#and realized it after at least a month after the fact too

[bats-and-the-birds]

The Batkids on being mistaken as Bruce's biological children.

Look, the Batkids have all been forced into various social gatherings, and enough of them share vague features with Bruce that some of the older members among Gotham's old money, or the younger ones that are out of the loop, sometimes mix up the facts.

Dick gets it from the very beginning. Old women pinch his cheeks, still tan from a life outside of Gotham's gloom, and tell him, Such a sweet little boy, and just like your father at your age. His hair used to stick up just like yours. Dick didn't like it at all. He bit the first person that told him he had Bruce's eyes, and stomped on the foot of an old politician that told him, With your father's height, I thought you'd be taller by now.

He laughs it off as an adult, but sometimes, it still eats at him. People still tell him that they thought he'd eventually be as tall as Bruce, or that he should be thankful for his inherited jaw line. It's not the comparison to Bruce that bothers him anymore, or even being mistaken as his son, but rather, the fact that he sometimes struggles to remember exactly where his features actually came from; parental faces turning fuzzy in his distant memory.

Jason thinks it's funny, the first time it happens. Mostly because it's his nose of all things. Your nose is bent, grumbled the old man sitting across from him at the gala, Just like your father's. Tough luck on the genetics. The man didn't realize the bent noses were because they'd both been broken in the past. Jason spent days after studying Bruce's face, trying to figure out if their noses really bent in the same way, and eventually came to the conclusion that, yeah, they really did. From that point on, each time either of them broke their nose, Jason would distantly think, Ah, damn, there goes the family resemblance.

As an adult, Jason takes care to make sure people don't often seen his face. The hood does a pretty good job of that. Besides, he doesn't move in circles where the mistake could be made anymore. Still, sometimes he looks in the mirror at the bump in his nose and thinks, Family resemblance. Yeah, right.

It happens less with Tim. Anyone that made the mistake with Jason and Dick also remembered Jack and Janet Drake. It's not until he's almost an adult that a new hire at Wayne Industries, some kid from out of town, sees him and Bruce in the office together and remarks, Oh, you two furrow your eyebrows in the same way when you think. My mom says that my dad and I do that too. We inherited it from my grandpa. Tim feels unsettled all day and makes a conscious effort to not to furrow his eyebrows anymore.

There's no mistake to make with Damian. At least, not the same one that can be made with the others. He's the blood son, and he's a perfect mix between Bruce and Talia. Of course, there's the well-meaning, if confused, adults that assume he's adopted like the others. He corrects them, swiftly, and sometimes aggressively.

There is one incident. It happens while Bruce is gone, after he's been staying with Grayson for a few months. He knew, of course, that people thought that Grayson looked like Bruce. He could even see the similarities. Superficially, of course. However, he never considered that Grayson looking like his father also meant that Grayson looked like him. Not until an old woman leaned over to him at a gala and said, You look just like your father when Mister Wayne first brought him out to these things. The hair, that disgruntled little frown. He hated these parties too. Couldn't ever sit still. Gosh, I really can't believe it's been long enough that he has a child of his own. It took Damian a while to realize what happened, and even then, he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he wasn't actually Grayson's son, or that he and Grayson weren't actually that far apart in age. He felt strangely guilty the rest of the night, and he never dared to tell Grayson about it.

It happened to Steph exactly once. Really, she doesn't look like Bruce at all. It was a man with exceptionally thick glasses, who actually told her that she reminded him of Martha Wayne. She's pretty sure he was just trying to be nice. She tries to forget about it. She never tells Bruce.

You have his eyes, is what Duke gets. Which confuses him, because, uh, no, he doesn't. Not even close like Dick's. He says as much to the woman that said it to him, and she squints her eyes at him and responds, No, you definitely do. Not in the shape or the color, but you look at things the same way he does. Duke thinks about that sometimes, and he swings back and forth between being annoyed and weirdly proud that he apparently looked at the world like Batman did.

People tell Cass that she has his smile. She beams with pride at that. After all, she learned it from him. She studied, closely, the way his mouth ticked up at the corners, both while he stretched the dazzling, fake smile across his face for the public, and the genuine, gentle smiles that he gave her while he helped tie her hair back or slip on her mask, and now she could replicate them both perfectly. She didn't like the fake one, but she knew it was necessary.

[lau219]

Intuition

Part 2

Previous part here

*No disrespect is meant toward anyone with a PhD. The way it’s discussed in this chapter is just a point of view of the characters.*

…………………………………………………………………………….

Forty-five minutes later, and Tom had concluded the little tour of the lab he’d given Y/N, getting her familiar with the layout of the place and the general organization of where all the equipment was kept.

She’d remained pretty quiet, letting Tom talk as he showed her around, and she’d smiled to herself multiple times when it was obvious he was slightly nervous. Not in a shy way, but just in that it was clear he wasn’t used to having anyone to work with other than Margaret.

With every stop they made around the room, he kept realizing there were additional things he forgot to mention, and so Tom would stutter an apology of interjection for himself to Y/N as he remembered something and then backtracked to show it to her. She’d never heard someone interrupt themselves so many times before in her life.

“Oh, uh, and this…”, “Sorry, uh, I forgot, there’s also…”, “Oh, yeah, uh, and then…”

It was so cute, and while she was nervous herself, Y/N just kept thinking how amusing it was that this poor man wouldn’t ever win any contests for being smooth or suave, despite the fact that he’d definitely win in the looks category. But this was the most she’d ever heard him talk, and the most enthusiastic she’d ever seen him get about something, and it was surprising yet nice to see him like this. Every time he showed her something, Y/N nodded quietly and smiled, softly asking the occasional question and carefully following where he led her.

When they’d eventually made it back to the table Tom had been sitting at when Y/N had first arrived, he stopped next to it and met her eyes once more. They’d met eyes multiple times as he’d shown her around, and despite how moronic he knew he’d probably sounded (since when did he become so forgetful or unable to say a single sentence without inserting “uh” a million times?), she’d smiled at him sweetly each time, just as she was doing right now. It was obvious she was nervous, too, clearly feeling timid and staying pretty quiet, trying not to talk too much and stepping carefully through the room, but she was still somehow emanating her warm charm and listening to Tom with interest.

“That’s pretty much it,” Tom concluded as he laid a hand along the back of the chair at the table. “We just, uh, ya’ know, grab whatever stuff we think we’re gonna need for any given, uh…situation, and then take it from there.”

Nodding, Y/N replied.

