𓆝 ⋆. #deathsdignity : a study in being plagued by memory, eldest sibling syndrome, and duty & survival via the judas misja rothbart for @tidepoint, written by jj ( twenty4, theythem, pst ).
introduction ㆍ mirror ㆍ musings ㆍ pinterest ㆍ interactions

JBB: An Artblog!

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Not today Justin

$LAYYYTER
Cosmic Funnies
art blog(derogatory)

#extradirty
Xuebing Du

shark vs the universe

JVL
styofa doing anything
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
AnasAbdin

izzy's playlists!
h
almost home
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Andulka
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from Belgium
seen from United States
seen from Philippines

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Singapore
seen from Germany

seen from Türkiye

seen from Germany

seen from United States
@deathsdignity
𓆝 ⋆. #deathsdignity : a study in being plagued by memory, eldest sibling syndrome, and duty & survival via the judas misja rothbart for @tidepoint, written by jj ( twenty4, theythem, pst ).
introduction ㆍ mirror ㆍ musings ㆍ pinterest ㆍ interactions

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
always the observer , rei could only nod . he knew , of course he did . someone like him was specifically sought out to be avoided by the nobility misja most definitely was aiming at . small talk , hushed voices , all the things that were kept superficial by default . all the things that drove rei up the wall , to be quite frank . he didn't belong in those circles , only temporarily dabbled into the game here and there - if only to sell what had been ordered . and that's how he preferred it to stay . a dry chuckle follows their words , something genuine but not actually given in delight . nevertheless, authentic enough to fill the silence . “ my shit , huh ? ” their eyes meet and words die on the tip of his tongue , near desperate to shift into the space between them . “ guess that's why i'm here , aye ? to work my magic , as always ” and that's where pretense falters momentarily . that's why you guys called me up that night , as well . . . right ?
part of them wondered, genuinely, if rei even enjoyed being here. perhaps their perception was warped, jaded by their own biases of what it meant to be valued — two sides of the same coin, in the way that they are both called upon somehow, someway, as an asset to the group. maybe they all are, now that they thought about it, used in the sense that they all give and take. misja just couldn't remember the last time they just talked to rei, though, in a sense that wasn't transactional. “ maybe so. ” she countered back, diplomatically, the canting over their head as a tip of the hat. “ do you enjoy it ? you know, what you do. do you ever just want to show up as yourself ? ” as if they had anything to say about that. misja, ever the hypocrite.
✴︎ lethe club, 9pm ✴︎ open for anyone
catalina carries herself the way she always has; like nothing can touch her, and nothing ever will. she floats through the party like a second host, mingling with guests with a practiced yet genuine smile and sipping on wine like intoxication is but a suggestion. she treats last summer like a hazy memory, like a nightmare long forgotten upon waking up. but lethe doesn't let her forget. everywhere is a reminder of what they've done, what they've sworn to secrecy. she's not allowed to forget.
she takes a moment to retreat, standing out on the balcony with another glass of red, taking in the air and watching the people below. it's a shame when her phone buzzes, and she chooses to look. her heart drops down to the pit of her stomach, wine glass shattering as it hits the marble floor. she looks around, but there's no one else. laughter and light converation reverberate inside. this isn't real. this can't be real. her gaze falls upon the text again, and again, and again, hoping it's her mind playing tricks on her, but the message and its sender remains the same.
