#im being miserable as usual nothing unusual

[credulouscanidae]

i think. it's because i got denied an appointment to start hrt again despite giving all the history + diagnosis. nhs isnt going to help me. i had a massive breakdown about that. i was told i need to send the docs, sent them off couple weeks before christmas, sent a follow up email as i didnt get a reply back early jan, then called up asking for an update, only to be told that they apparently sent a letter to my old gp about denying me an appt. and then got all indignant when i asked for a copy of the letter -about me-. couldnt even acknowledge my 3 emails i had sent them over the month. nah, all my medical future gets decided without my input or autonomy. such is the case with the nhs i hear. that was....the week before? idk time is getting lost on me.

then within the same week i get indirectly told that i didnt get the job i was really riding on getting, at the place i volunteer. i was hyped up about volunteers having a higher chance by the workers there. radio silence for months. get told by one of the workers at break "oh btw im sorry you didnt get the job". despite...despite asking for a follow up about my outcome, and being assured that i would get a yes or no answer, because "they follow up with everyone who has an interview whether you got the job or not".

me from a year ago wouldve been disappointed, but probably couldve picked up from that and be reassured. the me now? cant bounce back. clearly im not worth having these opportunities. im not worth having a job at the place ive been at for9 months, and instead they hire 2 completely new people to the organisation. i wasnt even runner up.

i miss my old self. i am a fat disgusting estrogen-ridden husk of my former self.

i miss working. it fucked me up in a lot of ways, but it kept me fit, busy, occupied, and productive.

i miss connection and talking to people. god, i miss it every day. and the only solution to it is to challenge myself. but it's so fucking easy to give up and resign to the fact that no one cares or id be a bother or i deserve to be alone. how the fuck are you meant to be convinced to even instigate convo when thats all that goes through your head?

while im not making any effort to end my life, im sure as hell also not doing anything to preserve it. i feel like im going to snap some point soon. i feel more and more unhinged every time i have a breakdown, like i am so rotted from the inside that i can barely hold myself together anymore. my foundations are collapsing. i had a breakdown mid last week and i still feel hungover. my body itches and jitters all over.

cant even do my dog grooming properly. im not confident nor experienced enough, but im too scared to take abreak from it because i know that's just the mental illness talking and i should just suck it up and pull through. i could if i tried.

but the problem is i cant find a reason to try.

i feel like a sim. like a simulation just going through the ropes, making the body movements that constitute a behaviour. but im not actually doing them. i barely comprehended that i made dinner last night, it kinda...spawned. bangers and mash it was. first cooked meal in a long time. beats whatever frozen thing i shove into the oven.

i get up, have breakfast, pass the time and just eat whenever i feel hungry, and before i know it, it's time to sleep. every day blurs into one.

i know this all sounds melodramatic but it's how i feel. i hate myself for only being able to express my misery through dumb tumblr posts hidden under readmores. thats not the way to get help. i want help, and i know i need it. but that requires me to believe that i am worth saving.

but i am not worth saving.

if this is what life has to be then i dont know.

i just. wish i could feel like things will be okay one day. that there is an end to this.

im going to bed.

it's been a. weird past 7 days or so.

[elsfairy]

emi my love, can i request a scream! ellie or abby for halloween? i’m planning on writing one as well but i’d love to see how you’d pull it off. (amazingly ofc🤭)

oh my.... the way you’re trusting me with this..... 😳 me lowkey not knowing if you wanted smut, but we all know im a whore for it. for you, i did my best so i hope this is what you wanted, baby 💗

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 — a. anderson

Tonight was a cold evening, colder than usual, especially with it being Halloween. You had spent most of your afternoon going into the evening, slowly but perfectly getting together a little candlelight dinner for your girlfriend, Abby. It was your 2 year anniversary and you wanted tonight's dinner to be a lot more special than when it was your one year. Thankfully you hadn’t had kids and their parents knocking on your door, smiling and asking for candy so that gave you even more time to pick out the perfect outfit, find the best makeup looks and finish it off with the sweetest perfume.

There was only one slight problem in the plan you had ready for tonight . . . she was late. In fairness to her, she had to work a long shift tonight so you knew her schedule was going to be a little crazy but you only received the ‘i won’t be able to make it tonight’ text 30 minutes ago. You were defeated, you felt stupid and you were exhausted from spending so much time on your feet, trying to make something perfect for her, for you both, only for it to be ruined because she had to work late. It wasn’t unusual for her to be late, but it was weird because she promised she would be here. She even said she had an extra surprise for you, so why the sudden change?

At first, you were waiting for another text saying she was just kidding and that she would be home soon, but it never came. You had gotten tired of watching the minutes tick by on the clock in the kitchen from where you sat in the living room, and with a defeated sigh, you dropped the napkin you had resting on your lap, onto the table and pushed your chair out to make your way to the bedroom.

Your hand had just reached the door handle of your bedroom when the sound of your phone, the one you left on the dining room table, had started to ring which had you turning around, sprinting to it, hoping and praying that it was Abby and she had somehow managed to get someone to cover her shift to be home with you.

“Hello?” Your voice cheerful.

“What’s your favourite scary movie?” The voice, one you didn’t recognise came from the other side of the phone.

The smile you had on your face dropped, frustration and sadness took over quickly. Rolling your eyes at the stupid question, you continued your way to your bedroom. “I’m not in the mood for your questions” came your snarky, bitter reply. “How’d you even get this number?”

“Oh, c’mon everyone has a favourite scary movie”

“I don’t. I’m really not in the mood for this bullshit”

“Is that why you look so miserable in such a pretty dress?”

The air was suddenly knocked from your lungs, your body turning around abruptly as your eyes were looking everywhere. Confused about how this stranger, who you’ve never met, knows exactly what you’re wearing and just how fuckin’ miserable you look. “I don’t know what sick game you’re playing, but know that my girlfriend is on the way home from work, and i won’t hesitate to call the police. Do you hear me?”

Not wanting to entertain this douche any longer than you already had, you hurriedly hung up the phone, almost throwing it with how frustrated you were with how ruined this night had become for you. All you wanted was a nice night with the woman you loved, eating something you both adore and instead, you had some idiot prank calling you at your worst. It was indeed a shitty night and you wanted nothing more than to take a warm bath and sleep the night away. 

Your body had just reached the end of the bed when the sound of the floorboards beneath you had creaked. The only fucked up floorboard in the apartment that you had been telling Abby for months to try and sort out. It wasn’t your foot that caused it, you always avoided that one out of habit when your girl has been working all day, and tried to avoid waking her up in the early hours of the morning. The hair on the back of your neck stood quickly, and your body on it’s own accord turned just slightly to spot the figure— a tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in your doorway. Face covered with a mask you thought was familiar but couldn’t really name right now, and their head tilted, just watching you.

For some reason you didn’t feel panic, your heart was racing sure, but the longer you both just watched each other, you didn’t feel any need to instantly throw something at your intruder. However, the panic raised in you slightly when the figure took one step forward as you took one back. A subtle yet soft gasp had slipped past your lips when your back gently knocked into the wall, your hand trying to grip something to stop yourself from falling flat on your face. “Careful, wouldn’t want you falling over on me now”

The voice sounded like one you had recognised but it was so muffled by the current mask, it was making it hard for you to understand and put your finger on it. Your heart picked up the pace and started beating a little faster, where the fuck was Abby? Why were you not screaming? Trying to push them away? Something about them seemed so . . . comforting but maybe you were just slightly delusional from the half glass of wine you had.

You hadn’t realized you had zoned out slightly until the feeling of fingers grazing your jaw, pulled you out of your trance, your lips part at realizing just how close they are to you. The feeling of them being so familiar with you still resides in your chest, and it isn’t until you hear that fuckin’ breathless chuckle that your knees buckle.

“Abby?” 

“You really think i would stand you up on our anniversary, baby?”

You simply couldn’t focus on what she was saying because you were too focused on the hand she had groping your tits, somehow already pulling your dress down to get a view of them, her fingers pinching at your already hardened nipples, while her other hand is sliding up your dress, already slipping into your panties. With a groan she leans more into you, pushing you more into the wall, the feeling of your slick covering her fingers. “Jesus Christ, you get so fuckin’ wet. This turn you on that much?”

With the way her fingers were rubbing circles on your clit, spreading your slick over your folds, and how good her hand was on your tit, you couldn’t form one correct sentence, and the only thing that you were letting out was whimpers and whines into her shoulder, nails bluntly digging into her arm. “wanna see you, please? please let me see you Abs” You beg softly, your back arching off the wall when those thick fingers tease your hole.

“Yeah? c’mon then pretty girl, take it off for me”

The second those words came from her mouth, your hands moved quickly, gripping the bottom of the mask, and pulling it off swiftly. Her blonde locks cascade down her shoulders, flyways framing her face, and your heart melted at the sight of her blue eyes looking at you with such a soft look, and a grin making it’s way onto her face. “Knew you were freaky, but not this freaky”

Before you had time to defend yourself or bite back at her words, she slipped her fingers inside your cunt, your walls instantly trapping them and the action caused her to grunt into your neck, while you were gasping out her name softly at the intrusion. The sounds leaving you were driving her crazy, and sending her brain into a frenzy. You always made the prettiest sounds, and she would keep doing everything possible to hear them.

Resting her forehead against yours, the squelching sound your cunt was making rang through her ears loudly and she could feel her own cunt clenching around nothing at how good you felt, how good you sounded, and how pretty you begged “Say my name, baby” She whispered breathlessly against you.

“Abby . . ”

Rubbing your clit with her thumb, you almost felt winded at the extra attention, and Abby was quick to remove her hand from your tits, to wrap her arm around your waist to keep you up, and steady. You had to use all your remaining strength because her touch always did make you fuzzy and light-heade, to cling onto her, while her eyes darted between your pretty lips that parted with such soft moans, and down where she watched her fingers disappear inside your cunt.

Your hand had caught her wrist quickly when her thrusts sped up just slightly, grinding yourself into her touch, your legs fell even weaker when she chuckled in your ear, her fingers still pumping in and out of you at a fast but gentle pace.

“Good, because it’s the only thing you’ll be screaming tonight”

[nerogurl]

omg hi !! i don't usually do these kinds of things but fear & hunger is like the only thing i think about anymore and im suuuuper curious to know my results (and to see of it matches who i want it to be >:])

i am! 18 yrs old, transmasc, and bisexual. i'm average height & about mid-sized, with short-mid length dyed hair (it's orange-blonde ish atm but that's subject to change). freckles, tooth-gap, lots of moles, bit of a mustache going on, etc—i think the coolest thing about me is my eyes. they can look anywhere from grey-green-blue depending on the day, but i actually have central heterchromia as well! so, that's cool!

personality wise (the actual meat of this ask, lmao), i've been told i can be intense. but personally i just like to think i take no shit! i'm the kind of person where you get the kind of energy that you give, and i don't have much patience when it comes to others being immature or clueless. does this make me come off as short tempered sometimes? maybe. kind of. yes. but i promise i'm not always that angry! around people i get along with i like to think that i chill way back. when it comes to life overall im more the "it is what it is, nothing really matters so why not have fun?" type. my biggest personal philosophy is that as long as your not hurting yourself or anyone else, you should be allowed to do whatever you want forever. life is too short to not be a freak and shameless about it.

other than that, let's seeeeee. i think im pretty intelligent! i definitely value it in other people, at least. i enjoy things like analysis, discussion, and debate, especially when i get to go on long tangents and rambles. and i like to listen to long tangents and rambles too! i love to hear people be passionate about their interests. a lot of my past relationships have just been going back and forth with big rants on whatever is interesting us that week or something that annoyed us that day.

that being said! i'm also someone who runs outta energy quick. it's not unusually for people to not hear from me for a while, i like my privacy and i like my quiet. and i definitely like it when people respect that, i don't bode well when people get clingy. though, i do a lot better keeping in touch with people i can see face to face, versus anything long distance (i CANNOT do long distance at all im far too forgetful for it).

ummm yeah! ill end it there. not to sound egotistical but writing about myself is fun i should do it more often. ty!!

Reading your description immediately checked all the boxes for a perfect match with Marina! Where do I start? She cannot handle clingyness either. It might be an extreme example considering Samarie is a literal stalker, but when Samarie reveals her feelings, Marine engages as minimally as possible. She's very much done with putting up with people's shit and just wants to move on with her life. Much like with her father, she describes as always angry and obsessed with being miserable, she wants nothing to do with him.

In her B ending, we see that she moves to the big city to find people sharing the same attitudes as you two; to find acceptance and live a carefree life. Where you can experience all the excitement of the city is to be had together. That's not to say she's a party animal, far from it, just a free spirit. The city is the forefront of new ideas; art, science, politics. Go to exhibitions and community dinners together. With the world constantly changing around you you'll never run out of things to talk about.

Marina has a heavy emphasis on alone time that comes naturally from being an academic and a big reader. In Prehevil, we can find her reading in the local bookshop on Day 2, where she's not interested in joining the party. She needs time to shut out the outside world to recharge. A common method of escapism for her, she welcomes you to join her. Imagine if you had the option to accept her offer. You can recharge while bonding through quality time. If you believe reading in the same room counts as doing something together, sometimes just enjoying each other's presence can be enough. 

For the gentleman of this matchup I've chosen Cahara! Cahara might not be very 'book smart' but he is a very clever and charismatic man. Part of living in poverty is having to learn how to entertain yourself with limited resources. As a conversationalist, you describe wanting not just to discuss particular academic topics but whatever is relevant to each other's lives. He'll tell you stories of his grand adventures (mildly exaggerated); treasure hunts, daring tales of thievery, survival and his adventures raiding under a band of criminals. 

Being an endless soul, he shares the same philosophy as you; as long as you're not hurting anyone life is too short to not do whatever you want (minus the harm, but he's working on it). Cahara is the last person to compromise his life to conform. He knows that Celeste is a prostitute and the baby probably isn't his, but he doesn't care, and loves her all the same. An unconventional relationship type, it should be expected to be open like the one he shares with Celeste.

He'll need someone to be accepting towards his lifestyle and preferences. And if anyone is to be described as 'shameless and freaky', it's Cahara. Him being the only one willing to marry Enki and states that he's open to hooking up with an abdominal marriage (not a decision based just on survival but on his own lenient experimentation). 

I know he comes off as flakey but he's extremely loyal. Willing to do anything for his loved ones, traversing through the horrors of the dungeons to keep Celeste and her unborn baby well feed and happy forever. There's no world where he abandons her. Celeste either passes away during childbirth or you all join together as a throuple. 

I agree with what you said about your central heterochromia. You're right, that is very cool! That's what draws him to you at first. No matter how guarded he is around strangers, Cahara is a naturally curious person. He finds your appearance spurring a lot of questions. He wants to know who you are and everything about you to help fit the gaps in his imagination. Telling stories to their child, he's going to cast you the role of the pirate with wild sunset hair and ocean eyes. 

Tdlr; Marina and Cahara, but overall I think Marina is your best match.

[jelly-as-in-grape-concord]

its kinda long and ramble-y so uh:

Ok so my OC universe (ig thats what im gonna call it?) can be split up into two stories: Cannibalistic Pigeons and The Gloam. This whole thing takes place in both a town and it's surrounding forests. (don't have a name for either of these places yet so they'll just be referred to as "the town" and "the forest" (also a lot of this stuff is still in progress of like being fixed or changed or whateva)

the town itself largely goes unnoticed and gains little attention from the outside. It has nothing appealing or attractive about it, no specialized industry or trade, no tourism, nothing. the only thing that's worth noting is that it has an unusually high amount of people that go missing every year, and none of those cases are ever solved. There's never a sign of any kind of struggle, it's like these people vanish into thin air. this sorta thing has beeen going on for like ever too, so it becomes more of a fact about living there: just accept that you will havve a very high case of dissapearing and never being found again.

Cannibalistic Pigeons is sorta a prequel to The Gloam (and also less developed story-wise). It centers around a high-school girl named Paloma, who moves into the town with her family. she generally self-isolates and has pretty much no desire to get to know anyone. However, she's assigned into a group project and makes friends with another girl (who is also yet to have a name).

the general idea after this is that Paloma is haunted by insects, especially spiders. She starts to see them pop up practically everywhere until [something happens] and she's convinced her group project partner was going to die. i don't know how to get to any of these points so like *vaguely gestures* things happen and Paloma eventually runs into the surrounding forest, while being overtaken by spiders, and she's never seen again.

like I said, alot to be worked on story-wise and this might change over time. the Gloam is a little more developed.

The Gloam is about three people: Sylvia, Isaac, and Sasha.

Sylvia and Isaac are a very happy married couple. they love each other so much its disgusting and beautiful. Sasha is their long-time friend who lives pretty much right next door to them. a bunch of people in their late 30's to early 40's living their best lives.

one day, Isaac becomes one of those people who vanish into thin air, leaving behind his truck on the side of the road, right next to forest. sylvia is obviously devasted by this news and.

ok so people in the town are generally aware of the whole "too many people go missing in this town" thing so there's generally like curfews and rules about buddy systems and all that. but as time goes on, people take it less and less seriously. because you never think it's gonna happen to you until it *Does* and also becuase they have no solid law enforcement in place aside from like a few cops and maybe one detective and no one cares about this town so.

but then! only a week later! hes back somehow! what!!! This definetely gets attention because wow! one person found out of like thousands! The police are doing a fantastic job!

So yeah, he comes home and all is well until it isn't.

Sylvia feels as though Isaac was growing more and more distant. He started working more, kept making excuses to go out, and generally kept avoiding her. When she asks Sasha about this, she says that Isaac hadn't been responding to her messages or calls, and when he did, he usually gave pretty short or vague answers. Over the course of half a year, isaac stops talking to sasha altogether and he only ever sees sylvia at dinner maybe sometimes.

By the seventh month, Sylvia is kinda frustrated and incredibly miserable by all of this. and worst of all, she thinks that Isaac's started getting into something shady (though she's not really sure what exactly). she tries to stage some kinda intervention, but he always manages to avoid her. after all this, she decides to look back at old photographs from childhood, wedding, etc etc.

