#i could go on and on about how this is just upsetting and like sometimes when people learn that i have bpd they're surprised | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

withleeknow · 2 days ago

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wishful thinking. (08)

chapter eight: ships in the night

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; i’ve been told this is the angstiest chapter yet saur yk you’ve been warned, mentions of past seggsy times, oc is self-deprecating self-sabotaging, oc has an anxiety attack in this one, erhm just Big Sad overall methinks, also could've been more edited but i am a godless monster word count: 7.2k note: wt is backkkkkk!! and it's the penultimate chapter omg :( lowkey nervous about how this is gonna be perceived bc i feel like my brand is Sad™️ and i haven't properly written anything Sad™️ in a WHILE. but yeah, wt8 is yours now have funnn. also ty chessica @matchannie for proofreading!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Sorry, I know that comment wasn’t funny Just wanted you to love me, but I didn’t go about it right Sometimes the best advice that I can give Is to bite my lip and listen with my big fat mouth shut tight

big fat mouth - Arlie

You don’t think you can ever forget the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes when the words had tumbled out of your mouth in a panicked frenzy. The regret was immediate, but so was the damage.

Saying things you didn’t mean, watching Minho so utterly defeated that it kills you, and the deafening silence after he had walked away from you on heavy footsteps – you can’t describe how it all felt that night. It’s just… sinking, and sinking, and sinking; endlessly spiraling in an ocean of your own guilt and despair. It’s true what they say – misery loves company.

Distractions don’t work, because whenever that overwhelming dread eases by even a fraction, you’re once again reminded by the bracelet that’s wrapped around your wrist with the tiny dove charm hanging on the side. Neither of you paid it any mind the other night, that much is clear.

You know you should return it to him eventually; it’s never belonged to you and it never will. But every time you go to take it off, you can’t bring yourself to simply undo the clasp and hide the bracelet somewhere you can’t see. It lets you delude yourself into thinking that you haven’t lost him even after what you said, even after you stomped on his heart and left it bleeding where you stood.

You’d been upset, thinking that you were the only one falling, terrified that you’d crash headfirst into the cold, hard ground because there’d be nobody to catch you. And yet, when Minho told you he loved you, it provided you no relief at all. The fear magnified tenfold, taking over you until you couldn’t see straight, until it consumed you whole.

Home is something you find, and you’ve found it in him. Your sun and your spring and your home, and everything good that you can ever name.

All your life, something is always missing, an empty space that you never learned how to fill. Like when you exit a room and there’s a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that you’ve forgotten something even though all of your belongings are accounted for. Like when you lose your favorite ring, one that’s a little too loose but beloved anyway, slipping over your knuckle without your permission and disappearing forever, and you keep running your fingers over where the golden band used to be until you come to terms with the fact that it’s never coming back and you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning the loss of that familiarity.

You’ve always looked for things you lost in places you’ve never been.

You just want to go home, but you know you’ll only ruin it in the end.

The problem has never been Minho or anybody else. It’s you, and how there’s something intrinsically wrong with you. You paint the ending before there’s even a beginning. You’d rather run and hide than let yourself feel anything, because if there’s happiness then there’s going to be hurt inevitably.

You don’t want him to wake up one day and look at you like you’re a stranger, to realize that he’s wasted his time and effort, that you just weren’t worth it after all.

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, time seems to move so quickly. One minute, you’re four, maybe five years old, and your mother is refusing to speak to you because she thinks you ruined one of her bags, a large scratch running along the otherwise smooth leather surface like it’s been met with a pair of scissors or simply accumulated on her way to work and she hadn’t noticed until she got home and you happened to be in the vicinity of her anger; the next, she’s letting you relish in all your favorite desserts, cavities be damned.

One minute, you’re being rushed to the hospital with a bad case of food poisoning, your parents staring down at you as if you’re actually about to die; the next, you’re already at home, watching cartoons that you couldn’t understand but you like anyway because they’re full of pretty colors and princesses and fairies.

You don’t remember how your mother came to forgive you for the bag even though it wasn’t your fault, or what the hospital felt like or if what the doctors and nurses did to make you feel better even hurt. You only know that you wish to return to a smaller version of yourself whose memories you can’t even recall, return to a time in which you once so desperately wanted to escape from.

Now, when you’re hurt, time doesn’t pass in a blink of an eye like it used to. It stands still, sucks you down a vortex and makes you feel everything.

No one ever really warns you about growing pains, that they’re unavoidable no matter how hard you try to avoid them, that they can last a lifetime because you never really stop growing, and it never really seems to ache any less.

Hyunjin: Attachment: 1 Image. Hyunjin: i sent this one in Hyunjin: u??

You’d almost forgotten about the exhibition until Hyunjin had sent you those texts. Even though you’re not one to neglect deadlines, you suppose it’s fairly reasonable that this one in particular had slipped your mind. You haven’t really been able to wrap your head around that many things after all.

Every semester, yours and Hyunjin’s department rents out a gallery near campus for a whole week to showcase students’ works. It’s nothing exclusive, nothing like a competition where they pit a couple hundred kids against each other just for a spot at a fancy art gallery. Almost anyone in the Faculty of Arts can register before the submission deadline, and you suppose that’s another reason why you’d overlooked it so easily – because you didn’t earn it. It didn’t feel special. It was just another meaningless event to attend.

Regardless, you spent a chunk of an afternoon pondering your selection though it didn’t matter that much, almost two hours dedicated to picking out paintings you realized you didn’t love. Some you even turned out to hate, even though you could remember the pride radiating from you the moments the canvas had felt the last brush stroke. Maybe the glamor eventually wore off, the momentary high that coursed through you when you’d shown your finished works to your professors and peers, and received showers of praise in return.

The piece you chose in the end wasn’t your favorite by any means, but it was one of the only pieces you could still bear to look at without nitpicking too much. It was a painting of the waters, and you’ve always loved the waters.

You could recall the day you went to the promenade by yourself with a need to be away from everyone and everything, and an overshirt that was too light to combat the September evening chill as summer transitioned into fall. You watched the sky slowly darken after the sun had disappeared from view, watched as the buildings on the other side of the river lit up one by one until they made up for the light that retired for the day.

The thin layers made you shiver – the consequence of your poor choice in clothing that night – but there was something about sitting by the waterfront after dark, kicking pebbles around underneath your feet, and the gentle caress of the wind on your face and your hair that made the cold feel welcoming. You always thought the city was more beautiful at night, more calming amidst all of its perpetual chaos. It made you feel like you were inside a dream long forgotten, took you back to a north star that you left to gather dust on an abandoned shelf.

You could recall wanting to dive into that dream again, a dream in which you could chase a perfect version of you that would never exist and find light at the end of the tunnel, instead of returning to the reality where you always wound up suffocating in darkness. You wanted to be free, free from the noise and free from your own life despite one simple truth that you knew all too well – that you could run but never from yourself.

When you were young, it’s the moon that used to follow you everywhere. As you get older, it’s all of the things that keep you up at night.

You could recall your phone buzzing to life in your bag with Minho’s name on the screen, like a sign from the universe saying “Hey, this one’s for you. Don’t drown. You have a lighthouse.” and it was as though he could sense that you were falling, like someone had tied your heart to a rock and threw it into the very river in front of you to sink to the bottom. Your friends often said he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to you. Maybe there was some truth in that.

His voice pulled you out of it, even though he only called to ask if you wanted to come over and eat the boatload of food his mom had sent. He made you want to disappear a little less and in that moment, it was enough.

You left your hiding place to go to him, to lose yourself in stupid jokes and not-too-sweet desserts even if it was only for a couple hours. And when you returned home that night, everything spilled onto the canvas just from memory alone, from the feeling that you were desperately clinging onto with your shaking hands.

You always thought you could only run away to places. You didn’t know people could be escapes too, and somewhere along the way, that was what Minho became to you — your treasured escape, your new hiding place.

You manage to avoid everyone – with the exception of Hyunjin; you do have to see him in class after all – over the two and a half weeks leading up to the exhibition, drumming up excuse after excuse to bail whenever any of them asks to grab a bite together or just to simply hang out. If they saw you, they’d notice your puffy eyes and ask if you’ve been crying. They would ask why, and you can’t find in yourself to make up a lie believable enough for that kind of question.

You think Hyunjin has noticed. He’s a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he’s not stupid and he’s still blessed with the gift of sight. He doesn’t mention anything though, despite you showing up to almost every class with puffy eyelids. You suppose you’re grateful for that.

Minho hasn’t talked to you at all since that night. Doesn’t ask you how your project’s going, doesn’t ask you about the exhibition, barely even speaks in the group chat, not even a boring comment about the weather. What were you expecting anyway? You get it, you do.

But despite the silence, you never doubted that he would show up to the exhibition. If not for you, then he would be there to support Hyunjin.

The only person who really has an inkling that something is wrong is Jess, when you were getting ready together earlier tonight and she helped you conceal your puffy eyes. She’d tiptoed around the question before settling on asking “Everything okay?” — simple, easy, quickly dismissible if you didn’t feel like sharing.

You didn’t, and she dropped the subject because there was no point in badgering you for answers anyway.

Chan picked the both of you up afterward, and Jess didn’t have to explain anything to him when she slipped into the backseat with you instead of riding next to her boyfriend.

Now here you are, standing in a room full of your friends and peers, wearing a black dress that Jess helped you choose, and Minho is nowhere to be found. You’d spent all day pacing around, anxious at the mere thought of seeing him and even talking to him. What you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment, the unbearable feeling in the pit of your stomach in response to his absence. You can’t tell which is worse; maybe every moment without him all sucks the same.

When Hyunjin starts whining and takes out his phone to spam Minho’s messages demanding his location (you’re thankful that it didn’t have to come to you), all he receives in return is a measly “Running late.”

And that’s it. A mere text is enough to satiate everyone’s curiosity. Well, everyone but Hyunjin, because he’s still a nagging drama queen.

Minho is running late, and to anyone else, it’s the most normal thing in the world.

But to you… it means something beyond that. Because this was him. This was your Minho. Your Minho who’s never been known for his tardiness, who’s never once broken a promise, who’s always there for you no matter what.

All you know right now is his absence, and it makes you sink.

You sink, and then you wait. Not a lot to be done about it.

You slip away to a quiet spot, a vacant hallway, to be by yourself while everyone is out there wandering around and gorging themselves on the free food and drinks. You shouldn’t be with them anyway. All you need is to wallow in peace and not be the black cloud hanging over everybody’s heads.

There’s something so incredibly lonely in the act of waiting. Waiting to board a plane, waiting in line at the grocery store. Waiting for a phone call or text message that you know won’t come, waiting for a person whom you can only hope would show up. At the end of the day, that’s what waiting is, isn’t it? It’s wanting. It’s hoping, and if there’s one thing you know about hope, it’s that it’s dangerous.

You wonder if this is how Minho felt all this time, waiting on a girl who’s always prepared to leave. You wonder if, that night, he had expected you to reciprocate his feelings. You did. You do, and a part of you wanted to tell him that you loved him too. The words were there, and yet…

It’s true that you love him, and it’s true that you don’t want to. If hope is dangerous then love is fucking terrifying.

He’d been so patient with you, so awfully gentle and quiet in the chasm of his waiting that you mistook the tenderness for everything except for what it actually was – love. Or perhaps you did know. Maybe deep down, you knew that you would’ve loved him back with everything you had, with every fiber of your being. That you would’ve let him be the only one to ever really know you, and it felt like a fear greater than you could bear.

In the end, did you lose him? Can you lose something you never had? It wasn’t a love that you let slip away; it was a what if.

You’re in a room with people who love you and yet, all you can think about is Minho. You miss him so much that it feels like someone has spliced you in two, that it physically makes you ache every second that he isn’t with you. As selfish as it sounds, you want him to walk through the door and you want everything to be okay again. You want to be back in a bubble with just the two of you and a locked box filled with words unsaid. You thought you could stay in that bubble forever, where it was safe and you could pretend that you were happy, and maybe you really were happy with him. But all things — good or bad — must come to an end. The bubble burst, and this was the real world.

You want to undo your cruelty, want him to take back his sincerity. You want an ocean of distance between you and him, you want to pull him as close as humanly possible. All your wants are contradictions. You’re a paradox of puzzle pieces that never seem to fit together.

