#hes an asshole who hurts a lot of people in the name of truth

[fcstellae]

i think everyone focuses way too much on making phoenix and edgeworth out to be total opposites and try to push them into a box of like sun x moon or whatever but theyre actually quite similar. actually possibly the best part of their dynamic is that they both idolize each other beyond any reasonable proportion. both of them think any action on their part would taint or corrupt the other. Phoenix chases a vision of a boy he once knew and to Edgeworth Phoenix is his savior, a beacon of truth who ensures justice. literally that is so much more compelling than whatever fandom sunshine bf x angsty bf people try to push

[specialagentartemis]

I get variations on this comment on my post about history misinformation all the time: "why does it matter?" Why does it matter that people believe falsehoods about history? Why does it matter if people spread history misinformation? Why does it matter if people on tumblr believe that those bronze dodecahedra were used for knitting, or that Persephone had a daughter named Mespyrian? It's not the kind of misinformation that actually hurts people, like anti-vaxx propaganda or climate change denial. It doesn't hurt anyone to believe something false about the past.

Which, one, thanks for letting me know on my post that you think my job doesn't matter and what I do is pointless, if it doesn't really matter if we know the truth or make up lies about history because lies don't hurt anyone. But two, there are lots of reasons that it matters.

It encourages us to distrust historians when they talk about other aspects of history. You might think it's harmless to believe that Pharaoh Hatshepsut was trans. It's less harmless when you're espousing that the Holocaust wasn't really about Jews because the Nazis "came for trans people first." You might think it's harmless to believe that the French royalty of Versailles pooped and urinated on the floor of the palace all the time, because they were asshole rich people anyway, who cares, we hate the rich here; it's rather less harmless when you decide that the USSR was the communist ideal and Good, Actually, and that reports of its genocidal oppression are actually lies.

It encourages anti-intellectualism in other areas of scholarship. Deciding based on your own gut that the experts don't know what they're talking about and are either too stupid to realize the truth, or maliciously hiding the truth, is how you get to anti-vaxxers and climate change denial. It is also how you come to discount housing-first solutions for homelessness or the idea that long-term sustained weight loss is both biologically unlikely and health-wise unnecessary for the majority of fat people - because they conflict with what you feel should be true. Believing what you want to be true about history, because you want to believe it, and discounting fact-based corrections because you don't want them to be true, can then bleed over into how you approach other sociological and scientific topics.

How we think about history informs how we think about the present. A lot of people want certain things to be true - this famous person from history was gay or trans, this sexist story was actually feminist in its origin - because we want proof that gay people, trans people, and women deserve to be respected, and this gives evidence to prove we once were and deserve to be. But let me tell you a different story: on Thanksgiving of 2016, I was at a family friend's house and listening to their drunk conservative relative rant, and he told me, confidently, that the Roman Empire fell because they instituted universal healthcare, which was proof that Obama was destroying America. Of course that's nonsense. But projecting what we think is true about the world back onto history, and then using that as recursive proof that that is how the world is... is shoddy scholarship, and gets used for topics you don't agree with just as much as the ones you do. We should not be encouraging this, because our politics should be informed by the truth and material reality, not how we wish the past proved us right.

It frequently reinforces "Good vs. Bad" dichotomies that are at best unhelpful and at worst victim-blaming. A very common thread of historical misinformation on tumblr is about the innocence or benevolence of oppressed groups, slandered by oppressors who were far worse. This very frequently has truth to it - but makes the lies hard to separate out. It often simplifies the narrative, and implies that the reason that colonialism and oppression were bad was because the victims were Good and didn't deserve it... not because colonialism and oppression are bad. You see this sometimes with radical feminist mother goddess Neolithic feminist utopia stuff, but you also see it a lot regarding Native American and African history. I have seen people earnestly argue that Aztecs did not practice human sacrifice, that that was a lie made up by the Spanish to slander them. That is not true. Human sacrifice was part of Aztec, Maya, and many Central American war/religious practices. They are significantly more complex than often presented, and came from a captive-based system of warfare that significantly reduced the number of people who got killed in war compared to European styles of war that primarily killed people on the battlefield rather than taking them captive for sacrifice... but the human sacrifice was real and did happen. This can often come off with the implications of a 'noble savage' or an 'innocent victim' that implies that the bad things the Spanish conquistadors did were bad because the victims were innocent or good. This is a very easy trap to fall into; if the victims were good, they didn't deserve it. Right? This logic is dangerous when you are presented with a person or group who did something bad... you're caught in a bind. Did they deserve their injustice or oppression because they did something bad? This kind of logic drives a lot of transphobia, homophobia, racism, and defenses of Kyle Rittenhouse today. The answer to a colonialist logic of "The Aztecs deserved to be conquered because they did human sacrifice and that's bad" is not "The Aztecs didn't do human sacrifice actually, that's just Spanish propaganda" (which is a lie) it should be "We Americans do human sacrifice all the god damn time with our forever wars in the Middle East, we just don't call it that. We use bullets and bombs rather than obsidian knives but we kill way, way more people in the name of our country. What does that make us? Maybe genocide is not okay regardless of if you think the people are weird and scary." It becomes hard to square your ethics of the Innocent Victim and Lying Perpetrator when you see real, complicated, individual-level and group-level interactions, where no group is made up of members who are all completely pure and good, and they don't deserve to be oppressed anyway.

It makes you an unwitting tool of the oppressor. The favorite, favorite allegation transphobes level at trans people, and conservatives at queer people, is that we're lying to push the Gay Agenda. We're liars or deluded fools. If you say something about queer or trans history that's easy to debunk as false, you have permanently hurt your credibility - and the cause of queer history. It makes you easy to write off as a liar or a deluded fool who needs misinformation to make your case. If you say Louisa May Alcott was trans, that's easy to counter with "there is literally no evidence of that, and lots of evidence that she was fine being a woman," and instantly tanks your credibility going forward, so when you then say James Barry was trans and push back against a novel or biopic that treats James Barry as a woman, you get "you don't know what you're talking about, didn't you say Louisa May Alcott was trans too?" TERFs love to call trans people liars - do not hand them ammunition, not even a single bullet. Make sure you can back up what you say with facts and evidence. This is true of homophobes, of racists, of sexists. Be confident of your facts, and have facts to give to the hopeful and questioning learners who you are relating this story to, or the bigots who you are telling off, because misinformation can only hurt you and your cause.

It makes the queer, female, POC, or other marginalized listeners hurt, sad, and betrayed when something they thought was a reflection of their own experiences turns out not to be real. This is a good response to a performance art piece purporting to tell a real story of gay WWI soldiers, until the author revealed it as fiction. Why would you want to set yourself up for disappointment like that? Why would you want to risk inflicting that disappointment and betrayal on anyone else?

It makes it harder to learn the actual truth.

Historical misinformation has consequences, and those consequences are best avoided - by checking your facts, citing your sources, and taking the time and effort to make sure you are actually telling the truth.

[yzzyhee]

heartbreak girl - sjy

PAIRING: best friend!sim jaeyun x yn (fem bodied)

WARNING: pet name (angel, baby) lmk if i missed anything, slight angst..? a lot of feelings involved, kinda mean heeseung??

WC: ~5k more or less

SYNOPSIS: jake has always been there for you through thick and thin — he was always there to take away your hurt, but when were you going to realise?

PLAYLIST: 5sos - heartbreak girl

A.N: hi everyone i just wanted to say quickly that it’s my first written fic, i have no idea what im doing tbf but i just really really liked the idea for a while and decided to give it a shot .. i truly accept any constructive criticism you might have idm this will probably be the first and last time i post something but ! do let me know what you guys think, it would mean a lot !!

ps. this one is dedicated to my wife @ja3yun seriously couldn’t have done it without ur advices so seriously tysm bb!!

I. “YOU CALL ME UP // IT’S LIKE A BROKEN RECORD // SAYING THAT YOUR HEART HURTS”

Jake sighs as his phone buzzes. Picking it up he sees your caller ID and for a split of a second he doesn’t want to pick up the call. As he glances at the phone he lets himself wonder what a different life would be like; if somehow in another life he could stop caring and ignore you.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath — that could never be a possibility. He’s sure that if that another life actually exists, the universe would somehow bring him together with you and all of this would eventually happen.

“Y/N?” he answers, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Jake…” you manag to say even though your friend can barely hear your voice. “He broke up with me.” you said as a sob escaped from you.

Jake feels like his own heart is shattering. Not for your and Heeseung’s relationship that was over for now but mostly for himself. He’d seen you go through this too many times, always falling for the wrong boys and always ending up heartbroken.

“It just hurts so bad, Jake..” you cry, your voice breaking.

As you continued crying and uttering words that made Jake’s heart drop at how you seem to hate yourself now, he feels like he could punch Heeseung if he were to see him now. Even though he has been there for you through many of your previous heartbreaks and also fights with Heeseung he never heard you cry so bad.

“Hey, Y/N.. Listen to me. Take deep breaths, stop crying, angel, please.” Jake says softly and it makes you stop crying over the phone for a bit.

“You’re more than just a pretty face, okay? Don’t listen to him. You’re smart, you’re kind and you’re wicked funny.. And I guarantee there’s a guy out there who will see what I see, okay?”

You take a sharp breath and nodd but quickly mutter a “Yes” as you realize he can’t see you through the phone.

“I just.. Why does this keep happening, Jake? Why are all the guys I end up with always such assholes?”

“It’s not you, angel. You’re really amazing, you know? Sometimes people like him… just don’t realize what they have right in front of them until it’s too late. He will definitely come crawling back to you in no time.” Jake says in a playful tone but his words held some truth — even through your fights Heeseung always came back.

You chuckle and it makes Jake smile. He hates seeing or hearing you cry, especially when it’s about your relationships and how you always deem yourself unworthy of love from anyone when it’s your boyfriends who just can’t appreciate you.

“Thank you, Jake. Thank you for being a friend. It’s so late right now..I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Jake chuckles as well. “You never bother me, angel.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow at 10.”

Then the phone call abruptly comes to an end and Jake sighs for the second time that night. He knows you won’t call, especially if Heeseung puts his ego aside and comes back to you tonight.

He takes the pillow from under his head and places it on top, muffling a scream as his own mind and especially you liked to play him in circles again and again.

II. HE TREATS YOU SO BAD AND I’M SO GOOD TO YOU, IT’S NOT FAIR

“Okay, enough.” Jake says as he looks away from you and Heeseung’s display of affection. “I’m seriously happy you got back together but I am still third-wheeling here…” he lies gritting his teeth.

To you it looks like he is actually happy for you and just annoyed by your public display of love with Heeseung but in reality? No, in reality he simply can’t stand seeing you act so in love with the boy when just three days ago he insulted you, called you mean words and broke it off. Just for him to come back to you, act all sad, say sorry and you forgive him just like that.

You push Heeseung slightly off you and lean closer to Jake to take his hand in yours, giving it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry, Heeseung just really wanted to come to the drive-in movie and I couldn’t say no..”

Heeseung drags you back into him and puts a hand over your shoulder while the other is sneaking between your thighs. You giggle and slap his hand away while muttering that “Jake is right here”. Jake quickly adverts his eyes, finding the movie on the playing suddenly interesting.

“Oh, it’s getting rather chilly…” you say after a few minutes and look longingly at your boyfriend, hoping for him to get the message and give you his jacket.

“I told you to bring a jacket, dummy.” Heeseung says, rolling his eyes but making no move of giving his jacket to his girlfriend. “How about you go get us some drinks, baby? Maybe if you move a bit you can get warm.”

Jake shakes his head at his words and scoffs. He takes off his jacket and puts it on your shoulders. “Here, Y/N.”

You smile gratefully at Jake, your eyes softening. “ Thank you, Jake. You’re the best.”

“Anytime,” Jake replies, his voice gentle. He glances at Heeseung, his expression hardening. “You should take better care of her, man.”

Heeseung shrugged, not even bothering to spare Jake a look. “She’s fine. She can handle herself.”

Jake clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to say something more. He hates how Heeseung keeps treating you, how he takes you for granted and never caring. He treats you so bad and he’s so good to you — it just wasn’t fair.

During the movie that Jake paid no attention to , he couldn’t help but compare himself to Heeseung. What does Heeseung have that he doesn’t? Is it the hair, the stupid leather jacket he always wears, the bambi eyes, the way he carries himself with such confidence or the way he seems to effortlessly attract attention wherever he goes?

Or maybe you just happen to like the way Heeseung makes you feel after all. The excitement of the chase, the push and pull, the high and low that came with every fight and every word in it, making it hurt but also giving you a rush feeling.

But he knows you. In the long run you don’t actually want all of that. As he steals a glance at the two of you, he feels like he could scream out right now that you could be with him now. He could offer you love, stability. He decides to push off that idea out of his mind as fast as it came. You are happy with Heeseung for now and that’s all that matters.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch that brings him back to the present. He looks up to see you, seeing your soft smile but when he looks into your eyes he sees sadness lingering behind them.

“Hey, we’re going to head out… Heeseung needs to meet up with some friends.” you say quietly to Jake, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake frowns, feeling frustrated. “You can stay, can’t you? You love this movie!” he exclaims, his voice louder than he intends, hoping that Heeseung can hear the disappointment in his voice.

You purse your lips and shake your head. With a low voice you mutter an apology and start to take his jacket off to return it to him but he stops you.

“Keep it.” Jake tells you offering a smile that doesn’t quite reaches his eyes.

You nod, getting up quickly and follow Heeseung to leave the drive-in movie location. You take one look back to wave goodbye at Jake, seeing him standing there, his eyes locked on you.

Jake watches you leave, the weight of unspoken words heavy on his heart. He waves back, his smile fading as soon as you turn away.

He closes his eyes and looks up at the sky, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The stars twinkle above, indifferent to his inner turmoil. He takes a deep breath, the chilly air filling his lungs, and lets it out slowly, his breath visible in the night air.

In the silence of the drive-in, the sound of distant car engines and the murmur of people leaving fill the background, but Jake is lost in his thoughts. He thinks about all the moments he’s shared with you, the laughter, the tears, and the quiet times where just being near you was enough. He thinks about the way Heeseung treats you, and it makes his chest tighten with frustration and longing.

Jake opens his eyes, the stars still sparkling above, offering no answers, no solace. He knows he can’t keep this to himself much longer. The longer he waits, the more he sees you getting hurt, the more it eats away at him. But he can’t do it. He knows you need to know that someone out there loves you deeply but what if it his feelings would ruin everything for good? For now, all he can do is be there for you, as he always has been. He turns away from the screen, walking slowly to his car. As he gets in and starts the engine, he glances back at the empty space where you had been sitting, the memory of your sad smile etched in his mind.

III. SOMETIMES I’M SO CLOSE TO CONFESSION

Jake sits in his room, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. For weeks now, he’s been wrestling with the idea of confessing his feelings to you, his best friend and the person he cares about most in the world. But every time he tries to gather the courage to tell you how he feels, his fears and insecurities hold him back, trapping him in a cycle of doubt and self-pity.

“Hey, Jake, are you listening?” your voice takes him out of his thoughts. You get up from the bed and go sit on the desk chair next to him.

“No, sorry.” Jake smile sheepishly. “You were saying?” he attempts to play it off.

You roll your eyes. “I was talking about this new book coming up…” you trail off, talking about the upcoming release of your favourite author.

Jake can’t help but let himself watch you. He thinks about the way you smile, the way your soft giggle fills the room and makes his heart skip a beat and the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about just like now.

And as he listens to you talk, he can’t help but feel a sense of longing wash over him, a longing to tell you how he feels, to lay his heart bare and risk it all for the chance at something more.

“Y/N I-“ Jake suddenly interrupts you but his bravery doesn’t last long.

As the moment passes, the words stick in his throat, suffocating him with their weight. He wants to tell you, he really does, but the fear of rejection holds him back, paralyzing him with its grip.

“Yes? Did you want to say something?” you ask him and look up to him just to see him shake his head and motioning for you to continue talking about the book.

And so he sits there, silent and still, watching you with a mixture of adoration and regret, wishing he could find the courage to take the leap and tell you how he feels.

As you continue to talk, oblivious to the turmoil raging within him, Jake can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to hold you in his arms, to kiss you under the stars, to whisper words of love into your ear. But for now, all he can do is watch and wait, hoping that one day, he’ll find the strength to confess his feelings and take a chance on love.

“You will come with me, right?” you say to him suddenly. “To the book release? Heeseung doesn’t want to come, he thinks it’s silly..”

Jake's heart skips a beat at your words, his mind racing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness but also anger towards Heeseung — how could he think your passion, your hobby is something silly and telling you that to your face nonetheless? Jake keeps those thoughts of your boyfriend to himself. However the thought of spending time alone with you again, of being by your side as you indulge in something you love and hanging out just like old times, fills him with a sense of warmth and anticipation.

“Of course, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft.“I’d love to come with you.”

A smile spreads across your face, and Jake feels his heart swell with happiness at the sight. For a moment, everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you, lost in the moment together.

And as you talk excitedly about the upcoming event, Jake can't help but feel a sense of hope stir within him. Maybe this is his chance, his opportunity to finally confess his feelings and take a chance on love. And as he looks into your eyes, he knows that no matter what happens, he'll always be there for you, ready to support you and cherish every moment you share together.

IV. I’M RIGHT HERE, WHEN YOU GONNA REALISE // THAT I’M YOUR CURE?

“Heeseung, what’s gotten into you?” you ask, frustration clear in your tone as you watch him pace around your living room.

Heeseung stops and scoffs. “Are you serious?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Ever since he tagged along to the the drive-in movie hang out between you and Jake and then found out you went with Jake to your book release event he started to act out. He rejects your ideas to go out on a date, he rejects initiating any kind of intimacy to you — even refusing to hold your hand, something he’s never done in your 6 months relationship.

You can’t help but feel confused and hurt by his sudden change in behaviour. He used to be so affectionate even if you had a fight and was always eager to show you off on dates and such but now he seems like a completely different person.

“Seriously, Heeseung. Talk to me, what’s going on?” you press, your voice tinged with worry.

Heeseung looks at you and steps closer. “You’re in love, baby.” he says while putting a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling softly. “But not with me.”

“What?” you say, your mind racing as you try to process what he just said.

“I think you should give Jake a call.” Heeseung continues, his expression earnest though you can’t help but feel puzzled by his sudden insight. Heeseung chuckles. “C’mon, baby. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? How your eyes always light up when he’s around or how you always talk about him when he’s not and bring him up whenever there’s an opportunity? Or how you always compare what I do with what he does?”

You part your lips slightly, caught off guard by his observations. His words hit you like a bolt of lightning, sparking a flurry of emotions within you.

“But… I…” you stammer, struggling to find the words to express the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your mind.

Heeseung reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says softly. “I understand. Hell, I’d fall in love with the guy too if he were to always drop everything and be at my beck and call. How did you not realise everything sooner? I swear, he has been so obvious the past weeks.” he chuckles. “Actually, did you know he had a presentation on the day you went with him to the book release? He talked with his professor to present it earlier so he could come with you.”

Heeseung’s words hit you like a sudden gust of winter wind, cutting through the air with their sharpness and leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. His observations about Jake’s actions leave you reeling, the realization sinking in like a heavy weight on your chest.