However, she finds that Isaac's face was gone from all of them. (as in a bunch of bugs ate through them). she flips through a crap ton of them until she finally finds one that hadnt been destroyed. it's here that she noticed that Isaac's looked a little off here. did he always look this tired? i didn't think he was this short.

this sorta plants a seed in her mind and so she makes him a bowl of his least favorite meal. "isaac" eats every last grain of it. she keeps doing this sort of thing whered she'd give him or show him things she knows isaac for liking or disliking. everytime, he acted more and more out of character.

when she finally confronts him, "isaac" is like "oh crap well it sucks that you found out im secretly a shapeshifter that slithered out of the surrounding forests. anyways im gonna like eat your entire face if thats chill" and ofc this is not chill so she bashes its face in with her cane.

she calls sasha sobbing and Sasha "Ride or Die" Ramirez was like "i got u" and went to go bury it in said forest. except. uh oh! it can't die! and it slithers away into the forest.

sylvia is like "man i gotta kill this thing for good" and while sasha was more hesitant about it, she ultimately goes because sylvia was very determined to get rid of it and find out what it did to Real Isaac.

if this gets at least one note i will explain the entire lore of my OCs

[euphoricsunflowers]

sub drop — monsta x

request: Hey so I'm not entirely sure if you accept reaction requests if not then a headcanon is fine I was wondering how a male reader would take care of sub monsta x during a sub drop possibly a mix of for some it's their first ever sub drop and for others it's not, tysm n ily!!

a/n: sorry this took forever 😭😭 i hope you like it :,)

word count: 1.8k

content: sub!monsta x, none are smutty :), sub drop obviously, use of a safeword (minhyuk’s part), aftercare, just general sub/dom things,

—

son hyunwoo/shownu:

he can’t shake the feeling. he tries to just get over it, because while he obviously knows you care about him, he’s doesn’t want to let you know that anything is wrong. and he doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him.

it’s just that every time you’ve been holding him close, objectifying him in a way that he adores, making him feel like all he has to be is pretty to be worthy of praise, it doesn’t feel like it should. he’s so used to pressure, pressure, pressure. he’s used to high expectations, and he’s used to working hard because he can’t let people down. he’s always been adored, but with you, he doesn’t have to work for it.

and yet, it doesn’t have the same kick that it used to. he doesn’t get the high, airy, “in the clouds” feeling, at least not recently. he knows you can sense it, he’s a good actor but he’s not that good of an actor, and you can see it in his eyes. he’s getting uncomfortable and nervous.

“sweet bear,” you murmur as you wrap your arms around him, “what’s been going on with you? is everything alright?”

“i’m okay,” he responds blankly, but he holds you tightly like he doesn’t ever want to let you go, “i just haven’t been feeling great about… you know what recently.”

“ah, then that could be my fault. i need to take care of you better afterward. how about tonight we just relax, not as dominant and submissive, but just as lovers?”

“okay.”

lee hoseok/wonho:

you find him with tears on his cheeks as he cries silently. he either sobs unimaginably loud and buries himself into your arms for hours on end, or he’s quiet in your room with soft sniffles and hiccups heard from the other side of the door.

but he just lies there, crying. he looks so out of it, but in the worst way possible. he looks miserable, wallowing in the feelings that he’s silently submerged himself in hopes that you wouldn’t have to see him like this.

“hoseok, darling,” your words fill the room, and he’s suddenly so suffocated by all the darkness.

“please- i- please make it stop.”

you’re by his side in a second, “make what stop, baby?” he shakes his head, pulling you by your wrist onto the bed so you’re as close to him as possible as he cuddles and wraps himself around you like you’re a teddy bear, “sweetheart,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. he sighs comfortably with you close to him and playing with his hair always made him feel sleepy.

as the tears begin to stop, you lull him to sleep with little whispered nothings, “i love you, sweetheart. please let me know whenever you start to feel bad, okay? i want to be here for you.”

lee minhyuk:

it’s not like it never happens, but it’s still so unusual that it confuses him every time. it creeps up on him slowly until he’s lying beneath you, all dazed and under your control, with a sudden ache in his stomach. it’s anxiety and nervousness that he has no reason to be feeling, but he does.

he knows you wouldn’t want him to hide it, so he calls the safeword immediately, and the change in your expression and demeanor makes his heart swoon just a little bit. suddenly he’s free from the restraints and in your arms and you’re whispering sweet things to him, rubbing his chest to soothe the marks you’d left earlier.

“it's happening again,” he groans, “the thing we had talked about a while ago. when i started feeling bad all of a sudden.”

“ahh, okay. thanks for telling me, sweetheart,” you press a kiss to his forehead, “what i can do right now to help, besides the obvious aftercare stuff?”

“please just- tell me you didn’t mean the things you said to me.”

his plea makes your heart shatter just a bit, but you keep it together for his sake, “i meant none of it. you’re the most important and sweetest angel in my life, my darling sun. i could never mean it. you’re such a sweet soul, my perfect little vita-min,” he smiles softly, feeling so high and light, “i love you, min. don’t forget it.”

he's not mentally there enough to say it back, but you can feel it in the way he moves to hold your hand. you take it, and never let him go.

yoo kihyun:

kihyun is a good communicator… most of the time. he’s mostly gotten past the instinct to bury his feelings down and just deal with whatever’s happening because that had upset you in the past and he doesn’t like making you upset.

but he didn’t know how to verbalize these feelings that had slowly overtaken him. he’s never felt these paralyzing and hellish feelings before, they crept upon him, and the moment you were out that door, they hit him like a ton of bricks.

he wants to call out your name, he wants to cry, but he doesn’t. he can’t. he just lies there, swallowed up by the sheets as he suffocates on his own feelings.

“hey,” you whisper, catching his attention. he’s startled by your call, and you can see in his reaction and nervousness that he isn’t alright.

but he’s still kihyun, and this vulnerability he didn’t get to allow himself to show leaves him anxious, he doesn’t have a sense of control over his lack of control and it makes him uncomfortable.

“kihyun, baby, you’re alright,” you murmur as you kiss his forehead, “you’re okay. you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, just tell me what you need. do you want me here with you? or would you rather me go sit in the other room?”

“with me,” he groans, offering up a spot on the bed next to him, “i want to hold you,” he says. he looks so small right now, especially because his fiery, intense, yet loving personality is just so big that you forget that he’s this fragile little thing sometimes. in that moment, all you felt like doing was holding him tightly and never letting go, protecting him from all the bad things and bad feelings.

but that wasn’t what he wanted. he’s still your kihyun, and this is his way of feeling better, “okay,” you say, “hold me close, will you?”

chae hyungwon:

hyungwon is naturally kind of embarrassed that he’s submissive to you. he hides it well, but he still asks that it not be brought up to any extent in conversation that involves other people. to the world, hyungwon is the one in control, and only behind closed doors does he fall to his knees for you.

but, still, that nervousness and shyness and anxiety eats away at him, makes him feel small and unconfident, and he starts to distance himself emotionally whenever he’s unhappy for any reason. you had done nothing wrong, but hyungwon still hasn’t found peace with the nature of your relationship.

it’s not that he’s deprived of what he wants, but being yours is what he wants, he just can’t stand for anyone else to know that.

and so these bad feelings manifest every now and then, but you and him are used to them. he gives himself a few hours to wallow in them, to truly feel them, and then he asks for a cute little date night as a reminder that your relationship is built off of love and not just dominance over him.

and of course, he requests that you sweet talk him the whole night, “i love you, wonnie. don’t ever believe otherwise, you hear me? you’re my perfect little butterfly, so tall and gorgeous and sweet and kind and loving and absolutely perfect. there’s nothing i don’t adore about you.”

it seems to do the trick.

lee jooheon:

he can’t tell when it happens, but you spot it every time. he becomes somewhat hostile towards you, of course, the feelings aren’t exactly what he wants to feel but he can’t help the amount to which he just becomes harsh and closed off.

but he still listens, still smiles faintly when you hold his hand, “jooheon, sweetheart, im sorry we’ve been neglecting your needs to the point where you feel this way, can you please just talk to me? can you tell me how you feel?”

“i- i don’t feel good. i don’t feel good about anything we do usually, and i’m stuck on why. i’m not hurt, you took care of me well after every session. and i’m just-”

he doesn’t finish his sentence, but you find the right words for him, “frustrated that you don’t understand your feelings?”

“yeah… yeah that’s about right. i’m not mad at you, i just- im mad that i don’t understand why i feel so bad right now.”

“joo, baby, this isn’t irrational or not normal. it’s completely fine to feel like this, and in fact, i’m glad you’re so in tune with your feelings that you’re really trying to understand and feel them completely. hiding them won’t do anything.”

“so- what do we do now?” he asks.

“whatever you want, my sweet bee. you come first tonight.”

im changkyun/i.m:

it had been days since the session, and yet the bad feelings wait to hit him when he’s making breakfast for himself, without you there. he’s not at home and won’t be for a while, and subsequently doesn’t have you there with him.

with the time difference that he forgot to take into account, you’re asleep when he calls. he tries to apologize heavily for waking you up, but since he woke you up, you’re not letting him hang up unless he tells you why he called.

“i didn’t feel well emotionally all of a sudden, and i just wanted to be with you,” he murmurs, and it shatters all of your tired little heart, “and this is the best i’ve got right now. i’m sorry for bothering you while you were asleep, my love.”

“don’t apologize for prioritizing your needs, kyun. do you want to talk?”

“not… really??”

“alright, then i’ll stay on the call with you. im gonna try to go back to sleep, but please let me know if you want to talk. no sleep is more important than my angel.”

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @multidreams-and-desires @hobilluvvr @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub @rubyscloud9 @silencefavarchive @nct99 @bigkpopstan @monstaxdirtywonk @domreaderrecs @mochi-ficz and always feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist <3

[now-im-a-belieber]

omg can i please get "im gonna marry you one day" with george luz OR "you pretend that you dont know me in front of your(our) friends" with joe liebgott

whichever you want! tysm 💖��

prompt: "im gonna marry you one day"

george luz x reader

a/n: i present to you some mediocre george luz fluff with only a LITTLE angst. to make up for my last atrocity lol. this is a feat for me, as the self proclaimed queen of sadness.

══════════════════

The first time he said so, you thought it was a joke. George was always joking. Always trying to get a reaction from you, whether it be a bright laugh or a mortified warning whisper. You were the best kind of friends.

It was after helping him home at the end of a very long night, when George was more exhausted than tipsy. So you shoved him toward his sofa and untied his shoes. And just as you grabbed your coat and turned to leave, he said...

"You're too good. I'm gonna have to marry you one day."

His tired mumbles died out almost exactly as his head hit the throw pillow. And when you turned with a blush you saw he was already asleep where you'd left him, but that same mischievous grin remained on his face.

It had to be a joke. So you didn't think a thing of his comment, besides the come back you were going to have to throw his way, come morning.

That's how the two of you worked. Batting ideas between your wits until one or both of you were doubled over with laughter and the night was through.

He'd been a good friend. He'd been a generous soul. A watchful eye. A listening ear. He'd been there for you, and stayed that way.

So you'd come to know George well. Whether either of you cared to admit it or not, there was an unspoken, inexplicable bond between the two of you. He was the first person you'd call should disaster strike. The last person you wanted to sit through a movie with, but the person whose commentary you missed most when it was just you in front of the telly.

He was always joking. And whether or not he succeeded in getting you to giggle, he was laughing all the while. But there were those rare moments, when the two of you would talk like the world was ending. Trading dire secrets or genuine apologies.

So when the second time he said it, you knew it wasn't a joke.

There you stood at the platform, the roaring of an approaching train growing louder with each thud of your heart. You wouldn't let yourself think of why you stood here, or where George was about to head off too. You couldn't imagine what horrors might dull his brightness. You shuddered to imagine the glimmer in George's eye being blown away. So you thought further ahead.

"You better make it back here before too long." You shrugged, reaching out to straighten George's collar. You didn't know how to say you'd miss him.

He grabbed your hand, to dismiss your pestering, you thought. But he didn't let go. George just held on, letting his eyes dart from your intertwined fingers, back to meet your own gaze. And then he sucked in a breath, and said...

"I've gotta make it back. I'm gonna marry you one day."

It wasn't some witty call back to the time he'd said so before. He really meant it. You could tell by the softness in his usually impish smile. And the way his eyes desperately searched yours.

And then just like that, his hand left yours, and George was stepping onto the train.

How dare he, you thought, leave you with such weighted words without time to ask why he'd said them. Without time to swat his arm and curse at the way he made your heart rate multiple.

George waved from the door of the train before an impatient usher shooed him to find his seat. You just barely heard as he replied "Alright I'm goin', I'm goin'."

And you tried to pretend that wasn't the last thing you heard him say. You tried to imagine he wouldn't be gone long. And you tried to imagine what life would be like once he returned.

You headed back to the way things were. But nothing was the same with George gone.

And even when you finally heard from him, it wasn't at all as comforting as you hoped it might've been. He wrote little. And asked more of you than he said of himself. He asked for updates about local goings-on. Asked you to tell him how his family seemed, despite having been in touch with them all the same.

You wrote back, answering all his questions and daring to ask a few vague inquiries of your own. You danced around the subject of what he said to you. And he never directly responded to your subtle hints.

But despite having heard George say what he said with your own ears, you decided after a while that he couldn't have been serious. Rarely was he. But often did you let your own thoughts blow things out of proportion. That had to be what was going on, now...

So you stopped wondering, on paper at least. You kept your many frequent thoughts of George to yourself. And you tried not to worry about when you'd hear from him again, or the fact that he had less to say each time.

You just answered all of his usual questions about the state of your hometown and secretly dreamed of the day you got to stroll through it together again. You never knew when his next letter would come. Sometimes months would pass with nothing but dust filling your mailbox. And years had passed since this new discombobulated routine had become normal.

But still, everyday you heard the postman swing open the gate at the end of your path, you eagerly hurried to fetch the mail.

When you heard that sure scuffle of the postman approaching the porch steps that led to your post box, you dusted your hands of a day's work and scurried toward the door.

But, as you approached, a knocking gave you pause. The postman never knocked. You took a beat to smooth your wrinkled clothes before answering the door you were near opening anyway.

At first, it seemed no one was there. Then you looked down to find George Luz on one knee.

"You're home!" You gasped taking in the sight of him. The swoop of his unusually long hair. The grin on his face and that same old glimmer in his eye. You'd never seen it shine brighter, in fact.

Your favourite friend reached for your hands and held them as he did at the train station; like he really meant too.

"I told you I'd be back to marry you one day. Wanna make it soon?"

All your second guesses and dismissive thoughts flew out the window as you threw yourself to meet George where he knelt in your doorway. His arms wrapped around you in time to save you from crashing to the porch, and his huff of stunned laughter was like music to your ears. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tight to prove you weren't dreaming.

"Is that a yes or are you trying to strangle me for taking so long to properly ask?" He quipped

"Both!" You cried, burying your face in his neck and marvelling over how familiar this was. How all the time that had passed so miserably slow without George seemed like no time at all, now.

"Well, we'd better go do the damn thing before you deprive me of too much oxygen." George insisted, holding you closer all the same.

"What, right now?" You chuckled, leaning back to search George's gaze. He was as beautiful as ever. Just as wonderfully himself. Though you could tell some deep wary exhaustion played behind the shine of his eyes. That could be felt with in time. Now, there was a rather pressing matter at hand...

"War is over babe, and I'd been waiting long before that anyhow."

With that, it was decided. George shuffled to his feet, raising you up alongside him. He hurried you along your flustered rush to grab a couple of things. And then the two of you flew down the porch steps and into the rest of your lives together.

You'd been longing for this day before you even knew George was too. Now there was nothing that could keep you apart. No war. No time. No worries. You were now and forever bound to have every movie night ruined by George's blathering over it. And that's just the way you wanted it.

[ihaveissuesbutthatsokay]

EREMIN URBAN FANTASY (I THINK???) AU!!!

WARNING : strong language, mention of blood, of a missing person, grief and mention of depression

The forest. That's what everyone called it. But It wasn't really a forest. 

Not a normal one, anyway.

There was something inside. Something sinister. Everyone could feel it the moment they entered. You could feel it the moment you entered, the air suddenly getting colder, shivers forming up your skin, and feeling a burning hole behind your head where you swore you could feel something, someone, watching your every step, your every movement, your every breath.

You were known as the boy who seeked freedom. 

 People tried to venture into the forest. Dreaming of exploration, dreaming to see what awaited on the other side of the forest. That's why the town folks would prepare expeditions to go outside. 

 After all, being trapped in a small town with nothing but a wide forest to keep you company, that's not freedom. It was almost as if the forest wanted to keep you tight, too afraid to let go, too afraid to watch you wither away. But you wanted to go away. You hated this small town, this confined space. 

No one came out alive in the forest. 

That's why the town stopped entering the forest altogether. It was too dangerous. Too reckless. But you were the boy who seeked freedom. You wouldn't give up. 

Why do you never give up, goddamnit!

You were reckless, naive, young. You thought the world bended at your own rules. You thought you and your friends, together, would be untouchable. 

I was wrong. 

That's right. You were wrong. 

And that's why you will always hate yourself for dragging your friends into this mess. That's why you wished you weren't the boy who seeked freedom after all. 

----

Armin couldn't sleep. Not that it was something unusual. He could barely sleep these past few years, with school work piling up, finals right around the corner, and generally just life being a complete shithole of a mess. 

He had three unfinished assignments due tomorrow. And it was already 3 am. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. He could feel his eyelids closing up by themselves, his hand loosening up on his pen, his head about to drop on his desk---

He sighed in defeat, and stood up from his chair more violently than it was necessary. 

Coffee. He needed coffee. 

He made a face,just thinking about drinking it.  He hated the bitterness that crap had to offer, the sensation of his tongue being burned while he tried to chug it into one go, as he wanted to be done with it. 

He hated it, but he needed it. 

The caffeine kept him awake. 

Mikasa would always chide him about this. At how unhealthy of a coping mechanism it was, to rely on a substance to keep him awake. 

He still remembers how two years ago,  exactly 4 months after the incident, how she would constantly tell him to stop drinking that burned bean water, probably very worried at the lack of sleep Armin clearly was not getting. 

“You don't even like it.” She would frown. 

 Armin would laugh at the name Mikasa used to describe the coffee, avoiding the last statement.  “Since when did you start calling it like that?” 

Mikasa would frown again, knowing what he was doing. She didn't push him though. instead, she would just shake her head. 

“Sleep.” She would say very seriously, while giving him a sideway glance. “You need sleep.” 

Armin would look at her dead in the eyes, at the dark circles surrounding them, at the way she kept her body, the way her skin didn't have the same glow it used to have, her face hollower and emptier than it usually looked. 

“So do you.” He would softly whisper in return. She would just shrug, and the conversation would always hit a dead end there. “Besides,” he would add,  after a moment of silence, “I do like coffee. Now.” 

“Oh.” She would say. Not convinced. 

“Yeah.” He would answer. Trying to make the lie sound convincing. To whom, he didn't know. Mikasa or himself? Perhaps both. 

“Okay.” She would respond. “That's good.” She would grip her red scarf thighter, a gesture Armin noticed she would always do when she was nervous, sad or upset,  and from that,   Armin knew that she didn't believe him at all. But neither of them  commented on it. It was a comforting lie. 