You want to tell him that it hurts. Want him to make it better because he’s the only one who can make it better.

But miracles rarely happen and there are no shooting stars in sight. Minho was the closest thing you got to a shooting star, burning across your night sky for just a brief moment. Blink and you could miss it. Blink and you did miss him.

Your fingers find his contact in your phone before you could stop yourself, and soon enough, you’re pressing the call button. It’s like drunk dialling, only you aren’t intoxicated. Or maybe you are; maybe you’re under the influence of his absence and how much it stings.

You don’t know why you’re calling him, don’t know what to even say when he picks up.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wonder for long.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone,” comes the automated voice on the other end.

For some reason, you don’t hang up. You wait for the beep, then you wait some more. It’s not until ten seconds later that you find your voice, the only thing to come out of your mouth is a quiet Hey.

You clear your throat, rub the sweaty palm of your free hand on your dress. “Hey,” you try again. “It’s… me. I’m at the gallery with everyone. Uhm, they’re all waiting for you. Are you on your way? Are you stuck in traffic? Or did you forget it was today? Hyunjin is trying really hard not to blow up your phone–” You pause to chuckle dryly. “But you know it would mean a lot to him to have you here. It… it’d mean a lot to me too if you were here. I don’t know, I assumed you’d come. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I just…” Another pause. This time, it’s so that you could take a breath. “Listen, Minho, I didn’t mean what I said to you. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I’m sorry that I hurt you, I don’t have any excuse for that. You deserve better than me. It’s going to pass, you know? I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time on me, but… you’re going to find someone else, and you’re going to get over it. I’m sorry I fucked everything up. It’s fine if you never want to talk to me again, just please don’t let it get between you and our fr–”

The line beeps again. “To replay the message, press 1. To save the message, press 2. To delete the message, press 3.”

You purse your lips together. There’s still a lump in your throat and no peace to be made. It’s like drunk dialling, only you pull yourself together at the very last second. Your thumb hovers over the dial pad on your phone until you eventually end up on 3, because your cowardice will always triumph in the end. Back to square one. Everything’s still the same as it was five minutes ago.

You force your legs to move, like how you'd force yourself to get up and eat and drink water and shower and be a person these days. When you round the corner, you bump against something solid. A person. The collision isn’t hard enough to knock you backward; they weren’t moving, they’d only been standing still.

You look up at Seungmin, who merely blinks at you. You don’t know how long he’s been here, if he heard anything at all. You swallow once, considering whether you should just play dumb and gauge his reaction or ask point blank if you’ve been caught. He beats you to the decision though.

“You and Minho,” Seungmin says, a bit hesitant, like the topic is weird to bring up. “You’re the girl.”

A deer in headlights, you are. A pathetic one at that, too.

But even then, you’re not panicked, not really. You’re just sad, and the truth was bound to come out eventually.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you say.

The discarded voicemail that he overheard, the dejection written all over your face, the silence from both you and Minho recently — it’s obvious to pretty much everyone, and Seungmin is smarter than most.

He opens his mouth and shuts it again like he’s choosing his words. The Seungmin-esque blank stare melting away to make space for some pity, then a question, “Is there anything left to tell?”

You escape to the empty garden in the back where there were a few lonely chairs set up, so you could have some privacy to talk. Despite everything, it feels like you’ve got a little breathing space, just being able to share this with someone. To not have to carry it all on your own. You’re glad that it was Seungmin who found out first. You have a feeling that he would understand, at least to some degree. You’re relieved, even when the first question that he asks is, “So, how did you fuck it up?”

“Why do you just automatically assume it was me?” You’re mildly offended, even though he’s right.

“Between you and Minho, I’d bet on you.” Seungmin shrugs. “You spook easily.”

“I deeply resent that notion.”

He turns to look at you, no trace of any teasing. “Can you prove me wrong?”

But you can’t, and it tells him as much when you avert his eyes in favor of the ground, where you kick at a lonesome pebble sitting among the grass. It lands somewhere between the green blades, lost in the shadows that cast over parts of the garden that are poorly lit.

“So what happened?” he asks, turning away again to stare out at the empty space. You like to think of it as him giving you some elbow room, to ease the pressure of being scrutinized. And as much as you appreciate it, it still takes you another brief moment before you can formulate a coherent sentence, another minute of twiddling your fingers in your lap.

You tell Seungmin about your first night with Minho – not the details, of course; that would be weird and it’s none of his business. Just that it happened, how you both let it keep happening over the past few months while nobody suspected a thing.

Seungmin nods solemnly, like he’s putting together the missing pieces.

“Did you ever notice anything?” you ask.

“I mean… not about you hooking up, but we thought you’d end up together eventually.” He shrugs. “We always kinda assumed that you two would become those people who make a pact to get married if you’re still single by 40 or 50, if you didn’t get together before then. It makes sense. You and Minho just sort of make sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Your heart swoops. Hearing it from Seungmin makes you sad. Not the same brand of sadness that you’ve been wearing lately though. A different kind, the kind of sadness that’s a little numbing and makes it difficult to breathe. “Well, sorry to disappoint everyone but I don’t think any of it is gonna happen anymore.”

“So… how did it happen?” Seungmin asks again, mimicking explosions with his hands.

You let him off easy without a punch in the shoulder, because you just really don’t have the energy for it right now. “Minho wanted something more,” you tell your friend, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, then with the necklace charm resting on your collarbone. “And I just… I don’t know. I guess I freaked. I… said some awful stuff to him.”

Seungmin hums a sound of acknowledgement. He looks like he’s thinking about it, about you and Minho and what it means. “Classic,” he chuckles after a brief moment, mostly to himself. Maybe he’s thinking about what it means beyond just the pair of you too.

You side-eye him. “You’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?”

He shoots the glance back at you. “What are you trying to say here?”

You remember her, the only girl that Seungmin has ever hinted at liking. He never admitted it out loud to any of you, but you could all see it.

You only used to see her in passing at house parties, and even then, it wasn’t Seungmin nor her who brought the other one around. They would show up separately with their own group, mingle for a while, find each other after a couple of drinks before they disappeared to god-knows-where for the rest of the night. Sometimes, Changbin or Hyunjin would catch them before they could sneak off and insist that Seungmin let everyone get to know his friend.

These brief interactions are all you have with her, meaningless small talk for a few minutes before Seungmin’s patience ran thin and he whisked her away like they’d both intended. You liked her; she was nice, and she was really pretty. You liked her even though you didn’t know her, because she was the one person who Seungmin cared about enough to keep away from prying eyes. A secret shared only between the two of them, a bubble in which only they existed.

The last time you saw her with him must’ve been at least three months ago, maybe even longer. No one really knows what happened, just that she stopped showing up to parties, and Seungmin never brought it up again. You all assumed whatever he had going on with her had run its course, though it doesn’t really stop Hyunjin and Jisung from mentioning her every now and again just to tease him.

“I seem to recall a Halloween party last year and a certain someone was in a bee costume and–”

“Fine,” Seungmin interjects, rolling his eyes. “Fine, we can form our own dumbass club. Happy?”

You laugh a little, even though the whole thing isn’t very funny. Your shared experience is nothing to take pride in.

“So how did you blow it up?” you ask.

He gives you a sour glare before his eyes soften. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and in his silence you find that you and him are more similar in ways that you’ve never cared enough to admit before. This sadness that you carry, you have a feeling that he knows it all too well.

“Like I said, classic,” Seungmin tells you. “She wanted something more. I freaked. I ghosted her.”

A mirror. Two sides of the same stupid coin.

You lean back against your seat. “Did you like her?”

It takes a beat, but his answer comes out as an honest, “Yeah, I liked her. Liked her too much.”

“Why did you do that to her then?”

“Why did you do that to Minho?” Seungmin deadpans, but he doesn’t seem to want a response from you. He just sighs, wistfully adding, “I’ve thought about it a lot. It’s scary to be wanted because it means someone’s putting you on a pedestal, and when you’re on a pedestal, the more it’ll hurt if you fall off. The more they’re counting on you to not let them down, the easier it is to fuck it all up. People like us, we’re flight risks. We can’t help it. We think it’s better to just leave before we can do any real damage. When you said whatever terrible shit you said to Minho, that was the first thing you thought about, right? To be cruel? That’s what I did too. Such a fucking stupid knee-jerk reaction.”

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, completely still.

Then Seungmin turns to you, and for the first time in all the years that you’ve known him, he’s looking at you, really looking at you. No snarky side-eye, no playful faux glare. Just a strange and unfamiliar sincerity, like he’s asking you to fix what he couldn’t, undo the cruelty that he never bothered apologizing for.

“Minho would understand, you know? If you’d just talk to him,” Seungmin says. “You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. But you want to have something real with him, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me about this and beating yourself up over it.”

“I told you. That ship sailed.” And you’re standing up for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re suddenly restless, your stomach twisting in knots out of nowhere. “He’s not even here. He didn’t even show up tonight. I think that’s saying enough.”

Your friend rises to his feet too, probably because he thinks it’s weird to be the only one sitting now while you’re upset and pacing about. It’s not until Seungmin takes a step closer that you realize you’re shaking a little.

“Hey, you good?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I talked to Minho yesterday. He said he’d come. Maybe something came up or he just–”

Hyunjin’s voice interrupts Seungmin in the middle of his sentence, the excited squeal carrying itself from all the way inside the gallery to the back garden through the door left ajar. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, maybe there’s a reason why people say it. It’s laughable, really.

You and Seungmin both turn your attention to the brief commotion indoors, where you see Hyunjin smiling so big that his eyes have crinkled into crescent moons, where he’s standing with his arm thrown around Minho and shaking him by the shoulders.

These days, it’s easy to pretend that time is standing still. You don’t even know if time is even passing at all; you’re just looking at him, dressed in a black blazer and some dress pants. Casual but he looks good. He always does.

You watch as he says something to Hyunjin that seems to calm the latter down a bit, at least enough for Minho to quickly scan the room, searching. You watch as his eyes sweep through all the people gathered inside, not stopping until they land on you, finding you on the other side of the glass door. Even in this terrible lighting, not entirely visible you assume, he sees you.

There was a conversation you had with Minho some time ago, when you two were sprawled out on your couch munching on strawberry Peperos and not paying attention to the movie that was playing on your TV, when he asked how you wanted your life to be at 40.

You knew what the boring answer was – you wanted your life to be stable, and you told him as much. Isn’t stability always the goal? Maybe a lame corporate job if the whole starving-artist-who-makes-it-big-overnight dream didn’t pan out. A cat and a dog named Mochi and Mocha, if you could afford two pets at once. An apartment that you owned, with framed pictures of everything you loved scattered all over the place, and stupidly cute fairy lights that you often see on Pinterest, and an unfathomable amount of plushies that your inner child was never indulged in. A peaceful and quiet life, at least to some extent.

The honest answer, the one that you didn’t tell him, was you wanted to not live with regret.

But as you lock eyes with him, for a split second there, you know that you will.

About twenty years down the line, when you look back on your life and think of this chapter, you’ll think about a boy who loved you and whom you loved. How you broke both of your hearts trying to protect your own. You’ll wonder if he’s married, if he has kids, if he still reminisces about the girl he used to love when he was young. If he’s happy and if his dreams came true. If the sadness you caused yourself was worth it, if the pain meant anything at all. If you could go back in time and undo everything, would you?

You’ll get over it eventually – surely you will; heartbreak isn’t the end of the world – but you’ll live with the grief of what could’ve been if you weren’t afraid. You’ll be left to mourn the road not taken, your almost but never was.

You’re the one who moves first, when it starts to become a struggle just to breathe. You stumble away from Minho’s line of sight, until you find a wall that you can rest against.

Seungmin is quick to follow. “Hey, woah, are you okay?”

Your hands alternate between balling themselves into tight fists and attempting in vain to grab at the flat surface of the concrete. There are no words that you can form to answer him. Only your ragged breathing and your pathetic effort to take in some air through your mouth.

“Okay, shit, uhm,” Seungmin sputters. “Hang on.”

Then he’s taking off. You don’t know how long he’s gone for, where he’s gone off to, and frankly, you can’t really bring yourself to care. Your hands abandon the wall in favor of your dress, something that you can actually hold onto. Your trembling fingers clutch the hem of your dress like they’re pretending it’s a lifeline, bunching and twisting the fabric in your sweaty palms. Hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t at all.

