#and I pretend like it’s a happy show and

[little-mushroom1716]

Doing all of these at once lol

🖍️ I told my parents a few days ago, and they're happy that I found a non-harmful coping mechanism :>

❤️ Splendorman from creepypasta

🩹 It depends on if I regress volontary or not. I think that I made a post about it, but I will shorten it:

Volontary regression: being generally happier, struggling to walk and speak, stimming, ect.

Unvolontary regression: crying, feeling of being psychically smaller, feeling of being lost and fearful

🧡 it's very irregular. It depends on my mood, school work, ect. So I am not able to say how often I regress 😅

🍬 no, I don't like reading in general.

💛 in my country it would be kindergarden.

🧸 I don't really understand the question, but I have a little sister.

💚 I've always been childlish lol

🧩 I think that they were my stuffies that I kept since my childhood.

💙 It's definitely fairycore/goblincore, but I sometimes add elements of cutecore

🍭 since.. hmm.. around 1 year (?)

💜 Bing (the kids show), play-pretend toys

🍼 I'm creating new memories. My childhood was horrible..

🖤 no, but I'd love to (don't dm me to meet me pls. I prefer having friends irl)

🪀 well if you count my tulpa, then yes.

🪁 it's more traditional.

🎨 I'd like to try diapers someday (NOT in a s*xual way!!)

🍬 I'm guessing that it's like unpleasant regression (?), so yes. In my case, the unpleasant regression is the unvolontary one.

🦋 not always.. I always fear that my parents/sister will come into my room and I'm kind of embarassed/scared to regress in front of them.

🧚 it's mostly a coping mechanizm to deal with my mental disorders and pronlems.

🧦 I like that the community is open, understanding and the posts are often accesible to disabled ppl. I don't like that some people tag "agere" under nsfw posts.. But are they really a part of our community? I mean, you can enjoy woohoo stuff and regress but tagging s*xual posts like that is not ok.

🦇 oh! Yes, a few times.

🌸 I headcanon Kamal Bora (smile for me) as a regressor :>

🐈‍⬛ I'm just under 20 right now, but I think that besides my age I'm represented "enough" in the community

🧃 I never tried pet regression, but I can compare myself to a happy puppy

🐰 right now, my tulpa (Theo) is my caregiver. But we both dislike the fact that Theo's not psychical. I'm planning to find a psychical caregiver in the future.

🎀 I think that my gear matches my age (3-5)

(couldn't find the emoji) it really depends on my mood. Sometimes its super easy, sometimes I struggle with it.

🌈 A fairy or a goblin

👾 honestly, it's just a good mood.

💭 I dream of them taking care of me psychically.

🌙 Agere Ask Game!!! ⭐

🖍 Who is the first person you told/would tell about your headspace?

❤ If you had a fictional caregiver/little who would it be?

🩹 What do you experience when you regress? (i.e fuzzy feelings, motor skill or speech struggle, etc.)

🧡 How often do you regress or try to regress?

🍬 Do you read agere fanfiction and if so, about who?

💛 What school grade (if any) would you be in according to your headspace?

🧸 Are you an older sibling who regresses/caregives or a younger sibling who regresses/caregives?

💚 Were you considered an "old soul" growing up or were you more "childish"?

🧩 What was your first piece of agere gear or what would you want as your first?

💙 What's your regression/caregiving aesthetic? (kidcore, babycore, altcore, etc)

🍭 How long have you been apart of agere tumblr?

💜 What are you obsessed with right now in your headspace? (sanrio, sharks, bluey, etc)

🍼 Do you include your personal nostalgia in your regression/caregiving or are you creating new memories?

🖤 Have you met any other regressors/caregivers in real life?

🪀 Have you ever regressed in front of someone or has someone ever regressed around you?

🪁 Is your headspace affected more through traditional or alternative regression? (bottles & cartoons or horror & thrill)

🎨 What's a piece of agere gear that you really want to have/try?

🍬 Have you ever experienced vent regression?

🦋 Are you comfortable with your regression/headspace?

🧚‍♀️ What is age regression/caregiving to you?

🧦 What's something you like & don't like about the agere community?

🦇 Have you ever regressed in a dream?

🌸 Who do you headcanon as a regressor or caregiver? (fictional or real)

🐈‍⬛ Do you think you're represented enough in the agere community? (poc, boys, under 20/over 30 yrs)

🧃Which animal best represents your headspace?

🐇 Has it been or was it hard for you to find a little/caregiver?

🎀 Does your headspace match the gear you use/want? (i.e. regresses to 10 years but loves pacifiers)

🎮 Do you struggle to play pretend or are you super imaginative?

🌈 What mythical creature would you rather be? (Hybrid, Fairy, Dragon, etc)

👾 What's the quickest way to get you in your headspace?

💭 What's one thing you often daydream about doing with your little/caregiver?

[oncasette]

𝗦𝗞𝗬'𝗦 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗟𝗨𝗘

caleb xia x fem!reader, boyfriend!rafayel qi x fem!reader

summary: 1.0k

He doesn’t know what he expected. For you to wait for him? For you to mourn him to the point of never moving on, if there was something to move on from in the first place? To you, he was dead for a year. He’d just have to live with the consequences of that.

or the one where you convince caleb to come with to you an art exhibit in which he learns more about who you've been hanging around since he's been gone.

content: jealousy, unrequited love, possessive caleb

masterlist | beat you to it masterlist

When you had initially invited Caleb along to an art exhibition, he’d been confused. Don’t get him wrong, he was happy to go with you–more than happy to accompany you on what he thought to be the first of many date-like outings since he’d come back, saying yes with a dopey grin on his face–but this hadn’t ever really been his scene. Or, your scene, for that matter. He remembers the field trip your class had taken back in grade school to the Linkon City Art Museum, when you were still only single-digited in age, and how you’d begged Gran to let you stay home for weeks prior. Even the morning of, when you’d pretended to have the flu by sticking your thermometer in front of the space heater in your bedroom.

So, for you to now be dragging him along to some artists’ showing by choice… yeah, he was questioning things. You’d simply shrugged your shoulders when he’d asked the day before, smiling softly, “I know the artist.”

“Oh…” he’d said. “That Rafayel guy? The one who pays you to go on trips with him?”

It should’ve clicked then, he thinks, rather than after you’d already dragged him through dozens of paintings he could care less about, only to stumble up to the final piece which was undeniably a portrait of you. In molten shades of reds and violets, the colors blended your features into something divine. Something worth worshipping, if he hadn’t already been prepared to drop to his knees for you before you had the chance to ask.

Caleb’s jaw nearly dropped, his hold on your hand loosening as he let you step closer to the painting. It was beautiful, truly, the only artwork he thinks he would hang on his walls if given the chance. But, then again, what was this Rafayel guy doing painting such a portrait of his girl. 

“Hey, pipsqueak?” he asks. The sound comes out, but it sounds distant. Far away from the cotton currently filling his brain. 

You turn to face him with that cheeky grin he remembers from so long ago, the nostalgia tugging even harder at his heart. You were still that same girl he’d fallen for all those years ago. The only girl he’d fallen for, and probably ever would.

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Aren’t you his bodyguard?” he asks, more for reassurance of his own thoughts than anything else. Aren’t you just his bodyguard?

You nod, returning back to his side. For some reason, it didn’t give him the assurance he wanted. Then, with a flicker of your eye line, your attention on him wavers. In an instant, it’s like you’ve forgotten him.

“Raf!” you squeal, wandering away from him to throw your arms around a purple haired man in a navy suit. 

“Hey, cutie,” the man snickers, lifting your feet up and off of the ground as he accepts your embrace. “How’d you like it?”

He nods toward the portrait behind you. Your eyes don’t leave his even as you nod enthusiastically. Rafayel’s smile softens a bit as he sets you back down, lifting his hands to your cheeks to pull you into a reserved kiss. Caleb thinks about excusing himself to go and throw up in the restroom. 

“Oh! Raf, this is Caleb,” you say as you tilt your head to face your childhood friend. So you do remember him. Rafayel nods as he sticks his hand out to shake Caleb’s, a gesture he tentatively takes. 

“Pleasure,” Rafayel hums. His arm wraps around your waist. The look you give the artist, your head resting delicately on his shoulder, has Caleb’s stomach churning further. He hadn’t realized how moon-eyed you’d been over him as a child until he saw that gaze turned onto someone else. 

Rafayel blinks a few times, tilting his head as he squares up Caleb. It feels like a laser focused on the raw points of his heart, exposed and beating and freshly bruised. Though it feels like hours, in a moment the artist’s gaze returns to you.

“Are you coming to dinner with me and Thomas tonight?” he asks.

“Dinner?” Caleb’s throat is dry and he nearly coughs the statement out. 

“My beloved usually joins me for celebratory dinners after these exhibitions,” Rafayel says, using his spare hand to cradle the side of your head briefly. You hadn’t mentioned anything about dinner. Caleb had already been planning on making something when you got back home. 

“I told you I couldn’t,” you say, poking the pout that appeared on Rafayel’s lips. The pilot bit his cheek. Hard. “Caleb’s staying with me for a bit. Remember?”

“You should go,” Caleb hears himself say. He’s off somewhere else in his mind, watching these events unfold before him. He’s sitting in the attic of your old house, a hand wrapped tight around yours with you kneeling between his spread thighs. You don’t need him anymore. That’s what you’d said.

“Really?” you ask. “You think you can make it back to my apartment okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can get there alright. I’ll wait up for you,” he swallows. 

“You don’t have to do that. I’m not sure when I’ll make it back,” you say softly, reaching out a hand to rest gently on his shoulder. It’s fire and ice all at once. All Caleb can do is nod helplessly.

It’s not long before Rafayel is ushering you away from him fully, whispering things he can’t hear–and, likely, doesn’t want to–while he continues to stand there at the heart of the exhibit. There’s a couple of paintings surrounding the painting of you. Various land and oceanscapes strung together in violets and maroons. Periwinkles, navys, ocean skylines that have him craving the comfort the clouds give him back in Skyhaven. 

He doesn’t know what he expected. For you to wait for him? For you to mourn him to the point of never moving on, if there was something to move on from in the first place? To you, he was dead for a year. He’d just have to live with the consequences of that. 

[stylesonfilms]

Behind The Pew [h.s]

word count: 8.8k

warnings: mentions of emotional abuse, substance abuse, drug use, addiction, and a toxic relationship. + a good ending.

where you, the priests daughter, and harry have a terrible fallout at the end of your relationship, and you find him praying (though he's unreligious) to have you back.

You never expected to find yourself in this position.

Seventeen-year-old you had been trembling in excitement when Harry first said he loved you. Seventeen-year-old you had been so sure you’d found your soulmate that the thought of a life without him felt unbearable. The memory of his voice, shaky yet certain, confessing his feelings under the pale glow of the streetlights outside the school gym still lingered in your mind like a cruel joke.

Now, at twenty-six, you could spit in disgust at that naive image of yourself. How could you have been such a blind fool? The words “I love you” that had once sent a thrill down your spine now felt like venom, dripping with hollow promises. There was nothing else in this world that could make you less happy than being with the same man who had once made your heart race.

How were you such a blind fucking fool.

Harry had been just a year older than you. He went to the same small high school on the edge of town, where the student body barely scraped a hundred per graduating class. You had taken the same classes, shared the same inside jokes about the ancient vending machines in the cafeteria, and even bonded over the mutual exhaustion of being two of the only students who cared about grades.

He’d been there during the whirlwind of your college years, offering words of encouragement as you juggled late-night assignments with the endless demands of being the head priest's daughter. He would show up unannounced at your dorm with takeout, a goofy grin on his face, pretending the world wasn’t falling apart for both of you in its own quiet way. He had supported you— or so you thought.

At twenty-three, when he gave you a key to his apartment in a red box tied with a ribbon, your heart had fluttered like it had back when you were seventeen. He’d even gotten down on one knee, a ridiculous smile plastered across his face.

You hadn’t realized it then that Harry never made grand gestures sober.

That thought gnawed at you now, sharp and unrelenting, as you pieced together the cracks in the foundation of your relationship.

