#I keep getting myself into these situations

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗨𝗽 𝗮𝗻 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 | 𝗛𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗣𝘁𝟭

Warnings: None

Hyung Line x Reader. Angst.

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ᗷᗩᑎGᑕᕼᗩᑎ

The dim glow of the studio lights reflected off the stacks of equipment, casting long shadows across the room. You leaned against the doorway, watching Chan furiously click through different tracks on his laptop, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. The clock on the wall ticked past 2 AM, but for him, it seemed like time had no meaning. He’d been working on this track for hours, refusing to take a break even when you’d suggested it earlier. "Chan," you called out softly, but he didn’t respond. The constant hum of the music filled the space, his mind completely absorbed in his work. You sighed, stepping into the room, stifling a yawn. “You need to relax,” you said, a teasing tone slipping into your voice. “You act like the world’s gonna fall apart if you don’t finish this track tonight.” His hands stilled on the keyboard. The playful smile you wore faded when he didn’t respond. You took a step closer, placing a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, pulling away as if your touch burned him. “I’m serious,” you continued, your voice softer this time. “You’ve been at this for hours. Just take a break. It’s not healthy to push yourself like this.” Chan’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back, but instead, he closed his laptop with a slow, deliberate movement. The air in the room seemed to thicken, tension radiating off him in waves. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone. “What do you mean? I’m just trying to help.” He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with more force than necessary. He still wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the ground, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You think I don’t know it’s not healthy?" His voice was low but filled with barely restrained frustration. "I don’t have the luxury of taking breaks whenever I feel like it." Your heart sank at the bitterness in his words. You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished. “Every time I stop, every time I take a moment for myself, I fall behind. I have responsibilities, expectations-” He finally looked up at you, his eyes dark with exhaustion and something deeper, something raw. “I’m the leader. I’m the one holding everything together.” You felt a lump form in your throat as you realized how deeply you’d misunderstood the situation. You had meant your words lightly, but they had triggered something in him - something he had been keeping bottled up for too long. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you whispered, taking a cautious step toward him. He looked tired. Oh so tired. And while you were more than sure people had seen his tiredness, you knew that they weren't aware of even the fraction of exhaustion he was feeling now that you were looking at it from two feet away. “I just…I didn’t realize how much pressure you were under. I mean I was aware, but I didn't think it was to this extent.” Chan let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t realize because I don’t show it. I can’t afford to.” The room was suffocatingly silent, the weight of his confession sinking in. You had never seen him like this- — so vulnerable, so... broken. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I don’t appreciate everything you do,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I know how hard you work, Chan.” He shook his head, his expression distant, as though he were already miles away from you, even while standing right there. “Just... leave me alone,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion as he turned away from you, walking toward the door. “I need to finish this.” You wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but the look in his eyes had warned you against it. There was a wall between you now — one you hadn’t meant to build but had somehow erected with a few careless words. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you standing alone in the empty studio, your heart heavy with regret and a sinking feeling that you’d hurt him far more than you’d ever intended.

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ᗰIᑎᕼO

It had been a long day, and as you and Minho sat together in the living room of your apartment, the remnants of dinner still scattered across the table, you found yourself in one of those easy conversations where words flowed without much thought. You both had been teasing each other, poking fun at small quirks and habits, but then you said something - a single sentence that changed everything. "You can be so cold sometimes, Minho." You laughed. It slipped out so casually, but the moment the words left your mouth, you knew you had made a mistake. The room seemed to freeze, the playful banter dying on your lips as you watched Minho’s expression shift. His face went from light-hearted to something unreadable - his eyes darkening, his smile fading into a thin line. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and the silence in the room grew suffocating. "Cold, huh?" His voice was quiet, almost emotionless, but you could feel the tension building in him, like a storm just waiting to break. He traced his index finger around the mug in front of him. You immediately tried to backtrack. "I didn’t mean it like that. I was just-" But Minho cut you off, standing up abruptly from the couch and turning his back to you. "No, I get it," he said flatly, his shoulders stiff. "You think I’m cold." The way he said it, so detached and hollow, made your stomach twist with guilt. You had known Minho long enough to realize that, behind his sharp exterior, he was someone who felt deeply, even if he didn’t always show it. But now, it seemed like you had confirmed his worst fear - that people only saw the distant, guarded version of him. "Minho, wait," you pleaded, standing up and reaching for him, but he took a step away, avoiding your touch. "Don’t," he said, his voice sharper now. "If that’s how you see me, then fine. I don’t need to hear more." You watched helplessly as he walked toward your bedroom, his posture rigid, shutting himself off from you with every step. The sound of the door closing echoed through the apartment, leaving you standing alone in the living room, your heart sinking with the weight of what had just happened. The thing about Minho was that, while he came across as tough and indifferent to most people, you knew there was a part of him that feared being misunderstood. He was always careful with his emotions, keeping them tightly locked behind that sarcastic, cool demeanor. It was one thing you loved about being with him, that you were one of the only ones who knew him well enough to see behind that exterior. To know and see him so deeply to know his true self; one that he didn't show everyone. But tonight, with one careless comment, you had struck right at the heart of his insecurity. And it hurt you that you did that. Hours passed, and the tension in the air didn’t lift. You tried knocking on the bedroom door, offering a quiet apology, but he never answered. It felt like a wall had sprung up between the two of you, one made of all the sharp edges he used to protect himself from getting hurt. That night, you lay awake, replaying the moment over and over in your mind, each time wishing you could take back the words. You had never seen Minho so distant, and the thought that you had caused it filled you with a gnawing guilt.

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ᑕᕼᗩᑎGᗷIᑎ

It had been a tough day, the kind that leaves you exhausted to the core. Changbin had just gotten back from the studio, a heavy frown weighing down his usually bright expression. You could tell something was off the moment he walked through the door - his usual energy dampened, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.

You had asked him about it, but he shrugged it off with a noncommittal, “Just tired.” Still, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

Later that evening, as you both sat in the living room, watching a movie that neither of you were paying attention to, you tried again to break through the silence. Changbin was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, his jaw clenched.

“You seem really down lately,” you said gently, looking at him from across the couch. “Is everything okay?”

He glanced at you, his expression guarded, but still didn’t say much. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You weren’t convinced. “You don’t seem fine. You’ve been so quiet lately.”

And that’s when you said it - the words you immediately regretted.

“You’re always talking about how hard you work, but maybe you should take a break. Sometimes it’s like you think you have to prove yourself constantly...but you don’t.”

It wasn’t meant to hurt him. You had said it because you cared, because you had watched him work himself to the bone without ever showing any signs of slowing down. But the moment the words left your lips, you saw Changbin’s entire demeanor change.

His fingers tightened around his phone, and his eyes narrowed as he set it down on the coffee table. When he looked at you, his gaze was sharp, defensive.

“What are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice low, though you could hear the edge in it.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I just mean...you don’t have to push yourself so hard all the time.”

His jaw clenched tighter, and suddenly, the air between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite grasp. Changbin sat up straighter, folding his arms across his chest as he stared at you.

“You think I’m overcompensating or something?” he asked, his tone colder than you’d ever heard from him. “Like I’m not good enough, so I have to try harder?”

You were stunned by his reaction, your heart starting to race. “No, that’s not what I meant-” You stuttered.

“Then what did you mean?” he interrupted, his voice louder now, almost confrontational. “Because it sounds like you think I’m not doing enough. Like I’m not enough.” You froze at his tone.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had never seen Changbin like this - defensive, hurt, and shutting you out. He was usually the one with the most confidence, always sure of himself. But now, it was as if you had shattered something inside him, something you didn’t even know was fragile.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, your voice faltering. “I just- I know how hard you work, and I worry about you.”

Changbin stood up, his movements tense, as if trying to escape the conversation. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. His frustration was palpable.

“Worry about me?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You have no idea what it’s like. You don’t get it. Everyone expects me to be this - this strong, perfect version of myself. If I stop for even a second, I feel like I’ll fall behind, like I’ll fail.”

You stood up too, reaching out for him, but he took a step back, creating more distance between you. His words cut through you like glass, the raw emotion behind them catching you off guard.

“I never said you were failing, Changbin. I just-"

“You didn’t have to,” he snapped, his voice filled with a bitterness that made your chest ache. “But that’s what it feels like. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough. And now you’re telling me the same thing. The one person I would think wouldn't tell me that!”

His eyes were dark, filled with frustration and hurt. The walls he had carefully built around himself over the years were crumbling, and you were standing in the wreckage, helpless to fix it.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”

But he wasn’t listening. He turned away from you, his hands gripping the back of a chair, his knuckles white with tension.

“I need to be alone,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “I can’t do this right now.”

You watched him walk away, your heart breaking as the distance between you seemed to grow wider with every step he took. The sound of the bedroom door closing echoed through the apartment, leaving you standing in the middle of the room, your heart heavy with regret.

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ᕼYᑌᑎᒍIᑎ

You hadn’t meant to upset him. The last thing you wanted was to make Hyunjin feel small or inadequate, but somehow, in the middle of a conversation that had started so innocently, you said something you couldn’t take back.

The two of you were sitting at the kitchen table after dinner, an empty bowl of ice cream between you as you talked about the latest art exhibit he’d visited. Hyunjin’s eyes always lit up when he talked about art - it was a passion that fueled him just as much as music. But tonight, something was off.

He had been unusually quiet the whole evening, his usual spark dulled. You had noticed it right away but thought maybe he was just tired. Still, the longer the silence stretched, the more concerned you became.

“Is something bothering you?” you asked gently, reaching out to touch his hand.

Hyunjin sighed, looking down at your intertwined fingers. “I don’t know. It’s just...I’ve been feeling a little off lately.”

You tilted your head, urging him to continue. “Off? How?”

He hesitated, biting his lip before finally answering. “I’ve been feeling like...I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am. Like I’m just pretending to be this perfect version of myself. When I see other people’s work, especially in art, I can’t help but compare myself. I feel like I’ll never be able to reach that level.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, and you wanted to reassure him, to tell him how talented he was. But instead, without thinking, you said, “You don’t have to be perfect all the time. No one expects you to be.”

His expression shifted, his brows furrowing as he looked at you, and you realized too late what you had just implied.

“So...you...think I’m not good enough?” he asked, his voice quieter but laced with hurt.