Even over the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear new footsteps coming out into the empty garden. Rushed at first, then they stop for a brief moment. You know who it is before he even approaches you.

Damn that Kim Seungmin.

The familiar scent of his cologne greets you before his voice. You spent hours and hours enveloped in this scent until it was dulled by sweat from the activities you were engaged in, if it wasn’t already softened by the kisses you would leave all over his skin.

When he calls your name, it comes out so soft, like you never broke his heart in the first place and that night was only a figment of your twisted imagination. He sounds so gentle, yet it sends you further down the crippling spiral. You don’t deserve him; maybe you never did, despite what Seungmin tried to put through your head earlier.

“I’m fine.” But you know your appearance has already betrayed your words. The first thing you say to him in weeks, and it’s a lie. You’re still leaning against the wall with your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling frame and your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a pitiful sight. Even more so when it registers in your brain that it’s Minho of all people who’s witnessing it.

He doesn’t say anything else, only lets out a sigh, and then his hand is on your body, a warm palm touching the small of your back out of habit before he moves it upward to rub between your shoulder blades. “Can you breathe?”

His question makes you all too aware that there’s something gnawing inside of your chest, makes you think for a second there that you’re going to die though you know that you won’t. You shake your head with your eyes still closed, your breathing coming out more ragged by the second. You can’t even bear to look at him and absorb the worry in his eyes; you’re sure you’ll only cry if you do, and it’s the last thing you need right now.

But it turns out that seeing Minho’s face isn’t the only thing that can bring you to tears. When you feel him tug at your arms, his warmth on your bare skin, you start crying anyway and that makes it even harder to breathe. There’s not a single ounce of resistance in your body, your limbs obeying him easily when they untangle themselves around your waist to fall by your sides as he pulls you into his chest, with one hand over your sternum and his thumb rubbing back and forth. He’s careful about it too, like he’s handling broken pieces of something that used to be beautiful.

“You’re okay,” he says, but you’ve got your face pressed into the crook of his neck and your tears are staining the collar of his shirt. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… listen to me.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak next.

“Name three things you can see,” he says. “You don’t have to say it out loud. Just think about it.”

You open your eyes finally, angling your head until most of your vision isn’t obstructed by the proximity of his body. Minho tightens his arm around you, and you blink away some of the tears.

Your black heels that your mom got you for your birthday a while ago.

The grass, darkened green and damp.

Him.

“Three things you can hear.”

Light chatter coming from inside the gallery.

Cars passing by on the adjacent street.

Him, the sound of his breathing.

“Three things you can touch.”

The soft material of your dress against your skin.

The bracelet, hugging your wrist, weighing you down like an anchor.

And… him.

Him, him, him.

You don’t know what reason Minho makes up to excuse you for the rest of night, but you don’t bother asking. There’s really no space left in your head to think about it twice, to care about leaving your friends or feel guilty about Hyunjin because he was so excited about today. It’s too much; all you want is to go home, get away from here.

Minho calls you both an Uber back to your place. During the entire ride, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you. And even though you mostly opt for looking out the window at the other cars and houses and people passing by, every now and then you could feel his eyes on you from the other side of the backseat.

When you arrive, he keeps a hand on the small of your back as you make your way up the stairs. When you unlock the door, you leave it open so he could follow you inside. You suppose that one is a force of habit. You’re not used to shutting the door in his face. At least, not in the literal sense anyway.

Then it returns, that gnawing feeling. A feeling far too colossal for your body to house. It sits somewhere inside your ribcage, sharp and desperate, with claws trying to dig its way out. And for the first time in maybe ever, you understand what it truly means to want something this badly. You love him, and it hurts. You love him even though it hurts.

Minho moves around the place while you remain frozen in the middle of your own apartment, as if he’s the one who lives here and you’re just visiting for the night. You let him take off your makeup (with a wipe; you’re going to hate yourself in the morning), let him help you change into clothes that you can sleep in, even let him tuck you into bed like you’re a helpless child. If he notices the bracelet on you, he doesn’t say anything. Everything is done in silence.

You don’t look him in the eye. You don’t think you can handle what you’ll find there.

But you do reach for his hand when he tries to leave now that there’s nothing left for him to do here. There’s not a single thought behind your action, just a need to have him near.

“Can you…?”

You aren’t brave enough to finish the question, your voice trailing off and the words dissipating like smoke after a lonely cigarette drag. You’re being selfish right now, you’re awfully aware of this.

Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even let out a single sigh. For a second there, you think he’s about to leave you here, cold and alone, just like you had done to him. It would be nothing less than what you deserve.

But then he’s shrugging off his blazer and your heart is in your throat. When he slips into bed beside you, something hurts, the kind of ache that spreads all across your chest and makes your lungs burn.

Earlier tonight, he could’ve walked away and let you be somebody else’s burden. Your friends were all there, it’s not like they would’ve left you stranded.

You’re not really sure what to think. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate you, but maybe it’s just enough confirmation that he doesn’t hate you more than he loves you.

You break the deafening stretch of silence with a whisper, “I’m sorry.” You don’t know what the apology is for. Are you sorry for that night, for the things you said to him? Are you sorry that you’re only yourself, that he just had to go ahead and fall for you of all people? Sorry that you’re too much of a coward and a lost cause to love him right? You don’t know, but it feels appropriate to apologize. You owe him that much.

“Don’t…” Minho says after a while. “You don’t have to do that.”

The familiar sensation returns – the one that stings the back of your eyes, burns your nostrils and makes you all choked up. You try to hold your breath and will it away, but the first tear spills without your permission, and you can’t help the shaky inhale – close to a gasp and followed by a sniffle – that punctuates your lungs when they start protesting against the sudden lack of oxygen.

You grip the sheets so hard you think you could rip through the fabric and dig into your own palm. It’s a pathetic feeling, like a strange kind of embarrassment that you can’t quite describe. The room is deadly quiet; you know there’s no way he didn’t catch the noise.

You hear Minho shift from where he lays behind you, some rustling when he moves against the duvet and the mattress. “Don’t cry,” he sighs. And it’s still so gentle. You’ve never known him to be anything but gentle.

You bite the inside of your cheek, blinking some of the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just… don’t cry.” It sounds like he’s holding something back but you aren’t sure. “Don’t cry. Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning, if you want.”

You sniffle some more, and maybe that makes Minho think he still needs to appease you even further. He reaches out finally, to brush a comforting hand against your arm. “Go to sleep. Promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You don’t know if you want to talk in the morning, because there’s nothing for you to say. All you really have is what he’s already heard – I’m sorry, like an utterly broken record. But you want him to stay even if it’s only for the morning. Even if all he’ll get is silence at best and choked up breaths at worst. Your last-ditch attempt at grasping straws, a futile effort to chase running water.

“Okay,” you tell him, and neither of you says anything afterward. The tears keep falling for a while, and at some point it tires you out enough to slip into a dreamless sleep.

When you open your eyes hours later, the sun is already up. The clock on your phone reads 7:06AM and the first thing you register is an uncomfortable dryness in your throat. Behind you, the bed is still warm. You can actually feel it underneath your fingertips when you reach out, the warmth dwindling from the side of the bed that’s been left vacant. Minho has never broken a promise to you before.

He’s gone, and you sink again.

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draconicred · 3 days ago

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Experiences in the Alterhuman Community (and Beyond) as a Fictive

It's a weird experience being a fictional character, especially dealing with fandom, the fact that your source is fictional, and interactions with people based on that--including some of the dehumanisation that's so common toward fictionfolk. I'm gonna go into that here because I need somwhere to collect my thoughts, so this might get long. I'll be talking about my experiences as a fictive, but this could very well apply to anyone who identifies as a fictional being--fictionkin, fictionlinkers, etc.

So, I see the version of me on the screen as an AU version of me, in short. I mean, I'm me, and I don't think I even looked exactly 1:1 with my canon self--so naturally, even though events line up pretty closely, I see my source as... Almost like a fanfic of my life? Like sure, that's decidedly me, and decidedly a lot of the things that happened to me and my friends, but also not me. I'm not that guy on the screen, he's what represents me.

Even though I fully believe I got here by dying in a literal past life, my source media here is absolutely fictional to me and I just... Don't look at it in really any other way. Which I guess makes sense if you put it into my perspective--what else would it be? It really is like reading a fanfic based on your life though, or reading an article about yourself in the news. A bit of a shock, a bit of "why did they include THAT?" sprinkled in here and there, a bit awkward sometimes, and it does tend to resurface bad feelings. But overall, it's not that personal to me. I'm largely fine with it existing.

On the other hand, what is shocking is that people see me as fictional. I'm a fictional introject, from a fictional source, from the perspectives of a lot of people here. But I look at my source and I go well... Yeah, that's fiction of course, but my life is an actual thing that happened to me. Realistically I know that not everyone has spiritual beliefs and not everyone even accepts fictional identities as something "real", but man is it weird to just... Have it be spun in such a way?

I'm used to being in the media, I'm used to having cameras on me and being in the public eye. I'm used to articles and stories and posts on the internet. I'm used to fans even! But this isn't your regular, run-of-the-mill experience of people wanting to know you because you're a hero. This is people who see your life and experiences as a fun story they saw in a book or on TV, coming up to you with the idea that you're their favourite character, and not... A whole entire person. It's so damn weird.

There's still that level of disrespect that comes from people who are a little parasocial with you, but it almost hits deeper here because a lot of the time, you know they're not seeing a hero or the things you've literally done in your memories. They're seeing that guy on the screen they think is cool, and while he represents you, he's not you. And they're treating you like a celebrity because of that weird fanfic version of you on the TV or in that book.

There's usually little acknowledgement of your life or experiences as "real". When you're presenting as your fictional identity around others, you tend to get put into one of a few camps:

Cool Character from Media who I love and adore and want to talk to (and will probably get fanperson excited about it). I will probably get dispraportionally upset if Character tells me to back off a bit because I don't want my blorbo to be mad at me.

Character from Media I'm in love with and will immediately start asking invasive questions to or outright flirting with. Could get real gross real quick.

Problematic Character or Guy From Problematic Media that I instantly dislike because that's so Problematic how dare you show your face. I'm reporting you for being Character, you should change your identity if you want to exist so bad.

Character from Media who is disabled/queer/mentally ill/has any soft personality trait ever and I will now be treating you like a sweet little babyboy cinnamon roll who could not hurt a fly.

Person who identifies as Character? How interesting! I'm going to really pry and question everything from your actions in-source (to get unique perspectives from Character) and question literally everything else. Because this is Science and I'll get mad if you don't tell me everything, you need to tell me everything or you're rude.

Of course there's nuance and there's absolutely times where you'll be treated as a normal person, but the above are... So damn common. I've been here for a few months and I've already had some weird stuff happen to me simply because I'm Kirishima and people feel entitled to give me cutesy nicknames or whatever. Even without knowing me or my system at all beforehand. It's just.. So different from anything I've experienced before? Being treated like a celebrity is dehumanising enough, but being treated like a character.ai bot or just generally a form of free entertainment and not a person is so perplexing to me.

There's also that if you're from a popular source, you see stuff about yourself everywhere. Posters, plushies, advertisements, posts on social media--all of it. Some of that I'm used to already, but it's kind of weird when you're mentally aware that this is all for that twisted-mirror version of yourself and not you. And if you get a little uncomfortable at some fanart showing up out of the blue, or someone making a source related joke... You're kind of just expected to brush it off. Which yeah, I get it! It's about the source, not me, but it's still just... A weird feeling. A feeling of not being allowed to be upset because it's about the source and not literal you.

I think there needs to be a line, maybe. Not saying that fictives should be putting a stop to any media or fandom ever, just.. That maybe respect toward us for being uncomfortable with fan content due to being a fictive or fictionkin should be more normalised. It should be more okay to say "hey, I'm Character, please don't joke like that" to a friend, or "don't send me fanart of this thing, I'm Character and that's weird"--which it normally is! But there does tend to be a sort of layer of "Oh, it's because you're Character. You know that's not you, right? You shouldn't be upset, you need to source separate more."--when if most other people were to set a boundary like that, it would usually be respected. Source separation can be great, but if someone hasn't separated or doesn't want to, why is it okay to still send them material they're uncomfortable with--or at least, why do people tend to argue that the fictive should "just separate from source" instead? It... Just boils down to alterhumisia toward fictionfolk, honestly. It sucks.

