#i can't remember what these are actually called

[elryuse]

Manifesting

Gaeul X Male Reader

Tags : Toxic Relationship, Trauma, Cheating, Breakup, Romance, Dark Romance, Obsession, Yandere, Psycho, Angsty Words : 5,359 Words

It was a hard few weeks after your sad break up with your long lasting girlfriend, named Gaeul. She was your sweet sweet angel, she was caring, soft and charming. But that all changes when she be friends with some girls, who slowly changes her, and before you know it, She was lost, gone, turned into something different.

She started to ghost you, neglected you, and worst of all she cheated on you. You caught her, there, red handed, having sex with a guy you didn't know at all. You try to talk her up, but she got angry instead, slapping your face, marking it red as the shape of her palm.

You stood there silent, not knowing why this shit even happened to you. But all you know and understand is that She's not the Gaeul you know. With that, Your face turns cold, Gaeul didn't move, she closes the door as she continues to have sex with the man.

And with that, You left. You left the room, the house, and most importantly you left her. For good.

As time goes bye, You started to fix your life for the better. The first few weeks of the breakup was straight up hell, as you tried your best to forget the good memories you have with her. However, the memories kept flooding in. The time you said you loved her, the times you went on dates. It slowly come back to haunt you.

However, you started to get more active, get to know other people, and slowly you started to get back on track. As slowly, you started to find hobbies and stuff to do with other people. It was actually fun. A breathe of fresh air.

But one day, Those moments gonna haunt you again. As one night, out of nowhere, you met her again. Gaeul. She was standing outside your apartment, smoking a piece of cigarettes, as she ruffled up her blonde hair. You both looked at each other, before Gaeul throw away her cigarette, as she smiled.

"It's been a while".

You were shocked, timid, not knowing why is she here. Again. Out of anybody else that could be here. Why does it have to be her.

"What do you want" You asked.

"C'mon is that really what you have to say to me. I know that you missed me pabo. Let me in, I have a ton of thing's to say babe".

"Babe? Babe!? Are you fucking with me Gaeul. We're not together anymore. Get lost, before I call the cops". You angrily shouted, clearly still not accepting what the hell is even going on right now.

"Why are you mad… Besides, We didn't even break up. You're the one who left me". Gaeul rolled her eyes, as her body rested on the walls.

"Yeah but you're the one who's fucking a guy Gaeul. Not me. So go away. I already moved on. So stop bothering me". You try shutting the door.

"W-wait. P-please. Alright alright I'm sorry. Look. I was young. I was dumb. My friends were the one encouraging me to try new stuff. I was carried away alright. So please. Just liste-".

"Look Gaeul. It's your choice. You choose to fuck someone else. And you also choose him over me. You slapped me and closes the door on me remember. You didn't even text me about how sorry you were. So stop pretending like you care. And please. Stop bothering me, And leave".

As you closes the door, Gaeul seemed to be shutted down. Her face was unreadable, as slowly a small tear runs from her face. She looked, Sad. Filled with Regrets? You don't know why but she looked desperate about something.

"P-please. Y-y/n. I really don't know where to go. Everyone.. They.. All bullied me, and I really don't know where to go. P-please. Can I stay at your place, just for a night"?

You should have said no. You should just closes the door on her. But some how, you just can't seem to do it. You just can't seem to act harsh on her. And with that you opened the door for her.

"Get in. Fast".

Hearing those words, Gaeul face immediately lit up. She immediately ran and hug you, as she cried all of hearts out. You were not sure whether to comfort her, or just stay still, so you decided to just let her cry for awhile.

You then let her sleep on the couch, as you were about to take a shower. Your mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts as you didn't sure what to do, especially after seeing her again. You sighed, as you hit your head, thinking why would you let her in the first place.

Suddenly you hear a knock from outside the bathroom. It was her.

"Y-y/n. C-can I come in"?

"Wtf you mean, can I come in. Stay out. I'm almost done".

You wipe the water off your face, staring into your foggy bathroom mirror. The knock still echoes in your ears.

“Y/n… please. Just let me talk to you… just for a minute,” her voice quivers, yet there’s something off about it. It’s too soft. Too controlled.

You grip the towel tighter. "No, Gaeul. You said one night. Just—give me space.”

There’s silence for a few seconds.

Then she chuckles.

“Space? After everything we've been through? You let me in, and now you're pushing me away again?”

You freeze. That tone. It wasn’t pleading anymore. It was colder. Possessive.

You open the door slightly—just a crack. “You’re making this weird. Go back to the couch. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

But she’s already right in front of the door. Close. Too close. Her eyes puffy from crying, her lips trembling, her fingers tightly holding the edge of her shirt as if she was suppressing something explosive inside her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispers. “Not when you’re just a wall away. It made me think of the nights I used to fall asleep on your chest. You remember that?”

You sigh and step away from the door. She takes that as an invitation, stepping in without permission.

“Gaeul, I told you—”

She suddenly wraps her arms around your waist from behind. The towel nearly slips. Her forehead leans against your back.

“I missed you. I’ve been so… lost. Without you, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I did bad things. But I never stopped loving you. Never.”

You stay silent. Because deep down, there’s a twisted ache in your chest. A part of you still remembers her kisses. Her laugh. The way she used to hold your hand like it meant everything.

But this isn’t her anymore.

You step forward, breaking the hold.

“Gaeul, go sleep. Please. Don’t make me regret letting you in.”

She stares. Hurt. Confused. Angry. Her lips tremble again, but this time it’s not sadness. It's frustration.

“I gave you my everything… and now you treat me like garbage.”

You glance back. “You cheated on me.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. “I made a mistake. People fuck up. But I chose to come back. I chose you again.”

“Too late.”

You walk past her. Grab some clothes. The air between you two is suffocating.

She remains still, standing in the bathroom, staring blankly at the wall.

You hear the door creak shut as she returns to the living room.

You wake up around 3AM, heart pounding. Something feels off.

You walk to the kitchen. The couch is empty.

“Gaeul?”

No answer.

You check your bedroom.

She’s there.

Lying on your bed, wearing one of your shirts.

Your chest tightens.

“Gaeul. What the fuck are you doing?”

She turns slowly, as if expecting you. Her eyes gleam beneath the dim light. A sickly, satisfied smile spreads across her face.

“I couldn’t sleep… I felt cold… I needed you.”

You glare. “This isn’t okay. You’re crossing boundaries.”

“I know your body better than anyone else. I know how warm it gets when you’re upset. How quiet you become when you’re trying to hide your sadness. You think I don’t see that? You haven’t moved on. You're pretending.”

You back up slightly, disturbed. “Get out of my bed.”

“No.” Her tone is dead serious now. “I belong here.”

She sits up.

“I let my friends poison me. I know. But they’re all gone now. They cut me off. They talked shit about me behind my back. And that guy? He left. He never even remembered my birthday. I was stupid.”

“That doesn’t mean you can crawl back like nothing happened—”

“I HAVE NOTHING LEFT!” she screams suddenly. You flinch.

Silence follows.

Then a whisper: “Except you.”

She reaches under the blanket. Pulls out… your phone?

“I saw your messages,” she says. “With that girl. Minji, right? She's just a rebound. She doesn’t know you like I do.”

You feel your heart sink.

“Where’s my phone—how the hell did you—”

“I watched you sleep. You looked peaceful… So I wanted to check. And guess what? I was right. You're still broken. Still looking for me in everyone else.”

“That’s it. You're leaving. Now.”

You grab her wrist. Not hard. But firm. Her eyes widen—not in fear, but in thrill.

“Touching me again, huh? You still want me. Just admit it.”

“Get out, Gaeul. Or I will call the police.”

Suddenly she grabs your hand with both of hers, gripping tightly.

“I’ll kill myself if you do.”

You freeze.

Dead silence.

She smiles. Twisted. Tired. “I'm serious. You were the only good part of me. If I leave this apartment, I won’t walk home. I’ll jump off a bridge.”

Your throat dries. “Stop it…”

Tears pool in her eyes again. “Then let me stay. Please. Let me stay until I’m better. Let me fix what I destroyed.”

You hate how conflicted you feel. You know this is wrong. You know she’s manipulating you. But that look in her eyes—the same eyes that once stared at you like you were her whole world—breaks something in you.

“…Fine,” you mutter. “One more night. But you sleep on the couch.”

She giggles.

It wasn’t a joyful laugh. It was broken. Hollow.

“I knew you'd come back to me.”

She kisses your cheek.

And leaves the room.

You lock your bedroom door that night.

But even through the door…

You still hear her humming a lullaby she used to sing when she laid on your chest.

It doesn’t comfort you anymore.

It terrifies you.

You barely sleep that night. Every creak of the wood, every gust of wind against the windows makes your heart jolt.

She's still here.

Even though the couch is supposed to be her place for the night, a part of you fears waking up to find her standing at the foot of your bed. Watching. Smiling.

But the sun eventually rises.

You blink the exhaustion out of your eyes and check your bedroom. Empty. Quiet.

Carefully, you step out.

To your surprise, the living room is empty. The couch is made. Neat. Like she’d never slept there at all.

You turn toward the kitchen and see her.

Gaeul.

Wearing your hoodie. Cooking eggs.

She turns with a bright smile, as if everything’s normal. “Good morning, sleepyhead! I made breakfast! Just like old times, right?”

You’re speechless. Tired. Emotionally drained.

“Gaeul, I told you—”

Ding-dong.

You stop.

Your front door just rang.

Before you can even move, Gaeul turns her head. Her expression darkens in an instant.

“…Are you expecting someone?”

You walk to the door. Peek through the peephole.

It’s Minji.

Wearing a warm beige cardigan over a white sundress, her eyes sparkling with excitement, a small coffee tray in hand.

You blink.

She notices you and waves softly, smiling.

You open the door.

“Hey,” she says gently, “I’ve been waiting outside for a few minutes, didn’t wanna wake you… I brought coffee.”

“Minji?”

“Yeah… I was wondering… if you wanted to grab breakfast or maybe walk around the park with me?” she says, shyly looking down. “Just something small. You’ve been working so hard. I thought you could use some sunshine.”