“How often do you and Dr. Matheson go out to look into these…situations?” she asked, smiling as she used the term he’d used, since she had no idea how else to label what they did.

Tom gave a small exhale of a laugh and another half smile as he answered, giving a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“It just depends on how many people reach out to Margaret at any given time, but we’re usually always working on at least one case. But with her most recent interview on TV last month, we’ve gotten a big surge of requests, with people asking that we come and investigate either something or someone.”

There were certainly more questions Y/N had about Dr. Matheson and her work that she wanted to ask Tom, but she knew that right now wasn’t the time. She had a lot of questions for Tom about his own involvement in all this as well, but seeing as this was the first time he’d ever even spoken to her, Y/N wasn’t going to push it. Instead, after nodding again, Y/N’s eyes drifted over Tom’s shoulder to the table behind him, and she nodded her head towards the remaining stuff he’d left out before he’d begun showing her around.

“What were you working on over there earlier?” she asked, her eyes traveling back from the table to Tom. “Those track spools look like they’re from one of those huge tape recorder things.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tom replied, raising his brows momentarily as he quickly looked over his shoulder at the table and then back to Y/N. “They are. I took them off the machine to make some adjustments to it.”

“Can I see?” Y/N asked cautiously, her brows raising in shy curiosity.

“What?” Tom replied. “You mean the machine?”

“Yeah,” Y/N blushed. “I mean, sorry, you don’t have to show me. I was just curious.”

Again, Tom quickly reacted, as he didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t willing to show her.

“No, no,” he replied. “It’s fine.”

He really needed to stop being such an idiot, he thought to himself.

Turning, he reached for the piece of the machine he’d removed to work on. Grabbing it, he turned back around toward Y/N and held it out as he spoke.

“This is the part of the machine that’s supposed to pick up sound waves that are undetectable to human ears. But we’re looking to make it even more sensitive, and so I’m adding a small amplifier to it.”

“Wow, that’s so cool,” Y/N said as she reached out and took the piece Tom was offering her. Carefully, she turned it over in her hand, and then laughed to herself as she saw all the little microchips and wires on it.

Tom nearly smiled and raised his own brows in question as Y/N looked up at met his eyes.

“I don’t know how anyone even understands how this kind of thing works, let alone is knowledgeable enough to make adjustments to it,” she gave another little self-deprecating laugh. “I can’t even figure out the right cords to plug into which ports between my TV and my DVD player.”

At that, Tom fully smiled and released a laugh himself, and it only had Y/N smiling even bigger. So this man was capable of laughing? She never thought she’d see the day.

“It’s really not that complicated,” Tom said, still smiling.

“Oh sure, that’s easy for you to say,” Y/N lightly joked. “But didn’t Dr. Matheson say on the first day that one of your degrees is in computer engineering?”

Surprised that Y/N had remembered that fact about him, Tom replied with another half-smile.

“Most physicists have two degrees,” he reasoned with a shrug of his shoulders.

Smiling again, Y/N began to shake her head, but then realization clearly dawned on her as her eyes suddenly widened and then just as quickly, she furrowed her brow in questioning.

“Wait, you’re a physicist? Dr. Matheson never mentioned that. So you must…” she held Tom’s eyes. “So you have a PhD then, don’t you?”

Tom had an almost guilty expression on his face as he replied.

“Uhh…yeah.”

Y/N shook her head again.

“Why haven’t you ever mentioned that in class? And why don’t you have people call you ‘doctor’? Even Dr. Matheson refers to you as ‘Mr. Buckley.’ Why?”

Even though Y/N was looking at him in awe and not judgement, Tom still suddenly felt guilty.

“It’s just…it’s really not a big deal,” he replied with another shake of his head and shrug of his shoulders. “I never really felt like the degree warranted that title for me. I just know physics, ya’ know? But the ‘doctor’ title isn’t really anything that matters.”

After hearing Tom’s explanation, Y/N smiled a smile of awed disbelief and scoffed, shaking her head.

“You’re too modest,” she said. “Most anyone with any kind of degree that earned them the title of ‘doctor’ would be milking that for all it’s worth.”

Releasing another laugh, Tom shrugged his shoulders yet again, and he took the machine piece back from Y/N that she had held back out to him.

“It’s just not a big deal, ya’ know?” he repeated.

Y/N shook her head again.

“Well, I hope I’ll still be helpful to you and Dr. Matheson without any knowledge on this kind of thing,” she said as she gestured to the machine piece.

Tom smiled again.

“Don’t worry, there’s a lot of stuff we do that doesn’t involve any of this,” he held up the piece.

“Ok, good,” Y/N grinned, “because, like I said, I can’t even get my DVD player to work.”

“Did you try just turning it off and on again?” Tom joked, surprising himself. Where had that come from?

Y/N giggled at his joke, very pleasantly surprised to see that he perhaps had a personality after all.

Enjoying the sound of her laugh, Tom just looked at her for a moment, her pretty smile incredibly distracting. Y/N was looking back at him, admiring those eyes of his briefly before they each realized what they were doing and things suddenly became awkward.

As Y/N blushed, Tom shifted and cleared his throat, but they were both saved from anymore nervous awkwardness when Tom’s phone suddenly dinged again.

“Uh…” turning to retrieve his phone off the table, Tom quickly looked to read the newest text Margaret had sent him, and after reading it, he looked at Y/N once more.

“Margaret’s wondering if you can come by again on Thursday at the same time,” he said. “Then she’ll fill us in on what she has lined up for the next case.”

“Oh, um, I think that should be fine, let me just check…”

Pulling her bag from her back to over her shoulder, Y/N opened it and pulled out her calendar, quickly glancing at it.

“Yeah, that should be just fine,” she nodded, looking back up at Tom. “Should I just meet you here again?”

“Yeah,” Tom replied. “Margaret will be coming from across campus, so she may be a few minutes late, but I’ll be here.”

“Ok, great,” Y/N replied. Then she shifted her bag over her shoulder again before continuing. “Well, thanks for showing me around today. It was really interesting.”

Tom nodded and gave her that half smile.

“Of course, no problem.”

“Ok, well...I guess I’ll see you on Thursday then?”

Tom nodded.

“I’ll be here,” he confirmed.

They looked at each other once more, and Y/N spoke a final time on her way out of the lab.

“See you then…doctor,” she gently teased. And when Tom heard her, his smile was suddenly as wide as her own, which Y/N caught a glimpse of just before she fully turned around and then walked out of sight.

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @allie131313 @empatheticlove @febris-amatoria

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@sasha28x @bleakmidwinter00

[delilaha]

Based off a prompt I found on here!