Now as he was standing alone in his small kitchen, still sleep deprived, not listening to Mikasa’s advice, with  a cup of boiling hot coffee in his hand, moonlight reflecting on his windows, a single tear slipped down his eye.  It trailed all down his cheek, slowly, until it plopped into the drink he was holding with shaky hands. 

He missed him. A lot. God, he missed him so much. 

 He missed his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his everything. The way he would scream in excitement, the way he would always run at the high, high hill, always fist pumping into the air when he thought he won, only to get disappointed when he realized Mikasa was just letting him win on purpose.He missed the way he would get excited when his mom would bake him a new cake, the way he would always bring Armin a piece  afterwards, eager to see his reactions while eating it. 

“So?” He would ask, more close to a demand than a question, his tone full of youth excitement. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah!” He said, surprising himself. Not that Eren's mom was a bad cook, not at all. But the cake flavor was coffee, and he never saw the appeal to this grown ups drink. Strangely, however, he really enjoyed this one. Thinking back at it, maybe he was just forcing himself to like it, cause he wanted to see the boy smile widen. Maybe he just wanted to love everything Eren offered him. Maybe he was just a delusional kid with a crush. Who knows. It was too late to dwell on it now.  

“Your mom is an awesome cook.” Armin commented, licking some frosting off his hands. 

The boy gloated in pride. “She said she will help me learn how to bake if I behave.” 

“I thought you weren't allowed to bake anymore,” Armin said, still chewing on the cake. “Last time we baked at your house, it was a bit of a disaster.” It wasn't as big of a disaster as they made it out to be. But they were childrens, and everything seemed a bigger deal than it was. 

He huffed in response. “That wasn't my fault! It was the oven's fault…” he murmured. Armin laughed. “I dont think your mom agrees with that.” 

The other boy shoved him playfully. “How was I supposed to know I can't just  bake coffee beans?” 

Armin sighed. “I told you it wasn't a good idea. You never listen.” 

“Whatever.” He said, plopping his legs on Armin’s lap. 

“Hey!” Armin yelped, the boy's dirty feets almost getting into Armins plate. “I'm still eating here.” 

Eren laughed. After a bit, Armin joined in. 

They laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

Armin's laugh never quite sounded the same after he was gone. 

Neither did Mikasa’s for that matter. Probably the others too, but he lost contact with them, so he couldn't say for sure. They still all went to the same school, sure, but it was almost as if they were complete strangers, everyone collectively ignoring each other, in a desperate attempt to forget the incident. The only person he still talked to was Mikasa. And she, too, sometimes seemed so far away, like a mirage ready to dissolve right under his fingertips. 

Armin was about to take a sip from his coffee. More like chugging it down in one go, but he froze right as the cup touched his lips. 

His hands started to tremble, from fear or cold, he couldn't distinguish. Despite the heat of the beverage in his hand, he suddenly felt really cold. His arms shivered, his hands turning white as he clenched to his cup as if it could give him a sense of support. By gripping it too hard, some coffee splashed onto his hands, and he let out a hiss of pain. He put the coffee on the table, careful  not to spill anymore. 

 He started feeling feverish, his head becoming a dizzying mess. He put a hand on the counter, for support. He felt like an invisible force was pushing his lungs, pushing until he couldn't breath, until he was coughing, and coughing, he needed air, he desperately needed air, but it was as if whatever was making him feel likethis, hated air, hated it with a burning passion, and it wanted to make Armin hate air as much as it did. 

Armin felt like fainting. He probably was about to faint. He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was kneeling on the ground, 

This is it. He thought miserably. I am going to die, today, alone, without even knowing if he is still alive, leaving Eren behind, leaving Mikasa behind, leaving everyone behind, because im  a failure, and, and, and---

And then it stopped. His lungs could breathe again. He gasped, desperately trying to inhale as much air as possible, the burning in chest slowly fading away, even if  his head still felt like someone was smashing a rock onto it. 

But he could finally breathe again, and he could feel his pulse. He wasn't dead. He was alive. That's what mattered. He took another shaky breath, and used the chairs and the counter as support to stand up again. His legs were still shaking though, so instead of standing up, he opted to sit on the chair. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Those were the only thoughts going through his head, as he tried to sip his coffee again. That sensation, that feeling. There was no mistake. It was just like the incident two years ago, the same burning sensation, the same desperation to just give up, to do anything, anything, just so the pain could stop, the envy of being able to breathe---

“Ymir.” 

The cup shattered on the ground, a sharp sound echoing through the empty hallways, coffee spilling everywhere. Armin didn't even notice. He was frozen in place, hand still raised, eyes still looking in front of him. 

That voice. He couldn't make sense of anything. Except : That voice. 

That voice. I know that voice. I would know that voice everywhere. 

He turned around so quickly his chair went flying to the ground, glass splintering his bare feet from where the glass shattered. His eyes widened, tears spilling out of his ocean blue eyes like fountains. 

“Eren?” He whispered. He took a step forward, hand reaching out, trying to touch him, hug him, kiss him, just feel him under his touch but---

His hands went right through him, as if...as if he wasn't real. A look of hurt and confusion shadowed Armin's face. “Ymir.” The man in front of him said again. He sounded monotone, no emotions, no feelings, no nothing. His face didn't seem like an open book anymore, his eyes not gleaming with millions' adventure. 

 “You have to find Ymir.” 

“Eren.” That's all Armin could muster to utter, his voice shaking, his lips trembling. Was this a sick joke of his brain? The sleep deprivation finally kicking in? Making him almost pass out, and now hallucinate his missing-but-much-more-likely-his-long-lost-dead-best-friend?

“Listen to me, you have to listen to me, you need to find Ymir, or else, or else, or else.” He kept repeating the same sentence, as if he was a broken recorder. He closed his eyes, opened them again, closed them again. Armin took a step backwards. His mind was starting to creep him out. 

“Eren, is that really you, please tell me I'm not hallucinating you.” He needed to ask, even if it was probably all fake, all his mind–

“Or else.” He closed his eyes again, muttered some stuff.

“Or else?” Armin whispered. “Eren, talk to me, please.” 

“Ymir. Find. Ymir.” 

With that, Eren started to fade again.

“Wait, no!” Armin didn't want him to leave, not right after he finally got to see him again. He didn't care this might all be his head. He didn't care this might all have to do with what happened three years ago, he didn't care, he just wanted his best friend back, he just wanted to be able to laugh and mess around, and talk about the future as if they both had a clue, he just wanted Eren back. 

In his desperate attempt to reach him, Armin slipped on the spilled coffee; he could feel blood oozing from his feets, now from his hands, a stinging pain forming all around his skin. He didn't care, didn't notice. He struggled to get up again, and when he slipped again, he decided to crawl, not caring about the glass shatters on the floor, not caring about the pain, the stiffness of the floor, the red blood mixing with the brown coffee, he didn't care, he just needed to reach him, try again to touch him, maybe he imagined him fading under his touch, maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe he truly did come back, maybe, maybe, just maybe---

“Dont.” He whispered, more like a mix between a sob and a beg. “Don't go.” 

“Armin–?” He sounded surprised, shocked, relieved, happy, nothing like the creepy expression and monotone voice he had before when he was muttering all those things, the same name over and over again, what was it again---he couldn't remember in the moment, the only thing in his mind was that he recognized him, he saw him and he knew who he was, and he said his name so gentle, so quietly, as if he was uttering a precious thing he didn't want to break–

“Eren.” Armin said, reaching his arms out, knowing, just knowing, he would reach his arm to, and they would hold hands, and everything would be fine again, he would have his best friend back–

But just as suddenly as he appeared, he disappeared. 

And Armin couldn't do anything but curl up on the ground and cry, and cry, until his mind encircled him into a deep, unwanted sleep. 

[willcwthewisp]

spirited away | eddie & willow

TIMING: before mother’s day. LOCATION: willow’s apartment. PARTIES:  @specterchasing and @willcwthewisp. SUMMARY: eddie goes on a medium-driven chore, but gets medium uno reversed. also the spiderman meme except it’s mediums.

Willow sighed as she lowered her paint brush, feeling that familiar nagging sensation tingling in her neck that came whenever a portrait wasn’t quite right. It looked fine— lovely, even. But there was simply something amiss that the ghost in question hadn’t approved of, and she’d lost the snippets he was saying to her quite some time ago, as if his words had flitted out her open wind on the breeze. Oh well. The piece would be a nice one to sell, and there still might be a person who recognized what it was that she’d painted. There’d been quite a few instances of people coming forward, asking questions about certain pieces she’d done that looked far too similar to their memories of loved ones, or scenes of their youth. That was generally when she passed the painting off to her brother, a medium and exorcist who was much better equipped to deal with the ghost of the painting, and the loved one that came along with it. 

It almost came as a relief when she heard a knock at her door. Almost. Rising from her place at the easel in her art room, she peered through the peephole of the door only to be met with the face of someone she’d never seen before. “Ah- sorry, can I help you?” she began nervously, already thinking of the disaster that could strike if she ended up having to open the door. She didn’t have any interest in causing a hospital visit today. Or any day for that matter. Maybe she should request to be moved to the first floor of her complex. Then it’d be a little less worrisome when it came to potentially throwing people across the hallway. 

Eddie had some reservations about showing up to a stranger’s house unannounced, but they were outweighed by curiosity and a sense of duty. The ghosts made Willow out to be someone like him. In all of Eddie’s years in White Crest, he’d never had the opportunity to meet someone else who could interact with the dead. Admittedly, it seemed like she had a knack for ignoring them and that didn’t sit well with him, but he tried to reserve judgement until there was proof beyond the claims of a few disgruntled apparitions. 

“Yeah, so, hey,” he said, eyes locked onto the peephole. It struck him as odd that she didn’t open the door, but they lived in White Crest, after all. Being careful saved lives. “I know you don’t know me and this is probably wicked weird for you, but I’ve got a message from a, uh, mutual friend that they’d really like you to hear. It’s a little private, so I’d feel a little more comfortable giving it to you in… well, private. You wanna open the door for me?” He thought about reassuring her that he wasn’t some kind of bloodlust-y murderer, but realized that would only make him seem more dangerous.

Willow’s fingers tapped nervously against the door, still looking through the peephole and reminding herself that this man couldn’t see her in return despite the eye contact he made. “A mutual friend?” she echoed, the phrase throwing her. She’d purposefully distanced herself from the bulk of her friends ever since this whole sporadically throwing people problem had come to her attention, and she hadn’t had all that many to begin with. It was a choice of her own, never having been someone to seek out the company of too many people. Willow had been more than happy with that before her telekinesis had made any company dangerous. Now she relied on the people she called at her telemarketing gig to remind herself she was alive. It wasn’t all that helpful when they were yelling half the time. 

The ability to say ‘no’ was another of her shortcomings, and Willow walked a few paces back and forth as the man asked to be let in. Going back to the door, she glanced at him once more through the peephole. “I...okay- alright. But just- don’t come too close, okay?” If she could keep a table between him and her, things should be alright. Without further delay, she was opening the door to reveal the interior of her apartment, already taking a few careful steps away from the man. 

When Eddie’s question was met with a few long moments of silence, he half-expected his venture to be rendered fruitless. He couldn’t find it in himself to blame Willow for not trusting him, but he did wonder where her sense of adventure was. If a stranger came knocking on his door with the promise of a vague message, they wouldn’t have been able to finish their sentence before he welcomed them in.

Just as he turned away from the door, she finally spoke up. A warning. “No problems there, I’m a big fan of boundaries,” he enthused as the door opened. Willow seemed even more skittish than the average White Crestian as she put ample space between them. Eddie decided not to let it bother him—she likely had her reasons.

“Okay, so, the friend in question is a little on the dead side,” he explained carefully as he stepped into the apartment. “Actually, there’s a few dead friends. Is that… like, is that unusual for you, having dead friends?” As accustomed as he was to having conversations with ghosts, he knew that wasn’t exactly normal. His parents made that perfectly clear to him. If Willow wasn’t as much like him as he hoped she was, he needed to ease her into the subject matter.

“Great- good, that’s good,” Willow babbled nervously as she did exactly as she’d planned, skirting around to the other side of the table that was in her kitchen while Eddie spoke. But the mention of dead friends was more than enough to catch her interest, and in a reflexive move she looked over to the chair that Kal often loved to frequent. He was the ghost she heard most reliably, and currently her best friend seeing as she’d banned herself to as much isolation as possible. Unfortunately she wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he was here at the moment, her focus pulled away from any attempts to perceive him by the stranger in her apartment. 

Thankfully, Kal had no problem speaking for himself. The ghost had already taken up a spot at Willow’s shoulder the moment Eddie had stepped into the apartment, feeling rather protective after the last stranger to enter Willow’s abode had left her tired and crying. “What do you want?” the ghost asked the man reflexively, not actually expecting an answer from one of the living. That was- until he recognized the familiar aura of what Eddie was. “Oh shit- you’re a medium, too?” 

Willow, still blissfully unaware of the guardian ghost asking questions on her behalf, was doing her best to play it close to the chest. She wasn’t entirely all that private about mediums and their abilities, but it wasn’t exactly the best idea to lead with ‘occasionally I see and hear dead people.’ “Um- do you have dead friends?” she asked, unable to come up with any better reply while being entirely oblivious of that fact that Kal had already given her away.

Willow’s babbling and general nervousness faded into the background the moment Eddie laid eyes on Kal. “I am!” he announced, eyes glistening with pride before finally prying them away to look at Willow. “Looks like we both do,” he said with a wide grin. Hope had taken hold of him before he reached Willow’s apartment, and now he knew it wasn’t in vain. Finally, he knew someone like him; someone he wouldn’t have to hide from, not that he usually did such a good job with keeping secrets. Eddie didn’t know how to be anything except himself, but he thought it might be nice to have someone in his life who didn’t look at him like he was speaking in tongues when he talked about the dead.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, I’m just like you,” he told Willow. He thought it was a little strange that she apparently hadn’t heard the ghost out her, but maybe she was just playing it cool until she knew she could trust him. “Okay, maybe not just like you, but we’ve got a pretty cool common denominator.” 

Eddie took a moment to center himself. Amidst the excitement, he nearly forgot what he came here for. He looked back to Kal. “I’m just here to talk to her about her paintings, nothing weird, I promise.” Again, his eyes switched their focus to Willow. “See, some of our dead friends aren’t exactly happy with how they’re being portrayed, and they’ve been very adamant that I bring the issue up to you.”

Willow almost jumped at the stranger’s exuberance, momentarily confused while he replied to Kal. She still couldn’t hear the ghost, her mind moving far too fast at the moment for it to slow down enough to listen to her ‘dead friend.’ “Like me?” she repeated the words skeptically until he began speaking to Kal once again. “So you’re a medium?” Kal put his hands up as if trying to stop Eddie’s words before he could get them out...to little avail. “Hold on- don’t say that!” Willow’s paintings were one of the few, free joys the woman had left in the world, and he wasn’t too keen on seeing whatever reaction she might have in response to the other medium’s claims. 

But the words had been said, and Willow’s lips had already turned downwards into the beginning of a frown, looking towards the door of her art room and then back to Eddie. “They don’t like them?” Did they want her to stop? She’d always loved painting the stories she heard from the ghosts, even if some of them were sadder than the rest. Those were the paintings she also gave to her brother, the ones that had such miserable stories attached to them. Surely all ghosts deserved to move on if that’s what they wanted, but the ones that could only focus on their pain...that could only give Willow the traumatic stories of their demise, those were the ones that needed it the most. “I mean...I know my pictures aren’t perfect to what they remember but…” she trailed off with uncertainty, not entirely sure where that sentence had been going.

Kal’s warning went unfortunately unheeded, and Eddie only realized its importance once he saw the frown on Willow’s face. Her second question dampened his initial excitement. He didn’t know how important her paintings were to her, but it already sounded like he wounded her pride. So much for making friends.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” he quickly backtracked. “I’m sure they really appreciate the time and effort you put into memorializing them—I know I would.” Eddie spent more time than he cared to admit wondering about his own demise and what would follow it; how he’d be remembered. If someone cared enough to put his final moments on canvas, he couldn’t imagine being anything other than grateful. “Really, they just have a few minor critiques. You know ghosts, they can be a little picky.” He shot Kal an apologetic glance. “I know how hard it can be to feel the pressure of someone’s last wishes on your shoulders, it makes you really wanna do right by them, but there’s no way to do it perfectly every time, y’know? And only a few have come to me, so I bet you’re actually doing a really great job overall.”

The stranger was sure of the dead’s gratitude because the ghosts had said as much to him? Or was it because he assumed such a thing? “Did they...tell you that?” Willow asked tentatively, hoping that the answer might be yes. She didn’t paint solely for the ghosts, but it’d be nice to know that they got some enjoyment out of it as well. She’d always thought they liked having their stories listened to, being given a moment to relay something important of their life and seeing it painted before their very eyes. Still standing behind Willow was Kal, nodding his head emphatically as if he could provide the answer for Eddie, or at least signal the other man into giving a good one. 

The mention of ghosts being less than fond of her paintings was awkward enough, but now came the part where Willow had to tell this man that she actually wasn’t all that familiar with working for the dead, at least not in the way most mediums were. She wasn’t as self-conscious about her lack of abilities when it came to her family, having accepted long ago that she was different, and actually being somewhat grateful for the fact that she’d gotten to live a life of her own rather than one ruled by the departed. But when such an admission was being made to another medium that wasn’t related to her...well, it was nerve wracking to say the least. “Ah- well- about that. I don’t actually see and hear them all that well. Just sometimes. Not like the rest of my family or most mediums or whatever.” The last of his words had another semi-hopeful spark entering her eyes. “Really? You think so? Do you know which paintings the ones that have come to you are upset about?”

Seeing Kal’s emphatic nodding convinced Eddie to mirror the action. “Yeah, of course,” he said. In truth, they were usually more concerned with their grievances than what they enjoyed about Willow’s work, but Eddie felt like her spirit had been crushed enough for one evening. If she needed to hear a white lie to keep her self-esteem from folding in on itself, he would more than happily oblige. 

“Oh,” Eddie uttered upon hearing her confession, more interested in learning that her family shared her gift than anything else. He wondered what that must be like—to be surrounded by people that understood you. Mild jealousy flared in his gut. He thought he’d met someone like him, but instead it seemed to inhabit two completely different worlds. “At least you have people in your life who can help translate,” he offered, smiling sadly in spite of himself.

Willow’s follow-up question pulled him out of his self-pity. “Yeah, one sec.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and opened the notes app. “George, the guy who died in a house fire, he said his eyes weren’t that close together. Shelly, the elderly woman who died of natural causes, says that you got her bedroom all wrong—she can’t stand your choice of wallpaper. And, um, Andrea, killed by some kind of demonic moose, would like it if you painted her with a little more dignity. She swears she didn’t go out screaming.” Eddie looked up from his phone to see how much damage their criticism had done. “See? Not so bad, just… little things.”