You smile—genuinely—for the first time in what feels like forever. “That… sounds nice, actually.”

But then—

“Who’s that?”

Her voice slices through the air like a razor.

Minji blinks.

Gaeul is standing behind you, barefoot, sleeves rolled up, spatula still in hand, wearing your hoodie like it belonged to her.

Her eyes are locked on Minji like she’s prey.

“Oh,” Minji blinks, “I didn’t know you had… someone over. I’m sorry—”

“We’re not together,” you interrupt quickly. “She just… showed up last night. It’s complicated.”

Gaeul suddenly steps forward, resting her hand on your shoulder—possessively.

“I’m Gaeul,” she says, eyes narrowing at Minji. “His first. The one who knows what he really needs. And who are you?”

Minji’s expression shifts—still polite, but her smile dims a little. “I’m Minji. I go to the same campus. We’ve been hanging out… and talking.”

Gaeul laughs bitterly. “Hanging out? Wow. That’s cute.”

You sigh. “Enough.”

Minji glances at you. “If now’s a bad time, I can leave…”

“No,” you say firmly. “You don’t have to. I said I’d go with you.”

Gaeul’s hand tightens on your shoulder.

“You’re leaving me here?” she asks softly. “After last night? I cried on you.”

You turn. “You’re not my girlfriend anymore, Gaeul. You asked for a place to sleep. That’s it.”

Her mouth opens. But before she can say anything else, you step outside and close the door behind you.

Later that evening…

You had a good time with Minji.

A real good time.

You didn’t think laughter could come so easily again. Her presence was calm, healing. You told her about your break-up. She didn’t pity you. She didn’t push. She just… listened.

When she finally walked you home, she hesitated at your door.

“I know you’re still healing,” she said, “But I like being around you. I just wanted you to know that. I’m not here to play games.”

You looked at her. Her eyes didn’t lie.

“Thanks,” you said. “That… really means a lot.”

She smiles, and with a small wave, walks off.

You breathe.

Then step inside.

The moment you close the door—

CRASH.

You flinch.

A cup lies shattered on the floor. Gaeul’s standing there, tears in her eyes, cheeks red with fury.

“You LIKED her, didn’t you?”

You stay silent.

“DIDN’T YOU!?”

“Gaeul—”

“After everything I told you? After crying in your arms? After begging for a second chance?! You go out with that—that—fake-ass bimbo!?"

“She’s not fake. And she didn’t hurt me like you did.”

You walk past her.

But she grabs your wrist. Hard.

“She’s going to hurt you. Like I did. Worse. She’s gonna take your kindness and stab you with it, just like I did. I know girls like her.”

“Gaeul—let me go.”

She shakes her head violently.

“No! You’re not doing this to me. You can’t just throw me away again. I came BACK for you. I chose you. I gave up everyone. Everything. And now you smile at someone else!?”

You rip your arm away.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

She falls silent.

Her eyes go wide. For a moment, she looks like a doll—cracked porcelain, ready to shatter.

Then her lips curl into a dark grin.

“You think she can protect you from me?”

You stop.

“What?”

“I meant it when I said I’d kill myself if you left me, Y/n.”

She steps closer.

“But maybe… she should go first.”

You stare at her, chilled to your bones.

“Gaeul… don’t you dare.”

She laughs softly. Her fingers trail your chest as she whispers:

“You don’t know how far I’m willing to go for you. But you will. Soon.”

It had been three days since that night.

Three days since Gaeul shattered a glass on your floor and swore she'd hurt Minji.

You hadn't heard from Minji since then.

Your texts—left on read.

Calls—unanswered.

You assumed she was just busy… or maybe she felt something was off. You couldn’t blame her.

Gaeul, however, was still here.

Still lingering in your apartment like a curse you couldn’t exorcise.

Every night, she cooked. Cleaned. Acted like she was your girlfriend again. She wore your clothes. Sat close to you. Slept on the couch but would sneak glances into your room every night like a cat waiting for a door to open.

Tonight, something felt different.

You returned home after a late class. The lights in your apartment were dimmed—intentionally.

A soft scent of jasmine floated in the air. You squinted.

There were candles… lit in the living room.

Your heart sank.

You step further in, cautiously. “Gaeul?”

"I'm here," her voice called out softly. Sultry. Dangerously warm.

You turn—and stop.

She's standing by your bedroom door.

Wearing your white button-up.

Only the white button-up.

Unbuttoned halfway down her chest, just enough to tease the curve of her breasts. Bare legs. Hair tied loose. Lips tinted with deep red gloss. Her eyes half-lidded with something… dark. Desperate.

"Gaeul, what are you doing?"

She slowly walks forward, swaying like a predator who knows you're caught in her trap.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she whispers. “So I thought I’d remind you why you used to crave me.”

“Don’t—”

She presses a finger to your lips. Silencing you.

“Shhh… I’m not here to fight.”

She steps closer. The shirt brushes against your chest as her body heat presses into you.

“I’m here to make you feel again.”

Her hand trails down your chest. To your stomach. Then down, lower—

You grip her wrist tightly. “Stop this.”

But your voice is weaker now. Your breathing shallow.

Her eyes sparkle.

“You say you’ve moved on… but your body’s still honest.”

“Gaeul—this isn’t going to fix anything. We’re broken.”

She smiles. “Then let’s break even more.”

Before you can speak, she slides down to her knees, slowly. Holding your gaze the entire time.

You curse under your breath, stepping back.

“Gaeul, stop playing games.”

She bites her lip, standing again. This time, she unbuttons the rest of the shirt and lets it slip off her shoulders.

Bare. Fully.

No shame. No hesitation.

“Do you remember the first time we did it?” she whispers, stepping closer again. “You were nervous. Shaky. And I kissed every inch of you until you stopped trembling.”

Your fists clench.

“And when you told me you loved me, I cried while we made love. Remember that?”

You shut your eyes.

“Stop it. Just stop.”

But she’s already guiding your hand to her waist. Skin against skin. Her breath hot against your neck.

“Touch me like you used to, Y/n. Please. Let me feel like yours again.”

Your head spins.

And for a moment—

Just a brief, dangerous moment—

You miss her.

You remember her laugh. Her moans. Her scent. Her warmth.

Your hand grips her waist.

She leans in to kiss you.

And you freeze.

Because just behind her…

Your phone lights up.

Minji: “Hey. Sorry I went quiet. I just… felt something was off. But I miss you. Can we meet soon?”

Your blood turns cold.

You step back.

“I can’t.”

Gaeul’s smile fades. Her eyes twitch slightly. “W-what?”

“I can’t do this. I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I can’t.”

You grab your shirt and step toward your room.

“Put something on, Gaeul. This… this isn’t right.”

She doesn't move.

Just stands there, naked, rejected, breathing heavily.

“…It’s because of her, isn’t it?”

You pause.

“You’re choosing her over me.”

“Because she didn’t destroy me,” you say quietly.

That’s when her smile dies completely.

“I see.”

She walks past you, slowly. Picks up her clothes. Dresses in silence.

You think, maybe—maybe—she’s finally going to leave.

But just before she walks out the door, she turns.

Her voice is calm. Too calm.

“You better hope Minji really likes you.”

You narrow your eyes.

“What?”

“Because if she doesn’t? If she even thinks of hurting you?”

She grins.

“I’ll make her bleed.”

But tonight, everything changes.

It had been two weeks since you pushed Gaeul away.

She disappeared after that night. No calls. No knocking at your door. No more haunting gazes from the corner of your room.

You thought maybe… she was finally gone.

Meanwhile, things with Minji felt like they were getting better. At least, that’s what you believed.

You went on little walks. Laughed together. Held hands.

She smiled often. She touched your arm. She told you she missed you when you weren’t around.

You let yourself believe again.

But deep inside, something felt off.

And you were right.

Tonight. 9:47 PM.

You were walking near campus when you saw her.

Minji.

At the back corner of a cafe, laughing with her friends—Hanni and Haerin.

You smiled at first, thinking about surprising her.

But then—

You heard your name.

Your actual name.

And your smile fades.

You stop. Hide behind a pillar. You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.

But you hear it.

You hear everything.

“So? Are you still ‘dating’ him?” Hanni asks, holding back laughter.

Minji giggles. “Dating? Oh my god, please. That’s such a strong word.”

“Girl, you’ve been holding his hand and giving him puppy eyes like it’s your job,” Haerin teases.

Minji rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her iced Americano. “Whatever. It’s not like I actually like him. You guys dared me, remember?”

Hanni gasps. “Oh my god, you still remember that?”

Minji smirks. “Of course. I lost the game, remember? You dared me to flirt with the loner boy. The one with the clingy ex? I couldn’t say no.”

Haerin laughs. “And now you’re full-on fake dating him. Girl, you're dedicated.”

Minji shrugs. “I thought I’d get bored after a few days. But he's so sad. I mean, who lets their cheating ex stay in their house? And then thinks I’m actually into him?”

All three burst into laughter.

“If I were a normal girl,” Minji says, smirking, “I would’ve blocked him the moment I saw that psycho ex lurking around.”

She takes another sip.

“But I guess I’m not that normal. He’s… entertaining.”

You feel your heart collapse.

Your world just folds in on itself.

You step back, unable to breathe.

She lied.

It was all fake.

Every smile.

Every gentle word.

A dare.

You turn, storming off. Your chest is burning. You can’t believe how fucking stupid you were.

But what you don’t know is—

You weren’t the only one listening.

Across the street. Hidden in the shadows.

A figure stands beneath a flickering lamppost.

Gaeul.

She had followed Minji for days. Watching her routines. Following her walks. Even slipping into the same cafes, silent like a ghost.

She had seen everything.

Heard everything.

And now…

She smiles.

No.

She giggles.

Quiet at first.

Then louder.

Her hand lifts to her lips, as her laughter spirals into something unhinged.

“You hurt him… you played with him,” she whispers to herself.

Her nails dig into her palm, drawing blood.

“After all the pain he went through, you made it worse… for a game… for fun…”

She tilts her head to the side.

