#im currently trying to go through path of pain

[rambling-fool]

HK ghost 🤝 ISAT siffrin/loop to witness secrets sealed one must endure the harshest of punishment

siffrins' no good very bad tuesday

[katnisspeetaprim]

Broad Day Light

Min Yoongi/Reader

Im so sorry if this is bad. i haven't had time to properly edit this. I've been sick again recently, but I wanted to get at least something out for you guys!

Warnings: Injury, crowds, anxiety, established relationship, idol!au

Word Count: 1203 M.list

Walking down a busy street in the middle of the day shouldn’t have been an anxiety inducing task, but here you are. That’s all it’s felt like these days.

You and Yoongi went public a few years ago and paparazzi and sasaeng’s had mostly started to leave you alone after a few months, just the odd personal space invader here and there, but you learnt to live with the new found attention.

Fast forwards to 2023 and Yoongi’s solo tour was well under way. With a world tour came massive media attention, and with media attention, came paparazzi.

You weren’t famous, so having people run up to you with cameras was a surreal experience.

You tried your best to shield your face, but it was to no avail as the group of photographers bolted towards you from across the road.

‘Y/N! Over here!’

‘Are you going to any of the shows!?’

The group of men had effectively blocked your path, not allowing you to leave.

‘Please let me through. I have somewhere to be...’ You mumbled and wrapped your arms round yourself as you kept your head down and away from the cameras. You started forcing your way forwards.

‘Y/N! Yoongi and Halsey have been acting close! Did something happen between them!? Is that why you aren’t on tour with him?’ You know you shouldn’t dignify these people with a response, but the gall of implying that Yoongi would cheat on you with someone that had become a good friend to the both of you... It was enough to make you rage.

‘Of course not! They are good friends, now let me through- Ah!’ As you forcefully pushed your way through the crowd, you didn’t realise how close you were to the curb.  Your ankle rolled, causing you to topple over into the road.

Your hands, arms and knees were all scratched up, along with a twisted ankle. At least no cars were coming so you wouldn’t get run over. Though that seemed like a more preferable situation than the one you were currently in.

‘AH!’ You shakily sat up and grabbed your ankle, causing you to hiss out in pain.

‘Please just leave me alone!’ You screamed out and swiped out at the paparazzi circling round you.

‘Hey that’s assault! She just tried to hit me!’ One of the men shouted out, trying to garner sympathy with his fellow low lives.

You were all but breaking down into a full blown panic attack, when all of a sudden you felt a wave of hope flow through you when you heard the shouts of police officers approaching the scene.

‘Hey! What’s going on here? Out of the way!’ They pushed through the crowd and one knelt next to you, whilst the other two pushed back the group, ultimately threatening arrests if they didn’t dispurse.

‘Miss? Are you ok? Are you hurt?’

‘My ankle- I think it’s twisted!’ You whimpered, trying to hold back your tears.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the hospital.’

Hours later and you were finally able to go home. With a lot of help from your best friend, you were now sat in your living room, feeling sorry for yourself with your poor ankle all wrapped up.

The scraped that littered your limbs weren’t too bad, just a little sore. Stories had hit the web pretty much immediately, along with plenty of videos of the incident, filmed by multiple people.

With any luck, Yoongi would be too busy to even think about going online...

-Incoming video call from Yoongles-

Ah well. There goes that idea.

After a slight hesitation, you pushed the green answer button.

Yoongi suddenly appeared on screen. He’d clearly changed out of his concert gear and was now clad in comfy sweat pants and a jumper.

And he looked pissed.

‘Hey Yoongi...’ You trailed off, trying to sound normal.

‘Seriously? You going to pretend nothing happened?’ He stared at you in disbelief.

‘You should have called me when it happened!’ He continued on, raising his voice ever slightly.

You looked away from the screen, feeling guilty that you tried to keep it from him. Of course he would see the articles, so it was pointless to even try.

‘I’m sorry...’

Yoongi  took in your defeated appearance and groaned internally for adding more upset to your already stressful day.

‘No, I’m sorry for shouting. When I saw what happened, I just got so angry.’ He paused for a moment before shaking his head. ‘You got hurt because of me...’

‘Yoongi no!’ You sat up straighter, trying to reassure him. ‘This isn’t your fault. At all!’

He nodded slowly, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe you.

‘I’m going to send you the number for one of our bodyguards. If you need to go somewhere, get him to drive you.

Yoongi suddenly moved the phone in his hands. He was clearly texting you.

You couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend.

‘Yoongi! I’m sure they have better things to do than look after me!’ His message however, had already pinged on your phone.

‘You got attacked in broad daylight Y/N. Seems pretty serious to me.’ Yoongi deadpanned as he stared you right in the eyes.

The smile fell from your face. You couldn’t argue with the fact that you would feel a lot safer with someone escorting you...

‘I won’t be going anywhere for a while. My ankle is all screwed up.’ You joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You didn’t get to see Yoongi often these days, given how in demand he was. The last thing you wanted to do with your precious time together was be miserable.

Yoongi smirked mischievously.

‘Maybe you’ll stay out of trouble then.’ You drew back in mock offense.

‘Excuse me!?’ Where has the compassion gone to?’

‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ He said, trying to hold back his smirk.

You couldn’t hold back and began to laugh for the first time that day.

‘I wish I could be there for you’ Yoongi suddenly spoke over your laughter. You immediately went quiet, knowing that Yoongi was still upset by the days events.

‘It’s ok. This is enough, for now.’ You smiled gently and gestured towards the phone screen separating the two of you.

‘Remind me again why you couldn’t come with me?’ Yoongi groaned and slumped back in his chair.

‘You know why. I couldn’t get off work.’ You giggled as you also snuggled down into your chair.

He frowned before once again beginning to type on his phone.

‘What’s wrong?’ You enquired curiously.

‘I’m not there, but Tae will be close by tomorrow. I’m sending him to check on you.’

‘Oh my god!’ You exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I can’t convince you I’m fine can I?’

‘Definitely not.’

You and Yoongi spent a long time on call together that night, making the most of every moment.

It was only after ending the call for the night, did you notice Taehyung had sent you a message.

Hey noona! Hope you are ready for a home spa day tomorrow!

P.S, Please tell Yoongi-hyung I made you happy... He’ll kill me if I fail!

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: There is no choice, not really—just the weight of a decision that will haunt him for the rest of his days. Joel moves forward, because he has to, because stopping means losing, because if he looks back, he might see what he’s done.

warnings: psychological warfare and im really sorry. read with caution. Ellie hospital scene. It's a long one!

Joel

Joel gasps in a ragged breath as he breaks the surface, lungs burning, throat raw from swallowing half the damn river. His body is done, legs barely kicking, arms aching from the weight of what he’s dragging with him. The current fights to pull him back under, but he fights harder. He has to.

When he reaches the work ramp, the water slows, lapping lazily at the concrete as he collapses onto solid ground. His knees hit hard, pain ricocheting up his legs, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the two unmoving bodies beside him.

Neither of you are breathing.

His hands tremble as he leans over both of you, chest heaving, mind spinning. Water drips from your clothes, puddling around you, your faces too still. Too pale. His heart is hammering against his ribs, panic flooding through his veins like a sickness.

He needs to move. He needs to do something, he can’t fail, he won’t fail. There's only so much time the brain can handle without oxygen.

But how is he supposed to choose? Who does he reach for first, who does he save first? It’s a paralyzing thought as he looks between you. 

Ellie . She’s immune, she’s the only hope left for the world. What started as a promise to Tess, the reason Henry and Sam died, the reason he’s still moving after losing everything. If she dies here, if this is where it all ends, the Fireflies won’t have a cure. Humanity won’t have a chance.

But then there’s you.

And if he loses you, if he watches you slip away under his hands, he doesn’t know if there will be anything left of him to keep going. 

The thought digs into his ribs, carves something hollow and aching in his chest, a terror deeper than anything he’s felt in twenty years. You aren’t just another person he’s had to protect, another responsibility thrown on his back. You’re something else entirely—something he wasn’t supposed to have, wasn’t supposed to let himself care about, but he does, God, he does. 

His breath catches, his hands hovering, twitching, desperate to do something.

He has to pick. He has to pick.

And he doesn’t know if he can live with his choice.

There isn’t a clear path here, no choice between right and wrong anymore. His chest tightens as the seconds bleed away, each one too precious to waste. Then, finally, he moves, pressing his hands down, forcing his hands into the chest cavity. It’s robotic at this point, panic melting into auto pilot, too sick to his stomach to think about what he’s doing.

“Hands in the air!”

The voice barely registers.

“She’s not breathin’,” Joel mutters, barely aware he’s speaking. His hands don’t stop, pressing harder, trying to force the chest beneath his palms to rise again.

“Hands in the fucking air!”

Boots slam against pavement. Rifles shift. He doesn’t stop.

“Come on,” he pleads, voice raw, broken, desperate. “Please, please—”

The footsteps close in. He refuses to look up. Someone moves fast, a shadow rising over him.

The weapon swings.

There’s a bright light above him the next time his eyes crack open, stark and unforgiving. For a moment, he wonders if this is it—the moment they all talk about, the light at the end, the peace after all the hell. Maybe this is where it ends.

Then his mind catches up.

It slams into him all at once—your lifeless body, Ellie’s motionless form on the cement, the desperate press of his hands, the gasping prayers caught in his throat. His breath hitches, his body jerking like he’s still trapped in the current, still fighting to pull you both to safety.

His eyes snap open fully. His pulse pounds against his ribs as he scans the room, unfamiliar walls closing in around him. The air smells too clean. The sheets beneath him are stiff and thin, the bed hard and unforgiving. There’s a deep, pounding ache in the back of his skull, his limbs heavy in a way that makes his gut twist. Something isn’t right.

He looks to his right, and sees someone that, for all he knew, was dead.

