You wanted to know what the man you began to fall in love with looked like.

❏ That night was extremely romantic and passionate for the both of you. It made Kylo realise that he was in love and he never wanted to loose you. Ever.

❏ Supreme Leader Snoke is not happy with the relationship development between the two of you, however; he senses the hatred for anyone else who laid eyes on you in Kylo. And believe that hatred would be his success to the Dark Side.

❏ You never meet Kylo’s parents, but you talk regularly about having children of your own some day. And about you becoming Mrs Ren.

Originally posted by kyloholic


❍ Matt is 100% the dork of the Triplets. You met him at the cinema. There were no seats left, and so asked if it was okay to sit next to him. He agreed, shyly, a beautiful woman like you next to him in the cinema.

❍ He spilt his drink and so you offered him yours. The whole time he drunk out of the cup, he couldn’t help but think it was like kissing you. FrEAK.

❍ He loves you. More than anything. And he can tell you feel the same.

❍ Matt may be a dork but he’s an elegant lover and extremely romantic.

❍ Elegant and romantic aside, he also has his naughty side. It’s consists of him being dominant and being on top nice and strongly.

❍ He doesn’t want you to meet his brothers, in case you want one of them more than him. You told him they may look like him, but they can NEVER be him and beat his dorky personality.

❍ You get married within 3 months of meeting. Matt’s serious about you, and wants to put a ring on your finger. You reluctantly agree, a bit cautious about how fast this was going - but you understood how he felt and why.

❍ “you mean so much to me. I can’t loose you, ever. I know this is fast but, marry me?”

❍ Children are definitely thought about, and so are pats.

We also compared notes on his chicks so here is Prince’s roster of famous chicks he DEFINITELY for 100% fucked at the very least, the 5 of us can confirm. The list (of the well known ones) is in kinda chronological order because his method is to revolve like 4-5 women at any given time. Some last longer & others didn’t so the year is the one he began seeing ‘em. I might of forgot one or two though but:

Kim Upsher - high school, 1st proper one

Sue-Ann Carwell - Mainly to get back at Jellybean, he liked her & she could SAANG!
Susan Moons - Shame about her, good wife material ('80)

Lisa Coleman - They fucked once or twice initially & he wrote a song about her, it’s called Lisa & unreleased ('80)

Jill Jones - She got dragged along for some time though ('81) 

Vanity - In exchange for Vanity 6 and that was some intense shit ('82)

Apollonia - Sandra said he wasn’t into her that much but for publicity sake they fucked even though she was with Van Halen at the time ('83)

Susannah Melvin -  Full blown, long ass relationship, second only to Mayte & Manuela. He treated her real bad though ('84)

Jackie Swanson - She’s in the Raspberry Beret video, he wrote a song about her too, Palomino Pleasure Ride ('85)
Madonna - Again in '89, but he performed a show after fucking her in a limo backstage & he used her panties onstage in Darling Nikki ('85)
Devon Devasquez - She started seeing Pookie Senior after, John! LOL family affair ('85)
Sherilyn Fenn - She was OBSESSED with him, she’s got a blog with all her Prince stories on 'em, read for more details on there google it ('85)
Kirsten Scott Thomas - Hooked up on the Under The Cherry Moon set ('86) 
Ophelie Winters - She was like 17 & he produced an album for her too ('86)

Sheila E. - She got the Jill Jones treatment too ('86)
Maneca Lightner - She is on the cover of the Madhouse album ('86)

Sheena Easton - He once chased her naked ass around newly built Paisley & wrote Sugar Walls for her ('87)
Carole King - Too smart & loudmouth for his taste ('88)

Cat Glover - Mainly to mess with Sheila. Accused him of fathering her son who looks just like Prince ('88)
Ingrid Chavez - Casual fucking ('88)

Anna Garcia - He took her virginity & she spilled the details first to me & then a european Newspaper LOOOL ('89)

Kim Basinger - He had a fuggin HOLD on her ass, he recorded her album & left honey all OVER the mixing board after their sex sessions) ('89)
Robin Power - Butterface but real nice personality ('89)

Martina - Fucked him for the tracks on her album , he even let her cover one of his own tunes, Love Thy Will Be Done ('90)

Tatiana Thumbtzen - Talked too much to the press & too boney which he hated. He once jizzed in her eye apparently my coworker Kathy took her to the emergency room LOOOL ('90)

Elisa Florillo - Again, for the tracks ('90)

Troy Beyer - She was real cute but too independent ('91)

Heidi Mark - Random hookup ('91)

Carmen Electra - LOOOOOL ('92)
Nona Gaye - He dropped her like a bad habit once he got bored & started seeing/knocked up Mayte ('92)

Vanessa Marcil - He was real casual with her, they was fucking until Vanessa again wanted more out of her acting career ('93)

Wifey 1: Mayte -  I think he DID truly love her, as much as he can love, but bad beginnings & end! ('93)
Mel B. - She interviewed him at Paisley, check out Youtube. He talks about her ass & they fucked a few times ('97)
Chilli - Prince called her by her real name, Rozonda. He thought her ass was an easy lay, he got that ass easily & he thought she was a ho & left her cold, she was always calling & Lexi had to ignore her until she stopped ('98)
Rosario Dawson - Was barely legal & Lexi saw 'em making out/grinding on each other hardcore. She did the voiceover on 1999 remaster too ('98)
Ananda Lewis - Met him after Prince went on TRL show & she came to his party. She got with Lenny Kravitz after Prince dumped her ('99)