“I… I didn’t know,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to process the information. “I didn’t realize he was going out of his way for me…”

Heeseung’s hands drop from your face, his expression softening with understanding. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says gently, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of the storm raging inside you. “Sometimes, it’s hard to see things clearly when you’re too close to them.”

You nod slowly, feeling a sense of guilt wash over you at the thought of all the times you may have overlooked Jake’s gestures of affection. How could you have been so blind to his feelings, so oblivious to the depth of his love for you?

Heeseung leans in closer and kisses your forehead. It’s a tender, lingering kiss, filled with a mixture of sadness and acceptance. He pulls back, looking into your eyes one last time with a strained smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you, and you can feel the finality in his actions. He turns and walks towards the door.

You watch him leave, your heart aching as he steps out of your apartment. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and you stand there, feeling a profound sense of loss. Part of you wants to run after him, to call him back and somehow make everything right. But you know that some things can’t be fixed with a few words.

You move to the window and peer out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Heeseung, hoping he would turn back and give you one last look. But the street below is empty, and the cold night air feels like a reflection of the unresting feeling inside you.

For the first time after a break-up, you don’t call Jake. You take the night to yourself, the silence of your apartment enveloping you like a cold winter's night. Your mind is a whirlwind of confusion and heartache, the echoes of Heeseung's words lingering like a biting chill.

As you sit alone, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, your thoughts turn to Jake. The realisation that he might have deeper feelings for you sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve always seen him as your rock, your dependable best friend, but now, faced with the possibility that his feelings might run deeper, you feel an icy grip of uncertainty and fear tighten around your heart.

You think about all the moments you’ve shared with Jake, the late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the way he’s always been there for you. How could you have been so blind to his feelings? The thought of potentially hurting him, of disrupting the comfortable dynamic you’ve always shared, fills you with a sense of dread. It’s like stepping out into the harsh winter wind, unsure if you’ll be able to find your way back to the warmth and safety you’ve known.

You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, seeking comfort in its embrace, but your mind continues to spiral. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if your feelings for Jake are merely a reflection of your gratitude and dependence on his unwavering support? The thought of leading him on, of giving him false hope, sends a pang of guilt through you. The guilt eats at you for not noticing sooner, for being so wrapped up in your own relationships and dramas that you missed the quiet, steady love that Jake might have been offering all along. It’s a chilling thought, realizing how much you might have overlooked in your pursuit of fleeting romances with others.

Your heart and mind feel like a frozen landscape, barren and cold, with no clear path forward. You can’t deny the flutter of something more when you think of Jake, but it’s buried under layers of confusion and fear. You’ve been through so much heartache, and the idea of risking your most cherished friendship for a chance at something more feels like walking on thin ice, fragile and treacherous.

The night wears on, and the cold, empty silence of your apartment presses down on you. You long for the warmth of Jake’s presence, his soothing voice and reassuring words, but you know you can’t run to him this time. You need to sort through your feelings, to understand what’s real and what’s born out of loneliness and a desire for comfort.

As the hours pass, you come to a bittersweet realization. You need to protect Jake from potential heartbreak, to shield him from the uncertainty that’s freezing your heart. You care for him too much to risk his happiness on your unresolved feelings. And so, for the first time, you decide to face this winter storm on your own, hoping that in the process, you’ll find clarity and the strength to either embrace or gently let go of what could be.

Tomorrow, you’ll see him, and maybe the warmth of his smile will melt some of the ice around your heart. But tonight, you wrap yourself tighter in your blanket and let the winter winds of your emotions rage on, knowing that some answers can only be found in the stillness of the cold.

You don’t see him tomorrow. Instead, you chose to run from him, from his feelings and your own. The weight of your confusion and fear makes you retreat further into yourself, wrapping the cold, comforting solitude around you like a protective cloak. You bury yourself in college work, books and anything that can keep your mind occupied. Yet, in the quiet moments — those still, silent spaces between the busyness — your thoughts inevitably drift back to Jake.

The look in Jake’s eyes when he’s with you haunts you. It’s a look filled with warmth and unspoken words. A look that now seems so painfully clear in hindsight. It’s as if he’s always been there, offering you a love as constant and reassuring as the summer sun, yet you were too caught up in the fleeting, cold winter winds of other relationships to notice.

Jake’s feelings for you feel like a warm summer day. They’re gentle and persistent, bringing light and comfort into your life without demanding anything in return. His love is the kind that warms you from the inside out, melting away the icy barriers you’ve built around your heart. But now, the fear of stepping into that warmth, of risking the friendship you hold so dear, keeps you trapped in a winter of your own making.

Meanwhile, Jake is left adrift, confused and hurt by your sudden withdrawal. He tries to seek you out, to understand why you’re avoiding him, but every attempt is met with distance. He feels like he’s chasing shadows, reaching out for something that slips further away with each passing day. He even tried to talk with Heeseung, hoping that the man knows something of why you’re acting this way towards him but much like you, Heeseung avoided him.

As the days turn into a week, the winter storm within you begins to show signs of weakening. The relentless busyness that you’ve thrown yourself into can’t keep the feelings at bay forever. In those quiet moments, when you’re alone with your thoughts, you start to feel the warmth of Jake’s love seeping through the cracks in your icy defenses.

You remember the way he looked at you, the gentle, unspoken promises in his eyes. The realization that you’ve been running from something so genuine, so pure, starts to thaw the fear and confusion that have held you captive. The warmth of Jake’s love begins to melt the ice around your heart, and you start to see things more clearly.

You know you can’t avoid him forever. The thought of hurting Jake, of causing him pain with your indecision, is unbearable. You decide that it’s time to face your feelings, to confront the truth that you’ve been so afraid of. You owe it to Jake, and to yourself, to be honest about what’s in your heart.

With a deep breath, you pick up your phone and send him a message, asking to meet. The anticipation of seeing him again fills you with a mix of dread and hope. You know the conversation ahead will be difficult, but it’s the only way to move forward.

As you wait for his response, you feel a sense of clarity. The journey ahead might be uncertain, but you’re ready to step into the light, to embrace the summer warmth that Jake’s love promises. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find that the path you’re most afraid of is the one that leads you to the happiness you’ve been searching for.

“Ofcourse. When and where?”

His response is immediate, no hesitation, no hint of the confusion and hurt you know he must be feeling. The simplicity of his words, the readiness to meet despite everything, brings a small, bittersweet smile to your face. You suggest a quiet café near campus, a place you both know well, and set a time for the next afternoon.

The next day, as you make your way to the café, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The warmth of the spring sun on your face feels like a promise, a gentle reassurance that everything might just be okay. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and step inside.

Jake is already there, sitting at a corner table. The sight of him sends a rush of emotions through you — relief, nervousness and a profound sense of familiarity. He looks up as you approach, and his puppy like smile is like a beacon of warmth cutting through your lingering uncertainty.

“Hey,” he says softly, standing up to greet you.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You both sit down, and for a moment, there’s an awkward silence. Jake’s eyes search your face, and you can see the questions and concern in them.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just needed some time to think.”

Jake nods, his expression understanding but guarded. “I’ve been worried about you,” he admits. “I didn’t know what was going on, and I… I missed you.”

His words hit you like a gentle breeze, warm and reassuring, but also filled with a depth of emotion that makes your heart ache. “I missed you too,” you confess. “I needed to figure out some things… about us, about my feelings.”

Jake’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of hope and fear crossing his face. “Us?Your feelings?” he echoes, his voice tense with anticipation.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Jake, you’ve always been there for me. You’ve been my rock, my best friend, and… I’ve realized that maybe, I’ve been blind to something that’s been right in front of me all along.”

His eyes are locked onto yours, and you can see the hope growing, the warmth in his gaze like the sun breaking through the clouds after a cold cold winter day. “What do you mean?” he asks softly.

“I mean…” you struggle to find the right words, the right way to express the tumult of emotions inside you. “I think I’ve been so caught up in my own fears and insecurities that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. You’ve always been there, and I’ve come to realize that… that I care about you, Jake. More than just as a friend.”

There, it’s out. You think as you let the words out of your mouth. The words hang in the air between you, a confession that feels both terrifying and liberating. Jake’s expression softens, a mixture of relief and overwhelming emotion flooding his face.

“I’ve cared about you for a long time.. I’m surprised you didn’t notice sooner,” he admits, his voice shaking slightly. “I didn’t know how to tell you without risking what we have. But hearing you say that… it means everything to me.”

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours. The simple touch feels like a lifeline, grounding you in this moment of vulnerability and honesty. “I’m scared, Jake,” you confess. “I’m scared of losing what we have, but I’m more scared of never knowing what we could be.”

Jake squeezes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. “We’ll figure it out together,” he promises. “We’ve always been there for each other, and that won’t change. I want to be with you, Y/N. Not just as your friend, but as someone who loves you.”

His words are like the first true warmth of summer, melting away the last of your fears. You smile, a genuine, hopeful smile, and nod. “I want that too, Jake. I want to see where this goes, with you.”

As you sit there, hand in hand, you feel the ice around your heart finally melt away, replaced by the warmth and promise of a new beginning. The journey ahead might be uncertain, but with Jake by your side, you know you’ll face it together, one step at a time.

[spacebaby1]

An Angel (Human!Sukuna × Reader)

WARNING: Mention of Abusive Ex (sorry if you've been through it, you are loved xoxo) Enjoy!

Sukuna sat on the bed reading a random book while you were cuddled beside him, not asleep just laying down besdie him since it wasn't that late.

You were hugging your stuffed toy, Sukuna chuckled at the sight making you open your eyes to look at him now, "hum?" You hummed in question and he just gently ruffled your hair shaking his head you smiled with nod and closed your eyes once again; he loved how you two understood each other even without speaking a word and he adored you. however, he often would ask himself the same question; "You're such an Angel, how could you be with a devil like me?" He asked.

"Can I tell you a story?" You replied softly, still eyes closed, and he hummed, hands still on your head. "They said there was this girl. She never once said a word to trigger a person into thinking that she needed help, even when she was surrounded by people that kept hurting her. Not her friends, she had few of them but they liked her a lot. The people that tend to hurt her were very close to her; her mother was an absolute nightmare, that little girl was put through so much and once she met a guy she liked dearly turned out to be even worse; though he only called her names; stupid, idiot, useless and annoying. And so on, though, at first, it was only names; this guy was a two faced; acted like an angel in public but devil to this girl. It wasn't until he raised his hands on her but in places that it wasn't easy to notice and easily covered by long clothes. She told no one, and one day, she met someone else that she took off with and never looked back; she often thought that maybe she was a bad person for just leaving and saying nothing. Do you think that what she did was what an angel would do?"

It clicked to him, he placed the book aside and got closer to your face, 'All I need is names, I will break every bone in his body if I have to.' Sukuna asked in such a gentle manner that it would've terrifie others but you smiled sitting on the bed and hugging him. You took a long breath, "Everyone who knew him told me that I should be ashamed of leaving him for you and that I'll be left alone by you. The truth is I was always scared and alone around him but with you, I feel complete, I woke up knowing you're here and it gets me excited to wake up everyday. You are not a devil, Sukuna. You saved me in ways I can't explain, I was lost for so long and I started to accept being hurt but you saved me. A devil wouldn't make sure I slept well or had my lunch or even tie my shoelaces. The devil won't treat me like a gentle being. Thank you for being nice to me and thank you for loving me, Sukuna; I love you."

"I will love you always till the day I am gone, you are my everything. Thank you for loving me, I never thought someone so sweet as you would even look at my way." Sukuna held you close resting one of his hands on the back of your head, "I will burn the whole world for you, breaking that assholes bones would be nothing, wait till I get my hands on his fucki-"

You chuckled, snuggling more into his embrace, "being here with you is enough for me, 'kuna, please stay with me forever."

"As you wish, my princess." He kissed your head again and again. Sukuna smiled, hugging you closer only for his smile to drop in anger; already planning on what to do to your ex.

[idyllic-affections]

So I JUST got this idea after reading your mist recent adoptive dad!Kaveh piece and now it WILL NOT leave my mind. You emphasized on how his child's emotions are his emotions and how he's much more empathetic when it comes to them. So naturally, as a connoisseur of all things angst, I keep thinking how Kaveh will handle it when his child has their first heartbreak! Being so emotional himself will he be able to hold up or will he cry with them? and I wonder what the rest of them will do, there's just so many possibilities

how is [name]'s first heartbreak handled?

summary. how does [name]'s platonic co-parenting family respond to their first breakup?

trigger & content warnings. gaslighting, tough breakups, abusive behavior, lots of tears, & medical malpractice (briefly and pretty non-seriously).

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. tighnari & reader, alhtiaham & reader, adoptive dad!kaveh & reader, cyno & reader, collei & reader. 1k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this post is an expansion of what if kaveh adopted a child?

author's thoughts. THIS IS SO TASTY THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS.... ive never been in this situation before nor do i really understand what heartbreak feels like so i just kind of went with the flow. focused mostly on what [name]'s lil family would do and how they'd all react. anyway keep sending me your adoptive dad!kaveh thoughts guys i love this kind of interaction haha <3

tighnari is furious. alhaitham is level-headed and logical as usual, but not indifferent. kaveh cries with them. cyno is livid. collei is calm, comforting.

kaveh is very sensitive to his kid's mood; i have indeed emphasized this already. he knows when something is wrong. he senses the shift in their mood almost instantly. depending on where they are, he may or may not be the first to know.

do they return to gandharva ville after they break up with their first love (for the sake of angst, let's say it's because the ex-lover in question sought to abuse and take advantage of their selflessness, but [name] was not having it, and they were gaslit upon pointing it out and ended up being called needy)? if so, tighnari will know first.

archons forbid their ex ever show up at gandharva ville for any kind of treatment. tighnari will treat them, yes, but he will make it hell. he will make it worse before making it better. medical malpractice? no, that's not what it is, silly. he's not even a licensed doctor! how can he commit malpractice if he doesn't practice medicine in the first place?

...

tighnari can think all he wants about doing such a thing, but he really wouldn't. he couldn't do something like that. he'd have a guilty conscience forever if he did. however, that does not mean he won't give [name]'s ex attitude. oh archons, he has all the attitude in the world to spare for the asshole who hurt his nibling (a/n: that's the gn term for niece or nephew).

[name] is not needy. sensitive and clingy at times, perhaps, but needy? tighnari scoffs at the idea. they're self-sufficient, if anything. the simple truth is that [name] likes affection because they were spoiled with it when they were little. the fact that their first love gaslit them in such a disgusting way makes the forest watcher's blood boil.

"[name]..." he'd sigh, heart squeezing painfully in his chest as he held them against his chest, unable to do much of anything except listen to the way they sobbed. tighnari's tail instinctively curled around their waist. "it really is not your fault. some people are just... horrible like that. ultimately, you deserve better, so this is for the best. it may not feel that way right now, but one day, it will."

do they return to kaveh and alhaitham's shared home instead? is kaveh home? if not, then alhaitham will know first. it isn't improbable. kaveh is often away on work trips, so it isn't hard to imagine that the akademiya's scribe would know first.

alhaitham hates seeing kaveh cry. he wishes he would stop expending himself to a harmful extent for the sake of others.

he also hates seeing [name] cry. why should they spend time crying over a manipulative asshole who had no capacity to understand them as a person? they shouldn't, and yet... they are.

like tighnari, alhaitham sighs. he's stroking their hair away from their face with one hand, stopping every now and then to gently pat their tears dry, even though his efforts are fruitless; they end up crying more regardless of how many times he dries their face. their head is laid in his lap. it's the least the scribe can do until kaveh gets home.

"[name], they're not worth your time. you were raised to be kind and emotionally articulate. it isn't your fault that they tried to take advantage of that."

he sighs again.

"i'm proud that you refused to let them manipulate you."

alhaitham's blatant, clearly-worded praise is rare. it soothes their soul a little.

if kaveh is home, however...

they will be sobbing in his arms within the hour. he always knows when something is wrong, and when something is wrong? he's there to support and console them. that is what any good father would do. kaveh's heart shatters on their behalf when they manage to choke out between tears that their love had so callously tried to abuse the kindness they offered to all those around them.

kaveh undoubtedly cries with them, holding their figure tightly against his.

"honey, it—" he chokes, aggressively wiping his face with one hand while the other remains secured around their waist. "it's not you, okay? it's not your fault. people, they— they like to try and take advantage of things they don't have. kind people don't take advantage of kindness. good people don't take advantage of goodness. you did well. you handled it well."

cyno will always be the last to know, regardless of what order everyone else finds out in.

cyno is also the most furious.

it's probably in [name]'s ex's best interest to flee the country. the wrath of general mahamatra cyno is an utterly horrifying thing to be the target of. he won't physically hurt them, no (although he would have to put all of his self control into practice in order to not knock all of the kid's teeth out...), but he will make it very clear that he does not want them anywhere near his nibling ever again unless it's to apologize, and even then... he had better not see them lingering too long.

the next time he sees kaveh and his kid, cyno plants a firm hand on [name]'s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, saying, "they won't bother you again."

a slight chill runs up their spine at that. "...what did you do to them..?"

"don't worry about it."

anyway congrats to [name]'s manipulative ex! they have made enemies with four of the most influential people in sumeru <3

(and as a little bonus treat:

collei, now in her late teens, is some kind of mix between tighnari, alhaitham, and kaveh. she's not mad. she's just disappointed, really; she loves [name] like a little sibling and just doesn't understand why anyone would knowingly hurt them. she knows very well that such cruel people do exist—she was the victim of one such person, after all—but... it's so hard for her to fathom. collei is very gentle and understanding in this situation, letting them cry on her shoulder for as long as they need to. once their tears have dried, she takes them out on patrol with her.

she makes them fresh pita pockets over a fire and spends the afternoon laughing and joking around with them to help them feel better. she'll even tell one of cyno's awful jokes if it will make them smile. <3)

adoptive dad!kaveh taglist: @kaoyamamegami. send a non-anonymous ask to be added. please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling someone my friend got back together with their mutual ex?