hastily, catalina makes her way back inside, wading through the sea of people who seem unaware of the state she's in. not even she can ascertain what she's feeling, but it gets caught in her throat as she weaves through the venue in search for the bathroom. she barely notices where she's going, doesn't even realize until she slams into a body, nearly sending her to the ground. “ fuck! — oh, god — shit, i'm so sorry, i — ” she stutters, fingers flying up to touch her temple. if she didn't know any better, she'd think she was about to faint.
each look around the premises was deliberate, discerning between shifting gazes and ones held on too long, the paradoxical state of being much too seen and yet so invisible, all at once. they weren't sure if this was targeted, music blaring just loud enough to drown out the chimes of each cell that could've been another recipient. their friend was dead, for christ sake's. but it an accident, right ? a miscalculation, a tragic ending, even though they all washed their hands together, ridding themselves of teddy's blood within the waters of the atlantic, christening its waters with another tragedy. they needed to feel it again, the frigid rush of running water upon their shaking hands, the same thing that grounded misja as she ██████ ███ ████ — usefulness over anything, the highest form of validation is burying a body with your friends. they hardly realized the pace of their gate, rushed, threading through blissfully unaware bodies as they treat tonight as just any other soiree and not lethe's best humiliation ritual. misja didn't even register their tunnel vision until they nearly body slammed another, blurred vision making them undiscernible until a one, two, blink drew her back to reality. “ cat — hey, hey, it's me. ” stern hands doing their best to hold her upright before they go tumbling. “ you're okay, yeah ? i got you, i promise. ” she attempted to steer them in, the sole of their boot propping the bathroom door open. “ are you okay ? did anyone hurt you ? ”
ZENDAYA as TASHI DUNCAN in Challengers (2024)
KIERAN'S HANDS STAY IN HIS POCKETS, eyes dragging along the horizon like he’s scanning for something only he would notice. he’s not sure why he wandered this way — perhaps muscle memory, because it's mijsa. “different how?” he asks, stopping himself from snorting. on the tip of his tongue lies something taut, like a pulled thread he won’t let snap. suddenly, nothing is humorous. “i think about it sometimes.” he won't admit it’s usually in the dead of the night, when the telescope’s out and he’s watching light from stars that died centuries ago. he won't admit he thinks about the hollowing realization that he overestimated their friendship. “but i didn't change,” he adds, eyes still on the water. his mouth twitches like it could’ve been a grin if he wasn’t on edge being surrounded by a group of sinners. “i literally don't belong here.”
perhaps it was naive for misja to view something like fitting in as an easy feat, even though it hardly came natural to them. enough years of wedging oneself into one group to the next, masquerading as someone or something else just to get by, it'd be surprising if that alone wasn't muscle memory. even so, still a conscious act, something that she couldn't help but be hyper-aware of each time they look at themselves in the mirror, smoothing the creases on her shirt before leaving for another lethe function. “ and yet, you still showed up again this summer. ” not a gotcha, just an observation, something they took in her stride as eyes draw up to the moon. “ alone, this time. unless you and cat are just on a break. ” they couldn't help but wiggle their eyebrows, all in jest, smoothing over their otherwise unseemly history. tonight, she could let it go. “ why'd you come back, kieran ? ”

