#I’ve been losing my mind to this piece forever now

[smilesrobotlover]

Here post some progress. I’m doing lighting rn cuz the background is killing me. I am not good at this stuff 😭😭😭 I hope I can do something that looks cool and not stupid. But behold… fanfic cover

[abbyshands]

for you

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♡ synopsis; making a home out of catalina island for years on end had been wonderful, but for most of it, you had been derived of the last piece of the puzzle: abigail anderson. you were a skilled medic, so when abby had showed up, you had cared for her, and nursed her back to the girl she was, helping her to heal, and to find home the same way you had. now, it’s abby’s chance to return the favor.

♡ pairing; abby anderson x fem!reader

♡ warnings; lot of game references, some of which include infected, the WLF, plot of the first and second game, loss, violence, etc, general angst (ish) in the beginning, but fluffy at the end, i promise, reader loses her dad in the backstory, and there’s a heavily established backstory for the reader, abby uses nicknames (my love, babe, gorgeous), reader calls abby baby, just general angst n’ fluff tbh!

♡ a/n; sooo this idea has been sitting in my notes app for the longest time, and to be honest, i’m not sure how i feel about the finished product! i don’t think it’s my best work? i don’t know. i like the idea but i’m unsure about the way i executed it. maybe i’ll revisit it at some point, but this is what i’ve got for now ♡

♡ wc; 4.5k

divider creds !

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS. APOCALYPSE.

If someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, you would’ve checked them for a bite mark.

Because they would have been losing their mind.

2034, and all the years beforehand, were years unforgettable. The person you were couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t the one you had. Infected roamed, and danger lurked. But love prevailed.

And you were lucky to be a part of it.

You were born in Boston, Massachusetts in the 2010’s at an unlucky hour. To an unlucky life. You had lost your mom before you could say your own name, and the only biological family you had ever gotten to know in your life was your dad, who was the reason you were where you were today in the first place.

When you were young, your dad joined a group once asked to by the leader of it, a woman named Marlene. Since then, and for as long as you could remember, this group has been your place to call home.

They called themselves the Fireflies for the very bug they took the name from: Their goal was to spread luminescence in a world full of darkness. Your dad, who was an incredibly skilled medic, was roped into it when you were younger, for that very reason. And because of the group’s dire need for medics at the time, their leader, Marlene, who was an old friend of your dad’s, asked him to join, all but begged him to, really.

Your dad wasn’t one to deny anyone in need. It was in his nature, and it was why he was such a great medic. So, of course, he agreed.

But only if there would be a place for you, too.

Your dad raised you up as a member of the Fireflies, and then later as a medic, and it was because of him that you were who you were: A resilient individual, a survivor, and yet, a person who embodied compassion, just as he did.

The years went by hazily, the older you got, anyway. You became just as immersed into your work as your dad did, bettering your medical knowledge on a daily basis, be it by old books, rusted cassettes, or your dad himself. But all the while, you managed to balance work, love, and family, and, in a world like this one, that was a lot more than most people could say.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember the 2010’s. Then came the 2020’s, which sped by your eyes. But the 2030’s as a general consensus were years ingrained into your brain. Full of friendship, family, and love? At times. But they also encompassed chaos, despair, and pressure, and changed your life forever.

And forever was a long time.

In the year 2033, all that you believed was true about the world as you knew it, crumbled to the ground. In a land following an apocalypse, it wasn’t uncommon to feel as if there was no way out, as if the life you lived had hit a place of no return.

Now, if only there was a way to fix it. A cure, right?

It was late one evening while you were working on somebody in the Fireflies’ medical center, that Marlene came into the room, expression serious, and voice showing for it. Once you had the person you had been caring for under control, you followed Marlene out of the center, and into a room of a pair of people, one familiar, and one not.

Your dad, and a man who would later become a crucial figure in this tale: Surgical expert, Doctor Jerry Anderson.

You didn’t understand what Marlene, your dad, and Mr. Anderson, as you used to call him, were getting at when you were first pulled into that room. All that they were explaining to you was blurring inside of your head.

Because it was unlike anything you had heard before.

Your ears were told a tale that you had heard on numerous occasions. A girl who was only a few years younger than you, was bitten. You weren’t sure how. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Everyone who was bitten turned into an animal in a matter of days. It didn’t matter how she had gotten the bite mark. It didn’t even matter where on her body the mark was. All you knew was that in a few days, this girl that was being described to you, would no longer be human. That she would no longer have control over her body, and she would no longer know right from wrong, up from down, man from woman. All she would know, was kill. Kill. Kill.

Unless she was one in a million.

Ellie Williams was hardly a human in your mind when you originally heard, but a God given chance, to fix the world as you knew it. You never believed you would live to see the day where a bite mark was a good thing, and yet, it was here, gazing you in the eyes.

Immunity. She was immune. The auburn haired girl had been bitten three weeks prior to the date you heard about this, and zilch. As Marlene had explained to you, it was like the mark was healing, not worsening. 

And in a desolate world, where danger lurked every corner, where sorrow was normalized, and where loss was ceaseless, you were desperate. The Fireflies were desperate. Hope like this didn’t come on a daily basis, now, did it?

You jumped on the prospect as soon as you became conscious of it. All of you did.

Graciously unaware that it would blow up in your face.

In the earlier days of 2034, Ellie was smuggled to a Firefly base in Salt Lake City, a medical center, where your dad, Mr. Anderson, and several Fireflies were residing. As head medic by this point, you decided to remain in Boston caring for the members of your group back home, especially in the absence of your dad and Mr. Anderson.

It’s your life’s biggest regret.

Marlene had asked that you come to the Salt Lake City medical center as soon as you could, and to employ someone else to take over for a bit. Mr. Anderson was a good doctor, but he had decided that to perform proper surgery on Ellie, he would need a few more hands. You were honored that it was you he had chosen. To you, it was on the same level as getting an award. And so, alongside Marlene, and a few more members of the group, you made your way to Salt Lake City, your hopes in your hands, and dreams in your heart.

There was a point during the journey, however, where you ran into some trouble. Infected. And naturally, you were not just a medic: You knew how to survive in a world like this, and you knew how to hold your ground.

Splitting up wasn’t usually recommended when it came to any scenario, and for good reasons. However, it was your only choice. You and everyone beside you aside from Marlene, split up to make sure that she was the first one to make it to the medical center. You remember the last thing you said to her like a movie on loop in your head. See you soon.

And it plagues your brain like the virus that grips your world.

See you soon. You wish you had never said it. You wish you had never split up.

You wish it hadn’t happened.

You did see Marlene. But she was no longer alive when it happened. Fear grasped your bones as your body paralyzed, eyes glued to Marlene’s bloody corpse on the second floor of the medical center’s parking garage.

Tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And then, you remembered.

Dad.

You took off running, brain not even processing that you could be putting yourself in danger by doing so. Whoever had done this to Marlene couldn’t be faraway from the building for all you knew. Hell, they could even be in it. But you didn’t care.

You booked it to the highest floor, where your dad and Mr. Anderson were supposed to be, heart racing, begging and bargaining to the universe, or whatever God there was, or somebody, to ensure that they were okay. That they were just fine.

There are some days where you wish you hadn’t opened that door.

The pair of them, alongside a third medic in the room, were found by you in a shape similar to Marlene. Naturally, you ran to dad first, small, shaky hands reaching out to flip over his face down body.

But you were too late.

Your mind goes blurry whenever it goes back to recall the memory. You don’t remember much: Tears, nausea, shaking, panic. You remember screaming, loudly, at that.

And you remember passing out, before being pulled out of the room.

The second that Jerry Anderson was announced dead, all hell broke loose, and you knew, you knew, it was over. The chance that had been driving you and your family of Fireflies for the last year, was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Unless a brand new surgeon was going to generously drop from the sky, you were hopeless. 

And it wasn’t even just that.

Because the universe had taken from you the one person you held closest to your heart. To your soul.

Dad.

You had a chance. You all did. 

And, then, it was robbed away from you.

You and your dying group made your way back to Boston knowing just that: That you were collapsing. The days passed by in blurs, each one gloomier than the last. You just weren’t sure what to do anymore. All hope for a cure was gone. All hope for yourself was gone.

In 2036, the Fireflies were disbanded by what little members of it were around to do so, and that was it. It was over. 

Your home was paradise, and paradise was gone.

You didn’t know what to do. Most of the family you had found here in the Fireflies was leaving, searching for a life away from the one you all had known for years. You didn’t know if you wanted to do the same. Part of you wanted to follow suit and leave Boston. Renew who you were. Adapt, and move on. But Boston had always been home, and by leaving it, you were leaving a part of you behind.

But you didn’t have a choice.

It was an early morning in 2036 when you began to pack your bags, readying to go. Where? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that home or not, Boston carried way too many painful memories, way more than you could bear. Marlene was dead. Mr. Anderson was dead. Dad was gone.

You didn’t see what else Boston had to give, that it hadn’t already taken away.

But just, just, when you were about to say your goodbyes, the universe, who had screwed you over in the past, clearly had different plans.

A few members had heard word, from previous members who had left the Fireflies before you, that on the west coast of the country, there was a chance: A chance to find home again, in a place named Catalina Island, a gorgeous land in California.

Risks had failed you before, and so had second chances. But, for once, you wanted to give in. You had to.

So you did.

That’s not to say that the second you got to Catalina Island, finding home once again in your fellow Fireflies, who were just as shattered as you were, that your tale was over. God, it was really, really far from it.

Because there was one more piece to the puzzle.

Abigail Anderson.

Anderson. The last name rang a bell once it escaped her lips. A blonde woman, body bruised, bloodied, and covered from the arms down in oozing gashes. Her hair was short and poorly cut, and from the way her bones were pushing into her skin, you could tell that she was severely malnourished.

Alongside her was a boy, obviously younger than her. Tousled black hair, bruises wherever you looked, and fully unconscious. In your time at Catalina Island, and as a Firefly in Boston, for that matter, you had never seen any pair of people in worse shape.

Not unless they were dead.