The dissociation part is based off of Pony in the musical after their deaths. I saw it back in April and it was so amazing!! My biggest life flex is that I sat in the second row right in front of the fountain/tire and I don't remember was song it was, but Brody stared at me straight in the eyes for AT LEAST 5 seconds while singing and he was like nodding along like he was telling me personally and I think about it every day (I realized I never yapped about it to y'all yet so here you go 😝)

Anyway enjoy and Merry Christmas!! 🫶

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The house was quiet. An almost eery, unsettling quiet where you could hear the well-loved structure creak with every little gust of wind from outside. Then again, it was an ungodly hour of the night, almost one in the morning. But that wasn't making Darry any less restless than he's been for the past, what, month at this point? It's all gone to shit, if it hasn't already been since their parent's death almost a year ago already. And there wasn't much to do about it but grip his coffee mug and sit at the kitchen table, staring into space thinking about what he could do to make it better. If there even was anything to make better.

What's done is done, anyway right? Dally and Johnny are dead, and they've been dead for a while already. There's nothing to do about it now except try to move on. Except, that's what Darry tells himself, and what he wishes to tell Ponyboy. But, if he was being honest, Darry was worried it would send his youngest brother into some sort of breakdown if he even mentioned their names. Ever since he became lucid enough to head back to school, Pony acts like some sort of robot, stuck in some never-ending programmed cycle of sleeping, eating, breathing, then repeating. When he wakes up, he hardly spares a word to his brothers, and Darry knows it eats at Soda every second. Then, when Darry gets home at the end of the day, Pony is just sitting in front of the tv, staring at the screen but not actually watching. Occasionally, his homework will sit out in front of him, done yet incorrect for the most part, but Darry tries not to bug him about it too much. After all, he hasn't gotten any notes or phone calls home from his teachers, so he doesn't think too deeply about it. There's a time and a place for getting on Ponyboy about his homework again, and now was not it. Darry knows that much, at least.

What he doesn't know is how to get through to Pony. He's tried to get Sodapop to intervene, to try and talk to him before they go to sleep. But Pony has been turning in so early these days, sometimes earlier than eight-thirty. Soda, who has never been one to go to bed before nine, even as a kid, is never able to talk to his brother anymore because he's knocked out before Soda can even change into his pajamas. And talking to him in the morning is a lost cause too, because they have to basically drag him out of bed every morning just to get him to school at an appropriate hour and they feel too bad to wake him up on weekend mornings before they have to go to work.

Darry would try to get him a therapist if he could, but between their tight budget and the fact that Pony would probably blow a fuse if the idea was even remotely brought up, that's not really an option. They're still trying to recover from Pony's previous hospital stay, and Darry would really enjoy to afford groceries for his family.

Sighing with frustration, Darry slams his mug down and runs his hands through his hair, resting against the table in defeat. What is he going to do with this kid?

Darry doesn't even realize said kid walked into the kitchen until he's mumbling a hello. He raises his head to see Ponyboy retrieve a glass from the cupboard and stand in front of the sink.

"Hey, P.B. You okay? What are you doing?" Darry asks, trying not to let the surprise be too evident in his voice. He rests his hands onto the kitchen table and slides his mug out of the way a bit.

"Uhm, just getting water..." Pony says, looking at Darry weirdly. He was already filling the glass with water, was it not obvious?

"Right," Darry smiles awkwardly, looking down at his hands. He picks at his finger nails as he scolds himself for being so meek around his younger brother who he's known for his whole fourteen-year existence. He wants to try to get through to the kid, not treat him like a stranger! Darry watched as he gulped his water down, apparently as thirsty as someone stranded in the desert, wondering desperately how to talk to him. Maybe he could catch him in the morning, he goes into work late anyway, or-

Wait.

He's right there, now, you idiot.

By the time Darry comes to this realization, Pony's already halfway down the hall. He jumps out of his chair, and practically whisper yells to get Pony's attention. He seriously does not want to wake up Soda, God knows he needs the sleep just as much as anyone else in this household.

"Pone, wait, I gotta talk to you about something for a second." Darry says, peaking out of the doorway to the kitchen, and he can imagine Pony's eyes roll even in the darkened hallway. He pivots back around on the ball of his foot and lets out a huff before walking back down the hall, and Darry had half the mind to get onto him about the attitude, but he knew that would only do more harm than good.

"What?" Pony asks, leaning back against the wall facing Darry who was leaning against the kitchen table, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there. Darry almost sent him back to bed, knowing full well this wasn't the most ideal time to talk about something so heavy. But it's about time to just rip off the bandaid.

"Pony, I wanna know how to help you." Darry began, crossing his arms over his chest. He tried to make his voice sound as soft as possible, so that Pony wouldn't get defensive, but he wasn't sure it was working with the way his brother's expression fell.

"Darry, if this is about my grades, I'm-" Ponyboy began, crossing his arms just as Darry did and pushed himself off the wall.

"It's not," Darry cut him off. "Look, Pone, I know you've been grieving, we all are, but-"

"My God, Darrel," Pony uttered exasperatedly, making to stomp out of the kitchen, but Darry grabbed his arm before he could get anywhere.

"But," Darry continued, "You're acting like a zombie and I want to help you. We want to help you. But we can't help you if you don't talk to us."

"I'm fine, Dar'. I'm handling it." Ponyboy spat, trying to rip his arm back from Darry, but he didn't budge.

"Handling it? You hardly say ten words to us per day." Darry responded. He tried to disregard the way Pony's words bit, but he couldn't help the annoyance that seeped into his voice. "You can't spend the rest of your life sleeping and staring at that damn TV, Ponyboy!"

Pony narrowed his eyes. "Would you rather me run wild and get arrested by the cops every night? I never know what you want from me anymore, Darry. Just let me go to bed." He tried to pull his arm away again but Darry wouldn't let him. "I'm being serious, Darry, stop it!"

"What I want from you is to stop living in a vacuum, Ponyboy! They're gone, and we can't do anything about it." Darry responded, voice low and vexed. Pony stared at him for a second, eyes wide and filled with hurt.

"You better shut up, Darrel," Pony spat, voice raising. "Let go!" He demanded, resorting to slapping Darry's arm, trying to push him away. Tears sprang into his eyes, and whether it was from frustration or grief, Ponyboy couldn't tell. He just wanted to go back to bed and sleep his sorrows away.