(sorry for the vague title, it’s a complicated situation and it’s hard to explain in one sentence. this happened a few years ago but i’m very curious about if i was in the wrong, ages reflect how old everyone was at the time and all names are changed)

i (18f) am in a friend group of 5 people, and we’re all very close and have been for years. two members of this group were Charlie (18m) and Kilo (18f). Charlie and Kilo were secretly dating for about a year, but despite it being a secret they were in a serious relationship (said they loved each other, talked about their future together, etc). after around 6 months of dating Kilo, Charlie started to get close with Sierra (16f), who was not a member of our friend group but we were all friends with her. Charlie told Sierra that he and Kilo were having sex but that it wasn’t serious, which was a lie. Charlie and Sierra started dating while he was still with Kilo, and he told Sierra that he and Kilo had stopped seeing each other while also telling Kilo that he and Sierra were just friends. eventually he actually broke things off with Kilo, then told the rest of our friend group that he and Sierra were now dating. this obviously upset Kilo, who had been suspicious about Sierra for their whole relationship, and she facetimed the rest of our group and told us that she and Charlie had been secretly dating for the past year, and he had cheated on her with Sierra. eventually Kilo told Sierra the truth, and Sierra broke up with Charlie because he lied to her. 

then a lot happened but the basics are: Kilo is a very kind person and forgave Charlie and we all started being friends again, Sierra was still friendly with all of us but she had her own friends so she sorta moved on, and this was in 2020 so the pandemic happened about a month later so it was a very emotional & lonely time for everyone. im a little fuzzy on the details at this part but during the pandemic Sierra and Charlie started talking again, but then Sierra stopped talking to him and started dating someone else a few weeks later. then Charlie and Kilo started talking again

that was a lot of context but heres where i got involved: Charlie and Kilo didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes they had made the first time they dated, so once they started officially dating again, they told our friend group. i was honestly pretty pissed that they were back together because i was still mad at Charlie for cheating on Kilo (she was one of my best friends so i was mad that he hurt her), and because i had just talked to Sierra the week prior and she told me that the two of them had been talking before she broke things off with him again, so i felt like Kilo was his backup choice after he couldnt be with Sierra so i was pissed at him. 

so i texted Sierra and told her that Kilo and Charlie were dating again. the part that might make me the asshole here is that i texted her about 30 seconds after they told me, so Kilo didn’t even have a chance to talk to Sierra before i told her. that night, Sierra texted Kilo to basically tell her that it was a stupid idea that they were dating again, meanwhile Charlie was texting Sierra about how she broke his heart (it was super weird and to this day i don’t know if Kilo knows that Charlie was texting her that night). Kilo reached out to me and asked if i told Sierra, and i said yes. Kilo got mad at me for getting involved and said i shouldve stayed out of it, i said that Sierra had a right to know, and also that Charlie didn’t deserve a second chance.

AITA for telling Sierra that Kilo and Charlie were back together?

[existentialcrisistime]

D&D: Honor Among Thieves (Xenk/Edgin) fic rec list:

These are just based on those I've read and loved so far. There are so many incredible works coming out of this new fandom that I'm sure I'll have enough recs for a second post in another month or so.

Because this turned onto a bit of a long post, the recs are below the cut.

I've marked the rating by each fic, but please do mind the tags!

Curse of the Green Hag by @moorishflower (E, 16k)

Xenk contracts a fuck-or-die curse and turns up on Edgin's doorstep for the first time since Neverwinter. Also contains an excellent cameo from Holga, a bit of bondage, Xenk's first time, and A Lot of emotions. And of course the actual smut is top tier. Already wanting to read this one again.

High Praise Indeed by enchantedsleeper (T, 3k)

Xenk stops by Holga and Edgin's cottage to find Edgin in the throes of a breakup. In the process of trying to persuade Edgin of his many worthy qualities, he accidentally reveals a little too much. Short and very sweet, with cameos from Holga and Kira. Would recommend for fans of pining idiots.

in the absence of truth by @floralprintshark (E, 13k)

Five times Ed says that he hates Xenk and one time he doesn't. Yes, a 5+1 things, but oh it's so much more than that! There are heists and hijinks, accidental asshole Edgin, uncertain and inexperienced Xenk, and a hint of polyamory between Simon and Doric, but the whole party are featured and written perfectly here. Also contains Many emotions. I sent this one to the group chat, and we were ALL screaming about it (in the best way)

Universal Glue by Korwwa (E, 10k)

A rescue mission goes wrong, and Xenk and Edgin get caught in, yes, a glue trap. The premise may sound like a crack fic, but it's definitely taken seriously, whilst still being very fun. Plus a wee bit of angst for (delicious) seasoning.

Scraping the Moss Off the Standing Stones by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (E, 4k)

Established relationship, Xenk comes home after a long time away and Edgin takes care of him. Oh boy, this fic sure packs a lot into just 4k words, and I feel like the author just Gets how I imagine Xenk - always seen as holy or evil, but just wanting to be treated like a person. Also very hot - I'm weak for some well-written dirty talk and this is perfect.

When the well runs dry by demon_faith (G, 2k)

Part one of the Time Heals All Wounds series, which can either be read as a series or as stand-alone fics. Established relationship, Edgin is badly injured, and Xenk is unable to heal him. A classic hurt/comfort with a good bit of Edgin whump, and Xenk struggling with the reality of that.

On the edge of a blade by demon_faith (T, 3k)

Part two of the series, again established relationship. This time, Xenk gets badly hurt, and it's up to Edgin to take care of him. Heavy on both the hurt and the comfort.

lay on hands by @hauntedfalcon (E, 2k)

A getting-together/first-time fic, with a healthy dose of body worship. Xenk gets off on Edgin's metaphors. Beautifully written, and also my initial thoughts were - this is an author who sure is clued up on the names of medieval clothing/armor.

half your life (you've been hooked on death) by roundtriptojupiter (T, 2.5k)

Edgin struggles to process the events of the past six months, when Xenk turns up at his doorstep. Or, Edgin and Xenk process grief together, then kiss about it. A great exploration of Edgin's emotions, not only regarding Zia and Holga, but of the other people he may have harmed along the way.

We can burn much brighter (if we don't look back) by enchantedsleeper (T, 6k)

Xenk apprehends Forge and learns of the events that transpired at Neverwinter. Grappling with the fact that his past almost repeated itself while he was too far away to help, he encounters Edgin. Such a lovely post-movie fic, exploring just how Edgin and Xenk are processing their feelings in the wake of it.

Do you know you'll never fly alone? by MayGlenn (T, 1.2k)

Something a bit more light-hearted to end the recs list on: a fix-it of sorts, but for the poor undead guy in the post-credits scene. Xenk takes Edgin on a late night ride, to fix an issue he'd left behind, but maybe for something more also...

And that's that for now! Please do feel free to recommend your favourite D&D: Honor Among Thieves fics in return, or yell about which of these you loved the most. My comments and inbox are always open :))

And to the fic writers (and all fic writers out there), thank you so much for sharing these stories with us! You're all absolutely wonderful, talented people <3

[bengiyo]

Marahuyo Project Eps 7 & 8 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last time, the kids struggled to pick a name for their LGBTQIA+ organization while discussing their strategy before the school board. They eventually decided to focus on connecting their hopes for the island's future with its past, and set about researching. Archie gave Venice some files from the church, Lorie looked through files her dad had, and Ino suggested interviewing people after providing equipment. We learned that Archie is struggling with the path to holy orders (manifested in his neck scratching), Ino said aloud that he was gay and kissed King, and Lili is probably intersex. Each of our our kids is holding confidence about this. Lili read Marco for filth, read him for blood, but unfortunately we left at Marco outing her.

Episode 7: Aswang

You know King isn't the violent type, because some of my people would have curb stomped his ass by now.

Oh, Ino. I understand.

Okay, Lili's story is so sad and lonely. I'm glad she told Lili before this.

Oof, Lorie was not ready for the friends to lovers kiss.

That was difficult, but King is right. He shouldn't ask Ino to come out, but it doesn't stop him from getting hurt.

King's grandmother is great. It's making me sad that Ino has no one else to talk to after that.

Wow, Marco is really doubling down on being an asshole.

I appreciate this show now disguising the kinds of casual homophobia you run into.

It's hard to recognize when you need to give someone you love space when you want to help.

I do like the idea of them reclaiming the balagtasan as a way to present their ideas to the island.

I knew it was Ino who graffitied the mural.

Gay people really will turn their relationship problems into a public spectacle.

This poetry is beautiful.

Oh, Ino, I'm proud of you.

My boy is bleeding!! Marco, it's on sight!!

Man, what a concise breakdown of how it feels to know your truth and have your caregivers try to stifle that in you for the sake of appearances.

Episode 8: Babaylan

Ino and King opening up old wounds.

Yes, King, tell your mom. Shame is learned at home. A kid can face the world if they're safe at home.

I love King so much for not sugarcoating how bad public scorn can get.

Swimming at night is very dangerous, but I'm always happy to receive an underwater kiss BECAUSE IT STILL BELONGS TO THE GAYS.

Oh good. Lorie and Lili are finally talking.

See, this is the thing about doing queer media versus making QL sometimes. Apologizing for loving someone is such a queer experience. Your love isn't something that you should be ashamed of, and you shouldn't have to apologize for caring a lot about someone.

This feels like the right place for these two as friends to possibly more.

Oh shit Lili got me when she held back tears at getting best friends.

It really is exhausting how hard authority works constantly to police and enforce heteronormativity. There are so few of us. Why is it always this constant bullshit?

Oof, I actually like this choice to have Archie vote to impeach Ino, become the new president, and then immediately return to the site where they honored Christina to cry about it. Venice understands that taking care of other queers is a long term project. At least Archie said her name.

Many of my beloved elders have passed. I wish I could talk to them sometimes. Especially Barry.

I love that Venice is eating in almost every scene.

Hey! They finally picked a name!

I love how homophobes talk about history, and then storm out when confronted with uncomfortable truths.

Crying over these outfits. They're so right. Formal acceptance by the status quo doesn't erase our existence, or the bonds between us. We will make space for ourselves and those like us.

Oh, Archie. I understand you, too. I hope you find peace with yourself and others.

I love Sue Prado, but does the mom really deserve to be here? I'll accept them trying to extend grace to struggling parents since Grandma has been with them the whole time.

This march works though. Before it was only three of them. Now look at them.

A post credits scene! Wait, I love the idea of Juvy and Jose going to visit them!

Final Verdict: 9.5, Finally Some Good Fucking Food. I am just so relieved to have another show from JP Habac. It's clear he and his friends have such strong ideas about where queer people fit in our society today, and I love that his work is never about defeating homophobia and is instead about connecting others to queer joy. Despite how this show stirred up all sorts of old hurts in me, I feel so much love for these characters, and I'm so thankful that I can point to a show with a wide spectrum of queer experiences delivered in such a beautiful package. It's so rare to see a show treat the closet seriously, and I will be thinking about this show forever, alongside JP's previous work: Gaya sa Pelikula (aka Like in the Movies).

[crystalelemental]

A while back, there was a Tumblr poll making the rounds asking gamers a simple question about which is worse, good gameplay/bad story, or bad gameplay/good story. At one point in time, I would've said obviously bad story is worse, because I was a pretentious little shit. As an adult, the answer seems a lot more obvious. If the gameplay is bad, it doesn't matter how good a story is, the full product is intolerable.

Anyway, completely unrelated, but I finished Final Fantasy 8.

FF8 is funny. I remember hating it in the day, and have long considered it the worst in the series, putting it below even FF2. Part of this was, as many in the current climate can identify, a matter of the big internet names of the time dunking on it, and teenagers are ever primed to recite opinions of people they look up to regardless of whether they understand it or not. So my main issue was "Story bad, bad game."

Having replayed it...yeah, no, FF8's story's actually really good. As someone who often considers themselves a character-centric person, FF8 is particularly nice because it really feels like a character-centric narrative.

Squall is great. Possibly my favorite protagonist right now? The story is primarily about connection and expression, centered on Squall's inability to just talk about what he's thinking and feeling with others. He's a fascinating protagonist because, despite all the edgelord accusations, Squall is deeply compassionate from minute one. His problem is not about caring or empathy. He cares greatly, and understands people pretty well. His problem is about opening up to others.

I think how the game presents it is my favorite part. This game involves a lot of internal monologuing from Squall, and his words often betray those thoughts. A good scene example is talking to Cid about protecting Balamb. When asked about his reasons, internally Squall has a laundry list of explanations - not wanting people to get hurt, caring about the people here, etc - but all he outwardly says is something to the effect of "It's my job." This complete disconnect really hits hard when we're switching between seeing his thoughts and seeing what he says.

Squall's reservations largely stem from the trauma of losing others; his parents first, then big sis Ellone. Squall doesn't want to make connections to people who could leave him. He's fearful of being hurt, and so makes himself lonely by refusing to open up to anyone. This is where his foil, Seifer, becomes more interesting.

Seifer is similarly lonely, but while Squall's is self-imposed, Seifer's is externally enforced. Squall is, for all his faults, well liked by his classmates and staff. He's not much for chatting, but his actions generally provide the appearance of a clever, polite, and caring young man. Seifer, comparatively, is an asshole and a moron. He demands to be seen by others and recognized, but everyone he engages with considers him intolerable. He approaches connection to others through authority and control, immediately taunting Zell and making threats about adding people to "the list." Seifer is alone because no one wants to deal with him.

What's interesting to me is that Seifer, much like Squall, cannot articulate himself either. He talks a lot, but he's not exactly honest. He keeps the truth of what he wants as his romantic secret, and when it comes to bear, it turns out his goal is...becoming the sorceress' knight. Now obviously, this isn't his goal. It's just what he has propped up in the moment. What he wanted is connection. Fujin and Raijin care about him, but he only reciprocates as far as his ability to boss them around. Ultimecia gives him a sense of connection, a sense of belonging and purpose, by carrying out her needs. He wants to belong just like Squall, and his reticence and lack of connection through peers puts him in a position he can be manipulated by someone.

Critically, Seifer mirror's Squall's "I don't want friends who will leave me" with this attitude. Fujin and Raijin aren't really important enough to be his friends. His sense of connection has to be bigger, more significant than these meaningless, small-time connections. We get to see this from Squall actively when Seifer is assumed dead. Squall freaks out, horrified at the prospect of people just talking about him loosely in past tense, and fearing what legacy he leaves behind. Squall wants friends, he's not opposed to connection. But he's convinced himself that this only counts if it's guaranteed forever; if it's something special and transcendent.

But...that's not most connections. Most connections are mundane and everyday. Most connections aren't guaranteed to be forever. And coming to terms with the fact that he does deeply care and doesn't want to lose them is his entire journey, and what makes the orphanage scene pop.

Okay, yes, it's a little goofy that all of them are from the same orphanage and no one remembers. It's a little silly to have the GFs be what removes memory. But I think that what it lacks in direct weight it makes up for thematically in spades. Squall doesn't remember these people from his past, in part due to this belief that his connections are more serious, but just as much because of trauma. He held a deep connection to Ellone, but even forgot about her, because the fear of losing others caused him to block out the specifics of those memories. Rinoa calls him on it later; he tries to brush off lack of recollection of something as a side-effect of the GFs, and is told "That's just an excuse, isn't it?" Squall hides away from these memories because they're hard to bear, and willingly severs his own connections for personal safety, symbolized by the Guardian Forces. It's why the ultimate GF summoned by Ultimecia is the one on his ring: Griever. Literally one who is grieving. That safety manifests as grief, a deep sorrow and loneliness for what is lost, unable to look ahead to what can still be. Time Compression, drawing everything to a single point, is collapsing that lived experience to that moment of trauma.

The other cast members don't get nearly the same development. This is very much Squall's personal journey. But I like Rinoa pretty well, as another who is deeply significant to the story. She's just got a fun personality. I could take or leave the rest. Irvine especially doesn't feel like he adds much. They're fine.

It really was staggering to come back to this game, feeling certain that my complaints were with the story being crap, and going...no, actually, this is really well done. That said, it may still be my least favorite in the series, because all the narrative significance in the world will not fix the gameplay.

I'm going to avoid specifics. You probably already know. But the big question that was raised for me here was...what is the intended first playthrough experience here?

The biggest draw, the thing that, as a player, you're going to go for, is GF skills. They require skill points obtained after battle, and you'll want a bunch of different ones, since they augment stats. So more than likely, you might stop and grind some out. Which results in EXP yields, which increases your level, which makes encounters harder before you have spells to Junction, etc. Playing this game like you would any other is immediately and severely punished, with no indication of why or how to avoid it. How are you to know that Card avoids EXP? How are you to know enemies scale to your level? How do you figure any of this out? It feels like a game that requires external knowledge. I've been watching someone play FF5, and they talked about FF8, saying "if you just beat the enemy then they're dead and you continue playing," but man I tried that when I first picked it up. It resulted in a softlock where I could not beat anything I came up against because I didn't understand Junctioning or level scaling. You kinda have to engage with these shitty systems. The remastered version is playable, but only because it has 3x speed and the ability to turn off all random encounters, which is the only reason I made it past Esther, which was about to drive me insane.

I feel like I at least somewhat understand the general vision at certain points in the game. Tutorial bosses all having Cure is a clever way to teach players to use the spells obtained from enemies to manage, and this kind of tutorial continues through the fake president having Esuna to draw while spamming status. There's a late-game boss in Ultimecia's Castle that is basically immune to damage, except for Demi, which can be drawn from it, and another boss that mentions "fearing elements it doesn't use," and it has Tornado and casts lightning, so you hit it with Fire or Ice (or others). Those are neat systems! I kinda like those! But scaled levels and junctioning magic to stats and having limited casts that if you use them the stat boost for junctioning goes down...it's doing too much. It's overly ambitious, and the system starts to break down very early, around the time you find out there are like 50 spells and only 32 slots, and oops some of that stuff you drew is basically useless now.

That's not to say combat is the only thing that drives me nuts. Junctioning also results in several situations where the party changes, but doesn't offer the "swap junction" option, so you have to do that shit manually. Looking at you, Laguna sections. Battle of the Gardens was the worst, because there are like four goddamn party transitions that result in needing to swap junctions, and none of those sections involve fights, but you wouldn't know that unless you'd done it already. It just eats so much time. And all of this is around constant random encounters you can't kill because level scaling, and hard to navigate PS1 maps where I can't tell what is and isn't traversible half the damned time.

FF8 feels like a more extreme FF7. I came away from that game feeling like the story was much better than I recalled, but I considered it the game I'd least like to replay. FF8 is the same but even moreso in both directions. I really enjoyed this story, it's one of my favorites, but I think I'd rather saw my arms off than play it again. So it is...very hard to consider this anything but my bottom of the barrel. It can be a beautifully presented narrative all it wants, but as a wise man once said: "It's a video game! I play the game to play the game!"

[farfromstrange]

Butterfly Effect | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter Six: Bittersweet Symphony

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Barista!Reader (she/her pronouns mentioned)

Summary: What happened with Michael won't let you go and you find yourself researching who he is. The truth shocks you. But trying to forget him is impossible, you realize, and it doesn't take long for a knock on your door to ruin the plans you had made for yourself that particular night. Or, Michael finally finds the guts to ask you for help and takes a step toward you in the process, making your efforts worthwhile.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of canon typical violence, SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, oral f!receiving, handjob, unprotected p in v, slight choking (?), dirty talk, pet names, slight marking kink, breeding kink (?)

Word Count: 11k (I outdid myself with this one, it’s about half plot, half smut)

A/n: I told you I'd make up for everything ;) Also, why did I make myself sweat with this one? And the gif? I just made myself horny smh…

Read All Other Parts Here...

Days turn into two weeks without hearing from him. Part of you expected him to call even after he broke your heart, but with every passing day, the hope swindled and a sense of anger settled in that still burns brighter than the sun.

You’re angry at Michael and you’re angry at yourself because you believed in the good in him and he turned out to be just another asshole, which doesn’t sit right with you. You couldn’t have misjudged him this badly. You saw through his facade and you thought you got a sense of who he is, and he didn’t seem as cruel to you. 

It’s a lot to take in. You still struggle to wrap your head around everything that happened, but the initial hurt eventually fades into the background while you focus back on work. 

During the past two weeks, Sarah prodded you for answers until you invited her over for a glass of wine and then you told her about Michael Kinsella and your shared love of coffee. You told her about the conversations you had, the subtle flirting, his help with the sign that has been professionally fixed since then, and you told her about how you kissed him and he seemed to enjoy it. You brought him coffee to work and kissed him again, and you parted ways like nothing happened. You told her all of that just to end the story with the inevitable; he left, hurting you in the process, and he hasn’t called since. 