When he first asked you out, it was during your senior class get-together the morning before the school year officially started. The whole grade, barely large enough to fill the school’s auditorium, had gathered in the parking lot on a warm spring early morning. You could still remember the smell of fresh grass wafting from the adjacent field, mingling with the acrid scent of burned coffee from the makeshift breakfast bar the school had set up. Someone had been playing music through a tiny portable speaker, and the sound of laughter and half-hearted chatter filled the air.

The memory was too clear. Too cruel.

He had asked you to take a walk with him on the track that looped around the grassy fields. His hand had been warm but clammy when he reached for yours, and though your heart had thudded in anticipation, there had been a flicker of hesitation that you’d ignored.

Looking back now, you wished you’d said no. You wished you’d stayed with your friends on the blacktop, scribbling meaningless designs with chalk that stained your fingers in vibrant shades of blue and pink. You wished you’d eaten the cold, rubbery pancakes the school had handed out with cheap syrup packets and laughed about it with people who weren’t him.

But you hadn’t. You’d let him guide you away, his voice soft and persuasive as he talked about the clouds overhead and how they seemed softer, more pure out there, away from the city. You’d taken his hand with a shy smile and agreed, thinking it was the beginning of something beautiful.

You’d been wrong. So, so wrong.

The gravel of the track crunched under the weight of your guys’ shoes. Harry’s hand was laced with yours as you both walked in silence for a few feet. It was quiet on the track, the sun barely coming up and the further you guys went, the more the chatter and laughs and screams died down into background noise. The soft breeze rustled the bushes alongside the track, blowing some of the gravel into the patch of grass.

Harry was the first to speak. 

“How are you enjoying this all?” He turned to glance at you. His five foot ten frame dominated your five foot four. You kept your shy gaze on the rocks beneath your feet.

“It’s… okay. Definitely not what I expected, the senior class last year hyped it up for sure.”

He gave a small courtesy laugh and nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, it’s not what I expected either. But it’s nice to be with everyone. Don’t think I would have missed out on much if I didn’t come. I only came, well, ‘cause of you.”

The blush on your cheeks ignited. “Oh, be quiet. Chris is here and so are your other pals.”

“But none of them are as stunning as you. It’s easy to talk to you.”

You scrunched your nose and shook your head. “Whatever you say, Styles.”

After a lap had passed, the sound of your peers coming into ear shot before dying out again, Harry stopped.

You halted, turning to look up at him. You tilted your head, furrowing your brows. “You okay? We don’t have to walk. We can go back.”

He shook his head, giving your hand a squeeze. 

“No, it’s not that. I just… You’re not seeing anyone, right?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. 

“Harry, if I was, I wouldn't be here with you. Or holding your hand, at that.”

His lips twitched into a sheepish smile and he laughed himself, carrying a weight of nervousness.

“Sorry, stupid question.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“I was wondering, you know, we’ve been talking since the end of last year and through the summer, so maybe you’d want to…,” his voice trailed off before he cleared it.

“If I want to, what?” Your heart picked up, your gaze avoiding his but you could feel his piercing stare. 

“If we could… Would you want to be my girlfriend?”

His other hand scratched his jaw nervously, the nervous laugh that came after made your heart swell. You finally looked up at him, your stomach flipping in all sorts of directions.

“I’d like that, actually.”

“Yeah?” Harry grinned.

“Yeah.”

Only to find out months later that he was high when he did it. It was funny to him, brushing it off as a ‘fun fact.’ You remembered how he’d laughed, throwing his head back like it was nothing more than an anecdote to tell at a party. The sharp sting of his nonchalance had left a bitter taste in your mouth. You’d always known Harry smoked, the earthy smell of marijuana often clinging faintly to his clothes or his breath, but this revelation hit differently. The idea of him being high so early in the morning, when the world was still fresh and untainted, gnawed at you.

He’d told you with a smirk that he only had the courage to ask you out because he’d smoked beforehand. The words had hung in the air, heavy and sour, even as he brushed them aside with a casual wave of his hand. It wasn’t the smoking that unsettled you—that was a habit you’d grown used to—but the thought that he hadn’t been able to face the moment sober. Something about that truth coiled tightly inside you, a quiet but insistent discomfort you couldn’t shake. Still, you nodded along, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, pretending it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t have mattered. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. Because regardless of how it began, he was your boyfriend, and for a time, he was the best damn one you’d ever had.

But it only got worse as the years went by. What started as casual smoking turned into something darker, more insidious. By the time Harry was twenty, he’d moved on to Xanax, popping pills on weekends like it was a game. At twenty-one, he tried cocaine for the first time. You remembered how he’d joked about it, laughing as if it was just another notch on his belt of wild experiences. By twenty-three, things had spiraled so far out of control that you found yourself flushing fentanyl tabs down the toilet, your hands trembling as they dissolved into nothingness.

Cocaine, though, was always his vice. It lingered like an unwelcome guest in your home, its presence felt even when you couldn’t see it. You’d spot the faint traces it left behind: the dusty residue on the edge of his credit card, the faint chemical tang that clung to the air like a ghost. Every time you saw it, your stomach twisted into a knot so tight it felt like you might never breathe properly again.

He drank too—often and excessively. The combination was volatile, turning your home into a battleground. Harry would stumble through the door, crossed out of his mind, his apologies slurring together as he promised, over and over again, that this was the last time. You stopped believing him long before you stopped yelling. Eventually, you gave up on the fights altogether, silently helping him to bed while he muttered half-formed apologies.. 

The sex was all that bad. When it did happen, it got sloppy and rushed and he stopped caring about you. Other times, even when he was sober, when you’d be on his lap with your lips locked in what you believed was a great makeout session, he couldn’t even get hard. 

That was as far as you guys could go most times. Dealing with yourself once he was asleep got tiring after a few weeks and you just gave up.

When he turned twenty five, he shook most of his habits off. He got clean, he kept himself that way. Harry got a haircut and he shaved and he tossed out old clothes to buy new ones. He bought you guys a new house with a new bed and a new beginning. He was your six foot two teddy bear once again. Or so you thought.

That all came crashing down on his twenty sixth birthday. You made the mistake of letting him throw a small get together with his friends. You trusted him with alcohol and weed, that was his business that you knew he could handle. What you didn’t want to see, what he didn’t mean for you to see, was the lines of cocaine on the coffee table when you walked in with a custom cake and balloons. 

The fight that followed was inevitable but futile. Harry was high, too far gone to care, his eyes glazed and his words slurred. You yelled until your voice cracked, but all it did was ricochet off the walls of your shared misery.

The spiral back into the pits of hell was quicker this time, more merciless. You found solace in church, staying longer on Sundays and Wednesdays, the echoes of hymns filling the void Harry had left behind. At first, it hurt to avoid him, to find excuses not to come home. But the longer you stayed away, the more you realized he didn’t care. Harry didn’t think of you as home anymore.

When you did return, it was like stepping into a war zone. Empty bottles of hard liquor littered the counters and floors, little baggies of cocaine peeked out from under furniture, and strips of foil, tarnished and crinkled, hid in drawers like ugly secrets. Harry didn’t even try to hide it anymore. 

He had no fucking shame.

Harry had the nerve to show up at your father’s church one quiet afternoon, the air heavy with the faint scent of incense and wax from the candles burning in the sanctuary. He arrived holding a bouquet of flowers—vivid lilies and carnations that looked almost garishly out of place against the muted tones of the church. To anyone else, he seemed perfectly fine, even charming. Harry had shaved, his jawline clean and sharp, and his clothes were neatly pressed, a stark contrast to the disheveled image you had grown accustomed to. He carried himself with a practiced ease, engaging your father in polite conversation near the altar while you worked in the worship room, tucking hymn books into the pews.

The low hum of their voices caught your attention, and when you stepped out into the main hall, your breath hitched. There he was. You forced a smile, thanking your father quietly as you approached and took the flowers from Harry’s hand. They smelled fresh, their fragrance almost cloying in the stillness of the space.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked, your voice low and hesitant as you chewed on your bottom lip, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite shake.

“I came to see you, honeybee,” he murmured, his tone soft, almost tender. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, coaxing it free from your teeth with a familiarity that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. The warmth of his touch was at odds with the cool emptiness lingering in his eyes. “Is that an issue?”

“No, no. I just… I hadn’t expected company, not until worship started, anyway,” you replied, your words faltering under his steady gaze.

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich, shaking his head as if you’d said something amusing. “Oh, no. I’m definitely not here for that. Just for you. My sweet angel,” Harry grinned, his eyes drifting around the room before settling back on you. “In her home sweet home.”

The blush that crept up your cheeks felt like a betrayal. He was still Harry, after all, the man who had once held your heart so completely. Memories of the boy he used to be flickered through your mind like an old film reel— Harry, who had gone out of his way to understand your faith, who had brought you a delicate cross necklace blessed by your father, where he had taken it to the church where your father was and asked him to bless it before he gave it to you. Harry, who had meticulously highlighted and annotated an entire Bible just for you, leaving little notes in the margins that were equal parts insightful and irreverent on certain verses that he said made him think of you. 

That was before. Before everything fell apart. Before sobriety became a fleeting memory.

“Well, thanks for the flowers, H, but we open the doors in a couple of minutes,” you said, your voice firmer now, though it trembled just slightly at the edges. “I’ll see you at home?”

Harry’s lips pulled into a pout, a performative gesture you’d once found endearing but now felt shallow. With an exaggerated sigh, he brought his hand to your jaw again, his thumb grazing your bottom lip as though he couldn’t bear to let the moment slip away.

“Can’t use those few minutes to do something?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, laced with a suggestive edge that sent your stomach churning.

The smirk on his lips was smug, predatory, and you didn’t need to ask what he meant. You recognized the look in his eyes, the subtle shift in his demeanor.

“Harry…”

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his voice honeyed and smooth, but the undertone was sharp, cutting. “I can make you feel good, baby. Don’t you wanna make me feel good, too? Or do you plan on leaving me to suffer?”

His words were laced with manipulation, the kind that once might have worked, but now only filled you with a cold, hollow ache. The pit of guilt you used to feel in moments like these was gone, replaced by a slow-burning anger that settled deep in your chest.

“Harry, we can’t. Not here, okay? Maybe tonight, once I’m home,” you said, trying to keep your tone calm, even as your pulse quickened.

He opened his mouth to plead again, his hand lingering too long on your face, but you caught his wrist, guiding it firmly down to his side.

“I said no, Harry. It’s best if you leave.”

His expression hardened, the softness he’d feigned cracking like brittle porcelain. With a scoff, he slid his sunglasses down over his eyes, the barrier only amplifying the distance between you.

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

You stood frozen, your eyes following him as he stumbled slightly on the stone steps outside. The small misstep was all it took to confirm what you’d been suspecting, dreading. He was high. Again.

Your chest burned, the heat spreading like wildfire, but it wasn’t just hurt or disappointment anymore. It was anger— raw and searing, threatening to consume the last remnants of hope you’d held onto.

When you got home that night, the house felt colder than usual, a void that seemed to stretch out in every corner. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound as you shut the door, its click too loud in the eerie silence. The flowers Harry had given you lay discarded on the counter where you’d left them, their petals already beginning to wilt. They felt like a cruel metaphor—beautiful on the outside but destined to wither without care.

You sighed and stepped into the kitchen, immediately greeted by the sticky remnants of his presence. The counters were smeared with grease and liquor stains, a half-empty whiskey bottle sat crooked on the edge, and crumpled fast-food wrappers littered the floor. The faint, sickly-sweet smell of alcohol mixed with something sharper—sweat and stale smoke.

Your stomach twisted as you began cleaning, the rag in your hand scraping over the counter with force. Every motion felt like an indictment, every stain a reminder of how far he had fallen and how long you had been holding it together. The weight of your exhaustion pressed down harder with each plate you scrubbed, each bottle you threw into the trash.

By the time you finished, your arms ached, and your chest was heavier than ever. You grabbed your pillow from the shared bedroom, hesitating only a moment as your eyes swept over the messy bed—the sheets tangled, the faint imprint of his body still visible in the mattress. You used to love this space, love curling into him after long days and feeling like the world outside couldn’t touch you. Now it felt suffocating, tainted.

