#i cared more than other people seemed to so i figured i was the problem

[babykittenteach]

Re: Theft

You ever watch a crime drama where a detective is going around trying to talk to witnesses and everyone's too scared to say anything?

Okay, imagine basically a year of that.

Last April is when I noticed first that he'd basically yoinked some tags I left on another person's post to make his own post. Then I saw him do something like that to someone else that I didn't know and couldn't talk to.

Then I saw someone post about their fic idea they were working on, people reblogged all excited, including me. Then about an hour or so later PCCP began his own fic with the same idea.

The general post yoinking kept on for a while, and then I assume people know at this point that the fic thing happened to [a writer] I talked to [a writer] privately about it and encouraged blocking. They worked it out privately and I was asked to not pursue. Out of respect, I did not, but I kept paying attention, and I especially was not fond of the guilt tripping way PCCP talked about this.

This was roughly around the time bizarrelittlemew noticed he'd basically rewritten a post from someone else and reblogged the original so they were doing the rounds at the same time. A screenshot of that "coincidence" made the rounds as a funny post? Which was baffling to me.

I talked to at least two other authors who also didn't want to do any kind of confrontation. Add to that a couple other people who'd noticed he was taking post ideas. Still, no one wanted to go anywhere with it. Meanwhile, random fics happened that sounded similar to others --spaceship plots, BDSM clubs, etc. You can probably find these.

Last summer, I posted my first major fic for this fandom, on an account I actually had not intended to link to this art account. (I sort of wanted the writing to stand on its own, and also, I usually post fluffy things for art while writing can get messier.) That made me a no name, and the fic wasn't immediately noticed, but shortly after, I got a kudos from PCCP. And knowing what he had done to other people, I decided to own the fic on this relatively large account so that if he did anything he'd know it was me. And he did. The next day after kudosing the fic, he took a joke from it about Stede falling through the roof to make his own short tumblr fic. A little after that he messaged me to say he really loved my fic and was working on leaving a comment. That never happened, and I was unwilling to talk to him further privately because I have had experience with manipulators that will threaten you with their mental health. If I were going to confront him, I'd prefer witnesses.

This messed me up pretty bad, btw; I was previously in a fandom where someone just search and replaced my entire fic to be about a different ship. That was September.

In October, I was posting my own personal rewatch of S2, and I made a joke about a misheard lyric in part of my large post. A few hours later, PCCP made the same joke its own post. I lost my temper and tried again to talk to people. No one was particularly willing, and I didn't think at that point that any of the examples I personally had the right to share with people, since I'd been asked to drop it by others, would convince anyone.

So, I blocked him outright. The only reason I hadn't before then was because I was still trying to keep track of when he did this shit to people, and like motherfucking clockwork I get a message alerting me that he was posting a Woe Is Me spiel about getting blocked. Also, he was apparently soliciting donations in exchange for fic. Which is, you know, bad.

You'll notice I'm still being vague about examples, because I was asked to leave people out of it. Repeatedly. So I am. If you want more, you'll have to hope other writers come forward.

And basically none of this matters compared to racefaking and tumorfaking, but maybe it gives you a picture of someone with no fucking respect for other people who is willing to manipulate them to avoid consequences.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

being alive at the time i gleaned some general elements abt encanto but never actually heard we don't talk about bruno beyond awareness it existed popping off & i think i heard like the title recited off key off rhythm but in a way that indicates speak singing nonetheless lol so upon experiencing it it's like oh but it's the Verses? while the last refrain goes harder but prior to that it's comparatively underwhelming to said verses which feels appropriate like verses / pieces of a larger picture & that a "we don't talk about him" as a disappointing Lid on infinitely richer more characterful & dynamic "but: talking about him" instances. like well personally it'd be like um seven foot frame....anyway besides being able to firsthand go like oh damn Real (the kind of thing you know exists if alive at the time) it's like alright hang on lol. one thing when a core theme is yeah like "is it a refuge if 'especial' vulnerability ultimately gets pushed out rather than made safer" subset like the parties whose even observation of truths (problems) & drawing attention to them is seen as Ruining Things, like if you're painted as Making futures that aren't simply what's desired or reassuring rather than a guidance via just observing & sharing the truth. but then it's like whaddaya mean living in fear of bruno stuttering and stumbling you could always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling lmao like now that's just Association between the Truth Perceiving & Telling behavior & behavior that's just apparently distinctive of the same person. & like Not Accidentally when [what if people were magic] specifics are obviously primarily abt a metaphorical meaning & like, indeed it was made clear like oh this situation isn't Just b/c [boo we hate your prophecies] & that [an Ability that isn't directed towards what anyone Wants / is "weird" even by these magic standards] isn't Coincidentally given to someone who just so happens to already be "weird" in other ways & be set up to have a different perspective & be pushed away due to having the supposed "extra" vulnerability of unmet needs / insufficient support, same as someone who doesn't "correctly" have any kind of magic ability....like yeah banger and also like Oh Yeah Kind Of Devastating re: that metaphorical resonance allowing for like [set the metaphor aside] now hang on with this about this disabled family member lol. misinterpretation to The Ruinerrr / The Problemmm / The Maliciousss etc (i.e. the scapegoatinggg) despite their efforts likely entirely to the contrary. then despite like, efforts aside, Just Existing, always kind of muttering & mumbling like & what of it. & then like oh sorry weird pets. weird [auspicious for adaptable tenacious thriving surviving; either way simply creatures, existing] pets.

truly like As Is The Idea I'm Sure quickly becomes like hands behind back standing at the window Uh Oh Sisters musing on all the [disabled person] metaphorical & already literal elements there. blair witching it in contemplation like We've All Been There whether being so resented for the mere disruption of "existing in a group as the 'abnormal' odd one out" or like people talking shit abt anything associated w/you as soon as you've left the room, which is also made relevant like, this wasn't Only directed at this person when seemingly permanently gone, nor were they unaware / unaffected prior....pacing in the Musing parlor like things don't Have to be compared to billions but i only ever even see so many things & it's like billions sure is like "get scapegoated rword" & then said scapegoating is presented as only beneficial & we hate autists & even beyond that it's like, grabbing billions, Imagine If Things Meant To Be About Something Were About Something. quite a contrast when they are & furthermore like, deliberate thought & Care for [who gets scapegoated & why] & the truth of like, people getting pushed aside & out who have a key perspective & are primed / liable to come through for others similarly vulnerable & the supposedly Ruinous, Problems Generating disruptiveness is actually the strongest effort to make essential changes to a group. & come through with like, it'd be undermining thee point if it was "reassuring" us like oh haha people will be supportive b/c bruno will be more normal, so great that it Didn't like no, no Normality Reassurance(tm), presence of abnormalities(tm), Good, & everyone Can Deal b/c if you don't then it's pushing this person away, is exactly what happens, including even if they're still Around but are being mistreated b/c that is entirely part of that pushing away like anyone's victim blaming is ready to pounce at any time but if someone can't stand to stay / leaves b/c they can't see another option like that's not out of nowhere nor Regardless of what full support & flexibility they were getting lol. these Active Measures everyone loves so much, which are everywhere always & would include Staying & Trying To Make It Work & those efforts would be "disruptive" & resented & Bringing It On Oneself & etccc smh

that is to all say like. Woww when clearly basically the core thread was these beats of like, the crucial site of [thee scapegoated], & why that comes down on someone & how that plays out. endless ideas about how someone weird(tm) & disabled (&/or queer. but there's no Or here lol. & again like it's a Context like, to even be the one person without kids? likely not living up to "full" correct sexuality in that way alone; any oppression's logics of "inferiority" being logics of ableism, ready examples being that "inferior" race, gender, sexuality (& their experiences as people classed as inferior) all being pathologized as disordered) are seen & treated as someone Ruining Things & who cannot belong like whew. bracing. winding. which, i also recall like i was watching with headphones & during this one dialogue pause i was like "?? what's this Extra Sound i heard there" & had to go over it like twice before being hit upside the head like well it Was still the dialogue pause but it was also bruno Stuttering in a very quiet whisper for the duration of that pause before continuing like iiiiiiii x_x

[greengoblinswifey]

The Offer—Salesman x Fem!Reader

summary— After an encounter with the mysterious and dangerously charming salesman, you find yourself drawn to him and what begins as a simple game quickly escalates when he offers you a deal outside the Squid Game. based on this request.

warnings— sugar baby undertones, praise kink, fingering, oral(f!receiving), body worship, ass slapping, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

The subway station felt like a dull hum in the background as you sat on a hard bench, looking at your phone. The notification from your bank app stared back at you, a harsh reminder of your poor spending choices. Shopping sprees, credit card bills, and an insurmountable amount of student loan debt weighed on you. You sighed, barely noticing the man who had taken a seat next to you until he cleared his throat.

“Rough day?” a deep, smooth voice said.

You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat. The man was striking, his tailored suit fit perfectly, his features sharp and symmetrical, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that sent a spark of unease and intrigue down your spine.

“Uh, yeah, you could say that,” you muttered, looking away as you grew flustered.

He chuckled softly. “Well, I can help,” he said, pulling out a neat red envelope from his briefcase. “How about a game?”

“A game?” You frowned, wary but unable to deny the curiosity bubbling inside you.

He opened the envelope, revealing a stack of blue and red tiles. “Ddakji,” he explained, holding up one of the tiles. “We take turns throwing the tile to flip the other. You win, you get 100,000 won each time. You lose,” his smile widened. “I get to slap you.”

Your stomach churned at the proposal, but the thought of cash was too enticing to ignore. “Whatever,” you said, your voice shaky but firm.

The first few rounds were a blur. He was calm, composed, and terrifyingly skilled. You, on the other hand, had no idea what you were doing, your tile landing uselessly each time.

“Not your game, is it?” he teased after you failed again.

“Nah,” you replied.

He leaned closer, and you smelled his cologne, subtle but intoxicating. Instead of raising his hand to deliver the promised slap, he surprised you by tucking the envelope into your hands.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Take my card instead.”

You blinked, staring at the card he offered. It was embossed with a phone number and a strange symbol. “What’s this?”

“For something bigger than a subway game,” he replied. His hand lingered for a moment on yours as he added, “How about I come over, and we talk a bit more? About the game, the prize, and— possibilities.”

Your heart raced as you nodded.

You led him to your apartment, your nerves heightened by his presence. He seemed so calm and confident, while you felt like a mess. Inside, he leaned against your kitchen counter, his jacket now draped over the back of a chair.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his lips curving into a small smile.

“Not nervous,” you lied, but your trembling hands gave you away.

He chuckled, taking a step closer. “You’re interesting. Most people I approach don’t look at me the way you do.”

“And how’s that?” you asked, swallowing hard.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, his voice sending a shiver through you.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, clutching the card tightly.

“Good,” he murmured. “Keep that curiosity. It might take you further than you think.”

You weren’t sure if it was a warning or what, but you couldn’t deny the way his presence filled the room, leaving you breathless and wanting to know more.

“You’ve got a fire in you. I like that.” His voice softened as he added, “But you don’t need to play any games to fix your problems.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could take care of you,” he said simply. He stepped even closer, the space between you closing to almost nothing. “You wouldn’t have to worry about loans, bills—anything. We could come to an arrangement.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing. “An arrangement?”

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.” He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering near your jaw. “I can take care of you in more ways than one.”

The way he said it sent heat through you. His gaze dipped to your lips again, and you found yourself leaning into his presence without even realizing it. “I’m down for that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. He tilted his head, his face now inches from yours. “Because I think you’ve needed someone to take care of you for a long time.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours, unhurried, testing the waters. The kiss deepened quickly, fueled by what had been building between you since he first approached you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased yours, earning a soft gasp. He took the opportunity to lift you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, his hands warm and steady against your ass.

“You’re something else,” he said against your lips, his breath hot as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and for a moment, the intensity softened into something almost tender.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “This could be the start of something very interesting.”

And boy, you couldn’t help but agree. The kiss reignited, deeper and hotter than before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him on the counter. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of something warm and spicy made your head swim.

“You smell incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. He pressed his nose to the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply as his lips ghosted over your skin. “Too good, really. Makes me wonder if you’re even real.”

Heat spread through your cheeks, but his words lit something inside you. “I think you’re the one who’s too good to be real,” you teased back.

“Flattery, huh? I like that. But don’t think for a second I don’t see through you.” His hand slid up your thigh, his touch warm. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip before pulling back to study your reaction. “No need to lie, sweetheart. I know.”

His hand ventured lower, fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt, and he hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his tone serious, despite the fire burning in his gaze.

Instead of answering, you bucked your hips into his touch instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The corner of his mouth lifted in approval. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.

His fingers worked, finding your dripping pussy and working their magic, skilled and precise. You couldn’t help but arch into him, your head falling back against the cabinet. “Look at me,” he commanded gently, one hand cupping your jaw to bring your gaze back to his. “I want to see those pretty eyes.”

You obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers thrusting inside you intensified, his thumb brushing over your cheek when you whimpered softly. “That’s it,” he said, “You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure rolled through you. His digits curled expertly inside you, thrusting against that spongy spot that made your breath catch and your pussy throb. You thrashed and moaned, feeling practically possessed by pleasure. God, you really did need this. He probably thought you were a desperate slut. His thumb tilted your chin up slightly. “Say it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you managed, your voice shaky. “Yes, I’m—I’m your good girl.”

His grin widened. “That’s my girl.”

Your hand gripped his muscular bicep as he stared down at you, the moment so intimate. Eyes locked on yours, two finger buried inside your pussy and a thumb rubbing your clit, giving you more pleasure your little fingers could ever manage to. Saving money had prevented you from even thinking of buying a vibrator. Soft moans left your lips as he rubbed rough circles on your bundle of nerves, your pussy clenching around nothing before he plunged his fingers back inside you. He thrusted roughly and you couldn’t help but clamp around him.

When the tension inside you reached its peak, he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Cum for me. Right here, right now. I want to see you fucking cum.”

And you did, trembling against him as his fingers pushed you over the edge, your breaths coming out in stuttering gasps. His praises washed over you as he held you steady, his grip comforting.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You stayed like that for a moment, letting the quiet hum of the room wrap around you as you caught your breath.

The heat between you both heightened as his lips trailed down your neck softly. His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer on the counter. He paused, meeting your gaze with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re addictive,” he murmured, voice rich and low. “I want to taste every part of you.”

Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, his hands steady on your thighs. “Can I taste you?” he asked, his tone sincere despite the hunger in his eyes.

You nodded, words escaping you entirely. His smirk deepened as he guided your legs apart, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft. “And all mine.”

His tongue explored every inch of you, licking from your pelvis, then down to your clit. His focus on your clit, slurping and flicking it made your toes curl and your legs clamp around his head. He chuckled deeply, the sound sending vibrations through your body and he pried your legs open, continuing his feast.

“I’ve never seen anyone as stunning as you,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

Each kiss on your clit and touch over your thighs sent sparks through you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans escaping your lips. He looked up, his eyes dark. “I want to hear you,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear how good it feels.”

You moaned loudly, your voice trembling with emotion. “That’s my good girl,” he said. “So beautiful, my perfect girl.”

As he continued to worship you, every lick and word worked together, unraveling you completely. When you finally came, trembling with his mouth on your pussy, he held your gaze, his expression softening as he spoke.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. “Don’t forget that.”

When you came down from your high, he stood, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re everything I need,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.

His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you slightly, settling you more securely on the counter. The warmth of his hard cock pressed against your pussy sent shivers down your spine, but his lips found yours again, slow and tender.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I’ve got you, baby.”

You exhaled shakily as he freed his hard cock moving closer. He dragged the thick, leaking tip along your folds before slowly inching inside your tight pussy. His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hands were steady on your waist, his thrusts careful and slow. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you whispered, and he smiled.

“Good,” he said, his lips capturing yours again, deeper this time. “I’ll take care of you, always.”

The praise flowed from him effortlessly as he began pounding into you. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing kisses along your skin. “So good for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Your hands tangled in his dark hair as you tilted your head back. His pace shifted, repeatedly slamming against the sweet spot inside you and his lips found yours once more. “Cum on my cock,” he said, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve got you. Just cum for me.”

You gripped his bicep, your pussy responding to his words as your juices soaked his cock inside you. He held you steady, his praises unrelenting. “That’s it,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible, such a good girl for me.”

The moment lingered, but you didn’t let it fade completely. Instead, your shaky hands found his, as he helped you off the counter and his lips captured yours again. You guided him toward your bedroom, the two of you stumbling slightly as you moved.

“You’re mine,” he murmured between kisses, his words muffled but filled with conviction. “No one else gets you like this.”

The bedroom door swung open, and he didn’t hesitate, his hands finding your waist again as he backed you toward the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered in awe.

You moved onto your hands and knees, adjusting until your back arched perfectly, drawing a low hum of approval from him.

“There we go,” he said, his hand smoothing over the curve of your spine before resting on your hip. “Just like that, absolutely perfect.”

A sharp, playful slap landed on your ass, making you jolt slightly, and he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased, his hand soothing over the spot. “You look too good like this.”

He held onto your waist as his cock rested against your pussy. “You’ve got such a gorgeous body,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his hands roamed gently over your ass. “You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?”

You felt his gaze on you lingering, as you wiggled onto his cock, “That’s it, bring that ass back just like that for me. You’re so perfect.”

You met his thrusts as he rolled his hips, his cock disappearing inside your pussy. Each time he bottomed out, his cock was covered in your cream.

“Fuck, you’re really enjoying this baby,” he hummed, staring at how wet you got his shaft.

He held you steady, his hands molding to your curves, his cock brushing against your cervix with each thrust, his voice warm as he leaned closer. “You’re incredible,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear. “Every single part of you fucking especially this.” He squeezed your ass gently, his admiration clear.

He placed a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder before wrapping his hand around your neck to bring you closer so you were arching off him. His pace quickened, each thrust deep, as he held you by your neck securely in place. You arched deeper instinctively, your back pressing against his chest, and his breath warmed your ear.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Cum for me.”

Your breaths quickened, and you couldn't help the loud moan that escaped you just as he requested. His grip was firm and his words spilled effortlessly, “That’s my good girl. You’re incredible.”

As everything built to a crescendo, you felt yourself shudder. His hand on your throat tightened slightly, steadying you through the moment. The world around you faded, leaving only his cock moving inside you, anchoring you. You were still squirting as he pounded into you and soon, you felt his sticky cum coat your walls.