You remained head medic once you arrived in Catalina Island, naturally, and you had been managing that way for the last four years. So, when this woman showed up, this young boy by her side, like this, it was you who took control. It was you who nursed them, and it was you who made their scars, in a physical and mental sense, not disappear, but easier to handle. To bear.

By looking at them, by looking at her, it was like a mirror. You saw you.

Which is why you saw her.

Now, if someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, losing your dad, losing Marlene, and losing Mr. Anderson, but falling for his child, you would’ve looked for a bite mark. But now, come the year 2040, where you had made a new life, one that Abigail Anderson was a prevalent part of, happiness no longer seemed impossible.

Because it wasn’t far away anymore, slipping from your fingers, the way it had on numerous occasions. 

It was in your hands.

And you were in Abby’s.

Your eyes were being covered by Abby’s large hands as she led you to a place unknown. You had to assume it was one of the several beaches on the island, sand under your feet, sounds of waves in your ears. A smile had been plastered across your face for what seemed like hours, as Abby dragged you along.

“Come on, Abby. Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” you asked her for the second time in the last minute. You could hear her low chuckle from behind you, and the way it always happens, comfort surges into your veins.

You had learned from Abby, once you bonded over the mutual loss of your dad and hers at the same man, that once Mr. Anderson had been killed, her and her friends, a few former members of the Fireflies, joined a group named the WLF. You had hence learned that during her time there, she was commonly known as a rugged, scary person, who a lot of people in the WLF didn’t dare insult, nor disobey.

And you couldn’t lie: It was hard to believe that for a second.

You had learned from Abby, also, that her resolve began to slip when she met the young boy who she had made it to Catalina Island alongside, who you had also taken care of: Lev. To put it simply, Lev was a member of a different group, that the WLF was never supposed to come across.

Not unless it was in war.

But he changed her. He did. Some days, you could see how guarded Abby was, how she couldn’t help going back to all she used to know, which was being all but barbaric when she was in Seattle. Closed off, wary. But most days, like today? You knew in your heart, that deep down in hers, Abby Anderson was good. Not innocent, but good.

And that was enough for you.

“Just come on!” Abby chuckled as she walked, not letting up her hold on your eyes for a second as she led you along.

You smiled, shaking your head in mock disapproval. “I have work to do back at the center, and we’re not supposed to be roaming around like this. You know that, right?”

“Babe,” Abby responded in an almost firm tone of voice as her feet quit moving, forcing you to root your body to the spot. It was silent, before she pressed a series of sweet, sloppy kisses to your neck and cheeks, managing to keep her hand over your eyes all the while. She had you crumbling just like that, making you a giggling mess as her lips met your skin.

Her kisses subsided once a million of them seeped into you, and it wasn’t the island heat that had your face warm when Abby was done. “Can you just trust me, please?” she laughed, and you didn’t need your vision to know she was giving you that puppy dog look that had you falling to your knees every time. The one that you couldn’t resist if you gave it your all.

You were too easy. “Yes.”

It wasn’t long before you and Abby reached where she wanted to bring you, and once you did, she paused. She was perched behind you now, large hands over your face, the solacing sound of her sighs coming into your ears. “Okay. Are you ready, my love?”

There wouldn't ever be a day where Abby calling you that wouldn’t make your heart pound in your chest.

“More than,” you easily respond.

As soon as you said it, Abby returned your vision to you, and your eyes can’t help but widen at what you see before you.

Because you never pegged “rugged” Abby Anderson as one for picnics.

“Oh, my God, Abby,” you said more to yourself than the blonde as you slowly approached the scene. Laid out on the sand of the beach was a picnic blanket, a folded blanket, a few pillows, a basket, a few books, and playing cards.

Accompanied by a perfect view of the beach.

“Do you not like it?” Abby asked, and there’s an air of sadness to the way she says it. You turn to look at her on cue, your face one of complete, utter disbelief.

Like it?

“Like it? Baby, I love this. More than know,” you respond, meaning every word. It’s been a long time since someone has wanted to care for you. A long, long time, since you had been the receiver, not the giver.

“Abs, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You can see Abby blushing as you approach her and take her face into your hands, her freckled skin burning in heat. She leans into your touch, pressing her forehead onto yours, and holding your hands in her own.

“I just,” Abby sighed, opening her eyes once more to meet yours, solemn expression across her cheeks. “I just don’t feel like I cherish you enough, babe, show it, that is. Because believe me, I do cherish you. S’just, it’s been hard for me to show you how much. All that you did for me and Lev when we got to the island. Taking care of us. Helping us find a home here. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying thank you for it.”

You can feel your soul healing the more Abby speaks.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you did for us, and I wish it was. But I just figured, maybe. . .it could suffice for now.”

“Abby, baby,” you let a small laugh escape your lips as you say it. “You don’t have to make it up to me. At all. I did what I did, because I saw someone in you. I remember asking for your name, and you responded by asking me where Lev was. You didn’t even care what shape you were in. All you wanted to know was if he was okay. You reminded me of me.”

“You reminded me of dad.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, letting silence seep into the air around you as your brain battled to process what you had just said. You didn’t speak on your dad as much as you likely should: Abby knew that, and so did you. Talking about him made your chest compress, and your throat would fail you, making it feel as if you were choking. As if you were helpless. As if you were there all over again. But Abby knew as well as you did, that when your dad came into discussion, it was for a certain reason. 

And for that reason, Abby didn’t speak: She hung fire. For you. For you.

“We live in a world where people combat their own morals just to survive. There’s no good guys. No principles, no rules, no laws. Anyone you come across is just as bad as you, and if not, they’re worse. But when I saw you? I knew. I knew that wasn’t you. Not anymore.”

You know you’re rambling by now, saying whatever comes to mind as soon as it does, but you can’t find it in you to care as you go on. “You want to believe I don’t know how much you care for me. But you don’t need to show it, Abby. I know you do. Right here.”

You take one of Abby’s large hands into yours, and as cliché as it is, not that you care at all, you place it over your heart.

“You feel that, don’t you? That’s all for you, baby. And it’s there that I feel how much you care about me. It’s there that I know.”

The same silence that was here before comes back. But this time, it’s not sad, or dark, or eerie. It’s solacing. It’s warm. It’s home.

And Abby doesn’t need words in order to respond.

It’s her turn to take your face into her hands as she pulls you in close. Her lips meet yours like they have so many times before, her familiar scent hitting your nose as you settle your hands onto her hips. The kiss is slow, and sweet, but passionate, and a burning desire surges inside you to never let her go, to always hold her close. To always call her yours.

You pull back from the kiss once you tire from it, gasping, Abby’s body mimicking yours as she does the same. You gaze into her eyes, the pretty blue ones that always make your heart swell, smiling up at her as you press one last kiss to her lips for good measure. “I adore you, Abby Anderson. You know that, right?” you grin.

It’s the first time you ever hear her giggle. “Me more than you, gorgeous.”

You spend hours there alongside Abby, and it’s the best time of your life. You spend time indulging in a few snacks the blonde packed for you, playing cards, and running around and playing in the sand, smiling all the way. You even get to hear Abby read to you, one of the most endearing things in the world, accompanied by the calming sound of the ocean before you. And when it came time for sunset, you sat down beside Abby, gazing on as amber, ochre, and rose faded into night.

It was perfect.

When it was nearly time for the evening to come to an end, you used the second blanket Abby had packed for your shared night to cuddle up beside her, heads rested on the pillows she had carried along as well. The side of your face was pressed into her chest as you gazed into the sky above you, Abby’s hand rubbing your back in slow circles to console you. Small suns coat the evening sky like sweet, powdered sugar, accompanied by a full moon that looks incredible over the horizon. All you could hear was the sound of the ocean, alongside Abby sighing gingerly every once in a while, or her pressing kisses to your forehead.

Not that you needed much more than that.

Suddenly, the sound of Abby chuckling in your ears snaps you out of your head, and you turn your face upwards curiously. Abby’s smile makes you smile, and it’s no surprise you began to wonder what the blonde woman found so funny all of a sudden.

“Remember how I told you Lev and I had to cross those bridges that were really high up?” Abby asked, and you had to raise an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. “Mhm,” you mumble, which is when Abby goes on.

“Well, before that, we had to get there by foot once we got out of the aquarium I told you about, the one I used to go to all of the time. That part of Seattle is overrun in rushing rapids, so a lot of the buildings around there were a lot more demolished than they usually would be anywhere else,” she explained.

“And, well. . .”

“We walked into this building, and there was a painting of these dogs playing cards. And I asked Lev if he knew our dogs could really play cards like that. Then he asked me if anyone found me funny,” Abby laughed. “It cracks me up whenever I remember it.”

She wasn’t the only one laughing. “Sounds like Lev. And like you,” you smile, and the tale makes you recall a humorous memory of your own. “Once, I was working late at the medical center back in Boston. I was doing research on this girl who had been feeling sick, but I wasn’t sure by what. Mind you, it’s late, and silent, if you don’t count me flipping the pages in my books.”

You giggle just remembering it. “It’s the weirdest thing ever, but my dad was really good at making Clicker noises. Like, really good. Sounded so real it made your heart drop. I was reading when I heard it, and I remember wondering how the hell infected had gotten inside. ‘Course I grab what was closest to me, a scalpel, and I swivel around.”

“And it’s dad.”

That one got Abby to burst out chuckling. “Oh, my God. Of all the things you could get, gorgeous. A scalpel?”

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully so. “What can I say? I’m just a medic. I didn’t carry a gun.”

Once Abby’s done laughing, which seems to take forever, she smiles down at you, pressing one more kiss to your forehead as if to make up for poking fun at you. You cuddle closer into her, letting your body relax in her embrace as a sigh escapes your lips.

You fall back into silence soon enough, eyes glued to the sky as Abby rubs her hand over your back, holding you like you would fade away if she let you go. You run your fingers through her short hair as you press kisses to her neck, jaw, and face, giving her all the love you know she deserves. Your eyes scan her features like she was molded by some higher power, and you can’t help but want to worship her, endlessly.