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
starter for : @deathsdignity !
the text had sent a chill down milos's spine. despite it being summer, despite the lingering warmth in the air, the sun had since descended. what once was saffron streaks coating the sky soon became bleakness. darkness. as if the daylight felt the presence of the group back together and went into hiding. something milos wished he could do himself. vanish into thin air, especially as he locks eyes with misja. it almost was silly now, still letting the memories of last summer poison the presence. so much as happened since then. things that should have trumped his anger that milos was still holding onto tenaciously in regards to misja. but getting milos to let go of anger was like attempting to stop a landslide. he moves towards her before he could stop himself - or maybe that's just the lie he tells himself. "nice dress," milos says flatly, a storm brewing behind his eyes. "almost as tight as the secrets you keep." it wasn't fair. it was dirty. there were a hundred other ways to start this, but milos almost always opted for venom.
misja had already found themselves disoriented enough before milos entered her line of sight, pain streaking down their esophagus to swell in the back of their throat, smooth and searing, like the upchuck of vodka they couldn't dare to touch now. her skin was crawling with visibility, though outwardly firm, if you didn't mind the tick of her jaw and furrowed brows as the blinding sheen of their phone screen cast upon her features. she hoped he couldn't see it — the weakness, an uncharacteristic softness that signaled a momentary drift in the facade of poise. did he get a message, too ? or, rather, did he send this to them ? some cruel form of childish retribution, shrouded in pettiness. it was a straight bee line to where he stood, phone in hand, screen facing milos as they made their approach. it was convenient that their phone had been wiped before, with only the grey bubble of teddy's most recent text to show. “ you think this is funny ? ” his withdrawal only fueled their anger, as if his coolness was a taunt in itself. to misja, it meant something was up when the hothead reduced himself into dry ice. “ didn't think you were smart enough to hack someone's phone. color me impressed. ” a beat, enough to draw an inhale to stop the shaking of their hand, only grounded by its vice grip around her phone. “ or maybe you swiped it, huh ? ——— i swear to god, milos, if you dug through rue's stuff — rue's family's stuff — just so you could send me some shit from a rejected scream script, i'll ruin you. ”
from the bluff, the music is muted, warped by the sound of crashing waves like they're laughing at them. it puts tommy on edge, as he watches misja from several feet away, the moon catching her frame in silver. for once, in the entirety of the six years he's known her, he hesitates as hands flex at his sides, unsure whether or not to approach them. but this stillness leaves him alone with his own thoughts, and so not long after he settles besides her gingerly. “hmm ... well, i'm definitely hotter,” he says, half laughing, his words nothing more than a little lightness rising from something tightly sealed. out here, in the quiet, he felt nervous to look at her, as if he'd be giving something away, but he risks a glance anyway. “we're all definitely hotter.” it's the best he could do, under the circumstances, as when he stands next to her, he can't get rid of the gnawing feeling that everything has changed. “sounds like the kind of thing you think about before you leave something. you're scaring me.”
years of this well-rehearsed dance, friendship in its purest form, has forced misja to grow something akin to a second sense to tommy's presence. warm, inviting, all-enveloping — something that can't be missed, with the way it causes one's skin to prickle with a flame born of a gentle hearth. it's easy to fall into, even amidst the growing pains of this whole mess that is their shared friend group. at the end of the day, there'd be tommy, knight in the shiniest of armor or perhaps a jester, if need be, all welcomed one and the same. “ you were always hot, it's like, unfair. like, you're fuckin', baby hercules or something. ” they remarked, childish, but earnest, spoken as if it was more fact than flirtation. misja didn't know where the lines blurred, nor when. “ damn, i can't reminisce in peace ? ” a teasing remark, paired with a very blatant eyeroll, seeking out the playfulness of summers past. “ someone would be a damn fool to leave this place. ” these people, too. “ people don't escape from lethe, it's always to it. skeletons are everywhere 'round here. ”
a snort escapes her lips. a little derisive, but not entirely unkind. it's misja, so it never is. still, it slips out from his tongue : "are we talking about the elephant in the room without saying it out loud, or is this just a fun party question?" alena isn't stupid ; the truth is all of them must've changed, even from last summer alone. you don't bury a friend and come out on the other side the same person. you can't. he doesn't say this. instead he says, "anyone else say they don't?"