Darry's eyebrows furrowed and his mouth formed into a frown, and he tried to ignore the new found pain in his arm. Pony was struggling in his grip like an animal in a trap, but he knew that if he let him go, he'd probably never get to hold him again. So instead, he drew Ponyboy in closer, trying to ignore the way he was tugging and hitting him.

"Stop, Darry!" Pony shouted, although it was somewhat muffled by Darry's chest as he held Pony against him. He tried desperately to push himself away, this was all too much; suffocating and overwhelming. Pony tried to hit his chest, he probably even tried to step on his feet once or twice, but he didn't have any shoes on and his feet were smaller than Darry's so it probably didn't do much. Either way, Darry wouldn't succumb to the blows.

"Pone, calm down, please," Darry said, his voice forlorn as Pony's attacks persisted. Ponyboy let out a guttural sound in response that only broke Darry's heart more, but the hits seemed to slow down the tiniest bit.

"That's it, kiddo, relax," Darry soothed, and Pony finally gave in to his embrace. He didn't exactly wrap his arms around Darry but he dropped his arms as much as he could and dropped his head onto his chest. "It's okay, you're okay," Darry tried to comfort him, and ran his hands up and down Pony's back. He rested his chin on the top of Pony's head and felt as his body shuddered with the effort of holding in his emotion.

You don't have to be afraid to cry in front of me, Darry wanted to say, but instead he just settled to continue whispering sweet nothings and rubbing his back.

But it soon seemed to be too much to hold in anyway, and Ponyboy broke out into sobs. Terrible, raw cries echoed through the house and it was a wonder Sodapop hasn't woken up by now.

"I'm sorry," Pony muttered through his cries and Darry only held him closer.

"It's okay, honey." Darry simply responded, listening as Pony settled down little by little. After another two or three minutes, his sobs reduced to sniffles and leaking tears every now and then. Ponyboy lifted his head from where it was buried in his brother's shoulder, his face red and grief-stricken.

"I'm sorry," Pony repeated, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. He tried to look down, too ashamed to look Darry in the eyes, but he caught his chin to make eye contact.

"You've got nothing to apologize for, Pony, you hear me? Nothing." Darry said firmly, and Pony nodded, looking away. "Let's just go to bed now, okay? It's getting late."

Ponyboy only nodded again, and Darry wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to his own bedroom. It looked like Pony was about to fall asleep standing up, and Darry wouldn't blame him. He really didn't want to be without his brother tonight and Ponyboy didn't argue when they passed right by his shared bedroom with Soda.

Ponyboy practically collapsed onto the bed and attached himself to Darry like a koala when they were both under the covers.

"Dar', am I going crazy?" Pony asked in the quiet of the bedroom after a second.

"What?" Darry asked incredulously. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because you're right. I'm a zombie, I don't know what's wrong with me." Ponyboy told him, voice quivering.

"Pone... you've been through more in this past year than anyone should go through in their entire life. You aren't crazy. You're just mourning in your own way."

Darry could hear Pony let out a shaky breath and nod against his shoulder.

"Thanks, Darry," Pony said softly.

Darry squeezed his shoulder in response, finally settling into the pillow to crash for the night. Until he was once again interrupted by the bedroom door opening.

"Guys?" A voice mumbled, and Darry recognized it as Sodapop. He picked his head up from the pillow to see him standing in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep. Pony did the same beside him.

"What's going on?" Soda asked, walking over to the side of the bed. Neither of them asked questions when he made room for himself on the other side of Ponyboy and got under the covers.

"Nothing, Pepsi. Get some sleep, you two." Darry mumbled, burrowing his head into the pillow.

"You okay, Pone?" Darry heard Soda ask.

"Yeah, So'. I'm good."

Finally.

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Sorry I haven't posted for a month, I've been so busy and not very motivated to write until last night lol. This is your Christmas present though 😍

I know in the musical this part played out a little differently, but I've been wanting to do something like this for a while anyway so why not <3

Requests are welcome as well! I can't promise how quickly they'd come out, but if there's anything you'd like to see I'd love to hear it!

[2demondogs]

A Stone in Your Mouth | Arthur/Kieran

Tags: Mentioned Kieran/Mary-Beth & Mary/Arthur, ambiguous relationships, smoking, awkward flirting, Kieran has PTSD Words: 1.8k A/N: I got so burnt out on writing LOL. I will work on requests after I get a groove back cuz I still have quite a few to do. CW for mentions of malnutrition.

Arthur offers the cigarette wordlessly, so Kieran takes it wordlessly. The match is shared, held between the two of them the way he's seen Sean and Karen light theirs. He always confuses him this way.

Wind off the river threatens to stunt it. Flickering beneath the afternoon sun, the flame seems small, too small even for the pinched end of the handroll. He thinks they're from Javier. Did he ask him for a few? The tobacco burns, harsh and bitter down his throat.

He hasn't had a cigarette in months, likes that the first is shared with Arthur and sat on the shore of such a beautiful thing as the Dakota. He's always liked the land in this country, though he has been to no others upon which to rank it in beauty. Water runs easy, mostly still, yards in front of them. Behind them lays camp, but that is behind them and for once, Kieran doesn't feel the need to be hyper-aware of every living thing stalking a century past his back.

It might've been years since he's had a smoke, he realizes. Colm hadn't let him smoke, not after he'd taken his lucky, unknowing that it was. He'd liked to play those games: here is a peace offering, but you fool, it was a trick. He'd turned the empty carton to him mid-match strike and offered that slick, disappointed look. Arthur isn't talking, so he thinks more on it.

Those men had all seen him, more or less, as gullible and amusing for it. Insistences were made, always, that it was a test of his intelligence which he continuously failed. Therefore, it was Kieran's fault for believing even the smallest of things. If they said the sky was blue and he agreed, they'd call him a horse's ass at sunset when it ripened to gold.

He supposes at a certain point, it was his fault. Now and then, he wishes he had spat in eyes and stepped on toes more often than he had. Bruises and bones were — are — worth keeping more of his masculinity, more of whatever gunk makes him feel less like a dog. There's very little of it to scrape from the soles of his boots now, because it was very much his fault that he never put one of them down on Colm's needling fingers.

He breaks the silence first. "I wish Mary-Beth wouldn't call me an O'Driscoll." His voice sounds rougher, half-cracked, over the smoke.

It's easier to tell Arthur these things than it is anyone else. Because he listens, mostly, but also because he doesn't laugh. Whether he understands or not, Kieran isn't sure; he supposes it doesn't really matter, in the end, so long as he listens.