Not just for what she looks like. But for who she is.

“My baby. It’s like you were made for me, you know?” you whisper in Abby’s ear as your eyes pierce into her blue ones. But Abby’s head shook quickly.

You can predict what she’s going to say in response. “No, gorgeous.”

“It’s you who was made for me.”

—

reblogs are very much welcomed! <3

—

[ohbabydollie]

Imagine Schlatt being super horny for his heavily pregnant wife after they’d haven’t had sex for awhile…

😮‍💨😮‍💨 this ask made me feel things

You always feared pregnancy.

You didn’t mean to it’s just that the idea of being pregnant, all the things that could go wrong, etc. Not to mention the fear of your husband losing attraction for you, but it seemed the opposite for Schlatt.

Instead of feeling no attraction after you got pregnant, during the first few months he went feral. He was all over you 24/7, using it as an excuse to not use condoms at all, whenever you seemed emotional he would give you head and say something about you “needing to relief stress” and more.

Schlatt used any excuse he could come up with so he could to be on and inside you.

It eventually calmed down when you had been around 26 weeks pregnant. Sex that would happen daily had become 3-4 times a week, most of the time schlatt just eating you out or fingering you before leaving to jerk off.

You assumed that his attraction for you was fading, when in reality that was far from the truth.

Schlatt’s attraction to you has only grown since you’ve gotten more pregnant. From seeing you smile and hold his hand at an ultrasound to seeing your tits grow heavier over time.

It honestly scares Schlatt how much he wants you. He doesn’t want to exert you, especially with how tired you’ve been these days, so he’s stuck to cold showers and on really difficult days, jerking off. It’s hard to resist you, especially when he’s eating you out or fingering you and feeling your warmth wrapped around his fingers, tightening up around them as you finish.

He finds you borderline impossible to resist. Especially now, when you’re in a cute sundress you bought a few weeks ago.

It shows your tits and belly off just right, but Schlatt can resist.

When you put down a bowl of fruit and jambo goes running to steal a blueberry, he knocks over your bowl.

“Jambo!” you scold picking up the cat before handing him to Schlatt.

He watches, grabbing the cat as you accidentally push your boobs up against each other causing the neckline to deepen and show more than you intended before returning to normal once you handed jambo over to Schlatt.

Schlatt can resist.

“i gotta go clean up the fruit he dropped” you complain walking over to the kitchen, bending over and picking up the few pieces that fell out.

fuck, your ass looks great

fuck, the soft pout you have on your face

jambo soon jumps off the couch and goes meowing at you, almost apologetically. You coo at him lovingly, picking him up like a baby once the fruit is cleaned up.

fuck

Schlatt’s imagination is going wild, already imagining you with a second and third child. He can’t fucking hold back.

he can’t resist

It’s mere seconds before he’s taking you to the bedroom. Schlatt is placing you down on the bed and hiking your dress up.

“you don’t know how long i’ve been wantin’ to fuck ya” he says taking off your underwear and quickly taking out his cock.

He wastes no time slipping into you, letting out a groan, “fuckkk, doll, you don’t know how much i missed your sweet little pussy”

Those words along the familiar feeling of him inside you, in what feels like forever, has you throwing you head back in pleasure. Your lips parting to let out moans as he thrusts in and out of you harshly, not bothering to hold back.

“fuck. never. gonna. stay. away. from. this. pretty. pussy. again!” Schlatt growled between thrusts

“fuck! c-calm down!” you moan out, holding onto his broad shoulders “i‘m sensitive!” you whine as Schlatt pays no mind to your words, instead rubbing your clit.

“great, then i can feel ya cummin’ ‘round my cock faster”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canon:

A Friendship Forever

Yandere Platonic Unicorn x GN Reader

This is a self indulgent piece for all the people who always wanted a unicorn as a friend when they were young (albeit a crazy one).

Tw: Kidnapping, being held hostage (affectionately), platonic yandere, and yandere themes

Your hands ran a brush through Andromeda’s white main. The unicorn leaned into your touch with a whinny.

“Andromeda, I cannot stay here.” You softly whispered to your longtime friend. The unicorn turned her head to look at you, her soft voice rung in your brain. It still unnerved you that she’d always communicate with you telepathically despite how many years she’d done this…

“But it’s safe here. You said you didn’t want to get married or grow old, so I brought you here.” Andromeda’s white ears flapped against her head, another whinny left her lips.

“I said that when I was five, Andromeda.” You sighed softly. “I’m in my twenties now-“

“Humans are a fleeting existence! You’d whither away if I didn’t step in!” Andromeda nodded her head. “You’re my best friend! I cannot bear to lose my best friend!”

Andromeda rose to her feet before she shook her head, her dark eyes held a playful glint in them. “Come on! We can frolic together in the enchanted forest just like we always have!”

“We can play forever! This is much better than being with humans. Humans are bad! But not you… you’re the best!”

Andromeda nodded her head at you, a snort escaped her muzzle when you didn’t get up right away. “I know you’re not tired! You’ve slept for hours! Come on!”

You sighed when Andromeda stomped her hooves at you to encourage you to get up. The unicorn happily whinnied when you obediently followed her. “There we go! Want to race to the waterfall?”

“Andromeda, you know you’ll win.” You sighed when the unicorn stamped her hooves against the forest floor.

“Not true! I let you win sometimes!” The unicorn began to circle you as she shook her mane about in a playful manner. This unicorn was still quite childish despite the many years you’ve known her. “It’s been a fifty-fifty!”

Andromeda bumped her head against your back. “Well, if you don’t want to do that, we can make flower crowns in the field!” The thought seemed to excited the unicorn who began to bounce up and down. “You can make your flower crowns and I can eat some flowers! That’s a fantastic deal, wouldn’t you say?”

You gave the unicorn a sad smile. This mythical creature could never understand you properly. You knew her will came from a good place, you’d never starve her or worry about rent anymore… but you missed your friends. Your human friends. And time seemed to pass by so differently in this enchanted forest. The weather was always perfect… And that’s when a terrifying thought entered your mind. How long have you been here exactly?

“How long have I been here with you now, Andromeda?” You softly asked the unicorn, hopeful for reassurance that it’s only been a few weeks… that you still had a life to go back to if you tried to escape.

Andromeda thought for a moment before she stomped her hoof on the ground. “It’s been about five months here, but that’s fifty years in your world!”

Andromeda circled you. “I upset the balance of the forest for my very best friend! But the spirits are not upset with me since I’ve been alone for so long! Yes, yes! We will be together until the end of time! Just you and me… friends forever.”

You felt a few tears run down your cheeks as your situation finally sunk in. You really were trapped here forever with her…

[judeswhore]

can u please write something abt stealing jude’s hoodies or just wearing his clothes in general 🫠

this has been in my inbox since DECEMBER and i was clearing it out so i just thought i’d post a little something since i’ve had a lot of people ask

this is kinda short and shit but anyway <3

it had become a somewhat subconscious habit at this point. reaching into jude's wardrobe, fingers automatically finding a piece of clothing that was definitely his, whether it be a shirt, a hoodie, sometimes even a pair of his joggers, and slipping it on without even a seconds thought. you'd stopped asking forever ago, had simply adopted the attitude that his clothes were yours so much so that now you sometimes did forget which things didn't belong to you.

not that jude minded, there was nothing he adored more than seeing you kitted out in his things. his tummy turned to mush and the smile on his face almost hurt whenever he spotted you in one of his hoodies, finger tips just peaking out from the sleeves. he liked it even more when you worked the hoodie he was already wearing, off him, fingers tugging at the hem, pulling and giggling until he was slipping it over his head. before he even had the chance to get excited you were undressing him for other reasons, you were pulling it on yourself, head popping out from the hole with that devious grin, chin tipping down so you could tuck your nose away in the collar and breathe him in.

"how do you keep them so soft?" jude would roll his eyes, arms wrapping around you to pull you into his chest, defeated to the fact he'd most likely lose the hoodie for a while. he'd get it back eventually, when it had lost his scent and it's softness, when you found something else of his you liked more and then the cycle would continue.

your tendency to never wear your own things meant jude wasn't at all surprised when you met him at the airport after his flight back to dortmund, your entire outfit one he was certain he'd wore only days before leaving you. he knew for sure the blue hoodie was his, it was relatively new and he distinctly remembered your chastising tone over how much it had cost. the joggers too he was certain belonged in his drawer, grey and a little washed out, rolled a few times at your ankles to make them fit. despite the distance still between you he had a sneaky feeling that the blue socks on your feet were his too, his head shaking as his lips tilted into a smile.

it was almost 3am and he could tell you were tired, face soft and a little clouded with sleep as though you'd not long since woke up, your body bouncing lazily on the balls of your feet. you hadn't spotted him yet, too busy watching a family reunite with their dad, a hand written card most definitely done by the two little boys being waved in the air.

"you've never shown up with one of those for me." his voice startled you, your look of shock turning quickly to a grin, eyes lighting up as the sleepy expression cleared instantly. you practically launched yourself at him, arms around his neck, face tucked away against his throat and his soft "umph" of surprise vibrated through you. a giggled apology was pressed into his skin, lips warm and comforting. "missed me?"

"maybe just a little." jude dropped his bag to the floor beside you so he could wind his arms around your waist, his head turning so he could press a kiss to the side of yours. he grinned into your hair.

"only a little?"

"mhm."

"you sure? because i'm kind of thinking you've tried to clone me." you untucked your face from the crook of his neck, head tilted back to meet his gaze, brows drawn together in confusion. one of his hands came up and tugged at the drawstring of the hoodie you were wearing, his smirk growing. "i'm sure this belongs to me."

you glanced down, brows smoothing over, lips parting and jude was certain you hadn't even realised what exactly you were wearing. he brushed his fingertips beneath the waistband of the joggers, blew out a breathy laugh when your eyes snapped back to his. "these as well are from my drawer and i'm sure those are a pair of socks your nan got me for christmas." you shuffled your feet and sent him a sheepish smile.

"they're the first things i grabbed."

"yeah?"