she tears her gaze away from misja, looking into the distance. there's a vast world out there, and yet. here they are again, like moths drawn to the sea and the shore. she hums. "you can't be the same person you were six years ago. something's not right with you if you are." there's a pause, and then, "that's what my old therapist used to say, anyway. that uncertainty is the only thing that's certain. always thought that was a lot of shit, but. maybe she was onto something."
“ i'd prefer to go one night with just nostalgia — sans grief, you know ? ” perhaps that made misja a shill, someone who could easily compartmentalize the festivities of a purely self-serving spectacle ( sorry, hana ) versus that of the death of their friend, detachment in some way that felt arguably colder than the rest of their group. someone needed to be their rock, a force that wouldn't devolve into tears or self-destructive behaviors simply to cope with the tragedy that is — was — teddy. misja would never say that they were the best choice at doing so, far from the number one pick, but, someone had to. “ some people do — they really believe they've been ‘emselves for their whole lives and part of me believes it, maybe. ” a dry laugh escapes her, eyes darting to face alena, gaze washing over the way moonlight basks upon his features. “ i’m contradicting myself by saying this, but — you're one of ‘em. you’ve always been you, to me. some shining thing, bright ‘n fuckin’ unabashed. if one of us was gonna punch teddy, it was either gonna be you, or milos, and my money was on you this whole time. what'd your clients think when they realize the guy lookin' over their w-2's was this close from smashing a bottle over a guy's head two summers ago ? ” they shake their head, bare heel digging into the sand below them. “ mind if i steal that line from your old therapist, though ? ”
to come to lethe meant to give up all pretence of privacy. outside of lethe, they could avoid text messages and phone calls and emails until they felt like answering, batting away in-person conversations was bad practice. especially when it comes to this one. twitch of suna's brow, their mouth drawing into a tight line. “ of course not. why dwell on the past ? it's just asking to be miserable. and being miserable gets so exhausting. ” just this once, they've chosen to settle on the truth. the words have a sharpness layered under them. like the prick of a knife pressing against skin, a question unspoken : are you lingering on the before too much, misja ? their head tips to the side, gaze a storm settling over the other. “ you should look to the future instead. it's always best to look towards who you'll become. where you’ll be in a few years. don't you think that's a much better thought exercise ? ”
it seems as if she'd spoken too soon, mouth leading before their eyes, sparking up a conversation with an assumed stranger — the weighted presence and shuffle of sand alerting misja of their arrival. their heart nearly gave out the moment they met eyes, suna's pools of sable somehow drawing an immediate response. fight, flight, or freeze — as if they had a choice, nothing would match the permafrost that rooted misja beneath the sand. if only it could swallow her whole, suffocation as a gentler death than anything the other could ever offer. “ right. ” they muttered, words cut to the quick. “ i didn't mean it as a … therapist question. though you seem to be the one in that position with your exercise. ” clearly disarmed, a shakiness to their voice that seemed to only reveal to the puppeteer. “ maybe. ‘cept i didn’t go to school to become a psychic. nostalgia's more my strong suit. ”
here come the variables that frustrate hana to no end. heat rushing to her cheeks, something fluttering in her stomach, a loss for words— all attributed to what? someone pretty looking her way? the same someone who couldn't space her a call back? she huffs, air puffing into her cheeks as she wills herself to get it together. “it's hard not to notice people all by themselves in a place this big.” then, despite herself, “even harder when they look like you, you know.” to her credit, she takes the reasoning into consideration. lets the idea roll around in her mind before she frowns: “... you think people have to be drunk to enjoy my party?”
it's not lost on misja, the way hana's comment pooled between them — genuine, almost vulnerable in the way it seemed to slip out, as if a quirk of her hyperactive mind than an intentional try at sweet talking. they took it in stride, a raised bottle, cheers to that conveyed in a physical gesture. “ it's only … what ? ” a glance down, wrist maneuvered for her eyes to meet with the watch face. “ eight. god, most of ‘em are probably still jetlagged. i’m lucky i'm in the same timezone, otherwise you couldn't get me off a plane and at a party in the same damn day. ” what follows is an ‘ oh my god ’ — hardly dramatic, no trace of any annoyance. “ are you enjoying the party ? or are you too busy playing diplomat ? i get it, i do, trust me. but, if they see an anxious host, 's probably gonna rub off on them. energy, you know ? ”