“I should thank you… You reminded him why he needs me.”

Her eyes glaze over with affection. Obsession. Rage.

“I’m the only one who really knows him.”

She stares at Minji through the window, eyes dark and glimmering.

“He won’t forgive you.”

She turns. Walks away, softly humming the tune of a song you and her used to love.

But before she disappears into the darkness, she whispers—

“Minji… you’re gonna regret this.”

Later That Night…

You come home, throw your phone across the room.

You don’t even cry.

Just sit. Alone.

Hollow.

Then.

You hear it.

A soft knock on your door.

Your heart clenches.

You move toward it. Slowly. Dreading. Hoping. Fearing.

You open it.

And there she is.

Gaeul.

Hair messy. Face flushed. Hands shaking—but her smile calm and gentle.

Like nothing ever happened.

“I saw everything,” she whispers. “She was lying.”

You stare at her, speechless.

She steps forward. Her hand cups your cheek.

“I told you,” she says, voice soft as silk. “She’d hurt you. Just like I did.”

“But I would never lie like that again. Never.”

Her eyes lock with yours.

“I’m all you have now.”

And before you can speak—

She hugs you.

Warm.

Familiar.

Deadly.

A few days later.

The campus was buzzing.

Nothing unusual.

Until the whispers started.

It was during a break between classes when it happened.

The outdoor café near the main hall—crowded, full of students chatting, drinking iced coffee, scrolling through their phones.

Minji sat at a table with Hanni and Haerin, her usual crew. Laughter echoed from their corner, as always.

She looked perfect.

Smiling. Confident. The sun kissed her blonde hair just right. Her lips glossed in cherry red. She was untouchable.

Or so she thought.

Then—

A paper fluttered down in front of her.

Then another.

And another.

The wind wasn’t carrying trash.

It was carrying screenshots.

Printed. Clear. High-quality.

Your name.

Her name.

Her texts.

“Y/n~ where are you? I miss you 😘” “Are you asleep? Can’t stop thinking about our walk today 😳” “Don’t ignore meeee. Come outside, I bought us snacks 😩” “I wanna hear your voice before I sleep please call me 🥺”

One by one, the papers covered her table. Her friends stared, blinking. Some students stopped walking, confused.

Whispers started to grow louder.

Minji’s smile faded.

“What the hell is this?” she muttered, her hands trying to gather the papers.

More fell from above, like snow. From the balcony above.

And then—

She appeared.

Gaeul.

Black skirt. White blouse. No smile.

Just rage and elegance.

She descended the stairs slowly, like an actress in a play she wrote herself.

Gasps spread through the students who recognized her—your infamous ex.

“What are you doing?” Minji hissed as Gaeul stepped into the center of the circle now forming around her.

“What am I doing?” Gaeul laughed. “You’re the one who started playing with people’s feelings.”

She held up one of the printed screenshots.

“This doesn’t look like a dare to me. It looks like you were the one chasing.”

Minji’s face turned pale.

Hanni stood up. “Who the hell are you—”

Gaeul didn’t even look at her.

She was focused. Predatory.

“You liked him, Minji. You really liked him. Don’t act like you didn’t. You texted him first. You called him. You begged him to stay up and talk.”

She threw another handful of papers onto the table.

“You were obsessed. Just like me.”

“Stop,” Minji said, voice shaky. “You’re insane.”

Gaeul’s smile turned cold.

She walked to the side table. Picked up a full cup of iced Americano that someone left.

And without hesitation—

Splash.

The cup emptied all over Minji’s pristine top.

Gasps echoed through the crowd.

Minji jumped up, gasping. The cold soaked her shirt instantly, making the white fabric nearly transparent.

Her hair stuck to her face. Her mouth opened in horror.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Gaeul stepped close. So close their noses nearly touched.

Her voice dropped into a whisper only they could hear.

“I’m not the one who played with someone’s heart.”

She pulled back, eyes unblinking.

“You’re the joke here, Minji. Because you thought he was just another lonely loser. But he’s not. He’s mine.”

She turned to the crowd.

“Let this be a reminder,” she said, calm and venomous. “You don’t mess with love just to get a laugh.”

She dropped the final piece of paper onto the wet table.

A photo.

Minji and you. On that first walk. Her holding your hand. Smiling genuinely.

Then she walked away.

And Minji?

She stood frozen.

Wet. Humiliated. Her hands clenched at her sides.

Because Gaeul was right.

She did like you.

Too much.

And now she lost you—and her dignity—in front of everyone.

Later That Night…

You sit on your bed.

Silent.

Then a knock.

You already knew who it was.

You open the door.

Gaeul stands there, smiling softly, a little victorious glow in her eyes.

“You saw it?” she asks, brushing her hair behind her ear.

You nod.

She steps inside.

“I did it for you,” she says quietly. “Because no one gets to treat you like that.”

“I don’t know if what you did was right…” you murmur.

She tilts her head.

“But it felt good, didn’t it?”

You don’t answer.

You’re not sure anymore.

She walks close, rests her head on your chest.

And whispers,

“She doesn’t deserve to be near you. Only I do.”

You close your eyes.

And realize…

You don’t know if you’re still angry.

Or starting to belong to her again.

The next few days pass in a blur.

You don't really go out anymore.

Your phone stays mostly silent, except for one consistent name.

Gaeul.

She texts you good morning. She cooks you meals. She cleans your apartment. She holds you when you can't sleep.

You didn’t ask for her to move in, but somehow, her things are there now—neatly arranged. Her toothbrush beside yours. Her shirts folded in your drawers. Her scent lingers on your bed.

At first, you thought you’d push her away again. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because she’s different now.

She doesn’t raise her voice. She smiles softly, with that old warmth you used to love. And most of all—she listens.

When you’re tired, she rubs your shoulders.

When you’re quiet, she plays your favorite songs.

And when you wake up from nightmares—of that day you saw her with another man—she holds you tight, whispering, "I'm still here… I'm not going anywhere."

Little by little…

You stop questioning her presence.

You start to need her again.

One night. Rain taps against the window.

You sit on the edge of your bed. Staring at the wall. Silent.

Gaeul walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate.

She sits beside you, curling her legs beneath her.

"You okay?" she asks softly.

You nod. But your voice is hollow. "I don’t know what’s right anymore."

She hums. Then leans her head on your shoulder.

"You don’t have to know," she says. "You just have to trust me."

She looks up, eyes big and watery.

"You’ve always been the soft one. The kind one. But people like her… they take advantage of that."

You look down.

She places her hand on your chest.

"But I won’t."

Your heart skips.

"I already hurt you once. And it kills me to think about it. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Your fingers twitch.

"And you’ll realize soon… that I’m the only one who truly loves you."

And you believe her.

Even if you shouldn’t.

Meanwhile.

Minji sits alone on her bed.

Phone in hand.

Your chat still open.

No new replies.

Y/n… please just talk to me. I know I messed up. I really did like you. It started as a game but… I never thought I’d feel something.

No response.

Tears gather at her lashes.

She scrolls through her own messages—the ones she sent in the past. The ones Gaeul exposed. The ones that betrayed her.

I miss you already 🥺 You’re not like the other guys… you’re special.

Back then, she meant them. She did.

But now?

You were gone.

And worse—

She had handed you back to her.

To the girl she thought was just a clingy ex.

But now, she saw it clearly.

Gaeul wasn’t just an ex.

She was a predator.

And Minji… might’ve handed you right into her trap.

Back in your apartment.

Gaeul lies next to you, her arms wrapping around your waist.

"Let’s stay like this forever," she whispers.

You turn toward her.

She smiles.

"You don’t need anyone else."

You hesitate.

But your voice comes out soft. Tired. Relieved.

"Yeah… I guess I don’t."

Her smile widens.

She presses her lips to your temple.

And in her mind, everything is perfect again.

She has you.

And now she’ll never let you go.

[thethronezone]

(I am rolling with that idea of the old co-worker who still remembers the Emperor AJJFKGKSKA)

An (unknowingly) naive Perpetual from the 21 century suddenly wakes up in the 30k.

The whiplash of everything that's happening is enough to give them a migraine but what puts them off the most is the amount of pampering they are getting. Nice clothes, nice food and a big ass room that could easily be a house on its own by just size alone.

They are confused yes, but after going through the existencial hell that it was living in the decadent 21 century, this nothing but some welcoming vacations.

Sometime later, you are told that the Emperor of Mankind is waiting to see you and the novelty of that whole title has you reeling back because wtf, humanity now has one single emperor??? What the hell happened to democracy?? You accept anyway because everyone has been nothing but nice and respectful to you so fuck it, we balling.

Once inside the throne room, you are welcomed by an array of faces from giants and as if that wasn't strange enough you are welcomed by the one who is called the Emperor only TO COME FACE TO FACE WITH MOTHERFUCKING JERRY?!

JERRY FROM THE ACCOUNTING DEPARTMENT?!! THE ACCOUNTANT THAT NO ONE WANTED TO INVITE OVER TO THE OUTINGS BECAUSE EVERYONE FELT CREEPED OUT BY HIM???

You remember the guy simply because he had this unnerving aura around him that gave you some strong heebie-jeebies despite looking just like your average joe.

After a long while, you had started to feel kind of bad for how isolated he seemed to be and made a half-assed attempt to socialize with him. You even went to the lengths of inviting him to one concert and it surprised you how much he ended up liking country music.

He even gave you some flowers as a thank you from that... Oh... OH...

You feel horribly mortified and exposed with all those fuckers looking at you

"Welcome back, my friend" he says as if you aren't going through both a mental breakdown and existencial crisis like some kind of fucked up combo.

-Toto🌵

Suddenly a bunch of memories come flooding back. All the times he held the door open for you and pulled out your chair for you. Him walking you back home and offering you his (huge) jacket when you seemed cold. Showing up at your and taking care of you when you got the flu, making you soup and covering your forehead with his cold hand and oh god-

All the signs were there. You were just too blind to see them.

Also, the thing with them getting the flu is the last thing they remember before making up in the 30th millennium. Like, they were lowkey delirious with fever, feeling like they were about to burn up and then BAM, they open their eyes and they are in this damn sarcophagus. Bed? Incubator? It had a lid but the bedding was nice and soft.