She was quick to tell you what an asshole he is and that he doesn’t deserve you, but that’s what she’s supposed to say and your feelings are a lot more complicated than that.

The behavior Michael displayed that day was so out of character. He was mean to you and he had only ever been kind to you before that. It bothers you that you don’t understand, even after days of contemplating and trying to forget him. You want to understand. His being an asshole couldn’t have been the reason for what happened. There has to be something else, you keep telling yourself, and it has to be so complex, it’s hard for him to explain, so he channeled his emotions elsewhere. That’s the only plausible explanation. 

After another few days, you decide you’ve had enough. Constantly contemplating where you went wrong is making it hard to sleep and you need to understand what you got yourself into with Michael, even if it’s just to still your restless curiosity and soothe the ache in your chest. Maybe he is a serial killer; at least then you wouldn’t feel bad about how things ended. 

It’s stupid, you think. You were never together. You were strangers who found solace in each other, and it was fun while it lasted. But Michael Kinsella is someone you can’t get out of your head so easily, you realized, and he will stay there until you’ve found a reason to exorcize him. 

You want to see the good in people. He is no exception. And you truly believe there is good in him somewhere. He proved it to you before. Something wasn’t quite right that day and the days before. Something held him back. 

You remember his hesitation when he told you his last name, the look on his face that suggested he expected you to run. While the name felt familiar, it hasn’t rung any bells. You’ve been living in Dublin for a while now, but the name Kinsella doesn’t strike you as something important, and Sarah clearly doesn’t have any idea who he is either or she would have warned you. Then again, she moved to Ireland after growing up in Scotland and is now doing her Masters in film while she’s working with you at the café. She’s just as bad when it comes to knowing the city she lives in as you are. 

If Michael turns out to be a serial killer though, you’re not sure where to with yourself. 

With your glass of wine in hand, you make your way to the living room table where your laptop is waiting for you. You close the empty draft of the story you were planning to write; a dramatic love story between a prince and the daughter of a Duke that was promised to him as his wife, but they don’t get along at first. Between work and the mess that is your life, you haven’t found the time yet to work on the idea. 

You close the draft and move onto the internet. Typing the name “Kinsella” into the Google search bar feels wrong; you wouldn’t consider yourself a stalker, running background checks isn’t your forte, but that’s also because you’re overall bad at it. You’re not sneaky or sly – you have the grace of an elephant, so scouting the internet for information on someone is not something you usually do. This time though, Michael’s behavior forces you to take this step, and your curiosity is starting to eat you alive, so you have no other choice but to comply with this desperate need to figure out what the hell is going on. 

Several news articles pop up after you press the search button. They date back several years with the top result being no older than eight years ago. The name “Kinsella” has a huge media presence, especially on social media. You’re not active on Twitter, but there are many links leading you to Twitter threads about one of Ireland’s most notorious crime families.

You know gang violence is a problem, you haven’t been living under a rock, especially not with the gas station close to your apartment getting robbed on the regular (and you’re convinced it’s not just robberies but perhaps mob hits that are meant to spread fear among the general public). What shocks you to your core though is the fact that when you open the Twitter thread first, the name Kinsella is mentioned twice in the first sentence, and the thread is full of death and bloodshed. 

Someone took their time to document meticulously what the Kinsellas were up to for years. Drugs, violence, guns, murder… It has been happening right under your nose. You didn’t once notice. Your little bubble was nice to live in, not caring about the monsters lurking in the shadows of your city and just moving on with your life, but with one simple Google search, your bubble has burst. 

You begin to think, Michael couldn’t have meant it when he said he was a Kinsella. He doesn’t strike you as the type of guy to do the things you’re reading about. There are several names you have never heard before, all linking to different crimes, but the police fail every time to link a member of the family to any of them – and they’re serious allegations. It seems surreal that no one has taken the fall yet. 

You can’t choose your family, you know that. Maybe he was born into it but he’s not interested in being a criminal. That’s possible too. Maybe he’s trying to escape. Maybe his family is the reason why he pushed you away and he’s not as cruel as he presented to you. It would make sense and it would make you feel a lot better about yourself. Maybe–

Scrolling lower, you recognize the car dealer Michael said his brother’s wife works at. You recognize the car wash. Rumor has it that it’s a place for them to launder money. But so far, nothing has been proven. Amanda and Jimmy Kinsella, these are the names that catch your attention. Jimmy must be his brother then, Amanda the wife. She’s pretty, you can tell from the pictures someone posted into the thread. 

Maybe you’re overthinking this. A lot of those Tweets sound like speculations. You can’t tie every gang-related murder in Dublin to one single family. There is more than one mob. If you have learned anything from reading crime novels it’s that there are always more players in the game, which often leads to conflict, which leads to violence, and which inevitably leads to a lot of dead bodies littering the streets. Too many drugs, too many guns, too much violence on the streets, and Ireland continues to suffer. 

Michael Kinsella. You don’t want to believe that he’s part of the same family you just read an entire detailed Twitter thread on. You don’t want to believe that he is capable of hurting another human being, especially physically. You don’t want to believe it and yet, when you think about it, the tattoos, his secretive demeanor, and the general darkness that keeps his soul caged in, it makes sense. 

You mutter a frustrated, “No,” to yourself. Switching back to the other search results on the Google page, the cursor moves over the article that dates back eight years ago. 

Arrest Made: Husband Arrested in Fatal Shooting at Kinsella Household.

Your stomach churns. 

“In the case of the fatal shooting at the Kinsella household on Wednesday, the police have officially arrested the victim’s husband, Michael Kinsella, for her wrongful death. According to police, there is concrete evidence against him and authorities are trying to convict him as soon as possible. Mrs. Kinsella leaves behind a young daughter–”

“Jesus fuck!” You down your wine in one gulp, slapping your laptop shut. 

The article goes on to talk about the Kinsella family and the shooting that took place and killed that (you suppose) innocent woman – and she was Michael’s wife. He was married. He has a daughter. His wife got shot and he got convicted for it. 

“I was away for eight years,” you remember him saying. 

You already found it suspicious when he told you because no one leaves for eight years without explicitly planning and wanting to, but he sounded almost dreadful when he told you. He told you it wasn’t voluntary. 

The article isn’t fake news, it’s real life. Michael Kinsella went to prison for killing his wife, he has a daughter, and you idiot have developed the biggest crush on a man who does not just have the name of a crime family, he is part of the said crime family. You have started falling for a guy who got convicted for murdering his own wife, and as you stare at your reflection in the dark tv screen across the room, you wonder when you have become such a naive idiot to think he’d turn out to be just another normal guy. 

You’re fucked, you think. What if they want you dead now, too? 

Even though you look calm on the outside, inside, you’re fuming. Your heart is racing and you can feel the air in your lungs getting thinner. This is a lot to process, too much even, but you’re stuck on a thought that won’t evade you; somehow, you’re not scared. You’re not scared of Michael or what he did, and just when you think you’ve lost your mind, you begin to think that the internet doesn’t convey everything and that maybe, there is an explanation after all, and your common sense officially declares you crazy. 

But it’s true, isn’t it? Michael never struck you as the kind of guy who would be so vile and kill his own wife, let alone take a mother from her own child – his child, too – and then act as if nothing happened. Something else must have happened in the past, he suffered the consequences in prison and he continues to suffer through the aftermath even now. That is probably why he looked so broken every time you saw him. Something happened that no one talked about, and he doesn’t want to talk about it either because perhaps he’s embarrassed, and you get that.

You realize you’re twisted for trying to explain his actions, something you have no idea about, but you can’t shake the feeling that there is more to it, and not even the anger you feel at all the lies can make that inkling go away.

You’re too good, too nice, and that might be your downfall one day. But you don’t really care. Or maybe you care too much and that’s why all of this is so confusing and at the same time crystal clear. You don’t even know anymore. 

With shaky fingers, you reach for your phone. After a few rings, Sarah answers. You can always count on her, even at twelve am in the middle of the night. 

“Good evening, my little butterfly,” she answers cheerily. “What can I help ya with today?”

“I–” You forget what you wanted to say. 

“Ya know, I was gonna call ya and tell ya about this new vibrator I got anyway. It’s in the shape of a rose. A rose! Anyway, I just tried it out and–”

“He killed his wife,” you cut her off. 

She goes silent for a moment. “Who did what now?” she asks.

“Michael, he– he went to prison for eight years because he killed his wife.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit! Girl–” It sounds like she’s shuffling to sit down on the other end. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

You whine. “I don’t know! I just wanted to know how he was, so I googled him and… his name, Sarah. Kinsella. It didn’t ring any bells before, but I think I heard it on the news a while back, and… it’s a mob family. They’re literal criminals. Fuck!”

Okay, maybe you are panicking. You tried to be strong before, but this is eating away at you and you feel like your sanity is slipping away. You feel lost, even more so than usual. It’s all too much to handle, and you can’t find it in yourself to properly process the information and the feelings that come with it. 

Another moment of silence follows. “Well,” Sarah says, and she’s known for channeling shock in humor, “Remember when I told ya that dating a rugby player was bad? This is worse.”

“You’re not helping,” you say. Tears start welling up in your eyes. 

“I know, I know,” her voice softens a tinge, “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe this is happening. Ya said he killed his wife?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. The internet suggests he was responsible, but I can’t– I met him, Sarah. I can’t believe this.”

“It’s not yer fault he fooled ya.”

“What if he didn’t fool me?”

“He went to prison fer 8 years, love. And he was convicted fer killing his wife. He’s part of a fuckin’ mob family. Who knows, maybe he’s the boss. This isn’t some creative writing dark romance shit,” she says. “Ya could be in actual danger. It’s good that bastard left ya. I’m sorry, but I’d rather have ya alive than dead.”

“I know!” Your choice echoes through the phone and back into your ear. “I’m sorry,” you apologize for your tone, “It’s just that… I know people. How did I not see this coming?”

“Shit happens.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s the best I can give ya. You just know how to pick ‘em, it’s a real talent.”

“Thank you.”

“Yer welcome.”

You shake your head. “This is so fucked…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sarah murmurs. Her voice is gentle coming from the other end, a soft balm for your wounded soul. 

You wouldn’t consider her your best friend, but she’s your closest friend, and she was there when no one else was when you first fame to the Butterfly Effect. There is a lot of history between you and right now you are grateful you’re not alone. 

Your lips part in a bitter chuckle. “His wife left behind a daughter, which means he’s a father, too, apparently,” you tell her. 

She gasps. “This just keeps gettin’ worse.”

“Yeah.”

“This sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“I knew there was a reason I hate dads,” she says. 

Finally, her words elicit a small laugh from you. “Who knows, maybe he’s actually a good dad.” 

For someone who used to be a pessimist, your optimism has become quite undying. She says your name almost condescendingly and you lower your head, knowing that you’re probably holding onto hope that’s actually nothing more than a fantasy. Michael changed your brain chemistry. You don’t know what’s real and what’s fake anymore. You’re not sure what to believe in, you can’t even trust your own mind anymore. 

You have to forget him. 

“Tell ya what, sunshine. You and I will go out on the town tomorrow night and get absolutely pissed–” Sarah pauses to light herself a cigarette. “What do ya say?” 

It’s her turn to throw you a lifeline with a bottle of tequila attached to it, and maybe the promise of finding a distraction amongst the chaos. You nod. “Yeah,” you say, “sounds good.”

You don’t just have to forget him, you need to because even now he’s still stuck in your head, making it harder to breathe or even hear your own thoughts.

“Great, see ya tomorrow then,” she says. 

“Yeah, see ya,” and you hang up, allowing the silence in your apartment to overrun and drown you again. 

You should have known that forgetting him will be an impossible task. At work the next day, you feel a little dizzy. You barely slept, and the few hours that you managed to sleep were filled with ghastly dreams. You get nightmares sometimes, just like everyone else, but the ones you had that night were worse than anything you’ve experienced before. 

You dreamed about Michael, there was a lot of blood and you remember that at some point, you were the one dying, not his wife, and the rest has quickly turned into a blur because your mind is trying to protect itself. Of course, you are a little less cheery today, and the bags under your eyes are a testament to how much your thoughts continue to make you suffer. 

The man before you orders a double espresso. For a second, you imagine Michael standing there, his harmful words all these days ago; you’re tired of it. 

“I could make you a double espresso,” you say, trying to sound calm, “but we also have other options you might like. The weather invites for something sweeter, don’t you think?”

He contemplates before agreeing with you. 

“We have this new drink on the menu, we call it ‘Bittersweet Symphony’, and it’s a perfect blend between bitter and sweet–” and it reminds you so much of the person Michael is. He would have loved this drink. You shake your head slightly, trying to get him out. He shouldn’t follow you to bed, let alone to work. Even the thought alone makes you feel sick.

“It’s two shots of espresso,” you say, turning a deaf ear to the voices in your head, “topped off with usually some caramel or chocolate syrup and then a creamy white foam on top. You can have some hot milk as well if you want, sir.”

“Sounds good ta me,” he says. 

“Okay, perfect. That makes 5.48 in total…”

You want nothing more than to get through your day without any more unnecessary reminders. 

It isn’t until you’ve arrived home that you allow yourself to take a deep breath. You grab a quick bite to eat from the leftover pizza in your fridge, then make your way to the bathroom to take a shower before you meet with Sarah. You need to wash the sweat from the day off your skin. And you need to cry. You’ve noticed your eyes get less swollen when you keep your emotions bottled up until you have a shower you can hide in. 

You once again think about Michael and the article. You think about his family, your lack of judgment, and what Sarah said about you possibly being in danger. You would have been if he told you and stayed around, perhaps, but you don’t feel like you’re in danger. Maybe you should be, but would he have agreed to spend time with you if you were in danger because of him? 

You brush your hair a little angrier tonight. The picture you had of him is destroyed; you don’t know what to think or what to make of it. It’s frustrating and it shakes you to your core. What did you do to deserve this?

The clock strikes eight. You picked your best dress, fixed your hair, and applied some makeup – you don’t often go out, but tonight, you don’t care. Just when you are about to put on your shoes, there is a faint knock on your door. 

You check your phone. Sarah hasn’t called or texted and you planned to meet up at the club, so who would be knocking on your door at eight in the evening? With a frown, you put your phone back down and approach the door. You don’t bother checking who’s behind it, you simply unlock it and open it. Maybe it’s a neighbor needing some sugar or flour; that tends to happen quite a bit. 

Though when you look up, your heart sinks to your stomach. All this thinking about him and now he’s standing right in front of you.

Your initial thought to slam the door in his face goes to waste when he lifts his head and tries to smile at you. There is blood stuck to the corner of his mouth, his nose seems broken and someone managed to hit his eyebrows strong enough to make the skin burst open. 

Michael looks a mess as he stands before you, holding onto your door frame. He tries to hide it, but the pain is evident on his face. 

There is a pause. You stare at him and he stares back, the air between you charging with tension. “Hey,” he whispers eventually. 

The words on your tongue turn to gibberish. 

He says your name and his voice sounds utterly broken. Unshed tears glisten in his eyes. He holds onto his side as if his ribs are bruised, and it’s only then you notice his sunken eyes and how he’s slumping against your door, too weak to hold himself up. He looks exhausted in all possible ways, and his heart lies broken on the floor before you, the little bit of light you used to see in him before now gone. 

“Michael,” his name is merely a breath on your lips. 

“Listen, I know ya probably don’t want ta see me–” his knees buckle. 

You reach out to catch him. You’re not in control. You should push him away and tell him to go to hell. You should save yourself before you get hurt, too. You shouldn’t give someone like him a second chance, but he’s bleeding and he’s in pain and he needs help. You can’t just say no to that. 

He didn’t mean to come to you, to be quite fair. But then he was at the pub and there was this guy and he just wouldn’t stop talking, and he punched him. Michael punched him and he ran, and he found his way to you instead of home because fuck, he needs you. And not in the animalistic way he has wanted you before; he needs you to breathe, to learn how to live again, to find hope because he has been drowning ever since he left. The world wants to suffocate him. He’s drowning. He’s reaching for the lifeline now, and he no longer has the power to fight it. 

It’s his turn to take the first step now. It’s a step he should have taken in the beginning. But looking at you, he fears it might be too late. 

“I’m sorry,” the tears become clearer now as he whispers, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry…”

“Sorry? Do you even know–” You swallow thickly. “I know who you are, Michael.”

His face darkens, but it doesn’t come as much of a surprise to him. He suspected you would look him up. There is no resentment in your eyes, no fear, only disappointment. It hurts, and he wishes he would never have come. 

His knees buckle again. He can’t run. He hasn’t slept in days, he has barely eaten and the alcohol is still coursing wildly through his system. The adrenaline starts to fade, leaving behind the pain that is seemingly in every bone of his body but most importantly his soul and the voice in his head grows into a cacophony of screams again. 

You hold on tight to him. You shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels right. You’re acting on autopilot, even when you close the door behind you and look into his eyes. 

"Fuck," you mutter to yourself, and the curse is meant for you alone. "Let's get you inside."

You guide Michael into the living room. The sofa isn't far, so you lead him there and urge him to sit down. His body feels limp and heavy against you, but you refuse to let him fall. 

He groans a little when the shift in position sends a sharp pain through his ribs. His brown eyes seem lighter with the tears inside. The light glistens in them, casting an almost golden glow on his face. You take a step back, and you're not sure what to think or say that would somehow convey the turmoil of emotions that are raging inside of you. 

"What happened to you, Michael?" you ask. You try to sound strong, stern even, but your voice quivers. Is that fear you feel? You're not sure, but you're alone with someone you've read a lot of dark things about and that doesn't leave you cold. He said something to you that broke you, it felt as if he played with you, and yet you can't send him away. It's pathetic, almost, but there is a voice inside of you that refuses to let you let him go, and maybe she has a point. "You look like you've been through hell," you add. 

He lets out a bitter chuckle. "Tha's one way ta put it," he says. "I got into a fight at the pub. Things got out of hand."

The emotion that flickers inside of you is one you can pinpoint. It's red, hot, and burns through your veins like acid. You're angry, feral even. He once asked you if you ever get angry; he should think again, now that he can see you. "So, you resort to violence?" you snap. "Is that your solution to everything?"

Michael flinches at your words. "No, it's not. I- I messed up, okay? I'm not proud of it. But I-" he takes a deep breath and then he speaks again, much quieter this time, "I didn't know where else ta go."

A wave of exhaustion washes over you. As much as you want to turn your back on him, you can't ignore the desperation in his eyes. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions.

"Why?" you ask. "After everything, why did you think I would help you?"

He swallows the lump in his throat. The tears prick at the corners of his eyes. "Because... yer the only one who understands," his voice is barely above a whisper. "I know I don't deserve yer help, but I can't... I can't do this alone." When he calls your name this time, it's a cry for help. "I don't wanna be alone anymore," he says. "I can't-"

Your arms uncross in front of your chest. Your eyes soften, the pain in his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. The sound of your bare feet patting against the floorboards toward him is an indication that you’re coming closer, but Michael can’t see, not even a little bit. 