Geneva - Once or twice only, he complained that her back up dancing for him was pretty terrible & it was, so got rid of her real quick ('99)

Wifey 2: Manuela - He got caught fucking her in a cinema whilst they was married & the cinema kicked they hot asses out LOOL ('99/'00)
Tamar - Another protege, did her album. It never got released & apparently it was what broke him & Manuela up for good ('04)

Liza Hernandez - She was a Beyonce-ish lookalike & Prince fucked her on the beach when he hired a penthouse, 5 star, in Panama for her ('05)

The Twinz - He was fucking both together at tha same time, his publicist caught him with Nandy kissing him & Maya givin him a handy LOOL ('07)

Our info stream stops there, but we are quite sure about Bria Valente, Andy Allo & Misty Copeland cause all the clues are there, he either produced music for 'em (he does it in return for the puss) & he donated like a million dollars to Misty’s ballet company. I asked but we are all unsure about Nicole Sherwhateva, Shelby J, Liv Warfield, Cassandra Wilson, Janelle Monae & Kiran Sharma his manager BUT we are quite sure that Prince did NOT fuck: Stacy Lattisaw, 
Patrice Rushen, 
Susannah Hoffs, 
Mica Paris, 
Diamond and Pearl & 
Patti Labelle. NOW add on all the random non-famous hook up’s & Prince’s list runs into 00’s, even 000’s possibly, he always had LOTS of amazing pussy!!

—  Confessions of a previous employee of Prince’s ‘Paisley Park’ studio
Love through pictograms

Klaroline Day Seven- Soulmate Trope

It was something both marvelous and agonizing.

For those blessed with the ability, with the gift, it could mean the epitome of happiness or misery.

It all depended.

Since time immemorial, there had been people across the world, a small percentage of the population, chosen in a manner incomprehensible to science or religion, to find their soulmate.

Yet in the strangest of ways.

Through the skin on their left arm, from their hand all the way up to their shoulder blade, if one of them suffered a wound or made a mark, the other would see it reflected on their own flesh for twelve hours.

Everything, every scratch, every mark made by pen or knife, even sunburn if it was particularly bad, everything except one thing…

Their names.

Or really any contact detail.

No-one had been able to figure that one out. Of course, no-one could even figure out why some people had this ability and others did not but this was particularly perplexing, after all, what was the point of letting someone discover that they had a soulmate only to find out that they had no means of easily finding them.

Still, when Caroline woke up just before dawn on her sixteen birthday, having only managed an hour of rest after staring at her left arm, unsure whether she was hopeful or dreading to see if she had the ability, and saw a smudge of black ink on her wrist she was thrilled…

Until she realised that she had fallen asleep with a pen in her bed.

Downhearted, she’d collected her two best friends and headed to Richmond to celebrate her birthday with a movie, lunch and then probably some illicit drinking in the graveyard later.

As she’d watched the movie, she’d sipped on her slushie and every time had wiped the condensation off her hand onto her new white skirt, not even thinking twice until the lights turned on in the cinema and Elena had stared down at her lap in surprise,

“Caroline!” she cried, “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Caroline looked down to her hand and saw that it was bright red, almost completely covered and she panics before realising that it was paint.

And it was her left hand.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, as Bonnie steered her to the bathroom and stuck her hand under the faucet while she tried to figure out whether it could be washed off.

‘This is so great!“ Elena giggled as she gave her a side-hug,

"You have a soulmate!”

Bonnie smirked as she dabbed the skin with wet paper towel,

“A soulmate who likes mess apparently.”

Caroline takes her hand out and shakes the water off before grabbing her handbag. The paint couldn’t be washed off because it wasn’t her skin but she had an idea. Fumbling through her possessions, she couldn’t find a pen but settles for an old mascara she was going to replace anyway.
She is holding the wand over the back of her hand before she stops, 

“What do I say…or draw?” she asks her friends.

“How about a bar of soap?” Bonnie suggests drily but Elena is practically bouncing with excitement,

“A love heart!” she begs, “Draw a love heart!”

And Caroline allows herself to give into the moment and does exactly that.

The mascara sits atop the red paint, a big fat love heart taking up half her hand and she and her friends stare at it breathlessly for a solid ten minutes before the paint starts to disappear,

“I think they’re washing their hand,” Bonnie muses as Caroline gets her skin back, all except the mascara heart and the splash of red paint in the middle.

It’s then circled with blue ink and a tick underneath before that’s slowly scrubbed away too.

Caroline learns about her soulmate in bits and pieces.

She learns that he either lives in a different time zone or he’s an insomniac because when she wakes up in the morning, there’s typically already some sort of smudge or stain on her hand.

She learns that he must love art because her hand now seems perpetually covered in the tools of the craft.

She learns to identify charcoal, pastels, and different types of paint by the marks left on her hand.  

One evening, she finds a stick family being drawn along her forearm, and figures that must be his family. A rather big family and responds by drawing stick figures of her parents and herself.

A few weeks later, she stops in the middle of squad practice to see a flag in the palm of her hand and her heart breaks a little.

Because its the flag of the United Kingdom.

She responds with a simple version of the American flag on her thumb, the only space left with room and a sad face appears on the pad of her index finger.

The sad face becomes a thing for them. When one of them has a bad day, they doodle the face and the other will respond. Usually with a funny doodle.