There's a lot of problems with basic respect toward fictionfolk of all kinds--hell, even in the alterhuman community where it's meant to be safe. I don't know if this rant is entirely coherent or not, I don't know if there's anything noteworthy to take from it--but if you do take something from it, let it be that fictionfolk want to be treated like people. Source separated, not source separated, canon divergent or compliant, hearted, linker, 'kin or 'tive--we're people. Don't let our identities change the way you instinctually treat us. Let us be openly us, and treat us as you would anyone else.

#otherkin #alterhuman experiences #otherkind #alterhuman #nonhuman #fictionkin #fictionkind #fictionfolk #fictive #fictionlinker #fictionhearted #fictionflicker #alterhumanity #terrorpunk #alterhumisia #op #tw: alterhumisia

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spacemonkeysalsa · 20 hours ago

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Little rant, take the trigger warnings seriously.

For the most part I think it's really good to have some perspective, and allow others people to be wrong about video games on the internet without letting it affect me. But sometimes there's just a needling little thing that repeatedly bothers me, and it's usually because there's a real world analogue that I can't forget about. Something that is more important than video games.

As an example, I get more upset than is rational about the "Astarion is actually so evil" takes, because they generally come down to a handful of arguments I have heard before, but in real life, about real people. And when I say I have heard them in real life, I mean in the context of legal arguments about whether or not to prosecute people who have been trafficked for their participation in human trafficking. Additional context is that I am an atty and have a broad exposure to different areas of law.

What a lot of people don't appreciate about human trafficking is that it is incredibly common for people who have been trafficked to be put into a position where they must participate in illegal, and abusive, acts against others. One reason why this is done is because it makes it that much riskier for them to go to the authorities, creating a heavy incentive to not do that. To never ask for help.

You can be a plaintiff in one case and a defendant in another. Duress and coercion could be considered, but it's just not always what happens. Jurisdiction matters, culture matters. But regardless of all that, it doesn't often get to a legal phase in the first place because it's very easy to convince victims of human trafficking that they are just as culpable, because they have helped to traffic others, and that the duress they are under will not be considered. And like. They are often right about that, unfortunately.

Idk for sure how much research was done when they were writing Astarion's character, but this aspect of his story stood out to me because it's so rarely depicted (and then isn't depicted well) in media. I can name you several bad examples, but few good ones. Even being translated into high fantasy, and with magical compulsion and effing vampires, this element of Astarion's story, and how acclimation to cruelty has shaped his personality is not remotely subtle.

Maybe even especially with the supernatural elements, it helps, because it takes away some of the ambiguity that people argue about in a court of law irl. And I think it takes a side in that ongoing legal debate, by emphasizing his total lack of autonomy.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #tw: human trafficking #tw: abuse

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rekino2114 · 3 days ago

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Type of dates the p:e.g. girls like

A/n:here is the eden's garden fluff post hope you enjoy and that it's not too late to at least ease a bit of the trauma

Eva tsunaka

She likes board games date

She has a lot of tabletop games that she likes to play with you, and so she just invites you to her dorm, and you two do a board game night

She prepares snacks and everything so you can go on for a long while, and she's actually amazing at explaining the rules

Sometimes you also invite some other of your classmates to play together (mostly Damon because no one else wants to hang out with him)

Her favorite game is monopoly cause she knows all the strategies and doesn't mind how long it gets (it's more time she gets to spend with you) and her least favorite is uno simply because it brings out her more competitive and angry side like it does in everyone

"W-wait no that's illegal! You can't put a plus 2 on a plus 4....I'm gonna look it up!"

Cassidy amber

This one's pretty obvious but video games date

She has basically almost every video game in existence so of course she would share them with her lovers

This girl has a terrible sleeping schedule, so sometimes she'll just call you in the middle of the night cause she has this new really cool game she wants you to try

She likes playing co-op games most of the time because when she plays games against you, she absolutely destroys you. She lets you win sometimes because she loves you, though

Sometimes you also play together on stream and Cassidy's chat loves you

"Come on, babe, don't be upset that you lost. I'm the ultimate pro gamer after all, it was pretty obvious I would have won. Wanna do another round? I promise I'll go easy on you this time"

Eloise taulner

After watching her train, you two go take a walk in a park

The whole ambiance is really relaxing, and that's what Eloise likes the most in dates, especially after a hard day of fencing

You two sit at a bench, and sometimes she talks about what's on her mind, and other times, she just silently lays her head on your shoulder and relaxes

She likes to pet the animals she sees there

You often pick flowers for her along the way so that at the end you can give them to her, she always blushes but her heart just melts at how cute the gesture is

"O-oh are those......for me? T-thanks they look really pretty.......I love you.....t-them I-i meant I love them!"

Wenona

Shopping dates all the way

It's more like she buys anything you even look at while you just wander around the store

She already is basically your sugar mommy, and in her words, spending her money on you is the best thing she could use it for

Even with how much she reassures you that it's fine you still feel kinda guilty about using her money sometimes so you buy stuff for her too, which she appreciates

If anyone has anything to say about that or is just rude to you in general her attitude and a few comments about being able to buy the entire shop quickly shuts them up

"What's that y/n? Do you want that? Oh no don't worry, that's just pocket change to me"

Grace madison

She can't be bothered to plan a date so you often just follow her around for what she does for fun, which is mostly playing golf and working out

Working out with grace is kinda awkward cause she won't pay attention to you at all while exercising, and any conversation you try to strike up with her is mostly ignored

She does appreciate it when you help her though, like bringing her a water bottle or a towel later. If she's in a good mood she might even kiss you and then immensely go back to her aggressive self

She'll yell at you a lot if she catches you, staring a bit too much at her while she works out.....But she's not stopping you don't tell anyone that, but she actually kinda likes when you watch her. It's nice to know you think she's attractive

Which is the reason why she occasionally sends you gym pics when you don't come with her. If you dare mention it to her, she'll just call you a dumbass while blushing

"Oi, what are you looking at? Tch damn soybean, just go and get me my water or something instead of ogling me, idiot"

Diana venicia

Diana is down for basically any date you want to go together, she just really loves being with you no matter what you're doing

But if you ask her to pick a date, she usually resorts to very simple and cozy home dates

You stay and cuddle on the couch while watching some movie that fits the season. she usually likes corny romance movies cause she actually believes in true love, she has you after all

When the movie ends you talk about whatever you want, mostly about classes or your classmates or how much you love each other. Diana could rant for hours about how amazing you are

If you're OK with that she'd love to do your make-up, or just do her own make-up while you watch, she asks you what kinds look good on her (you think she looks beautiful with anything)

"So baby, what do you think of this? It's a new color I didn't try before. Awww, thanks so much. You look even better than me, hehe I love you so much"

Ingrid grimwall

Like Diana Ingrid doesn't really mind what dates you go on, she just likes being with you

She'd probably be into more thrilling dates like going to amusement parks or walks in the woods

If you're scared to go on the roller coaster she'll hold you the whole way through and that makes everything better

Even if it's not really a date she also likes to bring you to watch her work, especially if she's crafting something for you, she wants you to see how it's made with all her love

"So how do ya like it sugar? Is it good? I tried my best I really hope you like it, if ya want I can make another one for me so we can match"

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pedriache · 3 days ago

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Hii! I love your fics I was wondering if you could do Pablo torre bf hcs thank you!!🫶🏼

Pablo Torre Boyfriend Head Canons ! ‘ oh i believe, they’re meant to be. Something, somehow, someday. ’

Bf!Pablo who . . . said the first ‘I love you.’ It was messy and accidental—he’d been wanting to do it romantically, but he had never been able to hold a secret from you. And ever since he said it, he never stopped. He said it when you were making dinner, when you were cleaning, when you were simply walking beside him. He is just so deeply and utterly in love with you.

Bf!Pablo who . . . doesn’t mind PDA. It’s not his absolute favorite thing, he likes to keep it intimate between the two of you. But, he always holds your hand in public. Sometimes he’ll kiss you too—mostly on your forehead and cheek, but it’s all you need.

Bf!Pablo who . . . does everything and anything for you. His love language is definitely acts of service. He will make you your favorite meals just because. If you break something, he’ll go and get it fixed the second he has the time outside of training and games. If you stare longingly at a pet on the street—he’s bringing you to the pet store the next day. Anything to see a smile grow on your face.

Bf!Pablo who . . . is very timid and quiet. You do a lot of the talking in the relationship. He prefers to listen to you speak since he wasn’t one to talk often, but that is not to say this boy doesn’t get his yap on. There are times he speaks so much about some random topic, it leaves you speechless. His cheeks will flush when he realizes.

“Sorry, am I rambling?”

“Yes, and I love it. Keep going!”

Bf!Pablo who . . . hates when you’re upset. The rare moments when you do argue and fight, it weighs on him heavily. He’ll practically get headaches from how much it stresses him out. Even when you are in the wrong he can’t find it in himself to stay angry with you for too long. Sure, he’ll wait until you inevitably apologize, but the second you start—well, he’s already sighing thankfully and pulling you into a hug.

Bf!Pablo who . . . adores you most ardently. He could stare at you for hours and never get sick of you. He would be content just spending every minute of every day hearing you talk about one of your new interests. He loves watching you do your makeup or do your skin care or.. well everything for that matter! In his eyes, you are perfect.

Bf!Pablo who . . . loves when you come to his games. He’ll even scan the crowd (when he knows you’ll be there) to find you before he relaxes and gets ready to play. He will make sure to lift a hand in your direction and you’ll be sure to send an air kiss his way. He will smile and shake his head, but his heart fills to the brim at the small action.

Bf!Pablo who . . . does everything to assure you are alright. If you are sick or depressed or anything that has your mood being anything but happy—he’s finding a way to change that. Whether it’s ordering your favorite snacks or bringing you home a gift basket—he’s doing it. If you want alone time, he’ll give it to you without a complaint. If you need to lay in his arms for hours, he’ll let you without hesitation. At the end of the day, you are the one that keeps him grounded so he will do the same for you.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to bet tagged in any of my posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @ar4ujos @lechrts @be11ingham @joaoflms @spidybaby @piastri-fvx

#pablo torre #pablo torre x y/n #pablo torre x you #pablo torre x reader #pablo torre fluff #pablo torre angst #pablo torre one shot #pablo torre imagines #pablo torre fanfic #pablo torre boyfriend head canons #blurb #football #fluff #fanfic #fc barcelona #fc barcelona fic #head canons #boyfriend head canons

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thehelltingvilleclub · 17 hours ago

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May Osewai - Crippling Case of the Cringe

you better hope to god she isn't actually sadako, because she will judge you on your search history on her way through your browser--

Mayumi “May” Osewai [09/09/81] Secretary of Manga AOL / Online Users : [sadako_chan] Theme Songs: Living Dead Girl - Rob Zombie | She’s Out of Her Mind - blink-182 | FUNERAL GREY - Waterparks

Favorite Shit: Anime Adaptations, Visual novels, Horror / Gore, Battle Royale(s), Monster Movies, Slasher Flicks, Acrylic Stands, Hard Covers, Asian horror, Foreign Films, Evangelion : Neon Genesis, Ghost in the Shell, Corpse Party, Torrent Sites, The X-Men, Spawn, Teen Titans, Accurate Translations, Uncensored Doujins, Silent Hill, Serial Experiments : Lain

Dude get this girl a therapist and someone other than a rabid werewolf for a brain-worm weird fluttery thought friend GUEHAKL. please. please. With literally no other friends and no longer in an environment surrounded by.. "peers", she kind of has no choice but to keep putting up with Bill despite how much of a creep he gets sometimes. They're like a family.. A horrifically disfunctional family that should maybe only meet every other christmas, and yet they're glued together despite it all. It has to be karma punishing them, right?

We are the weirdos, Mister.

This poor girl has a really bad anxiety problem and is also horrifically oblivious to a lot of things which is not a good combo. She hates the thought of missing something or making someone upset by having to make them explain, but good god she cannot read a room sometimes--

She also maybe most definitely has autism. that might have something to do with it..

She masks well enough that she genuinely just thought she was "weird" and just kinda accepted it when she moved to the states. She didn't even start to think about it until Jerry started bringing up the shit he learned in therapy.