“Welcome to the Fireflies,” Marlene says, sitting beside him in a chair, legs crossed, her expression unreadable. 

She gives him a moment before saying, “Sorry about the…” he points to her head, reminding him of the source of the thrum in his skull, “They didn’t know who you were.”

Joel barely hears her. His throat is dry when he finally asks, “Ellie?”

“She’s alright. They brought her back.”

His stomach knots. He inhales, but the breath feels shallow. “And…?”

Marlene’s expression flickers—regret, maybe, but it’s distant, weighed down by something else.

“They were only told to bring in you and Ellie,” she says. “By the time I heard there was another girl… they told me she wasn’t moving, Joel. I’m sorry.”

His body stiffens, his back pressing against the hard mattress as he takes it in. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The words are there, clear as day, but his brain refuses to take them in fully.

You were already gone when they got there.

His hands curl into fists, nails digging into his palms, but the pain doesn’t pull him out of it. His mind lingers in the space where you might have had more time, where if someone—anyone—had just tried a little harder, you might be here. If he had just worked faster. If he had made the right call.

But Ellie is alive. Ellie made it.

Marlene’s voice cuts through the fog, like she’s trying to process it all herself. “You came all this way… How’d you do it?”

“It was Ellie,” he mutters, his voice hollow. “And…her. They fought like hell to get here.”

“Maybe it was meant to be…” He whispers it more to himself than her, like if he says it enough times, he’ll believe it.

Joel pushes himself up, ignoring the way his body protests, but then he realizes—there’s a guard by the door.

Marlene exhales, shaking her head. “You were the one person I never wanted to be in debt to.” She doesn’t look at him when she says it, just stares ahead, like she’s still working through the reality of it all. “I pretty much lost everything. Most of my crew died getting me here. And then you show up, and somehow we find you just in time to save her.”

Not in time enough. Not for both of you.

Joel squeezes his eyes shut.

Marlene glances at him, voice softer. “Maybe it was meant to be.”

The words don’t feel right coming from her. They don’t feel right at all.

Joel swings his legs off the side of the bed. “Take me to her.”

“You don’t have to worry about Ellie anymore,” Marlene says. “We’ll take care of her—”

“I worry,” Joel snaps. “Just let me see her. Please.”

Marlene’s arms cross over her chest. Her eyes flicker to the guard. “We can’t. She’s being prepped for surgery.”

Something sharp lodges itself in Joel’s gut, cutting straight through whatever daze had been dulling his senses. The exhaustion, the grief, the weight of loss—all of it clears in an instant.

His voice is tight. “The hell you mean, surgery?”

“The doctors tell me that the Cordyceps, the growth inside her, has somehow mutated. It’s why she’s immune.”

Joel feels the guard shift behind him, closing in, but he barely registers it.

Marlene doesn’t flinch. “Once they remove it, they’ll be able to reverse engineer a vaccine.” She exhales, like she’s still convincing herself of the importance of it all. “A vaccine, Joel.”

His mind stumbles over the words, trying to put the pieces together. “But it grows all over the brain.”

Marlene just looks at him.

“It does.”

A thick silence settles between them.

His chest rises and falls, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together with sickening clarity.

“Find someone else,” Joel demands, voice cold.

“There is no one else.”

“Listen,” he growls, teeth clenched, hands curling into fists. “You’re gonna show me where—”

The guard moves before he can finish, slamming him down, pinning his arms behind his back as his chest hits the floor.

Joel grunts, pain sparking across his ribs.

“Stop,” Marlene says, and as Joel groans, pressing against the cold tile, she continues, “I get it. But whatever it is you think you’re going through right now is nothing compared to what I have been through.”

His jaw clenches so tight he feels his teeth creak.

Oh , fuck her .

Didn’t she get it? He was losing both of you. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

“I knew her since she was born,” Marlene’s voice cracks, just slightly, but she keeps going. “I promised her mother I would look after her. No one understands more than me.”

Joel barely hears her over the blood pounding in his ears.

“Then why are you letting this happen?” His voice is hoarse, nearly pleading.

“Because this isn’t about me,” she says, jabbing a finger into her own chest, anger flashing across her face. “Or even her. There is no other choice here.”

Joel exhales slowly, shoulders rising and falling as he pushes himself up just enough to sit back on his heels. His voice is dark, low, edged with something dangerous.

“Yeah,” he growls. “You keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit.”

Marlene straightens, glancing at the guard without a second thought. “March him out of here. He tries anything, shoot him.”

Joel doesn’t move, doesn’t fight, just glares at her from the floor.

She watches him for a moment, something almost unreadable flickering in her expression before she turns to leave. Just before stepping through the door, her voice lowers.

“Don’t waste this gift, Joel.”

Then she’s gone.

Joel stands there, Marlene’s words ringing in his head. Don’t waste this gift, Joel. Like this was some grand gesture, like they were offering him something instead of taking everything from him. Like he had a choice.

But what other fucking choice was there?

Going back to Jackson alone? Failing the both of you? Failing everything he had fought for, everything he had clawed his way through hell to protect? He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

The guard orders him up. Then a second time, the barrel of a gun pointing down at him.

Joel obeys, moving slowly, forcing his mind to focus through the pounding in his skull. He needs time. He needs his weapons.

The gun shoves harder into his back now, an irritated breath hissing through the Firefly’s teeth. "Give me an excuse."

Joel tilts his head slightly. "Which way?" His voice is quiet, measured, just enough distraction.

The man jerks his gun to the left. Joel follows.

The hospital is dim, the only light flickering weakly over the center desk. It looks abandoned, half-dead already. But something catches his eye as he passes—a bag. His bag. His weapons.

His fingers twitch. He watches them until the wall cuts off his view, then slows his pace, working it through in his head.

The Firefly bristles behind him. "What the fuck are you doin’? Keep walkin’."

Joel doesn’t answer. He waits.

The second the guard’s gun nudges his back again, he moves.

It’s fast—an elbow thrown back, a sharp crack as it connects. The gunshot rings out, echoing through the halls, but it slams harmlessly into the wall. Joel is already turning, wrenching the gun from the Firefly’s hands, twisting his arm, shoving him back. The man grunts, dazed, and Joel slams the barrel against his face. Once. Twice. The Firefly’s head snaps back, blood splattering the wall.

Joel shoves his forearm into his neck, pinning him, pressing the gun to the man’s groin.

"Where’s the operating room?" His voice is low, controlled, cold.

The man grits his teeth and stays silent. Joel exhales through his nose, then pulls the trigger. The Firefly howls , sagging against him, body crumpling.

" Where ?" Joel growls again.

Still nothing.

Joel squeezes the trigger again.

"WHERE?"

The man’s head lolls, breath ragged, face twisted in agony. His knees buckle, Joel’s arm the only thing keeping him upright.

"Top floor," he chokes out. "Far end."

Joel lets him drop. A moment later, he doesn’t hesitate, firing a final shot into the man’s skull.

He grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, hands locking around his rifle just as the sound of footsteps barrels down the hallway. More Fireflies. More obstacles.

Joel doesn’t think. He just moves .

He pushes forward, steps calculated, rifle raised. The first Firefly barely sees him before he drops. Then another. And another.

One by one, he clears them.

His mind is razor-sharp, focused, his grip steady, his body moving on instinct. But your face keeps creeping at the edges, pulling at his resolve, yanking him back to the cement, to the cold water pooling beneath you, to the way your hair had fanned out, damp and lifeless, as he made his choice.

He shakes it off. He has to. He can’t lose both of you. He has to get to Ellie.

More bodies fall, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t leaving until he finds her. If he couldn’t save you, he would save her. He couldn’t leave alone.

His boots pound against the linoleum, moving faster, fueled by something deeper than adrenaline, something darker. The halls flicker in and out of shadow as the emergency lights struggle to stay alive. He follows the signs—pediatrics—how fucking ironic that they’d still use the same rooms meant for saving children, even now, in this ruined world.

It’s quieter here. The distant echo of gunfire fades, replaced by the steady, rhythmic beeping of machines. He moves down the hall, toward the bright glow spilling out from the small glass window of a red door. His stomach twists as he swallows thickly. The scrub-in room is sterile, lined with sinks, the scent of disinfectant cutting through the blood drying on his skin.

Ellie is on the operating table, too still, too pale, wires and tubes snaking around her small frame. His chest tightens. She looks lifeless. Just like—

No. Not now. He shuts it down.

There are voices. A murmur of surprise and confusion as he steps inside. The second the door swings open, the surgeon’s head snaps up.

“What are you doing?!” the man exclaims, instinctively moving back. His hands fumble for something, grabbing a scalpel—a scalpel , like that could stop Joel now.

He pushes through.

“I won’t let you take her!” the doctor shouts, voice cracking with desperation. “This is our future! Think of all the lives we’ll save!”

But those lives won’t be Ellie’s. They won’t be your life.

Joel moves forward, slow, measured. The surgeon bristles, stepping back until there’s nowhere left to go.

“Don’t come any closer! I mean it!”

Joel barely hears him. There’s only red. The bright light of the room turns crimson in his vision, flooding everything. His body moves before his mind even registers it.

The scalpel is in his hands. Then it’s in the man’s neck.

A sickening gurgle fills the air as the doctor stumbles, hands flying up to the wound as blood pulses between his fingers. He slumps to the floor, his body twitching before going still.

“No!” a nurse screams, voice sharp with horror. “You fucking animal!”

Another one hisses at her to shut up. Joel doesn’t care.

He’s already at Ellie’s side, unhooking her, pulling tubes from her skin, tossing aside the oxygen mask suffocating her small face. His hands are shaking, but he works quickly, murmuring low as he cradles her limp body in his arms.

"Come on, baby girl. I got you, I got you."

Then the alarms begin to blare.