Sometimes they try and convey their feelings with pictograms and even with the limited space of the arm, they manage to make each other feel less alone.  

So, even though they’re separated by an ocean, by time difference and the inability to give their names and contact numbers, Caroline feels connected to her soulmate.

On the day she graduates high school, she draws the cap on her hand and that evening, at the after party thrown by Lockwood and his friends she gets the most amazing gift.

A beautiful, intricate piece of art crawls across her hand, over her wrist and to the inside of her elbow, a tableau that starts with flowers that surround a tree, that reaches up to a hummingbird in flight into a night sky filled with stars.

She takes photos on her phone and saves them until she has the nerve to get the art tattooed onto her skin.

After she finishes her first semester of college, richer a couple of credits and poorer one boyfriend who’d thought it okay to cheat on her because he wasn’t her soulmate anyway. She impulsively grabs her passport, books the red eye flight and draws three pictures on her arm,

A female stick figure, a boy and a plane facing him.

She’s sitting in her economy seat in shock, already halfway over the Atlantic and absolutely positive that she’d made a huge mistake when she looks down and sees a tick on her hand.

Heathrow airport is huge and really, really intimidating and the border guard is not too happy when she tries to explain her spur of the moment visit and the reasoning behind it, but her passport isn’t confiscated and she isn’t detained and deported.

Instead she heads towards the arrival gate shortly before dawn and sees that there’s already a huge crowd of people waiting out the front and steps aside, chewing her lip as she leans against the opaque glass, pulling off her cardigan, she tries to figure out what to draw and sees large fat stars drawn in blue pen covering her from finger to shoulder and grins. She fumbles in her bag, finds a pink lipstick and figures it will have to do. She zigzags the lipstick up and down her arm, around the stars and eases back into the crowd, allowing herself to be pulled along til she’s past the metal barrier between the arriving and the receiving.

She looks about uncertainly, chewing her lip nervously and trying to study the arm of every single person walking past her, some of them giving her pretty weird looks until she spots one particular person in the crowd.

A guy with curly blonde hair and an angelic face, he’s moving as quickly as he can towards the arrival gate, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, he’s cute and his frame is wiry but muscled but that’s not why she can’t stop staring.

His arm matches hers exactly.

She opens her mouth to call out before she remembers that they still don’t know each other’s name. So she raises her hand to try and wave to him but he doesn’t see her, he’s gripping the railing and watching the doors intently, clearly considering trying to go through them but there’s a guard watching him, daring him to even try.

Smirking at his enthusiasm, she heads over and taps him gently on the shoulder, “I’m here.” she says as he spins around to face her, gasping as he sees her for the first time.

“So you are.” he murmurs, blinking quickly as his eyes rake over her left arm before coming back to her face,

“Hello.” he manages and she blushes,


“Caroline Forbes.”

“Klaus Mikaelson.”      



by Mark Edmonds

Photographs by Greg Williams.
Published on August 23, 2015.

The Brothers Crim: The Krays.

The Krays ruled east London with their casual, callous violence. Now Tom Hardy has taken over their manor — playing both of the homicidal twins in a new film. How did he do this?
When they were young, Ronnie and Reggie Kray, as their wise old mum always used to say, were special, different from everybody else — but they were also the same. They were identical twins. They spoke alike, dressed alike, even thought alike. When Ronnie was ill, which was often, Reggie would show the same symptoms. That strange synergy and closeness meant that for much of their “working” lives, even when they were separated from each other in prison, they operated as one; a double-headed murder machine capable of extraordinary acts of blank-faced violence.
In Legend, the new film about their reign of terror in 1960s London, they have become the same person once again — played simultaneously, with low-key menace, by Tom Hardy. Best known for his roles in Mad Max: Fury Road, The Dark Knight Rises and Warrior, Hardy delivers a performance as the twins that is no less than a tour de force.

The decision to cast Hardy in two roles came soon after the writer and director Brian Helgeland finished the script. “I had to cast Reggie first,” says Helgeland. “He’s the lead, and that would limit me. I’d then be looking around for an actor who looked like Ron. Benedict Cumberbatch, say, is never going to look like him. I had seen Tom in the film Warrior, which had a Reggie Kray quality about it. When we sat down to talk about it, it was obvious that Tom wanted to play Ron — he kind of said, ‘If you let me play Ron, I’ll give you Reg.’ We decided that night that he was going to play both.”
Casting one actor in two roles presented Helgeland with some technical problems. Shots in which both Ronnie and Reggie appeared would be cut using a split-screen technique, and Hardy would record Ronnie and Reggie’s dialogue separately. “Then Tom would play it back in his ear — and respond to himself.” says Helgeland.
Hardy’s task was made more complex by the fact that, as the Krays grew older, their personalities took on distinct, separate characteristics. Reggie was brighter, more strategic in his thinking. Ronnie, beaten down by the demons of schizophrenia, became evermore determinedly violent.

They changed physically, too; they were no longer identical. Ronnie’s increasing reliance on drugs, to “calm him down” and stop him thinking about murder, caused him to put on weight; for his performance as the much-heavier Ronnie, Hardy wore prosthetic “plumpers” — gum guards made out of silicon; he puffed up his body, moved his head down. Make-up designer Christine Blundell drew back his hairline. Reg soon became Ron; Ron became Reg. Nowhere in the film do you see the join.