The guest room was plain and small, but at least it was untouched. Untainted. You dropped your pillow on the bed, letting out a shaky breath as you sat on its edge. The ache in your chest tightened, but no tears came. You had cried enough over him.

The hours dragged on, the silence only broken by the faint ticking of the clock and the occasional groan of the house settling. When the front door slammed, the sound shot through the quiet like a thunderclap, and your heart jumped in your chest.

Harry was home.

His footsteps were uneven, loud on the stairs. You tensed as they grew closer, each step bringing him nearer. When he finally appeared in the doorway, the smell hit you first— whiskey and something acrid, sharp enough to make your nose wrinkle.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he slurred, leaning heavily against the frame, his glassy eyes struggling to focus.

“I couldn’t stay in our room anymore,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was sharp, defensive, like you had just accused him of something.

“It means I’m done, Harry,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He barked out a bitter laugh, one that made your skin crawl. “You’re done? With what? Cleaning up after me? Being a fucking saint while I’m out living my life?”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting you like a slap. You rose to your feet, your fists clenched at your sides. “Living your life? Harry, this isn’t living. This is destroying yourself, and I’m not going to stand by and watch anymore.”

“Don’t act like you’re so fucking perfect!” he yelled, his voice rising to a pitch that made your ears ring. “You think you’re better than me just because you go to church and play the good little girl? You’re just as messed up as I am— you just hide it better!”

The venom in his words was sharp enough to draw blood. You stared at him, your heart pounding as the man you once loved stared back at you like a stranger.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling but steady. “And I can’t love someone I don’t know.”

For a moment, his face faltered. His mouth opened, but no words came out. His fingers twitched by his side like he wanted to reach for you, but the anger in his eyes quickly flared again, and he curled his hands into fists beside him.

“All you ever fucking do is yell at me and blame me for stupid ass shit,” he snapped, his words slurred but cutting. “I can never catch a fucking break dealing with this shit show to come home to!”

His words felt like a punch to the gut, and you took a step back, your heart cracking open in ways you hadn’t thought possible. “A shit show?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Is that what you think this is? Me, trying to hold us together while you destroy everything we built?”

“Don’t twist my words,” he snapped. “You think you’re some fucking martyr or something, but you’re not! You’re just…”

“Just what, Harry?” you demanded, stepping closer now, your hands trembling with rage. “Say it. Tell me what you really think of me.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I’ve given you everything,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’ve stood by you, loved you, forgiven you for things I never thought I could forgive. But you— you’ve become someone I can’t even recognize.”

“You’ve changed,” you continued, your voice growing stronger. “The man I fell in love with would never speak to me like this. He would never make me feel this small, this worthless. I’ve given you chance after chance, Harry, and all you’ve done is throw them away.”

His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. “So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away?”

“Walk away?” You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “You already pushed me out, Harry. I’ve been trying to hold onto what we had, but it’s gone. You threw it away the moment you chose this life over us.”

Your hands trembled as you reached for the necklace around your neck, the one he had given you back when things were good, back when he was still the boy you loved. The clasp felt like it burned your skin as you tore it off, the chain tangling in your fingers before you threw it at his chest.

“You don’t deserve this,” you said, your voice cold and final. “And you don’t deserve me. And I just… I don’t love you, not anymore, Harry.”

The necklace hit him and fell to the floor, the soft clink echoing in the silence that followed.

Harry’s face crumbled for a moment, the anger draining as he stared at the necklace, his chest heaving. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing he could do would ever be enough now.

“I hope one day you realize what you’ve lost,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “But by then, I won’t be here to see it.”

You stormed past him, empty-handed, your breath shallow and your vision blurred with tears you refused to let fall. The ache in your chest felt like it might swallow you whole, but the thought of staying, of enduring one more second in his presence, was unbearable.

As you reached the door and yanked it open, Harry’s voice thundered behind you, thick with anger. “Where the hell are you gonna go? You live here! This is your home!”

You froze in the doorway, your hand tightening on the handle as his words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes blazing with bitterness and pure, unfiltered hurt.

“Keep the damn house, Harry,” you spat, your voice trembling but fierce. “It stopped being home a long time ago.”

Without waiting for a response, you slammed the door behind you, the sound reverberating like a final nail in the coffin. The cold night air hit your skin like a slap, but it felt cleaner than anything you had breathed inside that house. You walked away, the sting of his words still clinging to you, but the weight of years of hurt beginning, finally, to lift.

The echo of the slammed door reverberated through the house, rattling picture frames on the walls and leaving a silence so stark it felt deafening. Harry stood there, still and unmoving, his chest heaving with the remnants of his anger. Your words echoed in his ears, sharp and relentless: “It stopped being home a long time ago.”

For a fleeting moment, Harry didn’t care. His high still hummed through his veins, numbing the edges of the storm brewing inside him. He scoffed, running a hand through his disheveled hair, muttering to himself, “Good riddance. She always has something to say.” His lips twitched into a sneer, but the bitterness didn’t hold—it faltered, slipping into a frown as his gaze flicked to the door.

The house felt emptier already, the lingering sound of your voice replaced by the oppressive quiet.

He staggered upstairs, his feet dragging with a mix of exhaustion and defiance. Once in the bedroom, he kicked off his shoes, leaving them carelessly in the middle of the floor. The bed was disheveled, one side still made while his side looked like it had been caught in a hurricane. He climbed in, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, throwing himself onto the mattress with a groan.

“She’ll be back,” he muttered to no one, rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket up to his chin. “She always comes back.”

But as the minutes turned into hours, and the haze of his high began to fade, the reality of your absence started to creep in. The silence in the room felt unnatural, as if the walls themselves were mourning. He tossed and turned, his mind replaying the fight in brutal detail.

The venom in your voice. In his voice.

The pain in your eyes.

The way you said “home” like it was something foreign, something lost.

Harry stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding despite the stillness around him. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy with something he refused to name. He’d never heard you speak like that before, with such finality.

When sleep finally came, it was fitful and shallow, and he woke the next morning with a dull ache in his head and an emptiness in his chest.

His hand reached instinctively for your side of the bed, fingers brushing the cool, untouched sheets. His stomach dropped, a sinking realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. The bed was empty.

You were gone.

For the first time, it truly sank in. He sat up slowly, his head cradled in his hands as the events of the night before played out in vivid, painful clarity. The bedroom felt like a void— your clothes were still hanging in the closet, your perfume lingered faintly in the air, but you weren’t there.

Dragging himself out of bed, Harry wandered through the house. In the kitchen, he saw the evidence of your quiet care. The counters were wiped clean, the trash taken out, the sink empty of dishes. It hit him that you’d cleaned up after him, even after the endless nights of the same fight, even after everything.

The guilt clawed at his throat, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on the mundane task of making tea. He reached for the kettle, his movements mechanical, the sound of water filling the pot breaking the heavy silence. The tea was bitter when he took the first sip, but he drank it anyway, needing something to ground him.

He carried the mug to the living room, sinking onto the couch. His heart twisted as he noticed the faint indent on the cushion where you always sat, curled up with a book or your favorite blanket.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the tea as if it might hold the answers. He replayed the fight again, his own words stabbing at him now with brutal clarity: “All you ever fucking do is yell at me… this shit show to come home to.”

He exhaled shakily, gripping the mug tighter as the weight of what he’d said, what he’d done, settled over him like a suffocating blanket.

It wasn’t just a fight. It wasn’t just words.

You were gone, and for the first time in a long time, Harry wasn’t sure if you were ever coming back.

What a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye.

You spent that night, and the following nights for the next three months with your sister. Staying with your dad would be unfathomable. You didn’t want to listen to his harsh criticisms of how he knew Harry had been trouble from the start.

One thing about your father was that he was unaccepting of the idea of who Harry was, but if he kept you happy, then he could settle.

How were you supposed to tell him about the last seven years?

Harry was the loss of your life.

You hadn’t been to church since that night with Harry, but you continued to pray alongside your sister every night. You told your dad, who then told the choir and regular attendees that you had come down with a nasty flu and were swarmed with paperwork to find a new job at a law firm outside of town. Your phone pinged with many congratulatory messages, people who passed their best wishes and ‘get well soon’ messages.

If only they knew.

The dull ache of not being around Harry was quick to pass. It didn’t matter much anymore. You felt as though you were living without him for the longest time, anyways. The photos on your phone were quickly discarded with your sister's help, deleting threads that had dated back to your junior year of high school between you and Harry. The key to that house had been long discarded, tossed into a random field you passed on the way to her house.

You felt clean. It felt refreshing to not smell liquor and to not see the remnants of cocaine on the counters. You felt more alive, not having to waste your energy on cleaning up after a grown man or arguing with one, at that.

Tonight was the first time you’d be going back to the church. You agreed to help your father set up for awana, a youth ministry program that taught children about the Bible. Many families you had grown to know showed up every Wednesday night for the three hours of engaging fun, which you usually led. But, you convinced your father that tonight was just for you to set up and pay respects, not wanting to risk contaminating any children with whatever was left of your flu.

Awana didn’t start until five that night, so you headed in a couple of hours early at three to get whatever you needed done.

The heavy wooden doors of the church creaked softly as you pushed them open, their weight familiar under your palms. The air inside was still, carrying the faint scent of aged wood and candle wax. The silence was almost sacred, broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps against the stone floor as you entered. You hesitated for a moment, calling out, “Dad?”

No reply.

You glanced around, the emptiness of the space making it feel larger than usual. It wasn’t unusual for your father to run late—he had a tendency to take his time, knowing you’d always arrive early to handle preparations.

It’s fine, you thought, letting the stillness settle over you like a comforting cloak. The familiar rhythm of setting up for Awana would help distract your thoughts, keep your hands and mind busy.

You moved through the quiet halls, your fingers brushing against the cool stone walls for balance as you made your way toward the worship room. The double doors loomed ahead, slightly ajar, leaving just a sliver of space to peek inside. You frowned, thinking your father might’ve arrived without you noticing.

“Dad?” you called again, softer this time, your voice barely above a whisper.

No answer.

You approached the doors, your heart skipping a beat with an inexplicable unease. Slowly, you pushed one door open, its hinges groaning in protest. The familiar sight of the worship room unfolded before you: rows of polished pews stretching toward the altar, the high ceilings casting shadows in the dim afternoon light.

But it wasn’t your father inside.

It was Harry.

He was seated in the middle of the room, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he leaned forward, his clasped hands resting on the back of the pew in front of him. His curls, wild and unruly as always, were a stark contrast against the calm, ordered lines of the worship room. He didn’t notice you; his head turned slightly, his gaze wandering aimlessly around the space.

Your breath hitched, shock rooting you to the spot. You’d know those curls anywhere, that familiar slope of his shoulders, the way he sat as if the weight of the world bore down on him.

You felt a cold rush of emotions flood through you—anger, sadness, confusion, and something you couldn’t quite name. You hadn’t seen Harry in months, hadn’t allowed yourself to think of him in anything more than fleeting moments. Yet here he was, in the last place you’d ever expect him to be, looking so out of place and yet so painfully familiar.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared, unable to move. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the raw ache of seeing him again.

The quiet was oppressive, broken only by the soft creak of the door as it settled back into place behind you.

You stayed frozen, unsure whether to leave or step forward, unsure if you even wanted him to know you were there. But as you stood in that doorway, watching Harry sit in silence, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was here, in this room full of pews and memories, looking like he was searching for something he’d lost.

The air in the worship room was heavy with stillness, the faint aroma of wood polish and old hymnals lingering like a quiet echo of devotion. You stood frozen in the shadows near the back, the dim light filtering through stained-glass windows casting fractured patterns on the floor. Harry hadn’t noticed you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to announce your presence.

It was the way he sat— head slightly bowed, hands clasped, his broad shoulders sagging as though he were carrying something unbearable— that rooted you in place. Then he spoke, his voice low and rough, wavering like a fragile thread.

“God…” he began, pausing almost immediately. He let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “If you’re real or out there— sorry, I guess it’s kind of rude to doubt You in Your own house, huh?”