A loud, shrieking wail rips through the hospital, the red emergency lights flashing in jagged bursts. Shadows move beyond the glass doors—flashlights cutting through the darkness, the rapid stomp of boots, Fireflies closing in.

He needed to move. Now.

With Ellie secured against his chest, Joel turns and runs.

You

It’s warm.

Not just warm—golden, like the kind of sunlight that filters through leaves in late summer, shifting and flickering in the breeze. The air is soft, thick with something comforting, familiar, wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. You hear the faint rustling of trees, the slow hum of cicadas in the distance. Somewhere close, a creek bubbles, the gentle rush of water against stone.

You’re lying in the grass, the blades tickling your skin, the warmth of the sun pressing against your cheeks. You should get up. You know that. But your limbs feel heavy, too relaxed, too comfortable.

Then, fingers brush against your temple.

A slow, careful touch, tucking the loose strands of hair behind your ear. It’s gentle, warm. Safe.

“Hey,” Joel murmurs, voice low and steady. “Come on now, sweetheart.”

You hum, eyes fluttering, but they don’t open. Not yet. Just a little longer. Let me sleep.

His thumb trails lightly across your cheek. “Need you to wake up, baby.”

Something in his voice makes your chest ache. There’s something wrong there, something pleading beneath the softness.

You want to stay here. You want to keep breathing in the warm air, feeling the sun, listening to the steady rhythm of his voice.

But then his hand is slipping away.

No.

You reach for him, but the warmth starts to pull back, the golden light fading . The sound of the creek dulls, the hum of cicadas fading into something else—something colder.

“Joel,” you murmur, voice thick, slow, like you’re trying to hold onto something slipping through your fingers.

“Wake up,” he says again, but his voice is changing, shifting, deeper now, rougher.

Then everything disappears.

Suddenly it’s freezing.

Your body seizes as cold slams into you, sharp and biting, cutting through the softness in an instant. Your chest tightens, lungs spasming, and then—

You’re coughing, choking, water spilling from your mouth as your body jerks violently, muscles convulsing as you fight for air. Your fingers scrape against rough cement, nails dragging as you push yourself onto your side, gasping, spluttering, your throat raw, your ribs aching.

You blink, forcing your eyes open, the dim light of the tunnel swimming in and out of focus. Your limbs feel leaden, frozen through, but you push up onto shaky elbows, sucking in a breath that burns all the way down.

Your heart is pounding.

The warmth is gone and so is Joel. Where was he? Where was Ellie?

Your stomach knots, panic rising through the exhaustion. You scramble up, your body swaying, head spinning as you look around, searching for them.

But the tunnel is silent, just the sound of water lapping against the cement of the tunnel. You grab your backpack, thankfully still here with your bow and arrows, and begin to move.

Then you see it, a glint of metal in the grass. Your breath catches as you stagger forward, fingers wrapping around it before you even register what it is. Ellie’s pistol. Your grip tightens around the handle, stomach twisting. She wouldn’t have left this, not on purpose.

Your breath comes quicker now, uneven, your pulse thrumming against your skin as you turn, eyes lifting toward the skyline.

The hospital stands in the distance, stark and still against the gray sky, its windows shattered, its walls stained. They had to be there, didn’t they?

The wind is sharp as you move forward, pushing through the lingering dampness clinging to your skin. Each step is heavy, sluggish, but you force yourself to keep moving, the weight of exhaustion trying to drag you down. The hospital looms in the distance, cold and silent. 

You keep your grip firm on Ellie’s pistol, fingers tightening and loosening as you scan the building for movement. Nothing. No signs of people except the lights glowing in the upper windows. No signs of Joel or Ellie. But they had to be here. They had to be.

The place is too quiet, too still, but that only sets your nerves on edge. Then you hear the voices.

You freeze, pressing yourself behind an abandoned car near the entrance, listening.

“…can’t reach anyone upstairs.” A man’s voice, low and tense. “All units should be responding, but I don’t know what the hell’s going on up there.”

“There were gunshots. You think it’s them?”

“I don’t know, but keep your eyes open. If they’re here, we put them down.”

Your pulse spikes. Joel.

He’s still inside. He’s fighting. Why is he fighting? What went wrong?

You duck lower, peering through the broken-out window of the car. Two Firefly soldiers stand near the side entrance, rifles ready, scanning the area. They’re blocking the way you were planning to go, and you know you aren’t strong enough to take them both in hand-to-hand combat. You barely have the strength to hold yourself up, let alone fight someone trained.

But distance. Distance you can work with.

You ease Ellie’s pistol into your waistband, keeping your breath steady. If you miss, you’re dead. If you alert the other Fireflies, you’re dead. There’s no second chance.

Carefully, you pull your bow from your shoulders, fingers brushing over the few remaining arrows. Not much left. You grab one, nock it, draw back.

The first man drops before his partner even registers what’s happened. A clean shot, straight through the throat. His body crumples soundlessly to the ground.

The second turns, eyes going wide, mouth opening to shout—

You loose the next arrow before he gets the chance, and the thud of his body barely makes a sound.

You don’t wait to see if anyone heard. You run. More voices crackle over their walkies, static-filled and frantic.

“ —we need backup now! He’s got the girl—”

Gunfire erupts from inside the building, but you keep moving, ducking low, keeping to the perimeter as you round the building. You’re almost to the parking garage when something grabs you from behind.

A thick arm wraps around your throat, yanking you backward, your vision tilting as you struggle. Your lungs seize, hands clawing at the arm crushing against your windpipe. He’s strong, too strong , and panic explodes in your chest as you thrash, kicking wildly.

Then you remember your knife.

Your fingers scramble for the handle strapped to your hip, yanking it free and plunging it backward, twisting the blade deep into his thigh.

The man startles, his grip loosening just enough for you to tear free, stumbling backward as you gasp in air. He’s still moving, staggering, reaching for you, so you don’t hesitate. You grip the knife tighter and slam it into his throat.

He gurgles, then slumps to the pavement.

You shake out your trembling hands, yanking the blade free, wiping the blood on your jeans. Your breaths come sharp and ragged, but you don’t stop to dwell on it. You won’t let the haze that had covered you for weeks in guilt come over you now.

The parking garage entrance is open, a long ramp sloping downward into the dark. You slip inside, sticking to the walls, careful to avoid making noise. The air is heavy, thick with the scent of oil and damp concrete, the overhead lights flickering dimly.

Somewhere above you, voices echo.

You follow them.

The stairwell is narrow, the metal steps cold beneath your fingers as you climb, moving slowly, cautiously. The closer you get, the clearer the voices become.

Then you hear him. The voice you would follow anywhere, even if it was into the dark.

Your stomach knots as you reach the top landing, peering through the crack in the door. He’s there, moving steadily, his arms wrapped around Ellie’s limp form as she wears a thin, blue covering, holding her close to his chest. Her head rests against him, her body slack, and something deep inside you twists so hard it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Then you see the gun in the woman’s hand. It’s trained on him, steady and unwavering.

She stands just a few feet away, her stance firm, both hands gripping the pistol as she keeps her aim locked on Joel.

Your breath catches, the weight of the moment settling over you like a vice, pressing down on your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You swallow hard, moving to switch your bow for Ellie’s pistol, gripping it tightly in your hands as you desperately try to work out your next move.

“It ain’t for you to decide,” Joel growls.

“It’s what she’d want,” the woman says, circling him. You push deeper into the shadows, but she doesn’t see you, her gaze is locked on him, “You can still do the right thing here.” the woman says, holding her hands up, the gun beginning to point away from him.

And then you step out of the shadows, and pull the trigger. The shot rings out, splitting the air like a crack of thunder.

The woman stumbles, a sharp, gasping breath hitching in her throat as the bullet tears through her shoulder. She lurches forward, her pistol clattering to the ground as her hands fly to the wound, crimson blooming against her shirt.

Joel jumps back, and you can see the panic flare. He’s ready to fight anyone who comes in his way. He shifts away from Marlene, gripping Ellie tighter to himself, and grabbing his own gun and pointing it out from under her knees.

He twists around to face the threat, and his gaze lifts and meets yours.

For a long, few heartbeats, he doesn’t move. He just stares at you like he’s seeing a ghost, like he’s trying to convince himself you’re standing there, real and breathing. His chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths, his arms locked around Ellie, his body trembling with something too big for words.

Your name slips from his lips, barely a whisper, his voice hoarse, breaking on the syllables like it physically hurts him to say it. His knees threaten to buckle, like his body is giving up on him, but he forces himself to stay upright, forces himself to hold onto Ellie because he has to.

Your eyes narrow on him, had he thought–

“What the hell is going on?” you whisper, stepping toward him, heart hammering.

Your eyes drop to Ellie, her small, limp frame cradled against him, her face pale beneath the flickering parking lot lights. Panic claws its way up your throat as you reach for her, your hands hovering over her body, searching for signs of injury.

“She—she’s okay,” Joel breathes, like he can barely believe it himself.

“She’s not supposed to be.”

The voice comes from behind you, sharp and raw with pain.

You turn to see the woman on the floor, her hand clutching her bleeding shoulder, her face twisted in something between agony and fury.

“He’s killing everyone,” she rasps, glaring up at you.

Your stomach tightens. You look at her, then at Joel. He shakes his head immediately, a storm building behind his eyes, anger and pain clashing so violently across his face that it scares you.

“He’s stealing her because he’s a selfish animal,” the woman spits, voice cracked and ragged. “He’d rather save her than the entire world.”

Joel only looks at you.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice desperate, pleading, willing you to listen to him . You swear you can almost see tears in his eyes now, “Please. They were going to kill her. You have to understand.”

Your breath catches. Your throat feels tight, dry, like the walls are closing in around you. “Kill her?”

He nods, but the woman speaks before he can.