When it was over, he pulled you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re breathtaking,” he said softly before retreating, leaving you to catch your breath.

Moments later, he appeared with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with a care that seemed to contradict his character. He set it aside, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that was entirely too charming.

“So,” he said casually, folding his arms, “about those bank account details.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. He grinned, the shine in his eyes unmistakable.

“Relax,” he added with a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush a lock of hair from your face. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

A Week (He Will Take You)

~

Danny moved to Gotham for school, while there he noticed that Gotham's ambient ecto was really murky for lack of a better word.

This didn't really affect him too much besides a mild headache every once in a while but that also just might be stress from all his school work so maybe not.

Anyway

This murky ecto seemed to effect the people who lived there or more importantly the ghosts,

They were visible to the human eye like most ghosts back in Amity but instead of looking very much like a ghost they still looked like humans if a bit off putting.

They all seemed to be continuing their normal lives as if still fully alive, with the people around them none the wiser.

Danny noticed this and began approaching them to figure out what was going on.

Apparently the murky ecto in the city had made it so that they were strong enough to still continue a somewhat normal life but not be able to cross over to the GZ.

In other words they were stuck in Gotham

Danny was the Ghost King so he could easily fix this problem, all he needed to do was give them a bit of pure ecto for around a week to fully stabilize them them then he would just open a portal into the GZ and they could cross over with all their things also transferring into the GZ for their new haunt.

Unfortunately this looked rather worrying to an outsider,

Imagine you're used to your neighbor being very outgoing so you and others see them a lot suddenly this man seems to appear in their life out of nowhere an at exactly one week, your neighbor and all their belongings in their home disappear no trace to be found.

You tell people and they begin saying the same story they knew someone and them a man with black hair and blue eyes appeared in their life, then they and all their things disappear in exactly one week.

Of course the police in Gotham do the bare minimum so they're no help.

But it starts to begin a trend, especially online.

"Oh careful or the blue eyed man will make you disappear in a week"

This of course after time catches the bats attention, Gordon had already given them all the information he had.

"Young adult early twenties, dark hair, blue eyes"

That was it.

The bats look into it and from their point of view Danny is a serial killer.

But they can't find the connection between all of his victims, they range from young children and the elderly from different backgrounds absolutely no connection,

Worrying enough he doesn't just make one person disappear he has taken entire families up to over a dozen, without anyone figuring out how he's doing it or why at all.

The disturbing thing also being that he seems to take everything in their home, leaving it like it has always been empty

Like no one had been living in it.

People have tried to take photos of Danny get some kind of evidence of his existence, but when they try to do it, it either comes out completely corrupted or their devise simply shuts down fully.

Danny of course has no clue what is happening he's just happy that he's able to help so many ghosts, and is trying not to fail his exams.

~

Danny leaving the house he just helped: "That went easier than I expected!"

Neighbor peeking from the window: "Shit it's that guy! "

~

Red Hood marching down into the cave: " The fucker took many from my territory without me even realizing it!"

~

Tim: "I'm pretty sure his kill count is nearing the hundreds and he just started like maybe 4 months ago, this is bad."

Barbara: " I think I got a theory, this matches up with the new school year beginning so maybe their not a Gotham native which narrows down my suspect list."

Bruce: "Hn."

Tim: "Yes thank you B for the insightful commentary"

~

Danny trying not to fall asleep while on his way to class: "Strange I keep seeing shadows following me, oh well must be the stress!"

Bats who are pretty sure Danny is the killer: "Has he done anything suspicious yet?"

~

Just an Idea

[morlock-holmes]

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

[0cta9on]

Moon Rabbit

Length: +12k words

Genre: Smut

Gfriend/Viviz Eunha x Male Reader

(Author's Note: This is like 90% story and 10% smut, but I hope y'all enjoy anyways :> Thank you to @msafterhours for beta, this story wouldn't be alive without you <3 Enjoy!)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Amongst the monotonous drone of the harsh fluorescent lights and the mysterious smell emanating from the bathrooms, it’s hard not to feel a little pessimistic about life. It would be so easy to air out your long list of grievances to anyone that’ll listen, but complaining to the kind of people this place attracts—late night travelers who’d struggle putting two and two together— is always more trouble than it’s worth.

“Welcome to 7/11!” 

The ring of the entrance chime followed by the soft yet enthusiastic voice of your coworker is a constant that you have yet to get used to, even after a whole three weeks of hearing it nonstop. You told Eunha plenty of times before that she doesn’t have to greet the customers, yet she continues to do so anyway, something about “responsibility” and “upholding the company’s image”—as if the company’s image isn’t rotisserie hot dogs and gallon-sized slushies. 

At best, she’ll get a polite nod, at worst, they scoff and act as if a simple gesture is the worst thing that’s ever happened to them. Her greetings might be more suited to the morning crowd, but she insists that she’s not much of a morning person. You don’t exactly care enough to verify her statements, so you’re content with her keeping you company during the night shift.

“Let me know if you need help with anything!” Eunha calls out to the customer as he aimlessly wanders through the aisles. You’ve grown accustomed to the late night visits from these kinds of people, guys in their early 20’s who seem either too drunk and/or faded to respond properly; hopefully, he’ll just quietly pay for his things and leave without any trouble.

“Yo,” he utters, carelessly dropping a single beer can and a box of large condoms onto the counter. You give him a curt nod, trying not to make a face as the violent stench of weed attacks your nostrils. Figures.

“$7.50.”

“Hey bro, do you know if that chick over there has a boyfriend?” He looks over at Eunha as she stocks the shelves, baggy eyes tracing her body through a half-lidded gaze. You simply shrug. Whatever she does outside of work is none of your business.

The man chuckles to himself, grabbing his things off the counter. “Watch this.” He saunters over to her and engages in a conversation that you can’t quite make out. Even as you try to distract yourself with other work, you can’t help but tense up slightly, stealing glances towards your coworker. 

Eunha puts on her signature smile, nodding her head to everything he’s saying. Occasionally she’ll laugh, more so out of politeness than anything. If you would have to describe her with one word, “polite” would probably be enough. Maybe overly so, but hey, who’re you to judge her of all people about small talk?

Then, you notice a small crack in her expression. The corners of her lips drop ever so slightly. Her eyes widen just a smidge. Now he’s walking towards her, backing her up into a corner, like a predator stalking its prey. 

You’ve learned not to stick your nose into other people’s business; even the simple act of lending an ear has cost you time and energy that ultimately led you to getting kicked to the curb the second you’re no longer of use. It’s exhausting. You’d do anything to forget that kind of pain, even if it means your existence is a bit lonelier. And yet, despite your better judgment, you grab a spare broom and begin sweeping towards the problem, stepping in between them right as Eunha’s back hits one of the fridges.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, your eyes never leaving the ground.

“Bro, what the fuck are you—”

“I’m trying to do my job,” you state, jerking your neck to glare at him. The man scoffs in annoyance before stomping towards the exit, grumbling incoherently while he knocks a couple chip bags off the shelves.

“Thanks,” Eunha says, breathing a sigh of relief. “He kept asking for my number and wouldn’t stop after I said ‘no’. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

You shrug, continuing to sweep the rest of the store. In hindsight, there might not have been a need for you to intervene in the first place; Eunha is a grown woman that can probably take care of herself, and what kind of damage could a guy like that do anyways? Yet, despite everything, you still chose to play the hero. What’s done is done.

As you go back to your place by the register, you notice Eunha beaming brighter than ever before despite no one else being around.

______________________________________________________________

Eunha groans, face planting into the counter. “I’m bored.”

“You could deep clean the coffee machine,” you suggest, eliciting an even louder groan from her.

You think about telling her to switch to the afternoon shift, but refrain from it in the end, figuring she probably has her own reasons for wanting to work this late. You chose the night shift out of necessity more than anything. Countless sleepless nights led you to the conclusion that you might as well get some compensation for your suffering.

Eunha’s face suddenly lights up as she goes over to the fridges and grabs two beer cans. “We should drink!” she says.

“Those are for the customers,” you state.

“I’ll pay for them, dummy. Besides, there’s literally nothing else to do. No one has stopped by for hours.”

You stare at her pleading face, slightly impressed by how well she manages to pull off “puppy-dog eyes”. You don’t consider yourself much of a drinker—going down that road only left you with an unbearable sickness that made “taking the edge off” not even worth it—but a hunch in the back of your mind tells you to go for it anyways. Maybe “puppy-dog eyes” actually do work; maybe the boredom’s gotten to you too.

“Woohoo!” she cheers. “Let’s go sit out front! I wanna look at the stars.” Eunha grabs the cans and a large bag of chips from the shelf before running out of the store with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. With a sigh, you follow behind her.

Your breath catches in your throat as the outside chill hits you like a speeding train, sending an unpleasant shiver through your spine that makes you regret even considering this stupid idea. You turn to retreat back to the warmth of the store, but a brief glimpse of Eunha waving you down with such genuine enthusiasm pulls you in, and before you can even think to stop yourself, you’re already grabbing the beer can from her outstretched hand. 

“Isn’t it beautiful tonight?” she comments, gazing up at the stars above. It’s… nice. Better than the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, for sure.

“Yeah,” you utter, taking a swig from your can. You grimace at the bitterness, a reminder of why you stopped in the first place.

“Woah pal, I don’t need to hear your life story,” she quips, chuckling at her own joke. “Isn’t this better than being stuck in that smelly old store all night?”

You shrug. “It’s… alright, I guess.”

She stares at you for a while, studying your expression with a focused squint.

“...What?” you mutter, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her gaze.

“Nothing, sorry.” She shakes her head, her gaze falling to the unopened beer in her hands. A tense moment passes before she finally clicks it open and takes a small sip, wincing as she swallows the bitter liquid. “Um, do you… hate me or something?”

You turn to her in confusion. “Hate” isn’t a word you associate with Eunha. Truly, you don’t think anyone could hate someone like her. Maybe you get a little irked by her inability to set up the shelves properly, but nobody’s perfect, least of all you. In fact, you don’t have any strong feelings about her one way or another. She’s just your coworker. 

Just that. 

Nothing else.

“No, not at all,” you reply.

A small grin forms on Eunha’s lips. “That’s good. I was worried that maybe I did something and that’s why you never talk to me.”

Huh? “I talk to you.”

“Yeah, no, I mean, like, really talking. Not just about work and stuff,” she explains. “We’ve been working together for, like, months and I barely know anything about you!”

“It’s barely been three weeks,” you correct her, earning a dramatic eye roll. “Do you really need to know anything about me to work here?”

Eunha grimaces at your answer. “I guess not, but it would be nice to know if I’m working with a serial killer or not.” She takes another small sip from her can, tension seeping into the frigid air between you two.

“I’m not a serial killer,” you state.

“Well, I wouldn’t know that if you didn’t tell me.”

“I could be lying.”

She turns to you, studying your expression with an intense focus. “Hmm… I don’t think you’re lying.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs. “For starters, aren’t most serial killers supposed to be charming to lure in their victims and stuff? No offense, but you’re the least charming person I’ve ever met.”

“Better than being a serial killer I guess.”

She chuckles to herself, dissolving any lingering tension in the air. “So you have a sense of humor. That’s good to know.”

“I guess I do.”

Eunha lifts her can towards you, flashing you a warm smile that wards away the bitter winds. You watch as the corners of her lips curl at a certain angle, her eyes squinting ever so slightly to make room to smile even wider. How impossibly white and symmetrical her teeth are, as if god or whoever is up there took their time creating her. In hindsight, she’s probably perfect for this job - kind, inviting, instantly putting you at ease with a single glance. A smile seems so natural on her, it feels like the sky would fall if it disappeared from her face for even a moment.

“Hello?” She waves her hand in front of your face. “My arm is getting tired here, are you gonna cheers me or not?”

You shake your head. “Right. Sorry.” You clink your can against hers before bringing it to your lips. The bitter taste of alcohol is nonexistent at this point, replaced by subtle yet present undertones of sweetness. You peek through the top of the can, confirming that it’s still the same old cheap beer it was mere seconds ago. Yet, for now, it’s just a little more bearable.

______________________________________________________________

To put it lightly, this fucking sucks.

The shadows dance and jeer at you from your ceiling as if to celebrate your misfortune. All you can do is watch the show play out as you barely cling to life. An earlier Google search of your symptoms tells you that it’s just “a common cold”, but you’d swear Death itself has a personal vendetta with you, cursing you with rusty lungs and cinder blocks for limbs. Regretfully, you retrieve your phone from your nightstand, sending Eunha a text that you aren’t able to make it to work tonight.

A sudden weight jumping onto your chest causes you to drop your phone onto the floor. Two yellow marbles coldly stare at you through the darkness, silently judging your poor condition.

“Y-Yokai, please… I can’t b-breathe…” With weak hands, you try to gently push your cat off of your chest, but it’s no use. Every time you try to get close, the little beast nips at your fingers. 

This is it. This is how you die. You never believed in the superstition about black cats, but perhaps you should’ve heeded its warning. Maybe this is his way of telling you that he never liked you in the first place, in spite of all you’ve done for him as his caretaker. Years from now, when someone finally notices that you’re missing, they’ll find your corpse with Yokai resting right on top, like he’s gloating about outliving you. You shut your eyes, quickly accepting your fate. On the brightside, maybe you’ll finally get some sleep for once.

A knock on your front door causes him to jump off your chest to inspect the noise. You silently thank the stranger at your front door as your lungs finally fill with air. As far as you’re concerned, they just saved your life.

WIth a blanket wrapped around you, you struggle against your headache and stumble towards the door. The person on the other side makes you wonder if you should add hallucinations to your list of symptoms.

“Hi!” Eunha beams at you, a plastic bag in her hands. “I brought you some stuff to help with your cold!”

“H-huh?” You stand there in shock, a million questions floating through your head. “What about the store?”

She shrugs. “I closed it for a bit. I’m sure the two customers that would’ve shown up tonight will live.”

Never in a million years did you expect anyone, aside from the occasional delivery man, to show up to your doorstep, let alone with the purpose of providing you aid. It’s… nice. You’re probably better off with a good night’s rest, but god knows you’ll never get one.

“Are you gonna invite me in? It’s rude to keep a woman waiting, y’know,” she teases.

“R-right.” You step aside, allowing her into your apartment that hasn’t seen another human soul the entire time you’ve lived in it. As luck would have it, another person arrives on the one day that you’re unable to clean anything. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s alright—Oh!” Yokai leaps from the shadows, stopping just a few feet in front of her to inspect the stranger entering his home. “Hi there! Oh my gosh, you’re so cute!”

Eunha kneels down to his level and offers her hand towards him. Taking the invitation, Yokai approaches her with cautious yet curious steps, his eyes dilated and ready. After a seemingly tense moment, his pupils soften as he presses his small face into her palms, accepting her enthusiastic pets.

“I can’t believe you never told me about your cat!” she playfully berates you. “What’s its name?”

“His name is Yokai,” you answer, collapsing haphazardly onto the couch. “Found him on the street when I first moved here.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “You named your cat after Japanese demons?”

You shrug. “It seemed fitting at the time.”

Eunha chuckles, giving him one last pet before placing the bag on the table. “I brought you some cold meds, green tea, and a can of chicken soup. Is it alright if I use your kitchen to heat up the soup?”

You wave her off. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

She rolls her eyes at you, grabbing the can and walking over to the kitchen in defiance. “If I didn’t want to do this, I would’ve just dropped it off and left.”

With barely any energy left to argue, you resign yourself to resting your head against the armrest, listening to the clanging of metal and the creaking of wood as Eunha searches your cabinets for a pot. Three flickers followed by the gentle poof of the stovetop bring you back to simpler times when your mother would cook meals for you as a kid. That comforting feeling of knowing that everything would end up okay even if the current times are tough. 

A feeling you haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope isn’t something you like to cling onto; you know at this point that hoping for something as supposedly inevitable as sleep is a waste of time. Some nights you’ll get lucky, the stars will align and you’ll fade into bliss as soon as your head hits the pillow, but those nights are so few and far between that they might as well be nothing but coincidences. It was much harder during the earlier days. Countless checkups, thousands of desperate Google searches and Reddit posts, downing melatonin like the next gummy could solve all your problems.

And yet, as the savory scent of chicken soup lingers closer, you can feel your eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Eunha says, nudging you gently. “The soup is gonna get cold if you don’t eat it now.”

“Right.” You sit up, finding yourself mere inches from her bright smile, the steam from the soup wafting in between you two. She brings a spoonful of the warming liquid to your lips, blowing on it first to cool it down.

“Open wide,” she says.

“I can feed myself.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Humor me for a sec. Besides, when’s the next time a pretty girl like me is gonna spoon feed you soup?”

You stifle a chuckle at her shamelessness, reluctantly parting your lips. The saltiness washes over your tastebuds, warming your entire body as the liquid slides down your throat. It’s the same cheap chicken soup you’ve eaten before when money was scarce, yet something about it feels different; like it’s healing your heart, not your stomach. Perhaps your illness is messing with your tastebuds, but whatever the reason, it tastes way better than it normally would.

“See, was that so hard?” Eunha teases. A buzz from her pocket interrupts her from giving you a second spoonful. “Sorry, I need to take this real quick, it’s my boyfriend.”

So she does have a boyfriend. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say, retrieving the bowl from her. She gives you an appreciative grin before walking over to the kitchen and answering the call.

Whatever goes on in Eunha’s personal life is her business, not yours. Yet, you can’t exactly stop your ears from catching onto glimpses of words, attempting to decipher some kind of meaning through the fog. None of it is coherent, but her disappointed sighs and harsh whispers don’t exactly paint a pretty picture—certainly not one you expect from a loving couple.

After a brief moment, Eunha walks back into the living room, her expression noticeably darker than before. The smile that she usually dons is jarringly absent and her eyes are glossy, as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Sorry, um… I have to go,” she mutters, unable to meet your eyes. “I have to pick up my boyfriend, he’s, uh… been drinking again.”

You can’t help but feel worried at her sudden downtrodden look, unfamiliar on her face. “That’s alright. Will you be okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be fine.” She tries to put on a reassuring smile, but the look of dread dripping from her eyes and the lack of soul in her expression only leaves you more anxious than before. “He gets like this sometimes. It’s… nothing, really.”