Turns out, that flu was actually your body shedding its mortality and the shock of it caused you to go into a an almost 30 thousand year long coma. And Jerry- sorry, the Emperor took care of your body during all that time, making sure that it was kept safe. Which was honestly real sweet of him, even though it kinda creeps you that he made the coffin(?) out of glass. That's, uh, a bit weird.

But hey! Who are you to judge? Besides, as you remember it, the guy always had a bit of an acquired taste. You can't mock him for it anymore though, since the whole palace reeks of it.

[oennpellmell]

Perfect example on how stat can be use to say the opposite of what they show.

I remember in my years in the US, listening to Trump inaugural speech saying that immigrants (even legal ones) were entering the country just to abuse the welfare system and never work again. I listened to it while cutting some rotten tomatoes into tiny bits, removing the really spoiled part from the rest, to make a soup of rotten veggie, that I was going to boil to death to make sure I wouldn't get sick. I listened to that while having 200$ in my bank account and a rent coming in a week and no money to pay for it. I listened and remember rage boiling in me, because I was an immigrant and I remember specifically that one of the condition to be in the US is that you CAN'T apply for welfare, as you can't be a burden to US society. and if you do you automatically lose your right to stay. I listened to that lie enraged, knowing perfectly well it was a lie, meant to justify expulsion of immigrant while cutting welfare for millions of families that need. And I remember how I suddenly burst in to tears just as I put my rotten food into the water and realizing I had been eating rotten food for the past week because I had to get by with what I had because I couldn't buy anything else until I finally got my next pay check. And that my boss told me she wouldn't increase my salary because she had to pay me with her own money and since she hired me, she hadn't been able to buy herself a single Gucci bag (this is an actual thing she told me).

This was my life until I left the US, and this is the life of so many of my friends there, that struggles and live in despair, despite working more hours than the generation before while being called the laziest generation by them. So not surprised by CBS headline. But lets be clear, when the say "Bottom %", even if it is usually a sentence to describe a minority, here it really is a mean to describe the bottom of the barrel, in term of social status. They know we are a majority, they just can't help but wanting to remind us the lowest to them.

The class war is staggeringly rigged against the working class. The majority of households are living under extreme economic trauma.

End the trauma. Abolish Republicans.

[kyoukorpse]

did u get the name kris from deltarune when it first came out , because if you did ...... real 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

wheezes-- I didn't, actually! Kris having the same name as me was like.. a complete surprise to me.

I did choose the name for myself, pulled it from my deadname, about 15 years ago in middle school bc I was tired of my birthname being constantly misspelled and mispronounced by teachers and family, etc. Worked out when i started transitioning 4 years later lul.

When Deltarune first came out as "survey program" in 2018, I remember getting it downloaded the day of since I've been a fan of Undertale since the week it came out. I've been here in the trenches man lmao. my art from that time is still on this blog.

but I didn't play it right away. I wasn't heavily active on social media at the time so I wasn't worried about spoilers. Didn't see the need to rush. What actually prompted me to open it and start, however, was a couple mutuals/friends of mine messaging me the next morning stuff like "wow I can't believe you're in toby fox's new game lol". I figured at the time they meant like, a character that reminded them of me bc it happens lmao.

so, I played it. I went through the fakeout character creator. I named my vessel "Kris" and I got a response like "Interesting..." and it asked me to name myself which I didn't. wasn't really expecting so I was like okay I'm also Kris and I got a response like "Of course, of course..."

so it opens with the whole bit of throwing away your design bc your choices dont matter, etc etc. then the opening bit happens with "your name is.... Kris!"

... it still didn't click for me. (i'm so serious).

at the time I thought it was some weird fakeout?? bc i'd expect anything from mr. fox. I went about my whole play session that day thinking "oh so it kept my name anyway. alright. sure."

it wasn't until I went through twitter later and started seeing the fanart and discussions finally being posted after the 24 hours of silence toby requested that I was like........... Oh. huh. (i realized as well that that's what my friends had meant earlier.)

so, yeah. no, I've always been Kris. and I'm very cheesed to have Kris Dreemurr be my name twin. so, that's why you'll most likely see me call them "twin" a lot, bc it's a habit now. heh.

TL; DR: I've been Kris since I was 14 and Kris Dreemurr having the same name as me was a delightful surprise and I love sharing a name with them #MyTwin

[oliversrarebooks]

Rare Bookseller CYOA Part Three

Previous > Masterlist

Claim you're Greg's thrall already

October 1999

Drew knew he was in big trouble. What little he knew of the vampire auction houses was that they ruthlessly processed humans like him into hypnotized vampire slaves, and few if any ever escaped that fate. He tried to pull up any warnings Greg had given him about other vampires -- don't look in their eyes, don't listen too hard to their voices, don't follow their commands. Maybe his knowledge of vampires would give him some help when it came to getting out of the auction house with his mind intact.

"I think there's a mistake," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm already a vampire's thrall. You can't just steal me and sell me."

The vampire's laugh didn't make Drew confident that she believed him. "Oh, you belong to your vampire friend? How interesting. We had been observing you before your acquisition, you know. What sort of vampire allows their thrall to work independently at a human establishment?"

"It's because we needed the money," he said, which was true. "He… he doesn't like thralls that are mindless. He lets me be independent."

The vampire tipped up Drew's chin, and he looked away. "I can see that. And he hasn't trained you in proper deference to your betters, either, has he?"

Drew swallowed hard. "He only makes me show deference to him," he lied.

"I see, I see," she said, dropping his chin. "And he sends you out to work your human job, a fresh wound on your neck, with no ability to resist pretty hypnotic baubles. Your master isn't very responsible, is he?"

Truthfully, Greg would walk Drew back and forth to work every day… if Drew didn't insist on going by himself half the time. "He normally walks me. He was very busy tonight."

"Well, if you're telling the truth and you are already claimed by a vampire, then we will have to release you. We're only in the business of acquiring and processing loose humans, not stealing thralls, even if the vampire isn't taking very good care of them," she said with a sinister smile. "Given the circumstances, I think I'd better consult with my boss. You'll sit tight, won't you?"

"Your boss…?" Drew asked, but the vampire was already out the door, laughing at her own joke.

It seemed like all he had to do was convince her boss that he was very much hypnotized by Greg. The problem was that Greg didn't associate that much with other vampires, and Drew wasn't sure what actually enthralled people acted like. He knew they weren't all mindless slaves -- he had met a few, and they seemed somewhat normal on the surface -- but he wasn't sure what bits of behavior vampires expected from thralls that he might miss.

Another vampire entered the room. She was very short, a bit plump, and wearing a tight sweater and a plaid skirt, looking like any young woman you'd find at the mall. He supposed she was some kind of vampire auction house middle management, not nearly as intimidating as he feared.

"Ah, so you must be Drew. You can call me Miss Lily," she said with a disarming smile. "How are you doing after your acquisition?"

He almost opened his mouth to make some snarky remark before remembering he was supposed to be an obedient thrall. "I want to be returned to my master," he said stiffly.

"Of course you do, dear," she said. "But my intake coordinator had some concerns that you weren't being treated well, and we don't take that lightly. So I'm going to have to ask you a few questions and do a bit of an inspection, that's all."

Drew nodded. "Gr -- my master does treat me well."

"Of course you would say that, if you're loyal to him," she said. She opened a drawer and pulled out a tray of the sorts of things a doctor might use at an annual physical. "But surely you won't mind a nice vampire checking on your health, would you?"

An enthralled person would probably agree, wouldn't they? "All right," he said uneasily.

Miss Lily was holding a penlight. "Now just keep your eyes open and watch the light for me. I'm going to inspect them, okay?" She moved the penlight slowly to the left and right, and up and down, and in a circle, and Drew was following it with his eyes as she had instructed. He realized right away that she must be trying to sway him under her power, but if he refused to play along, she'd know right away that he wasn't some obedient thrall. All he could do was try to resist and keep his wits about him.

"How long have you been a thrall?"

"Um -- " How long had it been since he'd met Greg? "Four years, I think."

"So not very long, but you're hardly new to this, either," she said. "Just keep watching the light, dear, and do relax for me."

Drew felt the tension bleeding from his muscles against his will, as he sat helplessly and watched the light. He sank back into the chair, eyelids fluttering, then caught himself, realizing he was zoning out.

"Very good," said Miss Lily, smiling, evidently pleased by her effect on him. She put on a stethoscope and unbuttoned Drew's shirt.

"What are you…"

"Shh, it's all right. I'm just checking your cute little human heart." She pressed the stethoscope to his chest. "Take a nice big deep breath for me… and hold it. That's a good boy. Now out…"

Drew was once again stuck following her instructions, breathing on her commands, and his mind was starting to go fuzzy against his will.

"You seem quite healthy," she said. "And I see your master must feed from you regularly, from right here." Her fingers brushed the little scar on his neck where Greg normally fed, and Drew shuddered. Something about her touching his neck like that felt so invasive, yet captivating.

He felt like…

He felt a lot like he did when Greg was going to feed.

And it was so blissful, so pleasant, that a part of him just wanted to sink into it.

Miss Lily's fingers lightly circled the scar again, and Drew's mind felt like it was going to mush. "How often does your master feed from you?"

Drew's sluggish mind tried to comprehend the question. How was he becoming enthralled so quickly, how was he already so out of it? He'd severely underestimated this vampire.

Her fingers traced up his neck to his chin, ever so gently. "I asked you a question, dear. How often does your master feed from you?"

"Every other day… or so…" He was trying to shake the cobwebs gathering in his mind, but it was no use. How could he resist covertly while trying to convince her that he was a thrall? Would a thrall resist a vampire's hypnosis, even if that vampire wasn't their master? Playing along with it was just making him fall under.

"And how do you serve your master?"

"Serve…" It was very hard to think of a plausible lie with Miss Lily softly stroking his cheek. He hadn't felt so completely out of it since he was zonked out on anesthesia after having his wisdom teeth removed. "I, um…"

"You must be so tired." She chuckled. "Your master has taught you to always be honest to vampires, hasn't he?"