She honestly is just kinda.. Blunt? good or bad, though she does have enough forethought to keep the bad thoughts to herself most of the time. It's more in a quiet "wait, what did she just say?" kind of way.

She struggles to express actual internal monologue, her actual emotions and thoughts on the boys, but she shows it in.. other ways.

She genuinely cares about the boys, yes even bill, though he's like.. Like if Jane and Bill were closer in age and Bill actually wouldn't leave her the FUCK alone.

Though it's not like Pete's any better-- he always so weirdly macho and it's... kinda funny? Weirdly endearing? Like a little terrier going going absolutely ballistic on the screen door. Heh. cute.

May has designed entire pokemon decks and trainer teams for the boys. They'll get posted eventually I promise vuv

She absolutely tries to play card games with Jerry and Matt, though she really only likes the play Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh, but she'll happily watch the two smears duke it out.

its kinda funny seeing Matt lose every once in a while.

May and Josh argue about Evangelion ALL THE TIME and it's honestly annoying but it's also very funny to see Josh get flashbacks about asuka--

She is also one of the first people Josh goes to to hang out with, even if it's just over a phone call.. well, at least for a while. He likes to talk, so she just kinda doodled mindlessly or painted her figures while listening.

... she could tell he needed it.

ALso girls omg she is still the clumsiest woman I have ever seen. She might need a new prescription like seriously.

May got a job at the local family video, so you bet your ASS Pete harasses her at work whenever he can sneak out of his own work duties. He's lucky he's cute...

She may be oblivious to some emotions, but she's not stupid.

She collects stuffed animals, but mostly pokemon plushies and assorted horror mascots. She is still really embarrassed about having them, but literally can't sleep if she doesn't have at least one like it's a problem--

She is also like icy cold. All the time. like she just pulled her hands out of the freezer. Pete uses this as an excuse to hold her hands because he's a fucking smear I swear to god he needs to grow some BALLS

ALSO HI CAN I TALK ABOUT HER SHIRT FOR LIKE 10 SECONDS ITs an indie japanese-canadian band called "Rotten Cherries" and it does rock covers of japanese pop music and even some remakes of songs by The Cranberries and Boa

THanks guYs

Also I enjoy the reference pic for her pajama shorts LMAO

GUYH Have May.

Also sorry for repeat info at the top, it's to keep with the formatting fhdsjkafinfdsajhfkdlsfhl

#the eltingville club #the helltingville club #eltingville fanart #welcome to eltingville #eltingville oc #eltingville club #the eltingville club oc #my headcanons #my artwork #my art #my oc stuff #oc x canon #oc headcanons #nobody is allowed to ask why the fuck I suddenly drew toes

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lunarriviera · 2 days ago

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new year's letter from halan, january 1998

dear everyone, hello, it is i, captain zheng bei of the halan public safety bureau anti-narcotics task force. things are going well however there have been a few challenges this winter so i thought i would take this opportunity to update you on our progress here in halan.

first of all there's xiaoguang and nan nan. everyone is really happy that xiaoguang sat up again and started talking and getting better, me most of all. i might have cried a little and i definitely hit him. the weird thing is he speaks exclusively cantonese now and we're not sure why but hopefully nan nan's cantonese will get better so they can communicate. gu yiran says it doesn't really matter because they could never actually communicate in the first place and i don't want to say gu yiran is right but just in this one specific instance he might have a point. anyway nan nan seems happy and they sing a lot. and make other noises as well but we aren't going to talk about those.

zhang xueyao is also doing well, she has some kind of boyfriend but she won't let us meet him and i find that somewhat distressing. i'm worried if he is ugly or maybe has two heads. or what if he's really tiny. maybe he's only like 150 cm tall and she just beats him up all the time, something that would not be good for a police officer to do. on the other hand she seems a lot calmer and doesn't chase guozhu around the office anymore trying to kick him, so i guess it's been good for her. again gu yiran claims that the boyfriend is probably completely normal and just afraid of us but i don't know why that would be true. we're only cops, there's nothing scary about any of us?

ding guozhu has not changed in any way whatsoever, he has knitted eight sweaters this winter and at this rate the only one of us who doesn't have a sweater is me. that's because i don't wear sweaters because i never get cold. i only wear t-shirts even when it's -30ºC which it is right now. gu yiran on the other hand is wearing three sweaters at this very moment in his lab but i can still hear him bitching. i told him when he wears three sweaters at once he looks fat and he told me my head is fat. i told him his head is stupid and he looks stupid and then he told me i am an unmitigated idiot and then we wound up in a supply closet in the hallway and then some other stuff happened. when we came out of the supply closet somehow i was wearing one of guozhu's sweaters. surprisingly it is very soft and kind of nice, and guozhu made it red, my favorite color, and tried to give it to me so maybe i will keep it after all.

then there's uncle. he went on vacation with his granddaughter to hangzhou and they never came back. i think he likes it there, he keeps sending us photos of them by the lake eating sugar pastry in shirt sleeves and smiling. we have all started using email now and uncle likes it the most because he says he doesn't have to waste money on postage anymore. gu yiran tried to explain to him that electricity and telephone usage also cost money but uncle says he's already paid for those so it doesn't count. anyway he keeps sending very large photos that clog up the office inbox for several hours while they download. sometimes there's a lady in the photos, i keep asking him who that is but he never answers. gu yiran says when he feels like telling us about her, he will. here's an old picture of him with gu yiran because it's how i like to think of him, still here with us.

ma and ba are fine and nan nan finally talked them into closing the restaurant one day a week to take some rest. they are saying they might go visit uncle in the spring, or go to shanghai. they are a little bit upset that gu yiran and i moved out, but they also like having nan nan out of their apartment so that worked out okay after all.

i guess that's the big news, that gu yiran and i moved to a new place. it was sad to leave the building but after the incident with the wall we figured it was probably time. i explained to ma and ba how the hole was only an accident but it was still a very big hole so they were right to be upset, we all worked very hard one weekend to tear the wall down and replace it with a better one. the hole wouldn't even have happened if gu yiran and i hadn't had a fight, but we did, and then we weren't speaking so he went home to do his experiment in the apartment instead of in the lab, and there was sort of an explosion. but it was really my fault, because if i hadn't called him an arrogant cocksucker we wouldn't have fought. on the other hand if he hadn't gone after six drug dealers in the chicken van by himself with nothing but a baseball bat and some sock bombs then i probably wouldn't have called him that. so i guess maybe we were both to blame.

the good news is our new apartment is very solid and sturdy, we found this out on the first night when we walked in the front door and gu yiran threw me bodily up against the wall and proceeded to [redacted] me. he says that as a true scientist he has to keep conducting ongoing tests to ensure the structural integrity of our domicile and i'm not entirely sure what that means but as long as he keeps slamming me up against things honestly does it really matter.

here he is studying and looking very handsome and also cute. when he catches me taking photos of him studying, he hits me and tries to get the camera away from me, i don't mind because when he starts hitting me it's sort of funny and also easy to tickle him. it turns out gu yiran is very ticklish, and when he starts laughing and his glasses fall off and his hair gets messed up he looks even cuter and then we usually forget about studying or taking pictures or hitting or tickling.

well that's about all the news from halan. there are always new drugs and new dealers trying to make money off them so we stay pretty busy. director gao says i can't say anymore about that because it's official police business but i will tell you that even though we have a new office and a bunch of new recruits from the academy, i still miss the old cafeteria, and uncle bringing noodles and bao for the team.

PS gu yiran says he wants to get a cat. at first i wasn't sure it was a good idea considering his track record with houseplants, but then i thought about it and decided i don't mind being the one who mostly takes care of the cat. after all i do a pretty good job with xiao ran.

#don't @ me i don't even know what this is #it just happened #halan public safety bureau #zheng bei #gu yiran #the first shot #ding guozhu #zhang xueyao #zheng nan #zhao xiaoguang #xie tiegang #雪迷宫 #shoutout btw to #hideyseek #for the detail about guozhu's sweater knitting #it's so firmly fixed in my mind i can SEE HIM DOING IT

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midnightbears · 1 day ago

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✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: trauma. mentions of suicide and sh tendencies. sadness. feelings catching up to reader

#NOTES: none i can think about. not a very action-y chapter, it's y/n-centered. enjoy!

Vaportrail visited you sometimes.

Not physically, because that was impossible. She was, hopefully, somewhere within the whereabouts of Cybertropolis and as far away as possible from Kaon and all its terrible danger. You hoped some compassionate bot had taken her in. Deep down, you knew that she was better off without you. The thought of her smiling in a place far from you filled you with a sort of solace; her chances of a brighter future seemed much greater when separated from your own tumultuous existence.

Still, you had no idea why she would come to you in your dreams.

Vaportrail, look at me.

Peculiarly, it was always the same dream. You sat on your old berth, in your old berthroom, in your old satellite. You were facing Vaportrail, sitting on her carrier’s berth, messing with one of the gadgets from Starlight’s toolbox. The sparkling was quiet, never saying a word, unaware of what had happened that very day. Unaware that her carrier was now dead. Buried beneath the ground of the very same satellite she resided in.

Vaportrail, please look at me.

You would try opening your intake to voice what your processor was screaming, but nothing would come out. You so desperately wanted to find the right words, but they were failing you. There was nothing to say. What could you tell little Vaportrail? What could mend her gaping existence that her loving carrier used to fill?

I know you’re upset but look at me.

One of your old comrades had filled you in on what had happened. Turns out, in a fit of rage, the mech Starlight was visiting had smashed her helm against the wall or something like that.

Don’t just sit there.

She didn’t look at you. Not once. Vaportrail's optics remained fixed on the gadget in her small servos, her movements unrushed, gentle, as though she had all the time in the world to figure out how it worked. A small smile formed on her face as she giggled at it.

Vaportrail, please, I’m sorry.

You tried to move closer, but your frame felt locked in place. The berth beneath you groaned as if protesting your presence, a stark reminder of how long it had been since you last sat there. Every attempt to speak, to call her name, was met with silence—a void where your voice should have been. The weight of the words you wanted to say bore down on your spark, growing heavier with each second.

Look at me.

Finally, her tiny optics flickered up, meeting yours for the briefest of moments. A thousand emotions surged through you—relief, guilt, fear. But her expression was unreadable, her gaze distant, as if she wasn’t genuinely seeing you. Instead, she turned back to the gadget, her movements now faster, more erratic.

VAPORTRAIL, DON’T JUST SIT THERE AND LOOK AT ME.

You wanted to reach out, to hold her close and tell her that you were sorry. Sorry for not being there. Sorry for letting her down. Instead, she opened her intake.

“Why are you here?”

Her voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear, but it struck like a blade to your spark. You swallowed thickly at her words as they collided with you more than any punch that had ever been thrown at you. Her tone wasn’t accusing, just...matter-of-fact. Her optics remained downcast, focused on the device in her servos, as though the weight of her words was too much to bear.

“Vaportrail,” you finally managed, your voice cracked and unfamiliar even to yourself. “I... I—”

“Go back. Leave me alone.” Her voice trembled with a sharp edge as she shook her helm, cutting you off. The disdain in her gaze was piercing, something you would never have suspected the petite femmeling could harbor within her gentle spark. She had always been a beacon of sweetness and patience, never once voicing a complaint. What had happened?

As you watched, her delicate frame began to glitch, the outlines of her figure flickering intermittently like a holographic image losing its clarity. Panic surged through you as you instinctively reached out, desperate to grab hold of her fragile form and pull her back into reality. But your servos passed through her as if she were made of nothing more than mist, dissipating into the air.

This time, she actually recoiled at you, her optics dimming in horror at your futile gesture. Disgust twisted her features, and she flinched away from your outstretched servos, which, despite their strength, held no power over her ephemeral existence. “I don’t want you here! I don’t like you!”

Her words shattered you. You were sure that, from the outside, one would be able to hear the sound of your spark breaking into a million pieces.

“Wait!” you cried out, your voice finally breaking free of whatever had bound it. “Vaportrail, please— I didn’t—”

She looked at you again.

“You let her die. You let it happen.”

And then she was gone.

Usually, your optics would flash open right after she disappeared into your arms, and you would find yourself in your new berth, in your new berthroom. The transition was always jarring, like being ejected from one universe into another. The cold, metallic walls of your quarters seemed to mock the warmth and comfort you had just lost. The dream lingered, stubborn as a phantom, her presence clinging to the edges of your mind like static you couldn’t tune out. You’d reach out reflexively, grasping at nothing, before the crushing realization set in—it was just a dream.