Your stomach dropped. “No, baby, that’s not what I meant-”

“Then what did you mean?” His tone grew sharper, and you could see the cracks forming in the carefully constructed mask he wore. “Because it sounds like you’re saying I’m not living up to everyone’s expectations. Let alone yours.”

“I just meant you’re already enough,” you said quickly, panic rising in your chest. “You don’t need to push yourself so hard.”

But Hyunjin wasn’t hearing you. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor as he began pacing around the room. His long fingers ran through his hair in frustration.

“Do you know how hard I try?” His voice wavered, a mix of anger and sadness. “Every day, I’m fighting to be better, to live up to the image everyone has of me. People look at me and expect me to be this flawless, beautiful person who has everything figured out. But I don’t! I don’t have it all together.”

You stood up, following him as he paced. “Hyunjin, I know you-”

“Do you?” He turned to face you, his eyes dark and filled with an emotion you couldn’t name. “Because it feels like you think I’m not good enough either. Like I’m just pretending.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. The Hyunjin you knew - the sensitive, artistic soul who poured his heart into everything he did -was unraveling before your eyes, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“That’s not true,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “I think you’re incredible. I just-”

“Then why does it feel like you don’t believe in me?” His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw tears glistening in his eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m constantly failing?”

You were at a loss for words. Every attempt to reassure him seemed to make things worse, and the walls he had put up between you were growing taller by the second.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” you whispered, your own tears threatening to spill over.

Hyunjin shook his head, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold himself together. “I just...I can’t do this right now. I need space.”

The finality in his voice made your heart break. He turned away from you, heading toward the bedroom, leaving you standing in the kitchen, alone and devastated.

The silence that followed his departure was deafening, and as you stared at the empty space where he had stood, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had just lost him for good.

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@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

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[in-som-niyah]

ok i’ve been having this thought for a while… since jason is so attentive what are some things he would do that makes reader’s life easier??? like i see him as such an acts of service man like if all else fails he will make sure you’re never out of your fav tea or something idk im sorry if this doesn’t make sense 😭😭

"I Do, I Do, I Do"

A/N: digging myself out of a depressive episode with this one + this is my first fic after my long ass hiatus so pls be nice to me im trying

Attentive!Jason Todd will pay so much attention to you you would think he has a camera on you 24/7 and watching your every move.

Jason would remember the big things, like anniversaries and birthdays, but also days of the year when he knows you need the most support from him. If a parent/guardian/loved one died on a specific day/time of year he's attuned to your emotional needs and keeps up with your physical ones (like food and sleep) so you can focus on being ok again. (i am NOT projecting chat)

Jason would also remember the little things, like your favourite tiny spoon, the way you prefer spearmint to wintermint in gum and toothpaste, the way you compulsively brush your hair to the side when your bangs get too long, when it's time for you to leave a social situation. He's just always looking at you and around you to make sure you're happy and smiling when you wave back at him form across the room.

If you have health problems, Jason would never in his life let you run out of meds or whatever you need to combat your illness. The massage gun is always charged, heating pad always available, hot water bottles on standby, compression socks/arm bands at your disposal, everything. He doesn't wait for it to get bad either, he's picked up on your cues so well that he can almost predict a disaster before you do.

Speaking of prediction, he also knows that if you're not off work and in the apartment by a certain time, to start the laundry, dishes and order in/cook a quick dinner because he knows you'll come home a tense ball of stress and worry.

Jason who almost exclusively wears a specific type of softer fabric when you're around him because he loves it when you bury your face in his chest and rest your head on his bicep.

(For the short girlies) Jason who puts rubber corner protectors on the corners of your countertops and tables because you always bash your hips into them when you aren't paying attention.

Jason who does the laundry before you wake up in the morning and folds your clothes exactly the way you do because he knows you're particular about it & doesnt want you to stress about it in the morning.

Jason who puts gas in your car and repairs it himself or sends it to the bats to fix when he can't (he would never admit it though).

Jason who notices your favourite brands of food and makes sure they're always stocked (you're convinced it's witchcraft the way things don't run out)

Jason who just loves you. That's it. That's all. Just love. In any and all ways he can. All the time. In all conditions. In all situations. Patient. Loving. Kind.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[pastadoughie]

i dont know how to say it or what to even do at this point

i am in an abusive housing situation. witch isnt really new info nor something i talk about often. i have learned to deal w/ shit on my own overtime, aswell as my situation getting slightly better with my distancing from certain family members. but its still bad.

my mother & my brother are both extremely abusive, my brother is phisically abusive, and my mother is a pedophile. they are the only other familial ties i have aside from my dad, and they obviously arent viable and would be worse for me.

my dad is my best option in terms of family and the only person i live with currently. when hes drunk he can be actively cruel & abusive, regularly threatening sexual abuse via forfeiting custody of me to my mother. but im still semi able to reason with him while he isnt drunk. most the times hes simply neglectful, witch is preferable to the alternative atleast. & can somewhat be manipulated into caring about me, or at the very least signing & agreeing to things if i do all of the other legwork

i have a disability of some sort, i have alot of theories but overall doctors refuse to properly test me. i smoke so, they just blame every single issue i have on that & dont listen to ANY of my concerns. somewhat similar to pots in terms of symtoms. i just call it "the slop", this sortof sludge that clouds all my thoughts and everything i do. when it gets bad i cant move properly, often knocking things over, completely losing my train of thought. it can be really hard to have conversations with me, i spend alot of time being silent, keep repeating the same simple few words, dont really listen properly. i can sometimes spend hours just staring off into space. it gets better when im laying down, but sometimes not even that helps. it takes a certain kind of determination to get literally anything done. witch is really hard given my lack of any kind of support.

if i am not extremely ontop of things, if i cant force myself to do things through the slop, then i end up getting into these sludge spirals. i dont eat. i dont drink. i just lay in bed. you get so dizzy and your mouth gets so dry, and so hungry, and the slop is just unbarable. not even really existing as a person, sleeping 18 hours a day, sort of halfheartedly & extremely badly trying to do basic tasks, like eating or drinking, and then after 4 hours i just. go back to sleep. its unbarable & dehumanizing. & its not like i have anybody that can help me. i explain this to people and then they always make suggestions on how to manage it that requires another person to help, and then they never listen when i say i do not have anybody.

i need to get some kind of treatment and i need to get some kind of testing, but doing so requires so much work so many phone calls so much effort that i HAVE to do on my own, that i just. dont have the energy for. its not that im intellectually or phisically incapable i just, im just always in slop. its just always a barrier i have to work around. and the fact that just. the entire fucking medical system is so rotten to the core w/ incompetance & malice twards queer and disabled people means that its just.. so hard to get anything done at all for treatment.

and beyond the fact i have to get meds, i also really need to work on moving out. while i dont think my dad would realistically kick me out until im 18, as that would require actually doing paperwork. i dont trust him to be nice to me beyond that point.

and incase i need to say this to some sheltered fuck who does not understand this. no i cannot go to dcs. i have dealt with dcs my entire life. dcs is not an organization made to help people. it never HAS been. any good they do is incedental. they are at their core a government organization that is supposed to sound good. they do not help children. my tharapist submitted a dcs report about my brother trying to kill me back in december, and i had a dcs worker come to my door and start defending pedophilia to me. every single encounter i have had with dcs has eaither done nothing or actively been harmful to me in having a dcs worker actively encorage my families various abusive behavior.

in summery, i need some kind of help figuring out a way to. deal with everything. ideally something that would help me with practical stuff like medical paperwork, scedualling appointments, that stuff. ideally focused on & or primarily targeted to queer autists in the 16 to mid 20s range of ages. and also that is within arizona. most of the stuff ive been reccomending is stuff like housing and independant living programs, witch while helpful what im looking for is primarily medical help & that is centered around more chronic issues & disabilities that like, need more testing & such to be diagnosed, and not really in the vein of teaching me how to do appointments & such, i know how. i just. am not super good at functioning in general.

dont dm me saying "oh im always here if u wanna talk!!" thats weird. i dont know you.

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C2)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.1K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

02: Love, Sweat, and Secondhand Embarrassment

"Clemmy I swear I wanted to die that entire time. Whoever I offended in an alternate universe I am so so sorry, I truly believe karma is real now," I lamented, voice weak.

Burying my head in my pillow, I could finally appreciate the cool blast of AC (well, it was a little bit of air conditioning but a little is better than nothing) I scratched my right leg that was hoisted up onto the blue duvet cover. If not for the horrible comedic timing of everything, in that moment, I might have said that I was enjoying myself.

On the other line of the phone, thousands of miles away, it was a completely different story.

"What the fuck," Clementine could barely muster out because she was laughing so hard.

"I still don't think any part of this story is funny, Clem," I roll my eyes and trail off.

"But it is! You genuinely should consider a career in stand-up comedy. If you recounted all of this in front of a paying live audience, I'm just saying it could make you a millionaire overnight," Clementine wheezed.

"Oh, shut up, bitch," I retorted, trying to suppress a smile despite my mortification.

"You know it's true though!" Her girlish giggles rang through my room. I could see her face through the screen and it looked like visible tears were streaming down her face from how funny she found this to be.

"I am completely and utterly humiliated. There is no way I can go downstairs and face everyone right now," I whined. It was true, as twenty minutes ago, mid-Facetime with Clementine, I heard the door to the foyer open and heard a lot of new noises.

New people. The neighbors. The rest of the Australians.

Crikey, mate.

There was no way I could face them. And since Oscar was probably their son (he looked way too young to be a father) he had probably already told them about the wretched and humiliating mishap.

"Seriously, Clemmy, you don’t get it," I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice but failing miserably. "This is not just some embarrassing story. This is my life, and I have to face these people now."

Clementine’s laughter finally started to subside, and she took a deep breath. "Okay, okay, I get it. But you have to admit, this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of disaster. You can’t just ignore it. It’s like the universe is telling you to embrace the chaos."

I sighed, feeling a bit more grounded with her calming tone. "Yeah, well, I’m not exactly feeling the universe’s love right now. I feel like I’ve been dropped into some kind of sitcom. And what if they think I’m a total klutz? I can’t even begin to imagine how Oscar must’ve described me."

"It'll be fine. You are a pro at handling horrible situations. I mean, I can really only think that you have had more bad experiences with guys than good ones!" Clem tried to reassure me.

"Wow, thanks," I deadpanned. "Way to make a girl feel special."

