#but thank you for being around even with the ebbs happening more than the flows 🫶🏻

[intimidatingsqueak]

i did this on my main blog and thought it was really fun! so im going to do one here

collating the most popular and personal favorite gifs by month over the past year✨

not tagging anyone since I just did this one for funsies but anyone wants to do it and tag me then by all means 🥰

same rule applies for me: no 2tk 😔💔

January

Most Popular: ronbake loop

Favorite: a collection that i should return to someday

February

only one for this month: coffee break

March

smack

dinosore

April

he got a boo-boo 😔

spider-monkey

May

(jinsei wa jojo da spoilers) infectious smiles 🥺

golden hour

June

elaborate rituals

howl’s va moment

July

immediately rejected

moai behavior

August

stealthy

getting his allowance 🥰

September

listen-okay-this-was-the-most-popular-i-cant-deny-the-people-2tk-if-thats-what-they-wa

<- gets warning letter about false advertising shoved in face

probably isnt even the stupidest thing any of them have ever said

October

criminal that happens to be a pretty boy

trio of cats

November

criminal that happens to be a pretty boy gets bitch-slapped (good)

curtsies

December

too much whimsy maketh the man stupid(er)

okay-wait-no-please-this-is-the-only-other-gif-i-haveeeee~

<-screaming while in handcuffs and taken to jail for aforementioned crime 😔

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 23 - 'Flowers and Fixing' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.3 k

You sat cross-legged on Trent’s bed, your phone resting limply in your hand as you watched your screen light up. Your phone rang with a call from Layla.  Your thumb hovered over her name, hesitant to answer. It continued to vibrate as you built up your courage.  You answered slowly, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster you’d been on for days before her voice came through, soft and careful.

“Alright, babe?” she asked. Her tone alone made your chest tighten. You hesitated for a second, swallowing the lump in your throat before replying. 

“Yeah… uh, actually a little better. I need to see you to explain.” Your voice was small, weak even, but there was a flicker of resolve in it.

“Okay. Better is good,” Layla said gently, but her concern was palpable. There was a brief pause before she continued, almost sheepishly. “Just wanted to see if you saw that invite come through.” You frowned, confused for a moment before remembering the notification you’d ignored earlier. The invite from Shelby—one of your mutual friends—to a Manchester United end-of-season party. You’d skimmed it, immediately feeling your stomach drop at the thought of Josh possibly being there. “I’ll do what you want,” Layla continued, sensing your hesitation. “I imagine all those lads are going. I don’t want you going, obviously…” She expressed but you cut her off, your voice sharper than intended, you didn’t want to ruin the beginning of her summer.  

“Lay, you go. You and Shelbs will have fun. It’s just a big party. I just… I can’t be near—” You paused, your throat tightening at the thought of him. “Josh,” you finally said, his name burning your tongue. “I don’t know… I’m so scared of him, so please just be careful.” You cautioned her. Layla’s inhale was sharp. You could feel her anger brewing through the phone. 

“God, I’m so sorry, babe. I fucking hate him. But seriously, do you want me to come be with you tonight? I’m worried. I’m here for you.” She offered sincerely. You closed your eyes, her offer tempting, but you knew what you needed. You needed to stay put.  

“No, have fun. I… I…” You stuttered, trying to work up the courage to tell her your plans for the night. “I’m with T. I just need to be with him,” you admitted, your voice cracking as emotions began to resurface.

“Oh…” Layla paused, the shock evident in her tone. “So… you’re with him?” She asked curiously but not judgmentally. 

“Yeah.” You sighed, tears stinging your eyes again. “We’re… Or I… I just need to talk to him. Lay, Josh threatened him with a video of us. Somehow he got a video of me and him. It’s a total fucking mess. He said he didn’t hook up with Jess. And I’m terrified, but I just feel safer with him. I can’t go anywhere. I wa- I need to be with him.” You whimpered embarrassed by your dependency on Trent. The ebb and flow of your trust in him was expectedly concerning to your best friend. Layla’s response was immediate, her voice laced with fury. 

“Fucking hell. I’ll kill him.” She snapped imaging Josh’s smug look having a video like that in his possession. She paused when she heard your sharp inhale, realizing she needed to rein it in. “I’m sorry. I know. You are safe with Trent, Y/N. Be with him. He loves you.” She cooed. Her words offered some comfort, but you still felt unsteady and she could sense it. “Should I not…” she started, trailing off, you knew she’d not go tonight if you’d prefer that but it wasn’t what you wanted. 

“No, no, no,” you interjected quickly. “Please, go. It’s not like it’s his party or something. He can’t control everyone.” Layla nodded even though you couldn’t see her, your words sinking in. 

“Okay, but Josh can’t control you either, babe. We’ll handle this. Just be with Trent tonight. Someone who just wants to protect you.” Her voice softened as she reassured you.

“I love you,” you whispered, barely audible.

“Love you. You’re safe, babe. Call me anytime,” Layla said firmly, her support unwavering. When the call ended, the silence in Trent’s room felt deafening, but for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel entirely alone. Layla believed in you. Trent wanted to protect you. Maybe you could start believing in yourself again, too. The call ended, and you stared blankly at your phone, Layla’s words echoing in your mind: ‘You’re safe, babe. Call me anytime.’ The reassurance was meant to soothe you, but it only amplified the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest. You set the phone down on the edge of your bed, your fingers trembling slightly. You could feel the familiar sting of tears creeping back into your eyes, but you closed them tightly, willing yourself to stay composed. It wasn’t working. You leaned forward, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes to stop the flood, but the effort only made the sob that escaped your throat sharper. Everything felt like too much—Josh’s threats, the fear that he still had control, the relief and heartbreak of being with Trent again. It was all tangling inside of you like a knot you couldn’t undo. You got up and made your way to the en-suite of his room in an effort to try to compose yourself before Trent came up for bed. 

The room felt heavy and silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. It made the en-suite feel cold, sterile, like it was closing in around you. You sat on the edge of the sink, gripping the porcelain until your knuckles turned white. Your reflection stared back at you, pale and tear-streaked, eyes rimmed red. You barely recognized yourself. But then you noticed the earrings. The tiny gold butterfly pinned on your left ear, and the delicate blue one in your right. They shimmered faintly under the bathroom’s light, and your chest tightened. The earrings had been a gift from Trent, a token of the promise you’d made to each other when your relationship had finally begun. He had chosen them because they reminded him of you—fragile yet strong, beautiful, unique. But also your relationship; this evolving thing. Now, though, they felt like a cruel reminder of what you might lose. Your trembling fingers brushed over the butterflies, your heart aching as memories of that morning came flooding back. The way Trent had looked at you when he gave them to you, his voice soft as he told you how much you meant to him. How special you were. You’d been so happy, so sure that he was your safe place in a world that had hurt you too many times. Now, you didn’t know what to believe. You gripped the butterflies tighter, as if they could ground you. For a moment, you thought about taking them out—ripping away the reminder of everything that had fallen apart. But you couldn’t. Something in you refused to let them go. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was the way Trent had looked at you earlier in the greenhouse, his eyes full of love and regret, like he’d carry the weight of your pain if he could. Or maybe it was the act that you felt like you got a momentary reminder from your mum there that he was good. You let out a shaky breath and placed your hands on the counter, trying to steady yourself. Slowly, you reached for the tap, splashing cold water on your face. The coolness jolted you back to the present, and you let out a deep exhale, watching the water drip down your reflection. The earrings still caught the light. A tiny flicker of beauty in the midst of your heartbreak. You couldn’t let Josh take this from you. You couldn’t let him win. You grabbed a towel and patted your face dry before turning toward the door. Trent would be waiting for you. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way through this. One fragile step at a time.

That night, as you curled into Trent’s chest, his familiar warmth began to ease the chill that had settled into your bones. His arm was draped securely around you, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your shoulder. The comfort of his touch usually calmed you, but tonight it wasn’t enough. Fear and worry churned in your chest, refusing to let you rest.

“Baby, I’m scared,” you finally whispered, your voice small and trembling. The admission felt heavy, like you were unburdening yourself but also laying bare your vulnerability. Trent’s hand stilled, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m so sorry I hurt you the other night. I never wanted to.” His apology tugged at your heart, but the knot of fear inside you refused to unravel. 

“He’s going to release it, T,” you said, your words barely audible as you tried to steady your breath. “If he finds out about us, he’ll release it.” Trent’s entire body tensed beneath you. His arm around you tightened, his jaw clenched, and you could feel the storm brewing within him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and brimming with anger.

“I’m gonna fucking kill that lad,” he growled, the words cutting through the quiet room like a blade. “I am fucking fuming. I will fucking kill him. He can’t hurt you. He can’t fucking touch you.” His grip on you grew firmer, not out of aggression but out of his overwhelming need to protect you. Yet, in that moment, the intensity of his voice and the pressure of his hold sent you spiraling. Memories of Josh resurfaced like an unrelenting tide—his hands gripping you too tightly, his voice sharp and cruel, his presence suffocating and inescapable. Your breath hitched, and tears began to spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless. Your chest heaved with silent sobs as your body trembled against Trent’s. “Ah, fuck,” Trent muttered, his voice breaking as he realized what was happening. He immediately loosened his hold, his hands moving to cup your face and pull you back slightly so he could see you. “Fuck, pretty girl. Baby, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I didn’t mean to scare you. C’mere. I got you. I got you.” He wrapped you back into his arms, but this time his touch was featherlight, as if he were afraid of breaking you further. He pressed kiss after kiss into your hair, murmuring apologies and reassurances as you sobbed against his chest. “It’s okay,” he cooed, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re safe with me, yeah? I’m here. I’ll always be here.” His words started to sink in, soothing the jagged edges of your fear. The rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear grounded you, steadying your breathing and slowing your tears. “What he’s doing is fucking extortion,” Trent muttered after a moment, his tone calmer but still resolute. “He can’t blackmail us. I’m speaking with Ty first thing. We’ll handle it legally. No one is taking my baby away from me. No one. Not now. Promise.” His words carried a sincerity—a vow that he would protect you at all costs. You sniffled, your face still buried in his chest, and nodded weakly.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Trent said, pulling back just enough to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away the tear tracks on your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache. “You’re my whole world, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I swear it.” You blinked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes anchoring you. His touch, so gentle and steady, reminded you that despite everything, this was the man who loved you unconditionally.

“You promise?” you asked softly, your voice cracking.

“I promise,” Trent said firmly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Always.” You exhaled shakily and let yourself melt into his arms again, his embrace wrapping you in a sense of safety you hadn’t felt in days. Despite the chaos that awaited, in this moment, you knew you weren’t alone but you couldn’t fight back the tears. Josh had hurt you too deeply. You were battered and cruises and the cracks in your resilience were starting to show. You were breaking down.

You buried your face deeper into Trent’s chest, your tears soaking through his shirt as you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. His arms wrapped around you firmly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced gentle circles on your back. He didn’t speak much more at first, letting you cry. The weight of everything—Josh, the video, the fear, the shame, and even your own complicated feelings about Trent—poured out of you in waves. Each sob tore at his heart. Trent had never felt so helpless. He wanted to take all of it away: the pain, the fear, the scars left by people who should never have been close to you. But he knew he couldn’t. All he could do was hold you through it.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered after a long stretch of silence. Your voice was weak and strained, like the words were dragging out pieces of you as they left your mouth.

“Sorry? For what, baby?” Trent asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled back just enough to look at your tear-streaked face, his hands cupping your cheeks. His thumbs wiped away the tears as they fell, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“For… for being like this,” you whispered, ashamed. You couldn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the fabric of his shirt where your tears had left dark stains. “For being such a mess. For making things so hard.” You kept on trying to rationalize your apology, hoping maybe he'd understand.

“Y/N, stop, serious,” he said gently but firmly, tilting your chin up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His eyes were glassy, the tears he’d been holding back threatening to spill. “Don’t you ever apologize for feeling. For hurting. For being human. You’re not a mess, pretty girl. You’re my girl. And I love you, okay? All of you. Every single bit.” The sincerity in his voice broke you all over again, and the tears started fresh. Trent pulled you back into his arms, rocking you slightly as he whispered reassurances. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” For a moment, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself trust that someone could hold you through your brokenness, that you didn’t have to hide or pretend. But as the minutes stretched on, the weight of Josh’s threats crept back in, darkening the tiny flicker of hope Trent had sparked in you.