The words came out clumsy, hesitant, as if he wasn’t used to addressing anyone but himself. You couldn’t see his face, but you could hear the vulnerability in his voice, raw and unguarded, each syllable a crack in the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself.

“I don’t even know if I’m doing this right,she was so good at this” he muttered, his tone quieter now, almost as if he were afraid of being overheard. “I’m not… I’m not good at this, clearly. But I just—” He exhaled sharply, his breath shuddering.

“I don’t know if You can hear me. I don’t even know if anyone can hear me anymore.” His voice faltered, and the sound of it broke something inside you, like the crack of a distant thunderstorm.

He was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. Then he spoke again, his words softer, trembling with something you couldn’t quite name.

“I need her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need her back in my life. I know I don’t deserve to ask for anything. I’ve screwed up so many times, made promises I didn’t keep, hurt her in ways I can’t even forgive myself for. But if You could just…” He trailed off, his fingers gripping the edge of the pew in front of him as if it were the only thing grounding him.

“If You could just look into the future or something,” he continued, his tone desperate now, “if You could see how hard I’m trying—how hard I will try—then maybe You could give me another chance. I’ll do anything, God. I swear.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with desperation, and you found yourself holding your breath, your heart aching in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I miss her,” Harry admitted, his voice breaking on the last word. He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his curls. “I miss the way she always left little notes in my lunch when we were younger, even when we were fighting. Just… because she wanted me to smile.”

You could hear him swallow. “I miss how she could never cook pancakes without burning at least one side, and I’d eat the worst ones on purpose just so she didn’t have to, but the way she laughed about it… was sweet. I miss the way she hums when she’s nervous, like she’s trying to calm herself down without even realizing it.”

Each word was a wound, cutting deeper into the fragile space where your heart still clung to the love you once shared.

“I miss loving her with my whole damn heart,” he confessed, his voice cracking. “I miss feeling like I was… like I was worthy of her. And I know I didn’t show it. I know I let her down. But God or Jesus or whoever, if You’re listening, if You’re out there, please, just give me one more chance. I’ll be better. I’ll be someone she can be proud of. I just…”

His words faltered, and he fell silent, his hands trembling where they gripped the pew. The room was so quiet you could hear the faint rustle of his shirt as he moved, the distant hum of the air conditioning, and the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

You felt tears sting your eyes, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. His words echoed in your mind, raw and aching and filled with a regret so palpable it was suffocating.

For a moment, you wanted to step forward, to close the distance between you and the man you’d loved for so long. But you stayed rooted to the spot, hidden in the shadows, your heart breaking all over again as you listened to the man you barely recognized pour his soul out to a God he wasn’t even sure was listening.

That’s when you noticed it. In his clasped hands, dangled your gold cross chain. The exact one he had got for you. 

He kept it this whole time?

You took a shaky breath, slowly stepping forward. Harry glanced back his head back, scurrying up to his feet at the sound of someone else being inside.

“Sorry,” He fumbled with his words, sniffing as he wiped his eyes. “I didn’t realize there was someone he–, Y/N?”

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of his breathing. Your heart pounded in your chest, the ache of seeing him again, of hearing his desperate pleas, gnawing at you with each passing second.

And then, that small detail— the gold cross chain— caught your eye once more. It hung loosely from his fingers, the chain catching the dim light, the delicate cross swaying slightly with the tremor of his hands. .

The thought was almost too much to bear. The small, sacred piece of your past, something that had always symbolized the love you thought you had, now twisted into something that stung with regret and longing. A part of you had wondered if it had just been tossed aside, forgotten, a casualty of the wreckage that was your relationship. But here it was, hanging from his fingers, as if he hadn’t let go of you in the slightest.

Your hands shook, the air feeling thinner as the weight of the moment crashed down on you. Slowly, tentatively, you took a step forward, unable to tear your eyes away from the cross that still belonged to you in some twisted way. The sound of your footsteps on the creaky floor was soft, but in the silence, it seemed to echo, growing louder with each passing second.

The way he said your name, like he wasn’t sure if it was even real anymore, made your stomach twist. The sound of it, laced with disbelief and confusion, made the raw ache inside of you flare up again.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stood three pews away from him, your legs suddenly feeling weak beneath you. You hadn't expected him to turn around and see you. You hadn’t planned on confronting him like this, not after everything that had happened. But here you were, facing him again, and the sight of him— disheveled, eyes red, the same haunted expression you hadn’t seen in months— brought a wave of emotions crashing down on you.

The way his eyes searched yours, almost pleading, as if trying to make sense of why you were standing there, made everything inside you tremble. And yet, despite the desperation in his eyes, you felt a distance, an insurmountable gap between the man he was now and the man you once knew so well.

It felt like there were a million things you wanted to say, but the words refused to come. Instead, you stood there in the quiet, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on you with every breath you took.

Harry swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the chain as if it were the only thing tethering him to some semblance of reality. “Y/N,” he said again, his voice rough, breaking. “I didn’t mean what I said that night. I didn’t mean any of it. Please know that..”

His words, those desperate, pleading words, tore through the silence like a knife, and for a moment, the church around you seemed to close in, suffocating you with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. The hurt, the anger, the love that had been twisted and broken by everything he had done— it all came flooding back, suffocating you in the space between your heart and your mind.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t.

His eyes softened for a moment, searching your face, as if looking for a sign that you were still the person he used to know. But you couldn’t give him that. Not anymore.

“Y/N, I— I just want to fix this. I want you back. I miss you so much. I don’t know how to—” His voice cracked, the rest of the sentence trailing off, and he stood there, helpless, caught between his past actions and the broken pieces of his own regret.

But you couldn’t look at him the way you used to anymore. Not after everything he had put you through, not after everything you had lost.

The silence stretched on, suffocating and thick, and you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just... take it all back, Harry. You can’t just walk in here like nothing ever happened and expect everything to be okay.”

The words were raw, laced with the pain that had been building up for so long. You didn’t know if they were meant for him or for you, but they felt like they were the only thing you could say to make sense of the jumble of emotions inside you.

You wanted to run. You wanted to scream. You wanted to do anything to make the hurt stop.

But you didn’t. You stood there, watching him with a heart full of broken pieces, and waited for him to finally understand the depth of the damage he had caused.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t realize... I didn’t realize what I was doing, what I was saying. I thought I could fix it. Thought I could... I don’t know. But I didn’t— I didn’t fix anything. I made it worse. I got so frustrated that I couldn’t just listen to you, and I took my anger out into something you told me to avoid. I fucked everything up. I was so selfish. I was scared, and I didn’t even know how to handle it, so I just pushed you away instead of fighting for you. Fighting for us.”

His words seemed to pierce the silence, each one a sharp confession, and you felt your heart crack just a little bit more. It was hard to hear him say it out loud, to hear him admit the mistakes that had cost you both so much. But it was also the first time you’d heard him speak so honestly about what he had done.

You took a deep breath, eyes flickering between his face and the cross chain still held in his hands. There was something raw and vulnerable in his gaze, something you hadn’t seen in months. Something that made your chest ache with an old kind of longing.

“You hurt me, Harry,” you said quietly, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them. “I don’t think you understand just how much you hurt me. I wasn’t just angry. I felt... betrayed. Like you never really cared. And I— I didn’t know how to live with that. I didn’t know how to be in a relationship where I wasn’t even sure if you cared, or if you were ever going to care again.”

There was a long pause, the only sound between you two being the faint hum of the church’s old air conditioning system. You could feel his eyes on you, and though you didn’t want to, you forced yourself to meet his gaze.

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?” Harry finally spoke, voice cracking, his eyes bloodshot and swollen from everything he’d gone through, swelling over once more with fresh ones. 

“I was just... I was stuck. And I didn’t know how to fix it. I just wanted to be good enough for you, but I felt like I kept failing. I did keep failing. Not only myself, but you. And every time I tried to stop, I only made it worse by going back.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, emotions threatening to overtake you. “You didn’t have to do it alone, Harry. We could’ve figured it out. I told you that we could do it. I didn’t need you to be perfect. I just needed you to... be there. To care. But you shut me out. You shut me out for so long, and I couldn’t... I couldn’t keep chasing you. That’s why I just gave up, I had to. I couldn’t tread along a path where I wasn’t welcomed in the first place.”

The words hung in the air between you, the realization of how much hurt had built up over time. But as you stood there, facing him, you saw it. The change in his eyes. The recognition of the damage, yes— but also something else. Something more. A flicker of hope. A small, almost imperceptible spark that told you he wasn’t giving up. Not now. Not after everything.

“I know I fucked up,” Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I swear to God, this is the last chance. The very last one, please. I’ll do anything. Anything to make this right. I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight for us. I can’t lose you again. I won’t. I don’t know how to, but I want to learn to live in a world where we’re partners again. I pull my weight just as much as you do yours. I want you to rely on me, not the other way around.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, his words like a weight pressing down on you. You could feel the sincerity in his voice, could see the vulnerability in his eyes. It was the truth. It was raw, painful, but it was the truth.

You took a step forward, your hands trembling as you reached out, your fingers brushing against the chain in his grasp. For a long moment, you just stood there, looking at him, allowing yourself to finally feel the relief of someone who had been waiting for the truth, waiting for him to finally open up, to finally show you that he was willing to try.

And then, in a moment of raw, unspoken need, Harry closed the distance between you. He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, cupping your face gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. Without a word, he kissed you.

It was soft at first, a tentative, almost hesitant touch, as if he was testing the waters, unsure if you’d pull away or if you’d kiss him back. But then, just as quickly, the kiss deepened, becoming desperate, as if both of you had been starved for this moment for far too long. The world around you disappeared. There was no past, no pain, no mistakes. There was only the present— the electricity between you two, the familiar warmth that radiated through your veins, and the overwhelming feeling that, for the first time in a long time, everything felt right again.

His lips were warm against yours, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, his touch frantic and tender all at once. You could feel his heart beating in his chest, the rhythm matching your own. There was no hesitation now, no doubt. Just two people, tangled up in each other, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to something real.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and shaky, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed. “I still love you, Harry,” you whispered, the words slipping out without thought, but they were the truth, and they felt like a weight lifting off your chest.

“I love you too,” he murmured back, his voice rough, but steady. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll make it right. I swear. I promise you, I don’t want to be that person ever again.”

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. You believed that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something new. Something better.

And as you stood there, in the stillness of the church, in each other’s arms, you knew that, despite everything, you had found your way back to each other.

It took a lot of work through the years. Lots of AA meetings, where you helped Harry confide in those around him about his struggles of alcohol and drugs. There were nights where it seemed like time had slowed down when he’d try to go to bed, waking up every two hours with a certain itch to scratch. But you woke up every time with him, holding his hand and turning on a film to watch over a cup of tea, and then you held him close as he fell back asleep.

Four years later, you proudly wore a ring on your finger as you lifted the test from the bathroom counter, showing it to your Harry. A Harry who was finally away from the drugs and the alcohol, even socially refused a drink, whether he had been with you or not. 

“We’re having a baby?” Harry looked down at the test, then back at you with wide eyes fired with excitement. Something that said he was nervous yet excited yet scared yet so ready.

“We are,” you breathed out through shaky tears, a huge smile growing on both of your faces.

That night, he held you extra tight, his hands sprawled on your belly. 

It felt so good to have him back, and that feeling never went away since that night at the church. It felt so good for Harry to keep his promise.

[lvnleah]

https://www.tumblr.com/lvnleah/771226075282997248/anyone-got-any-requests-for-steph-i-really-want?source=share

Of course! Meeting her after she broke up with her boyfriend, when she thought she doesn't want a relationship again, going to parties, until she met yn in one of those parties, (yn maybe can be a cousin from one of her teammates or not) so after they spent the night together, she tried to know who yn is, and the team is like playing detectives, only knowing Yn's name, so it's like going to Instagram, searching for her, and if you write to yn be someone teammates's cousin, that person can be like after an hour, I have a cousin with that name, so when she show her a picture, they laugh about it and of course, Steph started to follow her on Instagram.

new years twist | steph catley.

thank you for this request! :)

Steph didn’t think she wanted to go out that night. A New Year’s Eve party seemed like the last thing she needed, fresh off a breakup that had left her drained. But her teammates had insisted.