Clementine's voice was full of playful sympathy. "Hey, I’m just saying, you’ve survived everything life’s thrown at you so far. Besides, look at it this way: if they’re judging you based on this one incident, they’re missing out on getting to know the amazing person you are."

"Yeah, because nothing says 'amazing' like face-planting into a pile of shampoo and knocking over a bunch of cleaning supplies," I said, sarcasm dripping from my tone.

Clementine laughed. "Exactly! And let’s be honest, if they do judge you for this, they’re definitely not worth your time. Besides, Oscar might even think you’re charming in a clumsy, endearing kind of way. You never know."

"You should really consider a career in therapy. If I lay here and close my eyes for a bit and sleep for three hours surely your advice will work," I retorted.

"Oh be so serious with me now,"

"I am! Now I can add a new skill to my LinkedIn profile," I said, trying to stifle a giggle. "How about 'Expert in Catastrophic Bathroom Mishaps: Master of Turning Shower Encounters into Slapstick Comedy'?"

Clementine burst into laughter. “That’s quite a title! It’s like you’ve got a whole new niche market for yourself.”

“Right? I’m just waiting for the endorsement from ‘The Association of Embarrassing Bathroom Incidents,’” I said, imagining a badge with that exact title. What a big, fat, fucking joke.

“Or maybe you'll become the keynote speaker for the 'International Conference on Unexpected Water-Based Accidents,’” Clementine added, her voice full of amusement.

“I’ll make sure to include a workshop on ‘How to Survive a Bathroom Collision with Dignity and Humor,’” I said with a chuckle. “And don’t forget the seminar on ‘Turning Slip-and-Fall Disasters into Networking Opportunities.’”

“A career to consider!” Clementine laughed. “And you know what? I’ll be your first fan. Just remember to keep me updated on how your new ‘disastrous bathroom mishap’ career is going.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” I promised with a smile. “Thanks for the laugh. It’s nice to know that even in the middle of a fiasco, I can count on you to turn it into a comedy show.”

"What can I say, I will never turn down listening to a free shit show," Clementine winked at me through the camera.

"Clem! What the hell!" I waved my manicured pointed nail at her.

"Bye! Don't die from embarrassment before you come back!" She quipped, then promptly hung up.

I lay sprawled on my bed, dreading the thought of going downstairs and facing the group of new neighbors. The whole idea made me cringe. I was just about to mentally prepare myself for the awkward introductions when a sudden knock on my door jolted me upright. My heart raced as I called out lazily, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Oscar standing there. His eyebrow was raised, and he wore a cheeky grin that did nothing to ease my nerves.

"Well, well, well," he said with an amused smirk. "Looks like you’ve been having quite the chat with 'dearest Clemmy,' haven’t you?"

My face flushed beet red, and I stuttered, struggling to find my words. “W-What are you doing here?”

Oscar leaned casually against the doorframe, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Oh, you know, just overheard you and Clemmy talking about our little mishap. I believe you mentioned something about me being ‘a charming yet infuriating Aussie who managed to turn your bathroom break into a comedy skit.’”

I blinked, stunned into silence. My mouth opened and closed, but no coherent words came out. The sheer embarrassment was overwhelming. Oscar’s casual demeanor and his cheeky grin only made things worse.

“What can I say, my name was called,” Oscar continued with a mischievous glint in his eye. “If someone keeps calling you hot, I mean, wouldn’t you be too curious to listen?”

His smirk only made my breath hitch and my fingers tremble a little more. I could feel my cheeks burning, and I struggled to come up with a response. The playful glint in his eye and his casual attitude did nothing to alleviate my embarrassment. Instead, they only made me feel more flustered.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “W-Well, I guess I didn’t think anyone would be actually listening.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow playfully, his smirk widening. “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. But it was too good to pass up. Especially the part where you called me a ‘human wrecking ball.’”

My face flushed a deeper shade of crimson. “Great. Just great,” I muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sure I’ve made a fantastic first impression.”

Oscar chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Look, it’s all good. I’ve seen worse first impressions. Trust me. At least you didn’t accidentally set off the fire alarm or flood the place.”

I managed a weak smile, still feeling the sting of embarrassment. “Yeah, well, I’ll try to keep any future disasters to a minimum.”

Look at me, constantly embarrassing myself in front of hot guys. This was the exact reason why I was still bitchless and socially awkward at the ripe age of twenty-one. I could navigate a spreadsheet like a pro, ace exams, and even master the perfect contour, but put me in a room with a cute guy, and I turned into a walking calamity.

I sighed internally, already dreading the inevitable teasing I’d get from Clemmy once she found out I had, yet again, failed to keep my cool around a guy. Maybe I should’ve just stayed in the bathroom and let the ground swallow me whole.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, studying me with a curious look. “You know, you seem like a completely different person right now. Way quieter, more shy… less daring.”

My face flushed with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “That’s not true,” I snapped, crossing my arms defensively. “I’m exactly the same as I was before.”

Oscar’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on me. “Sure, if you say so. But the girl who almost took me down like a rugby player in the bathroom seemed a lot more fearless.”

My nose flared as I shot him a glare, feeling the fire of indignation rise within me. Who did he think he was, making assumptions about me? I’ll show him just how brave I can be, I thought, my fists clenching. If he wanted to see daring, then I’d make sure he regretted ever doubting me. The nerve of this guy! He might have been hot, but that didn’t give him the right to push my buttons like this.

Oscar gave me a lopsided grin, clearly pleased with himself. "Anyway, everyone’s heading downstairs to meet each other. Figured I’d let you know, since, you know, it’s probably not the best idea to hide out up here forever."

My stomach twisted with nerves at the thought of facing everyone after that humiliating encounter. The idea of meeting new people while still reeling from my disastrous introduction to Oscar was daunting. But there was no way I was going to let him see how nervous I actually was. I took a deep breath, nodding stiffly. "Fine, let’s get this over with."

As we walked out of the room and toward the stairs, I could feel Oscar’s presence behind me—large, imposing, and annoyingly close. My face heated up, and I silently cursed myself for blushing yet again. Why did this guy have to make everything so difficult?

It was like shooting a sitting duck. A little small talk, a smile, and baby, I was stuck. I was a grown woman, for god’s sake, not some teenager swooning over a crush. But there I was, getting flustered over a guy I barely knew. Get a grip, I told myself, trying to shake off the absurdity of the situation. This wasn’t supposed to happen—I wasn’t supposed to be this easily charmed.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I hesitated, gripping the railing a little longer than usual. I could feel Oscar’s gaze on me, and it only made my nerves worse. Just as I was about to take the first step down, his hand brushed against mine. The contact was brief but enough to send a jolt of awareness through me. His hand was rough with calluses, moderately enveloping mine in a way that felt both comforting and disarming.

What was it about this guy that made me feel so uncharacteristically off-balance? As I tried to steady my racing thoughts, I reminded myself that I had to keep it together. After all, I wasn’t about to let some smooth-talking Aussie turn me into a lovesick fool—no matter how much my traitorous heart seemed to enjoy the challenge.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes were drawn to two adults who were deep in conversation with my mom. Their warm, friendly demeanor and unmistakable Australian accents told me they were Oscar’s parents. They seemed just as lively and outgoing as he was, which only added to the strangeness of this entire situation.

Then, I spotted Oscar’s siblings—a trio of sisters who looked like carbon copies of him, yet each had her own distinct vibe, like different fonts of the same typeface. They were laughing and joking with each other, their bond evident in the way they effortlessly engaged in light-hearted banter. I felt a pang of envy, wishing I had siblings to share that kind of closeness with.

My daydream was abruptly shattered when Oscar’s large, warm hand clasped onto my shoulder, his fingers pressing gently but firmly against my skin. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through me, making me jump slightly as a flush of heat rushed to my cheeks. His chuckle, deep and amused, rumbled behind me, the sound wrapping around me like a teasing caress. He was standing on the step just above me, close enough that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. His presence was unmistakably felt—broad, solid, and way too close for comfort, yet somehow not close enough.

His fingers lingered on my shoulder, almost as if he was testing my reaction, and I could feel the warmth radiating from his touch, seeping into my skin. The space between us seemed to shrink with every passing second, and I could barely concentrate on anything but the weight of his hand and the steady beat of my heart hammering in my chest.

Oscar leaned in slightly, his voice low and smooth as honey. “Jumpier than I thought,” he drawled, his tone dripping with playful mischief. “Didn’t take you for the shy type. Especially not after our little bathroom tango.” His grin widened, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that was both infuriating and ridiculously charming.

My pulse quickened at the way he was looking at me—those eyes sparkling with amusement, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. I swallowed hard, my mind racing to come up with a retort, but all I could focus on was how his hand, still resting on my shoulder, felt both protective and possessive. The air between us crackled with a tension that was impossible to ignore, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

I could quite literally cut the sexual tension with the dullest fucking butterknife in the world.

I tried to muster a sharp retort, something that would wipe that smug grin off his face, but my brain was too busy short-circuiting to cooperate. All I could manage was a stuttered, “I-I’m not shy! You just—caught me off guard, that’s all.” The words tumbled out, weak and unconvincing, and I mentally cringed at how feeble they sounded.

Oscar’s grin only grew, clearly enjoying my flustered state. He leaned in a little closer, his gaze locked on mine with a playful intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “Off guard, huh?” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “So, you’re saying if I hadn’t surprised you, you’d be able to keep up?”

I opened my mouth to respond, determined to regain some semblance of dignity, but nothing clever came out. Instead, I just stood there, caught between wanting to pull away from his teasing and feeling inexplicably drawn to his warmth. His hand slid from my shoulder, and the absence of his touch left a surprising chill in its wake.

Realizing that my window for a comeback was closing, I finally managed to sputter, “Y-Yeah, exactly.” I immediately cursed myself for sounding so pathetic. Not exactly the sharp comeback I was hoping for. His smirk deepened, and I could tell he wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Sure, whatever you say,” Oscar replied, his tone still dripping with amusement. He straightened up, giving me a quick wink before stepping down to the next stair. The playful glint in his eyes told me he knew exactly how much he was getting under my skin, and he was loving every second of it.

As he moved past me, I finally found my voice—too little, too late—and muttered under my breath, “Cocky bastard.” But it was quiet enough that I hoped he didn’t hear it. To my dismay, Oscar paused, turning back with a raised eyebrow and an even wider grin.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Care to repeat it?”