“Baby, no, I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest. “What if Josh does something? I’m serious, what if he releases the video? It would ruin you, T. Your career, your reputation… everything. I don’t know if I could handle that. I don’t want you to lose everything because of me.” Trent’s body tensed beneath you again, and for a moment, you felt the anger radiating off him. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, deliberate.

“Listen to me,” he said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye again. “I told you. I’m gonna speak with Ty, but besides that… I don’t care about a video. I don’t care about my career, or what people think, or any of that. None of it matters if it means losing you. You hear me? You’re all that matters, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” His words were like a lifeline, but they also scared you. The intensity of his love felt like a double-edged sword—comforting and terrifying all at once. You continued to cry into Trent’s chest. It felt like the fear of Josh ran deeper than his comforting embrace. But then you kissed his neck out of instinct. It was impulse. It was something you’d almost trained yourself to do. So many times you’d been upset in tear and had to put them aside for sex. You began kissing his neck. Trent’s body betrayed him. He felt all the blood rush down to his cock. You were turning him on but he didn’t want you to. He didn’t want you like this. Trent putting his hands on you felt terrifying. He felt like you were glass. He pulled away from you and your heart broke. It was like rejection all over again. Trent studied your face, his heart breaking as he saw the pain written in every inch of you. 

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to understand that.” His words made you freeze. His gaze wasn’t one of anger or frustration—it was pleading, desperate. He wasn’t trying to take anything from you; he was trying to stop you from giving away something you didn’t truly want to share in this moment. Your throat tightened, and a lump of shame built in your chest as the realization hit you. What you were doing wasn’t about love or desire—it was about survival, about falling back into a pattern Josh had ingrained in you. Sex had always been a way to pacify, to distract, to feel needed. Your hands had moved on instinct, exploring Trent as if you could erase the fear in your chest by drawing him closer. “I can’t believe what you’ve been through, baby,” Trent said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. His hands gently caught yours, stopping them in their tracks as he looked into your eyes. “Please. Don’t do this because you think you have to. Not with me.” Trent pleaded, begging you to follow your heart and not your hands exploring him. Your heart shattered. You wanted so badly to bridge the gap between you and him, to feel close to him again. But your mind and your body felt like they were living in two entirely different worlds.

“Please want me,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes. Your voice cracked, the vulnerability in those three words raw and exposed. You hated how needy you sounded, but it was the truth. You wanted him to want you, to make you feel something other than the numbness that had taken hold of you. Trent’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he hesitated. His love for you was at war with his fear of hurting you, but when he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, he gave in. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it was what you needed. But as his hands brushed over your skin, the dense thud in your chest grew heavier. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like him. The love and warmth you always felt when you were with Trent were nowhere to be found. This wasn’t passion; it was a mechanical act, an autopilot response. You were setting him up to take the bait, and he was taking it because he thought it would make you feel better but it felt like he’d lost a game you didn’t want him to even play. Deep down, you both knew this wasn’t what either of you truly wanted. It hurt in a way you couldn’t explain. Trent was nothing like Josh but right now you were acting like he was. 

Without another word, Trent had leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but as soon as you responded, something shifted. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, like he couldn't bear the space between you. Your fingers tangled in his curls, gripping them as your body arched into his. The kiss deepened, no longer hesitant but filled with an urgency that neither of you could contain. It wasn't just desire-it was need. A desperate, unspoken plea to feel something other than the ache that had settled between you. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced your skin like he was memorizing every inch, every curve. You gasped softly against his lips, and he took the sound as encouragement, his touch growing firmer, more confident. The tension in the room didn't dissipate-it lingered, heavy and unresolved-but it was joined by a different kind of intensity. The sadness and fear were still there, woven into the fabric of your movements, but they were eclipsed by the desperate need to be closer. To lose yourselves in each other, even if just for a moment. The air grew thick, filled with the sound of your breathing, the rustle of sheets as Trent shifted to press you further into the mattress. His lips left yours, trailing down your jawline, across your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands explored your body with reverence.

"Tell me you want this," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and strained. "Tell me it's okay."

"I want this," you whispered, your voice shaky but certain. It was all he needed to hear. His lips were back on yours, hungrier this time, his body pressing into yours as if trying to merge you into one. Your hands roamed over his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper. The friction between you sent sparks through your veins, igniting something that had been smoldering for far too long. But even as things grew more heated, there was an undercurrent of something else. A sadness that neither of you could escape. This wasn't just about passion-it was about holding on. About finding some semblance of connection in the middle of the chaos. Trent continued kissing you, his lips moving with deliberate care as he shifted to hover over you, his large frame blanketing yours. His eyes searched yours, silently asking for reassurance even as his hand gently cupped your cheek. His touch was tender, as though you might bruise beneath the weight of his hands, and yet his need to be close to you was palpable. You didn't trust your voice, so you let your actions speak. Moving on instinct, you reached for the hem of your top, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. Left bare save for the soft fabric of your panties.  "Please." You whispered. Your voice was shaky but filled with yearning. Leaning up, you kissed along his jawline, your lips traveling to the warm column of his neck, nuzzling into his skin before you began to suck gently. Trent froze for a moment, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He took a deep breath, conflicted. He wanted to give you everything, but he also didn't want to push you or himself into something too fragile. Yet the way you clung to him, the way you pleaded, left him wondering if maybe this was how you both could heal. Slowly, tentatively, Trent removed his own clothes. His shirt came off, revealing the toned expanse of his chest, and soon the rest of your garments joined the pile on the floor. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was his hands, his lips, his touch that truly burned. Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the firm muscles under your fingertips, the rapid thrum of his heart. Reaching up, you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging gently on the soft curls of his hair. He groaned softly at the sensation, his lips beginning their journey down your neck. He kissed your collarbone, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake, before traveling lower. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, you let out a desperate moan, arching your back to meet him. The warmth of his mouth, the gentle scrape of his teeth, sent shivers down your spine. His hand cupped your other boob, his fingers playing, pulling, and pinching with just the right amount of pressure. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and filled with emotion, but he didn't stop. He lavished attention on your sensitive skin, his kisses, touches, and the slight rasp of his stubble making you feel electric. You buried your hands in his hair, holding him to you, desperate to keep the connection alive. His hands slid down your sides, rough yet gentle as they traced every curve, as though memorizing every inch of you. When his lips left your chest to continue their descent, you shivered, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention, the way he worshipped you.

"You okay?" he murmured softly against your skin, his breath warm and ragged. You nodded, biting your lip as tears pricked the corners of your eyes-not from pain but from the sheer vulnerability of it all. 

"Just... don't stop," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"I've got you," Trent promised, his voice husky, filled with an emotion that made your heart clench. "I've got you, baby. Tell me you want this.” Trent mumbled against your skin. You nodded with a whine as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly begging for him to come inside. He rubbed the tip of his hard cock leaking precum against your sopping wet folds. You shouldn’t have been turned on. In a way this was exactly the way Josh had trained you. Your heart aching, sadness engulfing you, and yet your body acting completely normal, inviting him in with vigor. You shifted beneath him to pick your hips up allowing him to guide himself inside with more ease. He moved slowly inch by inch letting you adjust to his size but he just wanted to get as deep as possible until he bottomed out. You gripped the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself at the stretch. The feeling was enough to wipe your mind clear of anything other than how he was making you feel.  As wrong as it was, you both craved this. He kissed down your neck as he pulled out slightly before easing back in slower, fully burying himself one more.  “I love you so much.” He whispered. Trent rested his forehead against yours but you couldn’t look at him. You felt like you were going to cry so you kept your eyes shut. Your head tipped back onto the pillow with one hand squeezing your own nipple as Trent kept his strokes steady. You tipped your head back further as his pace became more relentless. Your jaw slack, eyes closed tight. 

“I love you.” You whimpered with a sniffle as a tear rolled down your cheek. Trent swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He cupped your cheek wiping away the tear. 

“I’m here. Right here.” He murmured. He knew you didn't want to stop. You would’ve been more upset if he did. So you continued on. There was no other noise in the room but the sound of heartbreak and your slickness as he fucked his cock slowly and gently into you. Your legs stayed wrapped around him tightly as you let one of your heels drag down his muscular back, making sure he didn’t pull out but your tears continued falling, your body shaking a little. If anyone else did this he would be confused and probably turned off but he understood you, he understood the lustful desire and unfortunately the aching pain in your chest that he was feeling too. He leaned over you, your tear stained cheeks and heaving chest pressed against him as he continued to fucked you gently. Your pussy dripped around him. Trent could feel the veins running along his cock throbbing. He worked his hips faster, harsher. Both of your pleasure building higher and higher. 

“T... I’m… I’m going to cum” You mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name sounding so weak from your softly parted lips. He groaned, feeling himself barreling close to his own release though from the way you were squeezing his cock now. Your body succumbing to pure euphoria and seeing white. He bit down onto your shoulder, his pace growing sloppy. 

“Cum for me baby. Doing so good for me.” he cooed, nipping at your collarbone. You whined and felt your eyes roll back as you reached your high. Your pussy quivered around him.  Every little shift was orgasmic. You couldn’t hold in the soft whiny cry you let out. Your lips parted, biting the skin of his neck. Your pussy was sopping wet now, the slow and intense movements had you gushing all over him. The sex was so tender and sweet yet equally sad. “Gonna cum, yeah? That okay?” He asked you through a strained voice as you held onto him. You could only nod again, tears reappearing, toes curled before everything went white, falling apart. Despite the emotional turmoil, he felt so good and you didn’t want him to pull out. This felt too good. His thrusts began to slow as he buried himself deeper inside you. He gripped you so tightly, holding you completely flush against him. Stilling as his warm cum pumped deep inside of you. His hands rubbed your trembling slightly sweaty body in the softest way. He kissed you everywhere he could. You just stayed tight to him refusing to break away.  “You alright, baby?” Trent whispered, his voice soft and full of concern as he hovered over you. His fingers brushed your cheek gently, his thumb catching a stray tear. His dark eyes searched your face, taking in every detail—the way your cheeks were flushed, your lips trembling, and your eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if holding back a flood. You nodded quickly, unable to trust yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, and you knew that if you tried to answer him, your voice would crack, betraying just how fragile you felt in this moment. The weight of everything—of your past, your pain, and the overwhelming tenderness of the man above you—pressed against your chest. Trent’s brow furrowed, his concern deepening as he leaned closer. “Baby,” he urged gently, his warm breath fanning over your face. Your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you reached up, your fingers curling around his wrist as his hand remained on your cheek. It was your silent plea to stay close, to not pull away. “I’m right here,” he reassured you, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of his own emotions. His thumb continued to stroke your cheek, grounding you. “I’ve got you, yeah? Always.” Your breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears slipping from your closed eyes. You hated feeling this vulnerable, hated that you couldn’t hide the rawness inside you, but Trent’s presence made it bearable. His love wrapped around you like a shield, softening the sharp edges of your fear and sadness. Finally, you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. His expression was so full of love and patience that it broke something inside you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice barely audible but nonetheless broken. Trent stayed on top of you, his weight grounding you even as the guilt began to creep in. His breathing was still heavy, matching yours, and his curls tickled your skin as he rested his face between your boobs, his warm breath fanning over your damp skin. The room was quiet save for the sound of your heartbeats slowing, the intensity of the moment dissipating into an uncomfortable stillness. Neither of you spoke any more after your vacant apology. There were no words for the complicated knot of emotions tightening in your chest. For a while, you simply lay there, your fingers brushing lightly through his hair, but even that small gesture felt hollow. It wasn't comfort. It wasn't resolution. Eventually, Trent stirred, his lips brushing against your collarbone in a fleeting touch. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite name-sadness, maybe, or regret. Without a word, he shifted, carefully pulling out of you, his body leaving yours cold in the absence of his warmth. The air completely sucked out of the room. He rolled off of you and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of everything hung heavy in the room, pressing down on both of you, suffocating in its intensity. The physical high you'd just shared only amplified the emotional low settling between you. You turned your head to look at him, your eyes scanning his profile-the way his jaw clenched, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. He looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to.