This brutal biopic is carried by the sheer power of Hardy’s performance. To both roles he brings a studied, low-voltage menace that electrifies the storyline. The violence is shocking because it is so by-the-by. That’s the way the Krays did business. In the film, quiet chats in the pub about the empire are punctuated with casual maiming and torture. In one scene, Ronnie, who had always been the more dangerous and unpredictable of the two, is enjoying breakfast in Pellicci’s, his favourite East End cafe. Ron says: “Darling, can I have another egg? I’ve eaten this one.” He then calmly arranges a meeting with the rival Richardson gang. An hour or so later, he is seen in a pub attacking the gang with a pair of claw hammers. Shortly afterwards, he was certified insane.
The film shows that Ronnie adored the process of violence, but Reggie, quieter and more cerebral, did not flinch from it, either. While Ronnie would simply slice his victims’ faces, Reggie’s techniques were subtler. It was he who had perfected the “cigarette punch”. He would offer a victim a cigarette only to break their jaw as he moved to give them a light. If you want to break a jaw, Reggie had learnt, it’s much easier if it’s open at the time.
The murder of Jack “the Hat” McVitie is a crucial scene in the film. It was a seminal event in the lives of the twins, since it marked Reggie’s coming-of-age as a murderer, but also the beginning of the end of the Krays’ reign of fear. The scene is choreographed with brutal precision; a stunt double is used in some takes, but on screen we really only have eyes for Hardy. Reggie’s victim, a low-level member of The Firm, is stabbed to death at an East End party in a room full of witnesses.

With a carving knife, Reggie slashes, slashes and slashes again — and blood pours out of McVitie’s body. The camera cuts to Ronnie as he looks on approvingly. “Go on, Reggie, do him.” It is a gripping piece of cinema, all the more disturbing because it is shot in the prosaic surroundings of a neat and tidy flat. (So much blood was spilt that the Krays had to pay for new carpets.)
One of the intriguing — and controversial — aspects of the film is that Hardy plays Reggie sympathetically. Leaving aside the maiming and torture scenes, we are left with a picture of an intelligent, even considerate young man. Reggie’s appetite for violence was not piqued as often as his brother’s.

“I thought at the beginning that if Reggie’s not going to be the hero of the film, what’s the point?” says Helgeland. “I don’t need to spend two years of my life making a film like this, when I could spend 10 minutes telling you what a despicable person he was. In film, there is often such a black-and-white morality. You are either good or evil. It’s diminishing, in a way, to whatever it’s applied to. Reggie Kray had an inner life, he wasn’t a monster. But I’m not trying to soft-pedal what he was responsible for.”
The relationship between Reggie and his long-forgotten first wife, Frances Shea, is a central theme of the film. Reggie married Shea in 1965. In typical Kray style, their wedding photos were taken by David Bailey. Their marriage lasted just months; Frances left him — in the film, following a gin-fuelled beating from her husband — and began calling herself Shea again. She tried to get the marriage annulled on the grounds of non-consummation, but Reggie delayed proceedings, imploring her to return and promising a second honeymoon in Ibiza. Before a court got the chance to hear the annulment case in 1967, Frances, alone, depressed and pill-dependent, ended her life. She was found dead from an overdose, and was buried — under the name Kray — in the family’s showpiece plot in Chingford.

Reggie never really recovered from his grief, and although Frances’s central role in the Krays’ story has been overlooked in the macho folklore that always accompanied it, her death marked a turning point for the twins’ empire. Helgeland realised this when he met Chris Lambrianou, a former member of The Firm, outside one of the Krays’ old haunts in the East End.

Many thanks to Ilona Delamere

This Isn't Everything You Are

Notes: This is a little something I wrote at 2 in the morning so its probably bad. It’s a nathan centric fic so yeah please be patient with me, this is the first time I’m publishing something I wrote so here goes nothing. This piece is inspired in the song with the same name by Snow Patrol. English is not my first language so there will be mistakes.

You stare at her as she walks by.

Big blue doe like eyes.

Freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones.

Messy brown bangs falling in front of her face.

That silly hipster style of hers you and Victoria make fun of that even shows on her clothes.

Maxine Caulfield is the name of the girl.

She’s really nothing special.

Not compared to the rest of the girls and especially if you compare her to Rachel’s blinding beauty.

Despite that you find yourself thinking she’s easily the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.

But like everything you’ve ever truly wanted in your fucked up life, Max will always remain a far away dream.

An unattainable wish, just like every unanswered prayer you have ever offered to a God you used to believe in. After all, if there’s actually a God up there he would have definitely spared you from the hell you’re trapped in.

That’s how you know, you tell yourself, when Max Caulfield is already a few steps ahead that you and that beautiful girl are walking different paths that shall never cross. She belongs to another world, a world full of light and hope, naïve and innocent while you walk, no, drown in darkness and hope that someday you’ll be able to be on the same road as everybody else around you.

You don’t need to remind yourself that’s even more of an unattainable wish as you tear your eyes from her thin figure.
Curled up in the bed, frozen from the pain, aching all over, you wonder what you could have possibly done to deserve something like this.

Bandages are all over the floor from when you failed (too many times) to apply them on your wounds.

You refuse to go to a doctor. There’s no need for one, you tell yourself. What for, anyway? There’s nothing they-or anyone for that matter-can do for you.

So you swallow the pain like you’ve been doing, patch up what you can even though it’s a mess and try to keep it together.