My cheeks flamed as I quickly shook my head. “Nope, nothing. Let’s just… go meet everyone.”

Oscar’s grin didn’t falter as he took a step closer, still looming above me. “You know,” he began, his voice casual but with that familiar teasing edge, “I’ve already met everyone else. Your mom, too. And I’ve gotta say, you two seem like complete opposites.”

I blinked up at him, caught off guard again. “Opposites?”

He nodded, leaning against the wall with that effortless ease he seemed to have perfected. “Yep. Your mom’s all smiles and warm welcomes. You, on the other hand… well, you’ve got this whole ‘ready to throw punches’ vibe going on.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or just messing with me again. “I do not have a ‘ready to throw punches’ vibe.”

Oscar’s lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh. “Oh, you totally do. But don’t worry,” he added with a playful smirk, “it’s kind of endearing. Keeps things interesting.”

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Glad to know I’m so entertaining for you.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying, opposites attract, right? Besides, your mom already likes me. You could take a few notes.”

His comment sent a fresh wave of warmth to my cheeks, both from irritation and something I couldn’t quite place. “I don’t need notes from you,” I shot back, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

Oscar just chuckled, giving me one last teasing wink before turning to head down the stairs. “Whatever you say, mate. Just try not to tackle anyone else while you’re at it.”

"Well well well, what do we have here?" A girl with short hair and a devious grin matching Oscar's grinned at me as well entered the kitchen. Shimmering her hands like "jazz hands", she rolled her eyes and rested her chin in the palm of her hand.

I turned to face the new arrival, immediately recognizing her as one of Oscar’s sisters—one of the three siblings who seemed to share his penchant for mischief. Her cropped hair and sharp, playful eyes made her look like she’d just stepped out of a rom-com where she was the resident troublemaker, always stirring the pot and having a laugh at everyone else’s expense.

“Hey, party people,” she said, her voice dripping with a teasing lilt. She shot me a grin that was almost a mirror image of Oscar’s, mischievous and knowing, like she was in on some inside joke I hadn’t been let in on yet. I could feel the same heat from before creeping up my neck. Why did it feel like these siblings were reading me like an open book?

“Looks like someone’s already made a grand entrance,” she continued, flicking her eyes between me and Oscar with an amused smirk. “Oscar’s been talking about you nonstop since we got here. Said something about a ‘bathroom fiasco’ that deserves an award?”

I shot a glare at Oscar, who was leaning casually against the counter, looking far too pleased with himself. “Did he now?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the mortification clawing at me.

The girl laughed, light and musical, but with an edge that told me she was fully enjoying every bit of this. “Oh yeah, he’s been filling us in. But don’t worry, we’re used to his tall tales. I’m Hattie, by the way,” she added, extending a hand with exaggerated enthusiasm as if we were meeting on the set of a game show rather than in my kitchen.

I hesitated for a beat before shaking her hand, trying to muster a smile that didn’t look too forced. “Nice to meet you, Hattie. I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” she interrupted, her grin widening. “You’re the girl who almost took out my brother. Honestly, I’m impressed. No one’s ever managed to knock him off his game quite like that.”

I glanced at Oscar, who was watching the exchange with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. Maisie’s comment hung in the air, both a compliment and a lighthearted jab. I couldn’t help but feel like I was once again the butt of some inside joke between the siblings.

“Yeah, well, it’s a special talent of mine,” I said, trying to sound casual but feeling like every word was being scrutinized. “Guess I just have that effect.”

Hattie laughed, the sound bright and unapologetically amused. “Oh, I like you already. But hey, if you’re gonna hang out with us, you better be ready for a little friendly chaos. And maybe a few more unexpected collisions.”

Oscar gave a soft snort of laughter, and I could feel his eyes still on me, assessing, teasing, and—annoyingly—almost impressed. I tried to ignore the butterflies that seemed to be staging a full-on rebellion in my stomach. Clearly, this family thrived on playful torment, and I had somehow found myself right in the middle of it.

“Don’t worry,” I said, straightening up and forcing a confident smile. “I think I can handle whatever you guys throw at me.”

Hattie's eyes sparkled with mischief, and she gave me a mock salute. “That’s the spirit. Welcome to the chaos, mate.”

Oscar chuckled again, giving me that damn wink before pushing off from the counter. “Oh, she’s ready for it. Trust me, she’s already made quite the impression.”

The other two girls strolled in, each with their own distinct energy that filled the room. One had a fierce, confident look, dark hair tied up in a messy bun, and a leather jacket that screamed ‘cooler-than-you’ vibes. The youngest, a curly-haired, bright-eyed whirlwind, practically bounced into the kitchen, her infectious smile lighting up the space.

“So,” I said, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the sudden influx of new faces. “I’ve met Oscar, obviously, and… Hattie, right?” I glanced at the girl who had first greeted me, who nodded with a playful smile. “But I’m afraid I haven’t gotten your names yet,” I continued, pointing between the other two sisters.

The girl with the leather jacket gave me a wry grin, leaning casually against the counter. “I’m Edie,” she said, her voice dripping with casual confidence. “The cooler, smarter middle child.”

Mae, the youngest, immediately chimed in, rolling her eyes at her sister. “And I’m Mae, the fun one,” she said with a giggle, her curls bouncing as she hopped up onto a stool. “Edie’s just mad she wasn’t born with my charm.”

Edie snorted, pretending to be offended. “Please, you’re like a tiny tornado of chaos. But yeah, I guess she’s not wrong,” she added, shooting me a smirk. “Mae’s got a way of making everything a little… livelier.”

I couldn’t help but smile at their playful back-and-forth. “Nice to officially meet you all. And thanks for the heads-up on your brother’s antics,” I said, glancing at Oscar, who was watching the exchange with an amused glint in his eye.

“Oh, trust me,” Hattie added, her grin widening as she nudged Oscar with her elbow. “We’ve got years of experience keeping this one in line. You’re welcome to join the effort.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Wow, ganging up on me already? This is why I never bring girls home,” he joked, though there was a hint of genuine warmth in his voice, like he was more than used to—and secretly enjoyed—their teasing.

Mae leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just wait till we start telling you all the embarrassing stories. Oscar’s got quite a few, and we’ve got no problem spilling the tea.”

Oscar smirked, shifting his weight just enough to close the distance between us, his presence suddenly feeling a lot closer, a lot warmer. He leaned in with a casual ease, his movements smooth and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to make me squirm. His voice dropped into a playful, low tone, rich and velvety, each word dripping with deliberate charm. “Oh, don’t worry about them,” he murmured, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “I’d much rather hear your stories. You’re far more interesting than anything they could say about me.”

The way he looked at me was like I was the only person in the room, his eyes lingering on mine with a bold, flirtatious glint that sent a shiver down my spine. His grin was maddeningly confident, a little crooked, and devastatingly irresistible—the kind of smile that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. It was teasing, suggestive, and far too charming for its own good, like he was daring me to blush, daring me to react.

I felt the heat creeping up my neck, a slow burn that spread across my cheeks, making my skin prickle with the sudden awareness of how close he was. My mind scrambled for something clever to say, but his flirtatious tone, the way his eyes roved over my face as if he was reading every reaction, left me tongue-tied. It was like he was peeling back layers with just a look, searching for the part of me that he could fluster with a few well-placed words and that infuriating smile.

I tried to steady my breath, but his proximity was overwhelming. I could catch the faint scent of his cologne—fresh, with a hint of something spicy—and the subtle shift of his body as he leaned closer sent my senses into overdrive. Every nerve seemed to hum in response to his nearness, and I could feel my face burning hotter, betraying me with every second that I failed to look away.

Edie made a gagging noise, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Ew, Oscar, seriously? Can you not flirt for like five seconds? It’s embarrassing.”

Mae giggled, giving Oscar a playful shove. “Yeah, gross. No one wants to see that. Save it for when we’re not around, Romeo.”

Hattie snorted, shaking her head as she watched Oscar with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “He’s always like this. Thinks he’s Mr. Smooth. Don’t let him get to you.”

But Oscar only chuckled, clearly unfazed by his sisters’ teasing. He turned back to me, his grin widening as he caught sight of my flushed cheeks. “Aww, look at that,” he said, his voice soft and teasing. “Did I make you blush? How cute.”

I quickly tried to hide my face, mortification bubbling up as I realized there was no escaping the heat radiating from my cheeks. “N-No, you didn’t,” I stammered, though the pink tint on my face said otherwise.

Oscar’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in just a little closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not very good at hiding it, you know. It’s kind of endearing.”

I could practically feel my cheeks getting even more red, if that was even possible. His sisters snickered behind us, enjoying the show as much as they enjoyed tormenting him.

Mae nudged Hattie, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “He’s really laying it on thick, huh? Someone needs to put a leash on this one.”

Hattie snickered and turned to me, giving me an exaggeratedly sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, he does this to everyone. It’s part of his ‘charm offensive.’ Just don’t let him get away with it too easily.”

“Yeah, make him work for it,” Edie added with a laugh. “And don’t let that blush fool you. He’s got enough of an ego without you feeding it.”

Oscar just shrugged, clearly unbothered by his sisters’ ribbing. He kept his eyes on me, his smile softening just slightly. “They’re just jealous because they know I’m right. You really are something else.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to fight the smile that was creeping onto my face despite my best efforts. “You’re impossible,” I muttered, crossing my arms in an attempt to compose myself.

Oscar leaned back, finally giving me a bit of space but not without one last wink. “Impossible’s my specialty,” he said, the playful challenge hanging in the air.

Hattie clapped her hands together, breaking the charged silence that had wrapped around us. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s change the scene before this kitchen gets any steamier,” she said with a sly grin, glancing between Oscar and me. “What do you say we all head out to the pool? It’s hot as hell today, and I could use a swim.”

Mae’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and she bounced on her toes with excitement. “Yes, please! I’ve been dying to jump in all morning. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Edie shrugged, pushing off the counter. “Sounds like a plan. Beats sitting around here watching Oscar make a fool of himself,” she said, shooting her brother a pointed look that he brushed off with a careless smirk.

I hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden change in plans. The thought of the pool—cool water, bright sun, and lounging with these new, vibrant personalities—was tempting, but my mind immediately jumped to what that would mean: changing into a bikini, being under the sun's scrutiny, and, worse, the idea of Oscar’s eyes on me again, but this time with even less to hide behind.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said, trying to sound casual, though my heart was starting to race for an entirely different reason now. “Just give me a minute to get changed.”

As I slipped back into my room, I rummaged through my suitcase, finding the bright bikini I had packed on a whim but hadn’t quite planned on wearing in front of a whole audience of strangers. It was a pretty number—a little more revealing than I was used to—but suddenly, the idea of wearing it around Oscar felt daunting. My insecurities bubbled up: the nagging thoughts of whether my stomach was flat enough, if my thighs looked alright, or if the faint stretch marks I tried so hard to ignore would be too noticeable under the bright afternoon sun.

I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I tugged at the fabric, trying to adjust it in a way that made me feel more comfortable, but the nerves wouldn’t settle. I could already imagine Oscar’s eyes lingering on me, his playful smirk turning into something more appraising, and the thought sent a rush of heat to my cheeks. God, why was I letting this get to me? It was just a pool. Just a bikini. Just Oscar. But the more I tried to rationalize, the more those little fears crept in, whispering doubts that made my stomach churn.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, adjusting and readjusting the strings and trying to silence the negative self-talk, that I nearly jumped out of my skin when a sudden knock rattled my door. My heart leaped into my throat, and I spun around, my breath catching as I called out, “W-Who is it?”

“It’s me,” came Oscar’s familiar voice, muffled but still clear enough to send a jolt of nerves through me. “Just checking to see if you’re alright in there. You’ve been quiet, and, well, didn’t want you chickening out on us.”

His tone was light, but there was something softer in it, something that caught me off guard. It wasn’t the usual teasing or the cocky one-liners I’d grown accustomed to in the short time I’d known him. This felt… genuine. A flicker of concern threaded through his words, almost like he actually cared if I was okay. My cheeks flushed anew, this time from the unexpected warmth of his attention rather than embarrassment.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my cover-up as I tried to piece together my swirling thoughts. Was this the same Oscar who had been smirking at me in the kitchen, flirting shamelessly in front of his sisters? The same Oscar who seemed to relish every moment he made me blush or stumble over my words? It was strange, almost disarming, to hear him like this—concerned, attentive, with none of his usual bravado.

My heart fluttered at the thought. What if there was more to him than just the cheeky guy who lived for teasing? I couldn’t help but feel a small, unexpected tug in my chest, an urge to believe that this side of him was real and not just some act. But then, just as quickly, my rational side kicked in, reminding me that I’d known Oscar for all of three hours, most of which had been spent flustered and caught up in his whirlwind of charm.

Was I reading too much into this? Was I letting my own insecurities and wishful thinking color my perception of him? It was hard not to, especially when he swung so easily between flirty and sincere, keeping me constantly off-balance. I barely knew this guy, yet here I was, letting my mind wander into dangerous territory, imagining depth and sincerity that might not even be there.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my thoughts. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions—didn’t want to let a few kind words make me think I’d seen some hidden side of him. But it was hard not to feel flustered when his voice had softened like that, when he’d taken the time to check on me instead of just joking about how long I was taking.

The knock on my door, the concern in his tone—it all felt so different from the playful Oscar who’d swaggered into my life just a few hours ago. Maybe it was nothing, just a moment of decency, a brief glimpse of something real behind the jokes and teasing. Or maybe I was just overthinking, desperate to see something more in him because he’d managed to get under my skin in a way I wasn’t quite prepared for.

I sighed, feeling my cheeks heat up once more as the realization hit me—I was blushing again, and not just from embarrassment this time. There was something about Oscar, something that made me want to believe he was more than the carefree charmer he projected. But whether that was true or just wishful thinking, I couldn’t be sure. Not yet.

“I-I’m fine!” I called back, trying to steady my voice, but it came out shaky, betraying the mix of anxiety and embarrassment that had settled in my chest. “Just… getting ready.”

There was a pause on the other side of the door, long enough that I thought he might have walked away. But then, Oscar’s voice cut through again, softer this time, and with a teasing edge. “You sure? I promise no one’s gonna judge you out there. Least of all me.”

The reassurance felt sincere, but I couldn’t help the way my mind raced with all the what-ifs. What if he did look? What if I didn’t look good enough? What if this stupid bikini made me feel more exposed than I could handle? I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror, trying to summon the confidence that I usually wore so easily, but right now felt like it was hiding somewhere I couldn’t reach.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I finally managed, forcing a smile I hoped he couldn’t hear through the door. “Just... give me a sec. I’ll be right out.”

“Take your time,” Oscar said, his voice fading as he finally moved away from the door. “But don’t take too long. You don’t wanna miss the fun.”

As his footsteps retreated, I let out a shaky breath, trying to collect myself. I ran a hand through my hair, giving myself one last pep talk before heading out. It was just a pool day, I reminded myself. Just a stupid pool day with some new people and a guy who was way too good at making me blush. And maybe, just maybe, it would be fun—if I could get out of my own head long enough to let it be.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

[taffywabbit]

maybe i should try letting myself be a little bit more of a lesbian on main. i think about girls and girl-adjacent creatures sooooo much!! but there's still a ton of internalized shame i associate with it because i'm terrified of being seen as creepy or predatory - not only because i'm transfem and this particular anxiety came free with my gender, but also as a cool awesome holdover from the period of time where i hadn't yet realized i was trans, but still felt like there was something that felt instinctively wrong about me (a "guy") making any sort of open or direct expressions of my attraction to women. which in hindsight REALLY fucked up the way i processed crushes, and probably put the few girls i DID confess my feelings to in very uncomfortable positions because i had no idea what i was doing and kept trying to blindly emulate what a guy is "supposed" to do in those situations. (if any of those girls somehow happen to read this please know i'm very sorry for being a pathetic little weirdo in highschool/college. i think about it frequently and i am extremely embarrassed that anyone had to deal with that)

but yeah. girls are very cool and i like them and i also like being one. i am still rewiring my brain to come to terms with what that actually means in a practical sense and what i'm supposed to do about any of it, but i'm probably not going to get there any faster if i'm constantly slapping myself on the wrist and trying to outwardly pretend i don't experience attraction and keeping people and things i love at arms' length. it's weird. girls are wonderful and fun and gorgeous and inspiring and special and people should be allowed to know i think so beyond just seeing a word in my bio

[devil-in-hiding]

so i got amazing news and i can breathe fucking easy now

thank y’all for being a place for me to escape to. it means the god damn world. I’m not going to go into details, it’s a sensitive topic for me and it’s an on going situation but i’m seeing the end of the tunnel.

This year has been one of the worst years of my life and after 2020-2021, i didn’t think that would be possible. The only good thing that has happened is my son, he has truly been the life raft keeping me afloat because even on the days i don’t want to get out of bed for myself, i do it for him.

Creating this blog has given me a place to go and be fucking insane, for the last 14 months i have been in my house, and honestly long before that, before my son was born i was my grandmothers caretaker and i lost her in january of this year, and ive lived with my granny my whole life and i took care of her when her state started declining in 2020.

Yall have given me a place that i can come to and feel accepted and like yall actually enjoy my company even if its through a screen, yeah its parasocial but i truly do not have a single person in my corner in my life right now besides my parents, ive had more conversations on this hellsite than i have had in person in ages and thats kinda sad but thats my reality right now

this post is a fucking mess but i’m literally sobbing into my moms spider-man squishmellow right now so it shows my state of mind

just

thank yall for giving me a place to escape to during such a crap time.

it means the world

[ancha-aus]

DoubleNoot AU Drabble - Next Steps

I got time! Time to write my version of what the next part of the DoubleNoot AU timeline is! Noot² for some :D

Last time on DoubleNoot Adventure! Corrupt split and caused the original Nightmare to return in the heat of battle! As a reaction he took his mates and the newly arrived child and took them back to his home and hideout.

@mikimakiboo Made their own version of this meeting but I also wanted to write it myself and how I see it happening :3 Still their drabble is amazing and everyone needs to show it love :D (yes i linked it last time but come on. This drabble is actually the counterpart to it!)

Also fair warning. I am keeping the pregnancy joke alive. I am not letting that go. It is too funny and too fitting for me. So... warning? discussions of mpreg.

No edits or beta we just going :D (warning. It is a long read.)

*----------------------------*

There... There is a tiny skeleton in his arms. A shaking and terrified skeleton. Corrupt glances around and very slowly places the skeleton on the couch. Only to have to dive back closer to catch him from falling over. Corrupt ends up putting Nightmare in the corner of the couch to enable him to lean against two sides.

There... Is a child. In his house.

One he had thought had died. Correction. One Corrupt had thought he had killed.

What... What does he do now?

Corrupt had reacted impulsive. He doesn't actually have a plan. He just knew he had to get himself and his mates away from the Stars, even if he already felt much better.

Okay. He needs to focus.

Corrupt needs to check his mates and make sure they are okay. Needs to make sure the Stars didn't hurt any of them while he crumbled.

Why is it so hard to look away from Nightmare? Corrupt can't look away. He keeps staring at the young skeleton.

He looks scared as he looks around the area. Pushing himself back against the couch as his chest moves quickly wiht his fast breathing. His clothes are absolutely filthy and goop isn't even the thing that makes it most dirty. Not there is still old dust and blood on his clothes which are ripped and also covered in mud.

But the bones? While also covered with dirt there isn't even a scratch on Nightmare. Which surprises Corrupt. Nightmare had his skull smashed in. Had suffered years of abuse of those villagers. Yet here he sits. Whole. Not as much as a bruise on him.

The only thing that seems wrong is that Nightmare seems to have lost control over his body, but he had also been inactive for 500 years so this may more be a matter of him having to relearn how to walk and move..

Okay. Stop. Think. Waht do you know for sure?

Corrupt just... split in two and Nightmare was removed from his being. Aparently he had Nightmare resting in his body since the apple accident. Maybe instead of forming from Nightmare he formed around Nightmare... it would explain why Corrupt never actually saw Nightmare or dust from him. Corrupt had always assumed that Nightmare hadn't dusted because of his treespirit nature.

Now.

Nightmare had been in his body, aparently slowly healing, and is now out of his body. Corrupt frowns. How come that he has Nightmare's memories in that case? Is it because Nightmare was the one to eat the apple? Does that mean that all those things he remembers and remembered feeling was all Nightmare and never his own.