"Well, you was with 'em," Arthur says, a gray cloud falling out of his mouth. He looks at Kieran and his face must reflect how the words feel — bitter as the smoke, heavy — so he lays a hand on his shoulder, warm and softer than his voice. Thick fingers. "I mean, you's with us, now, o'course, so you're a Dutch boy."

For some reason, it does ease the sting. Kieran nods, turning to look at his own hands lain on his knees. His knuckles are roughly chapped with the breezes off the Dakota and he can still feel the ropes around his ribs when blinking takes too long, cutting and tightening and burning. Needling.

He's been with them for much longer than now. Everyone dances 'round it, but he knows they understand their treatment of him. They're killers and thieves, not fools. But at least some of them seem to regret, which makes him very uncomfortably aware of the fact that it was still cruel.

Arthur clears his throat, slicing the quiet. "I misspoke, man. S'rry."

"S'alright," Kieran says, studies a freckle freshly formed on the back of his finger.

Sniffing, he takes in some of the smoke off the smoldering cigarettes on accident. He has to sniff again after it irritates his sinuses, burning hot. Taking another drag only makes it worse, though it goes down much smoother than the last and he only feels the need to huff so he might get the catscratch-feeling out of his throat.

A sudden rush of nicotine rocks his skull, floats a little in the bloodwater soaking his brain. Sniffing left and right now, swiping the sleeve of his shirt beneath his nose and then on his pants leg.

Arthur gives a lingering squeeze to his shoulder that leaves him confused, too. Kieran has been wondering if he's an invert for the past week, and finding himself feeling guilty for considering it. He's simply a kind man, when he isn't being rather unkind, and Kieran is probably reading into lingering touches more than he should. Some men are just handsy, though he's rarely been palatable enough that they turn it on him.

That, too, perplexes him. Why is Arthur so openly and wholly cruel when Dutch says bite? Why does he heel when Dutch says nothing? Which of these extremes is Arthur's self?

On the other side of the river, two horses pass and Arthur's hand retreats to his own crisscrossed lap, as if they shouldn't be seen. As if it is bad to be seen touching another man in any capacity, even one so simple and thin with meaning. It leaves a stinging impression.

Red and crawling, the skin feels, and Kieran wants it again, so he decides he is the invert despite how gently he feels for Mary-Beth. He's thrown this conclusion around in his head many times, but the shit never sticks to any walls.

"I get it," Arthur starts, considering some rock in the distance, sounds like he is thinking of years just as far away as Colm. "My daddy weren't worth two cents. I don't really feel like a Morgan, neither."

"I wondered," Kieran admits. "About your family, I mean."

"He was hanged when I was twelve. Ma died a long time before that." He flicks ash towards the water, but it falls heavy to the ground before his shoe. His profile looks sharp against the sandiness of the riverbank, tanned skin harsh this time of day. "Ain't much to tell. He was a bad man 'n' she was his woman."

Removed, awfully, but Kieran can sense the thicker memories behind the words about his father. He does not ask, knows better than that after trying to inquire on what woman was sending Arthur letters — friendly conversation; he asked because he looked upset and Kieran knows the right thing to do, all things disregarded, is always to ask — and Arthur had snapped that it was none of his business.

He apologized later for being needlessly short, but didn't elaborate further. Kieran had forgotten, for the most part, about the whole thing by the time that he did.

"I don't remember much of mine," he says, and Arthur grunts his acknowledgment. "Old man was fine, I guess."

He does remember a few things: talk of a farm in California, which his father insisted still held gold for men who knew how to sniff it out and which his mother nagged was the most foolish thing she'd ever heard him say after come to America; holding her hand while she spat on the names of the friends they'd visited in the tenements the week before; burying her because the cholera was eating his father alive, too, and he was too weak to work the shovel.

"Fine?" Arthur repeats, and he realizes he's been staring past his face.

Kieran blinks. He feels like a pallbearer even now. "Sorry."

Arthur smiles, small. His eyes seem clearer out here, compared to the shade of the trees and his tent. Blue and green all mixed up, coiled around lax pupils. "Don't worry 'bout it."

And his hand is back, gentler, and Kieran's shoulders relax. Pain rings through them, unknowingly drawn tight before and feeling sore as they sink.

Arthur's hand is large, larger than his own malnutritioned ones. He still can't choke down a full bowl of stew a day without earning the runs, and it only brings back memories of being scared half to the grave by them after his parents died, so Kieran doesn't eat much despite the hunger returning to his gut now that food comes regular.

It's been bringing back memories in general, or maybe that's the fault of these past few months being so horrible. He barely remembers, he supposes for the best, much of his first weeks with this gang, but it shows in the veins roped along his forearms and the thinness of his fingers, knuckles seeming more knotted than before.

Arthur had touched his hand yesterday and it seemed deathly compared to his. He'd suffered stew for lunch and again in the evening.

He sniffs, loud, after another drag of smoke and wipes his nose on his sleeve once more. His eyes are stinging with how badly his nose is beginning to run, and he hates it, finds it more difficult to breathe. It reminds him too much of crying, which he hasn't been capable of for a very long time.

"Catchin' somethin'?" Arthur asks.

"Smoke," he says, shrugs as he looks to consider the auburn filter of the cigarette pinched between his fingers. "I ain't— been maybe a year since I smoked."

"Shit," he says, cracks a grin that Kieran returns without really knowing why they're smiling about it. "I woulda dressed better if I'd known it was a special occasion."

"You's dressed fine," Kieran says, not thinking.

He is dressed fine, looks— well, he looks nice, looks very strong with the material of button-up clinging to his broad back and shoulders. Arthur's smile doesn't falter but it shimmers with something besides the easiness it once held, unthreatening but unfamiliar all the same.

"Dressed fine for an old ugly bastard," he says.

Kieran snorts. The lightness in his voice goes over his head, sounds genuine enough he feels bad not countering it with the truth. "You may be a bastard," he says. "But you ain't ugly. Not that old, neither."

Arthur laughs at that. "You're sweet, Kieran." He shakes his head, shakes the shoulder he has still beneath his palm before his elbow is there, resting.

It reminds him of Mary-Beth, and he suddenly understands he's more or less flirted. But Arthur is not put-off, seems open as he readjusts a knee towards his chest and props the other elbow on it, cigarette to his lips again. Kieran licks his teeth and takes another drag on his own, considers and discards touching him back somehow.

Arthur ain't ugly, no. He's seen the ladies looking at him and giggling to themselves, much kinder with it than they are when they do it after Kieran; he's also got eyes of his own, and knows how a man should look, and Arthur is the spitting image of it. Sharp all over, good fat in other places, God, he's built like the paintings people pay to hang in their homes to make life a little brighter.