"i didn't even realise."

"i think you just missed me too much."

"they were at the top of the laundry pile."

"you can admit it, don't go all shy on me, baby." jude watched your eye roll and grinned, dipped his head to kiss you for the first time, soft and sweet before nudging your nose. his smile only grew wider when you tried to chase his mouth for more, lips turning pouty when he dodged your attempted kisses. "i bet you've raided my entire wardrobe haven't you?"

“have not.”

“what’re you wearing under these?” again the very tips on his fingers dipped into the back of your joggers and he watched your nose scrunch adorably, gaze shifting away from his. you dropped your arms from around his neck and instead pushed them around his waist, pressing into him until your chin was pressed into the front of his shirt. jude grinned and switched positions with you, his arms resting loose over your shoulders.

“your clothes are so much comfier than mine.”

“you’re lucky you’re pretty.” he cupped your jaw, ducked down and tilted your mouth up to slot softly over his. he kissed you slow, languid drags of his lips against yours until the both of you were breathless. he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, the tip of your nose, forehead last before grinning. he pulled the hood up over your head and twisted the drawstrings around fingers, pulled tight until your face was hidden behind the material.

you groaned loudly, swatted at his chest when he again kissed your nose through the little gap.

“you’re also lucky i think it’s cute when you wear my clothes otherwise you’d owe me thousands for theft.”

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook won’t tell you what’s wrong and you get emotional motion sickness.

> angst, fluff / wc: 2.6k

> warnings: poor oc is hungry but gets nauseous from watching jk play mirror’s edge, one (1) ass slap, tearsss but i just love this couple very much T_T

note: my last post for the year, a humble gift from my heart <3 i hope you carry even a tiny piece of it with you to 2023 and always remember to treat yourself with the same kindness you give to your loved ones <3 i love you all :]

—

you muffle a groan, burying your face into the pillow underneath your head. jungkook switched between five games in two hours, and it seems that he ended up settling with mirror’s edge because he’s been playing it for almost an hour already.

you can confirm that your boyfriend is stronger than you in many different aspects, because you genuinely don’t understand how he’s not getting motion sickness from playing this game while you, the lone audience, has been battling with it the entire time. but most of all, because it looks like he can hold out on you for a long time, and even if your life depended on it, you can’t do the same to him.

you turn your head just enough to take a peek. his back is facing you from the foot of the bed. it’s been your view since you arrived in his room, along with the 50-inch television infront of him. you argued that he’s sitting too close to the screen again, but he only brushed you off with a quick it’s just for today, and he hasn’t spoken a word to you since.

not being able to physically meet for periods of time is normal in your relationship, but the less frequent communication from your boyfriend for the past two weeks has been concerning you. you don’t like it. you don’t like the shorter phone calls, and the fewer to no text messages. you don’t like his avoidant eyes, his dismissive words, and when he dismisses you altogether. you don’t like the gnawing feeling of something is wrong and i need to fix this when you’re completely clueless, lying on his cold bed by yourself.

when you catch him taking a break to drink water, you seize the opportunity to snatch away his controller. your knees sink on the mattress, and you slightly lose balance as you fall back on your bottom.

he reacts quickly, trapping you in between his arms to steal it from behind your back, but the rough complaint melts on his tongue when your eyes properly meet for the first time in what feels like forever.

“are you mad at me? did i do something wrong?”

jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach, his facial features softening at the sight of your glassy eyes begging for answers. despite this, you still can’t get a good grasp on what’s running in his mind. and it’s killing you.

“no, why would i be mad at you?”

“i don’t know! that’s why i’m asking.” you answer frustratedly, gripping the controller in your hand tighter. “we haven’t seen each other in weeks and you’ve been acting like i don’t exist since i came here. it’s already dinnertime and i’m hungry and upset and i- i fucking miss you.”

you chase his eyes as you speak but he takes a step back to recreate distance between the two of you.

“it’s not like that. i’ve just been distracted with playing.”

a scoff of hurt and disbelief escapes your mouth, his words and actions only adding salt to your unattended wounds. “are you being serious right now? do you even want me here?”

when jungkook realizes the stupidity of the excuse he came up with, it’s already too late. he’s just been jumping from game to game, running around aimlessly, avoiding the root of your present argument like a fool. the foreign expression of hurt on your face sends him scrambling to fix what the damage he caused.

“of course- of course, i do. that’s why i agreed that you should visit. because i miss you too.”

his desperate hold on your arms gets shrugged off when the controller lands on his lap, with you muttering, “well, it doesn’t feel like it.”

“baby-”

“it’s okay. go play your games. just wake me up when you’re ready to have a real conversation with me, okay?”

you crawl back to your side of the bed, tucking the blanket up to your shoulders and burying your face in the soft cotton. it does its job in encaging you in your own little bubble, but the smell of cozy baby powder snaps the thread of resolve you’ve been recklessly balancing on. tears drip from your eyes and stain the grey blanket shades darker. and you silently pray he would just continue playing his damn game already so crying would feel less suffocating.

“but you said you’re hungry, baby. let me make you something.” he coos, his big palm stroking your calf lovingly to coax you.

oh, so now he wants to be sweet and attentive?

“does that mean you’re ready to talk?”

and you’re met by the silence that you’ve come to recognize all too well.

“then nevermind. i already lost my appetite anyway.”

“okay,” he responds after a few beats, his lips replacing his palm on your naked calf for a chaste, feather-light kiss. and you want to scream because the intimacy of it all only makes the yearning for his love, his attention, and god, his presence, swallow you whole.

it’s difficult to have a fight when you’re the only one fighting.

you take the opportunity to wipe away your tears and sniffle as quietly as possible when the loud footsteps and grunts of his character fill the room again. but you couldn’t bear to watch another second of the game. you quickly pull back the blanket over your eyes, the nausea creeping its way back into your system and rendering you imprisoned underneath the covers. soon enough, you slip into a slumber.

jungkook exits the game after fifteen minutes. after that small altercation, he just couldn’t get into it anymore. the little butterfly sticker you put in the middle of the controller made it impossible for his mind to focus on anything else but patching things up with you. you designed the controller because it’s the one you always use when you play together, claims it’s the luckier one, and these days he finds himself instinctively reaching for it when he plays alone.

you’ve been leaving these pieces of you all over his life. you already told him that you’re in this for the long run. what is he so afraid of?

“baby, are you really asleep?” he whispers with his elbow anchored on the bed and the heel of his palm supporting his head. after gaining no response, he carefully lifts off the blanket from your face.

his lips curve into a frown as he traces your puffy eye with the pad of his thumb. making you cry is exactly what he’s been wanting to avoid, but it seems that this served as a lesson on what not to do instead. he created another problem in the process of concealing existing problems, and he hates himself for not considering your feelings firsthand.

he kisses your forehead, creating a light smacking noise as he does so, before whispering once more. “would you get angrier if i don’t wake you up? i feel bad about disturbing your sleep.”

“i would.” your eyelids slowly flutter open, droopy eyes staring directly at his wide, doe ones. “now, care to tell me why you’ve been ghosting me?”

it’s only been over a month since you said i love you for the first time, and the paranoia of what if he realized that he doesn’t want this relationship anymore will continue to keep you up at night unless you confront him about it today. as much as his answer scares the shit out of you.

“i messed up. i’m sorry. that wasn’t my intention.”

jungkook sighs heavily, sitting up on the bed and resting his back on the headboard to gather himself together. you’re always straightforward— you’re not afraid to ask for what you want. he knows he already said it before, but ultimately, this was the reason why he gravitated towards you. you’re a breath of fresh air. but on the other hand, he’s used to putting his best foot forward. it’s always about what they would be pleased to see, because if he shows them something they don’t like, he would get eaten alive. that’s just how he makes a living and how he keeps his passions within reach.

“then what were you trying to do, jungkook?”

but now that you’re sitting by his side, the anxiety he’s been fostering in his mind is starting to look ridiculous. how could this lovely human being wrapped in a blanket, adorably scowling at him, ever eat him alive? if anything, you would share the blanket with him and build a fire to keep him warm.

“things at work are just- they’re really a mess right now. it’s always been like that but it’s a different type of overwhelming and i’m scared because . . .” he pauses when he feels his voice faltering due to his emotions crashing like tidal waves along the rocky shore. he may not be able to look at your eyes right now but instead, he holds on to your hand resting on his thigh.

“what if we’re flying too high too fast because we’re being set up to crash? i didn’t- no, it’s just . . . if i talked to you in the past two weeks, i would’ve just complained about how i’m having a hard time over and over again and i would cry, or worse, make you cry.”

“yah! what’s wrong with complaining and crying?” you scold him in a whiny tone, wiping his tears away with the back of your hand while your own freely stream down your face. “you’re a human being above everything else. you have the right to feel your feelings. if you don’t, they will pile up and the weight of it will break you.”

jungkook’s head falls on your shoulder. he sobs softly as his tears soak through the material of your shirt, and the scene breaks your heart so painfully that it’s difficult to breathe. your fingers comb through his hair tenderly, and your hand pulls away from his to wipe off the tears on his chin.

“don’t treat me like a stranger. please. i love you. i know i won’t fully understand everything you’re going through because we lead different lives, but we can still share the weight of it, and we can cry it out together. won’t you let me do that? won’t that make you feel even a little better?”

when he lifts up his head, you’re surprised to see a small smile playing on his lips. you blink at him blankly in confusion.

“you’re not pranking me right now, are you?”

“no! why would you think tha-”

“if you want to break up, just tell me directly like a real man would!”

he panics. “no, no, no!” he catches your furious fists pounding at his torso, holding them securely to his chest to calm you down. “baby! listen- that’s the last thing i want!”

you cease your attack, chest heaving as you wait for him to explain himself. alright, you may not eat him alive but you sure can fight him.

“it’s just funny because i remembered that the hyungs said i should talk to you because you’re the only person i listen to.”

you look at him suspiciously, giving up your futile attempts on escaping from his firm hold. “well, were they right?”