Corrupt takes another depe breath to try and stay focussed. He still glances to make sure Nightmare is still where he left him. He is.

Okay. Corrupt will ahve to think about everything that this means later. Now he has to make sure everyone is okay... also make sure that Nightmare gets clean and situated. It... unnerves him to not have Nightmare with him. Corrupt doesn't knwo a lot but knows his being misses having Nightmare close.

"Euh... Moonlight?"

Corrupt frowns and turns slowly.

Killer looks between Nightmare and Corrupt "You know... I know we aren't always the most... serious bunch... but you could have told us you were pregnant... we could have handled it and could have helped."

It takes amoment before Corrupt sputters and glares at one of his mates "I wasn't pregnant!" He snaps but sees Ngihtmare flinch at the sound. Corrupt mentally decides to not shout anymore.

Killer just raises a brow as he crosses his arms before looking pointly at Nightmare "Really? Because that is a whole ass child-"

Cross shoots him a disapproving look "Don't curse!"

Killer blinks and looks over "The kid is already like... eight?" he tilts his skull at Nightmare.

Nightmare however shrinks in on himself as he tries to disappear into the couch.

Corrupt answers instead "He is ten actually. Just... tiny." he frowns. aparently Nightmare is just short? Corrupt himself is also short and he took some of his appearances over from Nightmare...

Killer frowns "Wait... ten years? How long have we all been together?" He looks very disappointed "We aren't the dads?"

Corrupt sputters again but manages to keep his voice down "I wasn't pregnant."

Horror speaks up as he glances up from his phone "According to the definition of giving birth which is: The emergence of a baby or other young from the body of its mother; the start of life as a physically separate being." Horror waves into the direction of Ngihtmare "Young." and he just looks pointedly at Corrupt.

Corrupt sighs as he rubs his face "I wasn't pregnant. I didn't give birth." he looks at Nightmare and frowns "I didn't even... i thought he was dead..." Nightmare stares back at him but gets a tiny frown on his face. Corrupt isn't sure what is on his face... probably grief. there always is grief when he thought about Nightmare.

Cross joins his side and holds his hand "hey... you could also have told us you miscarriaged... We could have helped..." he smiles.

Corrupt rubs his skull as he shakes his skull "No. I wasn't pregnant... Meet... Nightmare." Ngihtmare flinches at his name and when the others all start staring at him. Shit. Corrupt regrets that...

Dust frowns "I thought you said..."

Corrupt groans as he takes a deep sigh "I know... I know what i said. I thought the same. This is also very much a surprise for me."

"how do you know my name?"

silence and Crorupt looks back at Nightmare. Ngihtmare still looks terrified. He is obviously terrified. but he has a very tiny stubborn glare on his face. One hand has formed a fist and is shaking sligthly. Nightmare keeps staring at Corrupt specifically.

Corrupt blinks and speaks softly "I.... What do you remember?" does he remember everything that Corrupt remembered?

Nightmare frowns as he thinks before looks at Corrupt distrusting "You first. What do you know?"

Killer snorts "suspicious little fellow." he points at Corrupt "That is corrupt. I am Killer." he points everyone out as he names everyone. Corrupt is watching closely and can see more and more panick appear in Ngihtmare's posture as each name is given.

right... Very unfriendly names. Corrupt now regrets not agreeing to taking a friendlier name. He makes the decision as he walks over to Nightmare and takes a seat before him. He makes sure to keep his tentacles low but not to hide them, same for his arms.

Hidden limbs can attack him and hurt him. This way Nightmare can keep and easy eye on everything.

Corrupt speaks softly, making sure to keep his voice soft and quiet just in case "I must admit I am not quite sure myself anymore. I am Corrupt. When you ate the apple of the tree I formed. I always believed that you had died and I formed from that moment with the apple's magic and power... I was unaware you were with me the whole time. How are you feeling? What do you remember?" and he waits. He knows this is a lot of information.

Nightmare frowns as he looks down slightly. Thinking. He looks at his hand and frowns as he touches some of his fingers. Corrupt follows the sight and knows why Nightmare must be confused. The villages had smashed his phalanges with a large bat just days before the apple incident. Those breaks should have been there still.

Nightmare forms a fist again as he holds said hand with his other "I... I think i... remember eating it..." he frowns more before flinching. Corrupt frowns and looks over his shoulder. Right.

He sighs "Loves. please back up a tiny bit." the four had started to gravitate closer but they seem to realise the problem. They give some quiet sorries and back up a bit.

Corrupt looks amused at them before motioning towards the other couches and chairs "Just sit down for a moment." He first needs to get Ngihtmare to relax just a tiny bit. Corrupt doubts he can move alright just yet and Corrupt wants him to be at least a bit calmer before he tries to ask if Nightmare wnats to get clean.

His mates luckily all listen and sit down and get comfortable as they start checking each other. Corrupt smiles, that is good. This way he is at least sure that they are all alright and no one is hurt.

Corrupt turns back to Nightmare who is staring at him. But he looks away as soon as Corrupt looks at him. Corrupt chuckles "It is alright... I can only imagine I must look very strange to you."

Ngihtmare shrugs and mutters "Not... that weird..." he grins a tiny bit as he glances up at him "I am a treespirit..."

Corrupt chcukles and nods "true..."

Nightmare glances to the side and Corrupt realises what Nightmare must be glancing it. Corrupt slowly makes one of his tentacles raise a little and makes it wave.

Nightmare blinks and looks at Corrupt "Are those..."

Corrupt nods "They are... made of negative energy." he brings it closer "We got that in common. Both of us have powers connected to the more negative things to feel." he lets the tendril hover near Nightmare.

Nightmare stares at it before very slowly touching the tendril. As soon as he touches it the negativity and magic in his being reacts. Because the area around the tendril starts to shine and show of cyan coloured swirls.

Nightmare stares and starts to smile "wow... I didn't know my stuff could be pretty..." he touches one of the shown swirls wiht his other hands and the area of effect expands a tiny bit.

Corrupt nods as he mutters "Even if everyone looks down on negativity. It has its good adn beautiful sides. Everything has, including the negative emotions."

Nightmar elooks unconvinced and that doesn't surprise Corrupt. Nightmare is used to being harrassed, bullied, hurt and abused over what he was connected to. His powers and role only every brough him pain.

Maybe Corrupt can at least show him the more beautiful side of their emotional powers. Show it is a part of healing and growth. That it has a connection to justice and protecting others.

Nightmare ends up focussing back on the tentacle in front of him and watching their magic react to one another. Familiar and calm. Both magicks seem to know the other and it helps Ngihtmare feel safe.

Some movement by his side and Ngihtmare watches as Cross is now near him before sitting on the ground with his back against the couch. Ngihtamre shoots him a look for a moment before calming down when the other's attention isn't on him. Nightmare turns back to the tentacle.

Cross looks over nervously before turning to Corrupt "what... what is the plan? are we just... going to..." he shoots Ngihtmare a look "Can we just keep him?"

Nightmare freezes and grabs the tentacle tighter.

Corrupt frowns as he looks at Nightmare. The idea... of leaving him somewhere? No... they can't just leave him somewhere.

Cross rubs his arm as he continues to speak "Like... I am not... sure how good I am at this dad thing?" he cringes "But I can learn! probably." he grins as he looks nervous.

Killer laughs as he lounges on the other couch, obviously watching them "I mean. I think this one is dips for either Horror or Dust. You know. Cyan of Cors and red of either of them makes purple for little nightlight."

Nightmare shoots Killer a glare "I wasn't pregnant."

horror hums and nods "Dust then. I don't have enough magic to get anyone pregnant."

Dust shrugs "Cool. I am upper-dad."

Killer grins "It has been decided!" and he throws his arms out with a laugh.

Corrupt sighs deeply as he looks back at Nightmare however just looks at the other four. Looking a tiny bit more relaxed and with a slightly tilted skull.

Corrupt speaks softly "Are you okay with staying here for a little bit? I swear to you that no one will harm you here, ever." It is why he made this place. it was a place of safety and shelter. For himself and those he holds so dear.

Nightmare looks at him, looks at the others, then looks at where their magicks interact and strengthen each other. Nightmare frowns but nods "Okay..."

Corrupt smiles "Thank you." he looks at his mates "How do you four feel?"

Killer grins "A bit tired but nothing too bad."

Cross nods and sits up straight "We are ready to do whatever!"

Corrupt sees both Horror and Dust give their own okays before nodding "Cross and Killer, can you two go to Littletale and get some supplies? We will need clothes foremost but anything that can fit a ten year old is helpful." furniture will come later once they figure out which room is right for the tiny prince-

Oh... Corrupt is already considering calling him prince compared to his own king title...

Maybe his mates have a point about how this whole situation happened. He does feel very protective over Nightmare... Again things to consider when he has the time.

He focusses on the mission "Dust. If you can go around the castle and secure the place. Make it safer." a glance confirms that Dust shoots their training room a look before nodding. He had figured Dust would understand what he meant without having to point out how many weapons they have, which will just make Ngihtmare nervous.

He looks at Horror "Love?"

Horror grins and nods "I will be in the kitchen. Allergies?"

Corrupt shakes his skull and looks at Nightmare "Not that i can remember... Nightmare? Are there any things you don't like the taste or texture off?"

Nightmare looks confused "texture?"

Corrupt smiles "Well yeah... I know I dislike either quite a few things that feel strange to me to eat. Anything you don't like?"

Nightmare thinks before speaking "I don't like.... mushy stuff? feels weird to chew..."

Corrupt looks at Horror and Horror nods before looking at Nightmare "Anything you like?"

Nightmare blinks and actually focusses on Horror for a moment. His hold on his tentacle tightens but seems to relax when he sees that Horror just waits as he stays in place and doesn't get closer.

Nightmare looks away and shrugs "Don't have stuff that i really like..." he rubs the tentacle. maybe it helps to sooth him?

Horror nods "Fair enough. We will have to get you to taste test a few things to see what you like." and he walks off before he can get a reply.

The others had already quietly left the room which Ngihtmare registers as he looks around soft "They move quiet..."

Corrupt nods "I know. I hardly ever hear them. I notice them by sensing their emotions more than anything."

Nightmare looks up unsure "They... they won't get mad? Others always get mad when i... used that..."

Corrupt smiles and shakes his skull "They won't... Will you let me help you get cleaned up?"