He opens his mouth to say it, then thinks better of it.

[pebblesmustard]

I know I'm not Okay™ because I did the thing where I bought a book thinking I didn't have it but then I got home and realized, oh shit, I already have it...

I did it twice. In the last two months. With two different books.

[naamahdarling]

You know what? You know what I think?

I think that if we lived as we were meant to, in larger intimate ("extended family") groups and with more shared labor and time to do it (UBI NOW) people like me would not feel so useless and burdensome because there would be people around to help and to do what neurodivergent people can't while making valuable space for the neurodivergent to do what they ARE good at.

The way we live right now, all right, the way we live right now forces units of two adults to be able to do EVERYTHING or PAY to have someone come do it for them. I have to do the housework. I have to do it! But I am having to do a million different things and most of them I am not good at. I suck at them.

I wouldn't feel like shit, okay, if I had more than one other person around who was not a child and who could do the things I can't, like do the yard and cook and do repairs and basic maintenance; and someone else to split everything else that I like but is too much for me. It would free me to do what I am good at and enjoy. Cleaning, as in the sink and toilet, the windows, the blinds. Taking out trash. Folding, hanging, and sorting laundry.

But because all the shit I can do often relies on other shit being done first, and I can't do or have trouble doing those things, the shit I can do often can't be done. And even the shit I can do, I can't do ALL of it. So I can't keep up, and things get very bad.

We aren't meant to live like this. We are not meant to live like this.

That thought hurts so much because being able to flee the birth family is integral to survival for so many people. I'm so afraid that living in larger family groups would create more opportunities for, say, queer kids to be isolated, rejected, bullied, and abused. But if we gave people enough money to survive, and stopped considering children the property of their parents with no system in place to help them escape bad situations except a system that is often just as bad, just different.

I'm aware that communes and collectives aren't all that successful and are kind of a joke. I don't mean that. I mean a fundamental shift to multigenerational families where taking in "strays" (which my family did) is also normalized so people escaping abuse into existing households was accepted, with these families centered in maybe a couple of different larger residences so not everyone has to buy and maintain their own fucking washing machine and vacuum cleaner, and so people can benefit from large group meals that yield leftovers, and so child and elder care can also be centralized.

Then disabled people and the neurodivergent and sick and injured people, and pregnant people, and grieving people, would not have to either labor through all those stressors or consign themselves to living off an unlivable pittance or being put under legal guardianship.

I'm not saying anything new. People live like this in other parts of the world and maybe it sucks and I am wrong. But I'm just really mad right now because I can either do laundry or clean the sink but not both, and I really think we could improve society somewhat by making it so I did not have to choose one without sacrificing the other.

[arolesbianism]

Finallly got around to properly designing Demonstrator! She’s silly

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

year six of being salty that around halfway through RoS the writers went 'shit we accidentally wrote five way too sympathetic and reasonable, and he is rapidly going through a redemption arc. quick shove in random serial killer shit out of nowhere without explanation, which completely contradicts his character and its development up til then. wait fuck he's redemption arcing EVEN HARDER in FoT. shit shit shit okay just make him hannibal lecter'

[animutate]

man i dontthink i can be in a real relationship ever again im just starting to process how everyone has treated me HORRIBLY

[akascow]

starting an art project you intend to sell only to finish and realize you cant part with it ? struggle is real

[maraeffect]

pt got canceled today bc of technical issues, so i spent the day deep cleaning. let me just say i did SO much that i haven't had the energy or motivation to do in MONTHS. i am so fucking proud of myself ahhhh

[orcelito]

Honestly nothing is ever going to top the absolute Weirdness of putting in my 2 weeks notice, working thru one week of it, then my dad ending up in the hospital and me desperate to get my shift covered to go to him... and it was also a fucking *snow storm*, which meant an hour's drive took like. Something like 3 or 4 hours just to not fucking Crash. And then one evening at the hospital, then me staying up late chatting with a friend, so that when I got a frantic call from my dad's girlfriend at like 2 or 3 am I only got a half hour of sleep. Cue everyone in the house rushing to the hospital in the early am hours, but not TOO rushing, because it had, of course, SNOW STORMED, so the roads were still in Bad Shape.

Made it safely! Then watched my dad die. What a time.

[starlight-storytime]

essay in tags :p

[kittyprincessofcats]

ICJ Ruling

Okay, let's get into this.

First of all, I get the frustration at the court not ordering a ceasefire. I was disappointed and frustrated at first too, since a ceasefire was the biggest and most important preliminary measure South Africa was requesting - and of course we just all want this horror to finally end for the people in Gaza. So I get the frustration and disappointment, I really do.

However, I do think this ruling is still a major win for South Africa, Palestine, and international law as a whole and here's why:

The court acknowledged that it has jurisdiction over this case and completely dismissed Israel's request to throw out the case as a whole. It will now determine at the merits stage (that will probably take years) whether Israel is actually commiting genocide.

The court acknowledged that Palestinians are a "distinct national or ethnic group and therefore deserving of protection under the genocide convention". Pull this out next time someone tells you "there's no such thing as Palestinians, they're all just Arabs".

The court acknowledged very unambiguously that "at least some" of Israel's actions being genocidal in nature is "plausible". South Africa has a case, officially. Israel is accused of genocide, in a way the ICJ deems "plausible", officially. This is huge. (And seriously, how freaking satisfying was it to hear all of those genocidal statements by Israeli politicians read out loud and used as justification for this rulling?)

The court might not have ordered a "ceasefire" in those words, but they did order Israel to "immediately end all genocidal acts" (which includes killing and injuring Palestinians) and submit proof that they actually did. How are they going to comply with this ruling without at least severly reducing or changing what they're doing in Gaza?

In fact, this wording might actually be more appropriate for a genocide (vs a war), as author and journalist Ali Abunimah notes on Twitter:

He's completely right. Israel lost today, by overwhelming majority (I mean, 15 to 2? I heard people predict the rulings would be very close, like 9 judges vs 8, but instead we got 15 to 2 (and even 16 to 1 on the humanitarian aid). Holy shit.) The court disimissed almost everything Israel's side of lawyers said, while acknowledging that South Africa's accusations are "plausible".

And this is important especially because of Mr Abunimah's second tweet there^. Because the question is, where do we go from here?