"T," you whispered, your voice soft but strained. He didn't respond right away. His hand came up to rub over his face, and when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. 

"I'm so sorry." He murmured into the empty silence of the dark room.

"For what?" you asked, your own guilt weighing heavily on you.

"For... this," he said, gesturing vaguely between you but he didn’t turn his head towards you, his gaze stayed fixated on the ceiling. "For not stopping. For letting it happen when I knew... when I knew it wasn't what you needed right now." He sheepishly told you. Your heart ached at his words because they felt true, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to regret it fully. He was not Josh, he didn’t want what just happened. Not like that. It felt wrong. Josh relished in using you for sex to rectify problems, to act like he cared, but all you did was just create a new one with Trent. He was hurting.

"I asked for it, T. I wanted it." You earnestly told him. That was true. You did want it, but why and what for, was a glaringly obvious reg flag. A remnant of Josh’s disgusting conditioning. The only way he could possibly love you was if you fucked hin, and so you did the same with Trent. It was fucked up. You watched him blink a few times, his perfectly curled dark eyelashes batting away what you prayed wasn’t the build up of tears. Even though he wouldn’t turn to look at you, you could still perfectly make out that his eyes were filled with turmoil. 

"But did you need it? Did it help, or did it just... make things worse?" He asked you pleadingly. He knew you wanted to have sex with him. It wasn’t about the consent of the act but rather the consciousness of it. The question hung in the air, and you didn't have an answer. You both laid there with the other, the silence between you louder than any words could be. Neither of you could shake the feeling that you'd both taken a step further away from the connection you were trying so hard to hold onto. The room fell silent for a long while after that. Trent lay motionless, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his mind raced. The dim light cast shadows on the ceiling, but his eyes were unable to focus. He couldn’t wrap his head around the blur between the physical sensations still humming through his body and the weight of the emotional aftermath sinking into his heart. He couldn't reconcile it-how his body could feel one thing, while his heart ached with the opposite. His arms rested limply at his sides, too heavy to move. The thin sheen of sweat cooling on his skin only made him feel exposed, raw. Tears welled in your eyes, and you turned your head away momentarily, unable to look at him anymore. You felt defeated, ashamed, and more alone than ever-even with him right next to you.

"T.." Your voice broke through the thick silence once over, soft but trembling. He hummed in response, his throat dry. But he didn't turn his head to look at you still. He couldn't not yet. Guilt clawed at his chest, despite everything. You asked for this yet it felt cold. You wanted it. He hadn't forced you-but why did it feel like he'd done something wrong? "Did you love her?" you whispered, your voice so small it almost disappeared into the air between you. The question hit him like a blow. He blinked, the ceiling above him suddenly too sharp, too vivid. He exhaled sharply but still didn't meet your gaze. His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Not because he didn't have an answer, but because he was overwhelmed-confused, emotional, and drowning in a wave of guilt and frustration. You couldn't stop yourself. You stared at him, inspecting every detail of his face. The way his bottom lip hung slightly gaped from the top, the tense line of his jaw, the crease in his brow. He laid there feeling hollow despite his best efforts to help. You needed to understand him, to break past the wall he seemed to be building in this silence. The insecurity was clawing at your insides, threatening to consume you. Your past haunted you and right now it was seeping into your present. The way Josh had rewired you to think all men were, had you fearing Jess. She was the ghost in the room you couldn't escape. All you could think about was her-her presence in Trent's life before you, the ways she might have had touched him, been with him, loved him. You hated it. Your thoughts spiraled into a desperate need to prove yourself to him, to make him see why you were different. Why you were better. You'd done everything-fought for him, forgiven him, fucked him, even begged him. You wanted to show him that you would do anything for him. But now, as you lay beside him, all you felt was a hollow emptiness. The act that was supposed to bring you closer had only widened the gap, leaving both of you in the cold. This was new to you because this time, the man next to you in bed truly cared.  Finally, Trent turned his head to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, a storm of emotions swirling in them-confusion, sorrow, regret.

“Never.” Trent finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the only other sound were the sheets shifting beneath you pillowing his words. He cupped your cheek and made you look at him, really look at him. Trent’s hand stilled on your cheek as your words lingered in the air, cutting through the fragile peace between you. His chest rose sharply with a deep, steadying breath, but the storm brewing behind his soft brown eyes betrayed him. “Not even close,” he repeated, his voice firm but strained, as if clinging desperately to the truth of his feelings. His thumb brushed against your skin, grounding himself in the contact, but you could feel the tension in his hold—the way he was barely keeping it together. “Look at me,” he whispered, tilting your face gently so your eyes met his. The weight of his gaze made it impossible to retreat further, even though every instinct told you to. You wanted to hide, to shield yourself from how raw, how real this moment was becoming. But in a moment of vulnerability… you felt yourself pull away from him. You knew Trent was different. This was different. You couldn’t fix things or gain anything by using sex as a bandaid like you did with Josh, not when real feelings were at play and so the only thing you could do was set it on fire in an effort to protect yourself. 

“Did you ever think that maybe… maybe we shouldn’t be together?” you asked, the words falling from your lips without forethought, sayinging something you didn’t even think about. It wasn’t what you wanted to say. It wasn’t what you felt deep down. But it was easier to let those words fill the space than to confront the fear twisting inside you. Trent flinched as if you’d struck him. His blood going ice cold. He didn’t know how to convince you this was right when in the moment you were making it feel so very wrong. You were hurting but now so was he. Trent really thought when he just turned to look at you things would be better, not worse. It was quiet. The silence of the room was deafening. His hand faltered for a moment before settling back on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. 

“Why would you say that?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the heavy stillness in the room. You swallowed hard, your throat burning with unshed tears. His jaw tightened and he shut his eyes and you watched his eyelashes lay on his cheek for a moment longer than comfortable, shielding himself from the hurt; as if he was bracing for impact and so you took the final blow. 

“You said you didn’t want to take advantage…” you whispered, your voice cracking. It wasn’t what you meant, not really, but you knew the weight of those words would land, and you hated yourself for using them. You didn’t mean it but you knew what you were doing. You didn’t know why you were doing it but it was happening nevertheless. You were letting this relationship go up in flames with an ease you loathed. An ease Josh made you have and now you were letting the flames engulf Trent with you. Trent’s eyes snapped open, wide and glassy with disbelief. He searched your face as if trying to find some hint that you didn’t mean it, that this was all a misunderstanding. The weight of the night settled heavily between you. It was unbearable, suffocating, like the air had been vacuumed out of the room. You both laid completely still. You felt like you were tearing down the house you’d built together—stripping it bare, brick by brick, without even meaning to. Ripping the walls out, slashing the pipes and yet only his silence and heartbeat made a sound. There was no shouting, no anger, no big crash. Just the quiet dismantling of something fragile, something that felt too precious to lose but too painful to hold onto in the moment. His silence pierced through you, and yet, it wasn’t cold—it was sorrowful, the kind of quiet that spoke volumes about his own inner turmoil. Trent's hand, which had dropped to rest on your arm, tightened slightly on your arm, his heart aching at the sound of your pain. 

“If you feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” Trent finally whispered, his voice raw and achingly soft, “if you feel like I’m in control of this in a way that you’re not… we can’t do this. I won’t.” His hand on you withdrew slowly. It wasn’t harsh, but it left a hollow ache in its absence, as though he were pulling back to keep from causing more damage. There it was. The white flag you indirectly and subconsciously pushed him to raise. He was defeated. He couldn’t win. He felt powerless. He felt so awkward. Like if he touched you again it would change your perspective but if he didn’t it would do just the same. You had dismantled something so quietly, so swiftly. He exhaled deeply, his breath shaky, like he was trying to keep himself from crumbling entirely. It felt like there were worlds between you to now, when in reality it was mere inches but as the night engulfed the room, Trent moved from facing you onto his back creating a distance that felt like something you may never be able to close. Trent’s words hung in the air like the faint echo of a storm, their quiet weight pressing down on you as he pulled away. The warmth of his hand left your skin, replaced by an emptiness that seemed to seep into the space between you. His quiet resolve settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. You had spent so long trying to survive, to appease, to navigate a world where love meant control and touch often felt like an obligation. And yet, here he was—letting you go, even if it broke him. Trent’s restraint wasn’t rejection; it was love. It was understanding. But it hurt all the same. 

“I’ve only ever been in love once… I’ll only ever be in love once. And that’s with you.” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His voice cracked slightly, and the sound shattered you. Your heart clenched painfully at his confession. The vulnerability in his words was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. You stared at his profile, the way his lashes rested against his cheek when he blinked, the tension in his jaw as he tried to steady himself. “Just… take your time,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost inaudible. And then, with the finality of someone who had resigned themselves to the pain, he rolled over, his head resting on his pillow. You watched him, the way he clutched the pillow beneath his head as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His back was to you now, and it felt like a wall you couldn’t scale, no matter how much you wanted to reach for him. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered again, so softly you weren’t sure if it was meant for you or for himself. His words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved, as the night overtook the room. Trent wasn’t like Josh. He wasn’t trying to control you or force you into anything. But in that moment, the weight of your past, the weight of your fears, was too much for either of you to carry alone. And as he lay there, quiet and still, you realized just how much you had both been hurt in ways neither of you fully knew how to heal. You watched the way his shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath, steady but strained. It wasn’t just awkwardness you felt—it was guilt, raw and biting, clawing at your chest. You wanted to speak, to reassure him, to take back the words you didn’t even mean, but your throat felt like it had closed up.in an effort to save yourself you had somehow managed to cut off the only thing that was keeping you alive. Trent had let you go, the chasm in the bed now was too much to breach. The silence between you was deafening, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the night filtering in through the window. It was strange how a room could feel so full of unspoken emotions yet so achingly empty at the same time.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room that felt at odds with the tension between you. The quiet was almost suffocating, the kind of silence that held so much unsaid. Despite the turmoil of the night before, your bodies had instinctively found each other, seeking comfort in a way words couldn’t offer. You’d spent hours wrapped around one another, as if letting go would mean accepting what neither of you wanted to face. Trent’s arms had stayed around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, grounding you even as your mind raced. The morning finally had arrived, it felt like an unspoken truce, a shared understanding that this moment, however fleeting, couldn’t last. You stayed in bed longer than usual, the weight of reality pressing down on both of you. Trent’s fingers traced absent patterns on your arm, and neither of you spoke, afraid to shatter the fragile peace. When you finally sat up, the loss of his touch was immediate and jarring.

Getting dressed felt mechanical. Each movement slow and deliberate, as if prolonging the inevitable goodbye. By the time you made your way downstairs, the air between you had shifted. You could feel his eyes on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet them. At the door, you hesitated, your hand resting on the handle. Your throat was tight, the words you wanted to say lodged somewhere deep inside. 

“T…” you whispered, your voice trembling. He was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on a spot just beyond you. It wasn’t that he didn’t hear you—he was trying to hold himself together, to keep from begging you to stay, from saying something that might push you further away. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were heavy with emotion. 

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. 

“I… I just want to say thank you. For… for last night.” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you. It was all you could say. What had transpired last night couldn’t be encapsulated in a sentence or two. Your feelings for him, the hurt you felt would fill volumes and so you settled for a thank you. Trent shifted, his body tensing as if he was fighting every instinct to close the space between you. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I just… I just want you to be okay.” You nodded, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

“I don’t know what okay looks like right now,” you admitted, your voice breaking. He took a cautious step towards you. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he replied, his words careful, measured. The pet name hurt. He sympathetically smiled at you but it was insincere. His heart was in pieces, shattered on the floor right next to yours. “But you know I’m here, right? No matter what… I’m here.” His words broke something in you, and you glanced back at him, finally meeting his eyes. He was being mature and understanding and it hurt. The depth of his care, his pain, and his love was laid bare, and it was almost too much to bear.

“I know,” you whispered, tears welled up in your eyes, ready to spill over. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to be loved like this. I’m just so sorry I’m hard to love,” you confessed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.  “I don’t know how to feel safe and not push you away when I do.” You whimpered as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Trent’s jaw tightened, his heart breaking as he watched you crumble in front of him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before pulling you into him. His arms enveloped you, one circling your waist while the other cradled the back of your head. You pressed your face into his chest, your tears dampening his shirt but he didn’t care, not one bit. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to transfer every ounce of his love and reassurance. 