An unfamiliar feeling grows in the pit of your stomach, an urge to provide some ounce of comfort. But this isn’t your place to intervene; that’s what you keep telling yourself, at least.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow then? Or whenever you feel better.” Eunha quickly gathers her things and heads towards the door, but Yokai jumps in front of her.

“Bye, Yokai. I hope this isn’t the only time I see you,” she says, offering him a few gentle pets. Right before she disappears behind the door, Eunha looks back at you, holding an expression you can’t quite read. The door shuts with an audible click, and the vast emptiness of your apartment envelopes you once again.

Suffice to say, you don’t get much sleep that night.

______________________________________________________________

“So…” Eunha tilts her head to give you a better look. “What do you think?”

You shrug. “It’s… pink.”

Her lips curl into a pout, unsatisfied with your answer. “This is the first time you’ve seen me dye my hair and that’s all you can say?”

It’s another quiet night at the store, somehow quieter than usual. These late night chats with Eunha have become a sort of tradition between you two, a tradition you’ve grown decently fond of these past few weeks. Nowadays, she doesn’t even bother with the alcohol, instead simply asking you if you want to watch the stars with her. The chilly nights are still a bit bothersome, but the company more than makes up for it at this point. 

Conversations mostly consist of listening to her talk about things in her personal life, her school, her friends, and occasionally, her boyfriend. Sometimes she’ll ask questions about your own life. You try your best to answer, but frankly, you don’t consider there to be anything worth noting. She’ll pry a bit, but respects your choice to be quiet about these things. A gesture that you’ve come to appreciate.

“What am I supposed to say?” you ask her.

“Anything,” she says. “Whatever’s on your mind. I just wanna know what your opinion is.”

“But it’s your hair, why should my opinion matter?”

“Maybe it doesn’t, but that doesn’t make me any less curious.” She shifts herself towards you, giving you a good view of her new look. “So, tell me. What do you think?”

A loaded question for sure. You know better than to be too honest about these kinds of things, but you also know that she won’t be satisfied unless you put effort towards a real, honest answer. You lean in to better analyze her features, tracing every single detail of not just her hair but the visage that it crowns.

She’s cute, you think. You know. The bright pink of her hair brings out the porcelain of her skin, giving her the appearance of a doll, well crafted and loved by its creator. Every single feature is perfectly and meticulously placed, down to the spacing of her eyelashes and the angle of her nose. It’s no surprise the amount of stories she has about getting hit on in random places. Maybe if you had a bit more confidence and a bit less sense, you would’ve ended up like one of those stories. But you know better than to indulge those kinds of thoughts, especially one about a coworker.

“It looks… nice,” you utter after a moment of thinking.

Eunha softly chuckles to herself. “I guess that’s about as good of an answer I’m gonna get from you.” She leans back against her palms, releasing a deep breath into the night. “You’re pretty fun to talk to.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. 99% of your conversations consist of her talking while you listen and offer the occasional nod. She might as well be speaking to a brick wall with a conscience.

“I’m serious,” she says, laughing at your expression. “Y’know, a lot of girls like a guy that can listen as well as you do.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Her lips quiver in hesitation before speaking again. “Do you… have a girlfriend?”

You shake your head no.

“Boyfriend? Partner? I don’t judge.”

No again.

“Hmm…” She nods, her mind falling into deep thought. “That’s surprising.”

“Is it?” you argue. “If I remember correctly, you said I was ‘the least charming person you’ve ever met’.”

“That was a joke!” she exclaims. “I’m sure there’s someone out there that thinks you’re charming.”

You shrug, letting your gaze float to the stars in contemplation. You’ve had your fair share of relationships in the past, good and bad. You thought you would spend the rest of your life with the last girl, but as fate would have it, that just wasn’t in the cards for either of you. The days spent lazing in each other’s arms suddenly turned into nights where being in the same room was unbearable, and the minor quirks you once adored became the topic of all your shouting matches that punctuated the end of your relationship.

So now you’re here, working at a convenience store during the ungodly hours of the night and going home to a cat that likely wants you dead.

“That’s a possibility,” you say, not wanting to sound too nihilistic.

“Come on, give yourself some credit.” Eunha pats your shoulder supportively. “I’ve seen how some of the female customers look at you.”

You can’t help but grimace at her words. “They’re not really… my type.”

“Then what is your type?” she asks, eyes wide with intrigue.

Another loaded question, one that you honestly don’t know the answer to. Or perhaps, an answer that you don’t want to materialize, for fear of the can of worms it would open, so you take the easy way out.

“I don’t know. I’m not really interested in dating right now.”

“That’s lame, dating is… Well, it should be fun,” she says. A glimpse of something hides beneath her expression, nigh imperceptible if it wasn’t for that brief glint in her eyes. “I’m going to a club with my friends this weekend for my birthday, you should come! Maybe I can set you up with one of them.”

“No, absolutely not,” you adamantly refuse. A club is the last place you would ever want to go to on a weekend. Bumping against sweaty strangers in a cramped space while bass boosted garbage spews from the speakers isn’t your idea of fun.

“Please, it’s for my birthday!” she begs. “It’ll be fun, I swear!”

“Eunha.”

She clasps her hands together, pouting her lip and flashing you those large puppy eyes. “Please~”

You don’t consider yourself to be spineless or a pushover; the exact opposite, in fact. The less you do for others, the less issues you’ll have going forward.

But it is really, really difficult to say no whenever she gives you that face.

You sigh, averting your gaze to hide the blush creeping against your cheeks. “...What does your friend look like?”

Eunha squeals in delight, fishing her phone from her pocket. “Here.”

She hands you her phone, displaying a photo of a woman around your age. Long, wavy hair cascades perfectly down her shoulders, framing her delicate features, while a dress made of fiery purples and reds clings to her slim frame, giving her an air of class and maturity. A woman that’s, to put it bluntly, way out of your league.

“Her name is Yuju,” Eunha explains. “She’s really into music, and she takes pole dancing classes on the weekends. Pretty hot, eh?” 

“I suppose,” you say. “You think she’ll find me ‘charming’?”

“Ye—Hmm… I guess we’ll find out.”

Not reassuring in the slightest. You’ve gone and doomed yourself to a weekend of brushing backsides with the worst people you can imagine, people who have no regard for personal space or public perception, all for a woman you don’t know.

Well, not a woman you don’t know. It’s for Eunha’s birthday, after all. Her and those damn eyes.

______________________________________________________________

Eunha is good company. You like having her around, even if you’ll never admit that to her. She’s good—decent at her job, and in between the stench of hot dogs and the occasional rude customer, there’s comfort in knowing that there’s someone like her on this godforsaken planet.

You can’t say the same about her friends.

“Hey~!”

“OMG, you’re so tall!”

“Eunha, your friend is so handsome!”

Skip the pleasantries entirely, you’d rather be anywhere but here right now. They don’t even try to hide their early signs of intoxication as they sway to the muffled beats leaking through the walls of the club and onto the streets outside. Eunha, seemingly sensing your discomfort, stays by your side.

“They can be a handful at times, but they’re nice,” Eunha says.

“Eh… What about her?” You discreetly gesture towards one of her friends that’s been sending you death threats through a not-so-subtle glare the second you arrived.

“Oh, that’s SinB. She’s, uh… She’s friendly once you get to know her.” Eunha gives you a small yet reassuring grin, which honestly does little to comfort you. You appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The line creeps ever closer towards the entrance of the club, signified by the trashy music growing louder with each step. Just a peek through the door and you’re already grimacing at the thought of having to spend a single second in this wretched haven of hedonism.

“Which one is Yuju?” you ask, trying to get your mind off of the impending dread building in your stomach.

“She’s running a little late, stuck in traffic.” Eunha smirks at you, waggling her eyebrows. “You excited to meet her in person?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Word of advice, try not to be too much of an emotionless robot in front of her.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the bass blasting from the speakers drowns out anything you try to say. Not like you can even think of a proper argument with how overwhelming everything is. 

As you follow Eunha deeper into the club, you instantly regret not making up some lame excuse at the last minute and bolting. You can barely take two steps without bumping into anyone, a task made more difficult with the lack of proper lighting and the disorienting stench of some unknown substance floating around. The smell emanating from the hot dog machine at work is more favorable to this.

“Here you go, girl!” one of Eunha’s friends exclaims, gesturing towards a seating area sectioned off with velvet rope. On the table sits a light up centerpiece reading “Happy Birthday, Eunha!” surrounded by an abundance of expensive-looking alcohol. Her friend must be loaded because there’s no way Eunha could afford any of this with a convenience store salary. Consequently, your present for her pales in comparison to this kind of extravagance.

“Oh my god!” Eunha squeals, hopping with excitement, “Thank you so much, this is insane!”

The way her face lights up with happiness almost makes coming here worth it. So, you do your best to endure, downing shot after shot with everyone else while trashy music bleeds into your brain. Eunha steals glances at you from the far end of the booth, offering an apologetic look as her rowdier friends bombard you with incoherent words and shot glasses overflowing with poison. You meet each look with a smile and a simple wave, yet it’s becoming an increasingly herculean task to not let the lingering burn of alcohol in your throat manifest itself onto your visage.

A woman with long wavy hair approaches Eunha, and the two pull each other into a giddy embrace, exchanging words and excited giggles. You can’t quite make out their conversation—not like you’re trying to eavesdrop—but with the way Eunha is pointing at you and the vaguely familiar silhouette of the other woman, you’d have to guess that she’s probably Yuju.

“Hello!” she hollers, her voice straining against the distorted thump of the speakers. “Are you Eunha’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

Yuju extends her hand towards you, sporting a polite grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

In any other scenario, maybe you could’ve had a decent conversation with her. Hell, maybe you could’ve even fallen in love with her. You’re not blind; she’s certainly an attractive woman. But in a place like this, where you’re constantly fighting the urge to up and leave, it’s impossible to try and form any kind of connection. And you genuinely try. More for Eunha’s sake than yours, but the attempt is still there.

Halfway through the barely discernible wall of words, you feel a pressure on your thigh. It creeps upwards slowly, inch by inch, stopping just shy of your crotch. Yuju bites her lip at you, her eyes half-lidded and heavy with seduction, leaning in until you can feel the heat from her breath against your ear. Thus far, you’ve been guessing her words and trying to formulate a response based on what you could lip read. But what she whispers into your ear rings true, like the whole world went silent just so you could hear her.

“Let’s cut the bullshit already and get to the fun part. I haven’t had dick in so long, I just need to feel you inside me.”

The rush of adrenaline sparked from her words alone leaves you reeling as you feel yourself being tugged around by this woman you just met, struggling to keep balance in the sea of faceless strangers. The sounds, the sights, the fucking everything about this place melts reality like goo seeping through your fingers, where the only constant is the fire in your windpipe and the sign for the women’s bathroom growing larger with each step.

This kind of spontaneity is probably good for someone like you. These days, you barely make an effort to make friends as it is, the thought of going out and actively trying to date didn’t even cross your mind until recently.  It’s not like the thought of having sex with Yuju doesn’t excite you a little, you are human after all. With all the bleak memories you have from your last relationship, maybe it’s time that you let it go and let something good happen to you for once.

But is this good? You’re about to have sex with a woman you just met, in the bathroom of a club of all places. Exciting, sure, but good? You don’t even have a condom on your person, and judging by her current state, it doesn’t seem like Yuju has one either. All you have is your wallet and Eunha’s gift.

Eunha.

By some act of divine intervention or your own instincts, your eyes snap to the middle of the dance floor. Through the sea of drunken silhouettes, you see Eunha, frozen against the continuous wave of moving bodies. Her smile is gone. There’s a man there, slowly encroaching on her. Maybe they’re just talking. Her friends are around, surely they can protect her if she’s in any danger.

But they’re not there. Most are still at the booth, inhaling bottle after bottle without a second thought, while one pulls you towards the bathroom, too horny to consider the consequences of her own actions. 

The man touches Eunha’s shoulder. She tries to swat him away, but he’s bigger than her. Much bigger. Like a vicious wolf cornering a poor rabbit.

Without another moment of hesitation, you break free from Yuju’s grasp, shoving your way through the crowd with complete disregard for everyone except Eunha. Most people will think you’re the biggest idiot for throwing away an opportunity with a woman like Yuju, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you choose meaningless sex over the safety of your only friend.

You grab the man’s wrist, pulling Eunha behind you. “Get away from her,” you growl.

“Fuck off.” He tries to shove you aside, but you stand firm, refusing to budge in the slightest. You’re probably—no, definitely—a fool for trying to stand up to a guy built like a fridge. The scrawny guy at the store is nothing compared to this giant meathead. But as you feel Eunha cling onto the back of your jacket, her hands trembling in fear, you know that you’ll stand before the wolf time and time again to protect the poor rabbit.

Before things can get even more heated, you grab Eunha and make a dash towards the exit, knocking over a few people in the process. Even so, you don’t stop running until the cool air of the outside bites at your cheeks.

“Shit,” you pant, leaning against the wall of a neighboring building to catch your breath. “Are you ok—”

Eunha wraps her arms around you, pressing her face into your chest. Every breath she takes quivers like the last leaf on a dying tree, desecrated by a furious storm. All you can do is hold her, trying to provide some ounce of comfort as she sobs in your arms.

The world is cruel to you, a fact you came to terms with long ago. It’s stolen many of the things you held dear, leaving you to cling to the pieces left behind and try to rebuild your life out of nothing. You built walls, avoided people entirely, did everything you could do so you never have to feel that kind of pain again. And after all that, you’re left to simply exist. Survive. Not ‘live’ in the way people somehow wake up with the sun and breathe in the dawn of a new day with hope in their hearts. Just be.

And then Eunha came into your life, walking into the doors of the convenience store with her bubbly smile and boundless energy. All the time you’ve worked alongside her, listening to her greet every single customer with such enthusiasm, enduring her brutally honest criticisms of your personality, succumbing to her demands every time she flashes those damn eyes at you, she’s made you look at life differently, whether you liked it or not. She didn’t even have to chip away at your walls at all—you tore them down yourself and built a grand entrance into your soul just for her. Because you wanted to. Because you like the way she smiles like nothing bad could ever happen, you like how she manages to find the good in everything and everyone, and you like that she still wants to talk to you despite your brick wall of a personality.

To see her like this, breaking down in your arms, on her birthday of all days, is nothing short of soul crushing.

“Thank you for that,” Eunha murmurs, her voice tiny and fragile. “Um, can we go?”

“Sure,” you reply in a calming tone. “Where to?”

“Anywhere but here.”

The two of you wander the streets in silence, nothing but the muffled hum of faraway chatter and the occasional car passing by to keep you company. She stays deathly quiet, a state you’ve never seen her in. With everything that just happened, you don’t blame her, but you can’t help but feel chills at her solemn expression. It’s like the sun’s gone dark, leaving the whole world in a forever winter.

You pass by a 7/11, not thinking much of it, but Eunha stops underneath its glowing sign. “...You wanna drink?” she asks, giving you a small yet hopeful smile.

Alcohol is probably the last thing either of you need at the moment, yet you find yourself nodding anyway. It’s hard saying no to that face.

______________________________________________________________

Time ticks by at a pace more glacial than the frigid winds buffeting you as Eunha chugs down her second can of cheap beer, crumpling it in her hands as if to release all her pent up emotions inside. On a normal day, you would’ve found it a little funny, maybe even cute, to think that the living embodiment of a summer day has inner turmoil that she can only externalize through the crushing of an aluminum can. But on tonight of all nights, the shrill crunch becomes a harsh reminder that life’s cruelty shows no mercy.

“Are you okay?” you utter, unable to move your gaze from the ground. Of course it’s a stupid question—who would be okay after almost getting assaulted?—but, it’s a start, if anything.

“Um… I don’t know.” Her despondent voice is punctuated by the metallic crash of aluminum against concrete. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“I have time.”

Eunha inhales deeply, letting the chilling winds of the night fill her lungs, before breathing it back out into the elements. “No. I’m not okay, and I haven’t been for a long time. I know, it sounds a bit dramatic, but it’s just…” she sighs, “It’s just how I feel.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic at all,” you reassure her, earning an appreciative grin in response.

“Um… God, I really don’t know where to start with this,” she says, her face falling into her hands. “School has been kicking my ass lately, which isn’t that big of an issue in the shitstorm that is my life, but it’s there. Last week, one of my professors chewed me out for accidentally submitting the wrong file for an assignment, so I spent the entire day just crying in bed.” A small laugh leaves her nose at the fact, void of any humor.

“And then my friends. They’re great and I love them with all my heart, but they can be such a handful.” With each word, she sinks deeper and deeper into herself as the burden she’s been silently carrying threatens to end her. “Sowon—the tall one that paid for the table—she has a reputation for sleeping around campus, which is fine, I’m not gonna tell her what she can and can’t do with her own body. But her life is filled with so much drama, and I end up having to play therapist for her, and it just gets so exhausting.”

You nod in understanding, keeping silent as she spills out her grievances. It’s not a pleasant sight, but pain rarely is. This image that she’s built up for herself as this happy-go-lucky fairy of a person, the image that you’ve consumed without question because doing otherwise would be like the sky falling around you, tears itself down to reveal the ugly truth underneath: That she’s human. And all humans suffer, even the ones that you wish didn’t.

“You remember the night I came into work with my hair dyed?” she asks after a long pause, her gaze fixated on the crumpled can below. “I broke up with my boyfriend that morning. I just… couldn’t handle all the hurt and neglect anymore, so I left.”

The revelation comes as a shock to you, even if all the signs were there in hindsight. “I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer, nervously fidgeting with the tiny box in your pocket.

“Y’know, he always hated when I dyed my hair. Said I looked like a slut whenever I did it.” The word sounds so crass against her gentle voice, like a grisly wound on unblemished skin. You feel an unfamiliar anger boiling inside of you at the notion that someone would even think to hurt her.

“And with how things turned out tonight, maybe he was right—”

“Hey,” you lightly interject. “I don’t think you look like… that at all.”

Her dejection cracks a little, giving way to a small smile accompanied by the faint hum of a chuckle. “Thanks. Maybe if that other guy thought the same as you, I wouldn’t feel like this.”

With a deep breath, you retrieve the small box from your pocket and hand it to her. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Eunha takes the box from your hand, her brow raised in curiosity.