Even through his haze, he knew the right answer to this was probably "Yes."

"So you'll be completely honest with me, won't you? You won't lie to me."

That followed logically. "I won't… I won't lie to you…" His eyelids fluttered. A part of him just wanted to close his eyes and relax into Miss Lily's voice.

"You're not actually a proper thrall, are you?" she said.

His sleepy eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest, but… he had just agreed to be completely honest with Miss Lily…

"That's what I thought," she said, even though he hadn't actually answered. "You didn't seem enthralled. Oh, your so-called master may have put you under for feedings, but your mind has been free otherwise. Isn't that so?"

All he could do was nod, found out and too far gone to come up with a plausible excuse.

"If you're not actually a thrall, if you're merely a free human with a blood drinking arrangement, then you're fair game for the auction house to acquire and sell," she said with a smile. "Perhaps, if you're lucky, we can sell you back to your vampire friend, improved."

Even through the cotton haze, Drew could feel the embarrassment of being turned into a mindless thrall and sold back to Greg. He'd change Drew back to normal, of course…

Wouldn't he?

"Are you thinking about how we might improve you?" she said. "You'll feel so much better once you've been put under a permanent thrall. I can tell just by looking at you."

"I'm… No…" Drew was hardly in a state to argue. "I like being independent…"

"Oh, do you actually? I've met many humans who say that, but the human who actually means it is so rare. Most of you are happier once I've conditioned you to serve a vampire. Most humans appreciate knowing exactly what it is they're supposed to be doing. No fear, no doubt, just easy work and contentment."

"I don't…" He struggled to gather his thoughts enough to come up with a convincing rebuttal.

"Yes, you do," she insisted, stroking his cheek once more. "And you don't have to worry about a thing, because I'm going to help you. It was awfully cute how you pretended to be a thrall, but you'll be much cuter once you actually are one."

He didn't want to be a thrall. Greg didn't want that for him, either, or else he would have done it… right? It was hard to think, hard to move. His eyelids felt heavy.

"You look so sleepy," said Miss Lily in a singsong voice. "Such a sleepy little future thrall. Your arms and legs are just so heavy, aren't they, like they're made of lead. You won't even think of resisting."

Drew nodded, trying to stay awake. The world around him seemed like a blur now, except for Miss Lily's face, and especially her eyes. She unbuckled his restraints, but he wasn't any more capable of moving, and when she picked him up, he didn't resist.

"You take to this very well. I'm surprised your vampire friend was able to resist enthralling you. He must have some serious convictions." She carried him out of the room and down a sterile hallway. "I doubt those convictions will last if he sees you like this."

"Greg… he likes me how I am…"

"Oh, I'm sure he does, but he'll like you so much better like this," she said. She pushed through double doors into another long hallway, and as they walked past barred doors, Drew could see that there were prison cells full of humans awaiting the auction. Miss Lily leaned over to whisper in his ear. "And you'll like yourself so much better, too. It's good for you to know your place. You'll thank me."

"No…" he said weakly, as Miss Lily carried him into an empty cell and lay him down on the cot.

"Awww, that little spark of defiance. I'll look forward to extinguishing that." She laughed. "Now be a good boy for us and don't make any trouble, and I'm sure we'll get along just fine."

By the time Drew was able to pull himself together enough to sit up, Miss Lily had left and locked the door. His head still felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

He was in real trouble now. The vampires here were much more powerful than Greg. If Greg didn't somehow find a way to get him out, his mind wouldn't stand a chance. He didn't really doubt that Miss Lily was capable of reducing him to a bloodbag and a drone in no time.

But now that he was locked up, what could he do?

...and he relied on Greg for so much. What if Miss Lily was right, and Greg would like him better as a proper thrall?

@whumpsday @morning-star-whump

[puppycoughf]

Tw ; cuss words, ranting, triggering. Don't read when little.

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okay, I'm extremely pissed off right now.

So, @/aconcernedageregressor is back at their bs again. They made a new account just so they can go back to painting every other Regressor as a bad guy because they "don't fit their idea image" or whatever the fuck they're trying to accomplish. Sure isn't to "spread awareness". Because everyone is getting called out. They're a padded regressor? Called out! Furry? Called out? Agere artist? Called out! If you're an adult regressor? CALLED. OUT.

if I get called out, I want to make one thing very clear:

I am NOT nsfw. I was introduced to age regression by an ex of mine who desperately needed a caregiver in his life. When I became extremely stressed out one day he coaxed me to try regressing myself. I tried, and now I'm here.

I am NOT AB/DL. I am a PADDED REGRESSOR. I HAVE TO BE, BECAUSE I AM DISABLED. I CAN'T FUCKING WALK, I NEED A WHEELCHAIR, I CAN'T CONTROL NY BLATTER AND I HAVE BRAIN DAMAGE. So don't start this BULLSHIT that I'm "icky" and "ab/dl" why? Because I'm disabled? You think my disability causes me to be NSFW? YOU THINK, ME NOT WALKING, CANT FUCKING USE THE BATHROOM IS "KINKY"? what the actual fuck is wrong with you. I am a minor, I'm 16, soon to be 17. I am not afraid to say shit to you, aconcernedageregressor. You went after not only my friends and moots, but you went after my little. @hesperiacove Who I love, and care for with all my being. Who I want to protect and help heal from the trauma they've been through. And you try to snatch that away from them. It isn't your right to do so. It isn't your damn right. I am not a mean person, I am never the type to lose my temper. But when you accuse my little? Respectfully, go fuck yourself. I don't know who you are, I don't know if you're actually who you are behind your avatar. But don't come after my little again. Or friends. Do all of a favor and leave the community and Tumblr. Stop poisoning our community. You know damn well what you're doing is wrong but you keep doing it. Grow up. I get you're just a minor, but Im a minor and somehow more mature.

Do better.

If I end up on this account blocklist, I'll probably be labeled as "nsfw" because I'm disabled. Whatever I get accused of, it's not true. I am a MINOR, with trauma with CSA + family CSA. I have to regress because it's my remaining and only healthy coping mechanism. I'm not letting some person on the Internet ruin it for me.

Remember to block @/aconcernedageregressor.

[queenskylarfrost101]

THIS is the REAL Batman. Not just the one who takes down bad guys and beats up criminals, but the one who comforts you. The one who cares for you. The one who doesn't give up on you. He didn't give up on Mr. Freeze, knowing he's going through pain and doing everything he can to help him. He didn't give up on Harley, seeing that she was a victim and suffering. He gave her chances, over and over again, to see just how bad The Joker and her relationship with him was and redeem herself, and she (eventually). He's the one who (in that one comic which I can't remember what it's called) treats Ivy like an actual person and understands her, while stopping her from breaking out just by using his words and trusting her. He's the one who took in Dick when he lost his parents, then Jason, then every other orphan or suffering kid that this serial adopter gave a home and family to. Am I saying he's perfect? Hell no! This man has made soo many mistakes, I couldn't ever hope to count them. But he TRIES, he ACTS, and he CARES.

82 YEARS AGO - BATMAN DEBUTED FOR THE FIRST TIME Eighty-two years ago on March 30, 1939, Detective Comics #27 hit newsstands, introducing the Caped Crusader for the very first time in a featured story called “The Case of the Chemical Syndicate.”

“And for all that fierce exterior, I’ve never met anyone who cared as deeply about his fellow man as Bruce Wayne.”  - Amanda Waller, Justice League Unlimited, Season 2 Episode 13 (2005)

[taragreenfield]

Who is the worst love interest in YA and why is it Mal Oretsev?

One thing about Mal is that you can open any article on toxic relationships and find at least 10 matches with his behavior. Aggression, belittling, disrespect, guilt-tripping, blame-shifting, emotional abuse, manipulation, possessiveness, controlling behavior, substance abuse—you name it, and it's probably here.

He doesn't really care about Alina at first, but when she's taken to the Little Palace and suddenly becomes popular, he remembers that she is his friend. "You are becoming your own person?" Not on my watch!" So he finds her in the palace, sees that she for once feels confident and beautiful, that summoning made her healthier, that she finally learned to control her power, and that other people appreciate her—and of course he has to shit all over her, calling her "a cosseted princess" and insinuating that she whored herself out to the Darkling (because she wears his color and symbol, oh horror). He apparently assumed that Alina was tortured and mistreated there and got offended that she was actually thriving. What a friend, eh?

When they run away, he nags her for eating too much (the girl who didn't have an appetite due to wasting sickness and looked borderline malnourished), doesn't care that suppressing her power made her so weak she could barely move her feet, and keeps reminding her that he became a deserter for her. I already can see their married life, where he reminds her how he almost died for her if she ever complains about anything. Idyll.

When Alina becomes the general of the Second Army, Mal's douchebag behavior reaches the critical level. He constantly whines to Alina about how he feels unneeded because she's busy with her job and he's not the most important guy in the group anymore. He spends evenings getting drunk, gambling, and beating up Grisha. He constantly gets aggressive whenever Alina interacts with Nikolai, forcefully yanks her more than once, speaks over her (telling everyone she won't wear black and won't accept Nikolai's proposal as if she can't make those decisions herself), and shares embarrassing stories about her in attempts to "humanize her" (nothing raises morale and fosters respect towards your commander quite like stories about them jumping in puddles and getting beaten up as a kid for ruining their slippers).

When Alina shares her worries about disturbing visions she's having and dares to flinch when he touches her, he gets pissed off and leaves (with a bottle of alcohol, of course).

He kisses Zoya and tells Alina it's her fault because "Zoya doesn't flinch when he touches her."

He also tells her he would like to carve her powers out of her and says he preferred her when she was repressing her powers (which made her sickly and miserable).

He works as the captain of her guard, but after yet another hissy fit, he abandons his position at night, leaving Alina alone. She walks outside in despair and almost gets torn apart by a group of overzealous fans.

He distances himself from her when she struggles with responsibilities and claims it's "for her own good." He even speaks like a textbook abuser.