“You are the easiest girl to love, pretty girl. And I will love you in whatever way and any way you need me to love you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. His grip tightened slightly, as though he was memorizing the feel of you in his arms, just in case it would be the last time. “Forever, it’s you,” he murmured, his words so soft they were almost lost in the quiet of the room. “Just please know that will never change, no matter what you decide you want.” Your breath hitched and you sobbed into his chest, overwhelmed by his words, by the way he loved you so unconditionally. 

“I love you,” you whimpered, the words breaking as they left your lips. He closed his eyes, his own tears threatening to fall as he held you. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he whispered back, rocking you gently as you cried. “And that’s enough for me.”

The house was alive with chaos—a sea of bodies swaying to deafening music, flashing lights bouncing off the walls in a kaleidoscope of color. Conversations were drowned out by the thrum of bass, laughter spilling over in waves as the party hit its peak. Layla stood in the center of it all, a drink in hand, but her focus was fractured. Her chest felt tight, as if a weight pressed against it, the absence of you palpable. You weren’t here, and while you’d told her to have fun, it didn’t feel right. Still, she pushed through. You needed her to, even if she didn’t fully understand why. Fifteen songs later and five drinks deeper, Layla felt the alcohol warm her insides, dulling some of her guilt but sharpening her resolve. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes skipping over familiar faces until they landed on Devon, standing by the edge of the kitchen, drink in hand, smirking as he caught her gaze. Josh wasn’t here yet—or at least, she hadn’t spotted him—but Devon would have to do. He was Josh’s friend, and as much as Layla disliked him by association, he was her best shot at getting answers. He was handsome, she was hot, they’d met a few times before and maybe there might’ve been some chemistry there but really there was only one reason driving Layla that night. She didn’t trust him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him.

Their banter had started easily enough, a few playful comments traded back and forth. Devon leaned in close, his lips hovering near her ear as if he had to compete with the music, but Layla knew it was more than that. He was testing the waters, his hand brushing hers just lightly enough to be suggestive.

“I think we’re crossing enemy lines here,” he teased, his voice low and full of charm. Layla smirked, meeting his gaze with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. 

“I’ll cross any line you want,” she whispered, leaning in close, her breath warm against his cheek. “But let me borrow your phone first. I just need to text my friend before we leave.” Devon blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but the bait was too tempting to resist. He handed over his phone without hesitation, his smirk deepening. 

“Make it quick, yeah?” he said, his tone dripping with suggestion. Layla turned on her heel, spinning away with a flirtatious glance over her shoulder. Devon’s gaze stayed glued to her as she made her way toward the hallway, phone in hand, pretending to type. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, but as soon as she rounded the corner, her facade dropped. Her fingers moved swiftly, navigating his phone with practiced ease. She scrolled through messages, DMs, and photos, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched for anything—any hint, any clue that could tie Devon or Josh to what had happened to you. She dug deeper and deeper, her frustration mounting as nothing turned up. She huffed, leaning against the wall. The blue light of the phone screen illuminated her features in the dark hallway, casting shadows under her eyes that betrayed her exhaustion. Layla was starting to second-guess her plan as the party raged around her. The house felt suffocating, the music thundering through her chest as if it was synced to her racing heartbeat. Layla was so invested in her hunt she barely noticed Devon coming to lean lazily against the wall beside her, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her hold his phone.

“You find what you’re looking for, or are you just trying to steal my playlist?” he teased, his voice low and laced with amusement. Layla forced a playful laugh, flipping her hair over her shoulder to buy herself a moment. Her fingers worked quickly, scrolling out of his apps and messages, trying to stay one step ahead of Devon’s curiosity.

“I’m just making sure you’re not boring,” she shot back, her tone teasing but with a slight edge of distraction. Devon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. 

“Trust me, babe, I’m anything but boring.” He cooed. Layla ignored his cocky response. Devon noticed her change in demeanor, his smirk fading as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “You alright?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly to one of genuine concern. Layla forced a smile again and handed his back to him as casually as she could. 

“Just had to make sure my girls know I’m with you. Don’t want them thinking I’ve disappeared.” She cooed, turning into him. Devon grinned, clearly pleased with her response. 

“Disappeared, huh? I’ll make sure you stay right where I can see you.” He leaned into her pinching at her waist. She giggled swatting at his hand with a sloppy smile. Maybe it was the alcohol, but a part of her kind of wanted to actually go home with Devon. She didn’t find anything incriminating, he was sort of sweet and definitely handsome. Her mind was racing though, the threads were unraveling, but the knot at the center was still tied too tightly. She needed to find out more. She was committed for you… and maybe there was a little bit in it for her now. So she played along, laughing at Devon’s jokes and letting him guide her through the crowded house. Her focus drifting from being laser-sharp, every glance, every word a calculated move with intent to something a bit looser.  She’d come here for answers, and she knew Devon had to know something so maybe spending a little more time with him wouldn’t hurt. 

The soft hum of Devon’s snores filled the dimly lit bedroom. Layla sat up slowly, careful not to disturb him, and slipped his phone from the bedside table. Her pulse quickened as she padded to the en-suite bathroom, the door creaking slightly as she shut it behind her. She pressed her back to the wall and sank to the floor with a deep breath. Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the phone. Devon had been easy to charm, he actually wasn’t so bad, nice in fact, but what she held in her hand right now would tell her the harsh reality, what he really knew. 

The room was dark, the blue light burning her eyes as she scrolled in Devon’s phone, sat on the floor. Scrolling through his messages again Layla’s breath became unsteady, uneven. Her pulse quickened as she skimmed through group chats and threads. Still, there was nothing that immediately jumped out as damning. She finally decided to go back to Devon’s messages with Josh, her hands trembling slightly. The messages were cryptic as she delved deeper. It felt like she was missing something, a part of their puzzle, so she continued to scroll. She almost didn’t want to find more context, even the thought made her stomach churn but she had to do this. Her grip tightened on the phone as she scrolled faster, reading more and more messages. Her eyes darted over the screen, piecing together fragments of a conversation. 

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. But just as she was about to give up, something caught her eye—an attachment buried deep in their thread of texts. Layla’s vision blurred with anger and panic. She shut her eyes tight. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. There it was: a screenshot of an Instagram DM from Jess to Josh, and then, her stomach dropped—the video attached. The video of you. You, on your knees for Trent, vulnerable in a way that made Layla’s blood run cold. She felt sick.  Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped her lips as tears stung her eyes. The room felt heavier than the silence that followed. Layla sat with her knees pulled to her chest, the dim blue light of the phone casting ghostly shadows on her face. She couldn’t stop trembling. The weight of what she’d seen, and what it meant, pressed down on her like a tidal wave.

“You really are interested in my phone, huh? Find anything good?” Devon’s tired voice shattered the silence, making her jump. Layla turned, looking up at him, fumbling the phone as she tried to recover. 

“Fuck… I was just—” She stumbled out words.  Devon leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching her with an expression that was far too calm for her liking. He had a sleepy smile that was handsome but it couldn’t mask what was on his phone. 

“You find that screenshot of the video Jess sent?” he asked, his tone softer than she expected. He smirked but not smugly. He smirked in a way that was sympathetic. His eyebrows raised as if he himself couldn’t even believe he had seen what she sent. He assumed that's what she was looking for. It was really the only thing that tied him and Layla together. The only reason they knew one another. Layla’s jaw dropped in surprise though that he knew it existed at all and still had the audacity to try to be with her.

“So Jess actually sent that... and you've seen it?” Layla asked again, her voice cracking. She needed him to confirm it—needed him to say it out loud so it felt real. Devon sighed, running a hand over his hair, his expression torn between guilt and discomfort. He shrugged, sliding down the wall to sit beside her. 

“I haven't seen it, no. But. yeah… she sent it to Josh. I don’t know why. Guess she wanted to stir shit up.” He cooed gently looking only at Layla, not his phone that she currently was planning on holding ransom until she got answers. Layla glared at him, her chest heaving with frustration. 

“You’re lying.” Her voice wavered, sharp and accusing. 

“Look, baby, I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’m keeping my hands clean. I don’t want any part of it.” Devon tried to explain his arm reaching out towards her knee but Layla winced at the pet name. Her eyes narrowed, her anger bubbling over. 

“Well, you are playing a part, Devon. You know Josh has that video—of Y/N and Trent, two people in a relationship, in love—and he’s using it to blackmail them. That makes you complicit.” She harshly bit back. He paused for a moment. He didn’t know you and Trent were a couple, let alone in love. He saw you at dinner once, but people go on dates all the time. The only things he heard were from Josh’s perspective. And in his opinion you weren’t allowed to be with Trent. In fact, you wanted Josh instead.

“I didn’t know they were properly together,” Devon muttered, his voice quieter now, guilt flashing across his face. 

“They shouldn’t have to be,” Layla snapped, shoving the phone back into his hands. Her tears were threatening to spill over now, her emotions a tangled mess of fury and heartbreak. “And they fucking can’t be if he has this. This is fucked up, Devon. You’re letting him ruin someone’s life, and you just sit back like it’s nothing? I don’t understand how you can be okay with that.” She whimpered.  Devon winced, the weight of her words visibly sinking in. He leaned back against the cold wall, his hands rubbing his face. 

“Fuck… I’m sorry. You’re right,” he whispered finally. Layla sniffled trying to keep herself together. She was aching for you. “I should’ve done something, stopped it. I just… I didn’t want to get involved. It’s Josh, you know? I mean yeah, I see him a lot, were on the same squad but I try not to fuck with him too much.” Devon weakly tried to explain. Layla’s tears started to spill, her voice growing more impassioned. 

“She’s my best friend, Devon! Do you even understand what this is doing to her? He’s blackmailing her. That video—it’s not just some stupid gossip. It could ruin everything for them… For Trent. And you’re just sitting here pretending like you’re not part of it? Like imagine if someone had a video of you and sent it to the fucking media… Because that's what he's doing. People's private relationship being broadcasted publicly and used to hurt them. Imagine what they feel right now that people like you even have fucking screenshots of this.” Layla yelped with a little more force. Devon sat still, the seriousness of her words bearing down on him. 

“I… I didn’t know it was like that. I didn’t think about it that way,” he said softly. Layla’s comment had landed. Devon felt stupid. He didn’t really know nor care for Trent, they played for rival clubs too after all, but the sentiment still stood. He understood this wasn't the little tiff he dubbed it to be before. He realized what Josh was threatening Trent with. “I thought it was just… I don’t know, some drama between exes that didn’t involve me. I didn’t… I didn’t think of how damaging it could be.” Devon spoke earnestly.

“It is,” Layla shot back, wiping her tears angrily. “And if you care at all…” She shook her head and took a deep breath attempting to compose herself. “You know, maybe about me.” She said unexpectedly to even herself. Maybe she had developed more feelings for Devon then she realized or maybe she was using it as leverage- she couldn't decide but she didn’t care, that wasn't the focus right now. You were. “Or just being a fucking good person and do the right thing, you need to help me fix this.” She pleaded. Devon looked at her, his liable gaze meeting her hurt one. For a moment, it was just the two of them illuminated only by the dim phone screen, the air between them thick with tension. “Devon, you know he hurt her right?” she looked at him curiously. Devon’s eyes narrowed. He looked confused and a part of Layla prayed it was honest innocence. She hoped maybe Devon wasn’t bad. That this was an indiscretion and he was nothing like Josh. If he knew, she could never forgive him. In fact, she’d kill him. “He abused her. The way he spoke to her… Fuck! The texts I’d see that he’d send her. She’d have cuts and bruises all the time… Did you know that?” Layla weakly asked him as tears coursed down her cheeks. 

“No.” Devon responded flatly. He swallowed feeling sick. He didn’t know any of that. He shut his eyes for a moment and then cleared his throat. “He can’t do that. I’m so sorry. What do you want me to do? What can I do, Layla?” He asked finally, his voice resigned but sincere. Layla straightened, her jaw tight as she wiped the last of her tears. 