You sit down next to him. He’s just a broken man. He isn’t dangerous. You knew he couldn’t be. Sarah and all the strangers on the internet don’t know him – he’s a man in pain who needs help, and he’s finally asked for it. 

“You’re not alone,” you whisper. You abandon all worries and fears and focus solely on him. He needs you, not just anyone – he needs you and he came to get it. 

He should have done so from the start.

Michael falls into your open arms almost as soon as he hears the words from your mouth. The sobs break free from his chest and he shakes, his tears staining your dress and wetting your shoulder, but you only wrap your arms around him tighter. He feels so fragile in your arms.  

You stroke your fingers through his hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He cries for what feels like hours. His chest heaves with the missing air, his sobs echoing through the room, all the while he clings to you. You can feel his helplessness in the way his fingers dig into your flesh. He’s hiding away from the world with his face in the crook of your neck, and he’s holding you so incredibly close, you feel like you might suffocate. 

After a while, he begins to calm down. Your fingers paint lazy patterns on his scalp, the other hand rubbing his back as he finds back to himself. 

He leans back. His entire body vibrates when he takes a deep breath. The blood from his nose is now smeared over the sleeve of your dress too. He reminds you of yourself just then. You look at him and you see yourself, the girl who wanted to please her parents, to be someone, but life had other plans for you. You lost people you cared about, you lost yourself, and you had nowhere to go either. You were alone, lonely even, and it slowly killed you. He reminds you so much of yourself, it hurts. 

Your family can’t compare with his, but you can tell from looking at him that the pain is the same as you grew up with. It’s like looking into a mirror. And you realize that this is precisely the reason why you can’t find it in yourself to be scared, you’re just angry and disappointed, but overall you’re worried about him. 

“What happened to you, Mikey?” you whisper. 

He chuckles breathlessly. “Too much,” he says. “And I’m sorry fer hurting ya. I never meant fer things to go so wrong. I… I feel so ashamed.”

Your hands are still resting on his shoulders, but your eyes have grown more thoughtful. 

“You said ya know who I am?”

“I looked you up,” you admit. 

Another tear slides down his cheek. “Okay, I understand.” He makes a move to get back up. You’re confused, watching him. When you realize he wants to leave, you grab his hand and pull him back down. 

“I want to understand.”

He says your name, “I–”

Michael can tell you’re not scared. That alone seems like a warning sign. There is anger bubbling under your skin, but you’re not yelling, you’re not being physical – he realizes that you’re silent when you’re angry, and yet you try to understand where the other person is coming from even if they hurt you, and that’s as admirable as it worries him. 

“I read an article… I read several articles, actually. One was about your family and the other…” You lower your gaze onto the floor, your hand slipping from his, but he’s not walking away. “Is it true?” you ask.

He sighs. 

“I didn’t want to believe that you’re cruel and that’s why you said what you said to me. You acted weird and I knew it wasn’t like you, and I still believe that. I just wanted to understand, and what I read… it’s a lot of information, but we all have a different perception and I don’t think you’re the bad guy. Make me understand, Michael. If you don’t–” 

“Ya want me ta leave?” he finishes for you. 

You nod. And even if the truth hurts, you want to know. You can still push him away after, but you need the answers you have been searching for so desperately, and you don’t want to rely on Twitter or the news to tell you who Michael is. His family, you couldn’t care less about; this is about him, and you want to know who he is, not what family he was born into. Once you understand him, you can rethink your opinion and perhaps it will answer all of your questions and not just the most burning ones, and then you can move on. He can move on. You both can move on, maybe even together. 

You’re a hopeful person, and you won’t stop having hope until there is no more reason to keep it. Michael is vulnerable. There has to be more to it than meets the eye, and judging by how his shoulders slack and he sits back down next to you, you know you were right with your suspicions that everything isn’t always as it seems. Public court of opinion is a fickle thing. 

The cuts on his face look nasty. You can see them clearly now. You get up and retrieve an ice pack from the fridge, allowing him a moment to collect himself. 

Michael watches intently as you grab what he suspects is your first-aid kit and a bottle of water together with a frozen pack of peas. He eyes you. He’s sure he doesn’t deserve what you’re giving him, but you have asked for something, something important, and if he doesn’t give it to you, he has to leave and then he will be alone again, without you, without anyone to hold him, and he can’t do that you. You deserve the truth, and Jimmy can go fuck himself. If you ever need protecting, he will be the first person to jump in front of the gun for you, and that’s all that matters. 

You guide the ice pack to his eyebrow. “So, is it true?” you ask again. “What they said on the news?”

He nods. 

“You were married?”

“She died,” Michael whispers. His eyes are focused on the empty space behind you, new tears welling up inside of them. “One day, she just got caught in the crossfire because I–” He tilts his head back. He keeps telling himself not to cry, but Allison’s face is crystal clear in his head, and her blood feels heavy in his hands. “I fucked up,” he says, “and she died. ‘Cause I couldn’t save her.”

“Did you–”

“I didn’t fuckin’ shoot her!"

You lift your hand. His wife seems to be a sensitive subject, which is valid given the circumstances of her death, so you need to dread lightly. You don’t want to open his wounds any further, and you don’t want him to think that you believe what you read because that is why you’re talking to him in the first place, to see a different side of the story. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I never thought you did.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he says. 

“Well, I’m not thinking that anymore.”

“I loved her,” – you catch his tear with your finger – “But tha’ wasn’t enough to save her.”

He’s holding so much pain inside, so much guilt and grief. Something tells you he isn’t lying. Alone the look in his eyes gives away the truth. He’s too weak, too tired to lie to you, and you can see that talking about it in the way he does with you lifts some of the weight off of his shoulders, even though he’s carrying too much for the human soul to bear. You wish you could make his pain go away, but you can’t. 

Tears well up in your own eyes now. “I’m so sorry,” that’s all you can say. 

Michael waves you off, wiping his tears almost furiously. “Doesn’t matter. I paid my price,” he says.

“Eight years…”

“Yeah.”

“How did you survive?”

He chuckles. “Managed to find a way to make friends in that shithole.”

The next question has been brewing for a while as well. “And your daughter?” you ask. 

He sucks in another sharp breath, looking far away from you and what’s behind you. His fists clench, stretching the bruised skin over his knuckles. “Fuck,” he sniffles. 

You take his hand and the first-aid kit and start assessing the damage, not saying much more. You wait for him to make the next move, to answer you, and you just hope he stays open with you. 

Watching every move you make, Michael bites his cheek before answering, “Staying with what's left of my wife's family,” he tells you. “Haven’t seen her in eight years ‘cause they didn’t let me see her.”

“But you wanted to? See her, I mean.”

“Of course, I wanted ta see her! She’s my daughter. I– I wanted nothin’ more than to see her face, watch her grow up, even if just for a fuckin' few minutes one day a week, but now… she looks so much like her ma." His voice breaks into a bitter chuckle. "I wanted to see her every fuckin’ day, that's no question, but no one let me, and now… I have no rights.”

You know people, and you figured before he couldn't possibly be a bad father. He would be excellent, even, if only he got the chance to see his daughter. If they had allowed him to see her in prison, there would be something he can build up on now, but he has nothing. It must hurt to be so helpless when it comes to one's own child. You don't have children, but you can still feel his pain. You understand what it's like in one way or another, and it pains you to see him like this.

“I’m fighting, ya know? Have a solicitor and everythin', but… they’re pushing back and now tha' I'm out, I–” Once again furiously, he wipes his cheeks. 

“The chances are slim?” you say. 

He nods. 

“Is that why you went out drinking tonight?”

“How did ya know?” It’s a genuine question. 

You shrug, wrapping a bandage around his knuckles. “I got a feeling.”

“My family is dangerous,” he says. “I pushed ya away because my brother said some things and I– well, I felt like I had to. I know yer worrying your pretty little head about wha’ I did, and the truth is, I did hurt people. I do. Before I went ta prison, tha’ was me job. Before I lost Allison… I lost her because of tha’, and now I’m in the process of losing Anna and I– I’m tryin’ to go straight, y’know? For her, for myself."

"And that's okay," you say.

"Ya don't get it. I’m the son of a drug mule, I… I killed in the name of my family– in the Kinsella name, I committed crimes tha’ I’m not proud of, but it’s my life. No, it was. I hurt people fer money, fer family, but now I just… I wanna be there for me family, and that family is my daughter, Anna, and it’s me, and that’s why I’m washin’ cars and getting coffee at a fancy coffee shop and tryin’ to find a purpose so I can be a father, so tha’ she can be proud of having me in her life. And I’d understand if ya said ya didn’t want ta see me anymore. I’d understand if ya said this is too much, too messy. I... I hurt ya and I won’t ever forgive myself for tha’, for what I did, I– I’m just sorry.”

Michael shivers when your hand finds his. He admitted he’s a murderer, he dealt drugs, he has a daughter, was responsible for his wife’s death, and yet you’re still sitting there. You reach out to hold his hand instead of running and it overwhelms him.

The ball of anxiety in his chest turns into something else, but his feelings are all over the place and his soul is scarred, he doesn’t quite understand what is happening to him. He just knows that you have the power to make the pain a little easier to deal with, and he’s not sure how to thank you or how to express what he’s feeling in a way that makes sense to you as much as it does to him – because it doesn’t make sense. 

You don’t answer at first. You continue tending to the wounds on his face, wiping his nose, and putting a butterfly bandage on his eyebrow before guiding the peas back to the cut to prevent any unnecessary swelling. He watches you, granting you this moment of silence to contemplate. 

What he doesn’t know is that you have already made up your mind, it just takes a moment for you to remember how to speak. 

You toss the cotton swabs on the table and hand him the water bottle. “You can stay here tonight,” you say. 

He frowns, confused if this is all you have to say to him. 

“I can make the sofa for you so you can rest.”

Your name slips past his lips. “Please,” he whispers.

“I’m not angry or scared of you, Michael. I’m not, and that’s the thing. That’s what confuses me, but… you’re not a bad person. You’re a good man. What you did in the past–” You wipe your nose. “It doesn’t matter now. Your family doesn’t matter to me,” you say, honesty dripping from your tongue like honey, making him feel at home, safe and sound, and taken care of for the first time in years. “You matter, only you, and everyone deserves a second chance. You, out of everyone, deserve a clean slate the most and I'm the last person that would judge you because you’ve been through hell, you’re still suffering and you were alone all this time–” You should have known your voice would crack and that you wouldn’t be able to steer off the tears forever.

“I see myself in you,” you whisper, the first tear cascading down your cheek, “and that’s the only thing that terrifies me because I know how awful it is to feel this way.”

His brows furrow. He only accidentally caught you crying before, and you tried to hide it then. The tears glistening on your cheeks are real now, your eyes are quick to turn red and you wipe them away, almost embarrassed at your emotional reaction. 

He reaches out, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone and toward the corner of your eye. “I’m sorry,” Michael says. “You deserve so much better, love.”

“No, that’s still my decision.”

“Ya should curse me to hell.”

“Trust me, I did.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it again?”

“I don’t know,” you answer in a heartbeat, “maybe because of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

If only you knew. You shrug, leaning into the soft touch of his hand on your cheek. “Just because it’s you, Michael. I can’t explain it, but… I can’t stay away from you,” you say, “and I don’t think I want to.”

His eyes drop to your lips. “Yer puttin’ yerself in danger,” he argues. 

“Michael.”

“Wha’?”

“I don’t care.”

“I–” he can’t tear his eyes off your lips. 

You notice his wandering gaze and quickly pull away. He has a pull that is certain to have you on your knees in seconds, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. With a sigh, you get up. 

“We can talk more in the morning. It’s getting late and I’m getting a little tired, so…”

Almost disappointed, Michael lets you go. He steps out of your way as you get him a blanket and a pillow, and then you disappear into the bathroom. He listens to the water running, your frustrated grunts when something isn’t going your way; you sound truly adorable. 

He waits patiently until you’re done, stripping himself of his clothes as he does so. He doesn’t need clothing, he told you, he can sleep in his underwear, and you chose not to argue. 

When you come out though to grab a glass of water and tell him, “I put out a toothbrush and a towel for you,” his eyes fall on the oversized shirt you’re wearing and your tied-up hair, and he curses his lack of self-control when his eyes begin to wonder. 

Are you even wearing underwear?

“Thanks,” he mutters. 

With weary eyes, he watches you disappear into the bedroom. He’s not sure if this is a good outcome or a bad one, but he knows that he can’t be trusted around you. At least not in his current state. He tries to ignore the growing need in the pit of his stomach, but it’s hard, and he feels the effect your scent alone has on him deep in his bones. 

“I lied,” your voice rings out in the darkness when he’s already settled in on the couch. 

He sits up, blinking at your silhouette. “What?” he asks. 

You let out a soft breath when you walk toward him, your steps determined. “I’m not tired,” you say, and before Michael can react, he feels your soft lips on his. 

He kisses back eagerly. All reservations from before disappear, leaving only you and him in the privacy of your cozy apartment. He’s quick to throw the covers off his body and pull you closer, and you situate yourself in his lap. 

His hands travel the familiar distance they did when you last kissed, groping at your sides and feeling the hot skin of your thighs. You’re so soft under his fingers. The fabric of your shirt slides up, leaving more room for him to touch, but he hesitates. Hands on your hips, he pulls away to breathe and looks into your eyes. 

“Yer sure about this?” he asks. 

You seek his lips. “Yes,” you breathe. 

He hauls you back in with a hand on the back of your head, and he kisses you with newfound intensity. His tongue slips past your lips into your mouth, tasting the lingering toothpaste. You’re so warm everywhere, yet he leaves goosebumps everywhere he goes. 

You’re panting against his lips. The feeling of his rough hands on your soft skin is better in real life than in the dream you had. It’s better than touching yourself to the thought of him because finally, he is everywhere and all over you. Without the blanket between you, you can feel all of him, his skin, his hair, and the growing bulge in his boxers, and you’re higher than you have ever been. You don’t do drugs, but you suspect it feels nowhere near as good as this. 

The soft glow of the street lights and the moon cast a soft glow inside, allowing you a view of each other while also keeping the serenity of it all alive. You’re not afraid or shy, you know exactly what you want. Michael seems to have the same idea. 

You reach for the hem of your sleep shirt and pull it over your head. He stops to stare at you, your skin illuminated by the moon. You remind him of sunshine and flowers because that’s what you smell like.

His hands travel over your torso until they reach your breasts and he takes a moment to admire them. They’re perfect, your nipples already perky from the air in the room, begging to be sucked. 

The moment of silence makes you blush. He’s staring at you while you’re half-naked atop him and it feels almost humiliating. But then his palms flatten over your back and he smiles as he looks directly into your eyes, bursting your insecurities with a simple sentence, “Yer perfect.”

Your lips part in a lustful moan when he lowers his lips to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He plays with the other with his fingers, tugging at the sensitive nub until it’s as hard as it gets. Every nerve in your body is on fire. His fingers are branded into your skin now. His tongue plays with your nipple as if he knows exactly what buttons to push, and when he sucks, you have to hold onto his shoulders for support because it feels too damn good. 

The fabric between your legs is damp and uncomfortable, and his cock keeps pressing against your ass cheeks. You pull at his hair, forcing him to kiss you again.

The couch barely offers enough space, he can tell. With ease, he hoists you up and carries you to your bedroom. The light on the nightstand is on, allowing you to see his face fully. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are hooded. He’s beautiful, inside and out. 

Your hands rake through his hair. He stops for a moment, towering over you with his eyes closed. He enjoys this. You take care of him, you show him care and you proved to him that it’s okay to be vulnerable, and he feels more than safe in your presence. 

Michael leans back down. The kiss is gentler this time. You sigh softly. It has been a while since someone was willing to get to know you like this, not rushing the intimacy and simply lying together for a while, hands exploring each other’s bodies while your breathing aligns. You doubt you’ve ever had anyone take as much care as he does, but you’re not complaining. You love how it feels when he touches you so sensually, tracing every vein, scar, and stretch mark, and he whispers once again how beautiful you are. He says your name and you’re floating. You’re getting off on this, and he’s not doing much more than pressing his lips to your salty skin. 

His lips travel from your chest to your navel now. So lost in pleasure, you don’t even notice where he’s going. A sharp tug at your thighs makes you squeal and you lift yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He’s kneeling at the foot of the bed, his head tilted to the side slightly, and he’s grinning back up at you. 

“Michael,” you whisper. 

He caresses your calves. “Yes, pet?” he asks oh so sweetly. 

“I–” The heat rushes to your cheeks. 

Michael’s lips twitch. “Can ya do me a favor?”

“Anything–”

“Spread your legs fer me.”

The blush spreads across your chest, your nipples growing even harder. Hesitantly, you do as you’re told, spreading your legs for him. He's in control now. Your body follows his every command and you’re helpless in his arms. 

His eyes darken visibly. He strokes the outside of your thighs before moving to the inside, and then he’s pulling at the waistband of your underwear to get them off. You gasp when the cold air hits your aching cunt, and he looks absolutely mesmerized when he spreads your legs further apart.

“So wet fer me,” he whispers. 

His hands are soon replaced by his lips, and the pace he’s keeping is teasing enough to make you clench. You know you’re dripping at this point, your hands tearing at the sheets, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning. 

Nuzzling his nose into your cunt, Michael lets out a low growl. “Fuck!” You smell divine. "Don't be so modest, pet, let me hear ya pretty moans."

"I can't."

You wish you could wipe the grin off his lips as he looks up at you. The sight is breathtaking enough, his face reminding you of the devil, and he has you wrapped tightly around his little finger. "Ya don't have a choice," he says.

In a matter of a second, he has your legs thrown over his shoulders and his mouth covers your pussy whole. You gasp in surprise. He doesn't warn you, he simply dives right in, taking what he believes to be his; and you are.

His tongue slides through your folds, licking the space above your entrance, and he expertly unsheaths your clit to suck on it with all he has. Your back arches, legs tightening around his head. At first, he experiments with what you like, listens to your whimpers and the small hiss of pain when he sucks too hard until he's found a pace you're comfortable with, and then he pays close attention to every last detail.

You expected a lot, but not this. 

He eats you out like he hasn’t eaten in months. His lips suction around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top before he slides his fingers down to part your folds and allowing him some space to thrust his tongue into your wet heat. The pleasure turns into an intense inferno that spreads through your entire body. You're in hell, but it's a good feeling. A sinful yet absolutely mesmerizing feeling that you have never felt before. 

With every move of his tongue, he drives you higher and higher and higher until there is not much further he can go. You’re writhing underneath him, but the moans get stuck in your throat. He renders you useless. The pressure on your clit is just right, you can feel it in your toes. Your breathing echoes in your ears, your whimper a silent melody that fills the room alongside the stench of sex. 

The sound of his tongue lapping at your slick folds reverberates. It’s an obscene cacophony. Your hand tangles in his hair and he moans, the pain on his scalp only driving him to go faster, deeper, harder–

“Fuck!” you let out the softest moan, but finally. 

Michael smirks against your cunt. His beard burns its mark into the skin of your thighs, but you only clench them harder and he would gladly suffocate right where he is. "There ya fuckin' go," he purrs.

“Mikey,” you breathe his name, and the ecstasy that fills your voice makes his cock throb in his boxers. 