“Come on, Steph. You deserve a night to let loose,” Beth had said, practically dragging her out of her flat. “You can’t just sit in your flat, Steph. It’s New Year’s Eve. Start the year fresh.”

Steph had grumbled and muttered something about being too tired, but here she was. She nursed a drink and hovered near her teammates, pretending to be engaged in the conversation while her eyes wandered around the room.

That’s when she saw you.

You were at the bar, leaning casually against the counter, your laughter ringing out above the hum of the room. Your confidence drew her in like a magnet. She didn’t know you, but she wanted to.

“Who’s that?” Steph found herself asking Beth, who was standing beside her.

Beth followed Steph’s gaze. “No idea, but she’s cute. You should talk to her.”

Steph scoffed. “I don’t even know her.”

Beth grinned, nudging Steph’s arm. “Exactly. Go fix that.”

Steph hesitated for a moment before draining the rest of her drink. “Fine,” she muttered, heading toward the bar.

As she approached, you turned to look at her, your eyes meeting hers with an ease that made her stomach flip. “Hi,” Steph said, a little unsure of herself.

“Hi,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Steph laughed, a little surprised at your observation. “You’re not wrong. My friends dragged me out.”

“Well, I’m glad they did. I’m Y/N,” you said.

“Steph,” she replied, shaking your hand. It was warm, and she found herself reluctant to let go. “So how come you’re here?”

“Oh, I'm with my cousin!” You smiled, “Her friends have arrived so she’s gone to see them.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that. She learned that you were visiting from out of town, and staying with family for the holidays. You told her about your job, your interests, your love for sarcastic banter—which you demonstrated by teasing Steph every chance you got. And Steph, to her surprise, loved it.

Hours passed in what felt like minutes. The countdown to midnight crept closer, and Steph didn’t want the night to end. She was caught up in your laughter, in the way your eyes sparkled when you told a story, in the way you leaned closer to her as the night went on.

“Ten seconds!” someone shouted, and the room erupted in cheers, everyone counting down together.

Steph turned to look at you. You were already looking at her, a small, knowing smile on your lips. “So, are we doing this or what?” you asked, your voice teasing but your eyes soft.

Steph didn’t hesitate. When the room shouted, “One! Happy New Year!” she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that stole her breath. The world around her disappeared. It was just you, your hands resting on her waist, your lips moving against hers like you’d done this a hundred times before.

When you finally pulled away, Steph was speechless. You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Happy New Year, Steph.”

She smiled, her heart pounding. “Happy New Year.”

Later, you both found yourselves back at Steph’s apartment. Once inside, the two of you didn’t waste any time. Kisses turned heated, hands exploring everywhere, laughter morphing into gasps and strings of moans. Steph didn’t remember the last time she felt this alive.

When she woke up the next morning, the sun streaming through the curtains, her first instinct was to reach for you. But the other side of the bed was empty. Your scent lingered on the pillow, but you were gone.

Her heart sank. She sat up, running a hand through her hair, replaying the night in her mind. Had she misread things? She shook her head, chastising herself. It was one night. Maybe that’s all it was supposed to be.

Training resumed a few days later, but Steph couldn’t stop thinking about you. She mentioned it casually to Caitlin as they stretched before practice.

“She just… left,” Steph said, frustration creeping into her voice. “I didn’t even get her number.”

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t ask for it?”

“I didn’t think I needed to!” Steph groaned. “I thought we’d at least talk in the morning.”

Caitlin smirked. “Well, what’s her name? Maybe we can find her.”

That caught Beth’s attention. “Wait, wait, wait. We’re finding someone? Who?”

Steph sighed, realizing she’d just made things worse. “Her name’s Y/N. That’s all I’ve got.”

Beth’s eyes lit up. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Give me ten minutes.”

What followed was the most chaotic, ridiculous investigation Steph had ever witnessed. Beth, Caitlin, and a few others scoured Instagram, typing in your name and cross-referencing profiles.

Occasionally, they’d show Steph a photo. “Is this her?” Beth would ask, holding up her phone.

“No,” Steph said for the fifth time, her patience wearing thin.

“Maybe she doesn’t have Instagram,” Caitlin suggested.

“Everyone has Instagram,” Beth countered. “We just haven’t found her yet.”

The commotion attracted Leah. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re trying to find Steph’s mystery girl,” Beth said, grinning.

Leah raised an eyebrow. “Mystery girl?”

Steph sighed. “It’s nothing. Just someone I met at the New Year’s party.”

Leah frowned, then seemed to freeze. “Wait. What’s her name?”

Steph told her, and Leah’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” Steph asked, confused.

Leah started laughing, pulling out her phone. “That’s my cousin’s name and she was with me at that party.”

The entire room erupted into laughter. “No way!” Beth said.

Leah scrolled through her phone and pulled up a photo. “This her?”

Steph’s face turned bright red. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Leah shook her head, still laughing. “I can’t believe this. You kissed my cousin?”

“It was a good kiss,” Steph muttered, which only made everyone laugh harder. “And night…”

Leah took Steph's phone before she handed it back. “Here. Just follow her on Instagram. I’ll text her and let her know to check.”

Steph hesitated for a moment before hitting the follow button. Within minutes, you followed her back, and Steph’s phone buzzed with a message.

“Small world, huh?” you wrote, followed by a winking emoji.

Steph smiled down at her phone, her heart racing. Maybe it had started as one night, but something told her it was just the beginning.

[angelyuji]

LADS yandere headcanons

sorry that some of them weren’t long, i didn’t want to make the post too long :( but hey!!! caleb day!!!! guess who got to welcome caleb home after 200 pulls!!!! (imcryingrealtearsrn) tbf i have almost all of his 5 stars and a couple 4 stars now :) all of my saving up helped thankfully

i didn’t write any nsfw but i have some ideas for the characters…. so lemme know if u want it :)

tw // yandere, kidnapping, violence (physical, emotional, mental abuse), manipulation, fauxcest, implied noncon and more, just general freaky nasty stuff

zayne:

zayneer;speojfso;ias doctorrrr doctorrr i think i sprained my ankleee gimme a full body checkup pleaseee ;)))))

he’s very cold to you, but like its just cuz he loves you so much he doesn’t want to scare you away with his actual feelings (thinkkk tsundere)

soooo overprotective over your health and safety

he wants you to quit being a hunter and stay at home, safe from danger

he’ll eventually convince you too, he’s so manipulative, using your heart condition against you

he wants to take care of you until he dies, a giverrrr in more ways than one *wink wink*

he wouldn’t kidnap you, but will convince you to move in with him (probably by saying smth about how it’ll be easier to keep track of your heart and care for you)

you trust zayne a lot easier than xav, raf, and sy becuz he’s your doctor and also your childhood friend (similar to your relationship with caleb) and he’ll use that to his advantage

now lets talk about doctor zayne’s behavior hehehe

in reality, yes everything about your relationship is against doctor-patient rules and all that but like who gives af yk

doctor zayne is the type to prefer doing your weekly check-ups at home in private

and by weekly check-ups i mean not just a regular physical, but a full body check-up

he’s sooo anxious about your health that even if violates your boundaries, he’ll strap you to the bed and snap some gloves on to feel every part of you

(for your health of course, def not cause he wanted to feel your warm skin without you struggling)

rafayel:

THIS MOTHERFUCKERRRR BRO

hes the clingiest person ever, he quite literally never gives you a moment of peace

constantly calling you, never leaving you alone.

he’s very bright and cheery whenever he sees you

but he’s very cold and mean to people he doesn’t care about, he’s very manipulative in that sense

raf is def, in my eyes, kinda the spoiled brat type

he hates when you say no to him so he pretends like you didn’t

if he asks you out and you tell him you can’t cause you’re busy, he’ll make up some excuse to get you to him

whether it’s calling your work and saying he has an emergency or calling you and guilt tripping you, he’s going to get his way no matter what

rafayel would most definitely kidnap you if he feels like you’re not giving him enough attention

like too many dates canceled, too many friends keeping you busy

he’s OVERRR ITT. you’re his inspiration, his muse, his very reason to live so he wants to keep you as close to him as possible

if that means keeping you chained up in his bedroom… then yeah he’s keeping you chained up babes

he’s very hot and cold with you as well

if he’s happy with you, he’s showering you with affection and love. being a silly goofy goober as they say

but if he’s mad at you, he’s cold to you and cruel

raf can be really fucking mean to you but the moment you retaliate, he’s shocked and like “why would you say that :((((“

raf is similar to xavier that he’s clingy, but raf is more confrontational with you. he will accuse you of cheating and force you onto your knees to show him how sorry you are. (he’ll also go and make sure that whoever it was that was taking your time and attention, never gets to talk to you again)

very much a pathological liarr

as much as he is annoying (i say affectionately), he’s constantly looking for your praise

wants you to compliment him and be comforting him at all times

and he’ll force it out of you if he has to.

xavier:

i feel like xavier is the most yandere of all of them like even in canon (this was written before i caleb’s trailer lmao. he’s 2nd most yandere now lolol)

he’s constantly stalking you. finding out who your friends are, what your daily schedule is, what shampoos and soaps you use

you’ll constantly feel like you’ve seen him at the store, but when you go and look, he’s not there (he’s done that before in game lmao he’s so cute)

xavier to me is also a typical yandere but more self-sacrificing. (i saw a tweet about xav and caleb where someone said they’re both yandere lovers but xavier is selfless and caleb is selfish and that perfectly encapsulates what im thinking)

very sneaky sneaky guy

he would kidnap you but that’s a last resort

he mostly just wants your attention and praise so only if he feels that you’re in danger, he would kidnap you

he’s very sadistic when it comes to people that try to take your attention away from him (will torture/kill a guy if they try anything with you)

he’s a jealous and petty i fear

if he feels like you’re talking to some rando too much, he’s immediately at your side, arm around your waist and glaring at them

my little star my cutie pie it’s hard to not fall for his innocent words/behavior becuz he speaks with such an airy voice and cute face

does unhinged shit with a cute smile and you’re usually blissfully unaware (or at least pretending to be), believing xavier def didn’t kill that guy you always say hello too on the way to work

it only gets worse from there once he realizes you’re letting his crazy slide

sylus:

sylus is very gentle and teasing in game and i feel like that also transfers to his yandere version.

contrary to his looks, sylus is not a violent yandere. because of the nature of his work, he doesn't want for you to be involved or see that violent side of him ever.

he's most def a sugar daddy type, very possessive. he wants to know where you are and who you're with at all times.

but he’s not like scary macho man about it, he’s informed you of how dangerous the N109 zone is so you know that his possessiveness is out of fear for your safety

he has most def put a tracker on all your clothes and electronics

if you are and want to continue being a hunter, sylus will support you

the only reason sylus would try to stop you is if you get mortally wounded, then he’s like “yeah no, kitten. you’re staying here with me where it is safe :)”

i feel like sylus would only kidnap you if the situation is that dire for him

like he’s fighting for his life for your attention and you’re giving nothing. he’s gonna be like “omg kitten, why are you not getting the hit :(“

alsooo he’s such a tease like theres nothing he loves more than constantly teasing you about everything

when he leaves for gang leader stuff, he gives you free reign on his black card as well as the house

he does not gaf if the whole house is pink when he comes back as long as you’re home

loves loves loves dressing you tho like he loves buying you clothes and dressing you up like his personal doll

my cute little sugar daddy

caleb:

i’ll be following the canon story for caleb’s headcanons

you guys grew up together, keeping each other safe and being each other’s best friend

and caleb had been in love with you since the moment you guys met

he def toed the line a lot when you guys were kids: making you promise to marry him and telling you that he’ll never leave you and that he would hurt himself if you left him

which at the time, didn’t worry grandma. I mean, you were all he had and vice versa so its not surprising that you’re both so attached

but as you guys grew up, his obsession with you worsens

he sabotages your relationships, keeps a tracker on you at all times, and have crossed a lot of your boundaries

but then caleb “died” and you lost your best friend.

caleb, i feel, is a very core yandere. like if you search up yandere in the dictionary, his picture shows up

he is obsessed with you to the point that it’s unhealthy for the both of you

some of his lines remind of jumin han’s bad ending 2 (from mystic messenger)

like this mf wants to collar you and keep you in a cage so you could never leave his sight. he wants you to be safe and there with him at all times

he would def kidnap you to do exactly this

he most def stalked you btw after he came back from the “dead”

he watched and stewed in jealousy as you interacted with the other LI’s. (yes i know that all the love interests stories are happening in different universes simultaneously but just for this… for the angst)

he hated when you went on dates when you were young, so seeing you again after so long just made his obsession and his hatred worse

he would try to threaten and kill anyone that stood in his way to have you

(also the ARM???? OKAY WINTER SOLDIER!!!) (im hoping the arm is a permanent feature but i wont get my hopes up)

when you guys were younger, caleb def snuck into your room to steal your clothes or anything that had your smell and he most DEFINITELY still does that

i honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had a full-on shrine for you that kept him going until he could see you again

anyway the lines are kinda blurred on the familial relation, cause in the game, he talks about how although you guys were technically siblings, neither one of you considered each other as siblings

but i’ll leave it here with this, you guys lived together in your formative years so you most definitely experienced and learned (wink wink) a lot with caleb before anyyyyy of the other love interests

[clxja16]

Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: faking dating au!