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 23 - Flowers and Fixing xx

[myapothecarydiary]

Eunuchs, Value, and Appearance– Brief Thoughts on Beauty and Gender in The Apothecary Diaries Manga Volume 1

This is an offshoot of my thoughts from Ch. 4 of the manga, but it also connects greatly to Ch. 1, so a brief recap of where these thoughts sprung from:

As Maomao and Gaoshun go to investigate the "ghost" dancing on the palace wall, Maomao again reflects that Gaoshun doesn't look like a typical eunuch. Her first instinct upon meeting him was the classify him as a "military man" but because he was in the rear palace, he had to be a eunuch.

Meeting again, she thinks he looks "very masculine" and not "like a typical eunuch at all." In this moment, we get another example of Maomao's understanding of and perspective on eunuchs and gender being challenged. Or do we?

A product of her time and background, Maomao has a very specific and somewhat rigid way of thinking about gender. I think that perspective ebbs and flows, but it is very much informed by the outline provided to her by the society she exists within.

Sometimes, what first appears to challenge the constraints of that outline actually works to reaffirm it.

Gaoshun appearing more masculine and like a military man is not presented in the story to challenge a bias but it is Maomao's first clue that something else is going on with Gaoshun, that there's more to the story. It is not a purposeful reflection on gender by the author but a purposeful piece of a puzzle Maomao is solving within the story.

The same thing happens later when Maomao inspects Jinshi's body and sees it is more muscular than a eunuch's would be. Without further investigation, the presentation of eunuchs that don't fit the stereotype challenges that stereotype, but the truth of the matter actually kind of relies on and reaffirms those stereotypes. Gaoshun isn't just a eunuch and wasn't always a eunuch. Jinshi isn't a eunuch at all. If they didn't seem like regular eunuchs, it's because they are not.

[And if we flash forward to how another character is addressed���Maomao observes that Ah-Duo appears more masculine than feminine, which reminds her of Jinshi. Seems like a great challenge to gender norms, but then Maomao's bias/the binary is reinforced by the fact that Ah-Duo's womb was removed. Jinshi is castrated, thus more feminine and Ah-Duo had her womb removed, thus more masculine. Or so it seems to Maomao...]

And yet, just because these moments weren't included to say something about gender, it doesn't mean that nothing on that topic is being said. And the fact remains that Jinshi isn't actually castrated/a eunuch! So he works to both reinforce Maomao's views on gender and challenge them. Though he isn't actually a eunuch, he still appears very feminine. That is, arguably in part due to the drugs/forms of suppression he uses to assume his eunuch persona and operate in the rear palace, but even without those measures, Jinshi still possesses a great "feminine" beauty. He is sort of a contradictory figure in that sense.

With that, I wanted to circle back to something I noted in chapter 1. I noted that Maomao is "disappointed" when she realizes Jinshi is a man and that his beauty is not possessed by a woman. I thought of this point as contributing to the conversation around gender and around beauty within the story.

I also put a pin in the idea of how Maomao values beauty and recognizes how beauty gives someone value and specifically how Maomao views beauty as it relates to Jinshi–a waste on a man, disastrously powerful on a woman, extra wasteful on a man sans frog (aka castrated).

These fuzzy reflections got some great extra translation-related context from @amiriirish (thank you for that!), specifically regarding the line "A man? That's too bad," Maomao's thought when she realizes Jinshi isn't a woman. A more accurate translation would be "A man? What a waste" or as it is written in the GX version: “'タマナシだけどな…もったいない' which roughly translates to '(He) doesn’t have balls, though. What a waste.'"

I love how @amiriirish describes Maomao's perspective in this moment as one of "a scientist, not wanting to see good genes go to waste" as within the historical context of the setting, a person's purpose is to get married and have kids/keep the family line going/pass on their genes. Jinshi being castrated means he won't be able to produce any beautiful children and so his beauty is going to waste by not being passed down.

I was pretty vague in my initial thoughts, but I meant to sort of hand-wave at these ideas (albeit in a much less articulate way) and though I do think Maomao's sexuality is another interesting conversation (and I personally favor the interpretation of her as on the asexual + bisexual spectrums), I didn't mean to highlight Maomao's attraction to Jinshi during their first meeting but rather her recognizing his general attractiveness and beauty. Love bi Maomao, but I don't actually think she was attracted to Jinshi at that moment. Like with her view of the "wastefulness" of his beauty, she is looking at him like a scientist/as more of an observer than participant.

Maomao's introduction to Jinshi is the beginning of her generalizations about his beauty and how she positions herself as an outsider in those generalizations. Anyone would be attracted to him but that anyone does not refer to her. At least not yet.

Instead, I was thinking of Maomao's disappointment at Jinshi being a man rather than a woman as a reflection of her upbringing in the pleasure district and her familiarity with female beauty specifically.

We don't get a lot from Maomao about beauty or handsomeness in men. Or when we do, she seems even more removed from it. Like it isn't really worth noting. I think this is because she has learned how beauty can function as a sort of currency or tool for women.

Even in the very beginning of chapter 1, Maomao reflects on how a "pretty face" (and a voluptuous body) can lead to a woman rising through the ranks.

@teaflowsthroughthesesims discussed this further in some awesome expanded thoughts:

"In the circles [Maomao] runs in beauty is power, or a means of obtaining it, mostly but not exclusively for women. In her view, it's fitting that the powerful be beautiful, and expected that it be used as a weapon or tactic of controlling others.

Beauty is also tied up in desire towards others. The desire of a customer for a courtesan is due to beauty, the desire of an emperor for a concubine naturally falls on the lovely ones -- and [Maomao's] own undesirability is tied up in her lack of beauty (i.e chicken bones vs. abalone)."

"This is why she immediately sees Jinshi's flirting as a tactic - beauty is a tool to be used. Also, she chooses ways to describe Jinshi's beauty in terms of how it would control other people - 'a nation-toppling beauty' or 'a sex appeal that would drive both men and women mad' (paraphrased)."

"Aside from her upbringing in brothels, this is also probably why it doesn't 'work' on her - she is always expecting beauty to be used as a weapon or tool."

With that being said, I think Maomao views Jinshi's beauty as a waste on a eunuch and on a man both because it means that beauty will not be genetically passed on and because it means that beauty cannot be strategically used as a tool by a woman. But after this moment of meeting, Maomao will soon see how Jinshi, despite being a eunuch and a man, can use his beauty as a tool too. Something she probably knew was a thing already (men using their looks), just something she's not as familiar with.

I think there also remains a curiosity in Maomao regarding the concept of Jinshi as a woman, which we see again later when Maomao can't resist trying out lipstick on him to try and see what he might look like if he were a woman. There's perhaps something self-indulgent in that, as well as something that brings together the world Maomao knew before and the one she is coming to know. Thinking of Maomao as a scientist, it is a little experiment, but though Maomao is practical and her view of beauty is influenced by that, I think she is more than her practicality and pragmatism too.

More thoughts in this vein will surely come once we get to Maomao's reasons for using makeup to add freckles to her face!

[urhoneycombwitch]

something I wish the show would have explored, even just as a throwaway line, is an acknowledgement or borderline relationship with Mrs. Henderson and Steve. Like just as a "Hey, my son has taken some bond with you and I'm not sure why since you've already graduated but I'm glad he has and you're welcome to dinner if you'd like"

I imagine that there are times when Steve is invited to stay for dinner after dropping Dustin off a couple different times and Mrs. Henderson does pick up on the off-comments Steve makes about his home life/lack of good parental figures which makes her only open up her home even more.

I think it happens at a Barbeque in someone's backyard, where there's a mix of the parents and other adults, young adults, and the kids and Mrs. Henderson maybe makes a comment to Steve that she made the potato salad with the red skins how he likes and she made extra for him to take back to his apartment and without thinking Steve goes "Thanks mom!"

I think that's kind of the relationship that they would have where it's like you're not really my mom but you treat me better than she did and also you came to my wedding and I mailed you pictures of my baby's ultrasound. Their relationship probably ebbs and flows with the years especially as Dustin gets older and Steve starts his own life, but if he ever needs help, he has her number to call for the best advice on how to get spit up out of onesies and all of life's little hiccups.

dude YES. Steve deserves parental love from the people whose kids he’s taking care of!!!

I want summer bbqs at the Byers’ where Joyce packages leftovers on plastic wrapped plates for him. Mrs. Sinclair saving Steve a seat at Lucas’s home game and slipping $10 in his pocket for gas money (“for all the times you’ve carted my son around town, I won’t take no for an answer, mister”)

I think you’re right, Steve’s proximity+closeness w/Dustin makes Mrs. Henderson a shoe-in for surrogate mother. I think she’d be thrilled to have an older boy to dote on and feed and knit winter sweaters for 🥲

in my for every ear dad!steve series, their oldest kid JJ is named after Joyce Byers 💖 I’d love to flesh out Joyce and Steve+Reader’s relationship (especially as it pertains to being new parents!!) eventually in a fic bc I know they called her over any pediatrician in the early days. and Grandma Joyce’s house was def a haven for exhausted mom!reader and newborn JJ 🥹

[pocketmania]

Octo Samurai x Callie sickfic comfort but instead of him being stoic he actually is a huge wimp and is scared of medication/medical treatment from anybody?

Yooo!! Thank you for asking! It's been a while since I've gotten an ask lol

I'd love to write about that! I've got quite the soft spot for sickfics and big softies

P.s. I legit forgot who the octo samurai was since I hadn't heard that name in so long 😭

Also sorry if this is too short!

Now onto the thingy

# Doctor's Orders

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

(🎨🔫❤️‍🩹👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨) - splatoon comfort

(characters) - octo samurai, callie

(‼️warnings) - none

(summary) - callie helps one of the octos feel better.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"You'll be fine—I promise!" Callie reassured as she went to go grab the medicine... wherever that was.

Ever since Octavio squidnapped Callie, she's been adding her own touch to the entire place. She changed the look of the octarian goggles to shades, started decorating the entire headquarters, and even made the ink all glittery (somehow).

Most notably, however, she's become close with a lot of the army... Including the unit known as the Octo Samurai. Due to his size, skill, and intimidating demeanor, the army respected him greatly. However, once Callie got to know him, she realized he was actually a big ol' softy: sweet, caring, kind of a scaredy-cat, and everything else Callie fell in love with!

Now, she's currently asking around to find the medicine to help treat his case of the common cold.

After about 10 minutes, she rushed back into the arena where he was and cheered, "I got it!" Samurai tried to keep a straight face, but it was very clear he didn't want to do this at all. Callie read the box for instructions and began to pour the designated amount into the mini cap cup. She then looked up at him and noticed his face.

"Oh, stop!" She grinned, trying to ease his nerves. "This'll do ya good. Doctor Callie will treat you well!" She beckoned for him to bend down so she could reach his mouth. As he did so, he grimaced and turtlenecked. (Does he even have a neck?)

He stopped her before she could give it to him. "You're sure this won't be bad for me?" He asked to clarify. Being honest, he'd rather wait out the cold than take anything to make it better. Callie smiled again. "Of course! I'd never make you do anything that wasn't good for you!"

Samurai relaxed just a bit and reluctantly told her he was ready. Callie poured the medicine in his mouth, and, as quickly as it happened, it was over. He gagged at the taste; Cherry was never a good flavor in medicine. Callie clapped her hands together. "See? It wasn't so bad!"

As he got up, Callie put the medicine back in the box, telling herself she'd wash the cup out later (but would probably forget). "Now! Come to the mess hall. I'm making tuna noodle soup for you!" She commanded. He shrugged. That didn't sound so bad.

Just then, Callie stopped before they could make it out of the arena. "Oh yeah! I forgot! I also need to check if you have a fever!" Samurai violently shook his head no. He seemed to be more afraid of thermometers than medicine. Callie turned to face him again. "It's okay! It'll be as quick as the medicine bit."

Samurai still looked unsure, so Callie leaned in. "Tell you what! After I take your temp and you eat, we can sit around and watch episodes of Keeping Up with Ebb and Flow!" She negotiated. Once again, Samurai relaxed a little. "That does sound nice..." He admitted.

Callie huffed out of triumph. "Great! Now, you stay put while I go and make your food and grab the thermometer. Doctor's orders!"