He didn’t hold back this time.

You breathe deeply, cursing the man who caused this to you, cursing his ancestors and whatever descendants he might have. If the fucker ever decides to stop being a psychopath and become an actual member of society, that is.

Even thinking of his name activates your gagging reflex so you try not to, but the stinging sensation of your injuries and the constant pangs coming from your lower back won’t let you.

Won’t let you forget what happened just a few hours ago.

You try not to feel disgusted with yourself. Not anymore, not after everything he’s done to you on a daily basis. You try. You fail.

No matter how many times he humiliates you over and over, the shame, the disgust, and the self loathing never go away. At least not completely.

There are days where you think it would be better if you just got used to it.

There are days where you think it’s actually good that you haven’t, you’re content in the knowledge that he hasn’t managed to break you.

‘I’m not too far gone, yet’

You whisper, staring blankly, not really seeing the images being projected on the wall.

Your cheeks feel wet.
Every single time you talk to her, pure venom comes out of your mouth.

Every single time you talk to her, insults and threats are piling out on the tip of your tongue, ready to come out.

It’s like a knee jerk reaction.

You can’t stop it.

You can’t control it.

It just happens, like some kind of self defense mechanism.

You don’t want it to be like that. You want it to be just like that.

You’re a living contradiction.

The distress of having to deal with the shit of your father and that asshole has made you this way.

The only way out, the only way out that seems more plausible to you is retaliating against the world with rage. Rage at your situation, rage at your family, rage at Mark Jefferson, rage at your friends. Rage at poor unsuspecting Max. Max who is getting way too close to the truth. Max who is drawing the attention of a certain bastard.

Perhaps, in a twisted way that personality of yours will finally work for something asides from pissing people off. That’s why you excuse your inability to talk to her like a normal person would telling yourself you’re only doing it to keep her away. Perhaps the drugs-and the pills, those fucking pills-make you this way.

‘You’re a fucking liar, Nathan Prescott’

And even so, you know it’s just a pretty lie.

 You can’t remember the last time you interacted with someone out of the Vortex Club without being rude or an ass. Or just acting plainly psychotic.

Hell, you can’t remember the last time you were capable of talking with Vic without a care in the world, without being afraid of saying too much or too little.

Max stares at you with cold fear and condescending hatred.

Maybe you are too far gone.

Maybe you have always been.
rachel in the dark room. Racheinthedarkroom. Rachel in the dark room. RACHELINTHEDARKROOMRACHELRACHELINTHEDARKDARKRCHELINTHEDARKROOM. RACHEL IN THE DARK ROOM. Rachelinthedarkroomrachelinthedarkroomrachelinthedarkroomrachelinthedarkroomrachelinthedarkroom.

“I’m so sorry”
Your reflection in the mirror is haunting at best.

Flat stomach. Potruding ribs. Hipbones jutting out. Sickly pale skin marked with green, purple, yellow and red. No bandages this time.

Your body is like a canvas, and the bruises are the paint.

You’re dangerously skinny. Apparently, the only thing working out in your life are the diet pills. So lucky.

Trembling fingers trace the wake of bitemarks just below the collarbone. You feel sick.

The diet pills were supposed to be for your sudden-yeah, right-lack of appetite, just as for making you look less ‘desirable’.

Sadly, it had the opposite effect.

The more shattered you looked, the more beautiful and whatthefuckever other bullshit Jefferson spewed about, you supposedly were.

That itself should have been a reason to stop.

But the thing is, you don’t feel hunger anymore. The sight of food is enough to send you throwing up in the nearest bathroom.

In conclusion, diet pills are a must. That and some part of you likes the way you look now, likes how your exterior is just as damaged as the inside.

The more reasonable part of your brain tells you, screams at you, you’re only doing it so others notice. Notice how hurt you are, notice and help you pick up the pieces of your sanity.

The other side, mocks the sane one. And with reason. None of your proclaimed friends have shown an ounce of concern for your well being. Not even Vic. She just acts like everything’s fine and dandy. Couldn’t she see how alarmingly unstable you’ve become?

No, she couldn’t.

Just like everybody else, she is immersed in her own reality. A reality where things like rape, abuse, murders and pain do not exist.

You remind yourself you want it to stay that way. It’s for the best, your mind says.

The marks on your thighs burn ominously.

You’re sweating pinballs and not exactly from the heat.

A hand pulls on your hair.

Pushes your face against the cushions.

All you see is white.

Your clothes are off in less than what it would take to scream ‘rape’.

Offending hands run across your skin in a mockery of gentleness.

You’ve never wanted to throw up so much in your life.

His weight is on you, his clothed chest pressed against your naked back.

His voice is soft, crooning in the shell of your ear and you can’t hear a thing.

You have zoned out long ago. Turned off that alarm that makes you give a fuck.

After it’s done you will freak out, you will cry, you will scream and you will do every step of the self-disgust ritual.

Right now, you don’t feel anything. If you were to look at yourself in a mirror, vacant blue eyes would stare right back.

You don’t react when he thrusts into you without warning. You don’t cry out like you did the first time. And the time after that. And the time after that.

You just embrace the familiar hurt. All you feel is the white, hot, searing pain and you don’t let yourself dwell on it. You just take it.

Not even a peep comes out of your mouth.

Your mind is in a faraway place. In a place where dirty old guys don’t screw teenage boys for their own sick amusement. In a place where parents care.