“they were. they tried talking to me too, but i couldn’t shake off the fear of breaking down infront of you.” his grip on your wrists loosens. he peppers your knuckles with kisses before releasing you altogether. “turns out that’s exactly what i needed. my heart feels so much lighter. thank you.”

you climb on his lap quietly, hanging on to him like a koala bear, with your limbs wrapped around his waist and neck. you’ve been dying to embrace him again since the moment you watched him drive away from your apartment more than two weeks ago. you regret that you didn’t stay in his arms for at least ten seconds longer despite knowing that he wouldn’t have the time to meet up with you again in the near future.

“are you crying again?“ he asks worriedly after hearing you sniffle.

“i really thought you were trying to break up with me. i had no idea what i did.”

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry-” your cheek is granted with an apologectic kiss. “it was an asshole move.” and then your temple. “i wasn’t thinking straight. i’m sorry, baby. i promise all my free time is yours again.”

he gives a final kiss on the top of your head before resting his cheek on it, rubbing your back with gentleness. he blinks them away when tears also start filling his eyes again, but he only made it easier for them to fall.

“lean on me. use me. i want to be there when you need me the most, okay?” you pat his cheek softly, connecting your lips with his but it doesn’t even last for five seconds because-

“i can’t even make out with my boyfriend in peace.” you grit your teeth in irritation as you tug your bag closer by its straps. you lazily dish out your ringing phone from the pocket. after seeing who the caller is, you opt with setting your ringer in silent to let the call remain unanswered.

it’s the group leader in one of your on-going school projects, and you’re 100% sure he’s going to beg you to do another groupmate’s share of work because he’s not satisfied with them again. unfortunately, you’re not in the mood to be compassionate today.

“my love?”

“hmmm?” you hum absentmindedly as you scroll through the notifications from the group chat.

“why is my shampoo in your bag?”

“oh-” you smile hesitantly as scrunch your nose, eyes landing on the two bottles of shampoo nestled in the corner of your unzipped bag. “please forgive me. i wasn’t thinking straight either.”

“that doesn’t really explain anything.” he rolls his eyes jokingly.

“well- uhm- when i went to pee earlier, i thought there was a big chance i would walk out of your house broken up with you. then i remembered that you went to like ten stores to look for that shampoo when you ran out ‘cause it’s the best one you tried when you had bleached hair . . .”

the smile on his face gradually fades as the realization dawns on him.

“and you also told me that the production already got discontinued-“

“so if we broke up and you were angry at me, you would’ve stolen my shampoo?!” he exclaims, flabbergasted by your simple yet deliberate plan on delivering revenge. “how is that not thinking straight-”

“but for the record, i realized that i would feel guilty since you bleach your hair a lot so i wasn’t going to go through with it!” you abruptly defend yourself, taking out the bottles of shampoo and handing them over to him to strengthen your claims.

he tosses them aside to hold your waist, chuckling in amusement when you cutely pout at him. that’s what you always do when you try to get away with something. oh my god, he missed your face so much.

“why? if i was really planning to ghost you into a breakup then i would’ve deserved worse.”

“but you won’t do that to me.”

“mhm-mm. never.”

“and from now on you’re going to complain and cry to me when you’re struggling.”

he eagerly nods in agreement. “i promise. i love you.”

“i love you.” you give him a kiss on the lips before climbing off his lap to reach for the controller he left on the edge of the bed. “now i want to play fifa.”

he playfully slaps your ass, which doesn’t elicit a reaction from you because honestly, you expected nothing less.

“sure, but shouldn’t we eat first? it’s almost 7pm.”

you groan internally when the thought of food, and your boyfriend’s exquisite cooking at that, remains unappetizing. “you can eat first, babe. watching you play mirror’s edge really made me feel sick.”

—

taglist! @alanniys @jjkeverlast @queenofdragonsandcats @yvesismywife @enhypenslay @cramseys @witchfqllen @virgogentlejk @rkie @jeonwiixard @monilyv @bermudaisy @ameliejeannelaurent @takochelle @the1921-monsters @investedreader @seagulljk @yeow6n @yoonqkiss @hopeworldjimin @lllucere @unnatae @zqynmlk @bxbyyyjocelyn @zkdlllin @koostarcandy @tswisal1 @fragmentof-indifference @laylasbunbunny @jjk-jeongirl @cherishoshi @taexidriver @luaspersona @yn-lifeu @loveejkk + send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

[riacte]

Re: popularity and clout gap, this thought has been lurking at the back of my mind but it didn’t hit me until a friend pointed out it was like how some parts of the audience used to treat hermits in MCC. As in: the hermits could achieve something technically amazing but were ignored simply because they weren’t popular (see False’s back to back win being ignored post MCC12) when the exact same achievement would cause them to lose their minds if it was done by someone who was more “popular”.

Post Demise 2, I joked this was like Blue Bats over again in which False (and Ren) won with the power of friendship in a wholesome storyline yet some parts of the audience chose to be salty their fave didn’t win instead. Sometimes you can see such a severe cognitive dissonance because people watch different hermits. Like that post on Reddit innocuously asking about Perry when I’d seen him around for weeks now and people pointed out Perry had been featured in the Neighbourhood’s videos for a while. (Nothing wrong with the post but it shows how vastly different the viewing experience is.)

It’s kind of like we’re back to 2020/21 era esque “hermit erasure” but it’s (unintentionally) done by some hermit fans. Okay, actually I’ll erase the unintentionally. Plenty of people only watch a few hermits and I emphasise that is fine and you can do anything you want forever. Enjoy HC in any way you like. Be free. The problem only surfaces when people pretend their corner is the only corner that exists and everyone else are the side characters. Like, it’s really fine to admit you don’t know everything. Someone on the MCC Reddit tried making teams and admitted they didn’t know the hermits well but somehow their teams ended up being more hermit accurate than most teams I’ve seen.

This situating done by some parts of the audience of some hermits as “main” and some hermits as “side” to the whole production of Hermitcraft makes me think of 2020/21 MCC again. In which people were discussing protagonists and villains and cannon fodder. Which was why I wrote Battle Scars, a parody / satire / sincere piece of work / whatever, to show that my faves (Blue Bats) could be the protagonists too. And it feels like I’m back. Scrambling to script my faves as characters worthy to have their stories told. Why are we back again.

And why does it lowkey feel worse because this is happening within the same fandom.

… And now I realise that’s also part of why I wrote Feel It Still, another crack treated seriously fic. Because it’s a Superhero AU proudly situating my faves in the lead roles based on canon stuff, while the typical protagonists of Superhero AUs in this fandom are delegated to side characters and are the trainees under a main hero. It’s this sort of twisting of canon that I keep on (subconsciously) doing, attempting to give some sort of spotlight to my faves by mimicking / parodying fandom trends and tropes, trying to make them more palatable and spread propaganda or whatever.

Tldr: it feels like we’re back to “hermit erasure” era and there’s a lot of fanon attention on a few. And you just know certain events would receive significant more attention if they were done by the popular hermits instead of the less popular ones. But it’s mostly crickets outside my circle and the people that I know of. Like hey yeah this is someone I know from chat and someone I know from Twitter. And I know about “being the change you want to see” and “make stuff you want to see” and “promote your faves”. I know. We all know.

It just gets tiring sometimes.

In the end, a number’s game is a number’s game.

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

Like a Hostage | Prologue

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

“They hate me, don’t they?” you sigh in defeat, hesitant to look back at your boyfriend whose fingers have gently intertwined with yours. Standing outside his childhood home you hoped for tonight to end differently, preferably with less undertones of passive judgement. 

“They hate everyone, so I wouldn’t give it much thought,” Jungkook assures with a sly grin, wrapping his arm over your shoulders as the two of you walk down to his car. 

“But they’re your parents, Koo. Don’t you want them to like me?” you turn to face his lowered gaze, hands on his chest as your back presses against the door frame. 

“Trust me, y/n. I’ve been fighting for their love my whole life. So, no. I don’t really care what they think.” he snickers before noticing the pout on your lips. 

“And anyways, isn’t my love enough for you?” whispers of his voice touch your skin as he leans closer, broad shoulders towering over your form. 

“You know it is. But, it would be less nerve-racking if we had their blessings as well,” your furrowed gaze looks up at Jungkook’s honey-brown eyes that softened at the sight of your flushed cheeks. 

“Just give them some time, sweetpea. Okay?” he places a soft kiss on your forehead before tucking a few curls behind your ear. 

“Mmhm,” 

“Now please get in, I'm starving,” 

“What? Are you serious? We just ate,” you laugh from disbelief, eyes glued on the boy as he sprints to his seat. 

“Y/n, baby, you're too nice. My mother can't cook to save her life. Everything you saw on that table was bought and reheated an hour ago,” Jungkook huffs impatiently, turning on the engine before glancing back at your puzzled expression. 

“It wasn't that bad. I'm sure she tried her best, Koo. You gotta be more grateful,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, love. Now please buckle up,” he replied with a dimpled grin before finally driving off, his free hand intertwined with yours. 

To be honest, you never understood how someone could show disinterest in their parents. Growing up in foster care, you were deprived of every childhood memory. Reaching for your mother’s arms as you took your first steps, feeling the warmth of your father’s embrace as he comforted your tears after a boy broke your heart. None of that was ever real. Nothing more than a constant reminder of the void in your heart. The shattering pieces of your younger self who cried every night, carving the blame deeper into her tiny wrists for not being good enough. Not worth the trouble of being in your life. So you grew paranoid of being viewed as an inconvenience, craving that lack of parental love from anyone who has shown even a glimpse of affection. 

Meeting Jungkook saved you from your breaking point, the night you thought you would go to sleep forever. Sitting on the rails of the Han River Bridge, you thought about the people whose life would be impacted by the loss of yours. In the moment, it was like your mind went blank, consciousness completely obscured by the lack of significance you brought to the world. Unable to fold even one pathetic finger, you felt the tears run down your face as your body shivered in fear. Losing sight of how deep the water went, your breaths became irregular, chest heaving up from the rush of adrenaline in your system. Knowing that this would be your last jump, made it all go away. In the end, nothing ever matters because we all die anyway. Some of us just choose to push their luck and see the afterlife faster than others. 