Whenever you awoke from one of these dreams, that urge to bash your helm against the wall reared its ugly head, and you held back the biting compulsion to snap your own spark in half with a jab of your blade. It was a cycle you had grown far too familiar with. The fleeting hope that this time might be different—that maybe you’d wake up somewhere else, someone else—quickly curdled into the same stale despair.

But as much as these thoughts consumed you, there were more immediate threats to face. In spite of your unsettling self-hatred and need for self-flagellation, you had to focus on the gladiatorial pits. Which gladiators would bash your helm or snap your spark today if you crossed them in the arena? The thought was bitterly ironic: why kill yourself alone, when there were others outside who would gladly do the job for you?

Luckily, those horrible thoughts only lasted for about an hour each day. By then, you were fully activated, your systems humming with purpose as you threw yourself into the grind. Routine became your armor, shielding you from the corrosive weight of your emotions. Days blurred as you survived your matches, sparred with either Echo or Bluey, or learned new factors about your fellow gladiators when watching their matches.

You still cried when you were alone. A lot. But at least you were productive. At least you were moving forward, even if it felt like walking in circles in a cage you could never escape.

Nighttime was the only period you allowed your old self to resurface, the self you tried so hard to bury beneath layers of cynicism and cold practicality. In the quiet hours, when the pits fell silent and the lights dimmed, you let the memories flood in. You could see her so neatly: she still stood there with a mining pickaxe, trying to make herself smaller in the shadow of everything around her. Her frame seemed fragile, her servos trembling, but despite it all, she carried a smile on her dermas and a perfectly good spark.

It wasn’t just a smile; it was a lifeline. A promise that things could be better. She had believed that once. And in these moments, you almost dared to believe it too. You would sit in the dim glow of your quarters, the weight of the day pressing on your plating, and let yourself grieve for the person you used to be. It wasn’t a weakness, you told yourself. It was a release. A way to siphon off the pressure before it crushed you entirely. Catharsis.

What a nightmare it is to change.

──────────────────────────────────

The clang of blades reverberated inside the sparring room, the sharp sound echoing off the metallic walls. You sluggishly sprung around his pelts as Bluey’s blade sliced through the air in a fluid arc. His movements were meticulous but uniform, holding back just enough to keep the friendly session from turning into something that could potentially have an impact on either of you bodily-wise. You parried his next swing, the head of your hammer catching his long blade as the impact vibrated up your arm like a jolt of static, and pushed off to create distance.

“You’re pulling your hits again,” Bluey said, optics narrowing as he adjusted his stance. “What’s wrong with you today? Come on. You’re better than this.”

You let out a breath, your grip tightening on the handle of your weapon.

“I’m fine,” you replied, circling him warily. The words felt thin, stretched too tight around the truth.

The truth was, you weren’t better—not today, at least. The dreams had drained you again, leaving you bereft and reeling. You didn’t like how hostile your subconscious turned you toward others and how it influenced you inside the pits. Before, you had never been violent. You didn’t know why you let it out on others, but it was profoundly affecting you.

But Bluey’s persistence wasn’t as irritating as it would have been from others, had they attempted to talk to you. If anything, it was grounding.

His helm tilted, his expression skeptical. “If by ‘fine’ you mean distracted and half-asleep, then sure.” He lunged, his blade arcing toward your side. You barely managed to block it, the force pushing you back a step. “But last I checked, being distracted gets you killed. So, try again.”

You gritted your denta and surged forward, your hammer swinging wide. Bluey dodged with with an ease that irritated you, twisting to the side and countering with a quick jab that sent you stumbling. He didn’t press the attack, though. Instead, he paused, watching you with an almost brotherly patience.

“Seriously,” he said, lowering his blade slightly. “What’s going on? You’ve been off for days.”

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, your optics flicking to the floor. The harsh lighting inside the room cast long shadows between the two of you, but whereas Bluey’s was small and unassuming, safely tucked underneath him, yours stretched high and twisting, draping the distance between you. Bluey didn’t say anything at first, his silence heavier than any words. When it became clear he wasn’t going to drop it, you sighed, lifting your weapon again. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Right,” Bluey said, “And I’m a bot fresh out of the Well. Look, I’m not trying to pry, but you’re not doing yourself any favors bottling this up.”

“I’m fine,” you said again, more forcefully this time. You swung at him again, hammer crashing against his blade with a satisfying clang. Now, your shadow engulfed him, but he didn’t budge, holding his ground like a fortress.

“Sure you are,” he said, meeting your gaze. “And that’s why you’re fighting like your processor stuck in low gear. Whatever’s going on, it’s eating you alive. Talk to me, or at least do something about it.”

Your hammer slipped down, the weight of his words sinking deep into your plating. He wasn't wrong. The burden of grieving both for the living and for the dead was murderous. You didn’t meet his optics, focusing instead on the way his servos adjusted their grip on his weapon. Finally, after a long pause, your gaze rose.

“Do you know what got me so angry during my first match?”

Bluey blinked, lowering his blade a fraction.

“No,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “But I’ve been wondering. You looked like you were done for, and then suddenly… it was like a whole different bot out there. I figured it was adrenaline, maybe desperation.”

You nodded. The memory bubbled up, vivid and sharp as ever. “It was. But… not just that.” You hesitated, the words tangling inside your voicebox. Finally, you pushed them out. “I saw someone. In my mind, I mean. A face. My Amica Endura.”

Bluey straightened, his optics fixed on you with a quiet intensity. “Your Amica Endura?”

“Her name was Starlight,” you said, the sound of her name hurting your spark. “She was… everything. The kind of bot who makes you believe in things. In yourself. She was the first to make me feel like I could do anything. That I was worth something. And she’s gone.”

Bluey didn’t interrupt, his silence inviting you to continue. You shifted, your weapon tapping lightly against the floor as you tried to steady yourself. “She was killed. Just like that. By a random mech she was visiting.”

The words felt heavy, each one dragging up memories you had tried so hard to bury. You didn’t realize your servos were trembling until Bluey stepped closer, his frame casting a long shadow over yours. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That’s... a lot. No one should have to carry that alone.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shifting your weight to lean on your hammer. “It felt like my whole world fell apart. And when I was out there, in the pit, about to lose—about to die—all I could see was her face. How scared she must have felt against someone twice her size, how helpless, and all I could feel was anger.”

Bluey tilted his helm, his optics studying you with an unreadable expression. “So, you fought for her.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding slowly. “But it’s not just that. I fought because... I was angry. At everything. Angry at the mech who took her from me. Angry at myself for not being there for her. And I guess part of me thought that if I survived, it would mean something. That maybe I could... make up for it, somehow.”

For a moment, there was only the hum of your cooling systems and the faint buzz of the overhead lights, their sterile glow casting muted reflections on the metal floor. Bluey’s optics softened, their vibrant hue a rare source of warmth in the otherwise cold room. Slowly, he stepped closer, his movements unhurried, deliberate, as though afraid to push you too far. His blade lowered entirely, the tip hovering just above the floor.

“That’s a lot to carry,” he said gently, his voice steady but tinged with empathy. “But it doesn’t have to define you. You’ve got strength—real strength. Not just in your servos, but in here.” He tapped his chassis, just over where his spark pulsed with life.

You swallowed hard, your optics fixed on a distant point beyond him. “Sometimes it feels like it’s all I am. Just... anger and regret. I don’t know if fighting here is about survival anymore or if I’m just trying to outrun it.”

Bluey tilted his helm, his optics softening. “You’re not just anger, Y/N. And you’re not alone, no matter how much it might feel like it. You’ve got more strength in you than you realize. And not just the kind that keeps you alive in the pits. You have spirit. Everyone else agrees.”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at something deep within you, pulling your optics back to meet his. For a moment, you saw something there—an unspoken consideration, speechless yet unmistakable, etched into the gentle contours of his expression. He wasn’t just offering encouragement; he was offering solidarity.

The weight of his words settled into your spark, not heavy, but grounding. It wasn’t absolution or a promise that things would be easier, but it was enough to make you believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that you weren’t completely alone. That maybe, just maybe, there was more to you than the swirling emotions that had become your constant companions.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m still figuring it out.”

“And that’s okay,” Bluey said, stepping back into his stance with a slight smirk. “But you’ll figure it out faster if you stop holding back. Now, let’s go again. And this time, try not to make me look like a mech picking on a sparkling.”

Despite yourself, a faint smile tugged at your dermas. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ve been going easy on you.”

“Sure you have,” he teased, his optics glinting with challenge. “Prove it.”

You raised your weapon, a spark of determination flaring to life in your chassis. As you lunged forward, the weight in your spark didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

#midnightbears #transformers #transformers one #transformers x reader #transformers x you #megatron x you #megatron x reader #megatronus #megatronus x reader #cybertronian reader #orion pax #elita one #d 16 x reader #optimus prime #tf #transformers x (y/n)#transformers idw