“Your birthday present. It’s not much, but… yeah. It’s not much.”

Tentatively, she opens it up, revealing a necklace with a rabbit pendant hanging from it. Her face lights up, and for a moment, you forget that she was ever sad in the first place. A newfound sense of determination wells within you, and something that you’ve kept hidden deep inside finally comes to light: you would do anything to protect that smile.

“This is so cute, I love it!” she remarks, fiddling with the chain as she tries and fails to put it on. “Uh, a little help?”

“Sure.” You take the necklace from her, and as she pulls up her hair to reveal the delicate skin of her neck, your hands begin to tremor nervously, making it nearly impossible to secure the necklace.

“Is everything alright back there?” she teases. “I can feel you shaking.”

“Y-yeah, no, it’s fine.” The stutter in your voice dashes any attempts at trying to sound natural. It’s a simple act, putting a necklace around your friend, but something about it feels so intimate, like the first hint of warmth after a long and arduous storm. Once you finally secure the clasp in place, a breath you didn’t know you were holding empties from your lungs.

“Thanks,” she says, admiring the rabbit pendant. “Thanks for everything, really.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“But you did something,” she reasons, her voice lilting with an air of melancholy, “You did a lot more than anyone else ever did for me.”

Eunha’s eyes wander upwards to the stars, the same ones you’ve spent nearly every night under, listening to her talk about everything and nothing all at once. Tiny blips of light a billion miles away, the only witnesses to your midnight conversations about the mundanities of life. To them, your little exchange of words seems small and meaningless, but to you, these talks with her mean everything.

“I’ll make sure to pay you back one day,” Eunha utters.

There’s no need. Your existence is more than enough.

______________________________________________________________

In a past life, you used to curse how consistently time seems to move without regard for anything else. After one of the worst nights of your life, how dare the sun have the audacity to rise up in the morning like your whole world hasn’t just collapsed? The lights peaking through your blinds felt like a big “fuck you” from the world. Everyone struggles, get over yourself, you lazy prick. Before you realized it, the negativity took up every corner of your mind, constant noise rattling around your head every second of your existence, bleeding into the nights that seemed endless as you could do nothing but stare at the ceiling.

But nowadays, those thoughts seem so long ago, like a vague memory. Maybe it hasn’t gotten easier to sleep, but it’s quieter now. Peaceful, even. It barely even occurred to you how much time has passed since then until a certain coworker of yours decides to remind you.

“Happy birthday!” Eunha pops up from behind the counter, donning a dingy party hat and holding a cupcake with a single lit candle embedded in it.

“H-huh? W-what—”

“Make a wish!” She pushes the cupcake in your face, a potential fire hazard if your hair was just an inch longer. Confused by the sudden onslaught, all you can do is stand there like an idiot, eyes tracing over the silly hat adorning her rosy head. It’s cute though.

“It’s your birthday, right?” Eunha pouts, reading your confused expression. “Or did the calendar lie to me?”

You pause for a moment, running the numbers in your head as you try to remember how much time has passed. “Right,” you utter, not quite meeting her eyes. “Yeah, it’s my birthday.” Without another word, you grab a broom and begin sweeping as a couple approaches the store, hoping their impending presence will get your mind off the topic. With how life has been going these past few years, it’s getting harder and harder to find a reason to celebrate.

Was. 

The gentle chime of the entrance rings throughout the store, yet Eunha’s cheerful greeting that usually follows is hauntingly absent, you nearly greet the customers yourself just to fill the unusual silence. Before you can check to see if she’s alright, you’re interrupted by a male voice.

“Hey, you know where the beers are?” the guy asks. You silently gesture towards the fridges, taking the opportunity to eye the couple. The girl seems generally unremarkable, not unlike the usual customer at this hour, but something about the guy feels oddly familiar, despite his face not matching anyone in your recent memory. Something about the way he drapes his arm carelessly over the girl like she’s an accessory rather than a person, or the way he doesn’t even bother to look through the tiny store for more than two seconds before asking for the answer just pisses you off. 

“Thanks, pal,” he says, clapping your shoulder in a way that feels anything but friendly as he passes by. Out of all the expletives, middle fingers, and death threats that have been thrown your way by people far worse than this guy, none of them have managed to strike such an anger-inducing chord with you as that simple pat on your shoulder. But why?

You look over at the counter to check on Eunha, only to find a lone cupcake and a party hat peeking out from behind it. “Are you alright?” you ask, brows furrowed as you peer over the counter at her. All you receive in response is a panicked look and a harsh “Shhh!”.

“Hey pal, can you ring me— Eunha?” The two of them lock eyes in some weird staring contest, while you and his girlfriend or whoever she is are left completely out of the loop. You glance back and forth between them, trying to gain some semblance of understanding in their eyes for what feels like an eternity, until it finally clicks in your head.

The hint of familiarity despite never meeting him and the abundance of bad vibes he exudes all make sense — he’s Eunha’s ex-boyfriend.

You hastily scan his pack of beers and his box of condoms. “$20.55.”

“Why don’t you go wait outside for me, babe?” you hear him whisper to his new girl, unashamedly staring at her backside as she saunters out of the store. Eunha sighs, standing up from her hiding spot and leaving the party hat to dangle sadly in between her fingertips.

“So,” he continues, not even sparing you a single glance, “You’re still working in this shit hole?”

“Yup,” she replies, gaze glued to the floor. “Gotta pay rent somehow.”

He scoffs. “If you just come back to me—”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck?” You freeze at her sudden outburst, not used to this side of her. “Are you seriously asking me to come crawling back to you after everything you fucking did!?”

“Look, babe—”

“Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me, you asshole!” Her breath starts to get heavier as tears well up in her eyes and her fingers turn white around the dainty string of the party hat. “And don’t you have a new girlfriend anyway!? What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“What, you mean her?” His head flings back in a guttural laugh at the insinuation that he would find himself in a committed relationship with his “new girl”. Hell, if things weren’t so tense, you would be laughing at that idea too. “She’s just who I’m banging for tonight since you fucking left!”

“For fuck’s sake,” she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just pay for your shit and leave. Please.”

He scoffs. “Quit being a fucking bitch and—”

“If you leave now, I’ll let you have everything for free,” you interject, each breath heavy and quivering with anger. For the first time since this whole altercation, he acknowledges your presence and simply scoffs, eyeing the two of you back and forth. With a smirk, he grabs his things off the counter and backs away, chuckling to himself like there’s some kind of inside joke that neither you nor Eunha are a part of. As the door chime rings to signal his exit, you hear the huff of a harsh syllable underneath his breath that turns the next few moments into a vague blur.

“Slut.”

You’ve never considered yourself to be particularly athletic—average at best, but still decent enough to not be picked last during childhood games. Yet, as you grab the cupcake from the counter and haphazardly chuck it through the air, you swear that Shohei Ohtani himself would’ve been impressed at the accuracy of your pitch as it arcs perfectly and splatters against the back of that asshole’s head. You freeze in disbelief of your own actions, barely registering the pink frosting-covered look of rage stomping towards you.

Eunha pulls you out of the doorway and quickly locks the door before pulling you into the break room, away from the view of the windows. Banging glass and muffled expletives are soon replaced by the monotonous whir of the fluorescents as she shuts the door behind her.

“Oh my god, are you insane?!” Eunha exclaims, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“I-I, uh… I don’t know. Probably.” A breathy chuckle escapes your lips. And then another one. Soon, you’re keeling over the floor in laughter, replaying the impact of the cupcake over and over in your head.

A second chorus of laughter mixes with yours in a symphony of hysterics as Eunha joins you on the floor. Your head starts to ache and your stomach grows sore, but the first bout of genuine joy you feel after years of nothing but cold isolation overpowers any kind of pain. 

Being here, in this moment with her, is the best birthday gift you’ve ever received.

______________________________________________________________

Even after the clock passes midnight and your birthday officially ends, Eunha still insists on doing something to celebrate. That sweet piece of payback against her ex was more than enough for you, but as always, it’s hard to say no when her eyes light up with so much excitement.

You wait in the solitude of your living room, with nothing but Yokai to pass the time. He purrs contently on your lap, being oddly well-behaved for once. Maybe he knows Eunha is coming and is in a better mood than usual. Are black cats telepathic?

As if on cue, he jumps off your lap and scurries towards the front door, a millisecond before a barrage of knocks and a muffled “Ayo!” sound off from the other side. It doesn’t take a genius to know who the owner of that voice is.

“Surprise!” Eunha exclaims, balancing a store-bought cake and a champagne bottle in her arms. 

“I’m not sure if it counts as a surprise if I know that you’re coming,” you joke, taking the contents from her arms.

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say, birthday boy.” Yokai impatiently nuzzles his head against Eunha’s leg, practically begging for her attention. “Well, hello again, cutie! Did you miss me?”

He purrs in response to getting showered by Eunha’s affection. You place the cake on the dining table and peer curiously at the champagne bottle, only to find the words “Sparkling Apple Cider” written in fancy gold lettering.

“Apple Cider?” you question.

“Yeah,” Eunha responds. “Did you want actual champagne or…?”

“No no, this is great.” You flash her a reassuring grin, which she returns in kind, punctuated by the cute swell of her cheeks.

“Phew, I’m glad. I thought I read you wrong for a second.” She plops comfortably onto your couch like she’s been to your apartment a thousand times before, Yokai swiftly taking his place onto her lap. “So, what do you usually do for your birthday?”

“Nothing, really,” you sheepishly admit. “If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have remembered it was today.”

“Whaaat? That’s no fun.”

“Yeah, well…”

You trail off as the ghosts of your past come back to haunt you. Each year, the faces around the table seemed to become fewer and fewer until it was just you and the cat. Eventually, you just stopped bothering with it. It’s just another day, indiscernible from every other one. Sure, you could go on about why no one bothered to contact you, but It’s not like you’re completely blameless—why didn’t you reach out? Every night spent with your eyes forcibly pried open, you basically had all the time in the world to one, single message to anyone. And yet, you didn’t.

It’s your fault alone that things ended up this way.

You feel a soft pair of hands suddenly wrap around yours, forcibly pulling you out of the black hole in your mind that threatened to envelop you.

“Why don’t we make this one extra special then?” Without waiting for you to answer, Eunha pulls you towards the kitchen and pushes you down into a chair.

“What are you doing?” you ask, confused yet charmed by her usual antics.

“Just wait a sec,” she says, rummaging through your cupboards like a mouse looking for cheese. You watch in amused silence as she searches through every nook and cranny for… whatever it is that she needs. You can’t quite wrap your head around why she’s going through all of this effort, in the dead of night, for you of all people. You’re just her coworker in a dingy little convenience store.

Although, it’s hard not to feel insanely lucky when she turns to you with that impossibly bright smile that only you get the luxury of seeing.

“Okay, here we go!” Eunha exclaims, taking the plastic lid off of the cake and fiddling with a single match.

You tilt your head curiously. “Is that a—”

“I forgot to get candles and this is all that you have, alright?” she playfully snaps at you. Finally, once the match is lit, she places it gingerly in the center of the cake. “Make a wish, birthday boy!”

As you gaze into the small, singular flame before you, it dawns on you that you have no idea what to wish for. Money? A bigger house? The ability to have a good night’s sleep? Blowing out a silly little candle isn’t going to magically change your life overnight, no matter what the occasion is.

But as you look past the flame, you see Eunha gleaming back at you, waiting with bated breath for you to make that wish. The passion, the excitement, the hope swirling around in just her eyes alone sends a wave of warmth throughout your body that seeps deep into the fibers of your bones. A wish finally forms inside of your head.

You blow out the match, extinguishing the flame and letting your wish float into the air along with the smoke.

“Woohoo!” Eunha cheers. “What did you wish for?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you suddenly feel sheepish under her gaze. “I-I, uh—”

“Wait, don’t tell me!” she frantically interjects. “I forgot, if you say your wish out loud, it won’t come true!”

A chuckle brushes past your lips. If there’s even a tiny chance that what she said is true, then you’ll gladly take a vow of silence just to keep your wish close to your heart.

Eunha cuts two generous slices of cakes for the both of you while you pour the sparkling cider into mismatched mugs - the only drinkware you have that even comes remotely close to fitting the occasion. Your apartment becomes enveloped in a comfortable silence, save for Yokai’s content purring on the couch and an occasional “Mmm” from Eunha in-between mouthfuls.

As you peer to the side, you notice a small glob of frosting on the corner of her lips. “You have a little something here,” you chuckle, gesturing to the area. She tries to wipe it off, but somehow completely misses the mark.

“No, it’s still there,” you say, unable to hold back a smirk at her failed attempt. Without thinking, you reach out and gently wipe the frosting from the corner of her mouth with your thumb. The soft warmth of her cheek sends a jolt through your body, and only then do you realize just how close you are. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. For a moment, time seems to stand still as you gaze into the deep obsidian of her irises, your thumb still lingering on her lips.

Eunha’s cheeks flush a rosy pink that mimics her hair, and you quickly retract your hand, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Um, got it,” you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

“Thanks,” she says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The air between you feels charged, as if closing the distance even a little bit would shock you. You steal a glance at her and find her doing the same, quickly turning away after a mere whisper of eye contact. For that split second, you notice her eyes shimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite place. The silence stretches on, growing heavier with unspoken words.

Eunha breaks the tension first with a soft chuckle. “So, uh, how was your birthday? Sorry I couldn’t do much more than this.”

“N-no, it’s fine. I thought it was great, actually,” you admit, a small grin tugging at your lips.

“Yeah?” she says, beaming at you. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

She stands up and begins to gather her things. “I should probably head home now. It’s getting—well, I guess it’s already late.”

A pang of disappointment hits your chest. “Right.”

Each step feels like you’re wearing cinder blocks as you walk her to the front door. Yokai perks up from his spot at the couch, mimicking your own feelings of panic as Eunha nears the exit. Why are you acting like this? You’ll see her at work tomorrow. Despite your attempts at rationalizing, the growing urge to stop her is becoming harder and harder to ignore.

As she takes a step outside of your apartment, she turns to you. For a moment, she simply gazes into your eyes. You can’t quite read them—it’s hard when you’re too distracted by how unbelievably pretty they are—but it feels like she’s waiting. Waiting for you to say something, maybe? With the thumping of your heart growing louder in your ears, the ability to focus suddenly becomes an uphill battle.

“I, uh, I had fun tonight.”

You take a breath. “Y-yeah, me too.”

“I guess I’ll see you at work then?” Her voice lilts up, as if she’s asking a question. A loaded question, even. An answer sits on the tip of your tongue, desperately waiting to be heard by her ears. Just a couple words, and yet it feels like overlooking a cliff with no end in sight. A free fall into new, terrifying territory.

But, as you’ve learned time and time again, it’s hard saying no to that face.

“A-actually,” you begin, your voice almost getting caught in your throat, “it’s late and it might be unsafe tonight, so… I was wondering… do you want to stay the night?”

If you had more than just pure adrenaline pushing you forward, you could’ve probably used a better choice of words. Something smoother and less uncertain. Something more charming, as Eunha would put it. But all of these thoughts sink to the back of your mind when you’re suddenly attacked by the softest lips you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Like muscle memory, your hands wrap around Eunha’s delicate waist, gently pushing her into the door until it shuts with an audible click. 

All the second guessing, the worrying, the negativity, everything is completely thrown out the window as you sink into her lips. You let yourself get lost in her touch, pulling her close to you like she’s your matching puzzle piece. In the midst of needy touching and sharp breaths, a wave of calmness washes over you. Like all of this is meant to be.

“W-wait…” Eunha gently pushes you off of her, worry filling her expression.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Do you not want thi—”

“I do want this. I want you, more than you could ever imagine, but I just…” she sighs, her grip on your shoulders weakening slightly. “I really like working at the store and talking to you every night and feeling like my life isn’t a constant trainwreck. I need that consistency in my life. If we do this, no matter what happens tonight, I need you to promise me that nothing will change between us.”

She looks up at you with desperate, pleading eyes. You know, probably more than anyone, just how much pain she holds inside, invisible to the outside world. The two of you are alike in that way. The only difference is that she kept on trying to live despite her scars, while you stopped trying because of them.

“I’m not a perfect person by any means,” you start softly, gently caressing her cheek. “Before I met you, I felt like I was barely even human. I was just a body without a soul, wandering aimlessly. But then, I met you and everything changed.”

Eunha sinks her face into your hand, peering at you with those damn eyes. You’ve seen them light up like fireworks during her highest highs and pour like a perilous storm during her lowest lows, but you’ve never once seen them completely empty, void of any emotion. For once, you feel hope that things can get better, and she is the living, breathing reason why.

“Whenever I’m with you, nights don’t feel as cold and the stars seem to shine brighter than I thought was possible,” you continue. “Breathing becomes easier and I laugh harder than I ever have before. Life doesn’t just become bearable—it becomes enjoyable. And that’s all because of you.”

As your words linger in the gap between lips, you feel the haze that clouded your mind for so long finally lift, making way for light to shine through. A pure, warming light with pink hair and porcelain skin and cheeks like puffed up marshmallows.

“I take back everything I said before,” Eunha says with a smirk. “That was the most charming thing I’ve ever heard.”

Before you even have time to roll your eyes, she’s kissing you again with a newfound passion. You’re quick to follow her lead, running your hands over the curves she’s been hiding underneath her work uniform and taking mental notes of the spots that produce a cute moan. Each sensation feels like a spark of lightning being shot through your veins, driving your every movement. You want—no, need to please this woman, show her exactly just how much she means to you.

With all the adrenaline in your system, you end up pinning Eunha against the front door with an audible thud. “Someone’s eager to get things going,” she teases, short-breathed and rosy-cheeked.

“How can I not be when you’re so—”

“MRRAAOOOUWWWW!!!” Yokai cries out, his yellow eyes full of judgement as he looks at your crude display of affection from the couch. Attention whore.

Eunha chuckles. “Maybe we should—”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” 

You take her hand and practically drag her to the privacy of your bedroom, her excited giggles trailing behind you. As soon as the door shuts behind you, Eunha is already laying on your bed, resting comfortably as if it were her own.

“Got room for one more?” you quip.

“If it’s you, definitely.”

With an easy smile, you make your way towards her, fingers grazing up her thighs to her toned stomach and around the sensuous curve of her bosom before resting right next to her head. The moonlight peaking through the window illuminates her eyes, allowing you to see the passion and the neediness aimed directly at you.