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
❛ you know, most of the time, people start with saying ‘ hello ’ first before they launch into the philosophical crashout. ❜ an expression distinct from amusement, but dipped in mirth all the same — just enough for misja to know that she’s arrived with her hands up, palms out, mock surrender. it’s a fair question : one that sits in the corner of her room at all hours of the night, sticks to the spaces between rib and bone and festers, burrowing deep until she’s forced to confront that she isn’t the same at all. none of them are. ❛ for whatever it’s worth, ❜ she murmurs gently, as if she’s trying not to spook a wild animal, as if whatever she’s going to say next is wildly profound and not just what she’s concocted in the far corners of her mind to cope. ❛ we were kids when we got together that first summer. we were always bound to change. i guess it was up to us to decide if it was for worse or for better though, huh ? ❜
“ hello, freya. ” a grin, keenly tugging at the edges of misja's lips. being at the receiving end of the heir's quips — whether in pure jest or not — was always a fun ordeal, something that kept them on their toes. others may take it as crassness, that type of unfiltered voice that comes with hush money to lick the wounds, but she's grown accustomed to it after years of pure exposure. likes it, even, to a degree. keeps things fresh, y'know ? “ now, who's the one getting philosophical ? ” the nudge was careful, only coy, but hardly patronizing. it was just them, and the sea, that kind of vulnerability that can only seen under moonlight. “ you the most, i think. some rich kid, fresh out of paris — i thought you wouldn't give me the time of day. not until hell froze over the earth, at least. here we are, earth still unfrozen. fuckin' cheers to that. ”
it takes a moment , still . . . weary eyes shift . it's a lag , yet placed on purpose more than anything . it gives him time to think , to actually mull over what comes next . a liberty he takes for himself , no matter the circumstances . he'd be lost without it , too . not the rei a year ago , the one now . staring , but certainly not seeing . misja is an array of colors and a voice - bringing forth words that stun him for a moment . “ woah , woah . . . hey . easy . bit weighty for a party like this , don't ya' think ” it's rhetorical , at best . not truly meant to be answered , the least . from there on out , rei hands back the silence that previously occupied the space between them . again , purposefully so . time , distance . then . . . “ d'ya' think it actually fuckin' matters , though ? ‘cause lookin’ around , nobody else seems to give a shit ‘bout it . like . . . i don’t know " his voice trails off , meant to blend within the crowd - stashed away as just another useless party enounter . nevertheless , the silent hum of fearful anicipation breathes at the back of rei's neck , begging for them to let the topic wear down naturally like intended .
" it's always like that at the first party, though. folks are too busy brown nosing people they don't give a shit about anywhere else but here, or trying to one-up the guy next to 'em, you know ? " to misja, the words were hardly cynicism, rather observances gathered after years of careful observation — distancing herself enough from the others to continue projecting this air of composure. enough practice had them speaking with a smile, that well-rehearsed grin of relatability, something that she seemed to struggled to maintain lately — around rei, especially, if they were being honest. something about a person so unabashed, seemingly uncaring, always warranted suspicion. " but that's what your shit's for, right ? take a pill, smoke a bit, and the pretenses go away. then they start to care. "
open to : four replies. location : lethe club, 10 p.m.
she shows up late. always does. not fashionably, not even carelessly — just wrong, like a glitch in the night, like something lethe tried to spit out but couldn’t quite manage. her heels are mismatched. she lost one of the original pair days ago and never cared enough to replace it. there's a smear of lipstick on her cheek like she forgot where her mouth was, and her pupils are blown wide, black holes swallowing what little light’s left in her. she's wearing a white slip — something thin and askew and wrinkled from where she slept in it on someone else’s floor. it clings like humidity, like a fever, like guilt that never dried out. one strap’s slipping off her shoulder and she doesn’t bother to fix it. her ribs show. she knows she doesn’t belong here — but the night is predatory, and it pulls her in anyway — slow and sweet like poison disguised as honey, like the way black mold grows behind wallpaper. inside, the party swells. champagne towers glint like knives. someone laughs too loud. the music cleaves like a migraine. she doesn’t go in. not yet. she hovers on the