Octo Samurai had to admit that having Callie around was something he didn't expect to appreciate as much as he did. More importantly, even if it was still grueling, she made the process of getting better... better.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[andreai04]

All we have ever known is a life of human design, from our bodies to our work to the buildings we are housed in. We thank you for not keeping us here against our will, and we mean no disrespect to your offer, but it is our wish to leave your cities entirely, so that we may observe that which has no design—the untouched wilderness.

But there was a gravity to leaving a place for good, a deep sense of seismic change.

Nobody in the world knows where I am right now, they thought, and the notion of that filled them with bubbling excitement. They had canceled their life, bailed out on a whim. The person they knew themself to be should've been rattled by that, but someone else was at the helm now, someone rebellious and reckless, someone who had picked a direction and gone for it as if it were of no more import than choosing a sandwich. Dex didn’t know who they were, in that moment. Perhaps that was why they were smiling.

“We don’t have to fall into the same category to be of equal value.”

"I think there's something beautiful about being lucky enough to witness a thing on its way out."

It is difficult for anyone born and raised in human infrastructure to truly internalize the fact that your view of the world is backward. Even if you fully know that you live in a natural world that existed before you and will continue long after, even if you know that the wilderness is the default state of things, and that nature is not something that only happens in carefully curated enclaves between towns, something that pops up in empty spaces if you ignore them for a while, even if you spend your whole life believing yourself to be deeply in touch with the ebb and flow, the cycle, the ecosystem as it actually is, you will still have trouble picturing an untouched world. You will still struggle to understand that human constructs are carved out and overlaid, that these are the places that are the in-between, not the other way around.

“You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don't know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don't need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live.”

"Do you not find consciousness alone to be the most exhilarating thing?… You and I—we're just atoms that arranged themselves the right way, and we can understand that about ourselves. Is that not amazing?"

[heylittleriotact]

I read the rules AFTER replying to the post. The title that most intrigues me is Senna Origins, because yeah, Senna. I might be a lil obsessed.

For you, anything! Thank you, friend 🥰

This is a portion from Senna’s backstory, which mostly focused on their upbringing and youth in the Feywild, and their activities within the Seelie Court as a young adult. I actually have yet to finish this because in the campaign that Senna exists in, they’re 472 years old and have spent around two centuries in the Material Plane and having to account for almost 500 years of being alive is… well it’s a lot.

I was picking them off one by one, pulling away pieces of a war machine that was driven by greed, privilege, and hubris. Lillian was becoming more and more powerful, her ideas were holding more sway, and I was becoming far too big for my britches: It was no longer enough for me to control the ebb and flow of the Seelie Court with my humble influence. I decided it was time to bless the Unseelie Court with my unique knack for taking out the trash as well.

(It’s vital to understand that the following decisions resulted in me ultimately drinking for roughly a decade straight in the Material Plane, and then sleeping for another 24 years to nurse away the cumulative hangover.)

Back when we had our silly little pissing contest with the Unseelie Court and Lillian and I were put on the front lines for a short time, the biggest battle we fought was against a monster named Baron of the Withering Spiritual Resilience - We called him Bows’r - He was big. He was mean. He was a graceless oaf (but really probably a lot more graceful than you know… un-Fey standards), and he led a battalion of four thousand to near victory against our own force. He was high ranking in the Unseelie Court, and I figured if I’d defused the powderkeg that was my own court, I may as well balance it out on the other side too.

I approached this differently though. There was a lot of sneaking, a lot of cloak and dagger, a lot more cloak, and a lot of being really, really careful that this didn’t get back to Lillian, or the rest of the Seelie Court, who still at best barely tolerated me.

See, my goal wasn’t to take down just Bows’r. My goal was to take down Bows’r, by goading him into an attempt on Oberon himself (actually knowing full well that I didn’t really have any kind of personal issue with Oberon, aside from the fact that he was one of them, and back then that was enough. Yes. I was an idiot, thanks.)

It would have worked spectacularly if I hadn’t suffered a betrayal within my own ranks which tipped Bows’r off, led him straight to Lillian instead of Oberon, and ultimately squared things such that the might of both Bows’r and Oberon were unjustly laid upon Lillian.

This was not just a matter of mistaken identity, a few bruises, and a socially awkward situation. The world of the fey is not so droll. No. This treachery meant that Lillian was implicated in the plot that was mine, and for the fact that Oberon’s name was even mildly associated, the perceived challenge was answered with the swift, practical retribution of The Hunter.

My love was taken away. Pierced by thirty-seven golden arrows even as I sought to buy her freedom with whatever means I could.

I watched it happen, I saw her face - content, relaxed - safe. I saw it fall to fear and surprise as the Green Lord appeared and took his prize, as triumphant and gleaming as any god would be in a tale told to you by someone else. I saw her curl, stretch, curl, shudder, and succumb on her feet to the wounds inflicted on her.

There was no time to explain, you see. Between my fatal error, Lillian’s false implication, and her blood on the mossy ground, less than a few hours had passed. There was no room to talk my way out, no way to talk her out, no army at our back, and nowhere else to go but… anywhere. And if you know even the loosest concept of anywhere, you know it means little to Oberon.

All I could do was watch as the Green Lord stooped and shouldered the body of a woman much larger than he, and all I could think of was the image of a hardened hunter hauling off a well-earned kill. Her blood trailed down his green shoulders and arms as he looked at me, without words.

“Release her,” I managed, from my broken and pitiful position on my knees. The hot tears that carved down my cheeks felt foreign and terrible. I felt, for the first time in my life, that I might be sick for the fear and grief that ruled my body now. I was no longer an instrument to the music: I had been swept up mercilessly in its unyielding fury.

The Green Lord’s cheek curled in a wry smile. “Set a trap, spring the line, and request from me that which is mine?” Lillian’s form was shifted up higher on the shoulder, and I swallowed back the gag that forced its way into my throat when I heard a bit of blood drip out of her own onto the forest floor. I forced myself to my feet, horribly aware of the soil and plant-life wedged deeply under my fingernails, horribly aware of the dryness of my own mouth and the wetness of my pants as I ignored the quaking in my knees and the sharp metallic flavour of fear on the back of my tongue warning me that my life was in very severe danger. I breathed in as deeply as I could - a shallow and sad attempt at best - but I forced my head high, forced my expression blank, and willed my forsaken knees still. There was music in this nightmare too. There had to be. I just needed to listen.

I looked Oberon in the face. In the eyes. And I said (as if it mattered, which around the Feywild, it very may well):

“Let her go, please.”

And he laughed in my face and disappeared from the forest in I don’t know… a fucking raincloud or something probably.

And he took Lillian with him. He took Lillian. My love, my queen, my hero. My best friend. My only real friend.

The problem - the real problem aside from him murdering my lover in front of my eyes for a crime that was not hers - was that he also took my child. My child that Lillian had only told me about moments before Oberon’s intrusion.

My beloved, and my future: Gone in the time it takes a leaf to fall from a tree.

[serpercival]

Pls pls pls pls more Foxboy Trapper hcs. I’m actually obsessed with the human vs animal Trapper that is portrayed. Hcs for protective Trapper?? 🙏🙏 Im just Yapping bro but eemmm pls??

At your service!

Most of the dichotomy between Trapper's human brain and foxbrain is a direct result of trauma. He's been told his whole life that it's wrong to be like that. If he's going to look like that, then the least he can do is not act like that. So he shuts it down as often as he can—gives himself a sore throat to not make fox vocalizations with every word, tries not to give in to any of the instincts, and that means that, on occasion, everything boils out of him and he can't stop it. He's found a bit more of an equilibrium by Professional Courtesy, but he has a lot of peaks and ebbs that pull him towards or away from the foxbrain.

Early days, MASH-era Trapper is usually either desperately trying to act completely human or falling completely into foxmode at the slightest provocation from Hawkeye. A little bit of a shove and now it's wrestling time, things like that. He always feels guilty about it afterwards. Hawk never stops encouraging it, because he can see the strain it's putting on him. By the time BJ joins the party, Trapper's settled into his relationship with Hawk and feels more comfortable with himself as long as he's in his own home, but he still has moments where he tilts all the way over—see the wrestling bit in Boston - Part Six of Mating Habits.

This is working ahead a little bit, but by the time the boys have JT, (Trapper's son from Trapper John, M.D., who's genuinely, biologically all three of their son in this (there's a little bit of talk about this in Chapter Two of Professional Courtesy but we'll be getting there in the final year of Mating Habits as well)) Trapper's found much more of a balance point. He leans into those ebbs and flows rather than trying to fight them, and will occasionally slip into a headspace that he never let himself go to before where he'll legitimately take a nap in a sunbeam and bug his husbands for pets. He feels disgusting the first few times it happens, but it's about feeling safe to explore those parts of himself in a way that he never had before, and Hawk and BJ eventually manage to convince him that there's nothing wrong with it. He should get to be all of himself. That feeling of safety, of wholeness, is part of why they get to have JT, but we'll get there :3

As a side note, an awful lot of this is rooted in my (and the AU's co-creators'!) experiences growing up with undiagnosed autism. You feel like you're wrong, you feel like there are parts of you that don't belong in human society, you feel like you need to fight through the emotional distress to talk to people even when you can't because otherwise they're going to think there's something wrong with you. I can project onto this 1950s surgeon like you wouldn't believe.

Re: Trapper being protective, this was a thing we just floated an idea for the other day! He'll hear a dog outside and think well, that's practically A Wolf, and the wolf is going to Hurt My Babies, and then he herds all three of the kids, Erin included, into one room and sits in the doorway all puffed up and growling. He knows it's stupid and he feels stupid doing it but he genuinely can't stop himself, especially if BJ and Hawk aren't around. He and Waggle do not trust each other, but luckily the dog lives with Peg and her partner Melanie, so it's really only a problem if he's the one who drops Erin off, and they usually put Waggle in the yard until Trapper's gone home.

Thank you so much for the request!! Always thrilled to get to talk more about him <3

[nyandereneko]

Spare Blanket

Word Count: 701 Summary: “With a reassuring smile and a confident squeeze of the hand, Nova followed Qifrey’s lead as the pair set off to find a cozier nest to settle into for the night.” Author’s Note: Day 5 of the prompt list I’ve been working from, Qifrey brain descended out of nowhere but I’m not complaining lol. Thank you for reading as always!

*****

She always seemed to catch him dozing in the most peculiar places. Slumped over a chair in the kitchen here, passed out at the drawing table there, squirreled away in who knows what kind of nook that she just so happened to be passing by at the time. As the hushed hours of night settled over the remote atelier, Nova could hear subtle notes of the evening’s ambiance ebb and flow through the halls, suffusing the air, caressing her ears with the comforting hum of the surrounding wilderness. The crackle of a fire or the stirring of pots had developed into a similar kind of comfort for her, much as she’d come to recognize the distinct rustle of a certain witch’s robes or the deft glide of his nib staining parchment.  

Qifrey wasn’t as transparent with his exhaustion as his warmhearted Watchful Eye tended to be, but Nova was more than shrewd enough to notice which days seemed to hang over him like a cloud. And that didn’t even account for the episodes of agony that struck him from time to time, symptoms of some insidious malady that she was still somewhat apprehensive to treat. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help him, more that she suspected he may end up resenting her aid more than he appreciated it. It was easy for him to justify her intervention in the moment, but when the fog cleared she wasn’t as confident as he seemed to be that his gratitude was genuine and unwavering.

Magic wasn’t the only thing she had to offer him, of course, and apart from playing his occasional partner in crime she took it upon herself to look after him to a certain extent, as much as she safely could. And as much as he would permit, stubborn as the snow-haired witch was. Sometimes that took the form of something as simple as covering his sleeping shoulders as he slumbered at his workspace—much as she was doing now—being careful to extricate some of the more uncomfortable items from beneath his resting head as she fussed about. She closed up his books, compiled his scattered notes, and neatly stored his arsenal of tools for casting. She didn’t dare to encroach upon him any further as he slept, more than aware of the depth of discomfort and agitation he tended to exhibit when someone invaded his personal space without warning.