In the very end, Alina is said to be mocked and sneered at by their servants, and he doesn't seem to care that their staff has no respect for his wife. He gets to be popular once again; she doesn't steal his spotlight, so he's not particularly bothered.

Almost every interaction between them ends with Alina feeling ashamed, guilty, drained, and miserable. She immediately picks up on the slightest displeasure or coldness from him and berates herself for her "careless" words. She feels guilty when he shows up drunk and bruised after leaving her in danger. When she thinks he returned, she tells herself it's okay he kissed Zoya and left, as long as he comes back and she's not alone anymore. Self-respect? We don't know her!

Even when his lines are supposed to be romantic, they also usually end up sounding disconcerting. "I love even the part of you that loved him", as if she has to be generously forgiven for having "lustful thoughts" about another man while Mal gets to sleep around all he wants. "You looked beautiful even in Cofton with pollen on your brows"—that's when she could barely stand from wasting sickness. She looked beautiful when she was sick, wow, what a great compliment! "I see you now"—when the whole country sees her, she's a literal saint. "I'm ready to starve and freeze with you." If you want to appear selfless and loving, you can say you are ready to starve and freeze so she doesn't have to instead of suggesting suffering with you. The girl had two guys offering her to be a queen, and she picked the one who wanted her to starve and freeze with him. Genius.

Even his change of heart in book 3, when he gets all supportive and appreciative of her powers, honestly sounds like a manipulative technique. Abusers aren't mean to their victims all the time; otherwise, the victim might finally come to their senses and leave. They usually have periods when they are all apologetic, generous, helpful, and supportive to lull the victim back into a false sense of safety. They also love to make grand but ultimately useless gestures to prove their devotion (like a huge-ass tattoo over their back, ahem).

One of the most astonishing things about those books is how they paint a pretty convincing portrait of a domestic abuser (down to their victim's reaction) and then try to tell you that he is actually a great, loyal, dependable guy and the safest, most wholesome option for the heroine.

"I will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but mine" - that's what Aleksander tells Alina at one point. It's ironic that Mal is the one who actually succeeded in that. She loses her power because she claims her third amplifier (Mal), then she fakes her death and leaves with Mal (who, unfortunately, survived) for her orphanage under a false name. She is officially dead. She doesn't even have her name anymore. It doesn't seem lke she has any close friends or consistent communication with other people. There is only Mal and the orphanage servants who scowl at her and consider her a lunatic. No power, no acceptance, no status, not even respect, no recognition. Nobody but Mal knows her story and her real identity, and she can't share it with anyone else, as she must preserve the myth. Mal is a "charming popular guy" and she is his weird unlikeable wife, no longer Grisha but too odd to fit in with ordinary people.

[butterflywingswrites]

You and caitlin break up, and you erase her from your memory by going to a clinic and having them erase all your memories of her (a la eternal sunshine of the spotless mind) because you can't move on without her? She runs into you later, and wonders why you can't remember her, and discovers what you did and why (you can decide if it ends happy with the memories being brought back or angst and they're not).

i haven’t seen this movie so i did my best. author’s note at the bottom

even after all this time, you missed her. it wasn’t as bad as it used to be – most days you were fine – but the bad days were terrible. you couldn’t focus, you were miserable all day, and you even cried at work. you went on dates but nobody you met compared to caitlin

your split was amicable, as amicable as two people who wanted to be together but couldn’t could be. you were mad at the world and the situation. you were mad that two people that were so happy together were pulled apart by unfortunate circumstances

she wanted you to hate her so you wouldn’t hurt so much. but you could never hate her, especially for something she couldn’t control. you were so sad because you still loved her. you were willing to do anything to be with her but she called it off when she realized it couldn’t work and nothing would change for the foreseeable future. you couldn’t hate her for that

during one particularly bad day, you ate your comfort meal while watching your favorite channel. you normally zoned out during commercials but this one caught your eye. a clinic that could wipe your memory of someone. maybe if you wiped your memory of caitlin you wouldn’t have these bad days anymore. you paused the tv to write down the number. you didn’t call because it seemed extreme, but you saved it to your phone

her birthday was coming up and you considered calling out of work for the day. you figured it would be one of your bad days and you wouldn’t be productive. instead of calling your boss, you called the memory wipe clinic. if you couldn’t remember her, you couldn’t have bad days. maybe you would finally be able to move on

***

you were walking down the street when a gorgeous tall woman with silky straight brown hair started waving at you. you turned around to make sure she was actually waving at you and not someone behind you. she was waving at you

“hi sweetie. i’m so glad to see you. we need to talk” the woman said to you. she looked incredibly familiar but you couldn’t figure out where you knew her from

“i’m sorry, i don’t know what you’re talking about” her smile fell at your confusion

“i know i said you should hate me but you told me you didn’t. why are you acting like you don’t know me?” you stared at her until you realized where you recognized her from

“you’re caitlin clark. you play for the fever. of course i know who you are”

“well yes. but i’m also your ex-girlfriend”

“i would remember if i dated caitlin clark”

“but you did. why don’t you remember? here let me show you” caitlin opened up her phone to a photo album named ‘🧡’. it was full of photos of you. you alone but also you with caitlin. your heart swelled when you saw how happy the two of you were together

“i’m sorry. that’s definitely me and we were definitely happy together but i don’t remember any of this”

“can i take you home so we can talk about this?” caitlin’s big eyes were hopeful. how could you not remember?

“yes” clearly something weird is going on and you want to figure out what is wrong “where’s your car? i–”

“walked here, i figured” she cut you off

“yeah i–”

“walk everywhere. i know” you smiled as caitlin finished your sentence. she held her hand out and you grabbed it as she brought you to her car. you got in her car

“my address is–”

“i remember. i couldn’t forget”

the car ride to your home was quiet except for the radio. caitlin turned on your favorite radio channel without you even asking. you looked at her as she drove. wow she was beautiful. caitlin took every shortcut to your apartment and parked in the hidden parking lot behind your building. clearly she was here a lot during your relationship. she immediately knew her way around your building and to your apartment

when you unlocked the door you didn’t feel nervous you were letting in a stranger. you clearly had a relationship before, even if you couldn’t remember it. she headed straight for the living room and sat on your couch

“i’m sorry i don’t remember our relationship” you started out

“we should figure out how that happened. because i would love to start again”

“why did we stop?” because you couldn’t figure out why you would break up with caitlin fucking clark

“i just couldn’t be in a relationship with all the media attention. it was too stressful and i wanted to figure out how to adjust to the media without having to bring another person down with me. but now i figured out how to adjust. i feel like i can bring you back into my life without having you be brought down in the media”

“wow. so there were no problems? just the situation?”

“yeah” caitlin looked down, dejected that you don’t remember

“i’m sorry i don’t remember. what’s something we used to do? maybe that will jog my memory”

“we used to cuddle and watch tv together to wind down from the day” you grabbed the remote and turned on the tv, already set to your favorite channel. the commercial for a memory wipe clinic started playing

“every time i see this ad, i think about how good it would be if you had an ex you couldn’t get over. like someone you really couldn’t get out of your head for months and you still loved them just as much as when you were together”

“did you do that?” caitlin asked “is that why you can’t remember me?” you went into your phone contacts. sure enough, the name and number of the clinic was in your contacts

“oh my god. i think i did” you were hit with realization

“you loved me that much that you couldn’t move on?”

“i guess so” you said, tears springing to your eyes “i’m so sorry” you fell into her arms

“don’t be sorry sweetie, i completely understand” she kissed your head gently, truly assuring you that she understood your reasoning and wasn’t mad

“can i kiss you?” you asked shyly, not wanting to scare her off but wanting to see if you could maybe begin a new relationship with her

“yes” she nodded and you gave her a sweet peck on the lips. suddenly, all your beautiful and terrible memories came back. all the happiness you had when you were together and all the sadness you had after you broke up. your heart ached from the sadness but looking at caitlin right in front of you, who was ready to have a relationship again, soothed the ache

“i remember now!”

“really?!” caitlin asked excitedly

“yes! yes! i remember everything. i told you when we broke up to find me if the situation changed. and you did” you pecked her lips again

“yes baby. the situation has changed”

author’s note: sorry if you wanted angst. i’m a hopeless romantic, i had to go with happy ending + true love’s kiss

[moghedien]

on this site, people have largely been sane re: the whole Sabrina Carpenter thing. like literally the only pushback I got on my initial post about thinking it was weird that people were reacting at all was from a terf (and like no surprises there)

but seeing how other people talk about it on other sites I frequent where people have been largely decent on other topics before, and seeing what other incidents they bring up, it made me realize something about how people talk about women in general who get any kind of attention from choices they make

and its the weird ways that its all automatically tied into feminism

the issue is not feminism itself which like obviously yes I like, but the ways that people on online spaces were using it. the issue, I guess is pop feminism versus like actual theory and academic feminism

Like, with the Sabrina Carpenter thing, people were going on and on about how it wasn't empowering or how it wasn't doing anything for feminism. And then people started bringing up other incidents recently, like the girl on only fans who got fucked by like a million guys in a day or the 87th girl selling bath water products. And their complaints were "this isn't empowering" and 'this isn't doing feminism right"

which is what baffles me. I can't say I thoroughly looked into any of these events or these people, I'm pretty certain none of these things were done with feminism in mind

it just made me realize how fucking wild pop feminism has gotten where every single thing a woman with eyes on her does has to be done with the idea of validating feminism. like, that's first of all assuming that any of these women even identify as feminist to begin with. then that's assuming that they did these very specific actions with the intent of somehow benefiting feminism as a movement. And even if they didn't think about it directly, the fact that they are women presenting themselves to the public means that they will always be doing whatever that is in the name of feminism.

and I'm sorry, I don't think that's the case. Even if any of these women are feminist, I don't think every single thing they do automatically has to be done with a feminist framework. And I definitely don't think they're all very intentionally thinking about it that way like people seem to think. And if any of them have directly said they are and you don't agree it lines with feminist values, then that's one thing and you can critique that, but I haven't seen a single instance of someone critiquing these women's actual words. They're just critiquing what they've done with their bodies and getting up in arms because its not a feminist action.