Closing your eyes you whispered a silent goodbye to your parents, wherever and whoever they were. Thanking them for the opportunity to experience life, however shitty it turned out to be. And as you felt your fingers slowly let go of the metal pillars, you took in your last breath before finally finding peace. 

“Are you out of your mind?” a male voice pierces through your senseless state as you feel your arm being yanked back. 

“What the fuck man? Let go,” you snap, body dangling midair as his other arm latches onto you. 

“Hold on for fuck’s sake,” he growls in frustration, digging his fingers deeper into your blue-ish skin as you fight back the friction. 

“I don’t need your saving.” you cry out, unable to control the stream of mixed emotions. 

“I’m not doing this for you.” his gaze furrows, clenching his jaw as his hand cushions the back of your head before your back hits the cement pavement.  

It’s true. In the moment, he wasn’t saving you. While holding onto your dangling body, all he could see was the sadness in his sister’s hollow eyes. He could feel the fear that rushed through her veins as she jumped off of their apartment complex. Alone. Consumed by the darkness of the cold winter night. No one heard her screams, and no one rushed to ease the pain. Unable to swallow down his antidepressants, Jungkook decided to stay the night at his friend’s house in hopes of muting the sound of his parent’s endless fights. Clueless to the reality of it all, his selfish act of leaving behind the only person who shared his misery. His sweet girl, Jieun. Now, they only see each other in his nightmares. The ones in which he begs for her forgiveness, wishing he could hold her one last time. Hear the laughter coming out of her room as he walks down their shared corridor, only to find it buried with white sheets of dust. 

“I was so close …” you whispered under your breath, bloodshot eyes filled with tears. 

“What’s the point? The pain never ends,” he sighs, resting his head on one of the pillars with his arms around his knees. 

“I have no one else. Who do I live for now?” you cry out with a trembling chin.

“Live for me,” he whispers, tears running down his cheek as he pictures Jieun in the back of his mind.

[scekrex]

Adam X Male Reader. Who's been cheated on, in the past and is slowly starting to trust Adam more as time goes on.

Okay okay okay hear me the fuck out: they both struggle bc both Lilith and Eve left him and they both had something with Lucifer (Eve presumably cheated - in this fic it's implied that both cheated on Adam to spice things up a lil)

There's a darkness at the heart of my love, that runs cold, runs deep

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, hurt, cheating (mentioned)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

When Adam decided to play a role in your silly little afterlife and you realized that you wanted him in a way that you’ve only ever wanted one person before, the sweet taste of your platonic relationship soured. You had developed feelings for the first man, that you couldn’t deny any longer, but you hated yourself for it - because who were to promise you that he wouldn’t fuck with someone else while dating you like your ex partner had done? The only person who could do so was Adam, yet you had learned the hard way that many promises people made - winner or human didn’t matter - were empty.

They told you what they thought you wanted to hear to simply get their way and while you wanted to trust Adam, and maybe your heart already did trust his sugar coated words, your mind strongly disagreed and doubted every little promise spoken by him - not just by him though, your mind told you that every promise was just a bunch of empty words, that way you were keeping yourself safe, you protected yourself from getting hurt again.

Adam, on the other hand, felt similar. He had been cheated on twice, back in his early days as a human, back when he had blindly trusted Lucifer’s and Lilith’s words, back in Eden when Eve had promised him that she and Lucifer were just friends. But they had been so much more than just that - just friends weren’t fucking each other. The two women that had been created for him and only him had turned against him and chosen someone else, why shouldn’t you do the same? God had never truly intended for Adam to date guys, hadn’t he? Yet you were there and Adam wanted nothing more than to call you his. But surely a person who wasn’t even meant for him would leave him just like the women did that God had created for him. They had been meant to love and desire him, but they hadn't done so. They had crushed Adam’s heart, shattered it into pieces and stepped on the shards until it had been nothing but dust. And then you had been so quick to glue the tiny pieces back together, you had fixed something deep inside of him without even knowing it but there was the risk of losing you again - he told himself that if he’d keep himself distanced, it wouldn’t hurt as much. That was bullshit though and deep down he knew that.

And then there was Lute, she was not only Adam’s lieutenant and best friend, she was also the self claimed couple therapist Adam and you desperately needed. So when the three of you sat in the living room of the house you and Adam shared, and Lute waited for one of you to begin talking, you took that chance, “What if his promises of staying forever and not fucking someone else are empty?” You felt a little bad, voicing your thoughts so harshly with Adam sitting right next to you and you noticed how he flinched a little at your words, how his wings rose a little to hide himself behind them. Lute tilted her head a little, “Why would they?” And to that you had no answer so you remained silent while Adam’s curious eyes were watching you carefully from the side. “I’ve known Adam for a long while now,” Lute continued, she gently placed a hand on your knee and your eyes met hers. There was honesty in those golden orbs of hers, honesty and made your concerns seem so unwarranted. “He has never looked at someone the way he looks at you,” you turned your head towards the first man, the man mumbled something inaudible but nodded - he was not used to being so vulnerable, to talk about his fears openly. “What if he fucking finds someone like Lucifer and decides to fucking drop me like those whores of ex-wives did?” Lute sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, “Look at him, he’s seen your crybaby tantrums and yet decided to stay - he’s not gonna leave Adam.” And while Lute’s words were true and both of you logically knew that the other wouldn’t cheat because they know what it’s like to be on the other end of it, it wasn’t that easy to change an entire mindset.

It would take a lot of time and work, even more energy to fix the both of you. But you and Adam were willing to work this through. Together, side by side and hand in hand. And maybe one day the both of you wouldn’t have to struggle with that fear anymore, today was not that day though.

[detransition]

from missmastectomy

A mastectomy has physical AND social repercussions. A therapist or a surgeon might tell you the obvious, like that you can’t breastfeed and that your breasts won’t grow back post-mastectomy, but they won’t tell you about what the mastectomy *feels* like. They can’t. They have never experienced it.

I can tell you, though.

I am 3 years post double mastectomy (top surgery, not cancer related). It is nothing like having a naturally flat chest. Even without my incision scars, my chest doesn’t have the same fat distribution on either side, though it’s small enough to be noticeable to me and not anyone else. I have sensation, but it’s very much dulled, especially on my nipples. I’ve seen it described as the chest feeling like a black hole and I have to agree.

I don’t look like I have a “male chest,” and a big part of that is because I have curves. Males and females FUNDAMENTALLY have very different chests and removing your breasts WILL NOT give you a flat, girly look or a male look. That is highly unlikely. You are much more likely to look like a woman with scars and just a generally “off” chest.

There’s so much trans art out there that just doesn’t represent what a double mastectomy looks like in real life. It is highly romanticized and often portrayed as ✨ cutesy scars ✨ on an otherwise masculine body. No. No no no, that is not what this procedure does! I promise you that when you look up trans mastectomy results, you are going to end up seeing the “best ones,” the most successful ones, often on transmen who pass quite well and already have pretty masculine body types.

You are far less likely to hear about the botched surgeries, which thankfully mine is not. The surgeries where people need multiple revisions, the surgeries where people lose ALL sensation, the surgeries where people develop chronic pain.

When you get a mastectomy, you are removing a body part full stop. There are going to be side effects because this procedure is no joke, and mine are comparatively mild. I get itching on my scars sometimes and a mild burning sensation, which can be triggered by stress. Even if it’s elective and you think you want this, your body will remember it has lost a piece of itself. It doesn’t matter how dysphoric you are. There used to be something on your chest and now it is gone forever and nothing will bring it back, barre more surgery that is nothing but an imitation of the real thing.

I cannot express to people considering this surgery how difficult recovery is and living with it afterwards, even if you’re happy at first. I was happy at first. But then I detransitioned and realized I had been taken advantage of by a sociopathic, money hungry surgeon as a teenager. Even if I had persisted as trans, I would still deal with the fact that my flatness was not natural, but surgically constructed. My body could never forget the physical trauma of being sliced into like that, no matter how much I thought I wanted it.

You are not a Mr. Potato head. These are serious surgeries and they have serious, life long repercussions. Your breasts are not baby feeders or male attractors - they are a part of your body, your temple. And your body will feel the loss, even if (at first) you do not.

Do not get this as an elective procedure. These surgeons are lying to you. They don’t care about you. All they care about is money. The next time your dysphoria acts up and you’re considering a mastectomy, don’t think about the fantasy you’ve constructed in your mind where you’re just a male with chest scars. Instead, think about the fact that I’m order to achieve this “look,” you literally need to maim yourself. Think about the total loss of sensation, the dangers of the surgery itself, the feeling of complete and utter violation you will live with permanently if you ever regret your decision.

And then make your choice.

thinking of detransition? you are not alone

[agendabymooner]

colour me your colour || toto w. x ofc (1)

Summary: Tilly Marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. Everyone but one. And it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. Who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

Content warning: Age gap, mentions of an absence of a father figure, brief use of explicit language, mentions of nepotism. Fictional family and business involved (Hearth family and Hearth Automotives Group).

Note: I did a funny haha series. I literally just started on this yesterday. I'm writing the third part right now, hoping to work on this as much as possible. Again, I am still new to F1?? Please forgive me.

Enjoy! xx

i. what a beautiful sight that was

   It was the year 2006. The 21-year-old me did not want to attend on behalf of my father’s role to whatever this business was he was handling. I remember being extremely confident about walking up the stage to get my master's. 

I had always been told to be an intelligent girl. One that utilizes her skills in any way possible. Everyone praised me, and my maternal grandparents encouraged me to continue my education. My paternal grandparents expressed their admiration with a pat on the head and a kiss. My mother hugged me tightly and hung nearly every certificate I had captured. My father, however… he couldn’t get over the fact that he never had a son—one who would run the company someday and perhaps become a world champion. 

He lacked boys for his fatherhood experience, so he turned to me and set a list of expectations he had of me. He was still as healthy as ever. He could bench if he felt like it. But he still wanted to instill some responsibility in his companies and passed it on to me. 