But just as she was turning to leave, something unexpected snagged her wrist. The woman let out a startled yelp, fur fluffing up like she’d been shocked, and she buttoned her lips as swiftly as she could as her cry faded into the air. There was no doubt she must have disturbed the fatigued witch’s rest, but much to her own surprise Nova found a weak hand halting her retreat as a single bleary blue eye observed her over the soft curve of his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…I was just—”

“I believe I’m the one who owes you an apology,” he corrected between yawns, releasing his hold as he sat up and stretched. “It wasn’t my intention to catch you off guard, I’m sorry for startling you.”

“No apologies necessary,” she replied with a smile. “However, I think you’d be more comfortable if you found somewhere a little softer and warmer to rest.”

“Am I to assume you have some such place in mind?” he asked with a playful edge, and Nova cleared her throat and swept a horde of unproductive thoughts into the darkest, dustiest corner of her mind she could find.

“Not necessarily, but it’s not like there’s a shortage of cozy places to curl up in around here.”

Qifrey rose from his seat, swaddling her in his cloak as she gasped and yielded to his embrace. “Let’s see what we can find, then, shall we?”

Nova simply nodded her agreement. She didn’t think she had the strength to voice a coherent reply, but her gesture of acknowledgement was more than sufficient enough for him. With a reassuring smile and a confident squeeze of the hand, Nova followed Qifrey’s lead as the pair set off to find a cozier nest to settle into for the night.

[dajaregambler]

HeliosR - Sing in the darkness - Chapter 2 - Part 7

Translation of Sing in the darkness from ‘Helios Rising Heroes’, a new side arc alongside the current main story arc Like the dawning light.

Robin: --Are things going well with your three teammates?

Sage: About that… There’s times I’m a bit nervous, but it’s working out somehow… I think?

Robin: With Bianchi you don’t hold yourself back. I’ve taken note of how you two often talk to each other while on duty. And in the same vein Jude sticks close… 

Robin: Nico must be the one weighing on your mind, then?

Sage: …Yeah, exactly that.

Sage: He is my roommate and I’d like to befriend him, but it doesn’t look like he feels the same about it…

Robin: Right…

Robin: At first glance, I don’t sense any kind of hostility or negativity, which rules that out as the problem.

Robin: It simply could be the lack of skill to communicate with others, or that’s how his personality is… 

Robin: Perhaps there might be some other reason, I think it would be best for you to not panic and worry too much about it.

Robin: Well, as your mentor I should be able to maneuver around it with these things.

Robin: Excuse me. Seems that my approach is more carefree than what you’d expect from most people… Ahaha…

Sage: I knew that from a long time ago

Sage: You have a lot on your own plate, right? I’ve heard that there’s more irregularities than usual with this term.

Sage: Though one mentor being in charge of four rookies is pretty unheard of, right?

Robin: Well… The pattern of three rookies to four rookies, and mentors ending up on their own is something that happens often

Robin: However a single mentor that’s one rank removed from being a Major Hero against a whole group of rookies… I’d argue that’s a little bit unreasonable. 

Sage: The cause has to be from last year’s… that, Lost Zero, right?

Robin: Quite a good guess there.

Robin: Exactly as you said. The clean up that followed suit after the deaths at Lost Zero, or perhaps I should say the preparations going forward, came with reinforcing the Anti-Eclipse unit as a priority.

Robin: The fact that such a situation impacted everything is undeniable.

Sage: …Are you doing okay, Sensei?

Robin: Ahaha. Sorry, did I make you anxious?

Robin: It is what it is. I would love to shrug it all off by saying it’s all fine, but since things have already gotten out of hand, we ended up talking about it…. 

Sage: No, that’s not what I meant… I’m genuinely worried if things aren’t too hard for you at the moment…

Sage: You’re busy with preparing for the Major Hero exam at the same time, no?

Robin: Fufu, I appreciate you worrying for me. You’re kind, Sage.

Robin: While I might not have much confidence in my physical strength, I do think quite highly of my stress tolerance.

Robin: As for the exam, North’s Brad-kun is in the same situation, I am in no position to whine here.

Robin: It’s a given that defense is my forte, even if I say so myself. Could say that it’s true even outside of combat.

Robin: And if I’m at my wit’s end, then I’ll surrender when the time’s right.

Sage: Do you mean that? I do think that’s just like you, but…

Robin: Well, headquarters understands the current irregular circumstances, or rather that’s the assumption I’m operating under, so it’ll be fine.

Robin: Let’s not be too serious now and take it easy. The ebb and flow of fortune is not looking bad either.

Robin: Besides, I was interested in the perspective of one in charge, I’m fairly happy that I’ve been assigned as a mentor.

Robin:  Ah, your fortune is also shaping up to be excellent too, Sage. Keep your head up high and be positive.

Robin: If you ever feel anxious, please come tell me about it. That’s what we mentors are here for. 

Sage: Yes…! Thank you, Sensei.

Sage: I’m kind of feeling all fired up now! Tomorrow I’ll start with a morning run and then do some independent training afterwards

Robin: That’s a good mentality to have, but please be careful to not overdo it.

Robin: Improving your individual ability is of course important. However, what’s even more important at Helios at the moment is--

Sage: Teamwork! Right, Sensei

Robin: Yes, correct.

Robin: There’s no meaning to becoming stronger all on your own. Aim to match the pacing with your teammates, and cultivate teamwork. 

Robin: As for the specifics, the regularly held LOM is our current target. That is where I hope to achieve satisfactory results… 

Sage: Yes! I’ll do my best!

Robin: Good to see you in high spirits. 

Robin: I’m sure you will be able to pull it off. You have my support, Sage---

[thetwotorches]

A lot of books & videos that are centered around working with the human dead taut the idea that you should want to be a psychopomp-type figure, saying if you want to work with or interact with the dead then you need to be ready to help them move on. However, they rarely explain any dangers or concerns with psycopomp work, and I feel like surely there must be some? In your experience, what would you warn potential psychopomps or mediums about with this kind of work? How do you feel about this common insistence that every spirit worker who specializes with the dead should be ready to do this kind of work?

Hello, Snowy! Thank you for this question. It's very interesting, and I will say now that I will likely go off the beaten path a bit with my answer.

As I can only speak for myself and not the authors of any books or videos, the bluntest way to put it is that weird shit runs in my family and this particular 'task' happens to be my lot of it. I have my theories as to why, but they are ultimately irrelevant. All this to preface that I didn't exactly choose this, it's something I've been grappling with and trying to figure out since I was in diapers.

I wasn't 'ready' for anything when I watched things go flying off of my dresser at three years old, or to be carried around by my great grandfather only to wake up and be told that he had passed away overnight. I am unsure how it is for those who are able to choose this sort of thing, but when it comes as a built-in feature there is no such thing as 'ready', there is only 'well these are things that happen sometimes- better figure it out so you don't have a bad time'. Those are my personal thoughts on 'readiness'.

As for dangers....I have lived in three haunted houses, and to be honest those bothered me more than friends and family visiting me. I have watched things fly off of counters, off of shelves, heard footsteps, keyboards being used, I mean I could go on. In the previous ask I mentioned the 'dissonance' that can be extremely unnerving, and you get a lot of that living in a place that's haunted. I was a child for the first two houses and I had no tools for dealing with any of it, so my reactions were anywhere between ignoring it completely and just silently cleaning up any messes as if nothing had happened, to being so afraid I couldn't even scream, locking my bedroom door, and praying haha. The last haunted place I lived in was more recent, a few years ago, and I had a bit more awareness. When things started to go flying, I very calmly and politely asked them aloud to maybe not do that, because hey it's not fun to see! Thank you for your time. And sure enough, it did not happen again! Instead the object they previous pushed off the shelf was very politely left on my bed for me some feet away- but they didn't do it in front of me! So technically I couldn't get mad!

I feel this goes to show that simple, vocalized communication can go a long way in handling situations, especially ones that feel troubling to us. Nothing elaborate was needed in this instance, just a frank talk, a cool head, and a dose of courage.

As for the idea of *mandatory* responsibilities, such as helping others cross over, where I am at the moment I feel very ebb-and-flow about this idea. In other words, going with the flow has not only suited me but likely also probably kept me out of any significant trouble. Just as you wouldn't approach strangers on the street and follow them for blocks trying to sell them something, I have never tried to 'help' anyone do anything they never asked of me first. The agreeable ghost in my last apartment was more concerned about the lousy boy I was dating, not in leaving the house, and that's fine. It's their choice! This is my current perspective on that sort of thing.

I think if I had to recommend any 'protections', though, it would be to have a good relationship with your ancestors and also with a known spirit who specializes in this sort of thing. At the bare minimum not only are they your best tutors, but they can also be a strong shield and defense if things ever feel off.

I hope this answer has been helpful- thank you very much for your question!

[chryblossomjjk]

No no its reallly really truly sad that everyone seems to be leaving now 😓 but it's so understandable cos a lot of shit people have started invading this space ever since 2020 and i can only really cheer fic writers for straying further away from here. but regardless that, i just really miss how this community was like years ago like around 2018. so many good authors, and people actually wrote so many good things, offering more than just jk porn fics 😓 but also, it's not even just tumblr tbh. lots of good army accs on twitter have started leaving/being ia and it's just sooo so sad cos i really felt happy interacting with people so much online before. but now i feel like the negativity has just been overpowering the opposite, or it's prob just me growing up and realizing that internet is indeed not a good place HAHAHA anyways im glad ur still here tho! i love your FICS and thank you for sharing them with us <3

hm as someone who only writes jk porn fics lol i find every type of content people create to be valuable (unless it’s like glorifying any of them isms obvi). like this is just a hobby yk? fanfic writing doesnt have to be the most magnificent thing in the world, as long as you’re having fun your writing has purpose in my opinion.

but i agree!! theres definitely a ton of negativity on the internet in general. cant blame anyone for moving on, writers and readers alike! your mental health is more important than a tumby blog lol!! everything works in ebbs and flows though so hoping this is the rain before the rainbow!! i feel like the boys enlisting will either cause the fandom on here to die or thrive. i tend to think the prior will happen but hoping for the latter!! overall, ive had a v positive experience on here and i would love for that to continue, and for others to share that experience. the community has lots of potential!! 💗

[adelaidedrubman]

❤️‍🔥💧👁️ for John/Jess, Faith/Jen, and Sky/Sher/Jess (one for each or all of them, your choice!)

THANK YOU SIERRA!!!! why not do all three for three:3

❤️‍🔥: Who tends to take the lead with showing affection?

john is definitely more outwardly doting and willing to openly express his adoration, unlike jessie he will label his affection as affection instead of declaring that giving forehead kisses and gently holding pinkies and reverently tracing freckles is like. enemy power play behavior.

that being said jessie doesn’t particularly like to be outdone by him in anything, so she returns physical affection (or at least, physical contact) quite enthusiastically and readily initiates (see above), ostensibly for the sake of being in control but in actuality because she is just spoiling him and enjoying doing it. (explicit verbal affection is more difficult to goad her into, although she is not above praise and pet names in heated moments. sarcastically. obviously.)

💧: How well do they comfort each other when they’re upset?

uh. depends what is meant by comfort. i think they... provide an emotional outlet for each other when they’re upset that is ultimately comforting, but neither of them are actually like. skilled at soothing.

jestiny is a provocateur first and foremost and rather than try to calm john down she pushes buttons and escalates. but then he has an excuse to have a full outburst so ig that’s comforting for him? and similarly jestiny derives comfort from the way john just rolls with the punches when she’s having a tantrum. like take for example wildfire she freaks out dragging a corpse around like “we HAVE to have a daniel funeral RIGHT NOW” and john is like “oh ok bye everyone i have to go to the daniel funeral now” and it makes her feel like that’s a normal thing she’s doing.

like obviously none of this is healthy but they give each space to be completely insane and that feels good feels organic to them.

👁️: What exactly do they want with their future with each other? Is that something they think of often or do they just stay in the moment?

answered here for wildfire! for hl&s, they hope their future is winning their exes back and breaking up and never speaking to each other ever again.

❤️‍🔥: Who tends to take the lead with showing affection?

faith tends to be more forthcoming on both physical and verbal affection, jenna readily flirts and compliments but she’s less expressive of her own emotions, so she can come off rather cold and disengaged at times even when she’s being pleasant. but jenna returns physical embraces pretty readily and can be more touchy in quiet, private settings and downtime, and while she’s less of an initiator she definitely tends to be more giving during intimate moments (service top).