If you mutter a silent (useless) prayer when a trail of blood mixed with his cum slides down your legs… well, who could blame you?
“Did you rape her?”

“You are fucking EVIL, Max. No way are you asking me this. I didn’t touch her and I wouldn’t. You just crossed my red line you little-“
You know it’s gotten worse the time you go to the cinema with Victoria.

You don’t remember the movie you were going to watch even.

You just know it got worse.

Everything was fine. She bought popcorn you bought the refreshments. You sat down.

Perfectly normal.

Until that scene.

The main character was cornered in an alley by the villain.

The guy grabbed her.

Smashed her against the wall and when his lips met hers in a bruising kiss, swallowing her scream-

You just lost it.

You tensed up in your seat immediately. Goosebumps all over your flesh, you felt you were trapped again in that disgusting white prison. Your vision got blurry. Your heartbeat picked up and you just couldn’t stand to be in that place any longer.

You left Victoria with an excuse, said you were going to the bathroom before jetting out of the movie theater.

Standing alone in the middle of the empty street, taking gulps of breath, hands scratching at your clothed arms, you know you’re probably having a panic attack.

The clawing fear that surrounds you, the heavy atmosphere making your chest ache; they’re all signs that you are not fine.

Victoria finds you minutes later emptying your stomach’s contents on the floor.

You tell her the popcorn didn’t sit well with you.
“Everybody… is trying to hurt me.”

 “I didn’t hurt Kate”
What you like the most about the drugs is the numbing of the senses they bring.

When you get high, everything else stops being important.

It’s only you and the universe.

When you get high there are no problems, no appearances to mantain, no sadness, no responsabilities, no dark rooms, no demanding fathers, no Mark Jefferson and no snooping Max.

You just exist.

You just are.

It’s in no way similar to the hazy stupor you get in whenever you take your prescribed meds.

You know you’re being over medicated on purpose.

 You stopped trying to rebel and not take the meds a long time ago. Everytime you did, father dearest would beat you up until you couldn’t get up-never on the face, though, people would see then-so you gave up.

You rebel in other ways, like getting your own medication, the diet pills, the outbursts, trying to steal that stupid totem, getting bad grades. All kinds of stuff to show the world your discomfort.

The world never answers back.

Sometimes, because of that lack of response, you just want to inmerse yourself in the suffering, the angst.

So you drink.

Alcohol is quite the opposite of drugs, you know, alcohol brings out instead the emotions, raw and strong.

You drink to make your insides burn.

You want it to burn.

You take a drink for every moment wasted in this shithole.

You drink for every girl that has fallen in the webs of Jefferson

You drink for your unrequited love.

You drink for your lost innocence.

You drink knowing you are forever marked as dirty and impure.

You drink for the day you’ll get out of Arcadia Bay.

And most of all you drink for the day you will finally be free.


Art, they say, is a reflection of the soul.

Art, they say, represents the author’s point of view, the way the author perceives his surroundings.

You stare at the photographs you’ve taken all spread out on your bed (pointedly ignoring the one hidden in your drawer).

Black and white.




You have to ask yourself

‘When did I start seeing the world this way?’

'When did I stop seeing the world in colors?’

'When did I start to feel so alone?’

'When did I start wanting to die?’


“Everybody is waiting for the storm”



The doctor is scribbling something in his notepad.

You can’t bring yourself to give a fuck.

You’ve done this thing so many times before, you can literally recite the words you are sure the man will say in a few minutes.

“Nathan, you’re extremely ill.  From what you’ve told me and  your records you I think you might suffer from schyzophrenia  and bipolar blah blah blah hut I can’t tell you with certainty what your illness is blah blah blah I’ll prescribe you some useless pills blah blah…”

And the guy just like you predicted delivers like he’s reading from a script.

You tune out his chatter, stare at your shoes and press your lips tight.

You resist the urge to yell at the new shrink how any of his shit will not work on you  because you are not fucking ill or whatever.

You resist the impulse to tell him the truth.

Tell him you were born a normal boy.

Tell him how the one who changed out of the blue was your dad.

Tell him he’s the one who needs real help.

How suddenly when you turned eight he started taking out his frustrations on you.

How he started demeaning you, abusing you, taking your self esteem and confidence down to zero.

Tell him about the time he pushed you down the stairs and you dislocated your shoulder. How that was the first time you used youtube to learn how to put a dislocated limb back to its place.

Tell him how that wasn’t the last time.

Tell him about how you were a perfectly normal child until your own father messed you up.

Tell him about how it got way worse when dear daddy put you under Jefferson’s “guidance”

Tell him about how sexual abuse thrown in to the mix can fuck a person’s mental health.

Or how watching the things he does in the dark room can shatter your soul for eternity.

Tell him how the feeling of being hopeless screws a mind.

But you resist. And you don’t say a word.

Because once you made the mistake of confiding in one of these assholes and he ended up  being the same as the rest.

You told him your biggest secret and he turned it into a delusion from your supposedly delirious mind

That secret made every psychiatrist regard you as a basket case.

Screw them, you think, cause if there’s one thing you know it’s one hundred percent legit in your life, as legit as the abuse from  your father is the fact that you have visions.

Since you were able to remember you’ve always seen the same scene play out whenever you close your eyes . At first you thought it was just dream but soon changed your mind when it became a recurring thing, always the same., every single day of the week.