Warnings: none atm

Word Count: 1.4K

Author's Note: I have not written a part two for this, so idk when or if a part two will ever come out. other than that enjoy ;) <3 I also feel like this really stupid, please give any feedback

----------------------

“Hey, can I speak to you?” Charles questioned from across the room as he made his way towards you through the motorhome, “privately please.” 

“Of course,” you answered, following after Charles, going to his private suite.  After the two of you entered the room, shutting the door on the rest of the world, “what would you like to talk about?”  You smile sweetly as you ask Charles.  

Charles forgets for a moment what he wanted to ask, you smiled and he forgot how to breathe, let alone speak.  “What do you think of her?” Charles asked, still looking at you but, pushing his phone forward.  Showing you a picture of some girl, “her name is Alexandra.” 

“She’s pretty,” you answered, still smiling so sweetly at Charles, “Did she make a move on you?” 

 Charles looks back at the photo on his phone.  “Yeah she did,” Charles spoke hesitantly, cautiously looking back at you.  Looking for any sign of  ire.  

“Are you asking for my permission to go after her?” You question with a small chuckle, Charles was quite cute when he was nervous.   

“I…” Charles sighed, “I just wanted to know what your thoughts were.”  Charles looks at the picture of Alexandra on his phone in front of him.  She was certainly quite beautiful, she was most definitely his type.  Why does he have such an uneasy feeling though? 

“Charles, this is only for the public.  We’re not actually together, if you wanna go date her, then go, do it.  I’m not holding you to this fake relationship.” You said, with a bit of a laugh, trying to mask the tiny bit of heartbreak you were feeling.  Charles was never yours to begin with, there is no reason to pretend he is. 

“Are you sure?” Charles wanted you to stop him.  He wanted you to hold him to this relationship.  He wanted you to disapprove.  He wanted you to tell him no.  But he knew you wouldn’t do that to him.  You’re only going to do what you think makes him happy.  

“Charles, we’re only in this predicament because you don’t have the best track record when picking girls.  So the team picked me for you, that way your fans will actually like your girlfriend.  This is simply because the team wants it. This isn’t real, go ask Alex out.” You say it so casually, Charles loathes the way you push him towards Alexandra.  He wants you to fight, he wants you to be jealous, he wants you to want him.  

“Thank you…” Charles says looking back at the photo displayed on his phone.  He looks at Alexandra, and he thinks maybe it’s time to move on.  “For your permission, thank you,” Charles says grateful, he pulls you into a hug, kissing you on the temple.  

When you finally pull away from his embrace you say, “just don’t make me look like a fool.”  

Charles chuckles at the request, “what do you mean?” 

“Don’t be flaunting Alex all around,” you say, in a very serious tone.  You look at Charles squarely this time, you want him to understand you completely.   “I don’t mean to be cocky or egotistical, but I play a fucking good girlfriend to you for the public.  So don’t be flaunting Alex all around, making me look like the stupid little naive girl that everyone knows is getting cheated on.” 

Charles nods along, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”  He can’t imagine anyone wanting to cheat if they were with you, “I promise I won’t do that to you.” 

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.  Even if the intimate relationship wasn’t real, the respect and the friendship you and Charles have built, is authentic.  

“Why don’t you go out with someone too?” Charles asks, curious as to why in these past six months of faking a relationship you never brought up anyone.  

“Well there is this guy that I have a thing for,” you say honestly. 

“Why don’t we go on a double date, that way fans won’t get suspicious?” 

“No no,” you laugh at the request, “this guy has no feelings for me whatsoever.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“We talked about it before,” you half-lie, you weren’t exactly fully truthful when you ‘talked about it.’ 

“Well, let’s look for someone, for you,” Charles says, completely serious about the notion.  Maybe if you’re with someone too, it would be easier to let you go. 

“No,” you laugh more, you don’t think you’ve ever heard such a ridiculous idea, “no way.” 

Charles laughs at your dismissiveness of the situation, “what about Pierre?” 

“I’m sure Pierre is very serious about Kika,” you say, with a bit of a chuckle at how serious Charles is acting about finding someone to set you up with.  

“Well I’m gonna find you someone, I can assure you,” Charles declares, almost like it was an official notion.  “I have to go down for a briefing, then I'll be back and we can go out to dinner tonight.” 

“Put on a show for the fans tonight?” you question, watching Charles. 

“Of course, my dear,” Charles says overdramatically with a wink, before walking out.  

After Charles leaves, you feel your smile fall.  You want to laugh at yourself for thinking Charles could have wanted you.  The tears start to brim your eyes and you can’t help but thinking you did this to yourself.  You allowed yourself to be in this predicament, so now you must live with it. Just until the season ends, that’s what you tell yourself.  Six more months, give or take.  

-

“Hey,” Carlos said, trying to get his teammates' attention, “why so…” Carlos makes an over exaggerated frowny face at Charles.  

“I don’t know,” Charles said, still replaying his earlier conversation with you.  He tries to find any sign of anything from you.  He dissects every word you utter, he questions every thought spoken, he searches for any inclination that you might’ve lied. 

“Did you speak to y/n about Alex?” 

“I did,” Charles answers, not expounding on his response.  

“She said no?” 

“No,” Charles says with a certain level of surprise, “She said okay.” 

“Great, that’s what you wanted,” Carlos says, “right?  That is what you wanted?”  Carlos has a feeling that this isn’t what Charles wanted, but it’s really not his place to say. 

“It is,” Charles sighs, “but I don’t know something about y/n being so okay with it, it bothers me.” Charles got up and started to pace, while Carlos decided to take a seat, watching his teammate work through this.  “Did you know there’s someone that she's interested in?”

“Y/n?” Carlos questions just to be sure, “don’t tell me that’s bothering you.” 

“No, it’s not,” Charles says, half trying to convince Carlos, the other half trying to convince himself.  “It’s just, y/n said that he’s not interested in her.  I mean how can someone not be interested in y/n, she's crazy smart.  She’s so kind. Did you know at this past Monaco grand prix, she helped collect gifts from the fans to give to me?  She knows how to cook, and not to mention she’s bloody beautiful.” Charles says with a full grin, as he thinks about you.  He can picture you clearly, he has memorized every little detail of your face, down to the way you scrunch your nose when you don’t want to laugh at his horrible jokes.  

Carlos laughs at his blind teammate, “clearly, you’re not really interested in Alex.” 

Charles sighs again, “I thought if I had brought up Alex to y/n, she would give me some type of sign that she was into me, like i’m into her,” he confesses to Carlos.  “I thought maybe, I could get a reaction or something,” Charles shakes his head at himself, he can hear how stupid he sounds without Carlos pointing it out for him.  

Carlos has never wanted to slap someone, as much as he wants to slap Charles.  Carlos runs his hands across his face, “that is the most singularly stupidest idea I have ever heard, and I have heard our race strategies before.  Why didn’t you just outright ask y/n if she liked you?” 

“I didn’t want to be so obvious about it,” Charles shrugs, “Plus it's better this way, she already said she’s interested in someone else.  Not to mention I have tried for the past six months to turn this into a real relationship, this is just me finally moving on.  I deserve to move on don’t I?” 

“Of course you deserve to move on Charles,” Carlos sighs, “but do you even want to move on, or do you think you have to?” 

Charles doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how to respond even if he wanted to.

[satsuha]

i don't know man 6-2 makes me feel a bit crazy because on the surface it's funny that nahyuta is being an asshole to apollo for no reason while also pretending not to recognise him and apollo just accepts it without much of a fuss BUT LIKE

nahyuta's in a situation where he cannot risk getting anyone involved with him lest they become even more leverage that ga'ran can use against him so imagine how he feels when he sees yet another member of his family again but can't even afford to feel happy or relieved at apollo's safety... i think nahyuta correctly concluded that if he showed apollo even the slightest bit of evidence that he was in trouble then apollo would just not be able to leave him alone. he also must have known... that he wouldn't be safe even if he went abroad. like i'd bet anything that the reason he became an international prosecutor at all was to escape khura'in's justice system in any way he could but he quickly finds out that he isn't able to break free of ga'ran's clutches that easily...

and apollo's already years past given up on dhurke coming to see him so seeing nahyuta is like. a slap in the face that he never expected. he can't even blame nahyuta for all the resentment and loneliness he felt throughout the years so he's just stuck in this awkward stalemate where he feels like he should be happy but there's too much there that was unsaid and unresolved and on top of that nahyuta's making no effort to help him on that front so... lmao

and despite that apollo still helps dhurke and everything that entails and before we even start seeing more of the truth of nahyuta's situation in 6-5 we get THIS line:

it kills me. it kills me!!! at this point in time apollo hasn't even seen nahyuta at all since 6-2 and he's still saying something like this. after nahyuta has done nothing but be rude and dismissive to him ~14 years since the last time they met. this is like apollo's equivalent of the "I cannot lose you to the Twilight Realm, too..." line TO ME... god they're so bad at showing that they care about each other that it literally does not show until they get to the verge of death but my god do they care!!

[welcome-to-green-hills]

In light of you getting snow mystery. I think that you should make some headcanons of the boys (and Shadow) enjoying the snow

ASDFGHJKL! I am more than happy to share some Snow Day headcanons with you hon (I grew up in Florida and this is really my first Snow Day up north, so I’m learning how to snow 👉🥹👈):

Maddie would definitely be the type of mom to bundle her boys up in five layers of jackets, snow pants, scarves, and hats to the point that they can’t move. It’s all worth it in the end because she ends the bundle with a kiss on the nose.

As soon as it starts getting cold, Maddie and Tom drag their sons to the malls in Spring Valley to try on different winter clothes to wear. They’re growing boys and their warmies are always too small by the time the weather breaks.

Sonic is a UGG girly. ‘Nuff said.

Knuckles is a novelty sock girly. He needs socs with fluff and cartoon characters on it.

Tails is a fun hat girly. He likes wearing beanies with Chao heads on it or something comical.

The boys go nuts for snow cream. But they ONLY like it if it’s got sprinkles on it. It has to be a specific color or they won’t eat it.

Each of the boys like to make snow Puppers in the forms of their family. Unless Uncle Wade gets involved, then it’s an army that they make and pretend to have a snow fight with snowballs projected to one another.

The first time Shadow experienced snow was a shock to him. He was wrapped in some of the finest jackets that Maria stole from the scientists—along with a scarf that she made him—and took him on a stroll in the mountains. He fell over multiple times due to not understanding how to balance in the snow.

Shadow also tried to sneak a snowball into the bunker to show to a Young Director Walters, but got upset when it melted. Maria replaced it when Shadow wasn’t looking just to see him smile.

Tails documents every type of snow flake in Montana, photographs them, and keeps a journal of all of the shapes that he’s seen. He’s shared all of his photos with the family to enjoy.

Sonic and Knuckles are competitive snow sleds riders. They’ve tried once to build their own sled to go faster than the kids in town, but it accidentally caught on fire. Don’t ask. Just know that the fire was cool and they toasted marshmallows over it.