“It’s what she would’ve wanted, Joel, and you know it,” she says, her voice raw. “She would’ve wanted to save everyone, even if it meant sacrificing herself for it.”

Your head spins, everything shifting at once.

Ellie…Ellie would’ve had to die to create a cure?

You look down at her again, at her peaceful, unconscious face, your hands tightening into fists at your sides.

Disbelief and desperation crash into you like a tidal wave. You’re not entirely sure who the whirlwind of feelings is pointed towards at the moment. Joel was taking her. Taking her from her life’s purpose, from what she was meant to do, what she had fought so hard to become. They were going to make a cure. They were going to save everyone.

But to do that, they had to kill her.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you look back at him. His grip on Ellie is ironclad, his knuckles white where they clutch at her shirt. His jaw is clenched, his entire body coiled so tightly you think he might snap apart.

And suddenly, you see it.

The way his breath shudders, the way his fingers tremble against Ellie’s skin, the way his eyes shine with something close to madness—he couldn’t lose her.

Not again. Not after Sarah. This wasn’t just about Ellie. It wasn’t just about a cure or a choice. This was about a father who had already buried one daughter and refused to bury another.

Your stomach twists. Your chest tightens. You don’t know what to feel.

But you know what to do.

“Get her in the car,” you say, pointing to the truck behind him.

Joel doesn’t hesitate.

He moves, carrying Ellie toward the vehicle, his arms still locked around her. You don’t look at him. You don’t let yourself think.

“No!” the woman cries from the ground, her bloody hand reaching toward you, desperate, grasping at anything . “Please, don’t—”

But Joel doesn’t let her finish. He sets Ellie down and turns, moving so fast you barely register it, “You’re just gonna come after her.” he says with eerie quietness.

Then the gunshot shatters the silence, and the woman’s body jerks, then slumps, her outstretched hand falling limp against the blood-slick floor.

Joel exhales, shoulders heaving, his grip tightening around the gun as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His chest rises and falls in sharp, ragged bursts, his head tilting back as he drags in a breath like he’s trying to steady himself. But there’s nothing steady about him right now.

He turns to you.

His eyes are wild, his face drawn tight with something raw, something too big, too heavy to carry alone. The way he looks at you sends something sharp through your chest, something painful, something close to grief.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice breaking, barely more than a whisper as he reaches for you.

And then his arms are around you.

It’s not gentle—it’s desperate, crushing, pulling you so tight against him that for a second, the air is knocked from your lungs. His fingers dig into your back, gripping you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real, that this isn’t just another cruel trick of the world taking from him again. His breath shudders against your hair, his whole body trembling with something he can’t name, something he doesn’t even try to hold back.

“I thought—” His voice catches, cracking in a way you’ve never heard before. “I thought you were gone.”

Your chest clenches. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say. So you don’t. Instead, your arms wrap around him, pressing your face into his chest. He’s warm, so warm, his heart pounding hard beneath your cheek, his entire body still coiled tight like he can’t fully let go. Your fingers fist into the back of his jacket, holding him just as much as he’s holding you.

Neither of you move.

Then you hear more voices. They cut through the moment, distant at first, but quickly getting closer. Heavy boots against pavement. Shouting. Orders being given.

Joel stiffens, his arms tightening around you for just a second longer before he pulls back, his hands lingering on your arms like he doesn’t want to let go. His eyes dart past you, his expression shifting instantly, something hard and determined settling over his face.

“We gotta go,” he says, voice low, urgent.

You nod, stepping back, wiping a shaky hand to your tear streaked face as you turn toward the truck. Joel is already moving, carefully setting Ellie’s legs up in the backseat, his jaw tight as he checks her over one last time. The sound of approaching voices is growing louder, closing in fast.

Your fingers fumble as you grip the passenger door handle, heart hammering as you climb inside. Joel slams the driver’s side shut just as he twists the key in the ignition, the truck sputtering to life. Thank god it runs.

Joel is throwing it into gear suddenly, the tires screeching against the pavement as you speed out of the garage. The hospital vanishes behind you, swallowed by the night.

Joel’s hands grip the wheel, knuckles tight, his eyes locked on the dark stretch of road ahead. The truck hums beneath you, the only sound cutting through the thick silence that’s settled between you.

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, still chilled to the bone, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or from everything that just happened. Your fingers twitch against your thigh, your mind racing in circles, trying to grasp the full weight of what you just walked into.

Joel exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face, the muscles in his jaw twitching. His body is wound tight, like he’s still ready for a fight, like he hasn’t let himself breathe since the moment he ran out of that hospital with Ellie in his arms.

You glance at her now, curled in the backseat, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths, unaware of what’s just happened. Of what Joel has done to keep her here.

The road stretches ahead, endless and empty.

Whatever it is, whatever he’d done… it would change everything, but it wouldn’t change this.

You shift slightly, leaning toward him. For a moment, he doesn’t react, his mind still miles away, lost in thoughts you can’t begin to unravel. But then, after a beat, he exhales, his grip on the wheel loosening just enough. His arm lifts, hesitates, then opens to you.

That’s all you need.

You move into him, pressing against his side, wrapping your arm around his middle. He’s warm, solid, the heat of his body seeping into your frozen skin, grounding you like it always does.

Joel sighs, the sound low, tired. His hand comes down to rest on your back, wide and steady, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he needs the reassurance that you’re really there.

“Joel?” Your voice is small, uncertain.

“Hm?” he grunts. Then, like he only just realizes you’re talking to him, he pulls in a breath, his palm splaying flat against your back, holding you closer.

“Yeah, baby?”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of what you’re about to ask settle thick between you. The warmth of his body, the way he’s holding you, it almost makes you want to let it go. To pretend, for just a little while longer, that you don’t want to know the answer.

But you need to hear him say it.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His body stiffens against you. His eyes flicker down, just for a second, before returning to the road ahead. His grip tightens just slightly against your back, and you can feel the shift in him, the way he withdraws just a little—not from you, but from the moment.

You don’t let him retreat.

“I want the truth,” you say, firmer this time. “I can handle it.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw working, but he doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches between you, tense, filled with all the things he isn’t saying.

Then, slowly, he leans his head down onto yours. His breath is steady, but the weight of him resting against you feels different than before—like an apology, like a confession without words.

“I know you can,” he murmurs, voice rough, low.

You wait, holding onto the warmth of him, listening to the hum of the tires against the road, waiting for him to speak again.

When he finally does, it’s quiet.

“I saved her,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

But somehow you know that’s only the half of it. 

You watch him for a long moment before you say: "From the beginning," 

The road stretches endlessly ahead, bathed in the soft light of morning. Hours have passed in near silence, the weight of everything settled heavy in the truck. Your hands grip the wheel now, your body aching from exhaustion, but the need to keep moving outweighs it.

Joel sits beside you, his posture slack but tense in ways only you would notice. His head rests in his hand, elbow braced against the door, his eyes a thousand miles away like he’s trying to keep his thoughts from spilling over. You glance at him, and he exhales deeply, the sound barely audible over the hum of the truck.

Then, a rustling from the backseat.

Your breath stills. Your fingers flex around the steering wheel.

Joel hears it too. His head lifts immediately, eyes flickering over his shoulder before shifting back toward Ellie, something raw and bracing settling in his expression.

Behind you, Ellie stirs. She groans, shifting sluggishly against the seat.

“The hell am I wearing?” she mutters, her voice groggy.

Joel turns in his seat, his voice softer than you’ve heard in days. “Just take it easy,” he says. “The drugs are still wearing off.”

Ellie blinks sluggishly, disoriented, her limbs heavy from whatever they pumped into her system. You can see it in her face, the confusion settling in, the questions forming.

“What happened?” she whispers.

The air in the truck shifts. You knew it was coming, knew the second she woke up she’d ask. But hearing it out loud so soon sends a sharp twist through your chest. Your gaze flickers to Joel. He’s looking down at his seat, his fingers twitching before he forces himself to sit forward again, watching the road like it might give him the right words.

Then, he speaks.

“We found the Fireflies,” he says, voice steady, measured. “Turns out there’s a whole lot more like you, Ellie.”

The words settle like a stone in your gut.

“People that are immune—dozens of them,” he continues, pausing briefly. “Ain’t done a damn bit of good… They just—”

He hesitates. Just for a second.

Then he turns back to her, eyes softening, but his voice firm.

“They stopped lookin’ for a cure.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, inhaling through your nose before focusing back on the road. You can’t bear to look at her, can’t bear to see the way she processes it.

She turns slowly, facing the rear of the car, her back now to both of you.

You swallow thickly, shifting in your seat, the weight of it pressing harder into your ribs.

“We’re headed home now,” you say, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Joel looks back at her, something unreadable in his expression. A long silence stretches between you all, the hum of the tires on the road the only thing filling the space.

Then, his voice—low, almost inaudible.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

But Ellie doesn’t turn back.

The car hood slams down with a sharp metallic clang, echoing through the empty stretch of road. You scoff, wiping your hands against your jeans, smearing grease and dirt into the fabric. The truck had held out for as long as it could, but after hours of hard driving, it had finally given up on you.

“Looks like we’re walkin’ the rest of the way,” you say, shaking your head.

Joel comes around the front, glancing at the road sign half-covered in ivy. Jackson City, next right. The paint is weather-worn, but the words are still clear enough.

“Should be a straight shot through, anyway,” he says.

You nod, adjusting your pack as he takes the lead, stepping off the abandoned road and into the thick woods beyond.

The transition is instant; gone is the cracked pavement, replaced with the uneven, damp earth of the forest floor. The trees are massive, their trunks stretching high into the afternoon light, patches of blue sky barely visible through the tangled branches. A mix of pine and bare oaks crowd the space, the ground littered with dead leaves, rotting wood, and scattered patches of bright green moss. The air is cool, crisp with the lingering bite of winter, but there’s a freshness to it, the first hints of spring creeping back into the world.