threshold, shoulders bare, glitter clinging to her skin like fallout. a cigarette dangles between two fingers, already half ash. her lighter’s almost out of fluid, but she keeps clicking it anyway. eventually it catches. she inhales — like she’s trying to burn something out of herself. exhales like maybe it worked. but there’s a bitter punch — of caffeine. of nicotine. of something else she can’t remember taking. her hands twitch, her jaw locks, and her heart stutters in that way it sometimes does, like it’s trying to warn her. she ignores it. footsteps approach — slow, cautious, like whoever it is already knows better. she doesn’t turn. doesn’t acknowledge them. just stares into the dark like there might be something in it worth finding. ‘ what. ’ there's no inflection — just flat. hollow. like a snapped wire, without urgency. the cigarette burns to the filter.
“ just saying hi. ” there wasn't much to their voice — a flat tone, something that could easily be mistaken for something lifeless, had it not been rue at the receiving end. if you looked close enough, a microscopic-level zoom, you could see flecks — a kaleidoscope of the internal wildfire that is rue and misja. longing, regret, enablement, even grief. especially grief. her hands flex at her sides, empty, not a glass to cling on for comfort as it magnetically seeks out the warmth of a best friend. the movements mindless, ingrained in their psyche from days past. the silence isn't so comfortable anymore. instead, it feels more akin to a void. she tries to fill it, lips parting, only air coming out at first, as if their tongue was truly clipped, just as rue's wings were. she couldn't fight it any longer, the magnetism, fingertips vibrating with the urge to just ground herself in reality — make sure her best friend is there, truly. instinct has misja pinching the strap, the fallen satin between the pads of her index and thumb as she draws it up to rest upon her shoulder yet again, “ you didn't need to come tonight, y'know. i could've just met you at the dock — played hooky. we're getting too old for this shit. the next time someone tells me about their promotion, or whatever, i'm gonna have an aneurism. ”
✦ ⌢ open to unlimited replies. ✦ ⌢ @ lethe club, around 8:30 p.m.
like narcissus and the water, peering down at the party reflects all of hana's best & most well-crafted assets: extravagance, abundance, luxury. this had been a non-negotiable of her return, a much needed reset button. the intentions had been to curate a space so lively that there would be no space for reminicsing. so when she spots someone hovering near a back corner of the club, it's registered as a personal attack. “what are you doing over here?” she asks, already closing in on their personal space. a frown threatens to cross her lips, “don't you like the party?”
they could only muster a sip of their drink as a rebuttal, half-successful, the other half spluttering through a laugh. “ you watchin' everyone like this ? or are you just giving me special treatment ? ” misja didn't mean for it to come out nearly as flirty — or perhaps they did, even she wouldn't know herself, but it's summer ! what's wrong with a cheeky lil' start to the night ? “ no one's nearly as drunk to enjoy it yet. everyone's all just busy saying hi and recapping the last nine months — chill, han. ”
something about lethe triggered the reset button in misja's mind — for a bit, at least, while the salt air still remained within that realm of novelty brought forth by each summer arrival. it was completely holistic, probably the healthiest they'll ever see themselves, those first few nights, sometimes first few weeks, if she's good about it. it surely explains why she's seaside now, the shockwaves of a distant song obscured by the waves. she's been there for about an hour, catching it just past sundown, as the innaugural lethe sunset is slowly creeping into tradition. for once, they're lucky that cell service is moot out here, too. no distractions, just lethe. “ you ever think about how different you are ? ” they didn't mean for it to sound so sentimental, perhaps the moon just makes it seem as such. “ i mean, like, where, or who, i guess, you were when you first got here, versus now ? ”
open to. all lethe residents ! setting. the lethe club, 9pm.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
( zendaya. demi woman. she/they ). ⸻ misja rothbart, a(n) twenty eight year old family and marriage therapist, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the judas, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by standing at odds with your own reflection / your sense of self as a mosaic of people past, present, and future / mediation as a tool for survival, but why need that when your hands are already bloody. they've always been resourceful and reclusive, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did…
𓆝 ⋆. continue reading.
CHALLENGERS 2024 — Luca Guadagnino