Ngihtmare blinks and looks down only to stare at the mess he is. Clearly not having realised that "Oh... euh..." he looks unsure as he looks hard at Corrupt "You... ARe you the one who spoke to me?"

Corrupt frowns as he tilts his skull "spoke?"

Nightmare nods as he rubs his hand "When... whenever i was sad and scared... I always heard this voice... it was very quiet and begged me to stay near... let them help... Was that you?"

Corrupt frowns as he thinks back. trying to remember the voice that Nightmare speaks off. But he can't remember those moments... What he does remember instead are his dream. showing the other side of the same conversation. Corrupt looks at Nightmare "I must admit I am unsure myself. I do not have memories of my own from before you ate the apple. I do... however... have your memories. For a long time i beleived those to be my own."

Nightmare looks away ashamed and mutters "oh...."

Corrupt shakes his skull "You don't need to be ashamed... you are a child... you shouldn't have had the pressure on you that was placed on you... and those who hurt you... they are the ones who are wrong. You never did anything wrong."

Ngihtmare nods but looks sad "I... I thought you were that voice... you sounded familiar and... I felt like i knew you."

Corrupt frowns and speaks sfotly "There are however dreams i had. Dreams that I wasn't you. But looking on from the outside... unable to assist. But I wanted to help you."

Nightmare thinks it over before looking at Corrupt and nods "okay... I would like being clean..."

Corrupt smiles and carefully picks Nightmare up. Noticing now that any goop touching any bones on Ngihtmare causes the same effect as the touches to the tentacles had caused. He hadn't noticed in his panic before.

Corrupt slowly leaves the living room and goes towards the hall before going up the stairs. As he walks he points at each room and area as he softly explains what is what. Ngihtmare looks around in shock and mutters about it being an actual castle. Corrupt smiles as he feels the excitement slowly start to appear in the younger empath.

They get to Corrupts room and he takes Ngihtmare towards the bathroom. Ngihtmare looks around confused as his hold tightens "what?"

Corrupt speaks softly as he explaisn how the bathroom works before turning on the tab of the bath. Letting Nightmare feel the water before making sure the water is nice and comfortable. He lets Ngihtmare sit by the water and play wiht it as he goes to look through the soaps and brushes. Getting everything needed to help clean up the young skeleton.

It only takes a moment before Corrupt returns to Nightmare's side. Ngihtmare looks nervous at him before looking at the water "will... will the water hurt you?"

corrupt stops and stares at Ngihtmare. He had expected th young skeleton to be worried about being exposed and naked in front of someone he didn't know. instead he is worried about Corrupt.

Corrupt smiles "I will be fine. Water does not bother me." to show he puts his hand in the water and shows how his goop just doesnt'mix with the water, all the rises off him was some old dirt from the battle. Nightmare looks at it curiously and touches it. the goop still lights up when their magic meets.

Ngihtmare frowns "why does it do that?"

Corrupt hums and shrugs "I can only assume it is because our magics have a similar source. it recognises each other as-" family. He manages to stop himself.

Nightmare tilts his skull as he stares at him. a tiny smile appears on his face "I already got a mom though."

Corrupt sighs and looks at the younger monster "please don't start to. I already have four of them doing that joke."

Nightmare chuckles before looking at the water "Bath time?"

Corrupt nods and gently helps Ngihtmare out of his dirty clothes and into the water. Ngihtmare hums happily and relaxes. Corrupt looks him over but doens't see any scars or marks of the past wounds. completely healed.

Corrupt smiles "You really are healed..." It makes it worth it. Makes it worth having to experience the pain of Ngihtmare splitting from his body.

Nightmare looks in awe at his body "You healed me... You kept your promise."

Corrupt frowns as he starts helping the younger monster bath as he still can't quite move right yet "What do you mean?"

Ngihtmare hums as he relaxes into his hold, full trust "The voice... it said that if i just gave in. To accept help. That the pain would stop." he smiles "You stopped the pain."

Corrupt looks at him before smiling "I am happy I was able to help you. I was worried before... That i had hurt you... that eating the apple to make me, destroyed you."

Nightmare keeps looking at him. Some suspicion in his feelings before he relaxes and smiles back. believing him. Why would Nightmare just believe Corrupt on his word-

Oh... of course...

Nightmare and Corrupt are both empaths. They can feel the other and feel that they are both honest. That they don't want to hurt each other.

That is what the trust is build upon. Something that was clear instantly from their first interaction.

After that Corrupt just helps Nightmare get clean as Ngihtmare uses the water to slwoly move his limbs.

Nightmare looks unhappy with the uneasy movement.

Corrupt chcukles "You were asleep for a long time Nightmare. It will take some time before you regain your full movement again."

Nightmare looks at him "Why... why did Drema shoot you?" he looks so confused "Your magic is like mine... why would he attack you?"

Corrupt stops and sighs "Your brother hates me. Because He thought I killed you."

Nightmare frowns as he looks up at him "But... you didn't... it was.. them... the villagers... not you..." he frowns "did you tell Dream that?"

Corrupt sighs "I tried to explain it to him a long time ago... He didn't beleive me."

Nightmare just looks sad as he leans heavily into his hold "He never believed me either."

Corrupt frowns "I am sorry."

Nightmare shrugs as he moves the dirty water around "I am used to it..."

Corrupt rubs his shoulders "People believe what you say here. I promise. They will listen to you."

Nightmare frowns before nodding "okay."

Corrupt nods before smiling "Ready to get dressed?"

Nightmare frowns at the sad pile of clothes "i guess?"

Corrupt shakes his skull and stands up "You are comfortable right? stable? No leanign to the side?"

Ngihtmare looks unsure but nods "I am okay... No one will get in?"

Corrupt nods "no one will bother you." Ngihtmare accepts it and Corrupt quickly goes ot his closet and reaches around. It doesn't take long before finding a soft sweater and some sweats. He returns to the bathroom and helps Ngihtmare dry off before helping him get dressed.

Clean and comfrotable safely in his arms.

Corrupt looks at Nightmare "ready to get some food?"

Nightmare looks at him before nodding "okay."

Corrupt leaves his room and goes towards the kitchen to meet up with one of his mates. Hopefully the others will like and accept Nightmare as easily as Corrupt did.

[kurosagi-h8r]

Rain of Affection

Character: Alan Mido x reader

Summary: Trapped under the same tent during your camping, you had no choice but to seek warmth from each other under the sudden rainstorm.

tw/cw: just kissing. a bit slowburn maybe. grammatical error might exist

word count: 1340

The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and pine. The rain drops pouring down the tent like bullets made it difficult for you to hear anything else. It was soothing, in a way. But it put you in an awkward situation where you had no choice but to be stuck in the same small tent as your camping mate.

"I'm so sorry for making your tent wet, Mido..." You tried to hide the way your lip quivered from the cold. The jacket that was once protecting you from the rain is now dropping water on the floor.

"Take off your jacket. You'll catch a cold if you keep wearing that." He's sitting awkwardly in front of you, trying to make himself small to give you more space inside. Still, being the one carrying most of the supplies and gear, he had to carry them back in his own tent because of the sudden rain.

You're reluctant to take it off but he was right. You couldn't even hide your shivers anymore. "Maybe later... all of my stuff is outside, you see." Left outside under your unmade tent. You didn't even have the chance to bring it with you inside — not that there's any space left inside Mido's.

He awkwardly inched closer to you — even without doing that you could feel his breath on your skin. Flustered, your first instinct was to lean back, however you were met with bags of his stuff. His hand reached to grab something and you swore his shoulder almost touched you. You even caught a whiff of wood scent on him, most likely from gathering branches for the fire.

"Wear mine," He said.

You stared at the jacket on his hand. "But what about you...?"

“You need it more than me.” Alan sounded rather quiet compared to the sound of rainfall on top of him. “And we don’t know how long the heavy rain will last.”

Again, he was right. He knew more about camping better than you were, of course. You complied and took off your jacket. Some of the water at the hem of your sleeve left your skin freezing. Then Alan took your jacket and folded it to be put away elsewhere.

His jacket was thicker than yours, perfect for camping. Although the difference in size made you drown in it. Your hands could barely show themselves, but it made it easier for you to warm yourself. Looking at him, sitting in front of you wearing only a t-shirt that’s half drenched… won’t he also freeze himself like that? Even if he were, he clearly didn’t show it.

“Aren’t you also cold?” you asked. “I feel bad for having this all to myself…”

“You’re the one more drenched here, (y/n).” And you did. All because you weren’t that good in setting up your own tent. You couldn’t possibly ask him for help with that too on top of the pile of work he insisted on shouldering.

“Still…”

Alan was sitting with his legs crossed beside you, not looking particularly anywhere – for some reason you hope he's not trying to avoid looking at you. But sometimes you do wonder what he's thinking at the moment… because it's getting pretty awkward with just the two of you, unable to go anywhere with the heavy rain happening outside. So you decide to be the one to break the silence.

“Mido… what do you usually do to stay warm?”

That five seconds of another silence felt humiliating. Was it a weird question? Anyone can ask that, right? But if you hear it again, it feels like you were trying to suggest something. Oh God, what if he feels uncomfortable answering it…

As you were about to apologize to him, he responded with, “Exercise. But we can’t exactly do that right now.”

“Ah…” you nodded. It was expected from him. “That's one way to do it.”

Exercising was out of the option. You needed to look for another way so that he wouldn't freeze himself, because giving back his jacket was also not going to happen, he would pull out other excuses to refuse.

Then it came to you…

“We can sit closer…” in a normal situation, you would've wanted to hide yourself from embarrassment. “I can't let you freeze yourself, Mido. Please?”

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. “There’s no option for me to say no, is there?”

A smile tugged at your lips. You scooted closer to him, attempting to embrace him, trying your best to not make things even more awkward than it already has. His body went rigid upon feeling your breath on his skin, his mind was screaming for him to back away but your warmth… Alan couldn’t help but find himself starting to melt to your touch.

“Alan,” you said softly.

He swore it went straight to his heart. You shouldn’t have let his name roll off your tongue like that. What blush was to appear on his face and you had to witness that? What if his heart beats a little too loud that you could hear them? So close to your ears like how close you were that you could count his lashes.

“Can I maybe…”

“Hm?”

“Can I put my head on your shoulder… please?”