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sdmnpact · 1 day ago

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˗ˏˋJealousyˎˊ˗

Wroetoshaw x Reader smut

**18+ MDNI**

~~~

You were laying on the couch at your boyfriend's flat watching videos on your laptop. He was in the kitchen making dinner for you two. A usual routine you guys follow, one cooks the other cleans afterwards. You two have built a cozy little life for yourselves. You find joy just being in each other's company, even if it means staying home most nights just cuddling on the couch. Sometimes you wish for a change of scenery and Harry makes sure to fill that desire by taking you to do fun activities in the city. You aren't usually an active person but sometimes you can't help but get a little jealous when Harry is out hiking, playing golf, or filming in some random country. He doesn't really take you out on those types of activities but you don't complain.

"Whatcha watching baby?" He asked as he came over and sat down, moving the pillow you were resting on so he can act as your headrest. You quickly get comfortable on his thigh as you readjusted yourself. You were just binging Joe Weller content, from his own videos to his features on the sidemen channel. You were quite enamored with him lately because of how much time he was spending with the boys. Something about his love for nature and his wild stories made you feel some type of way, creating a want, to learn more about him. You couldn't help but feel slightly attracted to him since he is so fit and adventurous.

**You're POV**

"Just some youtube videos..." I trailed off. Clicking on a different video. "Was that Joe Weller?" He asked partially joking partially serious. "Oh yeah." I awkwardly laughed. "Why are you acting weird?" He said tensing up. "I'm not, I'm fine."

"Seriously y/n! What is it!?"

"Okay, fine, I was watching him because he's interesting and does a ton of cool stuff! Is that wrong?" I said getting a bit defensive. "Well of course not unless you fancy him...." There was a long pause as silence filled the room. "Oh my God, you do fancy him!" He said getting up, leaving my head to plop on to the couch. "I mean, don't you fancy girls online!?"

To be fair, I've seen his Instagram feed and there are a couple onlyfans models he follows. I don't get upset about it because I know he loves me so I don't know why he's getting upset over this. "Well yeah, they're hot but I'm not subscribing to them and watching all their videos!" He semi shouted. There was a different look in his eye. A look of intense jealousy. "Listen Harry, it's just a couple of videos. It's not like I'm touching myself to them!" That line drove him over the edge. I could see the anger form in his eyes, like someone lit a fire.

"I'm sorry, what!?" He said getting a bit louder. " You want him to fuck you? Is that it!?" He said standing over me. "No, I want you to do it!" I said. Harry never and I mean NEVER gets angry like this. It was kind of hot. He was a bit taken back by my words but then I noticed another look in his eyes. Pure lust.

He grabbed my waist fiercely bringing me closer to him. I felt his hot breath on my face as he leaned down to my ear and with a deep musky voice said, "what'd you say?" It was over for me. I could just melt right now.

"I want you to fuck me." I said blatantly, running my fingers down his back putting my arms around his waist bringing it closer to mine. I felt him grow in his pants and I chuckled to myself. He wants it so bad. He pressed his lips against mine and I quickly melted into the kiss. He kissed me so sloppily and so rough like he was starving for more. I reach for his hair and ran my fingers though his blonde locks tugging at them slightly making him moan. I know pulling on his hair makes him go crazy. His hand explored my body feeling all my delicate areas making me shiver at his touch. He reached for my pants, unbuttoning them with one hand while the other hand held my waist. He unzipped them then threw me onto the couch with slight force but also in a way that still felt gentle.

He pulled off my pants and my underwear making sure to run his fingers slowly down my thighs and legs. I felt myself pulsating as he slowly caressed my inner thigh making me go wild. I looked down at him between my legs. His bright blue eyes and messy hair making him look so attractive. He brought his face closer to my throbbing heat holding onto my legs. He slowly kissed my inner thigh getting closer and closer to my heat with each kiss making my legs quiver. I gasped as I felt his wet tongue swirl on my lips. He looked up at me and I felt a smirk on his lips as he slipped his tongue inside. I gasped as I felt him enter. "Damn, you're soaking already?" he chuckled, the vibrations of his voice running through me like a jackhammer. He swirled his tongue inside my vulva knowing which spots make me feel good. My legs shaking as he kept exploring my walls.

I felt myself about to release when he stopped. "Wait darling-" He said quickly dropping his pants and boxers revealing his fully erect member. I smiled at the sight of him as he slowly slipped himself inside me making eye contact. He rocked his hips back and forth increasing his speed each time. He quickly grabbed my waist and spun us around so that he's sitting on the couch and I'm on his lap straddling him. His grip on my waist getting tighter and he bounced me up and down continuing to increase his speed making me feel electric. I grabbed onto his hair pulling harder than last time causing him to release a moan. Between my own soft moans I muttered, "I love your moans." only adding fuel to his desire to make me reach climax, increasing his pace even more.

With one hand, he cupped my face and kissed me roughly as I finally reached climax. I let out a loud moan as I released all over him, feeling him release into me seconds later. Nothing but our heavy breathing filling the room. We sat like that for a couple of seconds, catching our breaths. We looked at each other and smiled as I got off of him about to stand before he pulled me back on his lap. I rested my back on his chest, making our sticky, sweaty skin mold us together. He wrapped his arounds around my waist, kissing the back of my head, breathing heavy on my neck. "I love you, princess."

---

A/N

woo, steamy stuff... sorry about the pov change, this was suppose to be fluff but it turned into smut somehow, causing me to accidently changed the pov. I hope you enjoyed it!

#wroetoshaw #wroetoshaw x reader #harry lewis #harry lewis fic #w2s #fanfic #sidemen

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cloudycleric · 2 days ago

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i recently just posted that i was scrolling my dash when i happened upon my least favorite byler au:

okay so im gonna talk about it more. & this is in no way trying to be mean. this is just me kinda venting about how i'm upset with myself because the au in question is not problematic.

okay so the au i am talking about is any byler cannibalism au. i am a HUGE fan of horror films, very very big fan, but for some reason i cannot do cannibalism whatsoever (at least right now). maybe a year or two ago i stumbled upon a very graphic byler cannibalism fic & decided to give it a try just to see (at this point in time i wasn't fully aware of my deep deep fear). i was on vacation at my sibling's house too. anyway, i made it about like 5 paragraphs before i had to go into my room & cry.

(note that immediately after this i did block both the cannibal & cannibalism tags on tumblr, but i guess stuff slips through or maybe i'm blocking the wrong tags.)

& the worst part is, I WANT TO BE OKAY WITH IT. i so desperately want to not have the biggest ick for cannibalism media because it is a large part of horror that i have to block myself off from. but i seriously cannot do it. i can do literally everything else under the bridge. i am perfectly fine with intense gore in movies or books but for some reason, when it's cannibalism i cannot do it what so ever & it just gives me like a terrible, terrible anxious feeling.

like i love byler scream/slasher au where the two can be violent, but when it's cannibalism it just feels different to me. i don't know. i wish i could appreciate it & i wish i was not a snowflake about it but here i am. anyway sometimes i hate fears & phobias & wish i was normal or didn't get weird icks from things since cannibalism is such an interesting sorry okay i couldn't finish that sentence because i didn't feel it in my soul. it just icks me. i wish it didn't. because i love darker/horror movie type byler aus but i just can't do it. & now i must take a shower & cry

BTW this is in no means me trying to target someone or like vaguely call someone out. post whatever byler cannibal au stuff you want!! i just wanted to share my personal feelings, in no way am i trying to invalidate your interests. this is me being upset with myself, not upset with other people.

#byler #rant #why am i this way

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callme-holly · 2 days ago

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I love your writing SOOO much. Could you do how the gang acts around kids? Like babysitting? Tysm!

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 [𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬]

𝐚/𝐧: I thought this was such a sweet concept omg i love it.

Darry Curtis:

Darry is incredibly good with kids; he’s grown up with two younger brothers he’s had to look out for his whole life, so looking after children and babysitting comes naturally to him. He’s incredibly patient and always happy to help out, trying his hardest to balance his time so that the kid he’s looking after gets the right amount of attention. He is very responsible, always making sure the kid is safe, that they have everything they need, that they’ve done their homework if they have it, but he also has a soft spot. Sometimes you’ll catch him letting the kid climb all over him, telling them stories, and joining in their silly games when he gets the chance.

Sodapop Curtis:

Soda is every kid’s ideal babysitter. He’s fun, he’s entertaining, but he can also be incredibly responsible when he needs to be. If you’re babysitting, the child is instantly drawn to Soda, and he matches their energy perfectly, joining in with their games and making them laugh. However, he isn’t the best when it comes to discipline and sometimes lets the kids get away with more than they should, which is where you, more often than not, need to step in. Sometimes it feels like babysitting two kids, but you can’t be upset with him because he manages the chaos so well.

Ponyboy Curtis:

Pony is a little more awkward around kids and unsure when it comes down to babysitting. He’s a lot more quiet and level-headed, settling for calmer activities to keep the child entertained. He’ll draw with them, help them with their reading, and will also help them with schoolwork depending on their age. If the kids are particularly rowdy, he might struggle a bit at first, but it won’t take him long to warm up to them, and soon he’ll be dragged into their games and will be playing along, helping build up big, dramatic storylines with his more than creative imagination.

Johnny Cade:

Much like Pony, Johnny is a little unsure at first, not wanting to say or do the wrong thing. He’s never had any experiences with younger kids, and he hasn’t exactly had the best role models, but when the kids start gravitating towards his calm personality, he relaxes a little. He’ll sit with them and play along with action figures, going along with storylines and listening to all the stories they have to tell like they’re the most interesting and important things in the world. He’s incredibly good when the child is upset, knowing exactly how to calm them down, and doesn’t complain when they cling to him for comfort.

Dallas Winston:

Babysitting is Dally’s worst nightmare, and he doesn’t enjoy it a single bit, only sticking around because you insist. Unfortunately for him, kids tend to be fascinated by his cool demeanour, and while he may come across as scary at first, they quickly warm up to him when they catch you scolding him for being rude. If they were to climb all over him, he’d grumble and half-heartedly push them away, wanting nothing to do with their games. However, he can be surprisingly protective over the kids, and if they were to get hurt, he’ll defend them whilst keeping that slightly rough attitude. “Hey, kid, look at me. You wanted to climb that tree, and you fell, man. That’s on you. Just… don’t do it again.”

Steve Randle:

Steve is the fun babysitter. He’s all about burning off the kid’s energy, running around with them and playing games until they crash. He’ll let them suggest games, and he’ll laugh along with every joke and story. Sometimes, just to give you a break from babysitting, he’ll show the kid his car, teaching them about all the parts and letting them sit behind the wheel. However, he also has a stern side and can enforce rules when they’re really necessary. He isn’t afraid to put his foot down and is pretty good at keeping the kid in control.

Two-Bit Mathews:

Two is a big kid at heart, so he bonds with the child very easily. He’ll goof off, telling funny stories, cracking jokes, and playing any game the kid wants in a way that matches their energy perfectly. He sometimes sneaks them snacks behind your back, telling them to keep it a secret. He isn’t super strict, but he can maintain a certain level of control when its needed.

#the outsiders x reader #darry curtis imagine #darry curtis headcanons #darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #dallas winston imagine #steve randle x reader #johnny cade x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #soda curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #pony curtis x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

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mageofquandrix · 1 day ago

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Ooh, how about 17 for the WIP folder game!

This was a popular one, haha!

Anyway, this is my take on the Rook & Emmrich romance argument. It's one of the very DATV things I wrote, so it's really rough; I actually had to go in and change Lucien's name, because I renamed him halfway through my first playthrough. I'll probably end up scrapping most of what's on the page, but some iteration of the idea will end up in my canon playthrough fic.

As always, first draft, please be kind!

“It breaks my heart to hear you worry like this,” he said softly, giving Emmrich as sad smile as he reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm.

“Darling, I didn’t-” he started with a pained look, and then drew back, out of Lucien’s reach. Lucien frowned, a pang of rejection as his hand fell, and he placed it on his hip instead. “I only wish to be fair to you,” Emmrich continued, his voice firmer, his face set in an unhappy seriousness. It didn’t suit him, and Lucien wanted to reach out and soothe the lines of tension in his jaw, to kiss him, until this bout of terror bled away. But Emmrich had already pulled away once, and Lucien was not interested in trying to force affection on him.

“I know what I’m getting into,” Lucien begun, but he was cut off. Emmrich gave a sardonic huff of a laugh, and a derisive look, eyebrow arched skeptically.

“At your age?”

A spike of irritation suddenly got Lucien’s back up, and he frowned, his arms crossing tight against his chest. It wasn’t as if their age difference didn’t ever affect them; Lucien sometimes frustrated him for his lack of relative maturity, and for his part, Emmrich could be dismissive and patronizing, particularly when he was upset. “Don’t start,” he said, an edge of warning in his tone.

“We must consider this,” Emmrich continued, and Lucien barely managed to bite back that they had considered it, they’d been through this, though clearly not to whatever depth Emmrich felt like it warranted.

“You’re over thinking it, and it’s not the time,” he tried, one last effort to remind his partner of what exactly they were doing tomorrow, that this really wasn’t, for his part, what Lucien wanted to spend the evening doing. Despite himself, though, he could feel his frustrations from all the conversations of the past, the resentment he tried to pack away that Emmrich couldn’t just leave it alone, rising to the surface, despite how he tried to swallow it back.

“One of us needs to consider my mortality!” Emmrich said, his voice raised to practically shouting, his eyes narrowed and angry. Lucien broke.

“Because you’re worried about me?” he said -no, shouted. His voice almost bizarre to him as he heard it in his own ears. He’d never spoken to Emmrich like this before and even as a part of him warned to pull back, his blood pounded in his ears, and he sharply advanced on him, even as Emmrich took a surprised step back.

“Or because you’re insecure about you? Because Emmrich, we’ve been over this, and I don’t know what you want me to say!” He pushed an angry hand through his hair, and he could feel the fire building in his chest. “What do you want me to say? What can I possibly say, that will be good enough for you?”