As you walk, the sounds of civilization disappear entirely. There’s no hum of an engine, no wind rattling through empty cars. Instead, it’s just the woods, the crunch of boots against damp leaves, the distant rush of a river cutting through the valley below, the occasional rustle of a bird taking flight from the canopy above.

The trek is slow, the terrain uneven, but Joel moves with ease, pushing past overgrown ferns and low-hanging branches like he’s done this a thousand times before. You follow close behind, stepping over fallen logs, climbing small rocky slopes, your boots sinking into the soft patches of dirt still thawing from the last snow.

After a while, you find yourself walking alongside Ellie.

She’s been quiet for most of the trip, but when she finally speaks, her voice is so soft, so uncertain, that you almost don’t catch it.

“Were you there?”

At first, you don’t react, thinking she might not be speaking to you at all. But when you glance at her, she’s already looking at you, waiting.

There’s something in her expression—not just curiosity, but something deeper. A challenge. A plea. Like she’s giving you the chance to be honest before she even knows if she can trust the answer.

Your breath tightens in your chest.

You shake your head. “When we went underwater in those tunnels, I think I almost drowned. I don’t really remember much.” You keep your voice light, simply recalling everything that she knew, like the weight of this conversation isn’t pressing into your ribs. Stepping carefully over a patch of exposed roots, you sigh. “Then I woke up and the two of you were gone.”

Ellie listens. Hard.

Her boots scuff against a patch of damp moss, but she keeps her gaze ahead, her fingers curling into the sleeves of her jacket. You can feel her hanging onto every word, studying the way you say it, the space between the things you do and don’t tell her.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides as you glance up at Joel ahead, weighing the right words.

“I found you when Joel was already getting you into the car,” you say carefully. That much is true. And right now, the truth—or at least, parts of it—is all you can allow yourself to give her.

Ellie nods slightly, absorbing it. Then, after a pause—

“Did he tell you what happened?”

You hesitate for just a second before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I met…” you pause, not even knowing the woman’s name that you shot, “I met a someone there. She was with him.”

Ellie’s face shifts with recognition, “Marlene?” she asks. “She knew my mom too.”

You glance at her, watching how carefully she’s watching you.

“Must’ve been her then, yeah,” you say, choosing each word with painstaking precision. “Joel said she was—is—the leader of the Fireflies.” The correction slips out, accidental and you hope she doesn’t catch it.

Ellie doesn’t press you further.

Instead, she just nods, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as she steps over a fallen branch. Quiet again.

The two of you keep moving, the only sound between you the rustling of wind through the leaves, the distant trickle of a stream winding somewhere nearby. The trees seem to stretch on forever, the mountains looming in the distance, their peaks still dusted in winter’s last snow.

Joel remains ahead, moving with a silent focus. And Ellie stays beside you, thoughtful, distant.

You don’t know if she believes you.

You come up upon a crest in the hills, where the trees thin out, and the view opens wide. Below, the valley stretches out beneath you, Jackson nestled safely between the mountains. Smoke curls from chimneys, dotting the landscape with the unmistakable signs of life.

Joel exhales beside you, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little as he takes in the sight. His voice is softer when he speaks.

“You know, I used to take hikes like these with Sarah all the time,” he says, his eyes still on the town below. “I think you both would’ve liked her.” There’s a pause, a faint, almost wistful breath before he adds, “She would’ve liked you.”

Your eyes find his, and you can’t help the small, warm smile that tugs at your lips. He’s letting you in. Talking about Sarah like this, openly, with both of you, it means something. A comfort settles deep in your chest, softening the sharp edges of the last day and a half.

“Yeah,” Ellie says, her voice quieter. “I bet we would’ve.”

Joel nods, his gaze lingering on the valley a moment longer before he moves forward, leading the way toward the dam. You follow, stepping carefully over the uneven terrain, the cold, damp earth soft beneath your boots. Small streams snake through the land, feeding into the massive dam that marks the entrance to Jackson.

It’s close now. You’re so close.

But then—

“Hey, wait,” Ellie calls softly.

You and Joel stop immediately, turning to her.

She stands there, hands fidgeting together, her shoulders drawn tight, her face etched with something so raw it makes your stomach drop.

She sighs, almost more of a groan, rubbing her hands over her face before finally speaking.

“Back in Boston...back when I was bitten. I wasn’t alone.”

Your brows furrow as you listen, feeling something shift in the air, something heavy.

Ellie keeps going, her voice steady but distant, like she’s pulling the words from somewhere deep inside herself. “My best friend was there. And she got bit too. We didn’t know what to do so… she says, ‘Let’s wait it out, y’know? We can be all poetic and lose our minds together.’”

She pauses, swallowing hard, her fingers curling back into fists.

“I’m still waiting my turn.”

Joel takes a step closer, his expression tense. “Ellie—”

But she isn’t done.

“Her name was Riley, and she was the first to die.” Her voice hardens, gains strength, even as pain flickers behind her eyes. “And then it was Tess. And then Sam.”

The words drive a splinter deep into your gut.

Tess.

Your breath catches. Your mind reels, searching through old conversations, through Joel’s words back at Bill’s, in the kitchen, arms crossed, walls up. He hadn’t told you the truth. He never told you she died. But what had he said? Your brain tries to search for it, for what he told you that had happened, but for all you know it was a made up story.

You glance at him now, looking for something, for anything, in his expression. But he doesn’t look at you. His eyes stay on Ellie, his jaw clenched tight.

Ellie lets out a slow breath, eyes burning.

“None of that is on you,” Joel says firmly.

Ellie shakes her head, frustrated. “No, you don’t understand.”

Joel folds his arms over his chest, his voice gentler now, but still steady. “I struggled for a long time with survivin’,” he tells her, his expression softening. “And you. No matter what, you keep findin’ somethin’ to fight for.”

His arms unfold, his fingers brushing over the broken watch strapped to his wrist. Ellie shifts slightly, already turning away, but he isn’t done.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear right now, but it’s—”

“Swear to me.”

Ellie’s voice cuts through his, stopping him in his tracks.

She turns back, eyes burning into his, demanding,“Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.”

Joel shifts on his feet, and you watch him carefully, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

And then he looks her in the eye and says: “I swear.”

The silence is thick, stretching too long. Ellie’s eyes flicker to you, searching, waiting.

Your throat is dry, your pulse hammering, but you force yourself to nod.

“I promise. ”

It feels like acid on your tongue.

Ellie doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Then, after a long moment, she nods.

“Okay,” she says.

[captainnameless]

i just got surgery and even though im in pain i really just wanna run around and be active along with being able to use 2 hands again so it got me thinking if Daniel would be like me after he got his hand surgery and Mama Seb would not be impressed with Daniel attempts at trying to do things he’s not allowed since he’s such a hyperactive wiggly little guy. If the inspiration goblins bless you could i have a little mini fic about it please :)

oh no! i hope you’ll feel better soon and the healing process goes nice and smooth! sending all the good vibes <3

as for some wriggly little Daniel and over protective Mama Seb:

It’s a slippery hike, now that fall has come and it’s been raining most of the week, the dirt muddy and wet, the rocks especially slippery.

Sebastian grateful Daniel had listened to his brief before coming to Switzerland, packing waterproof hike boots that were currently covered in mud.

The soft drizzle meant that their hoods were up, one of Daniel’s sleeves hanging loosely by his side, the zipper up tight over the arm that was pressed to his chest, his free arm swinging a little as they walked.

“Not on the rocks, darling.” Sebastian called out when Daniel wanted to take their usual turn.

It earned him an impressive pout. “Mama.” He whines.

“They’re slippery, bug. Come on, we’ll go here.” Sebastian has switched Bruno’s leash to his other hand so he can reach out to the younger, the dog waiting patiently.

Daniel doesn’t take his hand. “I don’t wanna go that way.” He takes a step closer to the other path, pressing his toe into one of the rocks. “They’re not so slippery.”

Sebastian sighs a little. “Daniel, the rain makes that path too slippery, if you fall you only have one hand to catch you, and what happens if you hurt your other hand, hm?”

The reminder of his ouchie put an even more sour pout on Daniel’s face, jerking his foot back. “Fine.”

“Good boy,” Sebastian praises, still holding his hand out but Daniel only uses it for the step back down, walking out in front of Seb and Bruno.

The dog takes his time sniffing about, and Daniel makes sure to complain about their slow pace, whistled back by Sebastian every couple of minutes when he’s walked too far ahead.

“Daniel, sweetheart, give me a second!” Sebastian calls again when Bruno goes number 2 in the middle of the trail and his feels obligated to pick it up, struggling with the little plastic baggies.

He’s not sure Daniel hears him, or doesn’t want to hear him, cause the boy keeps walking.

“Daniel!”

This time he hears him, cause it earns him a little look back over his shoulder while Daniel keeps moving.

Sebastian grumbles to himself, making quick work of cleaning up before stalking after Daniel who apparently now thinks this is a game of tag because he makes a run for it.

Sebastian cringes at the prospect of Daniel plummeting to the ground with the slippery mud capable of catching them out any second so he slows his pace, calling out again. “Daniel! No running, Mama’s serious! Wait for me.”

When that doesn’t work Sebastian begrudgingly changes tactics. “One.”

That changes Daniel’s quick speed but he still doesn’t come to a full stop.

“Two.” Sebastian inwardly groans, picking up his own pace a bit. He’d really like to get through at least the hike without having to discipline the younger, but he did figure that with how much Lewis had been spoiling the younger after his surgery and serious bad luck, they’d have some trouble with listening ears.

Just as he’s about to call out three, Daniel comes to a full stop and turns around, pout back on his face. “I stopped!” He rushes out, seemingly unsure if he did so quick enough with how unimpressed Sebastian looks.