“Really?” Willow asked again, rather smitten with the thought that the ghosts might like her work. Sure, the person she painted most for was herself but...it was still nice to hear that people had enjoyed your work— especially when they were the inspiration. “Well then...I’m glad they like it.” The very beginnings of a smile had taken to the corners of Willow’s lips, looking the most relaxed she had since this conversation began. 

But that smile quickly turned to concern as Eddie spoke. He didn’t have anyone with him? How had he learned about the world of ghosts in the first place? “You parents...they can’t sense ghosts?” Willow supposed the ability didn’t have to run in families, but she was rather biased when she’d been raised in a family full of spirit-sensing humans. “Well you know- if you ever needed someone to help you translate I’m sure anyone in my family would be happy to. Especially my mom or brother.” It’d been some ten minutes of knowing the man after he’d shown up unaccounted at her door, and she was already offering him access to her family. This was probably what some of her more cynical friends were talking about when they said her kindness would get her hurt. 

Willow listened carefully to his requests, trying to memorize them all before she realized she’d most likely forget. “Do you think you could send the list to me? I could give you my number.” Then he’d also have it if he had any ghost questions, and was too nervous to ask how to contact her in the future. Going over what she remembered from his list, her lips pursed ever so slightly as she thought of the paintings in question. She couldn’t be sure, but this seemed more like an issue of vanity rather than her skill. Except for the wallpaper one. She often filled in the lesser details of paintings that ghosts didn’t bother to outline with her own artistic license. “Yeah- not too big.” Now that it was clear it was more the ghost’s problem than her’s, she was somewhere closer to being set at ease.

At the sight of Willow’s sort-of-smile, Eddie grinned from ear-to-ear. It felt like he managed to do something right. “Yeah, me too,” he enthused. He didn’t know Willow well, or at all really, but he already had a sense she might need the validation. Eddie couldn’t blame her, he had a lot in common with Tinker Bell, himself. When the applause stopped, so did his heart. Considering that, he realized he might have been projecting, but doing so in this instance seemed harmless enough.

The smile dropped as quickly as it disappeared, giving Eddie a taste of emotional whiplash. Willow seemed concerned about him, he didn’t intend for that, but her offer struck him right in the heart. “I don’t really wanna bother anyone,” he said politely while every fiber of his being revolted against his ill-timed manners. “But, I mean, if they… if they would be happy to help, like you said, it’d probably be better for everyone if I took you up on that, right? Who wants an uneducated medium running around solo?” He shrugged while his heart beat wildly in his chest. Finally, people who would understand him. Eddie’s throat tightened as he considered the possibilities.

“Oh, yeah, no problem!” Eddie brandished phone and closed the distance between Willow and himself with little regard for how intentionally she’d cultivated it. “Here you go,” he said amicably as he offered the device to her.

Oh! The younger man looked very nice when he smiled, like he didn’t have a single intention to hurt anyone that lived in this world. The change in his demeanor had her mirroring it instinctually, and her own smile grew bigger— as if they were stuck in a feedback loop of grins. While he began to speak of being a bother, Willow’s head was already shaking in a fierce denial of the concept, not willing to let him disparage himself in her presence. “You’re not! I’m the one who offered, anyway! And I mean- it’s always nice to have more ghost friends, isn’t it?” Friends were the last thing she needed while she was a literal flight risk in the sense of sending those around her sailing via telekinesis. But she couldn’t just let him fumble in this strange world by himself. “Perfect, then! I could put you into contact with my brother first! He’s the most involved with all the spiritual stuff- he’s actually an exorcist in addition to his mediumship.” If this young man latched onto her brother, Forest, there was also less risk of him coming around Willow to get hurt. 

Gingerly accepting his phone while being careful to avoid any contact, Willow tapped her number into the contacts, adding her name to the entry. Oh, right- she hadn’t actually introduced herself quite yet. “I’m Willow, by the way. Willow Finch.” She made no inclination to offer a hand for shaking, still avoiding physical contact at all costs. 

The moment Willow uttered the words ‘ghost friends’, Eddie felt a rush of unexpected affection. His entire life, most people either completely denied the existence of ghosts or spoke poorly of them. For a moment, Eddie struggled to find the right words to say, an unheard of predicament for him. “Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just—you ever hear something that sounds too good to be true? I’m waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me.” Not only did her family have mediums, it had exorcists. He wondered if she knew how lucky she was.

Eddie watched as she entered her phone number, half-expecting it to begin with 555. “Oh, right, I kinda did walk into your home without telling you who I am, didn’t I?” It wouldn’t be the first time he disregarded common courtesy and overstepped boundaries, and it likely wouldn’t be the last either. “The ghosts told me your name, but I’m Eddie, Eddie Carridine. It’s awesome to meet you, Willow Finch.”

Willow’s heart already ached for him, recognizing a loneliness in his words that she knew intimately these days. Perhaps their situations of isolation were from different patterns, but they’d been cut from the same cloth. The feeling of being alone wasn’t kind in the least, no matter where it stemmed from. Not for the first time she wished she could lend someone physical comfort in addition to emotional solace, the desire to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder growing stronger the longer he stood in front of her. “Of course. The world can be disappointing in the worst ways,” she began softly while forcing herself to stay where she was. “But I also know me and my family. And I bet you’ll be begging to get rid of us before they’d even think about leaving you alone. It’s just not in our blood.” After all, wasn’t that one of the tenants of being a medium? Ensuring that not even the dead were left behind, let alone one of their own. Where that was potentially comforting to Eddie, it was less than ideal for Willow— constantly having to make her own space when it came to the people that loved and raised her for fear of hurting them. 

“You were just trying to help,” Willow began with a chuckle, the only reservations left in her being based around keeping Eddie out of arms-length. And so far he’d respected that. “And the dead...they have a lot less people helping them than the living- so I’m glad you did.” Her smile was softer this time, still settling into who she was while she was less concerned about a stranger being in her home. “It’s awesome to meet you too, Eddie.”

Kal elected this as good a time as ever to re-enter the conversation, some of his wariness stirpped away as the conversation proceeded. Besides— he was naturally inclined to like any medium he came across. “She means it- you know. About not leaving people alone. She can’t see me half the time, but she still talks to me. Even if she’s not even sure I’m here. She’d do the same for you.” It was why he’d become so attached to Willow in the first place, unable to deny the heart she had for caring.

Eddie smiled sadly when Willow mentioned disappointment. The world let him down a few times, but he placed the blame on himself more often than not. He made eye contact with his biggest disappointment every time he looked in the mirror. Willow swiftly pulled his mood out of the gutters of self-deprecation when she told him he wouldn’t be left alone, not by her family. A lump formed in his throat, forcing Eddie to convince himself not express such intense emotions around someone he met minutes ago. “Where’ve you guys been my whole life?” he asked, making an attempt at levity. Nothing she said felt real, but Eddie had a penchant for far-fetched beliefs.

“Yeah, you actually get it,” he said, nodding as he did. It made sense for a fellow medium to empathize with ghosts, but that didn’t make it any less surreal. “I’m glad I did too, otherwise we might not have ever met. That would’ve been a pretty big loss, I think.” He didn’t want to sound too certain, he knew how intense he could be. 

Kal captured his attention next, confirming what Willow said. The lump in Eddie’s throat quivered, forcing him to clear it. “You guys make quite the duo,” he observed. “I, um, appreciate it—everything, I mean.” His gaze turned back to Willow. “You didn’t have to be so kind, most people wouldn’t. So, I… yeah, I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

Willow could tell he was on the verge of spilling over, she recognized it well when she’d seen it so often in herself. A gentle shrug tugged at her shoulders in response to his question, knowing he was trying to lighten the mood, but unable to perfectly match the nonchalance. “Just sitting here waiting, I guess. I think you’re actually running a bit late.” Another bell-like laugh trickled from her lips, not wanting to come on too strongly despite the kindness in her words. But she recognized a lost soul when she saw one, even if she’d seen less wandering spirits than most mediums had. 

She got it. Maybe not quite as much as someone with fully realized abilities, but she’d seen enough of it through her sister and brother, and parents as well. For a moment Willow was also overcome by emotion, her throat tightening as Eddie landed his compliments. How long had it been since she’d had such a tender moment in person? How long had it been since she’d made actual eye contact with someone for this extended amount of time? “I think I’m the one who would have been missing out,” she answered with the corners of her eyes crinkling in a welcoming happiness. She didn’t mind his intensity, oftentimes having a penchant for it herself when it came to the delicate side of life. 

Willow was silent a moment while she assumed Kal was talking to Eddie, reckoning the way his gaze flitted to the ghost over her shoulder. She’d seen it in the eyes of her family more than enough times. “Kal’s been here with me when...I haven’t been able to see much of anyone else. He does just as much for me as I do for him.” Possibly even more. “The way I see it- kindness is free, isn’t it?” Another shrug claimed her, and for a moment she thought she could almost feel Kal’s hand as he laid it onto her shoulder. “I’m just glad I can give it. You just focus on being kind to yourself, and we’ll call it even, yeah?” 

Fresh tears stung Eddie’s eyes. He immediately blinked them away, trying his best to save face. Showing his emotions rarely sat well with him, but he felt safe here even though he only just arrived. “Sorry,” he offered yet another apology as a second wave of tears formed in his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is probably so awkward.” He wondered what Willow thought of him crying at the first sign of kindness. Eddie pulled the hem of his jacket’s sleeve into his palm and wiped away the evidence of his emotional outpouring. “I promise, I don’t usually do this in front of people I’ve just met… or anyone, actually.” He let out an empty huff of laughter, suddenly unable to make eye contact.

The blows kept coming as Willow turned the compliment around on him. “Yeah, well, we’ll see,” he countered. “Get back to me when you’ve known me for a few hours.” Eddie felt pathetic and happy at the same time; exposed and protected. It didn’t make sense, emotions weren’t supposed to contradict each other so harshly, not in his experience.

Eddie watched as Kal’s hand rested on Willow’s shoulder. He said she couldn’t see him half the time, but Eddie liked to think he could recognize love when saw it. An irresistible urge came over him and, before better judgement could kick in, his arms wrapped around Willow.

Willow was a sympathy crier. There was no way around it, and her own eyes were beginning to well as she watched Eddie’s fill with tears, though her’s were born of the happiness that came from witnessing the weight fall from the other medium’s shoulders. Her heart ached for him, recognizing just how desperate he must be to break down so easily when faced with the bare minimum in terms of showings of kindness. Her own clumsy laugh danced with Eddie’s while she gave him whatever time he needed to recollect himself. She’d already decided she was going to ask him to stay for some juice and cookies. Or maybe wine and cookies? He looked fairly young, just at the cusp of drinking age. Someone so young should never have been as alone as he seemed, and her soul began to hurt all over again. 

All that turned to panic in the very blink of an eye as Eddie reached for a hug, and Willow’s hands were thrown out in front of her while she yelled frantically, “No! Don’t!” But it was too late, and as the young man came into contact with her hands she felt the telekinesis flash along with her flaring emotions. In another blink, he was pulsed back from her with a thrust far too powerful for the force to have come from her hands alone. “Oh god- oh god,” she gasped as she ran to his landing place on the couch. He’d fallen on something soft, but she wouldn’t feel relief until she knew he was alright. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh no- oh god I’m so sorry.” This time her tears were ones of dread and hopelessness. She should have known. Should have known things were going far too well, and that danger was lurking around the corner.

Eddie pushed the envelope often, it didn’t always end well, but he could honestly say that being telekinetically launched across the room was a first. He hit the couch with a thud, feeling like the air in his lungs had been knocked out of him. Before he could manage to sit up, Willow appeared next to him spewing apologies and concern. Eddie looked up at her, recognizing that she never meant to hurt him, and couldn’t help laughing. His lungs hurt, but he preferred the pain over crying. Propping himself up on his elbows, Eddie shook his head. “Hey, accidents happen,” he said with a wide grin. “But, uh, do you think you could teach me how to do that?”

Accidents happened, but they happened far too often when it came to Willow and her telekinesis. “But they shouldn’t,” she insisted, head shaking even as she skittered to put space between her and Eddie once again. “I don’t- I don’t control it.” The admission was paired with a blanket of shame and guilt falling over her features. Eddie had trusted her to give an answer when she offered help, and she was already failing the first question of that test. “I’m sorry- I can’t- I don’t know how to teach you. I don’t even know how to teach myself.” That was why he should stick around her brother more than he ever clung to her. “You should- you should go for now, I don’t want to hurt you if you stay longer.” How could she offer him a home, and then cast him out in the next breath? Was that not the cruelest thing she could have done? But if he left disappointed, at least he left whole and with his life still intact.

“Thank you, though.” He’d given her so much in just the span of a half an hour or so. “Really- thank you. I’m um- I’m glad the ghosts chose you to deliver the message, and brought you here.” Now the ghosts of her anxiety would just have to get him to leave. “And I do want you to text me.” In person wasn’t something she was willing to offer in the wake of having lost control, but she remembered how relieved he’d look immediately before everything had gone south, the look of a man crawling towards an oasis in the midst of a desert while he’d throw himself into his attempted hug. She wanted to be the person that quenched his loneliness. Willow just wasn’t sure how to do it while keeping him in one piece. 

[ziracona]

the way ILM is the only fic that's actually made me cry... trying so hard to capture that level of emotion for a scene im writing in a fic rn, do you have any advice about writing scenes like that, or about how you get into the right headspace?

Totally! Although it helps to know specifics. Also, take my advice with a grain of salt, because the way I write is very unusual and might be hard to do (and moderate). So, I did acting before I really got into writing or any of the various other things I’ve done (film, VA work, etc). And I kind of approach everything from an acting lens. I method act when I act, and I write the same way. I get intensely into character, and write the character through myself. This is a really useful and good way to write, but you should do it in controlled moderation (just like method acting). Do not be me and get so into character you accidentally give yourself trauma writing something like The End of the Line. The plus of basically acting what you write is it makes understanding what characters will do or say next very easy. It also makes it a lot easier (for me anyway) to get in touch with and have a good handle on emotion and translate it well. The downside of that is probably any section of ILM that made you cry, I was sobbing for over an hour writing. It works, but it takes a toll. I wrote the end section for Rin in one night and it physically exhausted me. When writing ODE for a friend, the fic I’m updating now (beside NDF), I regularly sent him screenshots of my shirt literally soaked through with tears.

Now, this is not remotely the only efficient way to write emotion—or to act it! It’s just the way that comes most naturally to me, so it’s the one I have the most experience trying to describe or recommend. If it doesn’t work for you, there are /tons/ of other ways that will. Moving on from my basic process, here’s some actual advice:

The scene you are writing, you say you want to be really emotional. I would assume that means that what happens in it is deeply meaningful to you, and you would like to/feel like you or anyone could/should cry for the event. Because it’s significant. Try to find what it is that you have that feelings towards in the scene, because it won’t be just like, X character dies. There’s always more that goes with it. Is it sad because they’re dying alone, or because they thought they would, but they have a friend, and it’s so precious to them? Try to find the meaning behind the event, and focus on that. In acting, it’s considered very bad direction to tell your actor something like “act sadder”, because that’s not an actionable command. What is sadder? You’re supposed to give them an actual thing they can do, not a concept to embody. So something like, “convince him you will never forget him, before he dies and it’s too late to tell him,” is a much better direction. That’s actionable. I’d say a lot of that applies to writing too. If someone is dying, focus on what that means, to them, to whoever is with them. If someone is being told they’re loved for the first time, how does that feel—are they miserable with guilt, are they at peace? And how is that actually shown.

It can help a lot to focus on that. To focus on specific actions that have a lot of meaning, like holding out your hand for someone who isn’t going to come. It can also help to find a central emotion to a scene, the heart kind of as it were, and then to build around it. Trying to think of an example, in ILM, one of the earliest scenes to make me cry was Quentin’s near death in The End of the Line. Obviously it’s upsetting he’s being killed, and by the single worst person in his life, who has been hunting him literally since he was a child. And there’s the desperation of everyone trying to save him, and how much they are suffering, the unfairness of how hard he’s trying to save himself, and that it’s not enough, but what makes that scene truly impactful is that he’s kind of out of it and he thinks his Dad is close enough to hear him and come save him and he could be okay, but he doesn’t. That’s what makes the scene breaking. There’s also the moment he accepts he’s going to die and prays about it and tries to comfort himself, telling himself it’s okay he’s going to die because he did the best he could and tried all the way to the end. That’s a very brave sentiment, but it’s also really fucking awful and pitiful and depressing to see someone in that situation being the only person there to tell themself it is okay their abuser is about to murder them, and no one is going to save them this time. And everything else that chapter is framing those two moments. It’s not that he’s dying, it’s that he is dying utterly alone, and with no one to comfort him, and that he knew he would, and he couldn’t escape it, and no one could save him. It’s the absolute consuming loneliness. The other half of the chapter is the group trying to save him, willing to go through literally anything for it. So it’s a race to see if he /will/ die alone, if he will ever even get to know they tried, or what they’d go through for him, or if it will all be for nothing, and even though in the end he doesn’t get killed, the threat of it is real and awful enough while it’s being experienced that it carries a lot of weight.

As far as headspace goes, for me, I get into character. I try to think and feel as incredibly miserable as my characters (Uh, to a safe extent preferably. Again, I’ve overshot the mark and fucked myself up before. Try not to do that :’-]). I feel how they feel, and if I write with the emotion they have, usually it carries over. So I guess the best advice I can give for headspace is just try to care as much about and for your characters as you can. I’m sure not every author would say this, but I tend to look at writing as I can’t expect someone reading my story to care /more/ about it than I do, so if I want it to matter, it has to really matter to me too. I get invested and care like the characters are my kids, and I want them to succeed and be happy. Even if sometimes I have to write them fail, or die. I try to approach it like I am keeping a faithful narrative for real people who really mattered, in a way. Like I’m witnessing them. And that helps.

Anyway, I am sorry if that isn’t super helpful. I am not always the best at translating things I understand and feel very well, into terms other people can easily understand. Despite my best efforts. 😔 I am very happy to try to elaborate or explain further if there are specifics I could do so on that might help. Uh, I guess as a very basic last piece of advice, if all of this is kind of confusing or hard to follow, just. Whatever makes it a scene to you like the ones in ILM that made you cry—whatever makes it a story segment that should be cried over. Try to find that element. That makes it...important, and vital, and painful, and makes it matter that it /is/ painful, and try to connect to that. Try to feel that element, and to write that feeling down. If you have ever been really depressed and written poetry, or even a few lines of just journaling, talking about something very personal and raw and ugly or hard or unchangable, it’s kind of like that. Find that. And describe it like you would something painful to yourself. If it can resonate with the people reading, if it’s written brutally honestly, whether it is pretty or not, it will.