None of the boys can ice skate to save their lives. Whenever Shadow comes to visit he has to coach the boys on how to glide over ice.

Tom tried once to take his sons ice fishing. They didn’t last ten minutes on the ice.

Maddie crochet each of her sons a pair of mittens to wear. Since Shadow visits, she made him some as well to assure him that they do care about him. Shadow always wears his purple gloves whenever he comes to visit.

It’s become a tradition where the Wachowski family will get breakfast pizza (it HAS to be a pie cut evenly into five slices with specific toppings accordingly) downtown and take it to the farmers market to buy holiday goodies.

On very, very cold nights, Tom builds a fire downstairs and Maddie throws bedding on the floor to build a nest. Pillows and blankets cover the floor for all five of them (maybe six or seven if Wade and/or Shadow come) to bundle in while watching black and white films.

The boys go apeshit for frozen bubbles. It doesn’t matter how old Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are, but they love seeing the bubbles freeze over and leave pretty flakes on it.

If Shadow comes to visit, Sonic likes to wake him up early in the morning to watch the sun rise on the rooftops before everyone wakes up. Neither of them say anything, but they do enjoy a hot chocolate on the rooftop and the sunrise.

[genderqueerdykes]

I don’t feel like a human… but I don’t know what else I’d be either? Any advice? Thanks!! Love ur blog btw <33

i can give some general non/alterhuman questioning advice!

are there any species of animals, aliens, fictional species or characters, machines, objects, plants/flora, vampires, or mythological creatures you've found yourself feeling drawn toward in a way that isn't attraction, but rather feels like a very deep personal connection?

take it slow and examine why it is you don't feel human. maybe you don't like the body you're in. maybe you don't understand how humans think and feel. maybe you feel like you belong in another time, place, or setting. maybe you feel as though you're not from this planet. maybe you feel as though you belong in nature. maybe you feel you've lived another person's life before.

are there any body parts you're specifically dysphoric about having or not having? have you ever felt like you should have a tail, paws, ears, claws, scales, wings, horns, fangs, a muzzle, different eyes, different legs, should be walking on all fours, and so on? have you ever found yourself really wishing you could change certain features of your body that aren't necessarily related to gender?

do you feel any particularly strong connections to nature, space, fictional or mythological settings? if so, why do you feel connected and how does that relate to you?

do you have any animalistic or nonhuman gestures that you find yourself frequently making? perhaps you like to walk on all fours, perhaps you like to bark, meow, growl, hiss, moo, oink, snort, whinny, or make other nonhuman sounds. maybe you like to pretend l like you're wandering around behaving like a nonhuman animal. maybe you eat food in a certain way that reminds you of how an animal or other creature eats.

do you feel as though you have spiritual connections to any other species or fictional individuals but don't know how to explain it? instead of appropriating spirit animals if you are not indigenous, you may be otherkin, therian, nonhuman, or alterhuman instead

do you find yourself gravitating towards videos, books, shows, movies, or other media about a specific type of animal, creature, or person?

do you find yourself collecting items or making art about specific species, creatures, and so on? do you find you have a lot of items or collect a lot of art of a specific animal, creature, or fictional character? do you find that you're instantly drawn to specific nonhuman animals when you're out in the world? do you notice certain animals more than others? do you find yourself wanting to interact with specific animals more than others?

you can also take the time to learn more about animals, nature, fictional settings, space, the ocean, or whatever else it is you'd like to look into for your possible identity! just learning about nonhuman creatures and animals can be very fun, and may expose you to new species and creatures you've never heard of before. sometimes it takes process of elimination before one figures it out

some people suggest meditation in order to figure it out, but this will vary from person to person. not every person benefits from meditation, and not every meditation session is going to help you understand that part of yourself. it can be a very affective tool, but i'm gonna say this one, people's mileage varies wildly. you can also make assumptions about something you've uncovered during a meditation session and make an incorrect call by something that showed up just briefly in your mind while meditating

this is not a comprehensive list by any means, but i hope it helps somewhat! feel free to ask any specific questions you may have about being nonhuman or alterhuman! i'm always happy to talk about this! take care for now, good luck sorting things out!

[distracted-and-diffused]

Appreciation for Joshua Colley and for Monty

The very first time I watched Dead Boy Detectives, I was watching on my tablet. As I got to the middle of Episode 06, it was late at night and I was washing dishes.

I stopped to watch the clearing scene, and as Monty left the clearing I thought "Well, I guess that's it for Monty — do I feel kind of sad about that? I don't know — I feel like with all of the subterfuge, we don't know a ton about him as a character…" and just about then the screen dimmed, because it was past my bedtime. Of course, I wanted to watch the rest of the episode.

Then I got to the scene with Esther, where she quite literally rips Monty apart -- and the screen was so dark, I could barely see anything other than the flames and feathers. I could hear the crow, but I couldn't see him flying away.

Which is why I was standing in the middle of my kitchen, past 10PM on a school night, crying out loud, "But Monty's okay, right?!??"

And that was when I decided that I did, in fact, like Monty.

As I rewatched the show, I noticed so many ways that liking was grounded in how clear it is that Monty's interest in Edwin is genuine and not just an act — I am endlessly fascinated by Monty's choices in carrying out his assignment from Esther, and what he does with the leeway he has suddenly been given. It's so interesting watching him navigate that assignment and his suddenly conflicting feelings.

What a challenge that must be as an actor, to take a character who we are introduced to as a bad guy who is out to gain our heroes' trust, and then make the audience quickly understand, "oh, yeah, this character's supposed to pretend that he likes him, but he actually likes him." I never saw Monty as a particularly good liar, in contradiction to what Edwin says in Episode 08, but I did think he was very good at selectively telling the truth — about his feelings for Edwin, and about his freedom.

So I'm very thankful to Joshua Colley for bringing Monty to life, and I hope that he has had a happy birthday today (January 20th)!

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

Hey I just recently came across your account and I just adore your stories. I especially loved the one about the sonic x single parent reader, which is part of an idea I had for an ask.

It would be after that and maybe they’re out and about when they encounter Shadow. I was thinking maybe the child would just be in awe of him and how he looked so cool. Shadow wouldn’t think much of it, but I can see him seeing how much it bothered Sonic and would just be so smug about it and just keep showing off to the kid just to get a rise out of Sonic.

As far as if there’s any interaction between Shadow and the reader I’ll leave up to you.

Anyway, hope you’re doing well and I can’t wait to see what else you write up! Thank you for all you’ve written and keep up the good work! 👍

“I’m Always Happy to Help, but Why Him?!”

(A continuation to “Always Happy To Help!”)

Pairing(s): Sonic the Hedgehog x Parent Reader, background Knuxadow (Knuckles x Shadow), Shadow the Hedgehog & [Child’s Name] (platonic)

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: Having Shadow as your friend was always nice. But not when a certain blue-quilled partner got jealous.

Notes: I love me some smug Shadow so this’ll be fun! Hope you enjoy! And thanks for the positive comments! ^^

(Like last time, Reader and [Child’s Name] will be gender-neutral!)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

It had been about a week since you had told Sonic about [Child’s Name]. But you hadn’t introduced them to anyone else. So you had planned to meet up with Shadow, and of course, Sonic wanted to come along, presumably to race with him if the time came.

Typical Sonic.

The four of you decided to meet up at Rose’s Bakery, where Amy got the four of you a table in the back, giving [Child’s Name] a coloring book and a cupcake.

“So…this is your kid?” Shadow asks.

“Yep! I figured, after Sonic, you should be the next to know since you’re one of my best friends,” you tell him. Shadow lets out a nod before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Baba! Lookie, lookie!” [Child’s Name] says, getting your attention. They hold up a drawing, it being a picture of you, Sonic, Amy, them, and Shadow. You let off a smile, ruffling their fur.

“Good job, baby,” you tell them. “I’ll put it on the fridge when we get home.”

“Yaaay!” [Child’s Name] cheers.

Shadow seems to let off a soft smile as well seeing himself in the picture.

“Is that Shadow the Hedgehog smiling I see?” Sonic asks, causing Shadow’s smile to go away, replaced with a scowl.

“Good going, Sonic, you ruined it,” you say with a joking grumble.

“Yeah, good job, Dada!” [Child’s Name] copies.

“Aw come on! I was just teasing!” Sonic says with a slight pout.

You let out a giggle before kissing Sonic on the nose, causing [Child’s Name] to pretend gag and causing Shadow to roll his eyes.

“So, how has Knuckles been treating you?” you ask Shadow.

Shadow’s face slightly turns green but he smiles fondly.

“He’s been treating me well,” Shadow states. “He’s been showing me around Angel Island. It’s…It’s been amazing.”

You return his smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that,” you tell him. “You deserve it after everything you two have been through.”

[Child’s Name] looks over at their untouched cupcake.

“Baba, ‘m not hungy,” [Child’s Name] says.

“Oh, that’s alright! We can save it for later,” you tell them.

Before you can grab the cupcake, [Child’s Name] takes it and pushes it towards Shadow.

“For uncle,” [Child’s Name] says.

Both Sonic and Shadow look surprised, but Shadow takes the cupcake with a small smile.

“Thank you, little one,” Shadow says.

“Aw man! What about Papa Sonic??” Sonic asks.

[Child’s Name] sticks out their tongue at Sonic, causing you to burst out laughing as Sonic sputters in disbelief and Shadow smirks.

This was going to be an interesting turn in their rivalry.

[thursdayinspace]

Apparently writing smut during lunch breaks relaxes me. Interesting. Anyway. Let's pretend it's Christmas, Scully is visiting her family? And Mulder has been invited to come along but said no? And then he changes his mind?

He was invited for family Christmas but she knows he didn’t believe he was really wanted, and he’s still afraid of her brother. So it’s a surprise when the doorbell rings and she goes to open the door and sees him standing there.

“I missed you,” he says, and she jumps into his arms and kisses him and she doesn’t care who sees them.

She shows him up to their room and even though everyone is waiting downstairs, they end up making out on the bed. She’s just so glad he’s here with her. And he smells so good and he’s so solid underneath her as she stretches out on top of him. Even though it’s only been two days since they last saw each other, she missed him so much it hurt.

When his hands slide down her back and grab her ass, she rolls her hips against him and it feels so good she gasps into their kiss and does it again. She wants him so much she can’t stand it. They’re gonna have to go to bed early tonight. She’s already so wet for him. And the thought of him inside her, fucking her slowly while she tries to hold back her moans… it’s almost enough to push her over the edge right now.

God she’s so turned on she can’t stop. The pressure against her clit as she rocks her hips forward feels too good, and it doesn’t help that she can feel how hard he is for her. She needs to stop right now, but she doesn’t know how. She’s trembling with the effort to hold back.

He squeezes her ass and encourages her movements and she drops her head into the crook of his neck and breathes shakily against his skin. She’s so close, it would be so easy to give in and let herself come.

“Scully,” he whispers into her ear, his breath hot. “Come on. Let go.”

“I can’t,” she pants. “We shouldn’t.”

“For me,” he says, and she can’t deny him anything.

She grinds her hips down, rolls against him again and again, her inner muscles hungrily clenching around nothing. She feels hot all over. Her orgasm washes over her in spikes of pleasure so intense she has to muffle a cry against his shoulder as she rides it out.

She feels better than she has in days as her body starts to relax and she melts into him. He puts his arms around her and holds her close and she wishes they could just stay like this forever.

“What about you?” she asks.

“I’ll be okay.”

He’s still hard, she can feel it. “You can’t go downstairs like this.”

That draws a laugh out of him. “Just give me a minute.”

“I’ll give you something better,” she says, and slides down his body to pop open his jeans and pull him free.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, and then loses the powers of speech as she takes him into her mouth.

It doesn’t take long before he comes in hot spurts down her throat, barely making a sound. Having to keep quiet is its own kind of thrill, she decides.

They allow themselves another minute to simply drift in each other’s arms. Hopefully nobody will have missed them yet, but right now she honestly doesn’t care. She’s too happy to care.