Before Alan could react, a sound of thunder roaring not so far frightened you; making you jump at your seat– accidentally pulling him tighter in your embrace. You were trembling all over and his body confirmed it. To think that seconds ago he was only thinking about his own pride and honor…

Alan – not wanting to frighten you even more – carefully wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him as he whispered in your ear, “It’s alright…”

His touches, albeit too rigid in fear of hurting you, brought you the comfort you needed. His hand soothing you on your back, and the other covering your ear from the loud noise. All you could hear was each other’s breathing, and each breath made you feel drowsy. In that moment all you wanted was to drown deeper in his embrace and never wake up.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

Thinking that he’s giving you a sign, you immediately put some space between you and him. But his hold on your back couldn’t get you far from him. “I’m sorry! I-i think I’m good now.”

His soft gaze was fixed on yours. “You sure?” 

The realization sent blood rushing to your face. His face was so close – too close that your nose almost touched. Did he ask me something? To be able to utter any word would be a blessing but your ability to talk seemed to jump out of the tent the moment your eyes locked.

Alan, with all the courage he had, “Y/n.”

“Yes…?”

He’s not sure whether you said something or not just now. Not with you looking up at him and your hair between his fingers. The voices in his head were whispering things to him. Telling him that he should let himself go and feel his fingertips against your skin; that he should do something with how lonely your lips were. You needed more warmth. So let him be your warmth.

‘Please don’t hate me for this,’ was what he wanted to say before he listened to his demons.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

And then the rainstorm stopped. The world to your senses was no longer thunder in the sky, or the scent of wet dirt, or even the piercing cold in your bones. All you could feel was… Alan. His trembling lips on yours, his hand on the back of your head, the heat spreading through your body.

Your world had become him.

Everything became Alan. You see him when you close your eyes, you taste him at the tip of your tongue, drowning yourself in him and all his desire to have you.

And there’s nothing you want but to seek deeper, into the depth of his affection.

[misteria247]

So like Ford as a character to me as least, makes me feel hella mixed. Cuz like on one hand he's kinda of a jerk, is really rude and cruel to his little brother after the accident, and he sometimes completely disregards people's feelings cuz he's caught up in his own issues. And it frustrates me so much cuz like I completely understand where Stan comes from by doing your best only to pushed away. But on the other hand I also completely get and understand Ford.

He's the oldest out of them, there's unspoken pressure there from his parents and the adults around him. He's been bullied for his extra fingers and intelligence and the only friend he has besides Fiddleford later in life is his brother Stan. All Ford's life he's been out of place and then he finally gets a chance to make a space for himself, to distance himself from all this insanity. Only for it to be pulled out from under him. Like that's frustrating and devastating, especially when you've finally got some positive reception and attention because of it. It makes sense that he lashes out and when you're hurt, you do things you normally wouldn't do. Especially in a household where you've got Fillbrick as a dad, you're also bound to start believing things that you're told, especially when you want your parents approval.

And add in the toxic relationship with Bill who keeps reaffirming everything Ford's been told about Stan and helping him hold onto the grudge to a point where Ford unknowingly cut off all contact with people who actually love him and it all really makes sense in the long run.

Like what Ford did wasn't right, but Stan not telling Ford about his project also wasn't right. But as an eldest child myself I completely get Ford's reaction and his take on the situation while also feeling for Stan's own reaction on everything cuz I get that attachment and importance of family all too well. It's because of this stuff that makes both Ford and Stan's character growth so much more satisfying because they've learned to let go and heal with each other rather than tear one another down.

Idk man I love Ford but like I also want to affectionately noggie him till he begs for mercy does that make sense-?

[gayferrari]

The best part of F1TV commentary is whenever a driver comes on the radio to complain about literally anything, Palmer goes “oh I would’ve said the exact same thing/something much worse in my day” and DC responds “I would’ve committed acts of physical violence in his place🥰”.

Unilaterally on the drivers side even when the drivers are clearly the ones in the wrong, it’s so funny

tbh my stance is that like... I am NOT always on the drivers' side, personally. I think policing language is a really stupid hill to die on, but I think actually maintaining professional courtesy to the pitwall on radio is not an unreasonable ask! Those guys are just as under pressure as the drivers are, and there are some #iconic #cunty radio moments that get oooh and awwww reactions here that EYE personally don't really fuck with because I'm like, the person you're snarking at is also doing a job and cannot snark back.

I just really hate that the FIA decided to make it about "child-friendly language," because there could be an actual constructive discussion here — see Lewis's quote when he called out Ben Sulyman for making that racist rapper comment but he was also like, I moderate myself sometime bc I don't need to make things harder on the team than they have to be. Like, I support Max's right to swear in press conferences and to say fuck on radio if he's impeded. But when in Monza he was like, "Can people in the background wake up" I rolled my eyes out of my fucking skull.

tldr: I appreciate comms making fun of the FIA but I actually think they're not above criticism for everything they say on radio. Part of your extremely high paying job includes having to keep your composure in high pressure situation *shrug* probs an unpopular opinion but that's where I'm at

[corkinavoid]

Fiance to a Star News

I have given up on trying to force myself to keep working on it. But, hold on, it doesn't mean I'm abandoning it.

I'm looking for a beta/editor/co-author, I'm really not sure what to call it. Let me explain this a bit.

[Update: help found! Thank you!]

I've written that fic in its entirety almost six months ago, in my native language. Then, when I decided to post it, I ran it all through Google Translate. Which is great at translating things word for word in their literal meaning, but not great for sentence structure, idioms, and some minor grammar mishaps. So, since I've posted the first chapter, I've been tideously going through every sentence and either correcting or rewriting it while keeping the meaning.

I am now in the middle of chapter four, and I'm officially so done with it that I'm starting to think about just deleting it all. Which would be a great waste since I do still love that fic.

So I'm looking for someone to help me out here.

More explanations and stuff under the cut.

Let me first show you what I mean by helping me out:

Example of what the text is now:

Tim is silent for a while. The prospects are clearly not rosy, and he, to be honest, doesn’t really understand what to do next. Until now, all he had thought about was how to get out of here, so now that that possibility was gone, he just...

While it is understandable enough, it is not exactly good sentence-structure and grammar wise. Also, it's as plain as white bread.

Example of what the text should (to my best abilities) look like:

Tim pauses, taken aback. The situation does not look very promising, and, if he is being honest, he has no idea of what to do now. Until this moment, all he had thought about was how to get out of the woods. But now that it was not happening and the last chances of escape have all slipped through his fingers, he just...

You see what I mean?

It's extra confusing for myself since when I see the unedited text, my brain automatically reads it in another language and making myself switch manually is draining as fuck, and I'm at my limit.

There's also the issue of some names that translated wrong/did not translate properly/translated as a wrong word. For example, the head of the Academy would be called Headmaster in English, but it translated to Director, or the fact Google Translate keeps translating Sam's pronouns to he/him for some unknown reason, and many more little details.

So I desperately need help.

Perks: co-authoring, access to all the chapters, naturally, as well as all the random notes, pieces of lore that I have, but that have not made it into the fic, any question regarding the fic answered, random thoughts, permission to rewrite literally anything how you see fit (while keeping the general line of plot). Is it co-authoring or adoption at this point? I have no idea, really, but whatever you prefer.

If you're interested, just message me for any other details <3

P.S. Please understand that there are 10 (maybe 9.5) chapters to be edited. And also that I will be giving you a sort of test piece of text to try it out. If, at any point later, you decide it's not your cup of tea anymore, that's totally fine, I'll understand. I just really, really want to post this fic, but I don't want to throw the plain unedited version there.

Thanks in advance!

[dreamwritesimagines]

Hey. Me again. I wanna talk about Sunshine being nervous the first time Logan goes on a mission on a weekend after they start dating

She's a natural worrier, powered by stress, so she doesn't care how invincible Logan claims to be, she'd be biting her nails the whole time. I think Logan would know this and would do his best to prepare her before but it wouldn't do much of course so as a back up he aslso talks to Theo

- "Don't worry, mom, Mr. Logan is the strongest! I once saw him lift a truck, it was so cool. And he's got healing powers and so he pretty much can't die. And he's usually only gone for a couple hours so I'm sure he'll be back real soon. And he told me while he's gone that I'm in charge! So don't worry mom, I'll make sure we're safe until Mr. Logan gets back. He said it's a very important job that only really strong mutants are even allowed to do so I must be really strong, huh mom?"

"You sure are, Bean." Sunshine would pull her hands away from her mouth to hold Theo in her arms and pray he couldn't feel her insane heartbeat as she continued to stress about Logan

- When Logan gets home, he'd find the two asleep on the couch in each other's arms and would silently take them both to bed so they wake up in bed as a family again

I AM MELTING AT THIS OMG LOVE, THIS IS A WONDERFUL IDEAAAA❤️ Thank you so much! ❤️

Oh she would definitely be worried out of her mind! Like, I'm talking biting at her nails, pacing in the room, bouncing her leg whenever she sits down type of worry ❤️ And she's normally very very careful not to do any of that in front of Theo but she couldn't help herself in that situation! ❤️

Logan talking to Theo about it aaaaaa🥰 And him rambling about Logan, he is so his son ❤️

And he told me while he's gone that I'm in charge! So don't worry mom, I'll make sure we're safe until Mr. Logan gets back. He said it's a very important job that only really strong mutants are even allowed to do so I must be really strong, huh mom?" Theo is a cinnamon roll omg❤️ Him being like "I'll keep us safe🥰" ❤️

And Logan telling him only really strong mutants are allowed to do so asdfghjkl I just- 😍

When Logan gets home, he'd find the two asleep on the couch in each other's arms and would silently take them both to bed so they wake up in bed as a family again I AM MELTING❤️

I feel like she would wake up to the happy chatter of Theo coming from the kitchen while Logan prepared breakfast, and she'd go down to the kitchen to hear Theo going like,

"And I did exactly as you said! I mean...nothing really happened but I would protect mommy and myself if it did!"

"Great job bub! Didn't doubt that for a second."

"Because I'm very strong like you said!"

"You are."

"I don't think mommy knows it though."

"How so?"

"She was a little worried."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah because- she tells me not to bite my nails but she does the same when she's worried."

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Is it a risk if it happens every single time? Are you “risking” that you will land on the ground when you jump?

[stuckinapril]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[hajihiko]

💕