[whumpernickel]

witcher fic number two! also on ao3

still not super confident in my writing, but im a lot happier with this one than with the first.

so here, have some jaskier with the flu and geralt trying not to confront his own emotions.

It had been four hours since Jaskier had last spoken - or at least since he’d said anything more than “shit” for tripping over his own feet - and Geralt was beginning to worry.

Not worry. Geralt didn’t worry, and especially not about Jaskier who was a grown man and whose prolonged, uninterrupted silences were no one’s business but his own. But this was the first nice day after a miserable stretch of cold, dreary, drizzly ones, and Jaskier, hopeless romantic though he was, hadn’t said or sung a word about the frolicking birds or the dancing sunlight or whatever his personification of the hour was.

And Geralt was on edge – that's what he was. Anything out of the ordinary had him like this, because, more often than not, out-of-the-ordinary meant imminent peril. Silence was horribly out of the ordinary for his usually animated, usually singing, usually noisy shadow. The last full sentence he’d heard Jaskier say was, “She’s still mad at you for making us travel in the rain all day yesterday, and, frankly, I don’t blame her,” which Geralt had all but guffawed at him for, for presuming he knew Geralt’s mare better than he did.

So, when Roach headbutted Geralt once again, catching him off-guard and nearly tumbling him headlong into the rain-sodden road, Geralt eyed Jaskier expectantly, bracing for insufferable levels of I-told-you-so smugness and deepening his frown when none was forthcoming. He was surprised to find the tiniest itch of disappointment at this lack of banter, but more prevalent than that was his mounting concern. Something was obviously wrong, and there was a reason that Jaskier wasn’t telling him.

Jaskier flinched as if startled when he caught the sour look directed at him. He scowled to match it, clearly clueless as to why they were scowling at each other, but lending admirable commitment to the act, nonetheless.

"What?" he croaked.

"...You're quiet."

Somehow worse than a smug Jaskier was this halfheartedly-smug one that emerged as he responded:

"You sound disappointed-"

"I'm not."

Geralt cringed inwardly at how quickly the denial came out, but Jaskier barely glanced up at his response. He seemed more than content to take Geralt at his word, for once.

"Wonderful," he said, too cheerful, "then neither of us will mind if it remains that way."

It was an enthusiastic invitation to leave it the fuck alone, but Geralt was nothing if not contrary. He found his attention drawn to Jaskier and his unsettling Jaskier-less-ness even more, now that he knew Jaskier was avoiding it. Every little thing stole his focus: a stumble, there, when Jaskier normally would have been sure-footed on even ground; a shiver, here, when the midday sun ought to have been enough to banish any lingering morning chill.

For the thirtieth time in half-as-many minutes, Geralt's eyes darted back to his quiet travel-companion, and apparently this was just one glance too many.

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh and stopped in his tracks. He didn't say anything, but there was a clear and demanding What? in the hands-on-hips posture and dead-eyed annoyance he aimed at Geralt.

Geralt stopped, too. He frowned at Jaskier critically – appraisingly – and watched as Jaskier's attitude from moments before shrunk back within him, the bard’s arms folding over his chest in an attempt to maintain his image of stubborn petulance while also making himself a lesser target. It wasn't working.

Geralt hadn't been entirely oblivious to Jaskier's condition - he could never completely drown out his constant presence, however hard he tried - and so he'd been noticing (and disregarding) little things all throughout the day: the tired bowing of Jaskier's back and shoulders when he thought Geralt wasn’t looking, the uncharacteristic irritability in his normally-playful jabs, the purposeful shallow breathing in an attempt to avoid coughs that occasionally slipped past anyway, the way the pallor to his skin had worsened whenever the trail steepened or whenever their unusually-minimalist conversation had shifted to food, the stagnant scent of cold-sweat and stress underlying Jaskier's usual familiar one whenever he stepped into Geralt's personal space and the slightly elevated heat radiating off of him along with it, the shudders intermittently jolting his shoulders in spite of the warmth of the day, the bruised-looking shadows under his eyes that Geralt was sure hadn’t been so stark just a day ago.

He'd dismissed all of this in favor of basking in rare, blissful silence. But the details had continued compiling in some recess of his mind, building up into a great, nagging, restless-leg kind of feeling that he could no longer ignore.

"Are you ill?" Geralt finally asked.

"Pardon?"

Geralt waited sternly for his answer.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, then hiked his lute higher onto his shoulder and resumed their trek.

"I'm not ill," he said, the harsh crack in his voice on the word "ill" belying his stalwart conviction. "And since when would it matter?"

"It matters when we run into the beast, and I have to waste precious time and concentration saving your useless arse because you're delirious from fever."

It came out a little harsher than Geralt intended – well, no, it came out exactly as harsh as Geralt had intended, but much harsher than he wanted, and he found himself frustrated not for the first time at how often his intentions and desires so poorly aligned. Jaskier kept his attention forward, but Geralt still saw a strange look overtake his companion’s face for a brief moment, equal parts stung and calculating, before falling comfortably back on annoyance.

"Good thing I'm not feverish, then.”

"You're warm," Geralt prodded.

"It's a warm day."

"You're shivering."

"You're scary."

"You're not afraid of me."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

And he did. From the moment the bard’s eyes had lit up with a giddy, “Oh, fun,” after first realizing Geralt was the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, it had been clear that Geralt didn’t scare him in the slightest. It was one of the many things about Jaskier that frustrated and confused him.

Also among these things were his seemingly boundless social energy, his unflappable confidence (no matter what gaudy outfit he wore or what godsawful thing he said), and his insistence on denying that he was sick when he very clearly wasn't well.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt," Jaskier grunted in a mockery of the witcher’s tone – a surprisingly decent one, to be true, but that was mostly owing to his illness-roughened throat.

"We're stopping here."

"Hm, then I guess we're not saving and-or slaying our beast tonight, yeah? You said we couldn't make any extra stops if we wanted to make it there before nightfall."

Geralt stifled a huff of frustration.

It was true. This particular curse reversal required that they find the animal at dusk, so they were pressed for time. Geralt had said so, earlier, when Jaskier was complaining he wanted to rest because he was tired. Geralt hadn't realized, however, that "tired" was apparently the new slang for "ill and grievously stupid,” and he'd been actively trying to ignore Jaskier for... well, for as long as he'd known the bard, really, so it had taken him longer than it should have to start taking the warning signs seriously.

He felt guilty for that, now.

"We can spare ten minutes," Geralt grumbled, leaving little room for objection as he followed Roach to a decent patch of shade off the path.

Jaskier shrugged and trailed behind them. "Well, I usually require a full eight hours’ beauty sleep, but... okay."

He sat himself and his lute down gingerly against a tree, while Geralt browsed Roach's packs for whatever he could scavenge in the way of a human-grade fever-reducer and similar herbs, and Roach snuffled at the ground and ignored the both of them. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the tree trunk, brow furrowed and lips pressed together in a taut line. It was a worrisome thing to see the usually-so-expressive human with such an actively restrained look on his face.

Geralt considered this and added another small phial to his handful before walking over. He knelt in front of Jaskier.

"Jask."

Jaskier cracked an eye open. "Yesk?" he responded, then snorted tiredly at his own half-assed attempt at humor.

Geralt didn't laugh. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier's forehead, briefly noting the way Jaskier recoiled, first with surprise and then with a shiver, before becoming wholly preoccupied by the intense heat beneath Jaskier’s skin.

"Your hands are freezing, Geralt!” Jaskier complained. He shuddered and hugged himself, looking three shades more miserable than before. “Gods, I’m starting to wonder if that sylvan had a damned point about your dad being a snowman..."

"You have a fever."

"Hm," was all Jaskier had to say to that. The irony of this was not lost on either of them, nor was the annoyance it elicited from one witcher, who maybe understood a little bit, now, why others found his noncommittal grunts so damned frustrating.

"And a cough."

Jaskier at least had the decency to look guilty for hiding it. The slight edge of accusation to Geralt's voice may have helped, too.

"Pain?" Geralt continued his verbal checklist of Jaskier's symptoms.

"Just a bit of a headache," he half-admitted.

Geralt hummed. He placed a waterskin and a small pouch into Jaskier’s hands.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose when he uncinched the pouch and realized it was food: dried berries and a little leftover bread from their last inn-stay. He started to push it away.

“I’m good, thanks-”

“Eat,” Geralt commanded, “You haven’t eaten. You need to eat something.”

Nausea colored Jaskier’s face a papery grey just at the idea, and the silent plea in his eyes was just pathetic enough that Geralt almost caved and took the bag away from him. But thirst and hunger were an added stress that the bard’s body didn’t need right now.

"Try," Geralt urged more gently.

Jaskier grimaced, but he tore off a piece of bread and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly and reluctantly.

“Happy?” he spoke around the meager bite.

Geralt smiled encouragingly. This must have been the right response, as Jaskier seemed to yield to the approval, and his next bite was much less hesitant. Geralt made sure he’d drunk some water, as well, before standing to set about gathering what usable wood he could find in the immediate vicinity – not much, but he only needed enough to boil a cup of water.

It was quiet once again as Geralt worked, heating water and steeping herbs, but it was a little more comfortable and a little less foreboding this time around. Perhaps because Jaskier’s silence had a clear explanation, now, no longer the faceless monster lurking in the shadows that it had been before. He didn’t speak up again until Geralt walked back over, cup in hand.

“Oh, did you make me tea?” he quipped. “How domestic.”

“It’s an infusion.”

Jaskier traded Geralt the pouch and waterskin for the cup and stared into its steaming contents. “It looks like tea.”

Geralt gave a snort of impatience to put Roach to shame. “Drink it,” he said, before turning back around to clean up.

Behind him, Jaskier made an exaggerated gagging noise at the bitter herbs. "That is just... vile– Geralt what the devil have you given me? Are you trying to put me out of my misery? I mean, I appreciate the gesture..."

Geralt huffed out a sound that may have been amusement or may have been exasperation – even he wasn't sure.

"It's mostly catnip. Some ribleaf and melissa and a small amount of beggartick,” he answered truthfully, though he knew the plant names meant fuckall to the man.

"It's disgusting, is what it is..."

"Just drink it."

Jaskier all but pouted as he did what he was told, pulling an inordinate look of disgust for just how small of a sip he took.

Geralt sighed and mentally cursed himself for having become so soft as he went rummaging through his bags once again.

“You owe Roach,” he said, dropping a small cube of sugar into Jaskier’s cup.

Jaskier stared dumbly at the ripples in his cup while the words caught up to him. He blinked.

“Hey, I gifted those to her so she’d stop trying to chew my sleeves- I owe nothing,” he argued, but there was a warmth that had crept into his expression at the gesture, and it softened any bite his words might (but most likely wouldn’t) have had. Geralt had to pretend like he didn’t notice it for both of their sakes. Or so he told himself.

There really couldn’t have been much the small amount of sugar did for the bitter drink, but Jaskier seemed to have decided it fixed the problem just fine, and he drank the rest quickly without further complaint. By the time he was finished, Geralt had everything stowed away in Roach's saddlebags. Ten minutes had already turned into twenty, and Geralt was itching to get back on schedule.

He looked between his mare and his bard. Both seemed to have sensed Geralt’s antsiness, Roach scuffing at the dirt impatiently and Jaskier already halfway to his feet.

Part of Geralt told himself that he was only about to let Jaskier ride Roach so the ill man wouldn’t have the chance to slow them down any more than he already had, but another part of him was panicked when he saw Jaskier’s eyes widen and lose focus, and he rushed forward to grab the man as he tilted dangerously forward.

“Jaskier.”

“‘M alright,” Jaskier said, though he was clinging to Geralt’s forearms like he wasn’t so sure. “Jus’… Just stood up too fast. Just need a second...”

It was a strange contrast, the harsh heat that poured off of Jaskier and overwhelmed the space between them compared to the weak, clammy chill of his fingers on Geralt’s arms. Geralt silently willed the herbs to take effect and watched Jaskier’s eyes shift as they began registering his surroundings once again. He waited until his companion was able to support his own weight before moving, but he continued to hold onto Jaskier, anyway, as he steered him over to Roach’s flank. 

“Up.”

Jaskier frowned at him, and Geralt sighed.

“Do you doubt my horse, bard?”

“Never! Not Roach. I doubt you, no offense.”

The witcher huffed.

...Maybe just a little taken.

“Get on the horse, Jaskier.”

“Look, you were already wrong about her once today, need I remind,” Jaskier protested, even as he complied and climbed up into the saddle with Geralt’s help. “I just don’t want her mad at me next because of you.”

There it finally was, the I-told-you-so Geralt had expected from earlier. As much of a relief that it was to have that little bit of normalcy back, he still felt no small amount of irritation at being reminded that he’d managed to piss off his mare and also be wrong about it. He opened his mouth, a retort stinging at the tip of his tongue, but then he caught the softly murmured, “Thanks, old gal,” as Jaskier patted Roach’s neck, and Geralt wasn’t quite sure where that irritation fucked off to all of the sudden.

The remainder of their journey was a quiet affair. Neither of them spoke much, and Jaskier was still stifling his coughs, not for Geralt’s sake but for Roach’s, this time, as he spent most of the ride resting against her neck, drifting in and out of sleep.

It gave Geralt little room to ignore the question that had begun to itch at his temples. They were finally nearing civilization again, muddy-ash buildings cropping up gradually over the hill, and Jaskier was stirring awake from another fitful few minutes of rest, so Geralt decided to ask it.

"Why did you deny it?"

Jaskier turned his head to blink at Geralt, hair plastered against one side of his face.

"What?"

"You knew you were sick – Why lie?"

Jaskier sighed. He sat up in a wilted imitation of alertness.

"I dunno Geralt," he deadpanned, clearly knowing. "Supposing I had told you that I might be sick – Would you have let me come along, or would I still be in Dregsdon right now, while you get to have all the fun breaking curses and saving the fine folk of the kingdom and disappearing for weeks-stroke-months-stroke-years at a time?"

Jaskier’s voice sounded worse, now, despite the medicines, and there was a trembling weakness to his posture at the effort of just keeping himself upright. No, Geralt most definitely would not have let him come along.

"Hm."

“Right, that's what I thought."

The bard faced forward with an air of self-satisfaction. Under any other circumstances, it was an expression that would have grated on Geralt’s nerves like metal on stone, but the present context made it one of the most effective guilt-trips he’d ever been dragged along, and Geralt found himself floundering for something - an excuse, an explanation, a deflection.

What he came up with was:

"I would have come back.”

There was about a collective half-ounce of confidence behind these words, and they both knew it.

Jaskier rolled his eyes mightily.

“Oh, would you have?”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier, glanced away, shifted stiffly in his armor, readjusted his grip on Roach’s reins.

"...Most likely," he appended.

Jaskier’s laugh was a short and less-than-amused thing, and it caught on a coughing fit halfway out that made him see spots. He waved Geralt’s hand away when Geralt reached out to steady him, and continued to talk through the tail-end of the fit.

"Look,” he rasped, “not to go and play long-suffering wife to your sea-beguiled sailor, but there really is never knowing when you're going to leave or come back. It’s aggravating."

Geralt could read enough subtext to guess that “aggravating” really meant “disappointing and lonely,” and he couldn’t help but agree. He must have been looking as guilty as he felt, because Jaskier seemed to take pity on him, his expression lightening to something a little more reminiscent of his usual playfulness. Geralt found himself scowling preemptively at the bard’s smirk.

"The children are beginning to ask questions, Geralt."

Geralt glared.

"Think of the childr-"

"Shut up, Jaskier."

Jaskier did, but not without a snicker.

They were lucky enough that there was a hamlet not far from where the possessed waterfowl was alleged to be stalking. Daylight was near-gone by the time they made it there; Geralt would have to move fast, but he reckoned he should be able to get everything settled here and still make it in time to apprehend the beast. The inn he’d found was hardly an inn - really just some person’s home with a sign tacked onto the door declaring it to be one, but Jaskier’s eyes brightened with a glimmer of hope, anyway, when Geralt woke him outside of a building instead of halfway back into the wilderness as he’d been expecting.

“So, do we get Roach put up and head out now, or are we waiting ‘til tomorrow evening?” he asked as he climbed down from the mare in question. His body-language screamed, Dear gods, please say ‘tomorrow.’

Geralt shook his head.

“You’re not coming with me. You’re staying behind to sleep this off.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt cut him off before he could get started.

“Keep an eye on Roach while I’m gone.”

It was as close as Geralt was about to get to saying, “I promise I won’t disappear this time,” and it was by no means a guarantee that the same could be said for any future excursions, but Jaskier seemed to get the message.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but she and I are gonna talk about you while you’re gone.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll have lost your voice by the time I get back.”

[lils-writes]

Honey of a Tomato: Day 6

First | < Previous | Day 6 | Next >

AO3

I’m not late! Right on time!

Day 6 : Futre / Family of @chlonathweek

Weeks had passed since their first date. Weeks had passes since their second and third date as well, and Chloe was over more and more often, taking up the painting lessons Nathaniel had offered her on that first date. He had no reason to be nervous, but as he stared at himself in the mirror, flattening his shirt for what seemed like the millionth time in the past hour, his confidence dropped exponentially. The worst part was that it wasn’t even the idea of the date that made him nervous. It wasn’t the insecurity of disappointing Chloe. It was the idea of sitting across from the Mayor of Paris, Mr. André Bourgeois.

With the little courage that hadn’t magically vanished alongside his self-esteem, he made his way to Le Grand Paris, a bouquet of flowers in hand. Once more, this time in front of the glass door of the hotel, Nathaniel flattened his shirt, taking a deep breath before stepping in. So far, there was nothing wrong. People buzzed around the lobby as they always did, Mr. Bourgeois nowhere in sight. This meant that Nathaniel still had a moment to himself before getting his head bitten off. Still, the boy wished that moment had been a little longer.

“Ah! My boy! You must be Nathaniel! Chloe has said but good things about you!”

Nathaniel gulped, eyeing the hand that was held out for him. He had practiced this. Or rather, he had completely freaked out when Chloe invited him to the obligatory dinner that Mayor Bourgeois had ordered when Chloe announced that she had a boyfriend, and immediately called Alix. Nathaniel had wished that his best friend had been a little more helpful, but she simply redirected his call to the only person she knew that would be able to blend into a Bourgeois family dinner: Adrien Agreste. But, if the redhead had been skeptical at first, he couldn’t have been happier with the results, having practiced over and over proper etiquette. This would be simple. He just had to shake the mayor’s hand.