He can’t get enough of your taste, your sweet juices supplying him with pornographic memories for days. He could come just like this, he’s sure, with his head between your thighs and your voice in his ear. His hands tighten around your thighs, leaving their marks there as well. He wants you to walk around the next day covered in all of him, and he gets the memory of your cunt stuck in his beard to carry proudly for the rest of the week if possible.

You arch your back again. His tongue reaches as deep as he can into your hole, drawing back out to paint pictures over your clit. It’s swollen, begging for attention, and the alternation between his gentle licks and the heavy suction of his lips is enough to make your muscles contract. 

The moan you let out goes beyond anything you’ve done before. Your free hand flies to your breast, applying just the tiniest amount of pressure, and even then Michael is there to take over. The tips of his calloused fingers are the final straw, and you find yourself tethering on the edge of pure bliss. 

“That’s it,” he praises. 

“I’m–” You can’t form a coherent sentence without crying. 

He squeezes your breast in response. “I know. So good fer me. Good girl.”

And that’s all you need. 

“Come fer me,” Michael says, and the orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave that soon turns into a tsunami. It’s strong enough to tear cities to the ground.

Every muscle in your body quivers when you reach your peak, and his tongue greedily laps up all of your juices. 

You’re not sure how long you lie there, but eventually, the world returns to your senses and you can breathe. There are no restrictions, everything is free and you can just breathe. 

“Holy shit,” you say. 

Michael chuckles, still trapped between your legs. He peels them off his head gently. His lips are swollen now and his beard glistens with your wetness. 

“Oh–”

“How was tha’?” he asks.

You can’t find the words to describe what he just made you feel, so you simply pull him back up and press your lips to his. The slightly sour, slightly metallic taste of your arousal spreads from his tongue to yours, and you moan when he presses his cock against you. There is a wet stain where the tip is. It looks painful, almost. 

He grabs your face. “Hm, how was tha’, love? Talk to me.”

You swallow. “So good,” you choke out. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Has anyone ever made ya come like tha’ before?”

“No. Just you. Please, Mikey, I–” You reach for his boxers again. 

He smirks. “What do you want?”

“You.”

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink up at him almost innocently, and he lets out a shuddering breath. “Fuck,” Michael buries his face in your neck, “Yer so fuckin’ beautiful. Drivin’ me crazy. You have any idea how many times I dreamt about eating yer sweet cunt? How many times I dreamt about how you fuckin’ taste and how ya’d moan my name? Sounds as gorgeous as ya fuckin’ are, such a pretty girl, hm? Always so good fer me…”

The look in his eyes is almost loving when he cradles your cheek, but his words are filthy. You can’t help but moan in agreement. “Yours,” you whisper. 

“Mine,” he repeats, “That’s right.”

This time, when you try to help him out of his underwear, he lets you. Your eyes widen at the sight of his throbbing cock, the tip red and the veins on the underside protruding. Pre-cum stains the head, and he’s big. God, he’s big. 

“All mine,” Michael says. 

You grab a hold of his cock. The sight before you is something you should photograph. His eyebrows furrow and he lets out a low moan. As your hand is working up and down his shaft, he’s holding himself up with one arm, and you can see every muscle in his bicep tense. And his hands… you get lost in how the veins look, how large they are, and how perfectly they would fit around your throat. 

As if he read your mind, he grabs your jaw and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss. His hand moves to your neck, but you don’t push him away. 

“Wait,” he murmurs and calls your name. “Do ya have a condom?

“I’m clean and on the pill,” you answer breathlessly. “If you want we can–”

His jaw slacks. “I've always been safe, too," he says.

“Then fuck me."

"Fuck-"

He grabs his cock and drags it through your slit, coating himself in your wetness. You hiss when he bumps against your clit, and he returns the same motion until you’re a quivering mess. Only then does he find your entrance and slowly push inside. 

It’s a stretch, at first. He knocks the breath out of your lungs with his girth. He pushes forward, thrusting into you gently until he has bottomed out, and he stays buried deep inside of you for a moment. His eyes scan your face. You’re panting, your eyes are closed and your jaw is slack. You look so good like this, something to be devoured, to be worshipped, just perfect. 

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a strand of hair out of your face. 

He looks so rough on the outside, but he can be gentle when he wants to. 

You take a deep breath. “Yes,” you say. He throbs inside of you and you clench, feeling all of him everywhere at once. 

Michael is high on you. He nods and finally brings his hips back, keeping only the tip inside of you, before thrusting his cock back inside of you. You throw your head back. 

“Fuck, you feel so good…”

He envelops your lips in a passionate kiss. “Yeah, yer so fuckin’ tight,” he says. “Could do this all day. Feel your cunt around my cock. Feel ya clench around me, make ya come, turn ya into a dumb little mess.” He picks up speed with his thrusts and angles his hips just a little higher. 

Your eyes roll back into your head when he finds the spot inside of you that no man, not even yourself, had ever been able to reach before.

“Ya’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He chuckled hoarsely when you whine. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Your legs wrap around his waist. His chest hair brushes against you, your sweat mingling, rolling down in small droplets onto the sheets. Your nipples rub against him. He kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck, everywhere. 

You get lost in the feeling of his cock splitting you open. The bed creaks with every hard thrust and you see stars. The headboard rocks against the wall, probably waking the neighbors, but you can’t be bothered. 

Intertwining your fingers, Michael brings your hand to his lips first before forcing it above your head. You’re holding onto each other now, your other hand tangled in his hair while he grabs your face and explores the inside of your mouth once again. He tastes you, feels you wrapped tightly around his cock, and the moans that spill out of you make him impossibly harder. 

You’re everywhere. He breathes you, you live in his mind now, your blood is his and you’ve become one. His cock disappears inside of you, and there is no telling where one ends and the other begins. Your limbs are tangled. He takes his time, reveling in the feeling of you all over him, but he also needs more. It’s you, you, you, and even more of you. He can’t get enough. 

His grunts echo in your ears as he buries his head in your neck again. Reaching down, he catches your clit between his fingers. He feels his cock driving into you, disappearing, and then moving out again.

He is not going to last long, but he won’t come before you. The feeling of being bare inside of you, your cunt right around his cock, and the possibility of coming inside of you, filling you up, and marking you for everyone to see that you are his drives him wild with desire, and it’s not long before his grunts turn into soft moans and you’re crying for him. 

Michael continues circling your clit with his fingers, applying more pressure, and you clench around him again. Your hips buck into his. You search for his lips, your whimpers so sweet. He swears he’s died and gone to heaven. 

“Michael,” you moan. 

He bites down on your bottom lip. 

“Mikey, please,” you’re begging him now. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair and kisses you harder. “Yer mine,” he pants. “Your heart, your body, your soul… all mine.”

“Yours.”

“So desperate for my cock, so desperate to come–”

“Yes!” He hits your G-spot just right. “Fuck, Michael, I–”

“Gonna come?” he asks. 

You nod. 

“Want me to fill ya up, hm? Want me to make ya mine? Mark ya? Is that what you want? To be mine? Have my cum inside of ya? Walk ‘round with it dripping out of yer sweet cunt?”

Your mouth falls open. You reach for the pillow above your head, the other still entwined with Michael’s above your head. He squeezes your hand, a silent question if you’re okay, and you squeeze back. You’re more than okay. You’re losing yourself, but it’s so good, you’re free-falling. 

It only takes one push from him for you to fall off the precipice. “Give it ta me, then,” he whispers into your ears. “Come fer me, love. Come all over my cock.”

You’re falling again, this time deeper than before. Your cunt spasms around his cock and you cry out his name. It bounces off the walls and hits him, your jaw slacks, and your body lies drenched in the sweat of pleasure. You’re the lewdest sight he has seen in a while, but it’s what he lives for, it’s what he breathes for. 

“God,” he moans, “A good fuckin’ girl, that’s what you are.”

His hand wraps around your throat, his lips swallowing your moans as he thrusts hard once, twice, and then he stops and his hot seed spills into you. His teeth sink into your shoulder, muffling the whimper of your name, and your orgasm takes everything out of him, everything he can give. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. 

Michael no longer finds himself able to hold himself up and he collapses on top of you. His head goes quiet. The world turns to silence. As peace settles over you, only the sound of your labored breathing fills the dimly lit bedroom. 

You process what just happened. Whatever compelled you to leave your bedroom was desperate for what Michael had to give, and he delivered. It was different from what you expected, it was more intimate, and you couldn’t quite separate your emotions from his body, but that couldn’t have been such a bad thing now that you’re lying with him in your arms, your fingers still intertwined. 

He gave himself to you and in return, you did the same. 

“Michael,” you’re first to break the silence. 

He gently pulls out of you and drops down next to you. His brown eyes meet yours. You reach out to touch his cheek.

“You okay?” you ask.

He closes his eyes. His hand brushes your stomach. “Yeah,” he answers soon enough. “Grand,” he says. 

“Really?”

“I’m perfect, love.” His knuckles brush over your heated skin and cause goosebumps in their wake. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Grand,” you mimic him. 

He smiles, which quickly turns into a chuckle when you giggle at him. 

Slowly, he untangles his fingers from yours, only to run them through your hair. He’s gentle, still scared he might scare you away. You’re important to him, he can’t deny that, but how does one tell someone how complex their feelings are? He doesn’t understand them, and he’s scared that he might lose you because of that. 

Your smile coaxes him back to reality. “What’s on your mind?” you ask. 

He shrugs. 

“Tell me.”

“I just… I don’t want to lose ya,” he says. 

Your eyes soften and you turn on your side. “You won’t,” you wipe the sweat from his brow, “Not now, not ever.”

“But what if ya change your mind? What if– what if ya get hurt because of me?”

He’s tired. Tears start to form in his eyes and you’re glad he’s talking, that he’s found a way to voice his thoughts, but you can tell that tonight isn’t the time to talk about this. You’re both exhausted, him even more so than you and he needs a break. You need a moment to breathe together and let the day pass before jumping to conclusions. You need to be lucid for this, not drunk on sex and emotional despair.

“Shh–” Your body curls into his as you shush him. “We can talk about this tomorrow,” you say. You don’t sound demanding, you simply try to appeal to his common sense.

Michael shudders. “Yer right, I don’t want ta think.” He wraps his arms around you. You’re still so warm, your heartbeat aligning with his. He can feel your pulse under his fingers; it’s a calming lullaby that distracts him from reality. “I just want you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yer all I need.”

And not just tonight, he thinks.

You smile. “Yeah,” you say, “me too.”

Whatever this means, it doesn’t matter because you’re here, in each other’s arms, and for tonight, that is enough. You hope it’s enough, and you hope that you will be enough for him. Now that you have him, you couldn’t stand losing him, and it’s that thought you carry with yourself long after you have fallen asleep, his arms still holding you so tight, no one would be able to touch you but him. 

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift

[raisinushigher]

hi im just gonna put my thoughts on every clone high ship i can think of here

jfgogh - i think its cute. i can definitely see jfk like uplifting gogh and him falling in love over like the most basic display of kindness and jfk just being like “haha woah there guy i didnt mean it like that” but then he realises he Does

gogh x gandhi - LOTS of mixed feelings on this one but it is pretty interesting truth be told. like, the way gogh didnt just sit back and take what gandhi did to him and instead retaliated, i like that, i like the thought of two tiny guys having the most unnecessarily intense rivalry ever, but i know that isn’t really the way the ship is portrayed often rather than wholesome stuff . you interpret ships however you want though

gfk i think is the name for it - im so sorry as a gandhabe connoisseur i know how annoying it is when people say this about a ship that absolutely entraps you but i think jfk and gandhi are more accurate together as just silly friends who see eachother like once a month. jfk casually brings up a girl hes dating (or rather just having sex with frequently) and gandhi is like wait what happened to the other one? like hes very out of the loop but he listens and they both hype eachother up a lot

ceasgogh, gogh x christo, ceaser x christo, whether it’s any of those seperately or polyamory - i love this one so very much for literally no reason. maybe its like a nostalgia thing cuz i remember people talking about them sometimes in 2020 and being like Aw that’s cute but idk something about them feels so like. objectively correct. like yep that’s the little background trio standing together in an episode as they should be

abefk i think - i like it!! even though it’s barely known apart from jokingly i really like the classic 2000s rivalry between a nice boy and an asshole jock thing that was going on between them before ponce’s death, i admit i miss their interactions. i miss how theyd refer to eachother with their last names. also the part in season 2 episode 6 where they both were recalling memories of the grassy knoll and abe went “i used to get food thrown at me” and jfk continued “i used to be the one throwing that food”. i like them

joanabe - i know this one is like barely a ship but i still need to talk about them badly. their friendship is so important to me. the way its always been them whether it’s joan crushing on abe or the other way around, they’re just so special to eachother in any and every way, and both struggle with the choice of helping the other or doing things that hurt the other but ultimately raise their chances of getting together. tbh im so interested in whats gonna happen with them in the finale, and in the next seasons bc i doubt their back and forth crush thing is gonna last the ENTIRE show like itll be getting a new sort of premise or main character focus which im excited for

joanfk - some of the fanart is absolutely adorable COUGH COUGH ORT SMORT COUG but its just not for me man. biggest two factors as to why i dislike it being how it overtook the fandom, and how to me they just never had any substance. they have a fun dynamic and the season 1 finale was sweet but idk it just never affected me that much. also bc i always knew it was gonna crash and burn. like that is not a stable couple as cute as it is sometimes. like at all. and im happy episode 7 finally addressed it

abe x cleo - again, not really a fondly talked about ship, but they are pretty dear to me. it’s the way cleo was clearly playing with abe at the start but actually saw the charm in him and was actually upset when he finally digested his feelings for joan… i really hope they’re gonna be good friends in the future bc episode 7 seemed to be sort of a start for that friendship and them learning to be ok around eachother after the finale…

joan x cleo - ive always been scared to talk about this one bc some people see them as sisters, which i Really dont. they never acted in a sisterly way at all, and the living together thing lasted for like what. one episode. so i doubt it had any affect on how they view their relationship. but again absolutely fair if it makes you uncomfortable for this reason! but yeah i do like them. very very good trope and there can be some really cute stuff done with them dynamic wise

gandhabe my heart and soul my romeo and juliet my sun and moon my red and blue - AUGHGGGGG MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE. EVER. IN THE WHOLE SHOW FOR EVER they just have such sweet interactions and everything they do they do with the other in mind and i want them to have an emotional reunion in the season 3 finale sO SHRGFRHRVRRRRR RR RBR R R R. RR R. sorry this is mostly incoherent screaming rather than actual words I just DUCIGJGN LVOE GANDHABEEEEE EEYEHEEE THEYRE END GAME!! THEY ARE END GAME WHETHER ITS AS FRIENDS OR ROMANTICALLY RHEY ARE THE ONES

ok now onto the ones involving the new gen clones

harriucius - i like them its the second het ship in the show ive ever actually liked!! they just both go so well in so many ways, they both have almost the exact same struggles and cope in similar ways, but harriet has more of a hands on attitude with her problems, while confucius tends to avoid things. im VERY interested in how their relationship will go and i dont really think anything’s gonna happen to them bc i cant picture the show pairing either of them up with anyone else (mostly confucius tbh 😭)

joanharriet - i WISH this one was more acknowledged by the fandom like i think its the least popular one at least involving the newbies.. can you tell im a sucker for ships that are literally just two close friends who love eachother more than anything. lol. when i think of them i think of episode 5 which makes me extremely happy. like look me in the eyes and tell me that was not an absolutely beautiful wonderfully wrapped episode

johnfucius - gonna be honest i dont like this one. i know this is a really rich thing to say while talking about clone high season 2 but it just felt rushed, and especially with how they barely did anything after sleepover. like they were literally crying both of them being like OMG I FINALLY HAVE A FRIEND!! and then they proceed to have the most stale interactions with the most notable one being in the next episode and it’s literally just confucius encouraging jfk to avoid his problems like he does. not really good. but again if you enjoy them all the power to you, im happy you found something you like that hasn’t been ruined and seems pretty docile and chill compared to all the other ones :o) it’s very much a mostly fandom based ship

kahlopatra - BEAUTIFUL. BEAUTIFUL. I HAVE NO WORDS JUST BEAUTIFUL. there definitely was a lack of suspense like based off the intro and the slight buildup throughout the series BUT that literally doesn’t matter. out of every canon couple they are the absolute cutest im obsessed with the effect they have on eachother. especially on cleos side of things like ahhh!!!! she found someone she actually connects to genuinely!!!! i am so happy for her!!!!!!

tophucius - not much about this one its just pretty fun and silly . i feel bad for the people who thought something big was gonna be going on w them but the small details peppered in about them in sleepover were nice. i always liked how when confucius saw that topher typed your instead of you’re, he went “i thought so” like to me that confirms they do this all the time and they know it’s them. also really funny to imagine them being sworn enemies online but when they actually see eachother in school theyre Like oh shit hey man what’s up! hope youre well! like not even through gritted teeth or anything they’re just so chill irl for no reason

abetoph - Sigh i sure did save this one for last. while im a lot less comfortable with it now i still love thinking of them pre episode 8 and i do think their relationship is just ever so slightly more interesting now with the added double crossing n shit added to it. but im also sad they’ll never be the way they were may 24th to june 14th again . that specific time period of them is so comforting to me for no reason, all the memes and running jokes in the fandom involving them, all the wholesome fan work of them sleeping in tophers bed, watching stuff on tophers computer together, abe being tophers voice of the reason and the one person he actually likes, it’s just so … man. We Could Have Had It All. i love them for ever.

thank you so much for listening

[onewmin]

the perfume on the shelf. pt. 6 | bangchan

Pairings: Bang Chan x Fem!reader, Kim Yugyeom x Fem!reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend was never a part of the plan. So you end it up. But does he want to put a stop to it, too?

Warnings: AU, Smut (minors dni), it’s not specified but the seggs is protected, a lot of kissing, oral (f. receiving), profanity, angst, a brief mention of self-harm, the reader and everybody else is mentally unstable (who isn’t right), mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of smoking, Lee Know flirts with a girl, another shitty cliffhanger in the end, typos

Author’s note: originally, this part was planned to be longer and cover the period after the ending, but I felt like it would’ve been too much. It’s not as long as I wanted it to be and maybe not that heartbreaking, but the pain still awaits you later hehe hope you enjoy the chapter!! Let me know what you think!!

Disclaimer: the names and appearances of real people are used for inspiration and writing purposes only. I do not claim anything, everything belongs to its owners.

Part 5 | Part 7

Despite Chan’s constant doubts and destructive thoughts about you still being in love with Yugyeom, that was far from the truth.

Yugyeom was a lingering memory, a bright sun ray that shone to you many years ago. Now he was just there, in the past, while Chan himself had occupied the pedestal inside your heart.

However, you really wanted him to fall down from it this time.

It’d been three weeks since he pushed you off the cliff of love and hope, leaving you to an inevitable, gruesome fall. You fell down from the highest peak into the lowest pit, and there was nothing. Just darkness and loneliness. Although the latter was not for long.

A couple of days after Chris broke up with you, Minho showed up at your door, bottles of beer in his backpack. You got drunk while watching another stupid reality show and ended up crying on the floor, the two of you sobbing in unison.

“He said to me”, Lee Know hiccuped, wiping the tears from his cheeks, “he said, ‘You’re an asshole, Minho’”, his imitation of Chan’s voice was so on spot, you let out a half-laugh through your tears.