“Lucien, I-” Emmrich started, but Rook cut him off again, the sound of his voice just making him angry again.

“Do you want me to say, that I’m thrilled at the thought that you’ll die before me? Do you think I haven’t thought of it? You bring it up all the time, and nothing I say is ever good enough?What do you want from me?”

Emmrich scowled, his arms crossed against his chest. “I simply don’t believe it’s fair to you, to-“

“Are you breaking up with me?”

The room was impossibly still; even the fireplace seemed to hush. Lucien regretted saying it, wished he could take it back. He didn’t want to know, but he had to.

Emmrich stared at him, his mouth open in stunned silence.

As the seconds stretched, Lucien’s hands begun to shake. The bracelet, the stupid fucking gift he was still holding, rattled in its box. “Oh fuck. You are.”

#emmrich x rook #rook x emmrich #lucien ingellvar #emmrich volkarin #rook ingellvar #datv fanfic #my fanfic #my wips

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blushingdread · 2 days ago

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hii i read ur hero/opportunist fluff and it’s so good! how do u think hero falls for oppy? how do u think they’d work out as a duo

Hi hi! Thank you!!!

To me, Hero gets a crush on Oppy in the middle of the Molment of Clarity. Shit has seriously hit the fan, and every voice is at their worst except Oppy!! Boy steps the fuck up stopping fights, comforting the voices, and over all being a more gentle level head compared to Cold who is also trying his best but his one advice starts just making them upset. Like Oppy is still himself and has a list ranking them from best to worst bc this little weasel can't help himself, but he's genuinely looking out for their mental states. Hero in a Molment of Clarity sounds like Broken. The others still either mostly or half way sound like themselves except for Hero and it fucks me up. Cold takes over as the one that leads you, but Oppy felt like he took over Hero's role of cheering you on. Anways I started thinking about who Hero would cling onto for comfort, and Oppy was kinda the obvious one.

Sometime in one of the deeper loops where Hero spends the entire time wrapped in Oppy's arms as he stops the others from picking a fight with Skeptic again Hero thinks that he never wants Oppy to let go and he's like "Oh fuck I have a crush on him" but nothing comes of it at that time because frankly he's too depressed. (I imagine Opportunist with two sets of arms, so he gives very nice and comforting hugs)

Post getting all his memories back he remembers being gently held for a solid half of the horror of Clarity and he remembers his crush and brushes it off, he can remember all the dumbshit Oppy did like with Witch and trying to kill the decider and chalks it up to going though the worst experience of his existence making him crave comfort from anyone and puts it out of his mind. This seemingly works for a time until he catches himself thinking about how he wishes Oppy could of held him during Fury or looking back for fondly about how he acted during Wraith and man, the weasel is just complementing the stuff the voices accomplish/build while out on their own (I need them to all hang out post game, I'll cry if they don't) because he's a asskisser but Hero never thought to look at things that way, it's nice to have someone who always points out the roses and the brightside of everything. It's genuinely really nice, and he starts seeking him out, and he's fallen in love, great (Falling for the local weasel doesn't make Hero blind to his slime ball ass behavior. Oppy will be himself™ and Hero just sighs in defeat because, really?? Him????)

As for what I think them together would be like

At first, things would be rough. Oppy can barely express a genuine emotion to save his fucking life and Hero is well aware that Oppy can barely express a genuine emotion to save his life and has seen Oppy at his worst. So Hero hides his feelings as best he can because Oppy taking advantage of his feelings to get something would both be really shitty, but it would also retroactively ruin all the quiet moments they spent together in tMoC and rip the comfort those memories give him away, and Hero really REALLY doesn't want that. But he can't hide forever.

Eventually, Oppy figures him out and is ecstatic! Without TLQ or princesses around to bring them together, Oppy is very aware that all the voices at best dislike him and at worst hate his guts (none of them actually hate him, Oppy doesnt do good with social rejection and its a lot worse in his head), and finding out that not only one of them has a crush on him, but it's Hero?? The one everyone collectively likes and respects?? This is like Christmas to him. Then it's like cold water is dumped on his head as he immediately realizes this is what everyone hates him for, so he changes strategy. If he can be perfect for Hero, everyone will see how truly good and reliable he is, and he'll be allowed into the in-group, and they'll like him and he'll have someone by his side he can truly trust and— This, as you can imagine is a terribly unhealthy mindset to be in for a relationship, luckily Oppy is terrible at lying and hiding shit, so Hero figures him out like immediately. He told Oppy to stop trying to turn himself into someone that he thinks Hero would like because Hero already likes him, for himself.

This leads into a deeply awkward phase in their relationship where Oppy is trying his absolute hardest to be genuine with Hero, to let someone in, to make himself vulnerable, to try and form a genuine relationship. While Hero is excited that Oppy is actually trying, he's trying to also put his trust in Oppy despite seeing him at his absolute worst. In this stage, they just spend a lot of time hanging out and getting a feel for each other outside of high stress situation with an ever changing threat looming over them. It's nice. Oppy is still himself, and he's a shit sometimes, but when Hero hits him with a "Please don't do that, it makes me feel bad," he reels himself in. Hero helps Oppy get used to an environment where there's no need to try and get one over on people because their safe, and Oppy helps rebuild Hero's confidence and encourages him to be more firm with his actions. Hero never takes over TLQ body and is always taking his lead, I can imagine he isn't the best at doing things alone or being firm because he's so used to following.

They get together slowly, inching closer into eachothers lives, until eventually they're able to trust each other and then start dating. Friends to lovers slow burn, baby. Oppy helping Hero follow a project he was thinking of through, and then they start talking about how they feel about everything that's happened and at the same time they both realize they feel the most comfortable around eachother than anywhere else.

Finally, together, and my apologies for writing an essay, they're a very peppy couple that's always doing something?? Hero is always trying to make things better for everyone, and Oppy eventually starts having genuinely good ideas for that. They wake up and get ready together, make breakfast together, go outside to garden together, and talk to the voices to see if they need any help before either helping going off to do things™. Their always talking to each other, Hero lovingly laughing at Oppy while they go about being insane people who like having tasks to work on. (Does Oppy like manual labor? No. But he likes doing nothing less, and there's not much else to do so. Plus, it's downright nice when Hero is next to him, laughing at his jokes). Truest friends to lovers, they seem like bestie with gay tension until they kiss, and it's confirmed that the tension was because they are dating.

#asks #slay the princess #slay the princess voices #slay the princess Opportunist #slay the princess hero #stp opportunist #stp hero #hero x opportunist #i hope you enjoy my answer!#oppyhero

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goldenboywrites · 2 days ago

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“It is serious,” Apollo countered, brow furrowed at Cassio’s deflection. “It changed me, whatever it was. It overtook me. I was myself, but I couldn’t break out of this…this trance, and who knows what will happen next time? What if it affects everyone? That’s never happened to me before, Cassio. I can’t risk something like that happening again. Theo is the only difference. It has to do with him.” He didn’t understand his best friend’s reluctance to analyze for traces of magic. “It wasn’t just caught up in the moment. I couldn’t think about anything else; I couldn’t stop. What if I had hurt Isaac because I was so fucking blinded by whatever that was?”

Finally, he convinced Cassio and the blonde stepped forward and placed his hand on Apollo’s chest. He sighed with relief at finally being heard. He stood still, tracking Cassio’s eyes as he scanned him over. “What?” Apollo asked, missing the words Cassio was saying. He felt fuzzy again as if a fever was overtaking him. The blonde’s hands sliding across his chest and arms left his skin with goosebumps. “Cass,” He whispered. Memories of the two of them together were brought to the front of his mind. That lithe body of a dancer, flexible in all sorts of ways that the two of them explored together. And they had been good together. They were. They could be again. It was like his entire world focused on the blonde; nothing else could hold his attention except the need for more contact. Cassio rested his forehead against Apollo’s shoulder, and the man squeezed his eyes shut, shivering at the contact. It always came right back to them, didn’t it? So why weren’t they together?

He turned around to face the blonde, his hands cradling his face. The skin-to-skin contact nearly made him groan. And he knew it was wrong. He knew he and Cassio hadn’t been together since they were at Hogwarts, but what was stopping them? Why had they never tried to be together? He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the blonde’s. They were so close that Apollo could feel his breath on his lips, and if he just closed the inch between them, he could remember what it was like to feel his lips. “Cassio,” he whispered, soothingly stroking his thumbs over his cheeks. “Let’s just leave. Fuck it, let’s just leave together. Remember how good we were? It would be even better now.” He dropped one of his hands to Cassio’s chest, fingers curving out the indents between his ribs. “I know you remember. I see it in your face sometimes when you look at me. Let me worship you.”

Oliver stepped into the walk-in pantry, Isaac following behind him. “He needs rosemary, cayenne pepper, and saffron,” He said absentmindedly. “Wouldn’t hurt to pull some ginger either. Orion said it can boost the spell and help decrease our little guy's side effects.”

He shuffled through the potion's ingredients, looking for what they needed. So far, nothing had come up. “You don’t have to apologize, Isaac. I know how hard it can be with them, but…” Oliver sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Apollo and Cassio are always going to be Apollo and Cassio. It won’t do us any favors to wedge between them. If anything, it’s just going to make them more secretive. We know their history; if they wanted to be together, they would have made it happen, but they’ve never toyed with the idea of a relationship together, and we’ve been with them for years. They choose us instead of each other. Isn’t that enough?” He promised himself there in the pantry that he would be a better, more present friend to Isaac. Cassio and Apollo had a way of unintentionally making them both feel like odd men out.

“But I have your back, you know that, right?” He turned to Isaac, shooting him a smile. “But you should give Cass a chance. Most of the things you get upset at him for are almost always Apollo’s fault anyway, but I get that it’s easier to be mad at my boyfriend than yours.” Oliver narrowed his eyes playfully and returned to the shelve he was shuffling through. “Okay, I officially can’t find anything. Where is all of this stuff hiding?”

"Think someone'd be pretty relaxed if they were in your shoes." Cass' lips turned in on themselves. It took damn near every part of his being to keep him from laughing in Apollo's face at that request. His brow did raise at the concern and it was really clear to him that Apollo didn't have the faintest idea what had just happened to him. His gaze landed on the swing door where both his boyfriend and Isaac were now with that child. "Apollo, I really don't think it's that serious." He brushed him off, not sure where his place was meant to be in this because if he was right in what happened between his best friend and his boyfriend upstairs and he said something? He could count his days of private visitation with him as over. "I think you just got caught up in the moment and you guys had it out. Don't be so in your head about it. We don't care." Well, that wasn't entirely true, Oliver cared. He shrugged as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Mostly because it wasn't the worst thing that had happened in Apollo and Isaac's relationship and honestly, who was Cass to start that shit show for them.

And even saying it he know Apollo wouldn't let it go and so he sighed, his head hanging back as he moved to his friend and placed his hands on his chest. "Aside from your afternoon rendezvous and the kid." He smiled, moving his hands down the right arm of Apollo and he assessed with his eyes and then any sense anything he could on his friend. But how did he tell Apollo it was just their veela boyfriend pissing all over him? "How's your day been so far?" He joked, moving from that side to the other and he moved to his backside, tracing lines down his back as he did. "Didn't have time to pick up an extra family three towns over did you? Pull one from your dad's play book?" He teased, his hands sliding up through the other's scalp and he still found nothing.

"Think that kid's a plant?" He asked low, watching over the other's shoulder to the door. He could hear Oliver and Isaac talking animatedly. If nothing else, Cass was happy the two of them got along. And they did too, very well. It would have been nice if just he and Isaac could. Though after today, they would be having a talk. He could appreciate that Isaac didn't like them being friends after all the bullshit they seemed to always be in and drag both he and Oliver in to. "I don't feel like it's their style but it was the only thing that could make sense. I mean ... did you even want a kid? Surely not." He plowed right through that line of thinking without giving him the chance. "I know we said we'd be done soon and I mean it but ..." He sighed, his forehead pressing to Apollo's shoulder blade for comfort. "This shit is real weird, Apollo. I don't like it."

Feeling the weight of the little boy nestled against his chest warmed Isaac to his very core. All the craziness going on with them and yet there was this child, just simply existing in complete and total knowledge that all of them would work to keep him alive and happy. It was something to feel that sort of trust blindly given. It spoke worlds to the way of the world when it came to them as children and them as adults. It was only looking at his sleeping face did Isaac feel that what he'd done to Apollo was wrong. Well, it was more selfish than anything else. He hugged the babe closer and turned to watch Oliver in his mad dash to find whatever it was he was looking for.

He couldn't help but smile at the sight and think how crazily different he was to Cassio. The name turned his nose up slightly but Isaac scolded himself and allowed the thought to fully process. Because Cass was Apollo's best friend and whatever the two of them had overcome in their childhood, Isaac couldn't relate to and shouldn't be too harsh over. If Oliver in all his big ways and thoughts could find a way to let them live and still be happy, he could too. "'m sorry 'bou' earlier." He spoke, not wanting to talk about hem disappearing or the fact that Isaac was starting to tell the after effects of that session more fiercely just then. "I's been a real lon' day 'n I jus' should ha'e been betta abou' everythin'." He spoke a little quieter feeling the boy move and readjust against Isaac's chest. It was hard not to look down at him and just feel this sense that it was right. He wasn't sure if that hurt more than not knowing who he truly was.

"Apollo didn' say wha' exactly we're doin' an' 'm no' sure 'm happy wit' jus' lettin' this poo' boy be subject ta all sorts of magic." He shouldn't have been so protective over this little one but he just couldn't help it. It felt right to speak up on behalf of him but still want the best for him. What the hell was going on? "'m jus' worried ..." Oliver looked at him then with full arms and Isaac drew in a deeper breath. "'m worried for all o' us."

#where do we go from here?

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