And simple it was. Simple, but terribly awkward. Nathaniel could feel the clamminess of his hand against the perfectly normal hand of Mayor Bourgeois. He could see the smile fade off of the older man’s face as he wiped his hand against his pants. If Nathaniel could have disappeared at that very moment, he would have been more than glad to.

Thankfully, magic didn’t make him vanish in thin air, otherwise, he would have missed the sight that was Chloe Bourgeois. He would have missed the jaw dropping beauty that he was lucky enough to call his girlfriend. If she normally was beautiful, gorgeous even, then she was stunning in that moment. Maybe it was that Nathaniel was bias, smitten by her beauty, maybe it was her smile, or the cocktail dress she wore, but she was by far the prettiest person in the room. Her beauty was intoxicating, dangerous for his health. She made his heart beat at an unusually high pace.  

“Hey Nath.”

Her words were barely audible, muffled by the kiss she pressed to his cheek. But she was quick to turn her attention to her father, accepting the hug he was offering her.

“Shall we head to dinner?”

Both Chloe and Nathaniel nodded, following the mayor to the private dining room that had prepared for them. Chloe grinned at Nathaniel, linking her arm with his. It calmed him down a little, bringing his breath back to a normal pace.

Dinner was a lot less awkward than Nathaniel had expected. Mayor Bourgeois proved himself to be a regal, respectful man. Nathaniel has expected him to pry into his personal life, trying to get every detail about him. He half expected him to tear him apart, dissing him, making sure that he felt like more than nothing next to his little princess. And his assumptions, his expectations, they had been saved for when Nathaniel started to feel comfortable, dinner half way done.

“So, tell me my boy, what kind of work do you do? How do you provide for yourself and eventually for my daughter?”

Nathaniel gulped, pushing his food around his plate in a nervous manner. His mouth went dry, unsure how to answer the older man. If he was honest, the man would probably scoff and make a comment about his unstable job. But if he lied, well, it would be even worse.

“I’m an artist, sir. I sell my art, take commissions and I am also currently working on a comic with one of my friends. It is enough for me to live decently, at least in my opinion.”

Mayor Bourgeois nodded, taking a long sip of his wine. Nathaniel could feel the next question coming, probably more unpleasant than the first. “And what are your intentions with my daughter? Is it for the money you clearly lack or is it genuine interest? Because, if I remember correctly, you two weren’t necessarily on friendly terms back in school.”

Chloe tried protesting, putting her father back into his place, protecting Nathaniel and insisting that he didn’t have to answer the insensitive questions of her father, but for the first time in the night, he didn’t mind. He didn’t have the urge to run to the bathroom and puke, the anxiety previously upsetting his stomach. This time, he had the situation under control, a sly smirk visible on his face as he leaned back into his seat.

“You see, sir, I couldn’t care less about the money. I have no interest in Chloe’s fortune. As I said before, I have enough to provide for myself, and that’s all I need. I know that your daughter is capable of providing for herself a well, so I do strongly believe that we will be able to come by when the day comes. And, in the events were you would cut her funds or she no longer were capable of providing for herself, I would work twice as much, If I must, to keep her happy and satisfied, despite the sacrifices we might have to make.”

Chloe glanced at him with a visible look of concern. The boy simply shot her a grin and gave her hand a squeeze under the table. He could see her shoulders drop and her breathing getting heavier. Luckily, she calmed a little as soon as Nathaniel rubbed his thumb against hers, soothing her nerves. He hoped she understood than everything was alright, that he would never let himself be put down by the older man.

“Very well,” Mayor Bourgeois clicked his tongue, swirling the wine in his glass, “I see your intentions are genuine. What are your views on marriage? Children? I think it would be best if you only have one, and I insist that they take the surname name Bourgeois. I wish not for my name to disappear and you will get to benefit of it, so I hope you have no objections.”

Nathaniel opened his mouth, but Chloe was faster than him, slamming her hands against the table, sending her chair back as she got up. If her actions weren’t enough to convey her anger, her booming voice convinced everyone in the room that she objected to her father’s interrogation.

“Daddy, no! You’re going to stop this right this instant! You promised me! You promised me that you’d be nicer than mom had been last time I brought someone home! There is no reason for you to be so harsh on Nathaniel! He has done nothing wrong! Why don’t you want my happiness? Why must you always scare them away?”

Nathaniel paled at the sight of the tears streaming down the blonde’s cheeks. He could picture the flames in her eyes as her fingers tug into the table, crumbling the tablecloth with her grip. Her voice was strained and angry, a look he had never seen on her, even back in school. It was a different kind of anger. A sad kind of anger.

“My little princess, I’m only looking out for you and-“

“No, you’re not looking out for me. You’re just making me miserable, Daddy. And stop calling me your little princess. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m an adult now and I can choose who I want to love. I can choose who I want in my life. And Daddy,” Chloe’s voice broke, tears still falling from her ocean blue eyes, “please, for me, please leave Nathaniel be. Leave the man I love be. He makes me happy, Daddy. Haven’t you noticed?”

André stared at his daughter speechlessly. Chloe waited, waiting for an answer, but she didn’t expect it to come from Nathaniel.

“You love me?”

Chloe bit down on her lip, realizing what she had just admitted to. The blonde eased down back into her chair, suddenly embarrassed by her sudden outburst and totally unromantic declaration. “Of course I do, you dummy,” she huffed, turning away from her blushing date. “Who wouldn’t? You’re amazing at everything you do, you’re insanely attractive and you’re an amazing kisser.”

Mayor Bourgeois cleared his throat, feeling out of place. He excused himself, leaving the two lovebirds to themselves. This gave Nathaniel to opportunity to freely take Chloe’s hand, turning her just enough to meet her eyes once more.

The air was heavy, silence filling the room. There were a million things to say, but neither one knew where to start. But, per usual, Chloe was the one to break the silence, unable to contain it much longer.

“Im sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted that out. It was reckless and I don’t know what I was thinking. This was not how I imagined declaring my feelings to you. But I meant it, when I said that I love you. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Nathaniel’s grip on her hand loosed, until he pulled his hand back completely, covering his mouth as he laughed. Chloe huffed again, puffing her cheeks in anger, offended by his laughing. She turned away from him once more, ignoring the fact that her chair was being pulled closer to him. She even ignored his nose colliding with her shoulder as his laughter still filled the room.

“I’m sorry, Chlo, I didn’t mean to laugh. I’m not laughing at you, I swear! I just,” Nathaniel choked on his laughter, tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he grinned at the blonde who turned her attention back to him, “didn’t expect it and it actually makes me really happy. I promised myself to take baby steps with this relationship, but you make it impossible. You make me want to jump right in, not hide a single thing from you, not question my feelings for a single moment. So I’m going to say it right now: I love you too, Chloe. I love you to the moon and back.”

His second declaration was hushed, cut off by one of Chloe’s heavenly kisses. Nathaniel couldn’t help but pull her closer to his chest, getting comfortable with the taste of her lips. Love, that was the flutter he’d been feeling. Love, that was the warmth in his chest. Love, that was the sweetness he tasted on Chloe’s lips as he stole far more kisses than he intended to.

[gwynbleiddyn]

If you’re taking requests, maybe a little snippet about Arthur meeting a trans guy reader and befriending him?

oh this is my JAM, of course anon! hopefully this gets somewhere close to what you were after

|| REQUESTS OPEN ||

arthur & male reader / all the stolen voices

Perched at the bar, you can feel a few pairs of eyes on you from across the dingy room. Nothing unusual, you’re used to the staring - it’s gotten less, sure, but a subtle shift of posture means curious eyes catch the glint of a revolver at your hip. Most turn away after that. Those that don’t, well, they either meet the business end of your fists or a bullet if they dare to tread in your footsteps on the way out. 

Tonight, though, nobody’s stare lingers and you’re grateful for it. It’s been a miserable day of hunting, the piss-poor weather making a poor show of what little tracking you can manage, and you’re left with barely a few coins to rub together for a drink to warm you up. The whiskey is unpleasant, lukewarm, tasteless by the time it hits your throat with its signature burn. It keeps you warm, though, and especially through the sodden layers of clothing you’re not about to remove anytime soon. It’s uncomfortable, but being without them is worse. The solid weight of a dark, worn leather duster on your shoulders keeps you sane most days, so the brief spells of discomfort in-between are a small price to pay. 

You keep your hat pulled low and ears to the ground, listening for any sign of trouble. It’s routine. Safe and comfortable for the most part, and that’s become a valuable thing for you. Taking another sip of the forgettable whiskey, you pick up a pair of footsteps approaching. They’re slow and ambling, but not those of a drunken fool or a old man either. Someone solid - they’re not light footsteps exactly, but whoever it is seems to be actively making an effort not to stomp their way across the dirty floorboards. Cautiously, you turn your head - and your ear - closer to the sound. 

“Just a beer.” A rough, low voice filters through the uproar of the evening, settling in at the bar next to you. On instinct, you tense up and pull your drink closer, dipping your head to avoid being seen. 

You apparently aren’t as subtle as you hoped. “Oh, I ain’t lookin’ for trouble.” 

That makes you glance up, slow and uncertain. A rough and ready looking bastard has propped himself up on the bar next to you - granted, the place is filled to the rafters and you can hardly blame him for finding a spot next to you, given as you’re probably one of the smaller folk taking up space. Managing a jerky nod in response, you make sure to get a better look at him as you settle back down at the bar, arms folded around your whiskey glass. He’s tall. He could easily loom over you and send you running, you figure, but he makes no effort to do so. Like you, he keeps his arms folded, even as the barkeep sets his drink in front of him and stomps away back to the braying fools at the other end of the bar. Everything about him is quiet and curled in, even the way his hat sits low over his eyes and the scruff at his jaw and chin hide the shape of his words. 

“What?” He’s noticed your scrutiny. Shit. Heat bubbles up in your chest and spreads across your cheeks, and you bite the inside of them to keep from scowling in distaste. You always hated how easily you blushed. Gets you read like a sissy from a mile off, even if that ain’t the truth. Huffing, you shake your head and shift in your seat, pushing your voice deep into your chest before you try and speak.

“Nothin’, mister. Just keeping myself awares, is all.” You manage a half decent reply, and the man seems satisfied with that. You feel a new pair of eyes on you then, and it makes sense - your voice doesn’t match your look, or at least, you don’t think it does. He’s wondering why. 

“Well like I said, no trouble.” The man relaxes a little, unfolding his arms to pull his drink closer to him. You feel yourself doing the same although you push your now-empty glass away instead. “What’s your name, kid?” 

You stammer something out in a knee-jerk reaction. He doesn’t question it at all, and only gives you a nod - which you assume is meant to be an acknowledgement, maybe, but you’re really not sure. He’s hard to pin down, and you’re used to being able to read people far easier than this. It throws you off.

“Arthur.” He introduces himself bluntly, and you feel a little better for knowing his name. Arthur. It sits nicely with your hastily conjured image of him. He does look a little worse for wear, but otherwise clean and well dressed - not like the usual stock of brigands who frequent this place. Though he could be a killer for all you know, and you tell yourself that before you start letting your guard down too quickly.

“You look like you’ve been through it.” Arthur says drily after a moment of two of silence, and you glance down at yourself. Mud splatters line your trousers and your coat, there’s a dribble of blood on your boot that you hope is from some buggered hunting job, and you can feel the prickly sensation of dried dirt on your chin. Yeah. He’s not wrong.

“You could say that.” You reply tersely, pushing your voice deeper still. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“What are you? Some kind of hunter? Don’t look like a city type, don’t look much like a cold-blooded killer neither.” Arthur seems to be dropping his thoughts like pennies, and you get the impression he’s blowing through some bullshit of his own in the rambling, senseless way that lost folk seem to do. You know the feeling well. Something about that settles you, and you find yourself turning towards him a little if only to see him better.

“Sure. Why not? I ain’t much of anythin’ else, a hunter describes what I do prettily enough.” You admit, truthfully. You really are just scraping by, trying to find some way to survive without compromising yourself in the process. So far, this is the only thing that comes close.

“Huh, by yourself?” Arthur continues his aimless questioning. You’re happy enough to comply for now, so you nod, Arthur pays your way for another drink or several, and you find yourself in the company of a pleasant acquaintance instead of a stranger barely an hour later. 

By the time you get up to leave, though, you’ve somehow missed the group of shady looking bastards holed up by the door with their ugly little eyes flickering back and forth to you. The steady stream of whiskey hasn’t quite dulled your senses to the point of non-functionality - that stuff is almost definitely being watered down - and your instinct kicks in as you step off your barstool, Arthur’s laugh trailing off abruptly behind you. One of the men stops talking, looking directly at you with a sneer. 

“You ain’t right.” Is all he says, but it’s enough for you to snap to the draw, fingers finding the familiar revolver at your hip. That kicks up a commotion and a half, the men clustered by the door now leaping into the fray with slew of insults, all jostling to back up their slimy excuse of a leading man. You’re just about to draw when a heavy hand settles on your shoulder and begins to push you out of the commotion. Arthur’s shouts are far louder than the pathetic snivelling of the men inside, and you’re glad that you can’t hear them as you hit the cool night air, shrugging Arthur off your shoulder and making a beeline for your horse.

“Hey!” Arthur calls after you, leaving the barkeep to settle matters inside. You glance over your shoulder, still walking, trying your hardest not to let the shame bubble up into a nasty remark to a man who’s been nothing but friendly to you all evening. 

“Sorry, Arthur. I think it’s time I got the hell out of here.” You say, a little unsteadily. His strides are much longer than yours though, and he catches up easily.

“They ain’t worth your time, but I guess you figured that out a long while ago.” Arthur tells you. You’ve heard the sentiment before, but hearing it from Arthur - a no-good outlaw who seems to be on the run from God knows what - makes you listen a little more. You slow up, reaching out to pat your horse, seeking familiar comfort before your emotions started getting the better of you.

“You’re right. I did.” You’ve been through this shit plenty of times before now without anybody at your back, but the sentiment is appreciated this time. “But... thank you. It was real good talking to you, Arthur.” 

He seems confused for a moment, as if he isn’t expecting a thank-you, or even a kind sentiment in return. Blinking, he manages an awkward nod in your direction, and a hesitant clap on your shoulder in lieu of further rambling. You give him a warm grin before turning to swing yourself up into the saddle, wanting some peace and quiet and rest - things that you knew how to find in the wild, at least.

“Don’t go lookin’ for trouble now, you hear?” Arthur says as you pick up the reins. You manage a weak laugh, the minor rush of adrenaline from the almost-altercation beginning to make you shake.

“It usually finds me, mister. But I won’t go lookin’, I promise.” You give him a salute from the brim of your hat and as you turn away from a new friend, you sincerely hope it isn’t the last time you see him. 

[imakemyownworld]

When The Party’s Over pt.2

Part One

This is longish.

It is only a second part and Im setting some foundations for the fic therefore there’s not much of Ethan here but more of my (Bellas) struggles and relationship with Lucas. Somewhere in the middle of this I realised it was half biographical. I always had the strong urge to write about my own life and experiences as I never talk about them (as Bella) irl. I promise the next part will be all about E. :)

Also, if you do read this, please give me some critiques. I know it’s not nearly perfect and I would love to get some feedback. I just recently made this tumblr after being a fan of Gray and E for a good while now and I’m so happy I did. All the people I see here seem so genuinely interesting, funny, creative and nice. Thank you ! xx

Exactly one week has passed since I last saw Ethan. He sent me some messages but I didn't reply, I knew he was busy making a video and that he is going home tomorrow to visit his family for Thanksgiving. My family group chat was going crazy though. My sister who is living in Europe couldn’t book a flight and I wasn't replying to any messages. I just couldn't find the strength to do so, so I figured I'll just show up tomorrow morning, get through the weekend and come back.

I spent the rest of the day studying and scrolling through every possible social network then went to sleep ignoring every text I got.

I'm there in an hour. Xx I texted the group chat as I sat down in my car and turned the engine on. I skimmed through other messages. Ethan was complaining about something Grayson did and Ivy had boy issues. Did I want to see a text from Lucas? Sure, but I never expected one. It's Thanksgiving and everyone is with their families.

I met Lucas two years ago at a film festival in Los Angeles. I was there because I love cinema and Ethan managed to get me some tickets and Lucas was studying film at university near by. At that time I was probably at worst with my depression and anxiety as I just started taking classes at my university. He asked Ivy and me if we wanted to go to the after party and we didn't think twice about it. I never thought I would be someone who does drugs, I was always strongly against it. But he made it seem so normal. He was handsome, to me. He was skinny and every shirt was too big for him. Later I realised those shirts were fine before, but he lost weight. Still, there was something about him. He was mysterious, he loved photography and he talked about movies non stop. He acted cool but I could tell how passionate he is about things he loves. Both of us had something dark in us but neither one of us wanted to talk about it and we understood that about each other. From the moment we met and our friends started hanging out each other everybody already thought we were together. We would tease each other all the time while dancing and hanging around but since we were both kind of distant when sober we were scared to do anything about it. All until one night he kissed me. He kissed me like it was something we do all the time, but it wasn't. He didn't acknowledge it the next day and I remember freaking out about it with Ivy. Next time I saw him it took me every singe atom of bravery in my body to ask him about it. I remember it like it was yesterday. I called him and we separated from our friend group, we walked along the beach in Venice on a chilly summer night.

“Do you remember that we kissed?” I asked him in the middle of his sentence. He froze for a bit and then he made the grimace I couldn't decipher. 

“No” he said quietly “When?” he was looking at me and I could tell that he felt horrible. I tried to look as if I don't care and I was ready to brush it off.

“At the club, last weekend. It’s fine, I just wanted to clear that up. I wasn’t sure if you didn't want to acknowledge it or just don’t remember” I turned around to get back to where our friends were.

“Stop” he took my hand and I felt relief “Im really sorry. You know how I am, I go overboard sometimes and I do things...” he stopped talking. Do things he usually wouldn't? If so, I didnt want to hear about it. I pulled my hand from him.

“...do things I would usually be scared of doing” he said almost painfully. Knowing him today, I know how hard that must have been for him. After that things started heating up between us two. We were never together, we knew that would never work out as we couldn’t communicate normally when sober. But we silently cared about each other, even though we never said it out loud.

At that festival after party we were dancing when he handed me half of the pill and kissed my cheek. I looked at it for a while then looked at him. He was dancing and smiling, seemed so carefree. If someone told me a month ago I would be holding that in my hand I wouldn’t believe them. Even then it looked so wrong in my hand. And then I took it and it was the best night of my life.

We kept on partying like that every other weekend. We didn’t know much about each other but we also knew everything. We would take something then hook up and sleep for what seemed like hours, or minutes. Sometimes I was so out of it I didnt know if I was dreaming or not. We shared those times together, he was the only one I wasn’t ashamed to be around like this. He understood.