💧: How well do they comfort each other when they’re upset?

fairly well, when the other is actually open about being upset in the first place. they both tend to emotionally obfuscate in their own ways, so coming to each other openly seeking comfort is not something they do often. but the non-judgmentalness of jenna’s cool aloofness is a source of stability and comfort to faith in and of itself, and faith knows how to recognize when jenna is stressed and force her to relax and take time for herself even when she insists it isn’t necessary.

👁️: What exactly do they want with their future with each other? Is that something they think of often or do they just stay in the moment?

they tend to pointedly avoid it, for all of jenna’s meticulousness she also tends to be a very go with the flow and see what happens person. she doesn’t put pressure or expectations on relationships or feel the need to define things, she enjoys them as she experiences them. she and faith have been on again, off again several time as their responsibilities outside of the relationship dominated their lives, and they’re comfortable with the natural ebb and flow and ready to see what happens and let things unfold on their own.

❤️‍🔥: Who tends to take the lead with showing affection?

none of them are particularly shy about physical affection, i would say jessie is often the initiator in that she’s very direct and a reach out and touch person. jestiny and skylar are both a little more closed off about expressing affection verbally, so sherri tends to take the lead there.

💧: How well do they comfort each other when they’re upset?

yeah, sherri and skylar are much better at comforting each other than they are at calming down jessie or jessie offering any sense of emotional support to them. although for what it’s worth jessie is very ready to crack a joke and try to lighten to mood when either of them are upset, but actual emotional nurturing is out of her wheelhouse.

👁️: What exactly do they want with their future with each other? Is that something they think of often or do they just stay in the moment?

answered here!

[practically-an-x-man]

Talk shop tuesday!

Is there anything that is the same in all of your 'universes'? A character trait all your Main Character OCs share, an event that happened differently, or didnt happen at all?

Ooooooh, this is an interesting one! Thank you!!

Talk Shop Tuesday

So, first off, I don't know that there's something that remains the same in all of my stories/universes. I have a fair number of them, and they all feature very different characters, themes, and tones. I think in general I do incorporate a lot of hurt/comfort and a balance between angst and fluff, and there are a lot of themes related to found family, medicine/healing, and being accepted for your genuine self, but that's more an indication of what I find important and cathartic when I write than it is a devoted effort to include those themes every time.

I think when we look at when I have multiple distinct fics/stories for the same fandom (4 for X-Men, 2 for DC, 2 for the MCU, 2 for 6 Underground), there's generally a few things that overlap, but not extensively. For example, in both of my 6 Underground fics, I did choose to make One's real name a cheeky comic book reference, but that's just for my own amusement as an author.

When it comes to larger details like fix-it deaths, I try to focus on changes that could directly be influenced by my OCs and their role in the story. So like... I usually try to write a fix-it for Alex Summers' death in the X-Men movies, whether he's a main character in the fic or not - Rae's shields save him in ALON, a healing mutant will save him in a future Smoke and Mirrors sequel, and I had originally planned for Mira's extended story to involve a fix-it for him too - but his canon death sticks in Symphony in Silver because Robin joined up with the X-Men after X-Men: Apocalypse and there was nothing she could have done to step in.

There's some ebb and flow there too, some details I do change just because I want to and some things I let slide even if my OC could have stepped in, it really just depends on what will make the story more interesting and bring the most emotional depth. But as a whole, I feel like restricting the major changes to what the OC can influence is a good way to keep things controlled and consistent.

I honestly don't view my stories as one interconnected universe. I know plenty of people do, and I respect that viewpoint immensely, but I find it more fun personally to treat them as individual bubbles of plot without significant overlap. That way I don't have to keep track of extensive timelines or details, and I can shift around the events as best fit for the characters without being worried about confounding one of my other stories (y'know, like... if Eris and Nikoletta were both in the same universe, I could only write the Corto Maltese plot once and I'd have to think about how they both fit into it while also servicing their individual stories). Some of them might coexist or cross over more easily than others, but as a whole I view them as separate entities.

[victorclays]

YESSSS!!!! HIIIII!!!! sorry for getting back late, not felt that social today!

that makes sense! i feel like my stranger things special interest comes back in full swing every few years and it’s in that dormant state again. unfortunately. but what can i do!!

that’s totally okay! i get this 100%, i’m a little scared to come off anon anyways so this works out perfectly fine for me ^w^

well. okay. the thing is, my current hyperfixation is a little embarrassing for me to reveal to you… and it would make it very obvious to find me in your followers LOL. i will hide in shame!!! 😅 other things i do like are: music, video games, writing (fanfic, poetry, etc.), other word related stuff (ex: webweaves), movies/tv shows (have admittedly watched more tv shows than movies at this point), and probably other things i can’t quite think of right now! i didn’t list all that much but i am a little foggy in the brain rn :’))

that’s so sweet of you! you’ve been on my mind as well, i just didn’t know what to Exactly say to you lol. but i’m here now!!!!!

glad to hear you’re okay, that’s really nice. i heard your air conditioning is out :((( i hope you’ll be able to survive and such. god knows i cannot get a wink of sleep when it’s hot. sending you cool vibes!

i’ve been having a rough go of it lately but i’m hoping i get a breather soon from bad things happening or my brain convincing me everything’s gone to shit haha. trying to be kind to myself as best i can. pushing through.

thank you for being so kind about stuff <3 it’s genuinely so sweet and cute to see you happy to see me!!! /p it feels nice to be missed even if i am anonymous and a stranger more or less. it’s lovely to be back! i like being here! was just hard to find footing for a bit, you know? anyhow, feels nice to see you again!!!! i’m glad i get to be a little guy who’s around for you💘💞

-🦇 anon

Ooohh i totally get that!!!! Hyperfixations that ebb and flow are a thing for me too!!! Like for me, my mom just took me to the movie IF. VERY CUTE. but ryan reynolds was there so now he's back in my brain living rent free. Which was actually good timing cuz the Wolverine and Deadpool movie will be out soon so i can be extra excited to go see that! 🤣🤣🤣

Oohhh hahhaaha now I'm like 👀👀👀👀👀👀 but no it's totally okay! I wont go looking! But i do like games! Im really only good at like, racing games, pokemon, and the two newest zelda games. I never really played the older ones when i was young. But i adore, botw and totk. I love writing too, really only fanfic and not very often these days but when the inspo hits i like to dabble! Hahaha! And ive seen sooooo many movies and shows so thats probably a good place to start!!! Tho i am bad about watching newer shows... my brain has a "its not the right time yet" thing, for pretty much all media. Very annoying, but I get to things eventually. When the times right! Haha!

Air came back this morning thankfully!!! And i got a few hours of sleep once things cooled down! So sorry your brain is being rude and that possibly also life is being rude!!! I hope things get better! I'll send healing and good vibes your way!!!

Yesss!!! My batty little guy!!! And i totally get it! And absolutely no pressure to send a ton of messages. I 100% know how it feels sometimes to just not be feeling it. Or not knowing what to say. So definitely dont like, push yourself, especially if you're not feeling up to it mentally! I'll be here! No plans on going anywhere else!!! Just send stuff when and if you feel up to it! And I'll be happy to see you when you swing by!!! 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

[asireadiwrite]

my favourite conversations are the ones with no real answers.

No one is exclusively bad, nor is anyone exclusively good. some are just forced to work harder at suppressing the bad.

I'm not sure I want a reminder of someone I'll never see again.

But I did notice he laughed at all the right times. I think good comedic timing is one of the most important things about a person's personality.

Not everyone is homeless because they choose to be. They're homeless because there isn't enough help to go around. And people like my father are the problem. Instead of helping others, people use the worst-case scenarios to excuse their own selfishness and greed. (I don't agree with this point 100%, only the last part)

I dint want to remember him. if I had to remember him, it would mean he wasn't a part of my life anymore.

But no matter how different the substance of a love might be at different ages in a person's life, I know that love still has to weigh the same. You feel the weight on your shoulders and in your stomach and on your heart no matter how old you are.

I can't even remember what all we talked about, but I do remember how I felt.

"I hope you never know what it's like to feel that lonely, Lily," he said.

"Lily. Life is a funny thing. We only get so many years to live it, so we have to do everything we can to make sure those years are as full as they can be. We shouldn't waste time on things that might happen someday, or maybe even never."

People spend so much time wondering why the women dont leave. Where are all the people who wonder why the men are even abusive? isn't that where the only blame should be placed?

"I'm going to make a promise to you," he said. "When my life is good enough for you to be a part of it, I'll come find you. But I don't want you to wait around for me, because that might never happen."

Maybe love isnt something that comes full circle. It just ebbs and flows, in and out, just like the people in our lives.

From the Epilogue

"There is no such thing as bad people. We are all just people who do bad things."

And last but not least, to my damned ol' daddy, Eddie. You aren't here to see this book come to life, but I know you would have been its biggest supporter. You taught me many things in life-the greatest being that we don't have to end up the same person we once were. I promise not to remember you based on your worst days. I will remember you based on the best, and there were many. I will remember you as a person who was able to overcome what many cannot. Thank you for becoming one of my closest friends. And thank you for supporting me on my wedding day in a way that many fathers would not have. I love you. I miss you.

My own reflections :

Atlas 

My biggest takeaway from reading this was it makes me yearn to find my Atlas. He was sweet, understanding, and patient in his love. Albeit a little low in self-esteem, though understandably so given his background. But he was never pushy, never begrudging to the world or the people around him, and that's what I appreciate most. He repays love with even more love. Because of what he went through, it only made him want to be a bigger person, not worse. The number of people who can do that in my life is less than one hand. Even I struggle to do so. And I truly appreciate how steadfast his love for Lily was because I yearn for that myself. I wished he would have been more determined in finding Lily all those years ago, and have more confidence in providing Lily with a loving relationship. Because I think what Lily wanted from him was just him. Not successful Atlas, or rich Atlas, but rather the Atlas that she handed food to when she was fifteen and he was still living in that barren house. The Atlas that gave her his fullest companionship silently. 

Atlas and Lily.

From Atlas and Lily, I learned the importance of always speaking your mind. Because the things we leave unsaid always become our biggest regrets. We often think from our point of view what the best thing for the other person should or could be. But is it truly so? 

The myriad of differences between people - our emotions, thought processes, experience, upbringing - will inevitably affect how we process certain information and the decisions we will make when faced with the same option. The decisions we make are based on our understanding and capabilities, and it does not make one decision more 'right' than the other.

Ryle and Lily

When I first read how Ryle hurt Lily, it did seem like an accident - he had no intention to do so, and he immediately & profusely apologized. 

But I came to realize that the things that hurt us most are accidental ones. Our guards are down because we never see them coming. We never expect it to happen to us out of all people. Thus, the damage is always greater, and the hurt is always more lasting. And then it becomes a slippery slope. Because of its incidental nature, we would mutter to ourselves: "It's alright. It's an out-of-pattern incident, and it will never happen again." We convince ourselves, we forgive, we try to move on and accept them back." The second time such incidents happen, we will feel like we are already in a sunken investment. Because we forgave them once, what's one more? Besides, they did seek our forgiveness, and there's always some logical reasoning we can find to ease off the worry and fear. And that's when the whole tragedy unfolds. I say tragedy because 10 out of 10 times, this is the start of an unbreakable pattern of behavior, and it always leads to an unfortunate ending.

So trust our gut when we feel something is off. Do not use logic to try and reason it out because our logic is only useful when we can objectively analyze a situation. In the case of abuse, victims can never do so. Do not depend on others to save you, because there might not always be an Atlas in your life to do so. The hardest chain of abuse to break is the one on your mind and heart. You need to see for yourself that you do not deserve to be treated like such, and that yielding will not change the course of events. If you're unwilling, being physically freed will do you no good when you're still chained to that terrible past mentally. 

Most importantly, you have to be your saving grace because most abuse happens beyond closed doors, and it sometimes never takes physical form. So how can someone on the outside know to save you when they can't see the signs? 

Hopefully, more women (or men) will be brave like Lily and save themselves from a vicious cycle like such. Because it makes me hopeful that my mother can too. 

#saveyourself #domesticabuse