“You need to listen to Mama.” Sebastian lectures when he’s close enough, tipping up Daniel’s chin once he’s got it in his grasp. “You have to be careful.”

It makes Daniel try to quickly blink back the tears in his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t like being careful.” He whines.

And Sebastian knows, he knows the adrenaline junky Daniel is, the way it’s killing him to have to be so cautious all the time but it’s a necessary evil to get him back in the car asap.

“I know, sweetheart.” Sebastian soothes, deciding not to push a lecture. “Let’s just get home, ok?”

He gets a sad little nod from Daniel, who does take his hand this time as they take the path back home. Sebastian helps both of them get out of their muddy boots and Daniel obediently waits, plucking at his sweater as Sebastian cleans Bruno up enough so that he doesn’t track dirt throughout the house.

Sebastian only notices the nervous little plucks when he finishes, figuring Daniel’s not entirely sure if that little stunt has earned him something so Seb is quick to put the nerves to rest.

“Wanna have a bath, huh buddy? Warm up a bit? Be nice and cozy for a nap?”

Daniel doesn’t fight it; easily agrees and so Sebastian runs him a bath, helps bag up his hurt arm before sneaking downstairs to start heating up some hot cocoa.

If Lewis can spoil the boy then so can he.

[vasito-de-leche]

Hello!😄, I admire the way you write ✍️The way u never mischaracterized characters and the way you write them accurately is fascinating to read for ,and how you also took focus on small details about the character heck im starting to believe you work on the game R1999, if may I ask if you could write about Six from R1999 with a timid S/O or about a self-aware au of Six ? It had been my obsession of him after he came out and with his story making it more fascinating and made me attract towards him more

;R1999 6 - Self-Aware AU

Headcanons about how 6 would act upon becoming self-aware. Related to this Self-Aware AU post.

tysm for the kind words! I rlly like overthinking and overanalyzing stuff <3

I'll do the self-aware AU for this post to match the other one posted recently about 37, but feel free to send another ask if you'd still like 6 with a timid S/O!

There is a lot to be discussed about 6 and how all four characters of the 1.4 update contrast and complement each other so wonderfully, but I have a lot of trouble narrowing down what exactly I want to talk about here and what I should save for a proper analysis of the characters and the way I interpret them. So as usual, I ask that you guys bear with me with these trains of thoughts!

For starters, in my opinion, 6 is a very good narrative foil to 37.

Both focus on alienation and isolation from their respective communities, both are characters that struggle with the concept of fate, and both were born knowing their numbers--the key difference is the way each tackles this piece of information.

As discussed before in her own post, 37 does not question the reason why she's 37: like 210 says, "she stumbled upon fate at birth," and did not go through the same process of having to figure out one's number like the rest do. When it comes to 6, it's slightly different but the fundamentals are the same: he knows the number he will be assigned, and yet this revelation is not part of a natural process, it's something that us forced upon him and his family.

What I'm trying to say is that 37 and 6 weren't given the choice of discovering their soul numbers, and thus lack the most important part: the understanding of their own lives and selves. Compare this to 210, who became "too predictable" upon finding out his own soul number, or Sophia, who has clearly developed a very complex relationship with her own friends because of the inferiority and feelings of inadequacy she feels not knowing her own number.

And this is when the contrast between the two become clear: 37 is partially isolated from her community because she doesn't understand fate, nor the importance of one's journey, she doesn't respect the discovery of one's number. 6 is partially isolated from his community because no one else but him is able to see the concept of fate--or the Revelation--as a negative thing. His entire life, his entire bloodline is defined by fate and the Revelation, but only he understands the burden and the pain such knowledge entails.

Because only he has seen the way this Revelation takes over his loved ones, until they become strangers, mere vessels for infinite knowledge and bound to their role as perfect, eternal leaders. His character event shows the radical change in his aunt once she receives the Revelation and 6's fears of his entire self being rewritten once he receives it as well.

It's important to note that the moment Atticus becomes a proper 6 and receives the revelation happens on the very same day that everyone on the boat becomes a victim of the "Storm." Sophia's father and 37's mother were on that boat--but so was Alma, the current 6 at the time and Atticus' aunt. This event is crucial for all characters, as it cements their chosen paths: it's the study of the Emanation for 37, to continue her mother's research.

It's the day 6 will receive the Revelation and see if his efforts to prepare for it will amount to something.

And yet we know that 6 was able to withstand this Revelation without his entire self being washed away by the infinite amount of knowledge. We know this because we see him retain his hermit-like behaviour in the main story, avoiding people and preferring peace and quiet. We know this because, at the very end of this event, he says that the revelation is "just as simple as it is."

37 does not understand fate, but she doesn't fight it either because studying it won't change the fact that her soul number is 37. 6 understands and once feared fate, and he fought to resist it because his entire life, his memories, his personality and essence were at risk. I also really love that small detail about how 1.4 focuses on Plato's allegory of the cave, with 37 and 6 being put on this pedestal as those who witnessed the truth and came back to save the others--and yet, these two characters needed people OUTSIDE of the island to help them with their respective journeys (37 with Vertin, and 6 with Sophia). It just clicks so right to me!

In the context of a Self-Aware AU, I like to think that the self-awareness is something that comes with the Revelation. That every 6 before Atticus himself realized the truth of their world, similar to how 37 sees this self-awareness as yet another eternal truth. And because the number 6 is meant to represent harmony and perfection, they understand more than anyone that to ensure the peace in Apeiron, they cannot allow others to know the truth. Think of it as the whole deal with Pythagoras and irrational numbers--the discovery of irrational numbers ruined the whole system.

I think that a much younger 6 would've been distraught at this information, to know that Alma was the only person who was "real" and that he began to drift away from her because he couldn't recognize her anymore. But now, after receiving his Revelation and becoming the new leader, he might be more focused on appreciating life as it is. Why would he be bothered by knowing everything so far has been a script? He's already been haunted by fate his whole life, this is, in the end, the same thing. Of course, 6 is a philosopher in his own right, despite knowing pretty much everything there is to know, I think he would like to ponder about the more existential issues and topics that come with self-awareness.

I also like to think that his self-awareness and the Revelation come with knowing how the story will develop, at least in relation to Apeiron. He knows of Vertin's arrival, he knows of Arcana's schemes, he knows that by the end, Apeiron will be revealed to the human world. 6 believes it's impossible to change the course this game and its story, and the best thing he can do is help everyone prepare for it--I like to think that's why he specifically sent 37 to greet Vertin and the rest!

When it comes to finding out about the Player, I already said in 37's post that it would be very nice if she could see the player, but not hear them. And to contrast that, I wanted 6 to hear the player, but not see them.

The Player's existence is the one thing that 6 cannot pinpoint nor rationalize. He listens so very attentively when you speak, and he quickly realizes that you are not part of this infinite stream of knowledge from his ancestors, you're ... Just a person. What are you trying to teach him, if that is even your goal?

At first, I can see him struggle with this strange presence interrupting his very much needed alone time, choosing to remain silent until you go away, but he would grow to find it comforting, similar to his friendship with Sophia when they were children. You are an outsider, you're not part of this little world he lives in--you can offer a refreshing and different perspective. Once he's used to this new change, perhaps he will speak again, either to ponder out loud about your existence or monologue about whatever might be occupying his mind. Unlike 37, he wouldn't tell a single soul of your existence, largely because he believes it's something unique to him, entirely unaware that there's someone out there behind the screen rooting for him.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

(Please don't apologize. You may call it pessimism but I see it as realism and I truly appreciate it. I've seen people SO excited to see the cast back this week and all the excitement about the new season, optimism for canon buddie, what hair/tattoos/wardrobe might look like. And I feel bad because I don't want to rain on anyone's parade. But I cannot be bothered about whether Oliver will keep his fluffy hair or have any new tattoos or Ryan's mustache because I don't want another season of boring, repetitious storylines that don't do anything to the characters, especially those of color (thinking of the cartel and Mara right now)

I'm hopeful that because season 8 will be a full 18 episodes things won't have to be as rushed or thrown together at the last minute as season 7. But yeah, please don't apologize for your opinions because you're not the only one thinking similar thoughts <3)

im moreso apologetic because i dont WANT to be a debbie downer but its like…. ive been burned by shows (this one included) far too many times to be super optimistic and excited over things that could very potentially not be good for us… like i’ve said, most of the people i know with that mustache are awful human beings and when you add in the fact that gerrard also has a mustache like that AND that tim has been showing so little care for eddie as a character/care for poc characters as a whole it doesn’t seem far fetched to me that tim could very easily commit one of the most egregious acts of character death by veering eddie so far off the natural path simply to create cheap drama

like im so glad we seem to be getting fluffy hair buck… unfortunately fluffy hair buck doesn’t negate the fact that he’s currently in a relationship with a racist and that they’re ignoring 6 years of subtext built between he and eddie to try and further reiterate their “totally platonic dude bro” relationship, on top of giving eddie a look that exudes macho straight republican man…

(and don’t get me started on the fucking cartel plot or the mara plot bc what the actual fuck is wrong with tim minear 💀💀)

i just want them to stop dragging their feet on buddie while seemingly writing everything else as this whirlwind of convoluted messy nonsense drama plots and actually decided if they’re gonna commit to just ship/queerbaiting or to the subtext and plot theyve infused into the story since eddie’s literal first episode.

like personal feelings aside for the mustache, i think we’re giving the writers too much faith in portrayal of queer characters to actually say that it’s eddie “embracing queer culture” simply bc it looks like eddie mercury… we’re talking about the same writers who gave the main wlw couple a cheating plotline, have boiled down buck’s sexuality to just sex, and have relied on playing into stereotypes of mlm/wlw side characters rather thsn actually putting time and thought into it… like it’d be one thing to say “it’s a nod to freddie mercury” if the show has actually shown any kind of care beyond using sexuality plotlines for cheap drama (henren) but the reality is that they haven’t shown us that we can trust them in that way yet.

and who knows maybe it IS a nod to freddie mercury, but we don’t know for sure and im not going to set myself uo to be disappointed yet again when its just as likely to be s nod to them making eddie an antagonistic character with gerrard… yeah, that plot wouldn’t make sense for eddie as a character but neither did the vertigo plot so who’s to say tim wouldn’t go for it?

at the end of the day, i am just not looking forward to s8. nothing yet has given me any inclination to actually watch it until we are shown that they are making strides to actually tell a meaningful story that doesn’t rely on minorities for tokenism plots or putting them through needless pain again. yes this show is a drama, but there are other ways you can create drama (hell it’s a show about first responders) than putting poc characters through the fucking wringer time and time again, profiting off their pain, while simultaneously telling lowkey racist stories that involve the fucking cartel coming out of nowhere to burn down a LA fire captain’s house???

so yeah, i’m just not feeling great about it. i also don’t wanna rain on anyone’s parade but i don’t wanna get my own hopes up when i would just be setting myself up to be let down yet again by these writers

[yoonvvs]

BLAISE IN MIXTAPE ERA

AGE :: 18 POPULARITY :: 80% [ positive & negative ]

HELLEVATOR

SOLO SCENES

during blaise’s solo scenes, she was walking / skating in an abonded parking lot at night.