My dad opened the door for me and we hugged.

“Hello beautiful”

“Hi dad” he smelled like mom's cooking. I did miss them. “Smells nice in here”

“I feel like there's enough for the whole neighborhood”

I got in and the table was already set up. My mom hugged me and instantly started talking about my sister. How sad she is that she isn't here. I said something back quickly and sat down.

My parents were an unusual kind. They always had my back and supported me through everything as far as school and university go. But I was always the one who had to be home by midnight or not go out at all. I had to lie that I was having a sleepover so that I could go out and have fun with my friends. My mom still believes I never tried alcohol in my whole  life and Im twenty. We were also never the kind of family that talked a lot about feelings and things going on outside of school. I could never talk about boyfriends with my mom or fights I had with my friends. This caused bottling a lot of emotions through my whole life. Ethan had to beg me to talk with him to find out why I was miserable at times. He was the one person I would actually tell what was going on. I never got along with my sister either, we were just two very different people and I always thought: If I met her randomly I would never want to be her friend. Seems harsh, but she was selfish and stubborn, always only looking out for herself and not giving a fuck if she was hurting someone else in the process.

Lunch was actually amazing, my mom made my favorite meals. They crashed on the sofa soon after and started watching some terrible movie and I went to check in my old room.

I must have fallen asleep while watching youtube because it was dark when I opened my eyes. I came down to the living room and heard mom and dad talking in the backyard. I took my moms phone to check the time.

I miss you. It said. William.

My head felt blank for a second. I quickly turned the phone back off.

William was my moms ex boss. I sat down and my head started spinning around. I combined the pluses and minuses, filled in the blanks. Things started making sense. My mom became very sensitive to anyone touching her phone a while back. Before, she never cared about it. I gathered strength and opened the message. It was the only one in the conversation, everything else was wiped clean. I quickly marked it as unread and put the phone back. Fuck.Is my mom cheating on my dad? My head started spinning even more. Poor dad. Should I tell anyone? I can’t tell anyone we can’t even say I miss you to each other let alone Are you having an affair? My poor dad loves mom with all his heart, he does everything for her and she was never truly in love with him. My sister and I realised since we were teenagers that mom acts cold with dad. She doesn’t like it when dad shows her any kind of affection.

“There you are!” mom barged in and I almost jumped in my seat. “You okay? Mike and I were just talking about going for a walk, you’re coming too”

“Ugh, I just woke up” I wasn’t sure I’m mentally ready for that walk.

“Exactly, you need to stretch”

The whole walk I was thinking about my mom. The time when I thought my mom was always in the right was long gone, but this was on a whole new level. How can I take her seriously ever again? She lost all the credibility. How can she pretend to be happy with my dad? If I told him about this it would ruin him. If I told her...Nothing seems like the right option. I don’t want my family to fall apart. We are a bit dysfunctional, but this seems like a scene from a movie and I cant take it. I had to get out of there.

When we got home mom brought us pie and turned on the TV.

“Guys, I’m sorry but I need to get back today. I have a seminar to write” I was nitpicking the pie on my plate.

“Write it here?” dad proposed and it seemd like a reasonable idea “You can take my laptop”

“Yeah but I don’t have my books. Sorry. I might come by next weekend if Emma books that ticket” I smiled at them. It was so natural for me to act like this around them. I was hiding things from them my whole life.

My mom argued with me for a while but she soon realised my mind was set. When the movie finished I took some clothes from my old closet and said goodbye to them. I felt so sorry for my dad, I hugged him tightly and he even said I love you to my ear. I haven’t heard that sentence in months.

I dialed Lucas’s number while driving down the highway.

“Hey danger” he answered almost immediately.

“Hey. Happy Thanksgiving. What are you up to?” I tried to seem chill but my voice was almost cracking.

“Uh, not much. Classic Thanksgiving laying around”

“You up for a sesh?” I was always afraid of him declining me which is why I was rarely the the one to ask him stuff like this.

“What, now? What’s wrong?” he asked that in the most monotone voice but I knew it meant a lot coming from him.

“Lucas.” I sighed and my voice broke down at the end of his name. He was silent for a moment.

“Pick me up. Im sending you the location”

I felt relieved. We haven’t hung out alone in a while and I missed it. I needed an hour to get to him, he was at his parents place. The house was actually very pretty. I know his parents are divorced and his mom remarried, he doesn’t talk about them much but I get the feeling she is worried about him and he doesn’t like that. And now I’m dragging him out on a Thanksgiving weekend. Suddenly I felt even more terrible.

Lucas sat in the car and I was just looking through the windshield.

“Bro, what happened?” he took the aux cord and connected his phone.

“I just realised I dragged you out and you were with your family and it’s Thanksgiving.”

“Yes. Because I love spending quality time with my perfect family. Come on, there’s not a lot of dealers working on Thanksgiving you know that?” Soundtrack 2 my life started playing through the speakers. He loved that song and it made me depressed. After that, he never once asked what had happened, he knew better and I appreciated it.

“Dealers? I have everything in my flat”

“Not this” he smiled devilishly to me and typed in the address in his phone.

“So in one hour you managed to find the guy? Seems to me like you were just waiting for my call. What are we taking?” I was driving down his neighborhood. We were the only people on the street.

“Been waiting on this for a while. You’ll see”

The address wasn’t that far away. I parked and he left, came back two minutes later.

“Church?”

Church was the most trashy techno club in the area, it was a dump but it was always open and the atmosphere was always great.

We parked near the club and started drinking rum that he brought from his place. I was doing my makeup with the help from his flashlight and my front camera. I took the cropped top from the back of the car and put it on. I felt wrong to be happy at this moment but I was. I was with him and I knew we were going to have fun.

“You gonna tell me what it is now? You know I’m not doing heroin or anything like that”

“Jesus. Of course not” he pulled the baggy out of his pocket. “Ketamine”

I had zero clue what that is. Everything I knew about drugs came from Lucas.

“You’ll see later.” he says and I can’t believe I have so much trust in him to just get on with it but at this moment I don’t care. He takes out a pill from his pocket and breaks it in half.

“You have a whole pharmacy out there” I say and swallow the pill.

“Shut up” he laughs. We are both pretty tipsy by now as we start walking to the club. I pay for the entrance and we’re finally there. This is where I felt at home. How weird is that? The lasers, lights, annoyingly loud house music. The music I could never listen to sober, it drives me insane.

I opened my eyes to see Lucas sleeping next to me, sun was shining through closed curtains. I fell asleep again and I dreamt about last night. Dancing, kissing Lucas and him kissing me. I dreamt that I woke up and walked around the apartment. I showered. Was that a dream? I was asleep again. It was nighttime. Lucas and I were rolling around the bed desperate for each other, desperate to feel something, anything.

It was night when I finally definitely woke up. I checked the time on my bedside table. It was 3am on Sunday. Lucas was sitting on the window next to the bed smoking.

“Hi” I wanted to say but all I said was a weak I

“Morning” he turned his head to face me “Magnesium next to your bed. Drink it”

I took the glass from the bed table and wasted a good three minutes to take two sips. Lucas was looking at me the whole time with a massive grin on his face.

“I need to shower”

“You showered three hours ago” he said and I looked at him confused.

“So I wasn’t dreaming?”

He shook his head.

“Did we have sex? Like, in those three hours?” I asked not looking at him.

“What? No. Did you dream about that?” He threw the cigarette in the ashtray and went under the covers. I just looked at him and he smiled again.

“When did we get home?”

“Around 7AM. We slept through the whole Saturday. As far as I remember” he removed all of my hair from my face and made a bun out of it.

“I don’t even want to know what I look like”

“Do you remember the night out?” he prompted himself on the elbow to face me.

“I don’t know. We were dancing?”

“You..” he stopped and lied back down “I didn’t want to give you any more, of anything, because you had too much” coming from Lucas this meant something because I’m usually the one to stop him from going too far “So you just disappeared and..”

“What?” I hated not remembering anything.

“I dont know. You took something and you came back after ten minutes totally out of it. We stayed for and hour after that because you didn’t want to leave. After that I got us in an uber and we came here.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Look, something obviously happened during the weekend, I won't ask but you should know better than take something from strangers. You scared me” he glanced at me. I remembered the moment. I was acting like a brat. It must’ve looked ridiculous. I left him and found some girls snorting something in the bathroom. We talked for a while, I think one of them was coming on to me. I said that I was here with a friend but he didn’t want to give me anything so they offered. I had no idea what it was. What was I thinking?

“Im stupid” I told him about what happened “Im sorry. I found out that my mom is having an affair. But, I also suspected that for a while now. My mind was spiraling and I guess I overdid it”

We were quiet for a few moments.

“I’m sorry” he turned to face me and we stared at each other for a while.

“Is it bad that I love the high so much that I’m not at all regretting any of this? It’s the only time I feel happy”

“I don’t know” he answered “If you think I’ll reason you, you asked the wrong guy. I’m in the same spot” we both smiled, but his eyes were filled with sadness. I wonder if mine were too? We would only talk like this high. Our sober conversations didn’t exist, they were empty and meaningless. We hid behind walls that would come down every once in a while, and I cherished those moments. I kissed him softly and fell asleep in his arms soon after

I woke up at noon, Lucas was still sleeping and Im pretty sure he was missing a class, as I was. I wondered if he stayed because he wanted to or because he was taking care of me. I rarely got to see the sensitive side of him that I longed for. I would try and push his buttons sometimes asking him ridiculously touchy-feely questions and he would just laugh it off and tell me to shut up. But I saw in his eyes that he wanted to tell me things but didnt know how to. I knew for a fact that he didn’t have the best relationship with his parents ether, they didn’t speak about things and even if they wanted to I can’t imagine Lucas opening up to anyone, especially his parents.

I remembered almost all of last night. Lucas wasn’t having fun, he was mostly looking after me. I was usually the one giving him water, asking him if he was fine because he would look like a zombie. Sometimes I would only go out because I was scared that no one would be taking care of him. When we started hanging out we were both fairly knew to all of this but I could see how fascinated he was with all of it. I was too. My world went from black and white to technicolor. My, usually, messed up head that was overthinking everything and anything felt blank. It was just living in the moment, swaying on the dancefloor with the people you love.

But seeing him at his worst was painful to watch. It wasn't fun anymore, it made me see the dark side of things. When the high wears off you feel ten times more depressed and ten times more eager to go to the next party, and then the next one. Until your life just becomes waiting. Waiting to get high and drunk and feel things.

Realizing that made me never want to do drugs again, but that would last a couple of days. What scared me was that I knew that even after last night, when Lucas saw me at my probably lowest, he would never think about leaving it. It was captivating, appealing to him. It didn't scare him at all.

I was taking a shower when he knocked at my door.

"Bell, you have a visitor. I’m going out okay?" I soon heard a door swing shut. A visitor? I had come up with at least ten people who would come here after me not looking at my phone for three days straight and I was scared to see every single one of them. God, I hope it wasn’t Ethan meeting Lucas.

I dressed and got out of the bathroom to see Emily standing behind my kitchen counter. She wouldn't even be on the list of fifty people to come here. What was Ethans girlfriend doing in my apartment? And why didnt I clean up a bit?

[unproduciblesmackdown]

i just for the first time saw something yesterday saying in general the month of april is miserable for ppls despressen & im like man just last week i was theorizing how the onset of spring generally seems to make me feel even crappier than usual abt being alive b/c for the past few years when i was drawing semi regularly, even with the different Rates at which i drew over the yrs theres a noticeable trend where i’d tend to stop drawing in april for basically about a month. like i’d put together a The Year In Drawings collection and have nothing for april, like twice in a row...last year i could pretend the gap wasn’t there coz the Month i didnt wanna draw fell on mid-april to mid-may, i think. the year before was unusual and didnt have the month pause. this year also breaks the trend apparently, probably in part b/c last years frustration w drawing made me decide to try to care less abt the things that frustrated me and apparently i do

anyways like i hate winter and the start of spring is great but anything that makes you feel better than usual is a Cruel Reminder of how terrible you always feel and the contrast of the comparison provides a painful point of reference for how things could/should be, but aren’t/can’t be for you.....the ol “antidepressants can increase risk of suicide” element of things.......

[vrepitsorrynotsorry]

Voltron Exchange Gift

Title: A Pox on You Recipient: @voxiferous (The @ isn’t working… Have you changed your name? I hope this finds you and you enjoy it.) for @voltronexchange  Rating: PG Pairing: Hunk/Keith (established implied); narrated in Hunk POV, though not first-person. Other Characters: The whole Voltron crew (which of course includes Coran), Matt, and Lotor, but they appear fairly briefly. The main focus was meant to be Hunk and Keith. Warnings/Spoilers: Spoils through the end of Season 4. There is discussion of minor ickiness that goes with being sick, as this is a sick!fic. If you’re very sensitive to that kind of thing, be aware. There is also very brief and what I feel to be mild and absolutely necessary to be addressed angst. A/N: The idea for this struck me during a recent stay home from work with some horrible coughing, fever, achy monster of a bug. This is approximately equal parts being sick is awful and wishful thinking that I could have somebody looking after me. Also, I hope I did the ship justice. It’s my first time writing the pairing.

Hunk totally got why Keith felt he had to go off with the Blades, but that didn’t mean he liked it, and it definitely didn’t mean he didn’t miss his boyfriend like crazy. This most recent major victory should mean they could all catch a break for a while, right? You know, after they figured out what they were going to do with Lotor.

As tended to be the case, Allura, Coran, and Shiro were debating the pros and cons of letting the guy stay at the castle with what could be graciously called relative self-control, and everybody else occasionally interjected less diplomatic opinions. For his part, Lotor was wisely silent, watching the conversation intently. Hunk was mostly keeping out of it too, but not because he had no opinion–his was “Heck no!” by the way–but because Keith was all the way across the room, and he was acting…weird.

Hunk started casually inching his way around the perimeter. Keith didn’t notice, which was unusual. His normally sharp and attentive eyes were unfocused, and he was slumping over much more than his usual, casual slouch. He was sweating, and he kept pulling at the collar of his Blade of Marmora uniform and scratching furtively at any places not covered by armor. As he he got closer, Hunk could also make out what looked like faint, blue spots on Keith’s face.

“Hey, you okay?” He rested a hand gently on Keith’s shoulder and the normally hyper-alert fighter jumped. It was another clear indication that the answer was “no.”

“I’m not feeling too great,” Keith downplayed his condition, which was a bit of normal behavior.

“I’m not surprised. We’ve all been really stressed lately, and you haven’t had my awesome home-cooking to bolster your immune system.”

Keith’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “I wonder what kind of crazy alien bug I managed to catch.”

“Galra pox.” The voice made them both jump. Lotor had somehow snuck up next to them. “I can’t recall the scientific name off the top of my head.”

“This is a private conversation,” Keith snarled, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have more important things to worry about?” He cocked his head at the still furiously arguing group in the center of the room.

“They’ve begun to repeat themselves,” Lotor offered, obligingly turning his piercing gaze back to the debate about his own fate. “It’s a fairly harmless virus, but I strongly suggest you go lie down before you fall down.” With that parting comment, he sauntered back over to the spot he’d been sitting previously. Good riddance.

Keith huffed, and at first, Hunk thought he may have said that aloud, but then his boyfriend mumbled, “I’m not that far gone.”

Two seconds later, he proved himself wrong by stumbling, and he might have actually fallen, but Hunk was there to help prop him up. Of freaking course, everybody looked over at that moment.

“Keith?” multiple voices chorused.

“Is he injured?”

“What happened?”

“What should we do?”

Hunk knew that if Keith had the strength, he would have been out of that room in a flash, embarrassed to be caught in such a blatant display of weakness, even though it wasn’t his fault at all.

When Keith said nothing and they all started to crowd closer, Hunk decided to cut in. Keith could chew him out later if he wanted.

“He’s okay, really! He’s just come down with a little bug, that’s all. Nothing some rest and fluids won’t fix. I’ll help him to his room, and you guys can just pick up where you left off.”

Some of them, Shiro in particular, didn’t seem very convinced. There was a long, awkward pause.

“I believe we were back on con number one again,” Lotor offered blankly, face resting on one fist, for all the world like he didn’t care at all about their decision, “that I’m prince of the Galra.”

That got the conversation going again! It gave Hunk a chance to half-drag Keith out of the room without further delay though, so maybe Lotor had one, tiny point in his favor in Hunk’s book. Maybe.

The door to Keith’s quarters slid open and Hunk wrinkled his nose at the stale air. Nobody had been in here in quite some time. Keith stumbled toward the bed, but Hunk rerouted him to his desk chair.

“Uh uh, man! You gotta let me change the sheets first so you’re nice and comfy.” Keith let out a whiny grumble of protest but obediently let Hunk go about preparing the bunk to his satisfaction. Then Hunk helped his boyfriend strip off the more rigid outer armor of the Blade getup, and Keith snuggled under the blankets. He was still shivering and he looked pretty miserable.

“Want some company?” Hunk asked.

“ ‘M all gross,” Keith complained. “You sure?”

“I am totally like the world’s–scratch that–the universe’s best electric blanket. Scooch over.”

Hunk spooned up behind the smaller man and let his lips rest briefly on the nape of his neck. Yep, he definitely had a fever!

“I’ve missed you,” Hunk offered into the quiet. “You were gone so long, I think Lance was making a move on the ‘moody one’ spot. You know, to maintain the balance.” he teased.

“No way,” Keith snickered. “He can’t stay serious for more than a few minutes at a time!”

“Ah, you don’t mean that. I’ve known the guy for years–he could do it. I could totally take over as ‘goofball.’ ”

“Who would be the ‘voice of reason?’ ”

Hunk let out a mock dramatic sigh. “I guess you’ve got me there! Anyways, it’s good to have you back here, next to me.”

“Good to be back. I missed you, too.” Hunk could tell he was finally starting to nod off, and he waited until Keith’s breathing was deep and even before letting his own eyelids droop closed.

***

He didn’t know how long they slept, but it sure didn’t feel like long enough before Keith woke him up scratching at the blue spots.

“Stop that,” he grumbled and Keith stilled. A stomach growled, and Hunk honestly wasn’t sure whose.

“I’m going to go get us something to eat and drink and something for that funky rash. Can I trust you to behave for a few minutes?”

“Who me?” Keith asked with smirk. Good, he was feeling well enough to make stupid jokes.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

***

When he entered the galley–it was a castle ship–he found Pidge, Matt, and Lance picking at some food goo. While he was grateful they hadn’t messed up his carefully arranged system for the space, that was just sad.

“I’m going to make some soup,” he told them. “You guys are welcome to some.”

“Awesome!” Lance hooted. “How’s Keith doing?”