Arcadia Bay. A storm. The biggest tornado you had ever seen. And it always felt so real:the rain prickling your skin, the wind blowing your hair, the fear buzzing in the air. It couldn’t be just your imagination.

Of course, fucking doctors didn’t think the same.

Now, you’re prescribed with whatever and dad forces you to take an exaggerate amount of pills just so he can push you around while you’re out of it.

The guy in front of you does exactly what you expect.

You walk out of his office feeling like you’ve been reliving the same shitty day for a really long time

You can’t wait for the storm to wipe out Arcadia Bay.


You’re in your room, staring at the ceiling hoping it will give you a revelation of some sort.

The gun in your hand feels heavy.

Kate Marsh tried to commit suicide today. You still remember the image of the girl standing on the rooftop, ready to die, ready to leave this world. And Max, beautiful, brave Max who managed to save her.

You raise the gun, press it againt your temple.

Your lip trembles.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair how a side of you was horrified, guilty for what was happening while a much larger part of you ached for a camera, longing, wanting to preserve that moment forever. A part of you thought it was beautiful, how desperate she was to off herself. You found beauty in that and you hate yourself for it.

Self-hatred consumes you.

The gun presses harder and you wince.

That is when the thought strikes you.

What if I could put an end to this nightmare?

You actually consider it.

Your whole body shakes with tremors.

How easy it would be…

You throw the gun across the room, curl up in a ball and you finally let go

That night you dream of jumping off rooftops, and what would have happened if you had been brave enough to pull the trigger


“Everybody hates me”


Two weeks passed. I’d begun to give up on all hope of talking to any of them. I had gotten back on a normal sleep schedule but it didn’t feel worth it. I didn’t like the feeling of not having anything to look forward to. I had my friends but they didn’t make me feel like he did. My friends noticed how different I was. I didn’t make as many jokes or fangirl as hard anymore. They called me a drag a few times. Which wasn’t appreciated. My family hadn’t seemed to notice anything. I acted the same around them as always. Not that they’d notice anyway but still. I tried not to make myself obvious. If they did find something strange about how I was acting, I wouldn’t be able to explain myself. They wouldn’t believe I was in a relationship because I never left the house. They wouldn’t understand being in an online relationship. It would just sound like I was being immature or Catfished or whatever. They didn’t care enough to let me actually explain it & I really didn’t want to anyway. 

I sat on my bed everyday, just staring at my computer. Even if it was off. I was having a hard time accepting the fact that he wasn’t there anymore. If I turned it on & went into the chat, it would be empty. I was alone, in a sense. I was empty & didn’t know what I was going to do with myself. I couldn’t just move on. Not after everything I’d been through. I was getting so close to figuring out who he was. I wanted so badly to just know. Then we could talk freely & be normal people with each other. Instead of secrets & guessing, we’d be able to share, or be totally open. But now that was all gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I couldn’t deal with the idea of him just disappearing. It was tearing me up. I’d never had my heart broken & I didn’t want to be there yet. I was still young, I still had so many good years before I needed to have my heart basically ripped out & put through a wood chipper. Right now I just wanted to be happy & talk to him without feeling rejected. 

Sometimes life isn’t fair, but this was ridiculous. I would spend every day like a zombie wandering around, doing nothing & not talking. I just wanted to be left alone, never to be bothered with feelings or emotions ever again. I was a wreck in the worst way. I didn’t have the motivation to do or say anything at all. My mom would look at me & I could tell she kind of knew I was going through something but she’d never ask. Instead, I would just shuffle passed her & go to my room again. I wanted to sit in the dark & sulk. Be sad. Be anything but happy. I couldn’t feel happy anymore, it was like any sense of good in the world was suddenly tainted. Happy feelings made me feel worse. I would see things that used to make me smile & I would scowl at them with distaste. It wasn’t pretty but I didn’t give even a single fuck because I was so unbelievably done with everything. I couldn’t cry though, even with everything I was feeling. I’d never been one of those people who cried because they were sad. I cried out of frustration or pure & utter entertainment. Like laughing too hard. 

I tried to cry, hoping it would make me feel better but literally nothing would happen. I’d sit there like a moron making faces & trying to force it out of myself but to no avail. I was more angry at myself for not being able to than I was angry for the reason why I wanted to in the first place. I needed something to distract me from thinking about it all but I didn’t see what could possibly do that. I was a loner who had no one to talk to or hang out with. I didn’t go to the cinema or the mall like normal people my age. I sat in my room & talked to people online. People. Online. Members. Of an internationally famous group. Who were now no longer there to talk to. Shit. Not thinking about it didn’t last long. My mind was swelling with thoughts of them all again. I was so upset. But I was mad. I didn’t get a warning for fuck’s sake. They could have tried. Made a new account or some shit. Did they even try? Did they care at all that I might possibly get very, very sad that they were just gone? No, probably not because they were selfish. Though I didn’t know them well enough to think that for sure. But right now I was mad so I let myself think it. I thought it hard. 