This ruling means that Israel is officially /possibly/ commiting genocide and that should have huge international consequences. The rest of the world now HAS to take these accusations seriously and stop arming and supporting Israel - and if they won't do it on their own, we, the people, have to make them. This is THE moment to rise up all around the world, especially in the countries most supportive of Israel (the US, the UK, Germany): Protest, call your representatives and demand a ceasefire and an end of arms deliveries to Israel.

We now have a legal case to back our demands: If Israel is, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" commiting genocide, then all of our governments are, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" guiltly of aiding in genocide. And we need to hold that over their heads and demand better. We need to do that right now and in huge numbers. Most politicians only care about themselves and saving their skin. We have to make them realize that they could be accused of aiding in genocide.

(As a German, I'm thinking of Germany here in particular: After South Africa's hearing, our government dismissed their case as having "no basis" - how are they going to keep saying that now that the ICJ officially thinks otherwise? Over the last months, people here have been arrested at protests for calling what's happening in Gaza a genocide. How are the police supposed to legally keep doing that now that the ICJ has officially deemed this accusation "plausible"? I used to be scared to use the word "genocide" at protests or write it on my protest signs - not anymore, have fun trying to arrest me for that when the ICJ literally has my back on this one 🖕🏻.)

So yeah - don't be defeatist about this, don't let Israel's narrative that they "won" (they didn't) take over. This might not be everything we wanted, but it's still a good result. Don't let what the court didn't say ("ceasefire"), distract you from the very important things that they did say. Let this be your motivation to get loud and active, especially if you live in any country that supports Israel. Put pressure on your governments to not be complicit in genocide, you now officially have the highest international court on your side.

[wonryllis]

INTERRUPTING THEM WITH A KISS ✶ 𝒽𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇 & 𝒷𝖺𝖼𝗄

﹙ ⌕ ﹚ 𝓅𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌 ㅤ𝑜𝑓. enhypen melting into you like it's a habit. contains fem!r, fluff, lots of kissing, pg 15. wc 1657, approximately 0.24k each. check out the d𝒾rectory? stat requested.

──────𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

lee heeseung swears he's never found anyone or as a matter of fact, anything as annoying as you. you're like a roach up his ass, the bane of his existence. yet when he looks at your cherry stained lips as you crash into him outside the club— he can't deny: that the idea of them against his own doesn't seem half as bad. probably the alcohol, heeseung convinces himself.

"if you don't get off and at least a hundred feet away from me right now, i swea—" and your lips crash into his. intentionally, to get under his skin? accidentally, because of the shots? who cares! heeseung can literally feel the breath leave his lungs as you move your lips against his.

but you pull away before he can do anything,"shut up jer—" and it irks him for some god forbid reason, alcohol again? oh fuck the alcohol! imma kiss that attitude outta her. not even a fraction of second passes before heeseung is grabbing your jaw and pulling you back into a kiss.

you want to breathe? forget it. lee heeseung is not having it anymore. a chance to put you in your place, he's not letting it slip through his fingers. he does not want to.

"you shut up." the tendencies of an enemy with his deepest desires unknown to him; kissable lips on an enemy is the most sinful and irresistible thing ever. probably why you annoyed him.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

jay's thighs feel warm against your own as you sit still on his lap, his legs shaking subtly while he rambles about some clothes. the tiny smear of vanilla ice cream near the corner of his lower lip, bothering you more and more with the seconds ticking by.

"and then i had to get the pants exchang—" you don't even realize it yourself when you lean in to capture his lips and lick at the sweetness. his own words dying down as he stares down at your face, completely dumbstruck. come on, that's your girlfriend idiot! kiss back! it's probably the twelfth time you both have kissed since you got together three months ago; it's not like he's keeping track of the kisses but... yeah you make him too nervous so, he is.

"b-baby..?" your hands cup his cheeks and he shuts down again. ears burning hot, and lips parted to let you do what you want. if there's one thing jay can't help, it's letting you have your way. whenever, wherever.

it takes him approximately ten seconds to overcome that nervousness and respond to the kiss. mouth closing in on your chocolate flavored lips in a soft and gentle smooch. after smooch. after smooch. the tendencies of a new boyfriend still reeling in; having the girlfriend of your dreams is not something you can get used to just like that.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

jake has been hanging out and around you for months now. it should have gotten easier by this time, he thinks. but no, every look, every conversation, every subtle touch feels like it burns hotter than the last time. are these the side effects of a crush? of getting closer to them? or of behaving normally after accidentally pecking? jake checks all the boxes.

"yeah so it's supposed to go like this. did you get i—" jake looks up from the project files on the desk, his voice and his life dropping down to his ass at the touch of your lips on his. what the hell is happening? are you actually? is he dreaming? jake cannot decide on what he should think. kiss back obviously! what's more to think?!

the kiss is short and sweet, and it doesn't satisfy him. hand immediately grabbing your throat to keep you from pulling away as he begins responding to the kiss. lips engulfing yours in a deeper and longer one, like it's the nth time you are kissing. like he's so used to it, like he's addicted?

“what— what was that?” jake pants out, somehow managing to pull away. his demeanor shifting drastically from the one that had just possessed him. the tendencies of a crush finally getting a taste; once you get hooked, there's no going back. not after a kiss uncalled for like that.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

he has slept once with you, just once sunghoon reminds himself— grounds himself; for he feels way too obsessed with the thought of you for having only had you once in that way. is it normal? probably not. will he do something about it? probably not.

so he acts like normal, tries to. his hands in his pockets as he walks with you to his car, head hanging low even though his eyes keep stealing glances at you while he tells you about his upcoming tournaments. stopping to open the passenger seat door for you, still speaking of his fears of lack of perfectionism.

"there's still parts i need to work extra o—" but instead of getting right in, you get onto your tiptoes and pull him by his collar into a kiss. if a body can function with a disjointed heart, sunghoon swears it's him.

his heart skipping beats in a row and all of a sudden feeling like it's stopped entirely. yet his hands and lips move without a second thought, without waiting for even a millisecond. grabbing you by the back of your neck and kissing you right back, nibbles and suckles and tongue and everything.

"you'll do well, don't worry too much," the tendencies of a one night stand turned friend; it's probably not the best idea to become buddies with someone you slept with, especially if you want more.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗪𝗢𝗢

the hallways are crowded as always, loud and bustling, drowning out your and sunoo’s laughs and giggles. talking about anything and everything while you wait for another friend.

sunoo's known you for a few years now, not a lot but enough to know when something's up. “he didn't check it properly and then.. hey? are you oka—” and he notices it on your face a fraction of a moment before you pull him into an abrupt kiss— mid conversation.

frozen, nervous and confused. yet all he thinks is actually how uncannily decent it feels, almost encroaching a feeling way too good. “i’m so sorry sun. i told my ex we are dating and he looked our way when he passed by and i panicked—” sunoo shushes you all too quickly, regretting not having kissed back properly.