“He’s resting. Well, when I make him, he is.

“Where’s everybody else, and did you guys decide what to do with Prince Pain-in-the-neck?”

Everyone frowned at the question. “Apparently, the ‘Paladin Code’ says we can’t just let him die if he came to us for help,” Lance explained. “We’re taking turns keeping an eye on him since he won’t stay locked up.”

“Huh?” Hunk began gathering ingredients as he awaited further details.

“Matt and I programmed one of the personal quarters’ doors to only open from the outside with a password,” Pidge told him sullenly, “but he figured out how to open it somehow.”

“So, he escaped?” Next, Hunk roughly chopped some veggies and herbs and set them to boil in some water. He was getting pretty good at finding alternatives for Earth ingredients.

“No,” Matt added with a shrug. “According to the castle surveillance he didn’t leave the room or do anything. It’s like he just opened the door to show us that he could.”

“Sure made Allura mad, anyway.” Lance paused to chuckle. “She tried to punch him right in the nose, but that guy is crazy fast! Shiro and Coran had to drag her off ‘im. Since we can’t have him just wandering around, somebody’s got to be with him all the time. It’s Coran’s turn right now, but Allura and Shiro are always stalking him, even when it’s not their turns. The rebels are still hanging around, but the Blades disappeared, like usual.”

A quick sip of the broth and a few adjustments later, Hunk set the heating surface to a good level and turned to the others. “Well, that’s got to cook for a while yet. I’m going to let the others know there’ll be soup soon and check on Keith again. Maybe later I can see if we can bump up the hardware on the locks as well as the software.”

“I think Coran brought Lotor to the common room after he mentioned some old Altean game,” Pidge told him.

Sure enough, Hunk located Coran and Lotor staring each other down over an elaborate board covered in small, carved pieces sitting on the small table in the middle of the room. Shiro and Allura were propping up a nearby wall with identical disapproving frowns on their faces and crossed arms.

Shiro was closer to the door, so Hunk leaned next to him and took a moment to observe the “game.” Neither player seemed to be doing much of anything other than maintaining eye contact. Hunk’s eyes were starting to water in sympathy.

“Not exactly a nail-biter of a game, is it?” Hunk remarked.

“Apparently, it’s more about reading the other player than moving the pieces,” Shiro explained. “It sounds a little like Earth chess from what I could gather.”

Hunk grunted. “I never understood chess.”

“Really?” Shiro asked, honest surprise in his voice. “You seem like the kind of guy who would love strategy games. You never learned?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hunk returned with a grin. “I know the rules to chess, I just don’t understand them. They’re pretty random. I mean, knights can jump over other pieces because of the horse, okay, but why only in little L-shapes? Seems overly complicated.”

Shiro rolled his eyes but smiled himself. “Did you need something? Is Keith okay?”

“Keith’s all right for now. I’m making some soup.”

“Soup?” Lotor asked without blinking or looking away from his eye-lock with Coran.

“Oh, it’s a delightful human food subset that’s primarily liquid and can be eaten either hot or cold, but usually hot,” Coran elaborated, hands moving animatedly but eyes never moving, either.

“Liquid,” Lotor mused, “but it’s a food and not a beverage?”

“Coran!” Allura scolded. “What did we say about not giving away any information that wasn’t absolutely necessary?”

“Oh yes,” Lotor scoffed in a dry tone, “once I inevitably betray you and return to the Empire with the secrets of soup, we will be truly unstoppable.”

Hunk made a strategic withdrawal while Shiro did his best to keep Allura from committing cold-blooded murder with her bare hands.

***

Just before the door to Keith’s room slid open, Hunk heard frantic scrambling behind it, and Keith was in his desk chair again when it did.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Hunk asked him, and then his eyes narrowed. “You weren’t working out or something were you?”

“Not exactly,” Keith hedged.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy–you’re sick!”

“I don’t like feeling useless,” Keith complained. “If I’m just lying around in here, I’m not helping anybody.”

“Sure you are,” Hunk argued. “You’re helping me and my peace of mind. Everybody else’s too, I bet. Besides, you’re always there for us when we need you.”

“I almost wasn’t.” Keith scowled. “You don’t know what it was like thinking there was no way to help you guys.”

Hunk huffed. “We’ve all been in those situations with Voltron. We always figure out something in the end. I mean, you had a plan before Lotor swooped in, right?” Keith looked away. “Right?” Alarm bells went off in the back of Hunk’s mind. “What was the plan, Keith?” he asked in a kind but firm tone.

Keith mumbled something unintelligible, but Hunk wasn’t about to let it drop. “I was going to crash into the shield, okay?” he finally blurted.

Hunk gaped for a couple of moments as he processed that, then dragged Keith out of the chair and into a tight hug. Keith squawked in protest but Hunk ignored him.

“You are not expendable,” Hunk stated firmly. “I’m not going to make a big deal of this because it didn’t actually happen, but I am gonna make sure you know you’ve got people who care a whole lot about you and that you never even consider that kind of plan again. Sound good?”

When Keith didn’t respond right away, he squeezed a little tighter.

“Fine!” Keith wheezed, and when Hunk finally let up, he smiled up at his taller boyfriend. “It wasn’t like it was a choice I was going to be happy to make. I fully realize it was pretty dumb.”

“Good. Now get back in that bed, and you’d better still be there when I come back with soup.”

***

Hunk managed to break the staring contest when he plunked a bowl of steaming soup down on the table next to Lotor. The Galra prince blinked at him in genuine surprise. “I’m allowed to have some of your soup?”

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed with a shrug. “You probably don’t really deserve it, so don’t push your luck.”

“Thank you.” Lotor sniffed at a spoonful, blew on it to cool it down a little, and took a bite. It was that girl in the food court of the space mall all over again, and Hunk had to admit he loved it when anybody enjoyed his food that much.

Hunk had just delivered Coran’s bowl of soup when Lotor found the use of words again. It was a nice, peaceful five ticks while it lasted.

“You should probably go lie down and stop handling other people’s food for a while,” Lotor said much less arrogantly than usual.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hunk asked defensively and then realized he was scratching a blue spot on the back of his hand. Ah, quiznak. He should have seen that coming.

“You know,” Coran offered, “nunvill is also an excellent skin ointment. I’ll bring a bottle by for you later.”

“Nunvill?” Lotor perked up. “Do you brew your own?”

“Of course! Would you like to try a bit?”

“Coran!” Allura was glaring sternly again. “He’s not a guest.”

“So, I am a prisoner, then?” Lotor asked with a smirk.

“I never said that.”

“Then what am I, precisely?”

“On my last nerve is what!”

Hunk made a quick exit again. He had somewhere more pleasant to be.

***

He rigged a bed tray out of a few items in the galley and brought two bowls back for himself and Keith. He nudged the smaller man closer to the wall, partly because it was easier to get in that side of the bed and partly because that way Keith couldn’t try and get up again without him knowing.

“Good news,” Hunk announced as he cheerily flashed his own blue spot, “we get to look forward to some awesome downtime together.”

Keith chuckled. “How can you be happy about getting sick?”

“We have a legitimate excuse to snuggle all day and get out of training and chores. Coran’s going to bring us something for the itching. What’s not to enjoy?”

Keith scooted over so they were connected all along one side and smiled down at his soup bowl. “You’re right. Sounds pretty great.”

[lubdubsworld]

Tumblr prompt ( Jimin x OC)

Read part 1 here 

Part 2/? 

Warnings : violence 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I told you we would have to send your application in today! Are you really going to miss out on getting into an international Art exhibit, because you’re too chicken to ask your husband for a signature?”

“Why does he have to sign it?!” i whined in frustration, fingers moving up to sink into my hair.

“ you should have thought of that before you made him the Co-owner of your showroom. “

“He did pay for it. And that makes him owner by default. i didn’t even think about having the name changed. ” i said miserably. “ So just because of that, i need him to sign that form?”

“Yes. it’s a declaration that all the artwork in your showroom is yours.” Seulgi said brightly. “ And the entry closes at 7.00 PM which means you have till 6.00 PM in the evening to mail that thing, Y/N. Trust me, you don’t want to delay it.”

i groaned. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get my gun, it’s in the draw.” Jimin called out, standing in front of the full length mirror in our bedroom, buckling up the leather holster around his shoulders, the fabric of his white shirt stretching taut over his shoulders as he fixed the empty holder right over his chest. strapping it across his ribs. 

I stared at him. The envelope in my pocket felt like it weighed a ton and I thought it was ridiculous that i was even doing this. He did not own me. I should be able to do what i want without having to ask him for his permission and -

“are you listening to me?” 

“what?”

he rolled his eyes and turned around to stare at me. He frowned as I continued to stare at him, still wondering how to broach the subject with him. 

“Did you not hear? Get my gun...I’m running late.” He said impatiently, tilting his head in the direction of the closet and i bit my lips before moving to the edge of the walk in closet. 

“you told me you had a meeting with a potential investor today. why do you need a gun?” i said miserably, pushing back pressed  suits in plastic wraps to reach the inner shelves.

“Aw... is that you being concerned about me, baby? Well, aren’t you the perfect little wife...” he scoffed. 

i sighed and went back to the cupboard. 

“i need to talk to you about something important...” i said firmly, rummaging around one of the side shelves to find the small heart shaped key which opened the draw in the closet. i grabbed the pistol carefully, fingers shaking a bit at the heavy weight of it on my palm. 

I was half afraid it would go off and shoot me in the face. 

i moved back and held it out to him with shaking fingers. 

“Not today. I’ll be back tomorrow morning and we can talk then.” He said at once, grabbing the Glock out of my hand and moving to slide it into the holster near his chest. 

I tried not to groan. Why couldn’t he even listen to me? 

“But, it’s really important. i just.. you need to sign some stuff for me, that’s it. it won’t even take that long. i thought i could bring it in to your office and -”

“No. You do not come anywhere near my office, Y/N... i told you this a million times before.”

He gave me a stern stare before moving to the closet and grabbing a tie. 

“I’m not going to stay there.” i protested. “ it won’t even take a minute to just sign some-” 

“i said no. do you not understand what that means?” He looped the silk around his neck, pulling off an intricate knot with baffling ease. Momentarily mesmerized by the quick movements , i almost lost track of my thoughts. 

“I’ll leave it with your secretary then.. i won’t come in or anything just-”

“Reina has better things to do than deal with you.” He said shortly and my annoyance grew. 

“ Like make gaga eyes at you?” i snapped. “ You’re sleeping with her aren’t you?” 

He stopped, glaring at me through the mirror. 

“that is none of your fucking business.” He growled. 

“Yeah, well. If you can have sex with your secretary in that office , it won’t kill you to just sign a few papers for me....!” 

The next second, i found myself pressed up against the wall, his hand around my throat, choking the breath out of me. 

“Ow...” I gasped in shock staring at him as he glared down at me. 

“What have I told you about running that mouth of yours at me baby” He asked softly , thumb pressing into my windpipe just enough to make my eyes water.

 I clawed at his chest and his hold relaxed, fingers letting go of my throat , only to move down and grip my arm.

 i whimpered in surprise.

 Jimin had never manhandled me like this before but the fury in his eye was like a living breathing thing as he stared at me. 

“Get out.” He said softly. 

“ Jimin...”

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!!!!!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After two glasses of wine, my sense of self preservation was at it’s lowest .So i’d decided to try my luck anyway, despite the very scary warning my husband had handed out in the morning. 

I was sitting outside the hallway that led to his office, dressed in a beautiful dress and wearing my tallest pair of heels. A part of me had wondered if perhaps he didn’t want me to come to his office because he was ashamed of me, so i’d gone all out : had my hair professionally styled, put on make up and even bought a new dress for it. 

 I stared at the clock on the mantel , inching towards 5.00 PM which was when Jimin usually left his office. i thought the best thing to do would be to catch him in the corridor as he was leaving. He could sign it quickly then, without being inconvenienced. 

But as the clock kept ticking, 5.00 PM turning to 5. 30 , i felt a little nervous. 

Finally , ten minutes before it turned six, i began to panic, moving up to walk down the corridor to the glass doors at the end which led to his private office and suite. 

His receptionist sat behind the desk and his eyes went wide when he saw me. 

“ oh.... Ma’am... what are you doing here?” He looked petrified, looking left and right and I tried to smile reassuringly. So Jimin did not limit his terrorising ways to me. The poor boy looked so scared. 

“it’s nothing important.. i was just wondering when Jimin ssi will be out?” i said softly. 

“I... Ma’am... you really shouldn’t be here. “ He looked like he was a second away from sinking to his knees and begging me to leave. i frowned... 

what on earth was jimin doing in there? 

“i just.... need to...”

Without warning the intercom buzzed and I jumped a little. A rough, unfamiliar voice came over the small speaker, startling me. 

“Who the fuck is that, Mr. Kim?” the man demanded. 

The boy, Kim something... had gone perfectly still. He was staring at me white faced and terrified. 

“I.. I’m Jimin ssi’s wife.....” I said hesitantly, not sure what was happening.” I just... i wanted to see my husband.” 

Silence. 

i stared at the phone and an odd sense of foreboding began to fill my body. The feeling that i had done something irrevocably dangerous and foolish. 

“Jimin goon’s wife? Come right in sweetheart.” The man’s voice was oily and drawling , amused and filthy and I felt my fingers curl into fists. 

“Is... Is Jimin there...” i tried again. 

A beat. 

“Come in, babe.” 

i felt relief sweep through me at his familiar voice. Panting a bit from holding my breath so long , i gave the receptionist a weak smile and slowly moved to the glass doors, opening into the main rooms. 

i followed the deserted corridors, each step filling me with a deeper sense of dread till i finally reached the huge oak doors at the end of the hallway. I knocked on it nervously. 

“Come in.” 

The moment i stepped in, I knew exactly why jimin didn’t want me to come to his office. 

About two dozen men stood around the office, scattered randomly, each carrying guns and right in the center, on either side of a huge table sat my husband and another unfamiliar man. 

i froze completely, staring at jimin, who looked completely blank as he stared back. 

“What do you want?” He said boredly, but i saw the way his fingers fluttered, the way his eyes practically screamed in frustration. 

He didn’t want me here . 

“Now, now... Jimin-ah.... is that anyway to talk to a beautiful woman? Come closer sweetheart, let’s get a good look at you.i’m Im Jae Bum , by the way. ” 

i stayed frozen, my legs having given up on me. 

Without warning, a hand closed over my arm yanking me forward so harshly that i whimpered in surprise. one of the men had moved closer and grabbed me, dragging me closer to the table . 

Thud. 

Jimin was lunging across the table, the force of his actions sending the chair flying and I stared as he growled out, grabbing  Jae bum by the collar, fingers wrapped around his Glock in a death grip, the muzzle pressing into Jae bum’s forehead. 

“She is not a part of this, you fucker. Tell that guy to let go of her before i put a fucking bullet in your brain.” Jimin whispered.

I could feel my body physically going cold in stark terror as Jae bum laughed. 

“You’re not going to shoot me, jimin ah.... What will your boss say then, huh? Last i checked you guys need me , more than i need you. “ 

And then he turned around to leer at me . 

“and if i say, i want this sweetling , there’s not much you can do about it, right?” he sneered at jimin. 

Jimin growled and let go of the man till he fell back. 

“She’s my wife. She’s not a part of this deal. You or your little buddies come anywhere near her and i swear to God, i’ll butcher each and every one of you....There won’t be enough of you left to fill a fucking matchbox...” He said dangerously. 

Jae Bum gave him a steady stare seemingly unmoved. 

“I’ll make that decision, Jimin. For now, you give me the cash and i give you all the intel you need.” He pointed at the briefcase on the table. Jimin stared at the briefcase , and pushed it across the smooth surface. Jae Bum caught the leather case before pulling out a small flash drive, sliding it over to Jimin who caught it . 

“Let her go , now.” Jimin growled, turning to stare at my captor. The man grunted and let go and I couldn’t stop myself from crashing forward. 

i didn’t hit the ground , jimin having darted out to grab me around the waist, hugging me close and pressing a palm to the back of my head, tugging me close till my face was buried in his chest. 

“i...wh-what just...” i stuttered but he wasn’t looking at me, already glaring at jae Bum. 

“Get out of my office.” He said coldly. Jae bum grinned and tilted his head, aiming a smile at me. 

“We’ll meet again, baby girl.” He called out, before motioning to his men. I stayed in Jimin’s arms, my fingers curled itno his shoulders , clinging to him in genuine distress as the room emptied out. Once everyone left, Jimin finally pulled back to stare at me.

“You okay?” He said, tone unusually gentle and I couldn’t even nod, just staring at him in shock.

“What am I going to do with you, you idiot? Didn’t i tell you not to come here? ” He whispered, pushing the hair off my face. 

I swallowed , hugging him closer. 

“He.. he said.. he’ll..”

“He’s not coming anywhere near you. i won’t let him. Stop shaking... Come on.. stop...”

“I’m so sorry... I’m....”

“No, babe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for marrying you. For bringing you into this damn world of mine. I’m sorry for everything.” He said miserably and I felt confusion flood me.

“J-Jimin?” 

“fuck, i should have known that i could never keep you out of it.... I’m such an idiot... i thought i could keep you safe. if i just stayed away from you, kept you at a distance... i could keep you safe but... Oh, God.. i’m so sorry..” 

I gripped him harder. 

“You’re.. You’re not one of them... are you? You’re not a bad man, are you? ” i said , willing him to disagree. 

He took a deep breath.

“No, i’m not.” 

Relief flooded me. 

“Oh, Thank God... Thank god I...”

“I’m a cop.” He whispered.’

i froze.

“What?”

“i’m an NIS agent. I work with the Narcotics and Gang Violence department and Three years ago we received intel that your father was involved in some stuff . i thought if i married you, i could -”

i shoved him off me, scrambling away in disbelief. 

 father...he married me because he wanted to get close to father ... and i thought... i thought he remembered me... i thought he cared a bit about me... i thought that he must’ve cared for me ...why else would he still be here but it was never about me because he had never wanted me in the first place...... 

“Y/N....”

“You liar...” I whispered in disbelief.

“Y/N... hear me out...”

“You filthy liar!! you lied to me about everything!! Everything!!” i screamed. Jimin moved to grab my arm but i snarled.

“Don’t fucking touch me!!! So that’s why you wanted to have a baby with me?! You were afraid my father would be upset with you and then you would lose your access to him.... Even if you had to make a fool out of me... even if you had to bring an innocent baby into your filthy lies...you don’t even care what happens to me....  ” i shouted. 

“I do care about you! I do... Y/N....” 

“Lies! everything that comes out of your damn mouth is a lie!! So stop it... stop talking to me...” 

“No, wait...”

But i was already storming out of the office, running out into the hallways and ignoring his shouts.