Once I’d hit the one month mark, I was pretty much just completely lost. I didn’t sleep, I hardly ate & my will to do anything was absolutely gone. It sounds stupid, I know. Trust me. I know. Because I didn’t even know personal details about him. But I felt so attached to him that it was like I was missing my other half. In the least cheesy way possible. Like… I just didn’t know what I was doing anymore. The dark circles under my eyes had worsened somehow, which I never thought was possible. My hair was just like dead weight on my head at this point. The roots had started showing & I didn’t care at all. Let them show. They were free to live their life. I wouldn’t stop them. I wouldn’t hinder their growth or stunt their yearning for freedom from hair dye. I would let them be what I couldn’t be, happy. I ached the feeling of being cared for. In a different way than I’d get from my family or anyone who wasn’t him. He was the only one who could make me feel truly worth the life I was given. Not that I was suicidal over this. But I didn’t see a point anymore. What was life anyway?

Don’t judge me, but I’d started talking to a picture of the guys. I knew it was crazy & I wasn’t having conversations with them but I’d just vent my frustrations about them ditching me. I wanted to tell someone & this was the only way I could. I’d put my focus on the four remaining members that were possibly him & I’d stare at them for like hours each, trying to force myself to feel a spark with them through my mind. Like make a connection somehow that told me who he was. But the more I stared, the harder it became to look away. From any of them. Even the ones I knew weren’t the one I’d fallen for. He was one of them, he was there in front of me. But I couldn’t make myself see him. Why couldn’t I just be psychic? It wouldn’t matter anyway because I’d never talk to him again, but at least I’d be able to sleep at night knowing I was talking to one of the four faces. If it was any one of them, I’d be happy. I would have been happy with any of the twelve. But now that it was just the four, I realized which one that I really wanted it to be. He was always so cute & shy but that didn’t match with our conversations. Maybe because people are different online. I know I am. 

But with how I saw him in interviews, he was so quiet & patient. I wanted to be with someone like that. Even though, now, I never would because he was gone. I tried to force the thoughts of just him out of my head long enough to consider the others too but I kept coming back to him. His eyes & the way he was always so calm. I just couldn’t help it. I wanted to know if I was right. If I’d lost my mind or if I was totally justified in thinking it was him. I’d convinced myself it was him, but I knew that if I was wrong, I’d cause so much trouble. For myself & for them. But nonetheless, I’d have loved him anyway, no matter which face was behind the screen. Because I connected to him deeper than just what I’d observed as a fan. I’d gotten to see… talk to him on another level.

A month turned into three really slowly but also fast at the same time. I’d almost gone a week without thinking about it. But sometimes I’d get little flashes of conversations or someone would bring up a subject that made me think back to something he’d said. It wasn’t easy to escape. I was trying to get my life back on track. I stopped going on my computer so much to make my mom happy, I’d even gotten a few small makeup jobs here & there to make a little bit of money. I didn’t need a man, I was strong & kind of independent. But there were still parts of me that yearned to speak to him again. It was a whirlwind of a month that I got to talk to him but it all ended so fast that it was harder to let go. If I’d been able to say goodbye… I would have moved on sooner. I almost laughed at myself thinking about how I acted when I was talking to him. So desperate & clingy. He must have thought I was crazy. Secretly. Because I would have. I didn’t see why he liked me so much.

That was me putting myself down to feel better honestly. I needed some kind of release so that I could talk myself into getting over it. I was trying so hard to have a life now. I’d made a friend at work. He was nice. That’s all I knew about him so far. I’d just started kind of hanging out with him on a daily basis since we’d discovered our shared love for K-Pop. He instantly gained my respect when I’d played an Exo song at a job & he didn’t tell me to turn it off or call it “garbage”. He just laughed & sang along. He knew the words. He. Knew. The. Words. To an Exo song. I could have died. I wanted to. But I contained myself. We’d bonded over the genre & that helped me a lot, even if it did remind me of him still. It just felt nice to have someone to talk to in person about things & stuff. I was pretty sure I was starting to like him. He’d smile at me all the time at jobs & I’d get all goofy about it. I was pretty sure that was a good sign. I’d never been smiled at before so I could have been mixing up the complicated signals. 

I invited him over to my house when my parents weren’t home one day, because you know, as a 20-something year-old, it’s unacceptable to have boys in your room. So I kind of had to sneak him in. We just hung out though. No hanky panky. No thanky. I just liked talking & being around someone. He would hug me a lot & make stupid jokes that made me smile & shake my head at the same time. It was wonderful. But I’d always get a little sad again, being reminded that he might be somewhere thinking about me while I’m here with someone else. Even if we were just friends, I felt like I was cheating or something. But then I remembered, three months. It has been three months since I’d last talked to him or had any contact with him. I didn’t even get a tiny note or anything since then that told me he was trying. I was frustrated. But I let myself be with this new person to calm my nerves. I let him get close to me & cuddle me. The way I wanted to cuddle with him three months ago.

I felt comfortable with how things were now. They were easy & carefree which I’d never experienced before. I knew something was going to mess it up eventually, like me saying the wrong thing or me not wanting to go somewhere or me just being me, but for now I let myself enjoy it. Because that’s what I felt like I deserved… even if I felt selfish for saying & thinking it. I was a selfless person who never put myself ahead of others but for now, I knew I needed to try. I needed to let myself be the only thing I was focused on. I’d lose myself if I didn’t find myself. Or whatever. You know what I mean. I tried my hardest to be everything I thought people wanted, but now I wanted to be who I wanted to be. Whether is WAS selfish or not. 

A/N: I feel like that was a load of nonsense but hopefully you all understood it. I was trying not to make it too serious because this fic is totally not serious. I mean… there was smut. So. I hope you all liked this one. Let me know your guesses for what will happen in the next chapter~ xo