“i get it, we can pretend. i don't mind it,” he doesn't know what comes over him as he proposes the idea, but he definitely expects to get into situations like these. why? he has no clue. he just wants it.

“everything you need to do to convince him, i’m all in,” his gaze trails over your lips, leaning closer unintentionally. another kiss right in the middle of the hallway. the tendencies of a friend offering to help in a non friendly way; fake dating a friend you feel like you could possibly develop feelings for is like digging your own grave.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

four months, seventeen days, twelve hours and probably thirty-six minutes. jungwon’s counting with all he has. this relationship, or whatever is going on between you two; beyond friends and bordering lovers, is bugging him down to his core. it's eating away at him.

“you just called me your friend,” leaning against the elevator wall, hands in his pockets, jungwon tries to behave— be as nonchalant as he can. jealousy? what's that? look me in the eyes and tell me i'm just a friend look.. no he isn't looking at you like that. snap out of it yang jungwon!

“you really think i’m just a friend? after all that we have don—” two steps closer, bodies pressed, eyes locked and your kiss that shuts him up. oh to hell with being normal with you. your hands slide around the back of his neck and his words die down against your lips like kissing you is his second nature.

“boyfriend? you want that label?” the mumbles against his lips, the sound of your soft breaths and the taste of your lipbalm, it's like jungwon is high.

“again.” catching your lower lip between his in a languid nibble. he can't help but keep wanting to kiss you, the ding of the elevator drowned out behind all his thoughts of you. the tendancies of a situationship with obvious feelings; being friendzoned by your girlfriend-to-be gets you jealous, he'll admit it now.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

friends. friends. friends. riki chants internally, again and again. and again. poopy diaper, runny nose, screeching tantrums— he thinks everything unpleasant about you, everything he possibly can. childhood friends ripping each other's hair out, neighbours annoying each other across the bedroom windows, classmates snitching out on each other's crushes. everything that's just friends.

nothing more. never— impossible. riki soothes himself, his mind and heart still jumbling all around after your question earlier, ‘what if we kissed?’ disgusting! right? he's not sure if he's answering or questioning his sanity.

and though the conversation is stirred clear of the topic, both of you nestled on your bedroom floor talking about club applications; his eyes staring right at you, seeming as unfazed as ever, his psychological state is nowhere near willing to calm down.

“what do you think about the drama clu—” your lips don't last even a second on his, before he is pushing you away, like he's allergic to kisses.

“w-what are you doing!” riki exclaims, fingers rubbing over his mouth,”i told you earlier,” and then slowly reaching forward to brush them against yours as he leans back in, involuntarily he insists. “i know but this is, so weird.. i’m not supposed to like it,” soft mumbles and lips grazing. the tendencies of a lifelong friend crossing an improbable line. locking lips with your childhood friend just for a ‘what if’ is the worst plan ever, or maybe not so much.

taglist 。open! @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @ro-diaries @aaa-sia @enhabooks @criminalyun @oddracha @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp

[suiana]

yandere! parasite who decides to inhabit your body after observing you from his previous host. you're so cute! you'll definitely be a lot more comfortable to be in over this... fumbling fool that's obsessed with you.

the switch is seamless and you don't even realize that you have a parasite in you until he speaks.

you were stunned, where did this voice come from? you look around you, thinking your boss or coworker had called for you... only for the face of a... translucent and handsome looking man to appear right in front of you.

"hey!"

"what the- where did you come from? wait a minute who even are you?"

"you're so silly. isn't it obvious that i'm a parasite and you're my host?"

"a... parasite?"

you freak out, thinking you have brain eating worms in you as you break down in the middle of your job. fortunately, the lovely parasite in you takes the time to comfort you through your brain.

he tells you that he won't kill you and that he's a symbiotic parasite. that he'll just co-exist with you for as long as you live. that he won't interrupt your life whatsoever, he just needs a place to stay, you know?

at least that's what he tells you and himself.

unbeknownst to him, he had... unfortunately adopted certain characteristics from his previous host. and what did that include? his obsession of course.

he doesn't notice it at first. he was just acting like his normal self, observing your day to day life for about a month or two while interacting happily with you through brain messages. everything was fine and dandy! nothing out of the ordinary for the both of you except for the fact that you now had a parasite in your brain.

and he was quite useful actually! improving your health, boosting your physical strength and stuff... it was so freaking cool! you never knew you could do all these things!

plus, he was so sweet! you two were definitely like a pair of really good friends even if you just met a month or two ago! he's just perfect!

that was, until he saw someone confessing to you.

he didn't understand what was going on. why did his chest tighten up at the sight of some other person confessing their love to you? why does he feel a sudden rush of... anger?

he turns to watch what you do and he swears he only feels more anger at how you react. cheeks flushed, pupils dilated...

no, he couldn't have that.

meanwhile, you were totally flattered by the sudden confession. especially when it was from this cute nerd from the IT department! maybe you'll accept- wait, wait, wait! why was your body moving on its own?!

"you belong to me."

the parasite in your brain mumbles as you lose all control of your body and begin walking away from your admirer. what the?! he's never done this before! why's he taking control of your body?!

"hey! give my body back!"

"how could you do this to me? i am hurt, my dear host."

you couldn't even respond, too shocked to even say anything before you try to resust again. obviously it wouldn't work but it doesn't hurt to try.

"hey cut it out! i thought you said we're just living together? what's this? you totally messed up my chances of getting with someone!"

you were about to snap back when you feel a cold dread creep up your spine. shit, you forgot he could control everything in your body.

you could only watch in horror as he brings your body back to your apartment before he forces your body onto your bed. his translucent body appears in your vision once more, pinning you to the bed. you couldn't even resist even if you tried. he controlled your brain after all.

"you're my host, therefore, you are mine. i do not understand what's so hard to understand."

gritting your teeth, you could only allow this parasitic admirer of yours to stare down at you while grinding his hips into yours. damn, what's he trying to-

"hah... you're so cute... i love you so much... can i explore you? I'm so curious. I've always looked away when you were bare but..."

you couldn't even say no if you tried. your body was responding on its own. damn it! his brain controlling abilities were too good! maybe you should be a parasite in your next life.

"ah... is that a yes? god, i love you. i love you, i love you... i love you so much my darling host."

...

were you about to have mental sex with the parasite living in your body right now?!