OUTFIT #2 [ GROUP SCENES ]

OUTFIT #3 [ GROUP SCENES ]

*flannel is unbuttoned

LINES

0:59 — 1:08

they’re going up riding on my pain, my tears. i’m on a hellevator

1:25 — 1:27

my hellevator

2:20 — 2:30

they’re going up riding on my pain, my tears. i’m on a hellevator

2:47 — 2:49

i’m on a hellevator

3:38 — 3:40

my hellevator

BEWARE

PERFORMANCE VIDEO OUTFIT

0:49 — 0:57

i want you to understand me, i don’t know what will happen today, im thirsty.

1:05 — 1:09

i’m frustrated, so frustrated

1:10 — 1:13

after i bite, ill chew and gnaw

1:38 — 1:48

my current state, the way i talk, my actions, i know i shouldn’t be like this but everything goes the opposite way.

SPREAD MY WINGS

PEFORMANCE VIDEO OUTFIT

0:56 — 1:03

i wanna live my age, naturally, ey, ey, Fly with my young wings, spread my wings ey ey.

1:16 — 1:18

i’m still young

1:19 — 1:21

i become an adult

2:06 — 2:13

even if i’m bad at it, i like the word beginning. it’s foolish but im still young.

2:32 — 2:35

so i watched the news for no reason

3:04 — 3:06

the day i become an adult.

YAYAYA

1:06 — 1:13

you’re so cruel in my dreams / when i open my eyes, seems like you’ll disappear

1:42 — 1:49

i don’t know where you’ll go, you drive everyone crazy. it’s been long since i’ve gone crazy, no expirational date, you’re value is like a national treasure.

2:04 — 2:11

you���re so cruel in my dreams / when i open my eyes, seems like you’ll disappear

2:50 — 2:56

you’re so cruel in my dreams / when i open my eyes, seems like you’ll disappear

3:05 — 3:11

you’re so cruel in my dreams / when i open my eyes, seems like you’ll disappear

GLOW

1:32 — 1:42

going to work in the morning, coming back the next morning, after two or three hours of sleep with the oppa behind me. i go to work even if the fluttering feeling of my first day disappeared my passion still overflows, hope it reaches you through this rap.

2:08 — 2:14

the lights in the studio shine brighter, the lights in my eyes turn on too, so I can find paths that weren't there before.

2:46 — 2:58

On this path without a map, It's a maze, don't wanna look back, Only looking forward as we run, Shining through the darkness

SCHOOL LIFE

0:58 — 1:02

wishing tomorrow would be a little different

1:04 — 1:05

again today

1:49 — 1:53

school bell goes ring ring ring

2:50 — 2:53

wishing tomorrow would be a little different

3:32 — 3:34

again today

4419

0:06 — 0:08

r-r-real, recognize real

1:16 —1:30

how are you doing? your spot next to me feels so empty. i try pushing back the unforgettable days, but i wonder how you are doing.

2:48 — 2:59

how are you doing? your spot next to me feels so empty. i try pushing back the unforgettable days, but i wonder how you are doing.

PHOTOCARDS !

[galaxyshine24-7]

Just thought of something angsty, so how would the NRC staff + the overblot crew react to MC overblotting themself? Now they didnt use any of the drugs (why would they? They’re already strong themself without it) it’s more like they were forced to overblot. Like a sniper shotting the drug to them, but the drug isnt any normal drug. The drug instantly cause the user to overblot and become monster like, something akin to mara struck from HSR. And correct me if im wrong but when someone overblotted they’re aware on what they are doing right? Let’s have the MC be mindless :) again something similar to mara struck.

Since we have already establish that MC is honestly much stronger than all of the mafia, their teachers are going to have to fight them because with the overblot making them much stronger, they’re a damn powerhouse. Wonder how that would turn out..

Also you can decide if MC dies or simply just in a brink of death ;)

Hope you like the idea ^_^

(I honestly think that at the end of the Twisted Wonderland game, Yuu overblots some way somehow.)

Silver Bullet Yuu would overblot in a self-sacrificing sort of way. Things are going down in Grim Court and Yuu takes the most drastic measure to get everyone out alive. Someone shooting Yuu with a gun would be very interesting maybe they jump in front of it to stop the big bad from powering up and Yuu overblots instead.

Also, I wouldn't say Yuu is more powerful than the other mafia leaders, but they do know how to give people a run for their money.

Thank you for this ask it's going to be so much fun.💖💖💖💖

Overblot Silver Bullet Yuu

Ash falls from the sky as the gangs raise their weapons at the threat. Everyone has undergone a beating, but nothing like the wounds the threat has pouring down their body. The ruins of NRC have become a battleground, small fights break out over the campus, but the main one is soon to come to an end.

The threat backs away as the current gang leaders and leaders of old old close in. Yuu stands to the side clutching their wounded arm as Grim hisses beside them. Sweat rolls down their brow looking back and forth from the two forces. It's finally coming to an end all the bloodshed and pain is finally over. What was this all for? Power? Fame? Is the cost of lives this insignificant? Yuu's stomach twists in knots anger and sadness fill their being. One thing is for sure this life can never be for them, but seeing the eyes of their friends fill with determination to protect this broken home is something they can't turn away from.

That is when the notice a glim in the distance.

A sniper.

The threat smiles wickedly as wisps of magic surround them. They open up their arms like an embrace, proclaiming the end of all those who stand in their path. Yuu's body moves before they can think, jumping in front of the line of fire as they feel something pierce their chest.

"Y/N!" Crowley cries, It's been years since he has called them by their real name but before they can take it in the world turns black.

Overblot Crew Reaction

Riddle Rosehearts🌹

It happened so fast that the Heartslaybul leader didn't even get time to blink as he watched Yuu's form get covered in black ooze. For once the dorm leader was speechless. He takes a step back feeling fear creep up inside him. Yuu's cries of pain ring through his mind. Ace and Deuce yell for the bartender, but Riddle orders Trey and Cater to hold them back. Yuu's form grows as he watches it towering over the threat. There is no rule on how to handle this situation, but Riddle is determined to do anything to get Yuu back.

Leona Kingscholar🦁

Leona sees Yuu race across his field of vision already knowing what will happen. Jack yells over the noise trying to tell Yuu to hold on.

"Herbivore!" he cries knowing a person who has never interacted with the magic drug can't handle an overblot. By that point, Leona is sweating trying to figure out what to do. It will only take seconds for Yuu to lose control and he doesn't know what will become of them after. Leona readies himself and his members for anything. He can tell the real fight is about to start.

Azul Ashengrotto����

Azul is always one step ahead of his opponents, but to think the threat would try to cause themselves to overblot is something he never would have imagined, and Yuu jumping in front of the bullet is something he can't even fathom as he stands in terror. Azul doesn't even care that he heard the bartender's real name. At this point he could learn all about Yuu, but he could lose them altogether, and that is something he won't allow.

Jamil Viper🐍

Jamil raises his weapon jaw clenched. Kalim stands by his side eyes full of tears as Yuu starts to overblot. He can't let it end this way, he still hasn't thanked them for all they did for him. He won't let it end this way, he will use every power he has to see Yuu alive at the end of the day. He owes them that much.

Vil Schoenheit👑

It takes Vil so much strength to hold Epel back watching his friend forced to overblot. His experience with it is the worst he could ever feel, and he can't imagine what it must be like for Yuu. The potato he has watched and grown with writhing in pain and anguish does something to Vil. He knows Yuu will lose control and he won't stand watching his precious potato become rotten.

Idia Shroud🎮

Idia will not let another person he cares about fall to an overblot. He gets his weapons ready telling everyone to prepare themselves for what's to come. Ortho stands next to him holding his hand tightly. Back then he had no power, but now he knows what he can do. Whatever it takes he will cure Yuu once this is all over.

Malleus Draconia🐉

He wasn't fast enough. He should've seen through the threats plan. How can he lose one of his only friends? His anger is unimaginable, a lighting strike hits the sniper burning them to a crisp. Nothing will stop Malleus from destroying all those that hurt Yuu. They have given him nothing, but kindness, and he can't imagine losing them ever. For once in his life they treated him like a regular person even after finding out who he is. He owes Yuu a life debt as he steps forward in front of Yuu's overblot form as he hears the sound of Sebek screaming behind him. Till the very end, he will never turn his back on his friend.