“I’m an asshole? For putting up with his terrible dancing and constant nagging that his feet hurt?” Minho was hitting his chest with the fist, the two of you now sitting on the couch. “For sticking with him when his first album flopped? For investing my time, my life in his fucking career?”

You were nodding frantically, chewing the chips, the cheese taste mixing up with salty aftermath of the tears, streaming down your face.

“Never have I ever been an ass to him! Ever!” The tone of his voice rose, cracking when he started sobbing again. “And now he basically fires me! Me! His best friend!”

“No fucking reason”, Minho was lying on the floor again, with you sitting next to him. “Just this sudden bullshit. Why would he do this to me? To you? To us?”

You shrugged your shoulders, taking another sip of beer from another bottle. Was it your third? Fourth one?

“I can’t understand what’s inside his head”, he sighed. “Is it the concussion speaking for him or was he like that the entire time?”

You took a deep breath and exhaled in response. Weeks spent crying and drinking with Minho at both yours and his places, talking shit about Chan and how unfairly he treated the both of you. And neither you, nor Minho had come to any sort of common conclusion. He stood his ground, stomping his feet drunkenly, his words slurring, saying Chris might’ve hit his head so bad that all of the common sense flew out of the window.

You noticed a slightly hilarious pattern: Minho was ready to come up with any bizarre theory in order to excuse Chan’s behaviour. He pushed the both of you away because of the concussion, Lee Know was confident that was the truth. You, however, couldn’t agree with him.

The more you drank after work, the more you threw up afterwards, sitting on the dirty tile floor of whatever bar you were in, the less you could excuse Chris. Sure, he suffered from the aftermath of the accident, this you could understand. But his sudden change of demeanor? Beyond your comprehension. No therapist in the world could’ve explained this to you. Yours included.

“Don’t you think this is a sign you’ve been waiting for? The sign to leave this guy and move on with you life?”

Ah, crap. Could this woman not memorize everything you say? “I don’t think so”.

“Why’s that?”

“Because, I think, he’s just hurt. And he’s trying to push everyone away so that… So that we don’t see him… like this”.

Oh wait, was it your savior complex hitting up again? How mysteriously hurt poor Chan must have been! Pushed everyone away, humiliated his best friends in their own eyes, and told you he lost interest the second his love stopped being unrequited! Poor Chan! How must he suffer!

Oh yeah, he must. Sitting at another bar, Minho’s drunken ranting as the background music, you wished with all your heart Chan was suffering. He put you through so much, making you love him, care for him, and then he made you hate him. To be honest, though, “hate” was a strong word to use; hating him was still impossible. You despised the man he turned out to be, even if he lied to you about ‘falling out of love’ for some reason.

“What fuckin’ reason there has to be to say that shit? What’s the fuckin’ fuck?”

The look on your therapist’s face gave away her genuine surprise at your sudden loss of composure. In over than two years of therapy, you had never even cried during sessions. You’d curse, get slightly angry, but never too emotional. You called this an ‘emotional constipation’, just to make your therapist crack a smile. A clown is always a clown, you’d say, taking pride in getting her to laugh. Although the fun would always wash away when she immediately started writing stuff down.

“Go on”.

Two simple words would bring you to the literal edge of glory: you jumped from your seat, aggressively walking from one corner of the room to another, curse words spilling from your mouth; also, of course, you blamed god for everything — if you could, you’d include your religious trauma in every conversation possible.

“If God was real”, you’d keep on, “would he ever allow Chan in my life? Would he ever let that happen?”

“Did God choose to be in a relationship with Chan, or was it you?”

How dare she? “How dare you?” You stood up, snatching your bag from the floor. “Am I the bad guy here?”

“No”, she said softly, not even moving a muscle during your tantrum, “you’re not, but you desperately want someone to be the bad guy. You cannot paint Chan as a villain because you love him”, you huffed at her words, “but you don’t love the God. So in this case, the latter has to be the bad guy. Correct me, if I’m wrong”.

She was not indeed wrong. But you were resisting therapy: if not, you’d have to face the truth — there were no bad guys. Everyone was just human, making human mistakes. The ones you’d been constantly making while choosing to stay in this relationship with Chan over and over again.

Like him fixing your dinner three months in a row after he came back from tour. Or him helping you take showers when your leg was broken. Or taking care of your cat when you went to see your parents.

He was doing basic shit! Basic shit every decent human being would do when their close friend needed that! Although it’s pretty hard not to praise men when they do the bare minimum, right? ‘Cause it’s so rare. Rare for you specifically, as every man in your life — apart from Yugyeom and Chan — was a self-centered piece of garbage.

And you could take Yugyeom for granted, as he wanted you to have it that way, because he saw the way your father treated your mother — “You’ve got to have an example of a healthy relationship. And I will give it to you”.

Why did he leave then? Why did you leave and led me to keep on falling for the mere shadows of you, Yugyeom?

You shook your head, trying to get rid of the thought. Lately you’d been remembering a lot of things about Yugyeom — probably because you met him all those weeks ago. The most disturbing thought? Oh, it wasn’t that good. It was horrible, so horrible that you had to physically distract yourself.

“Why did you order more drinks?” You looked at Minho, who leaned back in his seat, eyes wandering around the bar room. “Earth to Minho”, you waved your hand in front of his face, while he was staring through you. “I’ll cancel it”.

“No!” Your eyebrows raised in question, as he jumped up from his seat. “This bottle will be the last one, I swear”. Minho grabbed your hands in his, silently begging to let him have the last drink. However, you were not going to indulge in; you found yourself getting accustomed to drinking, to drowning your sorrows in the alcohol. You were tired of it.

You were never the type to get addicted to some bad habits: smoking never stuck to you; you did smoke for a couple of months after your breakup with Yugyeom and you did it occasionally during your latest relationship, but it was never something you couldn’t live without. Drinking, on the other hand, could become addictive if you just didn’t quit it.

How easy it was, to sit around the table with your friend, sipping on alcohol, empty bottles creating a circle on the surface. Eventually you’d run out of space, and that was the reason to pay and leave. Same thing happened to you several years ago, when Yugyeom and you put an end to your relationship; Chan had to drag you from bars and hide alcohol from you so that you wouldn’t have drown in pain. Yeah, you couldn’t get an addiction, as you thought. But you were becoming quite a regular at a broken hearted people pub.

Amidst your verbal fight with Minho, whose retorts consisted of non-comprehensive drunken blabbering, his hands gripping the beer bottle while you were trying to tear it away, you heard a familiar voice behind you. As happy as you were to hear her, the sound of her high-pitched, usually matter-of-fact voice somehow brought chills down your spine.

“That’s enough”, Eunjoo moved you to the side, the grip of her hand on your shoulder making you squeeze your eyes shot. Has she been working out? “Give me that”, she took the bottle from Minho’s hands with almost no effort, as he seemed to oblige to her mere presence. His eyes followed Eunjoo, when she put the money on the table, her fingers tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. You might have been tipsy, however, the way Minho stared at your best friend couldn’t escape from your attention.

“What’re you doin’ here?” You frowned at her, while Eunjoo observed Minho. Oh right, it was the first time you old best friend and your new bestie met; before that you had no idea whatsoever, but now you thought that they kind of had the same vibe to their personalities.

“Came to collect you”, she replied. What? First she uses a contraction, and now she starts a sentence without the subject in it? Is it really Eunjoo?

“To be honest”, she continued, “I’m really tired of your regular hangovers. Especially I’m tired of your absolutely fucked out look at our job. Where you need to work, and not nap every two hours”. What the literal fuck? Did Eunjoo just curse? Wha-a-at? “I wonder, why you’re still not fired. Oh wait”, she pointed a finger in your direction, “it’s because I’ve been covering for you”.

You sighed. Knowing that it wasn’t the best thing you’d done, you felt the wave of embarrassment rush through your body. Eunjoo had to cover your hangover in front of the boss, and you were forever grateful. If only you had actually thanked her for that.

“Anyways, I’m here to take you home”, this time, her touch on your shoulder was gentle. “And this… friend of yours, too”.

“I’m Minho”. He suddenly appeared in front of Eunjoo, almost pushing you away. You grimaced at his awkward attempt to get her attention.

Eunjoo nodded in response to his words; she didn’t look as if he’d interested her in any way. Hopefully, he won’t, you thought, fastening the seatbelt on the passenger seat of her car, Minho might be a good friend, but his dating history is pretty ugly.

Oh yeah? And Chan’s dating history is all about rainbows and flowers? Isn’t he the one to toss girls away when they reciprocate the love?

You let out a deep sigh, Minho’s drunken flirting with Eunjoo serving as a background for your thoughts. With all the love you had for Chris, either as his friend or failed lover, it was impossible to wrap your head around the bullshit he told you. You wished you could talk it out, spill your secrets and unsaid words, but he didn’t want to. He went radio silence for weeks without any warning, so he wasn’t interested anymore, right?

It isn’t like you could text him, yeah? It isn’t like a dialogue requires two people for it to happen, is it?

After dropping off Minho at his place — and his unsuccessful attempts to get Eunjoo number — she drove you to your apartment. The ride was accompanied by a midnight radio program with the very familiar host to the both of you.

“How’s Youngjae doing?”

“Fine. As far as you can hear, he enjoys his job very much”. Ouch. Your attempt to break the silence was a failure.

“Eunjoo-“

“Shut up”, she hit the brakes at the red light, her sharp knife voice cutting through you. “I get it, okay? You’re going through a tough time”. Youngjae’s contagious laugh filled the car, but this time, none of you smiled. “But you’ve got to move on too. If you keep on drinking, you’ll lose your job. And what are you going to do, huh? Is this Minho going to give you money? Or, d’you think Chan will do it?”

You shook your head, eyes squeezed shut, head low. Felt as if your mother had been scolding you. Only Eunjoo knew you better than your mom did, and Eunjoo was actually sincere and worried about you. She was your best and only real friend, after all.

“You’re smart”, she took a turn to your apartment complex, “smarter than all of those guys. Smarter than Chan”. The car stopped at the parking lot, both of you sat in silence for a moment.

“Don’t waste your life on chasing someone who doesn’t want you”, she covered your hands with hers. “Don’t drink your life away because he decided you weren’t good for him. You might be not enough for this asshole, but you’re certainly enough for everyone else, for me, for yourself. He’s not worth your suffering”.

Your eyes welled up at the words. Pulling her in for a hug, you had to blink rapidly to avoid another crying session.

“Thank you, Eunjoo. Thank you for everything you do for me”.

She hugged you tighter. “You’re always welcome. I know how hard it is for you to say this, and I’m thankful, too”.

“You may take all of the time in the world to overcome this pain”, the two of you were face-to-face again, “you shouldn’t bottle your emotions up. Just… Just talk to me instead of drinking, okay?”

You nodded, a smile creeping up on your lips. Eunjoo’s cousin laughed again, his radio program turned into another comedy show, and the two of you giggled at him. Never in your many failed friendships and toxic friends would you think a girl with a rigorous attitude with whom you had to share the same space at work, could be your closest friend.

Your cat greeted you with serious complaints and loud purrs, obviously demanding food and attention. Several minutes passed before you took your clothes off and stepped into the shower.

Chan used to say that showering together would help saving water, and you always chuckled at his proposals. It’s not like you ever rejected his shenanigans; you didn’t indulge in shower sex, but being naked with him under the water was another intimate moment to cherish.

You hated how everything was about him. Every surface of your flat was interwoven with the memory of him, his fingers squeezing your hips, lips brushing over yours, head in the crook of your neck. He was with you in the shower; he was cooking in your kitchen; he was sprawled on your couch, watching another episode of that dating reality show; he was snoring in your bed, his legs atop of yours. There wasn’t a single place in this apartment that he hadn’t graced with his touch. And you despised yourself for still craving his presence, even after all the pain he caused you.

Brushing your teeth, your brain visualized Chan behind you, a toothbrush in his hand, the other wrapped around your waist. Every little action of his was engraved in your head, not letting your breathe even for a second. How were you supposed to move on when the only thing you see was Chan?

“Do you want to move on?” Your therapist asked you.

“I don’t know”.

“Let’s put it into a different perspective. During your last conversation, he stated he’s been in love with you. Correct?”

“Yes”.

“He also said he liked the process of ‘chasing’ his potential partners. Correct?”

“Yes”.

“And he added that whenever someone reciprocated, he’d lose interest. That includes you. Correct?”

“Uh, yes”.

“After all of the above-mentioned, do you still believe he’s in love with you?”

“Yeah”, you breathed out, the voice of yours being unsteady. “I guess”.

“Why?”

“Because… Because”, you almost choked on your words, “he couldn’t fall out of love with me just suddenly. He couldn’t”.

Coming back to that conversation over and over again, you sat on the floor in your living room, tears falling down your cheeks. Was he ever truly in love with you, or was it another projection of yours? And if he was, how could he be so cruel?

A phone call distracted you from yet another sobbing section of your ‘pining over Chris’ daily program. Of course, only Han Jisung would call you at 1 A.M.

“Sorry for the late night call”, he said after countless apologies, “I just thought I should tell one of you”.

“Tell us what?”

“He’s insufferable”, Han whined, “I dunno what to do to bring him back to his normal self. He’s sulking, keeps being silent and just-“ You heard him sigh. “He’s constantly in his bed. Either sleeping or napping. Or he just lies there, watching the ceiling”.

You kept quiet for a swift moment only. “What d’you want me to do? Call his therapist or something”.

Jisung let out a nervous laughter. “Yeah, like his parents haven’t tried that already. He doesn’t speak to therapists”. Han’s heavy breathing signaled at him being on the verge of crying. Shit, Chan had fucked everyone over.

“He falls asleep quite often”, Jisung continued. “And he sleeptalks, y’know that. And when he does that, he only says your name”.

No. Ah-uh. No. Just no. Why would Han say that?

“So please, if you can, just come and see him. You want him to get better too. I know that”.

Your phone was on the floor next to you, as you scratched you nose to avoid crying. But your lip began to tremble, tears collecting in the eyelashes and everything turned into a blur — there were just your tears, and your wails muffled as you hugged your knees tightly. You used to get noise complaints for your loud moans of pleasure; however, now you’d get some more complaints for your almost-howls and incredibly hurtful sobs. Your chest was aching from the heavy breathing mixed with cries, and your jaw was in pain from open-mouthed inhaling and exhaling. That was a breakdown, such an extreme and terrible one that you couldn’t even see anything because of the amount of tears collected on your eyelashes.

If he was so hurt, why, why would he bring you so much pain? If he was so pathetic afterwards, why break up with you in the first place? Why? Why? Why?

Because he’s an asshole, your inner voice interfered, and because he doesn’t know how to express basic human emotions. You did your best for him, tried your hardest to overcome the most difficult thing — inability to express your emotions. You were there, on your knees in front of him in that hospital room, begging him to love you. Begging him to give the two of you a chance. But he rejected you back then. And now, what? He was mournful? Pining over you?

Ah-uh. He lost the right to it the second he shitted in your ears with that ‘the thrill expired’ bullcrap. He should’ve had a normal fucking conversation with you, talking about his feeling, working it out. But no, this asshole decided to leave you with a plate of shit and run away from human communication just to, what seemed like, die in complete loneliness. The loneliness he created himself. It was nobody’s fault but his.

“I hope he feels what I felt”, you mumbled while washing your face in the bathroom. It was still puffy, under eyes and lips red from all the crying you did; you cursed Han and his damn phone call. Why was he such a good friend? Oh yeah, probably because Chan hadn’t been a fucking butthead to him. Smart choice; otherwise, Mr. Bang would have no more friends left in his life.

You wouldn’t go and see him, right? “Right, of course I wouldn’t”, you stated out loud when raiding your closet in search of that lingerie set Chris loved. Just in case, you kept on telling yourself, I’m looking for it just in case.

You sat on the bed, wearing the said bra and panties, facing the mirror. Disheveled hair, a puffy face, your neck and chest red from all the nervous scratching you did in the last few minutes. It wasn’t like you were going to actually see him, right? And, what’s more important, you weren’t going to let him touch you again, were you?

“I’m not”, you were, as always when alone, talking to yourself; now, as you ran from the bedroom to the living room, dressing up, brushing your hair, you abruptly stopped mid your shenanigans.

Right in front of you, in your bedroom, on that bookshelf with all the books you’d bought but never read, was that damned perfume. Gently kept in between the books, so that your cat wouldn’t throw it on the floor, that perfume bottle was the most vivid proof of your and Chan’s relationship. The only thing, besides photos and gifts, that could transcend you to every moment spent with him. You hated this fucking perfume.

Spraying some on your skin, just on the back of your neck and your wrists, you put it in the bag. You petted your cat, promising you’d come back just in a couple hours, and then the lights in your apartment went off, keys turning in the door.

What the hell were you doing? One call from Jisung, swearing Chris was suffering without you, and? You were wearing that lacy lingerie under your clothes, clean-fucking-shaved, smelling like his favourite perfume, riding in the cab? That’s how easy it was?

You shook your head, disagreeing with your own thoughts. You were desperate to feel him again, to wrap your hands around him, to kiss his plushy lips, to run your hands through his hair. You needed that more than air, but you also couldn’t keep this up just in the name of love.

He was your temple, taking up all of the space in your life. Everything was about Chan, every day of yours accompanied by the presence of him. In those several months of being with him, you found yourself behind the closed doors; you locked them with your own hands. Cancelling plans just in case Chan called? Done. Not communicating with some of your old friends just because they didn’t like Chris? Do-o-ne. You practically had no hobbies by now, because your only hobby had been Chris, and how to keep him interested, and how to make him laugh, and how to make him fall in love with you.

How unhealthy was that?

So now you were going to end it. For good. You were ready to take the last leap and jump, just to get it over with. ‘Cause no matter how much you loved him, you were exhausted. And no amount of love could outweigh the tiredness this relationship had brought you.

And you were there. Staring at Chan, who was wearing his gray pajama pants and nothing more, dumbfounded look on his face. You couldn’t but notice a slight bulge, and you swallowed, images of him floating around your mind.

He let you in, still not a word said. You put the bag on the drawer, quickly putting the perfume bottle on it. You’d leave it here; if he was so desperate to see you, next time he could just spray some perfume around to pretended you were there. You were going to leave this perfume to him, because to you, it was too hurtful to even look at.

You turned around to face him. In the dim light of his apartment, Chan looked pathetically beautiful, as if he’d been a God, sent to Earth just to become your fatal personal tragedy.

One step further. You were right in front of him, hands carefully cupping his cheeks. He watched you with caution, as if you’d been a hallucination, destined to turn into air the moment he dared to touch you.

Today would be the last time he ever lands his hands on your body. The last time you ever let him this close.

No words exchanged between the two of you, when he leaned in, his lips lingering over yours, just slightly touching. Your eyes darted from his lips to his eyes, and there it was. With that simple look, he squeezed your waist and pounced on your lips. You dived in, letting his tongue meet yours in a passionate, i-missed-you-so-much dance. You kissed and kissed, and the only thing you could taste on his lips was betrayal. Because no matter what he was doing now, the memory of him torturing you with his words would forever be engraved in your mind.