Like I'm sorry, I don't clock in at work every day and think about how I must act in a way that is in dialogue with feminism. I don't have feminist theory in mind every time I sit down to right a story or poem. Sometimes I do, but sometimes my art is about other things and if feminist thought comes up its just because those are also my thoughts. Sometimes my art is just weird and fucked up because I want it to be and I'm not thinking about whether or not people will be empowered by it.

The empowerment thing is the worst about all of this. I've seen it constantly since the discourse started. People complaining because they don't find these things "empowering"

like this isn't a girl power episode of a cartoon from the early 2000s. not everything another woman does has to empower you personally.

The feminism thing is almost whatever. People have been complaining about XYZ celebrity not being a feminist or a real feminist for years. I still remember it with Beyonce.

But to act like you're owed "empowerment" from every single woman in the public eye just because she is a woman in the public eye is outright offensive to me. That thought and spreading that does more to hurt feminism in my opinion. Especially since I see it paired with people (unironically and without awareness) calling female artists "products"

I saw someone complaining about the Sabrina thing not being empowering to them and then listing every other female pop artist relevant right now and calling them all "products." As if they were something this person bought and they were complaining because they didn't get what they paid for.

That is degradation of women. That's the degradation of art and female artists and the commodification of people's existence and expression. That is capitalism. Capitalism wants nothing more than to turn art and people into products to be mass produced and sold. There is no space for capitalism in feminism because capitalism feeds off of inequalities and encourages any means in which is can get advantage over people it can feed into the machine. Capitalism wants people to be either products or consumed in making the product.

And there is something to be said about the music industry or hollywood treating female artists like products and pushing them to become products, but this isn't what people are complaining about. They're complaining because they thought they owned a woman and then she didn't dance the way they wanted her to. She didn't make them feel good.

And I mean, its fine to criticize. Its fine to make critiques, but the thing people are critiquing isn't even out yet and they're acting like its dooming society and creating the handmaid's tale in real life.

Like, I'm sorry, if you are actually having these thoughts, you need to really analyze why you think this way and where its coming from, because if you think women are products and they should act like good products for your consumption, you're not exactly in line with feminism. Because Sabrina Carpenter being dommed on an album cover isn't hurting women's rights. Capitalism and politicians are, and pushing the blame onto any random woman you don't like instead of focusing on them is only making their goals of taking away those rights easier

[ecrivainsolitaire]

In other words, the AI is not the root of the problem, it's just a magnifying glass on a bunch of other problems that have existed for a long time and that everyone just shrugged and ignored, which now they cannot do.

The AI didn't teach children to cheat on their essays. Their teachers overloading them with work that rewards form over substance and time over both did. What AI did is make it impossible to keep ignoring.

I know this is fact because I remember hearing the exact same arguments ten years ago about Wikipedia. Teachers complaining about kids just copying and pasting wikis, essay trading in web forums, people sending each other homework through MSN messenger.

The solution then was the same as now. Refocusing teaching and grading goals to adapt to the current needs of the student body. The reason you can't get away with copying Wikipedia anymore isn't because it got harder, it's because teachers now need to weigh the known writing skills of the student against the submitted product. If I have a student who can barely spell their own name suddenly come up with the word "acquiescence" I know the internet was involved somehow. If that happens, what I have to do is call the student up to my desk to talk about what I noticed, ask them questions about the subject of the essay, and probe them until they either fess up or demonstrate enough knowledge that I can let them off with a warning and a lower grade. This is what teaching is. Identify weaknesses, point them out, guide the student towards developing the required strengths. If it becomes a repeated offence, involve higher authorities. That is a healthy way to handle cheating on an essay.

What you do not do when a student hands you a clearly cheated on essay is single them out in front of the class, run it through a forensic assessment software like this is fucking NCIS, begin an investigation on a district level that will result on their expelling, and then blow it up on social media to further annihilate their chances of a decent future.

That is not the behaviour of an education centre. It is the behaviour of a surveillance state.

None of this is conducive to learning. We have lost focus so much that everyone is now more worried about policing bot use than actually giving a shit about why students are resorting to bot use. The argument that it's easier to cheat, therefore more people will, carries the underlying assumption that a student's primary goal in the education system, by default, is to get out of it by doing as little work as possible.

How the fuck did education go so wrong that this is how we think of students?

If this is true, then the education system is failing them by making school work seem like an unfair punishment instead of a vital part of the learning process. If this is false, then the education system is failing them by acting like the goddamn CCP instead of focusing on improving their learning process.

In neither case is the solution "police them more so that they are forced to learn".

And honestly, I'm sick of AI scapegoating. People blame the tool to avoid accountability for their own actions. Are students cheating because my class requirements are unreasonable? No it's the bot's fault. Are waymos and teslas crashing and killing people because they were allowed to skip quality control processes to make sure they follow safety regulations? Bo it's the bot's fault. Are people exploiting social media with generative slop because the algorithms are designed to reward low effort and high output over quality or feedback because they keep trying to find ways to deny users feedback? No it's the bot's fault. Are computers expensive because of artificial scarcity, political warfare and focus on stockholder profit over consumer satisfaction? No it's the bot's fault. Are tariffs stupid because some dumbass was using them for a penis contest with no regard for what's mathematically and politically feasible? No it's the bot's fault. Somehow this tool, this thing that cannot think and has no agency or a physical body or any control over its outputs beyond what is expected of it, in less than three years had become responsible (how?) for all the ills of mankind. Because if it's the bot's fault, then I don't have to put any effort in changing how I teach. Then politicians don't have to consult with economists before passing stupid bills. Then car manufacturers don't have to pay liability lawsuits. No I'm not liable, the bot Microsoft sold me did it. Oh but Microsoft doesn't own it, it's OpenAI. Oh but they don't control it, actually it's super scary and will kill us all, but also if we try to stop it then a basilisk will bite you or some shit. No one is accountable therefore no one is liable therefore no one is at fault, nothing has to change, we can keep carrying on with the same broken systems that we already know do not work. Just burn the witch and keep going the same way you were going. Easy. We can keep overworking children and making combustible cars and copyright trolling on YouTube and doing all the shitty things we currently do, and nothing needs to get better, ever. Because doing things better is hard and I'd rather not bother trying to improve and oops I wonder where my students learned that, is this the time for some introspection?

No, it's the children who are wrong.

"what did students do before chatgpt?" well one time i forgot i had a history essay due at my 10am class the morning of so over the course of my 30 minute bus ride to school i awkwardly used by backpack as a desk, sped wrote the essay, and got an A on it.

six months later i re-read the essay prior to the final exam, went 'ohhhh yeah i remember this', got a question on that topic, and aced it.

point being that actually doing the work is how you learn the material and internalize it. ChatGPT can give you a short cut but you won't build you the the muscles.

[rekino2114]

Hey so just read one of your p.e.g eva x reader post (which i really love) and i was wondering if you could do suggestive prompts with eva tsunaka? 21,22,27,31

Prompts 21 and 27 With eva tsunaka

Prompt 21:aftercare

Eva isn't really that good at taking care of people and that expands to aftercare

She doesn't really do much after the act. she just kinda stands there silently, sometimes she cleans her glasses while looking out the window, sometimes she reads a book or goes on her phone while you two cuddle

She really doesn't talk much, partly because she's still processing what happened and partly because she has genuinely no idea what to say, how do you even start a conversation after the two of you just had sex? Should she ask you if you liked it? Or would that be too embarrassing

She'd like it if you brought her tea or water cause she gets thirsty but she never asks for them cause she's too embarrassed. She loves when you bring them to her without her asking it's a small but meaningful gesture that means a lot to her

"Here eva this is for you"

[Eva looks up from her book and sees you holding a tray with a teapot and two cups"

"O-oh thanks you didn't have to"

"Don't worry I want us both to relax"

[You pour the tea into one of the cups as she grabs it and thanks you again, after a sip she blushes and starts talking]

"S-so did you.......like that.....did I do good?"

[You smile warmly at her]

"Of course you did amazingly you made me feel so good"

".......t-thank you, you made me feel good too......i-i don't mind doing this again...whenever you want to"

"Obviously, I'd love too to"

Prompt 27:she walks in on you changing

Immediately starts blushing and mutters a quiet apology before quickly closing the door

While she stays outside she tries her best to keep calm but she can't help but think about your naked body and now that's making her blush and feel hot all over her body

She has no idea what to do or say when you tell her you finished and she can go back in, she's still blushing and actually forgot what she wanted to say in the first place so she just leaves after apologizing one last time still very embarrassed

She genuinely couldn't look at you without going red for the next few hours

"Hey y/n I need you to-"

[Eva blushes as soon as she opens the door and sees you shirtless]

"S-sorry I didn't........sorry!"

[She quickly closes the door and starts playing with a strand of her hair to distract herself from the image of your body still in her mind]

"You can come in now"

[Eva enters the room still blushing and can't hold eye contact with you as she's still so embarrassed]

"I-i'm sorry again"

"It's alright, you didn't mean it, what did you want to ask me anyway"

"Oh right.....I.....I.....I forgot"

"Really? Was I so hot that I made you forget what you were thinking about before?"

"N-no it's not like that"

"Of course, of course, well call me if you remember....or if you wanna see more of me"

[Eva rolls her eyes but still blushes as she leaves your room]

[mixterglacia]

Gunnar Head Canons:

-Even before he lost his hand, he had a birth defect. Basically one of his fingers was particularly short. It didn't really effect much, but he was picked on for it as a pup.

-Lost his hand due to a crushing injury when he got trampled by something akin to a massive elephant. Decided amputation was preferable to an extensive series of reconstructive surgeries.

-A subspecies. He only has two toes on each foot. While this could theoretically be another injury, I could realistically only see that being the result of intentional torture rather than an accident. Since they're symmetrical and all.

-By that measure, as was theorized by @juul2003 when I pointed this out, I think they're meant for cold climates. Due to their size, and his intentional choice for hunting grounds, AND the fact that I don't see any warming devices like their mesh, I think it's a very safe bet that he's genetically built for the cold. (Realistically, all of this could just be a 'it looks badass' thing, but it's fun to think about WHY they look and dress like they do.)