But I earned my master's in Journalism and was halfway through my Bachelor's in Marketing. What did I know about motorsport? 

This didn’t mean anything to my father. He wanted me to handle the business and pass it off to the next person if needed. He just wanted his surname to remain known in the industry and public. He trusted me to handle particular areas that he thought I could do. 

But it was 2006, and I wasn’t given the responsibilities until years after. I was simply in Dubai to watch and entertain myself while cameras tried to get a glimpse of me—the Heiress. I was the next to become a shareholder in the businesses my father and grandfather (and his father) had put their money on. I was an eye candy—the strong woman of the Hearth family. And I was just in Dubai to watch men race lap after lap while they stayed there for hours, like mad men. 

And my father didn’t even tell me anything. I’ve only been exposed to observation. But my brain wasn’t made to be awake for a day, and my eyes preferred a piece of entertainment from my research paper. 

But my mind gave me a little nudge and turned my head to look at the man who’ll have me thinking for years. His helmet was on his side, his fingers tapping to keep him focused. He was tall. He was tall and handsome—a deadly combination.

The combination was too deadly, and I only realized this when he caught me looking. I hadn’t turned my head quite fast enough as I continued to examine and annotate my anecdotal record, pretending that my face wasn’t blushing.

It turned out he was just as intrigued as he was handsome. Fucking great. He sat across the chaise lounge I stiffly sat on, his smile I could barely see from my peripheral vision. 

Knowing he probably wouldn’t leave, I stopped pretending I was studying and looked up only to see his lips spread in amusement. His smile. Oh god. Couldn’t this man be the perfect man to have existed?

“You’re not here to study,” he chuckled softly, “Because you’d be in the wrong place otherwise.” 

Of course, I hadn’t passed up the chance to roll my eyes jokingly. 

The conversation lasted forever, and not once did he gloss over the screens to see how his team was doing at the track. He listened to me as I complained about the research I had to do for book publications. He wondered how I’d gotten through my master's at 21. Then he decided to guess while I provided my answer too.

“You’re gifted.”

“Generational wealth.” 

Then silence filled the atmosphere as if we could only hear the people talk in the background. My laughter after the pause made his mouth grin as he silently laughed. One of us was more biased than the other, I thought to myself. My success at school came from the high 90s that I achieved. My family's money made it easier for me to get in without any trouble with tuition. 

But the conversation didn’t last as long as I thought it would have, as someone who wore the same racing suit came barging at the door. The man frantically gestured for my company to follow him. 

He looked at me, his eyes keeping me in one place as I shifted. He could only say, “It was nice talking to you.” 

And all I could offer him was a stutter of, “Y- yeah, a pleasure to meet you. Y- your name is…” 

But his teammate beat him to it before he could utter his name. “Torger!” 

Then he looked at me again with a brief nod as he walked out of the room. 

He was a lovely man. There’s nothing nicer than an equally attractive and genuine man. I liked every single second that I spent with him. And I’ve only known him for fifteen minutes. 

And that remained as that. We’ve only known each other for fifteen minutes. When they announced the race winners, I was already on my flight back to England. I was already reporting to my father about what I saw. 

I told him about what I saw and experienced. But never once did I say to him about a driver of the winning team and how I’ve practically fallen for him. Because I haven’t fallen, he was just lovely. 

What a beautiful sight he was. 

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Whatcha doing?”

Keith’s voice right next to his ear startles Lance a bit, making Keith laugh quietly. Lance feels the rumble of it in his shoulder, where Keith is resting his head to peer at his work.

“My math homework.”

Lance feels rather than sees Keith make a face. “That’s not math. I don’t see a single number in all that. I don’t even see letters.”

Lance chuckles. “It’s just calculus, babe. It’s mostly symbols, sure, but still math.”

“Ugh.” Keith pulls away after pressing a kiss to Lance’s cheek, shaking his head. “That’s disgusting.” He starts haphazardly shoving his fancy pencils into their case, then into his backpack, followed by his sketchbook. “Your horrible homework made me lose my desire to do anything and everything school related.”

Shaking his head fondly, Lance returns his gaze to his worksheet. “You’re such a dork. It’s only math.”

“The fact that you can look at those equations and they not only mean something to you, but they make sense, blows my mind every day. I’m still half convinced you’re a witch.”

“Now is that the math, or the fact that I’ve put a spell on your heart?”

“Boo,” Keith says, cupping his hands around his mouth. “That was garbage. I’m reporting you to the horrible pun police.”

“Stop making me laugh,” Lance says, throwing an eraser at Keith’s head. “You’re distracting me.”

“Yeah, yeah, Doctor McClain. You could skip every single one of your lectures and still pass with a 95.”

Lance flushes, pleased by both the compliment and Keith calling him doctor. As much as he knows Keith is teasing — he absolutely does need to attend class, Lord above — his boyfriend’s faith in him always makes his insides all soft and squishy.

But he has an assignment to do. He’ll kiss his amazingly supportive boyfriend after.

Lance gets in the zone, so focused on problem after problem that he forgets where he is. Hell, he pretty much forgets that he has a mortal body. His brain is 100% Greek letters and the occasional graph. And Lance likes it that way. He likes math, and not in the cheesy Cady Heron ‘math is just the same in every language’ kind of way. He just thinks that so long as he’s doing it right, figuring out puzzles is fun, in the same way some people like writing, or drawing. There are annoying parts, sure — modular functions are stupid as hell and can kiss his whole ass — but for the most part, he’s a biomed engineering major for a reason. He has shit to design, and he’s only getting there if he understands how the world fits together.

Something small hitting him square in the head snaps him out of his focus.

“You are being absorbed into your textbook,” Keith informs him. “I’m losing ya, space cadet.”

Lance shakes his head a little, blinking. He realises suddenly that, holy shit, his eyes are burning. And his throat is as dry as the desert. And he’s starving. And his muscles are cramped.

“Jesus,” he says, “how long have I been sitting here?”

Keith shrugs, but his attention is no longer on Lance. “Dunno. My phone died forever ago, so that means either two minutes or two hours. I could not tell you.”

Lance snorts. He knows part of Keith’s ADHD means he’s not great with time. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. They’ve been here long enough that it’s long past time to take a break.

“What’ve you been doing, then?” Lance asks as he starts collecting his things to put away. “If your phone’s been dead.”

“Foldin’ stuff,” Keith replies absent-mindedly, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he does, indeed, fold some papers. Lance finally gets all his stuff packed away and then turns his full attention to Keith, humming curiously. Keith, like with everything artsy, is amazing at origami, and Lance is always amazed at how he takes a piece of scrap paper and makes a mini-sculpture.

“Like what?”

“Made you this bouquet,” Keith says. His attention is still mostly on the tiny square of pink paper in front of him, but he reaches over to the empty chair next to him and blindly searches for something. He makes a triumphant noise when he finds it, and sets a brightly coloured bouquet of intricately folded paper flowers on the table.

Lance gasps, carefully picking it up and looking at it closely. Each flower is folded to perfection, crisp lines and gentle bends in the paper making perfect imitations of Lance’s favourite flowers: golden dandelions, pink peonies, deep orange poppies.

“Holy shit, Keith,” Lance breathes. He looks at his boyfriend with wide eyes. “This is… these are gorgeous!”

Keith glances away from his project for a moment to shoot Lance a big, goofy grin. “Glad you like ‘em. They’re almost as pretty as you.”

“Charmer,” Lance says, rolling his eyes, but the ruddiness of his cheeks give him away. Keith knows it, too, grinning wider.

“This is for you, too,” he says, making a final fold on the pink paper. “Hold out your left hand.”

Lance does, stupidly giddy smile making his cheeks ache.

Keith has made a paper ring, folded so it makes a heart in the centre rather than a traditional circle-shaped knob. It’s as meticulously crafted as the bouquet. He slides it up Lance’s fourth finger, then presses a gentle kiss on the knuckle.

“Since you said we can’t get married until after we finish our undergrads,” Keith says, as playfully grouchy as he always is when he brings the subject up. “This will have to do.”

Lance laughs, sliding his hand from Keith’s grip so he can rest it on the side of his boyfriend’s cheek, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Keith goes cross-eyed trying to watch the movement, lips still pouted. Lance leans forward to kiss them.

“You are so dramatic,” he mumbles, still crowded in close. “One more year, okay? You can take me to the courthouse the day we graduate, if you would like.”

“Fine,” Keith huffs. He wraps his arms around Lance’s waist. “They second our caps get thrown, you hear me?”

Lance kisses him again. And again. And a third time, for good measure.

“I hear you.”

[we-are-inevitable]

actually shut up. davey being an author and jack is his ex and they both know it was a right person wrong time kind of thing. they both knew they were losing each other too soon but how could they fix it? david needed his career to take off and jack needed life to slow down. david spent a lifetime stalling and jack spent a lifetime running and now david wants to go go go i need to go i need to do this i need to work need to be better need to be the best need to do this, jack, i need to do this, please support this, please. and all jack wants to do is slow down and stop and breathe and davey i cant, i need you here, you need to be here, please stay here stay with me i know you need to run with this but i need you to lay here for just another minute, please.

and they both pause. both understand. both know they need something different in life right now. david needs to experience a fast-paced world of publishing and writing a mile a minute with his ever-running mind, and jack needs to experience a slow-paced world of galleries and painting a stroke a day with hands that need a rest from always itching for more. and so they stop, they separate. they kiss one last time and wipe each other’s tears and suddenly their shared apartment is empty, so empty, leaving jack in the dust and davey in a rundown townhouse in brooklyn.

and here they are, ten years later: davey has that bestselling book series he spent so long on and jack has quite the following with his art and they’re both still hurting, still healing. as we know, creatives have their content ripped out of their chests whether they like it or not, sentences and brushstrokes, painstaking edits until the piece is exactly how they’ve imagined, how they were forced by their own minds to create it.

and give me jack, a tortured artist stereotype (he hates it he hates it why does he hate it), who wanders into a bookstore; he has some extra cash and he wants one of those nicer leatherbound sketchbooks that he knows they sell. he walks in and sees a face, davey’s face, his davey’s face, on a display of books, all brandishing the name David Jacobs at the bottom. so, he’s made it. good for him.

and give me jack, delicately picking up a book as though he may tarnish it, just as he feels he tarnished their relationship. and give me jack, opening up to the first page, and reading:

To J, for haunting my memories enough to keep me awake. Your apparition is the only reason this book is finished— what else was going to make me write until sunrise?

jack closes it. places it back down, picks up the sequel sitting right next to it.