When you finally broke the kiss, he was looking at you with a wide smile on his face. Oh, darling Chris, you thought, insinuating yet another heavy kiss, this is not a make up type of situation. You’re getting dumped tonight.

Your back was against the wall, his hands under your shirt, dancing on your bare skin, but not touching where you needed him. Between lips nibbling, him trailing kisses down your chin, teeth grazing down your neck, you could feel the pool of arousal in your panties. Chris could feel it too.

Now your back was against the mattress, his silky sheets welcoming you back in their embrace. Chan was hovering over you, looking you deep in the eyes, touches lingering all over your body, as if you were made out of porcelain, as if he was scared to break you. Too late for that, the inner voice stated, while you roamed your hands all over his body, you already broke me, Chris.

Withholding this intense eye contact while taking off your jeans, Chan let out a gluttural sound, almost a growl, when he saw black lace panties — the set he bought you himself. He trailed kisses from your knees up to inner thighs, humming into your skin. He sharply sucked the same skin into his mouth, marking you as always. Some of the bruises looked like stars when fading away, and you used to think your thigh scars, left there by your teenage self, were vanishing under the love bites Chris was leaving.

But the stars did fade away, and the scars stayed. Under the stars, you were still bleeding — but this time it seemed to be unstoppable; you felt as if you could die from all of that internal bleeding.

A tender kiss Chris left on your yet closed core got you arching your back, your hand immediately landing on his head, fingers in his soft curls. You knew he was smiling when taking off your panties, and you felt it when he left soft kitten licks on your now dripping pussy.

He responded to your moans with a hum, sending vibrations all over your body. You tugged on his hair.

“Are you going to actually fuck me tonight?”

These were the first words uttered tonight. Chris grinned and took his pants off in one swift movement. His dick, hard and leaking with pre-cum, seemed to hypnotize you. You briefly noticed saliva running down his chin from all the excessive sloppy kisses he’d been giving your folds and a smug smile on his face — all just ‘cause he got to taste you again.

“I’m going to”, his knee was between your thighs now, “fuck you senseless”. He tugged on your earlobe with teeth, making you moan into his shoulder.

Slipping a finger inside your slit, Chris caught your whimper by his mouth, covering your lips with his. His thumb pressed to your clit, drawing circles around it, and you almost lost the thin thread connecting you to the harsh reality. It was your last time with Chris. Last time kissing him. Last time being his girl.

“Oh, fuck”, Chan groaned, when you reached for his cock. The mere touch of yours made him twitch and stop all of his movement to keep his composure. “You’re killin’ me, baby”, he rasped, head buried in the crook of your neck.

No matter what he said, you still battled with your reasonable self: she told you not to lose focus, to get pleasure but to never forget — you were leaving him for good. Your emotional side, however… She was already on the cloud nine, willing to obey to any command Chan requires from you. But even her, this bubbly and sweet self of yours — even she knew this pleasure would turn into pain later. Although she didn’t mind loving Chris, even she couldn’t be in love with him any longer. Even your tender persona had found out how much pain Chan inflicted on you.

Pushing in his girthy cock into you slowly, Chris stared right into your soul, observing the way your face expression changed. Your mouth fell open, eyes hazily watching him mirroring you, his grip on your hips tightened. You’d have crescent marks in the morning — the last signs of your love with him ever existing.

Finally, swallowed by warmth, Chris bottomed out, letting you adjust, as you gripped him, head thrown back. He peppered kisses all over the side of your neck, hands massaging your breasts slowly, pinching nipples to make you gasp.

As he sluggishly thrusted into you, Chan couldn’t take his eyes off you. You knew he was watching, as he always did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to stare back at him. You wanted to cum, not to cry.

As he felt you getting comfortable enough, Chan set a pace, massaging your inner walls in a frantic tempo. You squeaked every time he hit that spot, burying himself deep inside of you. You grinded against him, begging for more friction, as your nails left marks all over his shoulders.

“This is what you want?” His thumb started drawing circles on your clit, your composure long lost under the thick layer of pleasure.

Except for your mewls and Chan’s groans, the sound of skin on skin clapping was filling in the room. Although the way your pussy squelched every time Chris pounded into you was the only sound you could hear.

“Shi-i-i-t”, he hissed, his cock throbbing inside of you, “I can’t g-get enough of y-you”, Chan stuttered, your walls fluttering around his cock made him lose his mind little by little.

“I love you”, he huffed, forehead pressed to yours, “I love you so fucking much”.

Savoring his words — words you hoped to hear every time you were this close, you couldn’t bring yourself to reciprocate. You wish you could give in and forget all of that like it was a bad dream. You wish you could. But you never would.

“Shut up”, your breath hitched as you pulled him in for another sloppy kiss.

You’d yield to temptation one more time, to feel his hot breath on your skin, to feel the shockwaves gripping your body as you saw the stars while he chanted your name, reaching his high. The sheer layer of sweat covering the both of you, Chris watched as your breath steadied and you got up on the wobbly legs.

“Wait for me in the shower”, he puffed, still laying on his back, eyes shut.

“I’m going home”.

You stepped out of the room, collecting your jeans from the floor when he appeared behind you. “What? Why?”

You sighed. “Do I really need to explain this to you? After everything you’ve done to push me away?”

“But I-I thought… You and I, we…”

“What? Fucked?” You put your jeans on and huffed at his words. “Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stay with you after you pushed me away”.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered. Chan screwed up his face and sniffed, and deep inside you felt like shit for making him feel this way. “I’m an idiot, baby, I have no excuses. Just if-“

“No”, you retorted. “No. You’re only interested now ‘cause I’m out of reach again, aren’t I? ‘The thrill of chasing’, that’s how you call it?

“Baby…” His eyes were closed as he let out a deep sigh. Yeah, you fucked up big this time, Chris. There’s no way out.

“Is there anything, anything I can do for you to forgive me? Please?”

“Yes, there’s one thing. Disappear from my life forever”.

Taglist:

@heylookwhoitis @amaranth-writing @itstorimf @tenshimara

[cleosven]

Tyler in Season 2

A lot of people are worried about how Tyler will be portrayed in Season 2 of Wednesday. I am also concerned. 

But I’m not as concerned as everyone else seems to be!

The writers convey Wednesday’s wounds, misbeliefs, and fundamental truths clearly. And the specific truths they want us to believe make me think that they will treat Tyler’s character with compassion. 

Wednesday has many misbeliefs at the start of the show including:

Caring is a weakness: from the very first scene with Pugsley, she told him that ‘emotions’ are a weakness, but she means caring because that spurs sadness, happiness, love etc. because anger is an emotion, and she seems fine expressing that via revenge 

People are good OR evil: she reacts as if those boys are pure evil when they are likely just assholes who don’t have their shit together

People can’t change: This is shown when she implies that Dalton doesn’t deserve the chance to have children, implying that he will never ever be good or worthy in his life. This also applies to how she treats herself, she doesn’t fully believe that she is good, and so it doesn’t matter if she does evil in the name of what’s right

The best way to show love is physical violence: she put piranha in the pool to hurt Dalton and his friends to show she loves Pugsley, and she also just tortures Pugsley (waterboarding was mentioned)

Authority isn’t on your side: again, not turning them in, but enacting her own violent revenge. This also goes for parents, teachers, the school system, and the justice system in general

Normies aren’t as powerful as outcasts: She acts on her revenge as if there is no way they could hurt her back in the same capacity, and they don’t, further fueling the misbelief 

Wednesday’s Wounds

Each of these misbeliefs came from a ‘wound’ in her past. 

The main one is that her pet scorpion was murdered in front of her. She felt like those normie kids were evil, and no adult came to help her. And those kids, as far as she knows, never changed for the better. 

Another wound was that she sent her book to an editor, and they rejected her. That might not be a very old or fundamental wound, but it’s another case of her protecting something she loved (her books) with exaggerated violence (dozens of mousetraps.)

Over the course of this show, Wednesday will slowly grow by proving her misbeliefs wrong and revealing the fundamental truths of the world that the writers want Wednesday, and the audience to see. 

Tyler’s Situation

So, going back to Tyler, he will be very useful in disproving these misbeliefs.

But if the writers don’t treat Tyler’s situation with care, it will enforce Wednesday’s misbeliefs, so she won’t grow, and the show won’t be interesting to watch. 

And I think the writers know that. They addressed multiple of these misbeliefs throughout season one, but she never completely out-grew any of them. Which is a great set-up for a multi-season show

Fundamental truths that the Writers need to continue addressing (and how they connect to Tyler):

Caring is STRENGTH

They showed this in s1 with Enid, Xavier, Bianca, and Eugene all playing a part in helping save Nevermore

They can show that caring is strength if Wednesday cares about Tyler, or even if someone Wednesday knows (like Xavier, Tyler’s father, or the new principal) turns out to care about Tyler, and is able to help him out of his situation because of that caring

Everyone is part good AND evil: 

They’ve already shown me that Tyler isn’t just evil, but they need to prove it to Wednesday in season 2

If they don’t prove this Wednesday won’t be able to grow 

Like Tyler’s been saying all along, he’s done bad things, but that doesn’t make him a purely bad person

People CAN change:

They need to show Tyler’s growth! 

This will reinforce the fact that Wednesday can grow too, and help all of these truths fall into place

However, Wednesday won’t be able to see this truth right away - this is where Tyler could get hurt - but if they let him die or make him purely evil, the whole message of the entire show will fall flat 

The best way to show love is CARING: 

If the writers still want Tyler to still be a love interest (unnecessary in my opinion, but I’d live), then Wednesday is going to have to prove to Tyler that she cares about him 

But they can prove that ‘love is caring’ to Wednesday by having those around her care about her, like Enid or Xavier 

Personally, I want Wednesday to see that love is caring by Tyler’s dad caring for him

Authority CAN help: 

Weems proved to be good in the end, as well as the mayor and the therapist, and that will be helpful, but Laurel having been a teacher won’t help this progress

Someone besides a student will need to be a big part of the s2 plot to show Wednesday that adults and authority members aren’t always useless

This could be shown by Wednesday (or Xavier or Enid or another student) working with and adult to get Tyler to safety. It could be any other adult showing true compassion

I doubt Wednesday is ready to work with her parents yet - that might be an s3 hurdle

Normies ARE powerful:

This was mostly proven already in s1 via Laurel and Crackstone, but it was undermined by the fact that they still failed

The other truths would benefit from a normie being powerfully good 

This would be a great chance to throw in an amazing normie therapist who really understands Wednesday’s dark side 

I know this is a lot of information

But I've been analyzing this for a while, and I think it’s important that these ideas are out in the world. 

The writers made Wednesday’s outlook morally grey. She tased Tyler after knowing how hydes work, after all. So, at the start of season two, she likely won’t accept Tyler as a complex and real human being who deserves love. 

But I think the writers know that Tyler deserves love even if Wednesday doesn’t. And I think the writers want Wednesday to eventually know that Tyler is real and complex, and I think the writers want the audience to know that even now!

I could be wrong, but I don’t think I’m far off base. This show didn’t just become amazing by accident. A lot of thought was put into this plot, and Wednesday’s and Tyler’s characters. 

So I think a lot of thought and care will be put into how Tyler’s character is treated in season two because these truths that the writers have set up are caring and compassionate. 

Thank you for coming to my crazy long ted talk!! ❤️ I appreciate you

[killerandhealerqueen]

for writer truth or dare:

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now? 

🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis 🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

🌵 ⇢ share the link to a playlist you love

I don't have any links because all of my playlists are private, for both youtube and spotify

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

Die Trying: 🤖🪐🚀🔪👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻

Thing About Russians: 👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻🧑‍🧑‍🧒👮🏻🔫🥃

Newsies Musical Rewrite: 🪧👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻🗞️🩺🗽

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

Ohh, such a hard question...I don't think I can pick

💌 ⇢ how many unread emails do you have right now?

None, because I HATE seeing that little red bubble above any of my apps, especially my emails. Also, I just check my email religiously so...zero

🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

God, there are so many people I wanna tag...I'll just tag a few: @evil-moonlight @friendlynbhddevil @nineninepetals @marulo @losttombgirlie

I know we don't talk much, but I love y'all and I love seeing y'all on my dash and in my notifications

🧃 ⇢ share some personal lore you never posted about before

I don't really have any personal lore that I haven't shared about before

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Let me just direct you over to my headcanon masterlist for Killer and Healer, parts 1 and 2. Save us both the trouble

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

I get five days off after tomorrow (yay holidays)

My parents are coming to see me in less than 3 weeks

My candy cane amaryllis is growing really well

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

Never trust your brain after a certain hour, it's just being an asshole

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Oh, the book report or the comment where I get to read my fic from their point of view and see what stood out to them/made them lose their minds

🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately

Life's too short to worry about things that we can't control (as someone who overthinks/has anxiety I have to remind myself of this a lot)

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

            “The price I must pay?!  Cheng Qing what you’re doing doesn’t just hurt me, it hurts everyone!  Cheng Qing, you’re putting the village in danger!” he exclaimed.  Cheng Qing, however, didn’t respond and instead just continued to glare at them as the fire suddenly surrounded him and engulfed him, causing Chen Yuzhi’s eyes to widen in horror.

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

I do not have any pets...and probably won't for a while, if I'm being honest

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game | send me asks

[bonefall]

Why doesn't Blossom just. leave? Idk if that sounds weird since you have talked about how the clans essentially function like a cult (although this was in reference to starclan), but if Blossom feels so completely isolated and shut off, why not just. Run away.

Blossom literally gets told 'no one cares about you, why not just disappear?", and the clan does NOTHING to say otherwise, and their silence is basically agreement. Suicide tw, to someone who is already at their lowest, or just climbing out of it at least, that line could have horrible implications- you dont matter, just fade away, no one would notice, etc. Idk if that was intended (ashfur seems like the kind of asshole who would intend it but i dont think you intended it), but. yeah its horrible.

Since im believing it wasn't intended, maybe change it? Emptycry could work (instead of 'no one cares, you're a waste of space' its 'your words are empty, be quiet'), or maybe naming her Rottedpetal- the flowers have been shredded, and now they have begun to rot instead of growing anew. Or, if you want to keep the name, Blossom snaps and decides that he's speaking the truth- so she leaves. Maybe she becomes a loner (does the lake territories even HAVE any loners that function similar to Barley, Ravenpaw, Smudge, etc???), or joins another clan (i highly doubt this since the other clan would eventually learn of 'clearface' and start calling her that again, or worse kick her out for breaking the code), OR she becomes a kittypet, completely willing to trade freedom just to be loved.

...forgive me but I feel like a lot of people are missing the point of Dishonor Titles and why and how Ashfur uses them.

Ashfur is picking the cruelest possible names he can think of exactly because he wants the people who oppose him to be broken. He is finding a character's deepest insecurity and putting it on full display, forcing the other cats in the Clan to join in on his mental abuse to set them against each other.

This serves the purpose of showing that Ashfur is even worse than Bramblestar, and that he is very perceptive of people's insecurities.

The cruelty is the point. These titles from the Impostor aren't meant to be petty, they are meant to be gutwrenching.

Why does Blossomfall not leave? Because her entire family is here. Father, siblings, three children, any friendships she's finally started working on. She had to beg to come back in on their grace and she will not get another chance. Random humans aren't an option. It hurts but she eats it, knowing her only options are to take it for the next two weeks or be exiled forever.

If she was going to leave because of the name, then that is something Bramblefake can use as well. "Codebreakers are weak cats. She couldn't handle having her disrespect thrown back at her and cared more about her pride than her Clan. A traitor twice, now a traitor thrice."

But things were just finally starting to get better for her, and she's not willing to leave her entire life behind for the exciting opportunity to... live alone in the woods. Not yet.

She becomes a rebel later, but not yet.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for "causing a stain on a marriage" and ruining a honeymoon?

Hey everyone! This is a separate AITA issue, but also technically an update idk if that's allowed.

I'm the one who asked AITA for telling my hairdresser the truth.

I (25f) had a friend D (31m). He married an 18f recently. I do want to clarify something I said in the last post because I saw in responses I didn't write it out clearly. I do NOT approve of minors dating adults. I do NOT approve of 18-21 year olds dating people way older then them. If I, a 25 year old, wanted to date someone older with that same age gap, that would be fine. That's what I meant when I said I typically didn't have an issue with age gaps, but I realized I didn't write that well.

Anyways onto the reason I sent this in:

I saw D in person. Him and his...wife... have been married for a bit now. Anyways, I was trying to avoid him. He knew. Because he called me later that day and asked me why.

I calmly told him we weren't friends and I felt weird. He asked me why snd I told him, I felt weird about his wife. I also told him I didn't appreciate him calling me names. He flat out asked me what names, I said the name back, and he said "I would never say that you must have misheard me". He kept getting louder and I know for a FACT I didn't mishear because I clarified "did you just call me ----" and he said YES

So I yelled at him "you're a manipulative asshole and a groomer" to which he went quiet. And then his wife spoke. Apparently I was on speaker the entire time. She said I was jealous and an asshole and hung up on me.

An hour later his mother called me and at least she told me I was on speaker. It was her, D, the wife, the wife's mother and maybe someone else those are the only ones who spoke. They all took turns expressing how hurt they felt and how I was putting a stain on their marriage and how I was ruining their honeymoon. I flat out said they aren't even on their honeymoon rn so that shouldn't matter.

I said, and I quote," You chose to call me. I tried to avoid you. I want nothing to do with you, as far as I'm concerned im done. I won't talk about you, dont talk about me." To which the hairdresser got brought up by D. She didn't name me, but she dropped him. D claimed I swayed her. I said "if your actions swayed her then that was on you". I then was getting yelled at by many and the mom again yelled at me and cursed at me and said Ime calling him a groomer (pls note I hadn't except for the phone call earlier that day) could have complications for him and I shouldn't be "a vindictive jealous bitch".

I replied "im not jealous, if I had wanted him I could have, but that just proves he is one" and hung up.

I didnt realize fully until my sister brought up what happened when I was 16, D had tried to date me. It was a short period and he had flirted with me and would constantly buy me stuff and then guilttrip me for it.

To be quite honest a lot happened between us but I had told him I never wanted to date him. He did hold my first kiss over my head, which I hadn't even wanted to kiss me he just did. To be honest, I never wanted to think about it and so I didn't. Cause from that point on he had always dated women his age or older.

I guess I was groomed too. I'm not even sure, because as some people noted it is a small community. You talk to one person and guaranteed they are related or friends with the person you are talking about. Everyone knows everyone. His mom had always told me that he had only developed a crush on me because of the closeness and I had accepted that. I hadn't seen anything wrong with it when i was 16, but it makes me grossed out now.

I went on a tangent sorry, but the mother has vagueposted about me and people are assuming me. A few coworkers are asking me about the situation and I've not said anything. But apparently D and his wife are fighting now and im being blamed. His entire family is sending me messages and I have these new accounts send me messages, idk if they are real or not. I've deleted most of my social media now, because everyone is telling me I was in the wrong for trying to tear them apart and that they should be a happy newlywed couple and instead I've ruined that.

So AITA?

TLDR: my exfriend (31m) married an 18f. I called him a manipulative asshole and a groomer. His entire family is coming at me now and sending me messages. Genuinely unsure how to feel because part of me feels bad that I hurt the girl, the other half is pissed everyone is defending him and doesn't care.

What are these acronyms?