“You’re so beautif—mmf!“

Eunha suddenly claps her hand over your mouth. “Listen, you’re very cute, but I desperately need you to take my clothes off. Now please.”

You waste no more time, diving into the crook of her neck and producing a yelp from her throat as you pepper it with kisses. Excitedly, your hands slip under her shirt to massage her full breasts. You’d be lying if you said you never imagined it would be like to cup her breasts, but actually getting to feel them in your hand is a different sensation entirely. So soft yet so firm, and perfectly bouncy. By the noises she’s making, it’s safe to assume that she’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

Eunha reaches down and strokes the outline of your cock through your jeans, her movements fueled by a primal lust. “Oh my god, I can already tell you’re so much bigger than my ex. Please, I need you inside me right fucking now,” she begs, already fidgeting with your belt.

You chuckle, not used to her lovely voice spewing out such heinous demands. Whatever the princess wants, she’ll get.

Loose clothing begins to decorate your room while a symphony of pleasurable cries and wrinkling fabric accompanies the scene. Moonlight casts shadows on your walls, depicting the beautiful act of debauchery taking place. This room, which only harbors memories of dreadfully sleepless nights, becomes a haven for you and Eunha to begin something new and wonderful.

“Can’t believe I almost let Yuju have all of this for herself,” she giggles, eyeing your length as it nears her dripping sweetness. 

You lean down to briefly take her lips in yours, running your hands over her now unclothed body, bare in all its glory. “I don’t wanna think about any woman other than you right now,” you say in a low, growly tone.

“Mmm, good answer.” Eunha abruptly wraps her legs around your waist. “Now fuck me, birthday boy.”

Your cock drags against her folds, lubricating it with her juices. You feel her shiver underneath you as you lightly graze against her clit. She’s so beautiful. Completely exposed and vulnerable, all for you. With a single movement of your hips, you enter her honeypot, the two of you sharing a moan as the tip slides in. 

“Shit,” you groan, drawing in a heavy breath, “We forgot a condom—”

“We work at a convenience store, we can just get a Plan B tomorrow!!” Eunha snaps before donning an apologetic look. “Sorry, I just mean—”

You interrupt her with a peck on the lips, smirking at her. “I know what you meant. I’ll shut up now.”

Pure instinct takes over as you begin to buck your hips into her, years of pent up energy and the desire to make her feel loved fueling each thrust. The crescendo of her voice every time your bodies meet is a tune like no other, and you do everything in your power just to hear that noise again and again and again and again. Sink your fingers into the meaty flesh of her thighs, lap at her perky tits, pin her arms over her head so her only choice is to succumb to the overwhelming sensation of lust.

“Perfect” doesn’t even begin to properly describe Eunha. From her bubblegum optimism that managed to melt your cold heart to the velvety tightness of her pussy as she takes you in so fucking well, there aren’t enough words in existence to explain just how much she means to you. So instead, you do your best to deliver the message through every movement. The fire in your pelvis as you fuck her heat, the soreness of your tongue as you worship every inch of her body, everything you do is testament into making sure she knows just how much you mean to her.

Love her in a way that her ex could never do.

Love her until all the pain and suffering she went through is forgotten.

Love her the way you’ve been unknowingly aching for her since the moment you laid eyes on her. Repay her for all that she’s done just by existing.

“K-keep going! Just like that!” she groans, the grip of her pussy tightening with each second. You do as she says, fucking her at the pace that she likes and hitting every spot that produces that oh-so-pretty noise from her lips. With how amazing she feels, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the building feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Eunha…”

She grabs your face, forcing you to look at hers. “Inside me, baby. Please. I need to feel you. I want to feel you.” She peers at you with those eyes, glimmering with the light of a full moon, and pleads for you to stay inside her. How silly. Why would you beg when I would give you the whole world at the drop of a hat?

In one final thrust, you climax in her arms, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through you. Eunha shoves her face into the crook of your neck, a guttural moan escaping her lips as she experiences her own orgasm. Months of working alongside her and getting to know her, culminating into a beautiful moment of release for the both of you—and this is only the beginning.

“H-holy… shit…” Eunha pants, tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. “That was… better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Are you saying you’ve imagined this before?” you tease.

“What, you think I’m gonna work with someone that’s as sweet and as awkwardly-cute as you and not occasionally think about fucking him?” she retorts with a smirk. 

The both of you share a laugh in each other’s arms, bathed in the moonlight and sweat of passion. Before long, the exhaustion of today’s events gets to the both of you, and you feel your eyes grow heavier and heavier—a sensation you haven’t felt in a long time. A final kiss marks the beginning of many more nights to come. Nights where the shadows are still and the morning becomes a moment to look forward to.

[obxanon]

Addressing the OBX drama and the speculations:

Was JJ’s Death planned?

No, Rudy asked to leave the show. It wasn’t something the writers planned. He didn’t want to renew, the writers were rightfully upset and then decided to kill JJ off.

Did the writers/producers create an uncomfortable set?

No, they didn’t. This post is not true. The brothers were never inappropriate.

Was Madison a bully on set?

I’ve seen a post going around of someone saying Madison was a bully, controlling the set, and bluntly treating Rudy and crew members like crap. That is NOT true. 

Was Rudy’s decision sudden?

Yes and No. No as in he let the Pates know ahead of time he didn’t want to continue (some time during the strike, so they had time to change what was already written). Yes, as in they were shocked by it.

Was there on set drama between Rudy and the Pates?

Yes, there was many disagreements/personal problems during s4. Yes, Elaine was involved and so was Lilah Pate. They are civil now.

Why did every ship but Jiara get a still?

The jiara still does exist but idk why it was not released. My source doesn’t know either and I don’t want to spread something not true. Rudy and Madison took pictures just like everybody else did.

Why did the cast chemistry seem off in part 2?

They shot episodes 1-5 first, THEN 10, then 6-9. The cast didn’t know rudy asked to leave until they received the script for episode 10. You can tell there was a drastic change between JJ and Kiara in part 2 because after the cast found out, Madison was upset with Rudy and his decision, so she didn’t put in as much effort into the scenes with him. She was upset because she knew that would mean the near end of obx and her character… in a way.

Was there alternate endings?

Yes, but that was only because they wanted to see if rudy would change his mind. There was even scenes where a funeral was shot (obviously they didn’t air it so I’m assuming they’re saving it for s5). From March-June of 2024, they spent the entire time doing reshoots of some scenes. That is why some things don’t make sense.

Did Rudy and Madison talk on set?

Yes, but not closely or anything. They’re not friends, they just did the scenes they had to do and that was it. All those people saying they’re hiding their friendship from the cameras or whatever… that is not true sorry. The pates can’t force them to act like best friends as long as they were doing their scenes.

Why did Jiara have “less” than everybody else?

It’s true that Jiara scenes were toned down. Part of it was Rudy asking for it. Madison didn’t care as much. Another part was just Rudy and Madison not doing more than what the script asked.

Was Elaine uncomfortable with Jiara scenes?

Yes, and she has been since s2. It got worse during s3 and obviously s4. That was part of the conflict.

What is the Rudy and Madison Drama?

Obviously what happened between them is private. It wasn’t the fans. The fans were more so the catalyst to something that had been brewing. 

It is true that the girlfriends are involved and that they weren’t happy. Madison hurt Rudy, but not by being a bully. It was emotionally. The feeling was then returned on his end and it just got worse from there. It didn’t help when the girlfriends and fans were involved. It is true that it’s not a coincidence this happened when they both got involved with relationships. Most of you have speculated correctly, that is all I will say. I think you know by now what I’m trying to say.

Also when I say fans, I don’t mean the “shipping.” They never cared about that. What I do mean is that all this drama happened when Jiara fans were at their peak. Them wanting to see those characters together put Rudy and Madison in a problematic situation because they knew they couldn’t avoid each other on screen. Instead they just did so off screen.

Should the Writers/ Directors/ Producers stepped in?

Yes, but what I need you guys to understand is that these writers were basically father figures to those actors. They watched them grow their careers, supported them, made them who they are now. It’s hard when you spent so much time with each other and became a genuine family. Even their conflict with Elaine was hard because Jonas knew her family, his wife treated her like a daughter, and lilah treated her like a sister. They had every right to be bitter because from their POV, it’s basically like “hey I trusted you to bring my project to life and now I’m being forced to go in a direction I never wanted to go in.”

What’s going on behind the scenes right now?

A mess. They knew it would be bad but infact it is worse and they know that.

Am I reliable?

Honestly I don’t care if you believe me or not. You didn’t before and I got attacked (literal death threats in my inbox). I’m just a messenger. I’ve given you info before and clearly I didn’t lie about it. It’s up to you to decide.

[mariasont]

Sundress Season - S.R

a/n: spent all friday & saturday writing so sorry 4 dumping so many works 2night lololol

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer decides to come help you out with some research and gets a little more than he bargained for

warnings: fluff, thigh kink if you SQUINT LIKE SQUINT

wc: 0.9k

You crossed one leg over the other, your nails drumming against the table, while your eyes bored holes into the book that lay open in your lap. You loved reading, more than most people, but when it was something you were interested in, not when the pages were smeared with the arcane symbols of mathematical algorithms that you could not seem to comprehend. It was giving you a migraine. 

At the call of your name, your head lifted abruptly, a welcome excuse the cast aside the loathsome book, expecting your coffee to be awaiting you at the counter. You weren't, however, expecting to see Spencer standing there. Your brows knitted together in a moment of confusion before you face relaxed into a warm, welcoming smile.

"Spence? Hey, what are you doing here?" 

"JJ said you were researching the neural network algorithms," Spencer said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement as he pulled out the chair across from you. "I figured I could lend a hand."

“Oh, bless your heart, Dr. Reid,” you praised, hand dramatically pressed to your heart, “I could kiss you.”

The subtle rosiness that blossomed on Reid’s cheeks didn’t escape your notice, and you couldn’t deny the small thrill of saying things designed to elicit the delightful blush. It was cute.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing towards the book, ignoring your words.

You give a nod and pass it over, his fingers brushing over yours in the process. It was hard not to stare at his face, admittedly, your scientific knowledge (or any knowledge) didn’t rival his, yet surely there was some explanation for why you found him so attractive.

You watched, curiously, as he made quick work of the pages, absorbing the information with the ease of a child flipping through a picture book. Maybe that was it—his intelligence, now that wasn’t far off. I mean, who didn’t want a man who could effortlessly recite pi to the hundredth decimal?

You found yourself following the lines of his face— from the subtle shadows under his eyes to the rhythmic movement of his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he concentrated, down to the soft dip of his lips. God, he was so beautiful. And even that term barely did him justice.

Your blatant starring was broken only when you realized his lips were moving.

“Yeah, totally,” you said, bobbing your head in agreement, clueless to his actual words but hoping you said the right thing.

He regarded you with a puzzled glance, his brow raised while carefully marking his place in the book. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

That famous, gorgeous smile of his spread across his face as his eyes darted around the coffee shop. His fingers patted his cheek thoughtfully in silent, teasing challenge.

“Wait, what?”

“The issue was with adjusting the weight initialization to prevent the vanishing gradient problem,” he remarked with an easy shrug. “Seems like the perfect time for that well-deserved kiss.”

His words sent a wave of warmth flooding your cheeks. Was he serious? You decided you didn’t care. Rising just enough to meet him, you cupped his face and planted a sloppy kiss against his cheek. As your drew back, you couldn’t help but delight in the sight of his ears, now tinted with a charming blush of red.

The intimate bubble burst as the barista’s voice rang out, announcing that your coffee was, in fact, prepared at last. You tapped his nose lightly before standing fully. “My hero.”

Spencer watched with a slack jaw as you walked away from the table, his eyes drawn to your thighs. The air seemed to escape him in a rush, his gaze locked on your outfit, now fully revealed as you stood up. He was so used to seeing you in dress pants, he’d never seen you in a dress, a sundress at that.

He was already burning from the feeling of your lips on his cheek but now it was spreading through every part of him as he traced your curves before landing once again on your supple thighs. God, you were beautiful, and that ass—

He was on the cusp of entertaining some rather less-than-holy ideas when the shrill ring of his phone intervened. He mentally berated the caller, wishing to preserve every detail of your image in his mind. Morgan. Naturally.

He swiped deftly at the phone, realizing it was FaceTime. Morgan’s head filled the screen, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in Spencer’s appearance.

“Morning, lover boy.”

Spencer was unsure what he meant. “Huh?”

Morgan simply flicked his cheek with a smirk. “Looks like ya missed a spot, hot stuff.”

Spencer’s face warmed with a fresh flush, hastily angling the phone away, his fingers working to erase the lipstick stain.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up, man! You on a hot date or something? C’mon, Reid, who’s the lucky lady?”

Once assured his skin was free of the pink evidence, Spencer lifted the phone again. He didn’t get a chance to ask Morgan’s reason for calling, as your face appeared behind him, curiously glancing at the phone.

“Oh, hey Morgan!”

Morgan’s mouth dropped open. “No way! You’re kidding me! Penelope is going to freak—,”

His words were cut short as Spencer swiftly hung up.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Soo, for the event: "Please leave him, I know I'm not perfect but for you i'll try, I promise i'll try"

Or something like that

~1k words. (They're idiots in love)

You knew Jason Todd would never be yours. Knew it when you were barely a teenager and just entering high school. Knew it when he miraculously returned from the dead. Knew it when he made a name for himself as a hero.

It wasn’t just the fact he was consistently voted one of the most attractive vigilantes in the Gotham Gazettes annual popularity contest. No, it was the fact that Jason Todd belongs among legends and myths, and you? You were none of those things.

You weren’t delusional to believe yourself worthy of him, not when he walked with gods and monsters and always seemed to come out on top. So, you buried your feelings, buried them so deep that no one batted an eye when you started dating.

Your relationships never seemed to last long, though, not when they always seemed to have a problem with your best friend being a guy, and then a bigger problem with said best friend being your roommate.

But your most recent boyfriend has managed to last longer than any of your previous relationships. You thought it was a good sign, that maybe you could move on from your age-old crush.

Your heart had other plans. It didn't help that your boyfriend didn't seem to exactly care about you either. He seemed more interested in his video games, and in dragging you along to whatever parties his friends are throwing.

It was obvious, to everyone really, he was using you as some kind of arm candy. You figured it was only fair, you were using him too, even if he didn't know.

Your friends were at least nice about it, even as you brushed off their concerns that you deserved better. Jason, though? He couldn't seem to let it go.

It was almost an everyday conversation for the past week. He'd never been so opposed to any of the people you’ve dated before, but he's treating your boyfriend like he has a personal vendetta.

Sharp glares whenever he picks you up, biting remarks to have you home safe. Those you could deal with, but the near lectures? The insistence that your boyfriend is the wrong guy for you? It's aggravating. You know your boyfriend is wrong, but you can't exactly have what you want.

“He won't make you happy,” Jason grumbles, face furrowed as you sit down on the couch.

“I'm not marrying the guy,” You huff, making a face right back at him. You've been having the same back and forth for days, and you really can't figure out why. Sure, your boyfriend sucks, but he's not hurting you.

Jason looks at you like he's affronted that the idea of marriage is even on your mind, “He's a bum.”

“He's– okay, but he brought me those goldfish,” you protest, gesturing towards the kitchen as if to prove your point.

He cocks his head at you, tone clearly unimpressed, “The ones in the snack bag? Doll, I think they were his leftovers.”

You wince a little, unable to deny his claim as you try to find any good in your relationship, “He texts me goodnight.”

“So do half your friends. And me. I say goodnight to you,” he points out, put out by your instance to defend your boyfriend.

“That's different,” you mumble, dropping your gaze. You find it kind of embarrassing, the way you're still searching for his approval even if you don't particularly care for your current relationship.

“Not really,” he sighs out, and carefully sinks to his knees in front of you to grab your hand. It snaps your attention back to his face. “Look,” he starts slowly, “I just want you to have the best, and he's– he's only gonna make you miserable, sweetheart.”

“What does it matter? Nothing changes if I'm with him or if I'm not,” You grumble, trying not to focus on the way his warmth seeps into your skin.

He looks increasingly conflicted at your words, squeezing your hand as he speaks, “I could treat you better. The way you should be treated.”

Your breath hitches. That's– there's no way. It has to be some kind of joke. He's pitying you, maybe. Or it's some sort of twisted sense of responsibility towards you.

But he keeps talking, voice low like he’s trying not to send you running, “Please leave him, I know I'm not perfect, but for you I'll try, I promise I'll try."

“What are you saying,” You ask weakly, unable to face the possibility that he means any of it.

He meets your gaze, firm and resolute. He sets his jaw like he's working up the courage to spill all his secrets, “I'm saying that I would make you happy. I don't know if it would be great, I don't even know if it would even be good, but I would make sure you were happy. I– you mean the world to me.”

He breathes out your name, raises your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles, “I want you to be happy.”

You think you might be dreaming. Never in your wildest fantasies did you ever consider Jason Todd would be willing to tie himself to you. But there's no waver in his face, no lie in his eyes.

“Just think about it, sweetheart. We're already– you're already the most important person to me. Taking another step together wouldn't be so scary, right” he prompts gently, and you can only dumbly nod in response.

The smile that spreads across his face is intoxicating, and it almost has you agreeing to the whole idea immediately.

“Good, good,” he murmurs, standing up and sending you another wide grin. His voice grows more confident as awe fills your face, “You think on it tonight, doll, break up with him tomorrow, and tomorrow night? I'll take you on a date. A real date. Something you'll like.”

He sounds excited, even eager at the thought, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head. It's hardly the first time he's done it, but it feels different this time, special. “Just think on it,” he tells you, smile easy and inviting.

He leaves you on the couch to think about it. It doesn't take long for you to decide. After all, your boyfriend will understand, you've never been good at saying no to Jason Todd.

[haikyu-mp4]

Irrestistible – Suna x reader wc 1143 – gn!reader hockey player x figure skater au

“You figure skate, right?” Suna said, a bare-minimum attempt at whispering. The two of you sat in the middle of the library, squeezed between someone who seemed to be on their last straw and someone who did not like history.

His random question brought you out of your self-deprecating thoughts and back into the room, where you had to tutor one of your class’ most obnoxious, lazy, careless, idiotic-

“Yes,” you answered kindly, despite your thoughts. “I do.”