-He isn't really anti-tech, he just knows he's more than capable without. We obviously see him using his thunder-hammer (whatever you wanna call it) often so I can't see him being totally against technology like some theorize. He just knows what he likes and is very good at it.

-Far more intelligent than he looks. I think this is obvious, but people often try to boil Yautja down to all brawn no brain. We've never really encountered a truly stupid one. We're just seeing them make a single fatal mistake. Remember, the main, borderline only reason these guys are felled by humans is ego. Pride is their real killer.

-Actually started out on Earth hunting for things like bears. Found Ursa when he spotted her killing one out of survival, and decided to keep tabs on her. Had been tracking her on and off (he had other business) for about two weeks before deciding to really go for her.

-Was an only child for a long time, which helped him get a lot of training from his mother. His father died before his Trial, and wasn't very involved prior to that.

-Forged his own armor and mask before losing his hand. Still enjoys smithing, and has a series of hammer attachments for it.

[accio-sriracha]

How To Prank Sirius Black

A snippet of a Wolfstar WIP <3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Remus Lupin has finally had enough; he'd been pranked more times than anyone else on campus, being the one to share a room with the idiots. It was about time he gave them a taste of their own medicine.

Teaming up with Lily, Remus devises the ultimate plan, putting every past shenanigan to shame.

Remus decides to prank Sirius Black himself.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Lily narrowed her eyes at him.

"You've gone soft, haven't you?" She asked.

"What makes you say that?" Remus laughed, helping her up the stands to their favourite spot.

"I saw the way you looked at him earlier. You won't go through with it."

"Of course I'm going through with it! This prank was my plan, remember?"

Lily scoffed. "You can't bear the thought of upsetting him, even for a second!"

"I can upset him, I insult him all the time," Remus countered.

She shook her head. "You never mean it and he knows it."

"What are you trying to say?" Remus' voice came out a bit more affronted than he'd meant for it to.

Before she had the chance to answer, their attention was drawn back to the pitch, where all three boys were watching them in concern.

"Now," Lily whispered. "They don't know what we're arguing about. You have to do it now."

Remus took a deep breath.

"Sorry," he whispered.

Then he kissed her.

He needed to make it last long enough for the others to have time to process what was going on.

He pushed her back against the fence of the bleachers, making a show of tilting his head to the side.

He felt Lily laugh against his cheek as they pulled away.

She cleared her throat and put on an angry face.

"Remus, what the fuck?" She shouted, loud enough for the boys to hear.

She shoved him back and ducked under his arm, taking a few steps away.

"What?" He replied, matching her volume and reaching out for her again. "Don't pretend you didn't like it!"

He had to physically force his features into a scowl to keep from laughing.

Lily seemed to he having just as hard of a time keeping a straight face.

"Like it? You attacked me, you arsehole!"

He rolled his eyes, reaching forward and twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. "Oh, c'mon, Lily. You can't deny our chemistry."

The others arrived then, James not even bothering to come to a full stop before vaulting off of his broom into the stands.

Peter was just behind him, making a  slightly gentler dismount, his boots still landing on the bleacher seats with a loud thud.

Remus couldn't turn to see Sirius, but he knew he was still in the air somewhere behind them.

"You're acting like a creep, Remus," she spat, turning and throwing her arms dramatically around James.

The way she did it nearly made Remus break character. He closed his eyes for a second to collect himself.

James was still in shock. He stared between them, dropping his broom and wrapping his arms around Lily without seeming to think about it.

"What is happening?" Peter was the first one to speak.

Remus wasn't sure how much he should play into this, if he went too over the top it would be obvious they were only acting.

He shrugged. "Lily's lashing out cause she can't figure out what she wants," he said casually.

James' eyes widened, finally reacting.

"Remus, what the fuck is happening?"

He didn't seem angry yet, just very, very surprised.

Remus also noted that he used his actual name. James only ever called him Moony.

"I already told you." Remus gestured towards Lily as she clung to James. "She's confused."

He didn't want to insult James. Kissing his crush was bad enough.

If they wanted this prank to work, they'd have to make sure the others would still want to make Lily and Remus become friends again.

"Just because we're friends doesn't mean I want to fuck you, Remus," Lily scowled. "You're obviously just jealous of Black's conquests. But I already told you the answer is no."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Don't make such a big deal out of it, Lils." He laughed, setting her up for her next line. "C'mon, you can't be that mad."

She pulled away from James, shoving a finger into Remus' chest.

"I'm never speaking to you again. You got that, Lupin?" She huffed and turned away, storming down the stands.

James ran off after her, leaving his broom where it fell.

Peter put a hand on Remus' arm.

"Remus, seriously, what's going on?" He asked. It was the third time they'd asked that question. "Do you even like her?"

"Not like that." He shrugged. "It really wasn't that big of a deal."

"You kissed her," Peter pointed out. "A lot."

Remus lifted a shoulder, not wanting to incriminate himself too much.

"How could you do that to Prongs? You know how much he loves her."

Remus rolled his eyes. "As if you didn't kiss the girl Sirius liked in third year."

Peter shook his head. "Not the same. Padfoot told me her makeup was pretty. James told you he wants to marry her. There's a lot of difference there."

"Alright! Alright, I screwed up okay? Can you just shut up about it now?" He snapped. His irritation had come without him meaning for it to.

Remus glared up at the sky. He was always extra irritable right before the full moon.

Peter's eyes went wide with anger for a second, then suddenly filled with understanding.

"Shit. The moon." He slapped his forehead. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I know you're probably just fucked up right now. You still really shouldn't have done that. You owe them both a huge apology, mate."

Remus silently thanked the gods for this new excuse. It was his only means of redemption. Remus closed his eyes.

"Look. I-" His voice broke off and he cleared his throat. It was a lot harder to talk about the transformations than he liked. "I'm just going through a lot right now. I really didn't mean to treat Lily like that. You guys know how much I love her."

"Do you?" Sirius' quiet voice came from behind him.

He froze, he'd nearly forgotten about Sirius.

Remus turned slowly, watching Sirius dismount gracefully from his broom, his expression anything but forgiving.

"Do you love her?" He asked. There was something in his eyes Remus had never seen before.

"She's family to all of us," Remus replied. He could hear the nerves in his tone clear as day.

"Do you love her?" Sirius asked again. Everything about him was intense.

Remus shook his head. "She's just a friend, Pads," he whispered, stunned by the hurt in Sirius' voice.

"Then, why?" He asked.

Remus narrowed his eyes. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I just watched you kiss her, Remus, and I'd bloody well like to know if you have feelings for her as well!" Sirius shouted.

It was the loudest Sirius had ever raised his voice at him.

Remus gave a harsh laugh, frustrations returning despite his better judgment.

He wanted to blame the moon for what he said next, but he knew it ran deeper than that.

"What, because everyone needs to love someone in order to snog them? Is that what you do? Do you love all of those girls? The ones you can't even remember the names of?"

He had no idea where all of this fury towards Sirius had come from, but it was far too late to put a lid on it now.

Sirius matched his anger, the tension rising between them immediately.

"Don't turn this on me, Remus. I do what I want. You don't get a say in who I sleep with."

"Then you don't get a say in who I'm with either! Who says this isn't all about you? You and your need to make yourself available to everybody. What if for once I wished you just wouldn't."

"Why do you care?" Sirius shouted, getting in his face. "You've never once cared before!"

"Of course I care, you arsehole. I've always cared! You think I want to see you with them? All of those beatiful girls you get chasing after you just because you exist. You think I don't know how any one of them could easily replace me? How much more popular and cool you would be if you were seen with them instead of me? The half-blood werewolf freak."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Fic #118 for @ephemeralstarss

Feel free to send me a number between 1 and 200 for a snippet of a wip!

[dixonsdarkelf]

I'M SO HAPPY YOU FINISHED THIS 😭🖤

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?” “That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

It's already stinging. I can't wait for more.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

Okay Reader. Call the man out, why don't you?

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

I'm in fucking agony 😭

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke. It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it. Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

💔💔💔

You sank to your knees. Not for him, and not like that.

You really had me for a second there lol I was like damn.

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

I think this might be the most I've ever heard Joel talk lmao

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

When I tell you I'm fucking losing it right now...

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,” 

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest. “I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

WHOA GODDAMN. I felt like I knew it was coming at some point & it still got me.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies. You closed your eyes and let it all soak in. Because this time, you believed him.

Oh my heart 😭

This was so sweet, painful, and hot all at the same time. Thank you for this 🖤

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t  blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted. 

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation. 

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again. 

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him. 

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–” 

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you. 

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight. 

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,” 

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you. 

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.���

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you. 

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

[pondsriversfezzeslasagna]

There's something bedtime story-like about Eleven's era, he began with his meeting with Amy a little girl, and yh ik this isn't a new line of thought;

it's just that I've been rewatching his series, continuing on to Twelve and I remember the bits I saw from Thirteenth, and my conclusion (incomplete ik) is that Eleven's era really feels like an island, isolated from the rest of the storyline

Yh we've got Clara continuing on, River being married to the entity called the Doctor, a couple of mentions of Amy, but that's it,

outside of his series his plotlines and characters seem isolated from the rest where his is more homely, sort of fairy tale (albeit with dark twists) and kind of domesticated danger (deaths and dangers amirite), and his predecessor's stories are more open world and actually danger dangerous, if you get what I mean

No wonder not many people prefer his era. His story feel more closed off and unrelated to the rest and maybe things before and this in turn repels fans that already don't like his character, and top it off with if you don't like the arc of his era's characters you'll never like it. I'm also looking judgementally at the writers

By the end, his story ended with Amy saying goodbye, and that was the end of our time on the island

Edit : and i wonder if anyone else is like me where I can't really vibe with the series after Eleven's simply because I loved Eleven's and not because the others suck per se, it's just that the Eleventh era caters specifically to my brain itch and the others don't seem to use the same formula and now only one Doctor works for me lol