To J, for being there when this started. Maybe you’ll see this when it’s finished. I don’t know. I still have a third book to write.

and maybe that spurs jack on. maybe he’s not J, but he rather wishes he was- he wishes david still thought of him, just like how jack has still been using david’s essence as painting inspiration all these years ago, just how he’s never been able to take another relationship seriously, just how he’s certain that he gave everything he had to david and has nothing left for anyone else.

he takes the plunge. he sends a letter. david’s third book is published later that year.

To J, for coming home. Writing this book with your head on my chest is the forever I’ve been dreaming of.

[unknownbiscuits]

A poem I made while watching Yagsterr’s premiere last night

I had already posted it under the farewell video’s comment section over on YT, but I’m just reposting it here since I’m really proud of it.

I’m not gonna be able to watch the whole thing right now, but I made a poem while I was listening to the video. It’s very personal and deep, exploring my journey through Murder Drones and the fandom and how it impacted me throughout its lifespan.

Anyway, I hope you like this. Take care, guys.

New places, old faces

Hidden for what felt like ages

Unready, unsteady to see these people again

Never knowing, showing, not feeling where I’m going

Searching for a place to perch in this sunny, hot, humid school

Never never ever felt comfortable or cool

Until I found my old faces

They introduced me to a new place, a place that I’ve tried to picture in my mind before

Ice, snow, oil, robots galore

A small community, at least during the dance

Maybe I had found that place that would give me a chance

Haven’t felt this way since the underground tale

Hopefully this one won’t fail

Introduced to new friends, visible across tables and texts

Hooked, not knowing what’s next

But this place felt nice

Seeing new and interesting characters that I liked

Helping me understand the blue, red and yellow puzzle pieces with the golden retriever

Navigating the hallways and my classes with a crow on my shoulder, always watching forever

It was good, great even to properly traverse

That would be the end of this first verse

Would've been

That's when everything pǝddᴉlɟ

Felt like I was getting w h i p p e d

Over

          and over

                           AND OVER AGAIN

Some of my friends weren't what I thought they were

The ones that got closest to me hurt

He wouldn’t let me go I had no choice

But to hide again, no voice

Felt like I was

F 

 A 

  L

    L 

     I 

      N 

       G

Until the purple caught me

Purple, black, not ignoring

Neon eyes glowing, calming my soul

I had to perch on a new place, with a not-too-new face

Her face is still everything; it’s what kept me safe

Away from the sharp metal that looked shinier every day

The dirty black that looked cleaner every day

I leaned on her soft metal, as she taught me anew

How to walk, talk, do

She showed me lessons, building with my broken pieces of trust

She helped me live as I must, moving her perch from my shoulder to my head

No.

To my heart.

Of course, we both watched her journey together

For we knew that I had to move

We had to move together, or not at all

Watching her journey together

Learning new lessons both in and out of the snowy picturescape

She even helped me find new friends, ones that wouldn’t hurt nor tether

The community had since grown

Gifts being given across and forever

I know this place wouldn’t be the same without the people

Cause with more people, the show had a bigger easel

We spent countless days laughing and watching together

Me, the people, and her

Until we reached the absolute end of it

Did the fandom start to shift a bit

Some went, most stayed

For we knew there was more to play

And even though I won’t see any of her and the others officially, they’ll always live on

Unconditionally

They’re timeless, boundless, now left for us to continue with

Knowing this place…

It’ll be one for the myths

So thank you to the fans

The makers

Not the fakers

The artists

Always pouring their heart in this

To Uzi

For helping me not lose me

And most importantly,

To Glitch, Luke, Kevin, and Liam

For helping and feeding the fandom and allowing us to grow in the way we are today

For impacting countless lives, such as me

But I know

We’ll never leave.

As far as this poem, this is the final verse

But not the end of this universe

[josephbrassey]

I have always had a complex relationship with fear. Since I was a child I have hated controlled danger: I can’t do rollercoasters, plane rides stress me out, being a passenger in a car going to fast terrifies me.

At the same time, the call of the void has always rung loud in my ears. I’d run across wet rocks at the beach. I’d stand too close to the edges of high places. There was a period of my life where I couldn’t look at ordinary objects without immediately envisioning inflicting harm on myself. It never came with compulsions and its eased off with time, but it’s still with me.

Maybe it’s bipolar and suicidal ideation, which I’ve grappled on and off with my whole life. Maybe it’s the desire to exert control over my existence. Martial arts became a way of confronting this fear. I used to be scared of getting hit, and only in my 20s did I discover that I could learn to do it back without losing control of myself.

But even with all this, my fear was only ever a psychological and emotional thing. It never limited me physically or forced me to stop doing what I wanted to.

Since the start of the pandemic, that’s changed. It started before I first caught it, but during that first year of lockdowns and constant anxiety, something changed in me physiologically. When my heart rate hits above a certain level and my anxiety spikes (it requires both for this to happen), I can no longer breathe. My throat starts to close up. I gag and choke and gasp for breath. I have never had to deal with fear like this in my life. No longer content to fill up my mind and heart, my fear has come for my body as well. It is now a physical reality that I must contend with, every time it arises.

Every. Single. Time.

As a result, I have been forced to do something I have never had to do before. I must sit down with my fear. I must listen to it, walk with it, and understand it. That has been the only way to bring my breath back. The only way that I can keep from gasping and choking and doubling over. This has been a deeply uncomfortable process. It’s meant having to sort through demons whom I could always simply dismiss before. I never needed to listen to it. I was faster and stronger. I was fitter than my fear, and I could always outfight it.

Now I can’t. My body—at least for now—will no longer allow me to.

This is not a cry for sympathy, it is a piece of advice given as a monologue. Because while I’m still learning to do it, this is a skill I wish I’d developed a long time ago. The focus it requires is intense, and the fact that I no longer have a choice is humbling. I have been reminded, very forcefully, that no amount of physical power that I possess can get me out of learning why I am afraid, listening to it, and addressing what lies beneath it. If you learn to do this as well, it may save you pain later in life. You may never have to deal with what I am dealing with, but physical ability doesn’t last forever. One day, you won’t be able to overpower your fear either.

I’m not saying I’m done. I’m still trying to figure out what happened, and address it. Maybe someday it won’t be a problem anymore. But for now, I must sit with my fear and let it say its piece, something that was probably long overdue.

You can’t outrun your demons forever. Life will eventually slow all of us down. And ultimately, I think, when that day comes you will fare far better if you learned to tend to them already. I didn’t. And now I have to learn later than I should have.

It’s the only thing that lets me breathe again.

[emmypotter7]

Beloved

@jegulus-microfic jegulus’ wedding

i did not mean for this to be as long as it is... oops

word count: 697

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Regulus Black and James Potter.”

The priest continued on, but James couldn’t hear anything. The only thing his mind could focus on was the facing of his love standing in front of him. He was amazing. Regulus was standing there, staring up at James with the most loving expression. You could see the love in his eyes, his smile, the slight blush on his cheeks, the way Reg refuses to let go of James’ hands. He is holding on like he is afraid that if he lets go, he’ll lose James. That obviously isn’t true. James wouldn’t leave Regulus unless he died, and maybe not even then.

“Now, for the vows. Who would like to go first?” The priest asks them.

“I will.” James says. They had discussed this before. James had said that he will cry after Regulus reads his vows (even though he doesn’t know what they say yet) and he can’t be crying while reading his vows, so he needs to go first. “My love, ever since I first met you, I felt drawn to you. I felt like I always needed to be around you. I didn’t know what that meant yet, but I do now. It was love. It was love then, and it is love now. I have loved you forever, and I can never stop. No matter what happens, what life time, what universe, I will never stop loving you. It was what I was meant to do. I was designed to bring light into your life, to make you laugh on your darkest days, to hold you when you’re crying, to be apart of you. You are my entire life. It would not be complete without you. I am so glad that I met you, and that I have you. I will spend the rest of my life making sure I can keep you. I love you, mon amour.” James finishes. He was always told writing your own, original vows was supposed to be hard, but for him the hardest part was figuring out where to stop. Writing his feeling out for Reg was like breathing. He didn’t know how to stop. His vows original were half an hour long, but Remus had cut most of it out. Saying, ‘we all know you love Reg James, and he knows it too. People will leave half way through if your vows take this long.’ James tried to argue that he didn’t care if people left, but Remus cut it all out anyway. Only winning once he said that Reg wouldn’t want to listen to it either (which isn’t the case, but James doesn’t need to know that).

“That was beautiful Jamie,” Regulus says, tears welling in his eyes, “Mine aren’t anywhere as good as that.”

“I will love what you say no matter what it is. Even if you tell me you hate me.” James says with a chuckle, also on the verge of tears.

“Ok,” Regulus says, also laughing. “Jamie. mon soleil, light of my life. I’m not very good at putting my feelings into words, as you know, so I’m going to let this poem speak for me.” Regulus pulls out a piece of paper, “‘It is so easy for me to love you that it frightens me. I’ve never been good at anything. But I’ve never wanted anything so much as I want to hold you every waking minute. And every night while I sleep. The question has ceased to be “How do I love you?” and has become “How would I ever stop?”’” He puts the paper away. “Je t’aime plus que tout.” He finishes, making eye contact with his soulmate.

“That was beautiful love.” James say, pulling Regulus into a kiss.

This kiss feels different than any other that they have shared. Every one of their kisses has the speak of a couple in love, but this is more. This is the kiss of a married couple in love, and it is so much sweeter.