“I know,” he whispered, lips pursed together as if sheepish, but the glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “You’re real pretty.”

Clearing your throat, you strictly kept your eyes on his book on the desk after realising you had stared at his eyes for a little too long. “Let’s stay focused on this, I don’t have all day.”

“Sure, take the lead.”

The next time you met in the library, it seemed that the two of you finally loosened the knot in Suna’s head that insisted he couldn’t do maths. You grinned when he solved one of the more difficult issues on his own, holding up a hand for a high-five and not even caring that much when the sound of it might have disturbed some of the others who sat close by.

“You did so well!”

But the happiness you felt at him accomplishing this wasn’t the only thing that occupied your mind. At your praise, Suna couldn’t help but smile widely, showing much more of his teeth than you could usually see. Your eyes zeroed in, and Suna’s smile fell, lips pursing together to hide his two missing teeth on the one side. “Thank you. What’s next?”

You nodded subtly, registering his avoidance of the subject. “Integrals.”

He groaned, leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm dramatically over his face. “The misery never ends!”

You didn’t stop thinking about it, though. A lot of the more reckless hockey players chipped or lost their teeth now and then, but it was usually fixed within the week. What could have happened for him to be missing them still?

Suna suddenly turned to you, putting a finger under your chin so you would face him. “You might as well just ask.”

“What happened to your teeth?” you whispered.

Suna huffed through his nose, and the signature smirk stretched across his lips. “I annoy people, frequently.”

The answer made you chuckle under your breath, gaze falling on his notebook, which proved he hadn’t focused much on the last few problems either. Gulping at his intense stare, you hesitated but asked anyway. “Why haven’t you had them fixed?”

“It’s expensive. My parents already paid for me to transfer here; the scholarship doesn’t cover my own wrongdoings.”

Looking back up, you had sympathy painted all over your face. You weren’t sure how to answer but didn’t have to figure it out as Suna perked up and turned back to his task.

“But one day I’ll be in the big leagues and my smile will be back to irresistible.”

Even though you and Suna were both at the rink many days of the week, you hadn’t run into each other much before. At least, you hadn’t noticed him.

Now, you could swear he was always there. Whether he gave you a short wave when you passed by while he played or winked at you when he saw you skating, you found yourself growing fond of his presence.

This time, he walked up to you after you finished training, slumping down beside where you were switching from skates to normal shoes. “Hey,” he said.

You looked around and noticed there were no other hockey players left, then glanced at the clock to confirm that his training had ended two hours ago. “Suna, did you wait here for two hours?”

He shrugged, but the smile on his face gave away something less careless. “I’m glad you noticed.”

“Why?”

“The other day, you said you weren’t happy they switched our training because you had to walk home late. Thought I might walk you home.”

It sounded like your heartbeat wanted to talk to him, ringing in your ears and pinching its colour into your cheeks. You looked down at your shoe and tied the last lace. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

Suna made it a regular thing, staying around until you finished training to walk you home, chatting about your days and lives, interests and dislikes. It became your favourite part of the day, and your friends commented regularly on how you and Suna sat closer and closer to each other each time you tutored him.

This time, you didn’t get off the ice after training. You skated a couple more laps while the others filed out of the room one by one, wishing your pulse would slow down before you spoke to Suna.

“Put your skates back on.”

Suna blinked, taken off guard by the change in routine. “My skates?”

You confirmed and giggled as he got to it, glancing at you with suspicion. When he got back up, skates safely secured, you ushered him to meet you in the middle of the ice. “Have you ever danced on ice before?”

Pride filled you at seeing the cool-headed Suna Rintaro out of his element. He raised his arms carefully, allowing you to direct his hands to your waist. “Not like you do.”

With careful movements, you moved to the side, and he followed clumsily. His eyes darted straight down to your feet. While he was good at skating, he wasn’t used to avoiding someone else’s skates while moving. “Just follow my lead,” you encouraged.

Your eyes were locked onto where a blush spread quickly from his neck to his ears. He finally looked up as he got into the pattern of your movements. “Am I in trouble?” he chuckled.

You hummed and smiled, leaning closer to twirl the two of you in a circle. When you slowed to a stop, you slid your arms around his neck, and a chill ran through you as he naturally followed and moved his arms around you. “I think I have a crush on you.”

Suna groaned, which disturbed the palpable tension between you and made you question yourself entirely. Oh no, maybe you had misunderstood. Had he not returned your affections? Did you just make a complete fool out of yourself-

“Sublime!” he yelled, tilting his head back so it wouldn’t ring in your ears. You drew a breath and held it, shocked at the outburst yet consumed with happiness at what it might mean.

His head came back down so he could look at you, grin wider than you had ever seen it, with his missing teeth on full display.

You couldn’t help but think that his smile was already irresistible.

masterlist

[itsnesss]

Please could you do something with Junho meeting readers ex-boyfriend?? 💌

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, tension

word count | 0.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You’re standing in front of the window of a small bookstore on a quiet street in the center. The rain falls gently, creating a peaceful echo that contrasts with the swirling thoughts in your head. Junho is beside you, holding an umbrella over both of you, though you’ve noticed that he’s more exposed to the rain than you. He always puts others first, especially you.

“Are you going to go in, or just keep looking?” he asks with a small smile.

You turn to look at him and notice the playful gleam in his eyes. Junho has this ability to make you feel light, as if problems don’t exist for a moment.

“I was thinking about it. But I don’t want to wet the books,” you joke.

“You could soak all the books and they wouldn’t stop loving you,” he replies without thinking, and although he tries to act casual, you can see the color rise in his face.

Before you can respond, a sound behind you catches your attention. Turning around, you feel a twist in your stomach. It’s someone you didn’t expect to see, someone who represents a part of your past that you left behind.

There he is, your ex, standing a few feet away. He wears a black coat that barely hides his imposing presence, and his eyes seem to find yours immediately. The smile you once found comforting now feels unsettling.

Junho follows your gaze and, with just one look, understands.

“Do you know him?” he asks softly, without taking his eyes off the man who’s approaching.

“Yes,” you reply almost in a whisper. “He’s… someone I’d rather not see.”

But it’s too late to avoid it. Your ex is already standing in front of you, with that confidence he’s always had. His eyes shift from you to Junho, quickly evaluating him.

“Wow, I never thought I’d run into you here,” he says, addressing you as if Junho isn’t present.

“I’m fine,” you reply coldly, trying to keep your composure.

“And who’s this?” he asks, nodding toward Junho.

Junho steps forward, subtly positioning himself between the two of you.

“I’m Junho,” he says firmly, extending a hand that your ex takes with some reluctance.

The handshake lasts longer than necessary, and you can feel the tension between them. Your ex has always been territorial, even when he no longer had the right to be.

“I see,” he says finally, releasing Junho’s hand. “So now you have company.”

The insinuation in his tone irritates you, but before you can say anything, Junho speaks.

“She doesn’t need company. She knows how to take care of herself.”

Your ex lets out a low, almost mocking laugh.

“I know that. But it’s not bad to have someone looking out for her. Right?”

You shudder hearing your name come from his mouth, but you maintain your calm.

“I don’t know what you want, but I have nothing to say to you,” you say, trying to end the conversation.

He raises his hands as if surrendering.

“Relax. I just wanted to say hello. Looks like things are going well for you. That’s good.”

You know it’s not sincere. His tone, his posture, everything about him screams that he’s testing the waters.

“Thanks. You can leave now,” you reply firmly.

For a moment, it seems like he’s going to insist, but then his eyes shift toward Junho, and something in his gaze changes.

“We’ll see each other soon, I’m sure,” he says finally, and without waiting for a response, he walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

Junho remains silent, watching his figure until it fades. Then he looks at you, with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” you respond, though you’re not entirely sure it’s true.

“Do you want to talk about him?” he asks cautiously.

“There’s not much to say. He’s someone from my past, someone I don’t want in my present,” you admit, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion.

Junho nods, giving you the space you need. He’s always been like this, never pushing you, but his steady presence is enough to make you feel safe.

“I won’t let him bother you again,” he says suddenly, with a firmness you didn’t expect.

You look at him, surprised, but on his face, you only see determination. Junho isn’t someone who looks for conflict, but when it comes to protecting you, he seems willing to do whatever it takes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling the tension in your body start to dissipate.

“Always,” he responds, and this time the smile he gives you manages to make you let out a small laugh.

[jweekgoji]

I throughly enjoyed your TFO!YAN!Sentinel fic where reader is one of the Primes… Pleeaaase consider doing a part 2, genuinely incredible

Sentinel/Prime!Reader pt.2

tw: unhealthy obsession, slight spoilers if you didn't see TFO, power imbalance, a tiny nsfw at the beginning, yan!Sentinel, slight violence, murder/death, toxic relationship. word count: ~1800. a/n: i feel like the results is not what you wanted, anon-. first part here.

He thought that what you had was special. Special in some sick, cruel way, he still enjoyed to the core of his spark. He hated it, that after everything he had done for them, for you, you had the right to dismiss him as if he was your personal servant. Like he was nothing. He worked day and night just for you to finally notice him, to treat him more than just your advisor.

Perhaps you had some sick pleasure in torturing him like that. Where by the end of the long, tiring day, his presence was always welcomed beside yours. A rare moment when you finally stop putting that stoic leader persona for others. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him, even though every time he has to try so hard to gain at least a tiny sort of reaction from you. He would gladly stay underneath you forever, with your thighs on either side of his head, as he planted each loving kiss across your body.

His blue optics flicker slightly, as he focuses on your back once again. Focus, Sentinel! Not when you are here, discussing the place of your next attack against the quintessons with your brothers and sisters, just as focused on resolving the problem as you are. Sentinel keeps his arms behind his back, his posture straight yet relaxed.

‘ One of the strongest, mighty, and fierce of the Primes,’ he remembers. Is that really what other bots only think of you? They all seem to love you, despite never knowing you personally, like he did. You are always busy with other concerns, protecting your people, thinking of the future of your race, sleepless days and nights of working. You're a Prime, a hope, and everyone looks up to you. It is a remarkable trait, the one he always brings up to the citizens, so they all would be inspired  by you, fond of one of their leaders as much as he is.

There are so many gifts in your name...Cards, stickers, calendars, even figures. Every detail painted so, so thoughtfully and carefully, you can swear that there are no imperfections in it. Why would there be one when he personally made sure to make every single one as a perfect copy of you?

When the meeting ends, Sentinel waits until all the other Primes have left the room until there are only you two inside. Always staying till  late at night...how typical of you. Rarely seem to care about your own well-being, instead preferring the cold embrace of solitude. Something he partly so admired and hated about you at the same time.

You were never alone, he thinks, you always had him.

Watching one of the last of your siblings leave, Sentinel can't help but think of a soft ‘Finally’ with a roll of his optics, before pushing away from the wall, to approach you.

Sentinel flashes you with his usual, polite smile, the corner of his mouth turning upwards, as he makes a few slow steps towards your form, hunched over the table. That sly mech just couldn't leave you alone for good, always finding a way to persuade you. You had grown to silently appreciate it, for now.

If you try to remember what you felt when you first met him, it was annoyance. The way he talked during meetings, the way the blue-and-golden mech seemed to make sure the other Primes warmed up to him in such a short time—it all felt so wrong and fake. You thought that maybe all he wanted was fame, money, and a good impression, something a young but already so proud cybertronian would dream about.

You were so attentive to every small detail, but had never realized his genuine need for your approval.

“Now that we're alone, I thought that maybe we can talk privately, if you don't mind, my...” Sentinel's words trail off, his optics following your form as you walk past him and towards the exit of the room.

You put your servo in the air the moment he speaks, a silent sign of “later, now is not the time for it”. He shivers. Another reason to dismiss him. Each time, it was always something new. You're too busy with inventing, with your high guards, with everything but him.

At first, he was surprised. His optics widened slightly before returning to their normal size. It hurt, for some reason. He should have gotten used to it by now because...how many times was it this week? It's not like Sentinel was that unfamiliar with you, was he? No, of course not. After dealing with you and your behavior for cycles, he learns how to take it. Despite everything, it still hurts him.

Sentinel can feel his servos clenching into fists at his sides, and a familiar tightness in his throat. Don't say anything, just smile and leave. Don't say anything stupid, for Primus' sake.

 “Last time you said this was a week ago,” he smiles at you through clenched teeth, trying so hard not to let his own irritation to take over. You're a Prime, after all. “You forget about it. Again.”

“If you have something to add about our plans with quintessons, say that now,” you pause, yet don't turn around to look back at him. “Or, tell Zeta about it.”

Sentinel's optic nearly twitch when you say that. Is that all you can tell him now? When he is presenting you his own spark on the silver plate? He wants to ignore that disgusting, desperate feeling that roots inside his spark, the need of just to reach for you and stop from leaving him behind. Can't you see how tirelessly he works for you? Puts up with your every whim and call? What should he do now to make you look at him?

“Did you—Did you just ignore what I'm trying to say? No, a better question,” he frowns, his digits pinching the bridge of his nose. The more you frustrate him, the more he paces around you. How ridiculous this situation is. You're still, as stubborn and ignorant as always, and here he is, nearly losing his mind because of you. “Are you even listening to me?”

He had grown so tired of you, all of you, talking, talking, talking about morality and duty, sometimes even his processor couldn't get it. That attitude you had and your ability to drive him mad with just a few words. Cycles of learning every single small detail about you in a tiny hope of your affection, cycles of being just a witness with no real power, so many cycles of humiliation and that's what he receives in return?

 Then, when you finally hit him with your simple “are you done?”, he loses it.

He wonders, sometimes, how iaconians would treat you if it weren't for him building that perfect picture of you for them? A rude, dismissive, and ungrateful piece of scrap, that's who you are. Why does he even bother doing something for you when you act like an ungrateful glitch? He hates you, he hates you so much sometimes.

“You are such an ungrateful and selfish bitch sometimes,” Sentinel spat out as he jabbed his index finger at your chassis. Oh no, now he's far from being done, after all, he has a lot of things to say to you right now. “All these countless hours of speeches, and for what? Just to lose another battle.”

You will listen to everything he thinks of you now, it is only fair after being forced to silently listen to you and other Primes. Maybe then you will understand how he truly, actually feels right now. You kept ignoring him for so long, like every shared moment of intimacy didn't mean anything to you. Even then, he can swear that you love him. You care for him, just don't know how to express it properly. But he's fine with it, he is glad enough to lead you through everything if only you agree.

But the only answer you gave him was a hard slap across his face—so hard, it made him fall back on the cold floor with a loud thud. In the first few seconds, he couldn't hear anything but a harsh ringing in his head, and only after he felt the pain reaching to his processor. Sentinel winced a little, already feeling a trail of energon trickling from his nose.

When Sentinel looks up at you, he meets your own gaze, staring down at him. He holds his face, feeling the burn from your slap. You never hurt him before, never affected by his words, Primus, it's not like you even cared about his presence anyway. Why, why you care now? Why you look straight at him with nothing but hate in your optics the last moment he needed it?

He couldn't even say anything as he watches you leave. The words stuck in his throat, despite how much he just wanted to grab your leg and beg you to forgive him. He would plead on his knees for you, wanting to forgive him, just don't go, don't leave him all alone right now. His own spark felt like it was ripped into two pieces and yet, he stays here, servos tightening onto the floor. If you want him be useful, to tell you something about quintessons, he will give you it.

Thankfully for Sentinel, you never mentioned the last incident to any of the Primes. How kind of you to avoid bringing up this topic as if nothing never happened. But as the meeting goes on, Zeta gives both of you a quiet look, with no words being said, there was a thick tension between one of the Primes and their advisor. If only one of them brought the topic up, would it change something? Would it somehow solve everything that was said and happened? Perhaps, it was already too late for that.

Sentinel wished for it to end differently. If only you hadn't been too stubborn, too idealistic, too full of yourself like all the other Primes. Maybe if he just didn't say anything that day, then— No. It was never his fault, he thinks to himself. Everything that happened, all because of you. He was just your loyal and humble advisor, nothing but kind for you.

What a poor sight to see. Cycles of being looked down and here he is, the one holding you in his servos, while you do nothing but struggle to look up at him, mouth open, ready to curse him, to yell, or maybe...to plead? He can only take guess about what you so desperately want to tell him, until you cough up more energon.

“Don't struggle, just shush,” he coos, placing his digit over your mouth. That soft, awfully satisfied and sweet smirk on his face, as if it wasn't him, stabbing you right into your chest a mere minutes ago. “Don't worry, I'll take a good care over Cybertron after you are gone...you'll never be forgotten, my love.”

He makes sure that your own t-cog will forever be a part of him, so maybe now, he finally has a chance to keep you with him forever.

[mantequillamcwhoremick]

I'm like analyzing Kyle and Stan's characters for the current Chp chapter to figure out how they'll act in a specific scene and I realized some pretty interesting stuff, i thought I'd share;

Kyle actually DOESN'T have high empathy, it's actually pretty average (though I'd argue that it's even pretty low) but what he DOES have is a very strong moral compass & conscience. Meanwhile with Stan it's the other way around; his desicions & actions are based in super high empathy (often so high that it overwhelms him, like in episodes like "Kenny Dies") but his moral compass & conscience are much weaker than Kyle's.

Whenever Kyle helps someone, it's less because he cares about the person (even if he does) and more because he thinks it's the right thing to do. Empathy and his emotions aren't generally the primary driving force behind his decisions and judgements of someone's character, unlike say Stan. A prime example of this difference between the two is s16's episode "Going Native", when after Butters insulted all of the boys, Kyle still urges Kenny to go help and stop Butters from making a mistake. Stan, however, remains pissy because of the insults and just says "After all the things he said to us he can go ahead."

This makes Kyle's desire to help someone less dependent on how he feels about that person/his current emotional state, and more conditional to whether or not he believes that he can make a change. It's no question that he cares about Stan a lot, but as soon as he sees no hope for him in "You Are Getting Old" and "Raisins" he drops him and decides to stay out of his problems to protect his own peace. However, as soon as he sees even a sliver of hope for Cartman to change, like in "Cartoon Wars", Kyle naively jumps to help.

An exception to this tendency is Ike, for whom Kyle will literally do anything for so long as he is in trouble. Probably because he sees it as his indisputable responsibility to help Ike no matter what, seeing as he is Ike's older brother.