[theshipdiaries]

I can't go through losing another ship. I just can't. All I do is lose and honestly? It hurts me like someone I personally knew and loved died. I don't know why it hurts me this deeply. But it's crazy. I cried more when Klaus Mikaelson died than when my grandfather who I loved deeply died. To be fair he was 96 he WANTED TO DIE and literally stopped eating on purpose so he would die because he was bored out of his mind and all his friends had died and felt like he had no purpose anymore. It's not like you can have long term goals at his age. So we all saw it coming and I knew he wanted it and was happy so It brought me comfort.

BUT KLAUS MIKAELSON'S DEATH? Totally unexpected, felt like a huge betrayal. And it just sent me into a deep spiral and I'm still mourning him. Cried for 3 days locked in my room. Every once in a while I still cry. It's been 6 years AND I HATE IT. Because it's so stupid. HE IS NOT REAL. Just ink on a script and fake everything. And yet it hurts. It hurts so much. Losing Klaroline was like losing a part of myself. Something I had loved for so long, something I had invested so much time in, been obsessed with for so long.

And then sometimes karamel makes me cry. They were the representation of true love for me. True soft good love. What everyone deserves. And I cry at their loss. And the injustice of Kara ending up alone and sad. The message that if you are a woman you have to choose to either be strong and independent or be in love. And it was made explicitly clear that Kara wanted to get married and have a family. SHE LONGED FOR IT. But they didn't let her. They punished her for it. The same writers who forced the character to want it. But all the other male superheroes? They were applauded for it.

Most other ships don't make me cry but anger me deeply. Like bellarke and barchie and Hyde and Jackie. REYLO.

And now? I'm terrified for Kastle. I can't lose them too. I thought I was safe. The show was cancelled and there was never a resolution but it ended in both literally confessing their love. Karen begging him to choose her and telling him there is nothing he could do to change her feelings for him. That she would risk it all and run away with him. Him confessing that he doesn't want to feel this. He is not ready to feel this. Who is he without his war? He doesn't know. But he knows he loves her. She means everything to him. I was fine with that ending. Even with him REJECTING HER. Because it was made obvious that he loved her. But his arc wasn't over. He needed more time. And the writers had respect for the ship. Understood it.

But now? I have no idea what they might do. They might pretend they were never anything to each other. They might kill her off. They might betray all of us and destroy the characters completely. Just like with bellarke just like with Hyde and Jackie. Ignore everything stablished and stab us fans in the back. Treat us like we are stupid and undeserving of respect.

I CANT GO THROUGH THAT PAIN AGAIN. I know what it's like and it destroys something in me EACH TIME. Again, it's like someone I loved very deeply died. I don't know why. But it hurts. And I just don't know if I have it in me. I'm so scared. Terrified. More than for my future or for anything.

[nerdishpursuits]

I find it heartwarming they keep reinforcing how well-established Marta and Fina are as a couple.

They are light-years ahead from any other pairing on the show, every interaction proof of their unassailable love and searing chemistry.

The way they communicate, understand and support each other, the undeniable spark in their eyes whenever they’re together, how they constantly ache to touch and feel each other. The way they talk things through and make joint decisions. Every single detail is a thing of beauty and contributes to their relationship feeling so natural and heartwarming: every impassioned word, every longing glance, every tender touch. It feels so intimate one almost senses they are intruding.

It’s clearer than ever that Marta wouldn’t happily enter a marriage of convenience. Her confession to Fina that she has no desire to repeat the situation with Jaime? Feeling trapped again, having to constantly pretend? Emphasising she would never willfully enter such a union, as it would make her utterly and profoundly miserable? Heartbreaking and revelatory. Much like Fina’s own, pained admission that a world in which Pelayo’s outlandish proposal makes sense is a sad world to live in.

Prophetic conversation aside, how delightful were their scenes together? The profound satisfaction of being able to sleep in each other’s arms, the delight of having the freedom to bask in each other’s warmth and affection, the flirtatious banter that ignites their smoldering desire.

And most of all? Knowing Marta doesn’t want to be tied down to anyone unless it’s Fina herself. Be still my heart. Oh, how they're going to suffer.

They try to fence the world out but it keeps creeping in. It’s depressing that the word of an abuser like Santiago carries more weight than that of a respectable woman like Marta. Why the priest would ever give credence to any of those rumors is stupefying. As is the fact that prison gossip is suddenly making the rounds of the town and the colony. Then again, misogyny is the order of the day and the church very much champions obedient women, not trail-blazers like Marta. As a consequence, it will meddle where it’s not welcome, doing its best to clip her wings.

All that aside, I’m naively curious if they’ll end up dedicating screen time to the mini vacation Marta and Fina want to take together. Considering things are about to take a turn for the worst? Some happiness, before misery makes itself at home, would be most welcome (as always, not holding my breath on this one as much as I’d love to see them gaze at the ocean together)

Extra points if they reenact the scenario they were toying with: we’d have to purchase separate train tickets and run into each other by happenstance … it’d be like a spy movie, only this one would have a happy ending - and you’d be my Greta Garbo

Swoonworthy much, Mafin?

Lastly. I like the fact they’re reaffirming Marta’s awareness and acceptance of her sexuality, time and again. By emphasising her outright rejection of another marriage to a man, even a gay one, it’s clearer than ever that Marta de la Reina knows who she is and whom she loves. There’s no doubt about it. It’s why the very thought of being tied to a man, yet again, is so viscerally uncomfortable and entirely unfathomable. To quote one Taylor Slow: Marta’s seen this movie before and she didn’t like the ending.

Therefore, it must be downright agonizing to realize she’s being slowly pushed into another cage. And how devastating for Fina as well: she’s so desperate to protect Marta that she’s willing to entertain the idea of the woman she loves marrying someone else. Even if it’s solely out of convenience, it must be excruciating to even contemplate. Never mind urging Marta to go through with it? New level of torment unlocked.

Now on to see how this entire Pelayo business unfolds and what fresh hell and pretty rainbows they have in store for us.

We’ll have to let the chips fall where they may. Buckle up, muffincup. Curves aplenty lie ahead.

P.s. Carpena took his sweet time but, at long last, made it onto the shit list, joining Carmen who’s been enjoying quite the extended stay (she will, most likely, refuse the one month business trip - I have the niggling suspicion Fina will end up going instead)

P.s. 1 Claudia is a frickin’ ray of of sunshine: too good for this world, too pure

P.s. 2 I’d like to see more of the Marta and Luz friendship. It feels like they haven’t seen each other since Jaime’s passing. But I guess Luz’s assignment is mainly as Begoña’s friend and confidant. So they’re saving Pelayo for Marta: Miss MarPel, the spinsters mini series.

[typicalopposite]

Please give an update on Hopes & Fears. Amazing writing 👏

Here you go fren! 🫶🫶🫶

“So you liked the movie?” Tommy asks, because he could continue to argue about whether he should have been kicked from bed or not, but Evan is still rubbing circles into his exposed belly and it feels nice… so he changes the subject instead. 

“I did!” Evan exclaims, and he seems genuinely serious about it. “I, uh— I actually watched it twice,” he adds, dipping his head and smiling bashfully. 

“Twice?!”

“A- And not to mention what I saw with you before I restarted it…” he continues, and Tommy furrows his brows confused. “Oh… after you fell asleep I started it over so I could give it my full attention… I— I’m really glad because I was missing vital scenes like you said— which… you were half asleep so you probably don’t remember saying that— but I didn’t want to miss anything so—” 

“You restarted it…” Tommy wishes he had better control over the awe in his voice… or the tears in his damned tear ducts… because he’d love to not become overly emotional about this. 

Evan smiles softly, and nods. “I— I figured we could talk about it once you were up… but you slept in, and— and then this little gymnast woke up—” he laughs and rubs at the spot on Tommy’s belly where the baby seems to be trying to escape. “So I just started talking to them about it, while we waited for you to wake up and join us…” The baby rolls and kicks, as if agreeing. “They really seem to enjoy my impersonation of Vicinni’s—” 

He leans in close to the bump and gives a very accurate inconceivable and the baby kicks back towards his face. Tommy can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him at Evan quoting the famous line, causing the baby to move even more as his belly is jostled around from the laughter. It all makes Evan laugh too, spreading his hand out wide over Tommy’s belly— over their child— and then he suddenly leans in and presses his lips to the bump. 

They both freeze, and the laughter stops. 

“I— I am so sorry…” Evan gasps, pushing away from Tommy. “I can’t believe I just did that.” He starts to move across the bed and Tommy grabs his hand—

“Wait…” he says. “It— it’s fine; really…” Evan looks ready to protest, but Tommy stops him. “This is your child, Evan… you are allowed to show affection to them, I— I don’t mind.” 

“Are you sure?” Evan asks, already moving back towards Tommy. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” 

“I won’t,” Tommy quickly assures him… And he won’t… in all honesty. It makes him happy that he is able to give this to Evan, and that Evan is happy and wants to bond with their child; if Tommy gets to pretend the moments of affection extend to him as well in the process… that’s his own heartache to deal with after the baby is born. 

So, Evan gently shifts himself back to lying beside Tommy’s belly, he brings his hand back up to rest against it, and presses another kiss right where the baby is pushing a knee out. “I love you,” he says softly, and receives an equally soft kick in return. “We both do…” he gives a quick glance up to Tommy, and smiles.

Tommy feels like a boulder is lodged in his throat. He wonders if the baby knows he loves them as well… it’s not like he has ever said it before… Why has he never said it before?

Memories of a young Tommy telling his dad he loved him to only get a grunt or mean remark in return— or just to be ignored completely— overthrow the sweetness of Evan continuing to tell their child how much they both care… 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Evan asks, and Tommy desperately tries to blink back tears. 

“Uh, yeah… Yeah— I’m just… hungry. Are you hungry?” He is (finally) pushing himself up from the bed— away from Evan… He just— He needs to get away from Evan before he starts sobbing like an idiot and looks like he actually doesn’t like the attention the baby is being given. “I’m gonna go make us some breakfast.” 

Thankfully Evan’s stomach uses the moment to growl loudly… thankfully he doesn’t insist on trying to hobble into the kitchen to help Tommy make the breakfast…

Thankfully Tommy is able to get all the emotions out before he returns with the food.

[pastlivesxpastlie]

nyehehehe what if vessie ate the reader out but it was their first time ever and he's obviously very good at it i mean just look at that man and his mouth and uhm yes it's all very soft and sweet because we need comfort in these Tough Times™

....sorry i just can't stop thinking about this man's beautiful lips they're do distracting

🎀🥹 oh god

Smut ahead

Like…unnnfff ok, I got this. Just imagine making out on the couch with NewBoyfriend!Vessel who can’t help his hands drifting down your waist and he’s all “sorry, sorry, can’t help myself,” but you want him to touch you wherever he wants. You’re kissing his neck (side note, I have a visceral obsession with that man’s neck. This should be discussed further) and he moans out asking if can play with you. AAAHhH of course he caaaannnn. His hand wriggles below your waistband and he starts panting and moaning against your mouth as he feels your swollen little clit against his calloused fingertips.

Now, listen, sound off if you agree, but for me there are few things sexier than trusting the person you’re having sex with enough to just sit back and let them do what they want. Not like free use, but just pulling back a little to be a bit more passive and see what they do when you’re not moving their hands or asking for something. That being said, yes it’s your first time with Vessel but you two are so down bad for each other than you feel comfortable letting things progress at his pace. You’d tell him otherwise. Anyways. He slides down to his knees, lips hanging off yours, and hands pulling off your pants. He gently spreads your legs with your ankles in his grip.

“Absolutely perfect,” he breathes out.

I think I might be misunderstanding when you say “very first time.” Their first time together or reader’s first time getting eaten out? I’m pretending it’s both. You can’t stop giggling as his kisses get closer to your heat. He chuckles and growls playfully before pressing some gentle kisses against your pussy. That makes him growl and moan more…hmmm happy boy. He’s so slow and sweet, making sure you experience everything he has to give you so you can learn what you like. He tries flicking your clit with his tongue…gently fucking you with it…sucking your clit. You love it all. You gently tug at his hair, and you’re certainly too shy to hold his face down.

“You wanna cum for me, love?”

“I don’t know how to like this, Ves…I’m sor—“

“Shh no no. Show me how you get yourself off…I’ll help you.”

AAHHHHH