Stan, however, when he does something to help someone it's almost never because he thinks it's the right thing to do (at least not as the primary force), but more out of feeling-based reasons or because it could serve him.

The conditions for him to step up are usually one of these:

he feels intense empathy for the person because he can relate OR because they're helpless (like animals, who cannot speak up for themselves and are helpless against humans)

he cares about a person a lot (any of the batshit insane instances he went out of his way to help Kyle, like "Smug Alert", "Biggest Douche in The Universe", "Cartmanland", "Cherokee Hair Tampons", "Ginger Cow", "Super Best Friends" and even in "Bloody Mary" when he did whatever he could to help his dad)

he likes what the action could do for his self image (like in "Butterballs", when he speaks out against bullying under the guise of helping Butters, but Kyle sees straight through him and realizes he's only doing this to help his own image)

often in combination with one of the others, but also: he hates the opponent (cults, scammers, etc; lots of Stan-centric episodes focus on his disdain for spiritual frauds, often however because of how they harm people he cares about and not because of the principle of the thing)

In "Trapped In The Closet" Stan's moral code doesn't seem to have any problem with scamming thousands of people as he leads the church of Scientology, but he changes his mind only once he sees the genuine hope and love in the eyes of all his new followers.

Stan may have a moral code and principles, but they never guide his actions as strongly as how he feels about something at the moment ever will.

I'm gonna stop yapping now because this post is already super long but I do find it interesting to analyze how this ties into Kyle having a much shorter fuse than Stan, even though Stan is arguably more feelings-oriented. Maybe because Kyle allows himself less emotional processing of events on a day-to-day basis— always prioritizing the facts and logic— that when pushed he's always easiest to snap. And also, how another thing that differentiates the two is that— despite his high empathy— Stan tends to be more selfish, meanwhile Kyle usually looks to increase the benefit for as many people as possible, rather than his own. As long as he thinks they ethically & morally deserve it, of course.

[angelssmvse]

𝘼 𝘿𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙀 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙉𝙀𝙈𝙔

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 / 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧)

𝜗𝜚 𝙎𝙐𝙈𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙔 You’re JJ’s sister, part of a close-knit group of friends who’ve been through thick and thin together. But when you discover you have "kook" blood, your whole world is thrown into doubt. Among the chaos, Rafe Cameron becomes a constant source of tension, and despite your differences, your paths inevitably cross. After a violent storm leaves you and Rafe stranded in Morocco, you’re forced to rely on each other for survival. In the midst of uncertainty and danger, you start to realize that maybe, after everything, you’ve both been searching for something in each other all along.

𝜗𝜚 𝘼/𝙉 I happened to dream about Rafe Cameron last night and I HAD to write about him, so here’s a one shot smut (with an interesting plot + enemies to lovers). Enjoy angels <3

𝜗𝜚 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 smut! minors DNI. This narrative contains mature themes and explicit content, including strong language, depictions of violence, adult situations (smut), and elements of both humor and tenderness (unprotected sex, p in v). Reader discretion is advised.

You were JJ’s younger sister, a proud Pogue, raised in a violent family but surrounded by loyal, kind-hearted friends. Your tight-knit circle, bonded by years of shared memories, was your world—Kiara, in particular, was your closest friend. Despite being a “half Pogue” by blood (as she came from a Kook family), Kiara was more like a sister than a friend. You never cared about fame or wealth. What mattered to you was living a peaceful life surrounded by the people you considered family. Your brother JJ, always impulsive and reckless, had a knack for getting into trouble. He often acted as though he could simply reset any bad situation, which meant you were left to pick up the pieces and look out for him. His anger issues, inherited from your father, could be unsettling at times, but you always knew he would never direct that anger towards you. Then there was Sarah—once a close friend before the tension between her and Kiara caused a rift. Naturally, you took Kiara’s side, but you were relieved when they eventually reconciled. In your younger years, Sarah was someone you’d spend a lot of time with. You’d visit her house, throw parties, and, inevitably, there was always someone who would find it amusing to tease you. The main culprit? Rafe fucking Cameron, Sarah’s older brother. Rafe had a reputation as a bit of a bully, though it was more complicated than that. He was rich, popular, and undeniably handsome, often using his status to irritate you and your friends. But after everything that had transpired in recent months, it seemed he had bigger problems to deal with—including that new buzz cut.

You were helping John B with some fishing, wrapping up a few chores before taking a moment to relax. “I’m just so glad we figured everything out, you know? Like… the old me wouldn’t even recognize myself. And JJ? I’ve never seen him this happy,” you say with a soft laugh, the thought of your brother bringing a smile to your face. John B returns the smile. “Yeah, I’m grateful for everything,” he says, taking a sip of his beer. The view from the boat was perfect—the calm, glassy water, the fresh fish, the sunset painting the sky, cold beers in hand, and the easy flow of conversation. It was the kind of moment you never wanted to end. Except… a larger boat, definitely a Kook’s, was drawing dangerously close. John B narrowed his eyes, and without a word, he flicked on the motor. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you shouted, glaring at the other boat. “Hey!” John B added, raising his voice as he tried to get their attention. Then you saw him. “Rafe?” you said, disappointment lacing your tone. “Rafe!” you repeated, disbelief creeping in. He smirked, leaning casually against the side of the boat. “Our property now! Go away, Pogues!” one of his friends yelled, throwing an obnoxious wave in your direction. “Leave, assholes!” They added, flinging their drink at your boat—whatever rich liquor they were sipping splashing across you. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the alcohol soaked your clothes. “John B, let’s just leave,” you whispered, frustration simmering beneath your calm exterior. “What the hell!?” John B shouted, throwing his arms up in disbelief. Rafe’s head appeared over the side of the boat, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, stumbling slightly as he tried to stay balanced. “Hey, y’all better leave,” he said, his voice nonchalant, though it was clear he was barely keeping it together. With a resigned sigh, you and John B started the boat, silently putting distance between yourselves and Rafe’s crew. It was clear they had nothing better to do than ruin the peaceful moment, but you weren’t about to let them.

A couple of weeks later, you found yourself on the same boat with Rafe—of all people—as he had just saved your asses from the police. Now, you were heading to Morocco, a place that seemed both like an escape and a new chapter of uncertainty. It had been a crazy ride—Sarah was pregnant, JJ was as drunk as ever, and you, well... you almost lost everything. Your property. Your life. You nearly got killed by some random guys, Pope had been arrested, and to top it all off, you had just discovered a truth that shattered everything you thought you knew. Your entire life had been a lie. You were a Pogue, born and raised, yet somehow, you had Kook blood running through your veins. Who would’ve thought? The irony wasn't lost on you. As the group argued over what to do with Rafe, you sat on the floor, trying to block out the noise. JJ, however, had fallen uncharacteristically silent, his eyes fixed on you while he sipped his drink. It was like he was trying to read you, but even in your haze, you could feel the weight of his gaze. He moved closer and sat down next to you, his breath heavy with the sharp scent of alcohol that always reminded you of your non-Dad. "Hey..." he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "Everything will be fine, okay? I’ll figure this out. We’ll kick Rafe off this boat, and—". But you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood up abruptly, pushing him away, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. Tears you had been holding back for so long finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks. You could barely breathe, the pressure of it all suffocating you. "Jesus Christ, JJ, stop it," you said, your voice breaking as you turned and rushed toward one of the rooms, trying to escape from the overwhelming emotions that flooded through you. From his position, Rafe had been watching the entire scene unfold, observing everything from the higher deck as he took control of the ship. He didn’t trust any of you—not after everything that had happened. He knew he was in the wrong too; after all the backstabbing, the betrayals, the lies. He had done everything to gain your groups trust, and yet... despite everything, something about this group still gnawed at him. He had always denied it, but there was a part of him—an uncomfortable part—that felt a strange attachment to you. He hated how much it infuriated him when you talked to other guys, or worse, when they looked at you even for a second. It would drive him mad, make him feel this irrational, burning jealousy he couldn’t explain. Watching you laugh with the others, seeing how they adored you, made him lose his mind in ways he couldn’t understand. He had tried to push it all down, to convince himself that he hated you—that he hated everything about you. But every time he did, it just made him more miserable. When he saw you upset, it twisted something in his chest. He had always hated that about himself.

You woke up groggily from your nap, the boat gently rocking beneath you. Stepping out of your cabin, you made your way to the girls, feeling the weight of the day still hanging heavy on your shoulders. "Hey..." you whispered as you sat down next to them. Kiara immediately pulled you into a hug, her touch warm and comforting. "Are you feeling better?" she asked softly. "We didn't want to bother you." You let out a small sigh, nodding. "Yeah, I’m fine... Where are the others?" You looked around, surprised at how calm the boat felt, especially after everything that had happened. The girls exchanged a glance before the silence was broken by a scream from one of the locked rooms. "Let me out!" Rafe’s voice echoed, the desperation clear. You raised an eyebrow, looking at the girls in confusion. "What’s Rafe doing in there?" you asked, your voice unsure. Sarah sighed, her face tight with frustration. "We went to talk to him... and it didn’t end very well. He was armed. JJ punched him, and that was the only option left." You nodded slowly, trying to process it all. "Mhm. Okay. Okay." You took a deep breath, running a hand through your hair. "I think we should make dinner, huh?" It was the only thing you could think of to distract yourself from everything spinning in your mind. You didn’t want to open up, didn’t want to burden anyone with your problems. Everyone here had their own issues, and you had to deal with yours, quietly.As dinner came together, you prepared a small portion for Rafe. You hesitated for a moment, but then said, "I’ll bring this for him," before carefully picking up the plate and walking towards the door where Rafe was locked up.

You unlocked the door slowly, the sound of the mechanism clicking louder than it should’ve been. There, in the dim light, Rafe was sitting on the floor, his hands tied and drenched in sweat. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a split second, you saw something softer in them, something almost vulnerable. "Here," you said quietly, setting the plate of food down on the floor in front of him. You could feel his gaze on you as you stood, awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. He didn’t move, staring at the food without touching it. You glanced up at him again, catching his eye. "I’m sorry. They had no choice but this." Your voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of the words sitting between you both. Just as you turned to leave, you heard his voice, softer, but desperate. "Wait," he said, the word barely escaping his lips. "Just—stay. Please,". You froze, your back still facing him. For a brief moment, you hesitated. If you left now, you'd be an ass—he’d hate you for it. But then again, why should you care? He probably already hated you, right? And staying, talking to him... that felt like a betrayal to your friends, a line you didn’t want to cross. You swallowed the tight feeling in your throat and turned, shutting the door softly behind you. "Hey! Wait!" Rafe’s voice cracked through the silence, louder this time. "Hey!" He shouted, his frustration rising. You heard him begin to violently kick the walls, the sound sharp and jarring. "You’re just gonna leave me in here?!". You could feel the heat of his anger seeping through the door as he threw the food you’d just given him, the clatter of it hitting the walls making your stomach twist. You didn't look back. Instead, you kept walking, your heart pounding in your chest. As you moved away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to Rafe’s anger, something deeper. And despite everything that had happened—despite the hatred, the violence, the lies—you couldn’t help but wonder what it was that kept pulling you back to him.

The storm hit hard, howling through the night, throwing waves against the sides of the ship. You could hear the wind tearing at the sails and the relentless crash of thunder overhead. The entire ship felt alive, bucking beneath you as you clung to the nearest railing, trying to steady yourself as everything around you shook. You and John B were doing your best to keep things from spiraling out of control, struggling to keep the ship from tipping over in the chaos. But even with all the work, your mind was elsewhere. Suddenly, a thought pulled you out of your focused panic: Rafe. “Hey!” you shouted over the roar of the storm, trying to catch his attention. "I’m going to see what's going on down there, okay?" you yelled, nodding toward the cabin, your voice barely carrying over the loud wind. He gave you a curt nod, already moving in his own direction. You didn’t wait any longer. You turned on your heel, struggling to keep your balance as you made your way below deck. The floor was slick, waves crashing against the hull, and everything around you seemed to be in a constant state of motion, making it almost impossible to stay upright. You braced yourself against the walls, your heart pounding from the adrenaline, until you finally reached the locked door. “Rafe!” you called, your voice cracking slightly from the strain of the storm. You knelt down, quickly untying the knot that held his hands. You brushed your wet hair behind your ear, glancing up at him as he looked back at you. "Please don't let me regret this," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Rafe chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

You both wasted no time. With a quick glance, Rafe took your hand and led the way. He moved with purpose, navigating the ship like he owned it, knowing every creak and groan of the ship better than anyone. You were behind him, just trying to keep up as the ship pitched and rolled beneath you, the storm making everything harder than it already was. Then, as you passed the galley, you both froze. There, sitting on the floor in the middle of the chaos, was JJ. He was slumped against the wall, a bottle of liquor in his hand, his head hanging low. His hair was wet and sticking to his forehead, and he looked like he was barely holding it together. “JJ…” you said softly, your heart aching at the sight of your brother in such a state. You walked towards him, but Rafe stayed a few paces behind, eyes locked on the situation. “Please get up,” you pleaded, your voice barely audible over the storm’s fury. JJ slowly lifted his head, his eyes glazed and unfocused. When he saw you, his lips twisted into a half-smile. "Or what? You got yourself a new boyfriend, huh?" he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. You winced, feeling a pang of frustration. He was so drunk, so out of it, and it made everything worse. "JJ, please," you repeated, walking closer, trying to help him to his feet. But before you could reach him, he suddenly pushed himself up, swaying unsteadily. His glare was unfocused, but it was still intense. He held the bottle out toward you, but you moved quickly, taking it from his hands. “Enough,” Rafe’s voice cut through the tension. He stepped forward, placing himself between you and JJ. His tone was hard, firm. "Let's just get the hell out of here," he said, his voice quiet but commanding. JJ glared at him, his anger flaring. “You stay out of this, Rafe,” he snapped, his voice rough, but it didn’t have the usual bite. He was too drunk to even stand up straight, let alone fight back. Rafe stood his ground, pushing JJ back a step when he made a move toward you. "Not this time," Rafe said coldly. He didn’t even raise his voice, but his presence alone made JJ take a step back. You looked at both of them, torn between your brother and the strange, undeniable tension that hung in the air between you and Rafe. Your heart raced as you realized just how close everything was to spiraling out of control. The storm outside mirrored the one raging within the confines of the ship. For a long, tense moment, no one moved. You looked between Rafe and JJ, feeling the weight of the situation press down on you. Rafe’s expression softened slightly, but only just enough to show a hint of something unspoken. As you took a step back, you glanced at JJ, seeing the hurt and anger in his eyes, the pain behind the alcohol. “Let’s just get out of here,” you repeated, your voice quieter now. You turned toward the exit, Rafe’s hand guiding you away, as the storm raged on around you. But behind you, JJ’s words still echoed, mixing with the thunder outside, an angry shout that faded into the sound of the storm.

The three of you made your way back to the others, the atmosphere thick with tension as you all sat down around the dining table. The ship’s constant creaking beneath the storm’s fury only made the silence between you all feel heavier, more suffocating. The occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the space, highlighting the uneasy glances everyone was giving Rafe. The looks were silent, but they said it all: they didn’t trust him. And right now, you couldn’t blame them. You sat there, lost in your own thoughts, barely noticing the way the ship rocked violently beneath you. Everything felt so out of control, like you were spiraling, each moment pulling you further away from any semblance of safety. The storm, the tension, the confusion—it was all too much.

Then Sarah stood up, the scrape of her chair against the floor dragging everyone’s attention toward her. “Guys—where’s John B?” she asked, her voice full of panic. The group exchanged looks, eyes widening. The space suddenly felt too small, too tight. “I’ve got to find him,” Sarah said quickly, her voice sharp with urgency. Without waiting for anyone to stop her, she dashed toward the exit. “Sarah, wait!” you called after her, but she was already gone, running through the storm, gripping onto the nearest stable object to steady herself as the ship lurched violently. “John B!” she screamed, her voice barely audible over the sound of the wind and crashing waves. Her words were swallowed by the storm, and for a moment, you thought you might have imagined the way the air grew still around you. But then it happened—without warning, a massive wave crashed against the ship, slamming into Sarah with such force that her scream was suddenly cut short. Her body was swept off the ship, pulled into the dark, merciless sea by the violent water. “No!” you shouted, jumping to your feet, your heart hammering in your chest. You could barely process what you had just seen. The rest of the group scrambled, horrified, frozen in place for a moment. JJ was the first to react. Without hesitation, he dove toward the railing, reaching out for Sarah as she was dragged further away from the ship. "Sarah!" he screamed, but she was too far. His eyes locked onto her, and there was no choice left. He jumped. He didn’t even think, just threw himself into the water, desperate to save her, to pull her back. You stood there, unable to breathe, your eyes wide in disbelief. You watched as JJ disappeared into the waves, leaving you behind. John B and the others had seen it, too, all of you trapped in this horrible moment. Your mind raced, but your body was paralyzed, unable to move, unable to do anything to stop the chaos unfolding in front of you. Your best friend and your brother—two of the most important people in your life—were now lost in the storm, and there was nothing you could do to bring them back.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You turned around, your chest tight, hoping for some kind of comfort, some kind of clarity. But when you met Rafe’s eyes, the last person you expected to be there, you saw something you didn’t expect: sincerity. His expression was dark, filled with regret, pain, and maybe even guilt. Before you could say anything, Rafe was already there, pulling you into his arms. His embrace was tight, his hands running through your wet hair as the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. You cried, quietly at first, your body trembling in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, like he couldn’t find the right words, like he was searching for something to say but couldn’t find it. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. You didn’t want to feel this connection to him, not after everything that had happened, but in this moment, his touch was the only thing that grounded you. The storm outside, the storm in your heart—it all blurred together. All you could feel was the weight of what you had just lost. As Rafe held you, his warmth in contrast to the coldness of the storm, you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt. The sound of the storm, of crashing waves and thunder, seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the chaos in your heart. In the silence of the ship, with only the two of you holding on, there was a brief moment where nothing else mattered.

The ship tilted violently, a massive wave crashing into it, sending everything into chaos. You reached for Rafe’s hand, but the wind and water pulled you apart. He grabbed you tighter, but it only made things worse as the ship lurched again, sending both of you overboard. You tried to hold on, but the weight of the water and the force of the storm were too much. The cold sea engulfed you both, dragging you down, your desperate gasps for air lost to the waves. The ship’s creaks and groans faded into the distance as you were pulled under, and just like that, you and Rafe were gone. Onboard, the rest of the group watched in horror, realizing they had lost not two, but four of you. The nightmare was endless, the storm swallowing everything in its path.

You and Rafe, still holding hands, struggled to stay afloat in the violent ocean. Hours passed, each minute feeling like days, until you finally spotted land. The moment you reached the shore, you collapsed onto the sand, exhausted and grateful. "Yes! Finally some land!" you yelled, gasping for breath. Rafe lay next to you, closing his eyes, and you stood over him, still trying to catch your breath. "What?" he murmured, not opening his eyes. "Are you planning to stay here forever?" you asked, hands on your hips. "God, let me take a break," he groaned, finally opening his eyes. "I’m hungry, Rafe." The two of you started a fire and managed to catch some fish after several failed attempts. It wasn't much, but it was better than starving. As the fish cooked, you sat in silence, staring at the fire. Rafe sat next to you, but kept his distance. "We should keep moving—find the others," you said, your voice cold. "I don't even know if my brother's still alive. We barely—" He interrupted you. "Let’s just rest for a bit, regain the energy we’ve lost." You shot him an angry glare, your frustration boiling over. For a split second, he saw something familiar in your eyes—your brother’s fire, your brother’s determination. You were unrecognizable, and it made his stomach twist. "No," you said, looking away, your voice quieter now.

You both set off again, trekking through unfamiliar terrain in search of the rest of the group. Hours passed without any sign of them. The search led you to a village, but you were lost in the maze of unknown streets. There was no trail, no clues. "Let’s just stop for a second and think, baby," Rafe suggested, his voice softer. You spun around, fury rising in your chest. "Don’t call me that!" you screamed, your finger pointed at him. Rafe’s patience snapped. He grabbed your wrist, pinning you against a nearby wall. "Hey, listen to me," he hissed, his voice low but firm. "I’m done obeying. Done doing whatever you're trying to do. You’re blinded by rage, and don't try to deny it. I know exactly how it feels." You froze, the fire in your eyes flickering for just a moment. His words hit harder than you expected. He was right—you were blinded by anger. You softened, just for a second, and his grip on your wrist loosened, giving you space. "Okay..." you whispered, feeling defeated but also oddly calm. "What do you have in mind?" A slow smile spread across Rafe’s face as he pulled a wad of cash from his pocket. "Where did you...?" you asked, confused and surprised. "Just follow me," he said, his grin widening.

The sun was setting as you and Rafe finally found a hotel for the night. The exhaustion of the day hung heavy on both of you, but as soon as you entered the room, your eyes locked on the single bed in the middle of it. You paused for a second, staring at it, then turned to Rafe. Before you could even say anything, he threw his hands up in defense. "It was the cheapest one, don’t blame it on me." You rolled your eyes and shook your head, unable to suppress a small sigh. "Of course," you muttered, rubbing your temples. The day had been long enough without having to deal with this. Rafe just shrugged, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It’s not like you had any better ideas," he added, smirking. You narrowed your eyes at him but didn’t say anything more. What could you say? You were too tired to argue. Still, the thought of sharing a bed with him made your skin crawl a little. But in the end, you didn’t have much of a choice. "Fine," you said, dropping your bag onto the floor. "Let’s just get through the night.". Rafe gave a half-grin, settling down on the edge of the bed. "Agreed." It wasn’t ideal. But after everything, it was at least a place to rest—something you both desperately needed.

It was late, and sleep refused to come. You sat up, glancing over at Rafe’s face in the soft moonlight. He looked so different—almost innocent, like someone else entirely. He wasn’t the man everyone feared, the violent, unpredictable guy. Maybe he needed to be understood. Or maybe, you thought, you were just too tired to think clearly. You slipped out of bed quietly and made your way to the balcony, craving the cool night air. The breeze hit your skin, and for a moment, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. You leaned against the railing, taking in the view as you let your thoughts drift. You couldn’t help but reflect on your past—how you’d gone from having nothing, to having everything, and then losing it all over again. When would it stop? Just as the weight of your thoughts grew heavy, a voice broke the silence. “The view’s beautiful, mhm?” Rafe’s voice was low, his gaze distant as he stood in the doorway, his eyes turned away. You turned toward him, catching his eyes for a brief moment before looking away. "Yeah, it really is," you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the sounds of the night. Rafe nodded, clearly trying to find the right words, but they didn’t seem to come. The silence stretched between you, both of you caught in your own heads. You could feel the tension rising, the unspoken words thick in the air. You took a breath and spoke up, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Hey, Rafe?”—“Yeah?” he responded quietly, turning his attention back to you. You hesitated, then looked up at him. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me.” A smile tugged at the corner of Rafe’s mouth. He gave a small nod. “You wouldn’t be sleeping in a nice hotel if it wasn’t for me,” he said with a light chuckle, the tension in his voice easing for a second. You couldn’t help but smile, a soft laugh escaping you as you lightly punched his arm. "Hey," you teased, trying to break the seriousness that had built between you.

The brief moment of laughter faded quickly, and the air around you both grew heavier. The silence between you two became thick with something else, something unspoken. Your eyes locked once again, and this time, neither of you looked away. It felt like the space between you was closing, drawn in by some invisible force. Your heart raced as you both stood there, drawn together by the weight of the moment. The space between the two of you slowly closes as he kisses your soft lips. The kiss deepens, becoming more and more passionate. His hands roam over your body going to your hips as he holds you tight. You, tip toed, hold him by his neck as he picks you up bringing you to the bed finding himself on top of you now. You look up as you catch his gaze, filled of lust and desire. He begins to kiss your neck leaving love trails all over you, his warm breath makes you arch your back against him—and God knows how much he loved it, how long he wanted this, just to have you closer to him made this man feel complete somehow. A shiver run through your spine as you feel his belt unbuckle, he kisses you before leaning back, staring at you for permission as you nod. And without hesitation he finds his entrance starting to follow a slow and steady rhythm, not wanting to hurt you. You moaned holding tight onto his shoulders, he began to move faster making you moan louder, he smirks, “You like it? Mhm?” He whimpers in your ear as he kept going. You were so close, trying to hold tight miserably. Your legs wrapped around him as he slows his pace teasing you. “Rafe,” you whimper, “please.” Rafe smiles at you as he keeps up to his pace again finally making you reach you climax as you arch you back releasing all that you had left. He keeps going before pulling out and crashing on top for you catching his breath and softly kissing your neck. He loved every single thing about you—the way your hair fell just right, the way your eyes sparkled, the fire in your voice. He loved your stubbornness, the way you never backed down. But that was the problem. He hated the fact that he loved you. It infuriated him, this feeling he couldn’t control—couldn’t fight. You were everything he couldn’t have, everything he’d never deserve. And yet, there he was, drawn to you in a way that made him lose himself, lose the hard shell he’d built around his heart. He hated how much he wanted you. How much he needed you. Because in the end, he knew it would never end well. It never did. But in this moment, as your gaze met his, as your lips met his, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Maybe that was it—maybe all you both needed was each other this whole time. Maybe the answer had always been simpler than you thought. Maybe, despite everything that stood between you, despite the complications and the fear, all you really needed was to be together. To stop fighting it, stop pretending you didn’t care. And maybe, just maybe, it was finally time to admit that, for both of you, this was where you belonged.

Copyright © angelssmvse 2024 — I own only this story; please do not copy nor translate without permission or proper attribution. I give credit for the character Rafe Cameron from the series "Outer Banks" by Jonas Pate. This is the only platform where I have published the story.

[johannesviii]

Nearly every time I've rewatched Infinity Train Book 3 since I first saw it in February, I saw more parallels and narrative echos, and infodumping my friends about them isn't enough anymore

I figured I should do a post about this one because I don't think I've seen a post about that specific thing yet, and I love this show's writing, and. idk. I just need to praise it I guess

So, the most obvious part first:

Grace became everything she hated about her parents

When Grace mentions her mother in the Debutante Ball Car, it's made pretty clear she's trying to distance herself from her mother as much as possible, and at this point, we realise retrospectively that Grace's room in the Mall Car in episode one was full of sports clothes - it seems she tries to avoid things reminding her of her life before the train. And of her mother. And yet-

She tries to control everyone and everything around her, and makes people do what she doesn't want to do

And she decides what's cool and what isn't

She makes people kneel in her presence, like her mother towers over her in her mind's eye

Obviously she constantly lies to get what she wants, and her dad does that in her tape

When her younger self looks up, she looks right through adult Grace, and it's actually her parents she's looking at! Her younger self is metaphorically seeing her parents where her adult self is standing!! I still can't get over this shot

Also I feel the need to mention her mother has the same voice actor as her in her tape and even if it might be to cut corners in the budget, that feels significant (and to be fair, sometimes you can cut corners while making meaningful choices at the same time)

Now you might think I'd have nothing to say about Simon on that matter, since we don't see any flashback of his life before the Train, and we know next to nothing about his parents. But I think it's very telling that the only actual backstory we get for him is his backstory with The Cat.

Because-

Simon became everything he hated about The Cat

Ok I never see anyone mentioning this, but hear me out

First, we have no idea if Simon knew The Cat was routinely invading people's privacy through their memory tapes, but he sure has no issue doing the exact same thing

But that doesn't stop there. He also collects things obsessively

And makes kids collect things for him as well, by the way

He thinks he's above others, but he immediately switches to victim mode when it comes back to bite him

HE. ABANDONS. A CHILD. WHO WAS UNDER HIS CARE!!

And. Uh. They both dig their heels instead of trying to change, too

Don't get me wrong, on some level I would have liked to know what Simon's parents were like too. I would have liked that a lot. But there's a good chance it wouldn't change anything, because everything we need to know about his background to understand why he's Like That™ is already in the show

But yeah, Grace and Simon both pretend they found freedom on the Train, and both distance themselves from parental figures who are at the source of their trauma, claiming they're different and better than them - and yet they are both subconsciously repeating patterns that caused at least part of their problems and/or trauma in the first place

And since they decided that making numbers go up was good, as long as they stick to that idea, they are bound to never escape from that self-perpetuating loop of harm and trauma

And I love it

And I hate it

[ineffably-human]

So here's my problem.

And it's not about Nandermo, not exactly anyway. Because I didn't expect Nandermo to become textual until the very end, if at all. The show kept making it clear that they liked their ambiguity to keep the relationship on the razor's edge, and Paul Simms made it clearer and clearer that for some reason (put a pin in this) he just couldn't see their connection as a sexual one.

But I frankly don't care about that, because if anything is canon in this show it's that the vampires will eventually fuck everything, and Nandor canonically fucks his other friends. More importantly, their connection was always the emotional core of both characters. And Paul always did say he saw their relationship as a romance, if a strange and non-sexual one.

So I figured we'd maybe get Nandor confessing that Guillermo meant a lot to him (and immediately walking it back a little), or Guillermo confessing how lost he feels without his vampire dream and Nandor offering him a place. Maybe an ambiguous, could-just-be-queerplatonic-partners 'I love you'. Maybe just the hug they kept teasing for three or four seasons and never got. We got like...half of two of those, in episode 10, so I guess that's a wobbly semi-fulfilled thing by my definition of it.

But it's not the Nandermo of it all. It's the Guillermo of it all. And how this final episode seemed to almost mock Guillermo's place at the emotional core of the show.

And the Guillermo of it all is why we never got the Nandermo of it all.

Shadows has vampires doing absurd-ass things, but every character also has things they want and feel, and there are various amounts of emotional ink spilled about it. The show has found space, sometimes very poignant space, to take that seriously in between the piss and sex jokes. The vampires change very slowly and in spirals, they repeat a lot of their old issues that stem back even to their mortal lives. But they always try.

And things do change in the vampire house; that is not the same household from the first season. Every single character, right down to the Baron and the Guide and Derek, are in different and better places than they were before the show began. They've made progress in their individual desires, and a lot of that is due to the improved connections they have with each other, connections we've watched them foster. A lot of the time it's because they're talked about as a found family, something Guillermo started and Guillermo believed before any of the rest of them did.

---

So where is Guillermo this season? Our human point of view, our dynamic character, the character who has a dream and wants something more than any of the others? Whose dream drives the storyline of the entire show?

Guillermo has chosen to be human, and he thinks he can't be part of the household if he's not a vampire. We watch Guillermo try to throw himself back into the human world trying to make up for lost time - to the point that he forgets the person he called his best friend, the people he called his family, in a way I think we never fully resolve. He thinks he's thriving, and he doesn't even seem upset about leaving the others behind.

We watch him revert (and that's fine, people revert sometimes) to the same waiting lapdog he was when we started the series. We watch him realize that and he says no. Nandor stands up for him, and feels better and more fulfilled in doing so, and that's a great capstone for Nandor and Nandor's own tendency for selfishness. And that's excellent. Episode 10 was a great start for all the ground they had to cover.

Nandor offers for Guillermo to be his partner in crime. His sidekick, but Guillermo expressed that desire back in season one so it's not an insult inherently. But here's the problem. Here's the part of Guillermo that has frankly always been a problem, because I thought it's something the show was eventually going to cover respectfully, and instead it was always part of the joke.

---

Guillermo is someone who made a decision sixteen years ago as part of a very young man's desire, to be respected and have cool powers, to live forever, to see the world. (He somehow thought being a vampire, and only a vampire, could get him those things but that's a rant for another time.)

That young man has grown up. He's in his mid-thirties, he has a body count. We've watched him at various times be empathetic, clever, cunning, and brave. Also extremely sexy in bodyguard gear. (And for some reason, the show keeps wanting us to forget that for a season he was extremely competent and badass and sexy pretty much all the time, and he seemed thrilled to be in that role, and he didn't even care about being a vampire if he could protect Nandor in that way and be regarded as 'part of the team'.)

Then Nandor dresses him in a stupid cowboy costume, and gives him a sidekick name ending in 'Kid', which he seems less than thrilled about. They all still talk about him the entire episode as if he's a disobedient child. The vampires speculate if Guillermo is having a fling with the crew, but no - Guillermo's had one boyfriend, who we saw him hug once and nothing more. Despite living in a house for fifteen years that is openly raunchy and shameless, he seems like a character designed to be both desexed and humiliated, and they never expand on the reason why.

(And if Guillermo were ace it'd be amazing, hell it's my headcanon at this point, but I don't think that's what they're going for. I think the show just desexualizes Guilermo. As a matter of praxis. For some reason.)

And the show has done this more and more to Guillermo in the later seasons. Nandor says he could steal original!Freddie easily from Guillermo if he wanted to. The vampires laugh at the thought of him being a vampire - "a little bat pooping everywhere," and Guillermo's time as a vampire has him basically feeling no different in his sexuality or, after a very brief moment, his confidence. Even Nandor's big climactic moment in Episode 10 has him saying that just because Guillermo isn't as cool or hot or interesting or strong as Jordan (or Nandor) doesn't mean Guillermo deserves to be treated poorly.

Look, I don't know if it's because Harvey Guillen is babyfaced, or because he's fat, or because he carries a different energy to his masculinity. Or because it's great to talk about gay sex and being horny, but writing a gay relationship is just too hard. Or some fun combination of all those things.

But I keep thinking about everyone freaking out when Nandor swooped into the collapsed floorboards to save Guillermo in season 4, and everyone freaked out and swooned. And Paul Simms expressed that as "[Nandor] has to save his little buddy."

Guillermo is a grown-ass man, with a desire to feel powerful and special and accepted, who Nandor sees as his little buddy. (Who everyone in the house sees as their little buddy, and it's nice he's part of the family, but...) After every emotional beat that makes them seem like equals with a special connection, he reverts to the less-cool sidekick who makes Nandor feel special and important. And Guillermo's prior devotion to Nandor - not to vampirism, not to a job or promotion, to Nandor - changes to other things, but Nandor never figures out why that hurts him so much. And for some reason the deepest bond of the series just isn't sexual, the showrunner just can't see it that way, in a house where everyone's fucking but not you Guillermo.

We're at the end of the story, and that's our punchline.

---

And we don't end on one of the points where Guillermo is asserting himself as someone who deserves to be taken seriously, and given the things he wants - and the show has had plenty of those moments, all of which seem to be building and evolving his relationships over the years.

We end on Guillermo being told that suddenly, the documentary is packing up without any fanfare or clarity on what they were looking for in the first place. We get Guillermo stumbling for clarity on what it all meant, what the point was for him and what his life is going to be now. We're told over and over again the documentary (and Guillermo, and the viewers) needs a satisfying capstone, needs emotional closure.

And the vampires tell him to shut up. And they tell him this has all happened before, and none of it is special to them. ("No human is special," Nandor said several episodes ago, and never went back on it.) And they tell him to do a little dance for their amusement, and Colin recites some pithy lines. And every attempt to take a moment to care about Guillermo's journey, or the core of his character and what he needs, is turned into a joke for him and for us.

Guillermo's looking for a point to it all, for some kind of fulfillment, and there wasn't one. And everyone is satisfied in that but him. And even if there were times Guillermo got the chance to be respected, to have cool powers (which he kept, but the vampires keep forgetting them), to live forever (he will die and leave Nandor someday!), to see the world - none of these things are going to come to him now.

It would make absolute, complete, and devastating sense for Guillermo to feel he's outgrown them and to leave. Nandor doesn't even seem upset enough to try and stop him. We never really get a clear reason about why he decides to stay.

I mean, it's for friendship or something, with a line about how they can still be close but he needs 'his own thing'. But in six seasons, over and over and over, we've been driven back to the idea that the most emotional part of this story is Guillermo's desire to become accepted in this family, and the effect he has on Nandor. That Guillermo needs this home and he consistently makes Nandor softer, kinder, less selfish and more fulfilled when they're together.

But those parts of their relationship, the love story parts, don't matter. Guillermo is going to find 'his own thing' when it's been clear how entrenched in this world he is (right down to his DNA), but Nandor will drag him back into shenanigans anyway, probably keeping Guillermo from whatever 'his own thing' is.

And Guillermo will always be Nandor's sidekick, his little buddy, never to be taken seriously. And one day, Guillermo will die, and he'll be someone they all forget. And for some reason, he'll be just fine with that, because he belongs with them but will never really be in a better position.

And he'll be satisfied with that. For some reason. But I won't.