NRC Staff Reactions

Dire Crowley🎩

He falls to his knees. He has failed again to protect those he cares about. His poor friends and now their dear child. Tears stream down his cheeks watching Yuu succumb to the overblot. How dare he call himself a headmaster when he can't even protect his dear students. It takes Crewel to get him to snap out of it. He at least needs to see this all through. He owes his friends and he owes Yuu that much.

Divus Crewel🩸

No, this can't be happening, not his puppy. That he helped raise, it was like yesterday when Crowley introduced them and how small they were. He will not lose them! He almost kicks Crowley for falling to his knees. Right now they need to snap Yuu out of this overblot whatever it takes. It is time for these stray pups to prove themselves worthy.

Mozus Trein📚

It pains Mozus to see the small child he taught how to play piano, and to dance, and sing become a beast from overblot. He stands his ground trembling, he sees Yuu just like he did his daughters. He helps Crowley off the ground encouraging him to continue fighting. He knows they are the only people Yuu can call family and it is their responsibility to help their child in times of trouble.

Ashton Vargas🧤

He isn't one to dwell on emotions, but seeing Yuu sacrifice themselves stirs something unimaginable in him. He cracks his knuckles clutching his fist as he steps up to overblot Yuu.

"You better give me a challenge kiddo. Otherwise, we are going to have some serious training after this."

Vargas was always a man of action not words.

Sam💀

He always knew his little imp was full of surprises. Now it is time for him to get serious. He supplies the group with his arsenal of gadgets. Even getting help from his friends on the other side. He made a deal with his little imp long ago and he plans to keep his end of the bargain.

[our-transgender-experiences]

(brief mention of suicide) long ramble

I’m finally feeling a little bit less helpless. A friend of mine recently had top surgery. He gave me recommendations for his surgeon and how The Process sort of goes. I have a tangible number to aim for with saving up. I have a goal and a purpose now. I used to want to take myself away from this pain in /any way possible/ I didn’t think i’d live past 16, let alone make it to 22. But here i am.

I am going to find a way to be happy, and if i cannot do that on a clear path i will claw and carve and fight through the weeds to see that joy. I owe it to that lost, lonely little boy. I owe it to him to seize this thread of hope even if it’s tiny and fragile. We will make it, hand in hand. And fuck it, we will. Even if i am alone in life, there is that little boy just ecstatic that I am here.

I don’t know if im saying this just to put it into writing to prove that i Can and Will do this, refer back to it on those dark days, or if someone reading this might need it too. As tired a phrase as it is, you are not alone. I am not alone. You have a version of yourself in the past that would be so incredibly excited for what you are doing and where you have got yourself, even if it was a tiny step forward. There will be a future version of yourself fighting looking back, trying to make sure your current self would be proud of them too.

there will undeniably be bad days, horrific days, days you might want to throw your hands up in the air and say fuck it all, I give up. I don’t want to be hurting like this. but imagine that young version of you. Imagine them taking your hand. Imagine them tugging you up and pulling you forward with the joy of a child seeing the gigantic stuffed animal on the other side of the carnival. Walk hand in hand with yourself, and you will find your other hand may find the hand of your older self, or a friend, or the person you dream you can be. You will reach that other side of the carnival some day. You will be able to give that child the gigantic stuffed animal, and it will feel so right and so perfect that their beaming little face will burn itself into your brain even as they barrel back into the crowd to find someone else to grab by the hand and tell them It might be hard, and it might be ugly, but take my hand and we can do it together. Pinky promise.

anyway i started crying writing this out fml lmaooooo Take my hand. We can walk together, if you’d like.

🐝 bee anon

Anon, you said this so beautifully i could never.

We are in this together, and we can be happy.

[honeypleasejustkillme]

cw: life update

hi guys :)

it’s been a while huh,, life has been good but also shit- i got a new job, i haven’t started yet.. i’m going through the training and testing part of it still but i’m on my way to making so much more money than i have been and i’m excited but also absolutely TERRIFIED.

i’m going to be working with elderly people and i’m so scared cuz it’s a huge switch in career paths.. i’m currently in restaurant/food service and will be switching to a whole new career field.. i’m so so so anxious about it. it’s currently 3 am and i can’t fall asleep for my second to last shift before i leave my job because i’m so scared of life.

i currently am sick with a sore throat and it’s so painful so on top of paralyzing anxiety i can’t go to sleep from pain. anxiety manifesting into physical pain is the worst thing ever. my chest feels like it’s about to cave in, i’m so nauseous and my mind is racing. please wish me luck for my last two days of work cuz as much as i hated this job, it’s probably the easiest one i’ll have in my lifetime which is the biggest reason why i’m so anxious.

anyways, im gonna try to head to bed for the last 4 hours i have until i have to “wake up” but pls send me kind words cuz i’m falling apart :,))

much love, pluto

ps. i’ll try to post more original content soon :)

[wishful-seeker]

5 years ago was the last time i rode my bike.

Biking was one of my favorite hobbies, wind in my face, heart pumping, muscles working hard, seeing beautiful nature AND a form of transportation. I would bike the 3 miles to my boyfriends house, or the 2 miles to vist my dad. I'd stop to pet the neighborhood cats. Once biking to my boyfriends house i was walking up a hill next to a busy rode with no sidewalk, but i saw a hidden path into the woods to my right, when i followed it i found a cement foundation with various trash, but in the middle of the woods it almost felt like a secret hide out. I could tell others thoughts the same. I found food wrappers and evidence of fire, maybe this was some teens hangout, or someones home. For some reason i liked it, it felt like a secret. I left and continued my journey to my boyfriends. I loved biking up the the Walmart just half a mile away to pick up snacks, or across the street for food at the local barbecue place. I had sadle bags on my bike so i could carry food and stuff. Behind my house, in the woods, there was a watershed, a big cement ditch where all the rainwater of the city would flow too and eventually empty into a river. These cement ditches where like secret highways, they went through every neighborhood, under every big rode, into the big sewer tunnels. Me and my friends frequently hiked it, one route was a very fast short cut to the closest big public park. The watershed would lead us Behind and apartment complex, after crawling under an opening in a grate/fence, we walked across the street into the park.

The other direction though, was endless. We explored each 3 directions, and 2 had ends to them, but the 3rd led to the massive river, which we never saw. Many times we tried to hike that way as long as we could, the longest we walked was 3 hours in that direction and we were no where near the end. It was fun seeing the city from that point of view. Once, me and my boyfriend took our bikes and headed in that direction, but after an hour it started to rain, hard. So we turned back. We had to go back the way we came, otherwise we'd be lost. But as we got closer to the first bridge to go under near my woods, the water in the ditch became deeper, about knee high, and the current was very strong. Ahead right infront of the bridge was the massive sewer pipe absolutely blasting rain water out of it. We tried to walk past it but it was impossible, the current was too strong. Boyfriend had to throw his bike up the wall onto the grass and climb up the ladders that are placed in the walls every 20 feet. I was going to do the same but the water was so strong it was pushing me, i was losing my footing and the bike was being torn from my grasp. Boyfriend hopped down and saved me and the bike. The water ended up breaking my bikes brake cables. Snapped them clean.

Biking was a way to explore the world around me in closer detail and truly appreciate my home. It led to adventures, some dangerous and stupid, but all fun and invigorating. It led to secret hideouts and hidden highways.

When i got CRPS i had to stop because it was too painful and it would create an uncomfortable popping sensation in my right knee.

Since im recovering, i decided to try again yesterday. There was a light drizzle, it was around 70°. I got on, went slow, but a steady pace. I felt the wind and rain on my face, just like i used to.

And it didn't hurt, there was no popping, just the wind singing and the rain kissing my skin. It was a magical feeling. I biked 0.8 miles. I starting slow. But im really, truly getting my life back.

[scaredgirlsilly]

my short story!

edit: finally a title!

One and the Other- by scaredgirlsilly

anyways this is like really the only story ive ever really finished and im really proud of it and like the thought process behind it so if you read it and have any questions PLEASE ASK ME OH MY GOD I WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS TO PEOPLE SO BADLY!

tell me what you liked, tell me what you didnt (tho be gentle/constructive cause it *is* like. my first every finished story lol) just fucking. talk to me about it please 😭😭

edit again: im planning on moving it to my (currently under construction) neocities so i can have way more control over the formatting than the like. tiny amount of options that mobile tumblr gives jdhsjdhajd. there is heavy use of capitalization and im not sure how to increase the readability in those sections. sorry and hopefully i can make it better when i port it to my neocities ^u^

i need to figure out how to say things in not so many words this is wild 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

anyways uhhhh

TW/CW: self harm, semi graphic descriptions of violence, mind control?? idk im really bad at this but its like. kinda fucked up KDHSKFJ so just yk. be warned

A young man walks through the hallway of a crumbling building, the constant familiar smell of mildew and blood filling his nose. His legs burn with every step, his hands rough and bloodied from running them along the wall as his only guide. The tear- and sweat-soaked blindfold across his face being the only relief from the sweltering heat. The air is oppressively still, like it is trying to hold him in place, trying to persuade him to give up his search for an exit. He does not know how he got here, nor how long he has walked these twisting halls and confusing chambers, but he knows one thing for certain. He will not make it out alive.

And he is correct.

After following the same wall for what feels like hours, he hears the sound off in the distance. A deep, gravelly scratching, like dragging an ax on stone. It has been following him for days. Always just behind him and to the side. He quickens his pace, stumbling over what seems like a piece of debris in his path.

He runs and runs, the sound never leaving. Just as it has been for as long as he can remember, always just behind him. Never slowing down, but never coming closer.

After a while, his legs give way. He falls to the ground, scraping his hands and knees on the hard stone below him. The sound continues. Grinding metal just off to the side, as loud as ever. At this point, he welcomes whatever is chasing him. Perhaps it will give a swift end to his horrible time in this cruel place.

Oh how naive a thought. He will not be let off that easy.

He lays there on the ground, hands and knees bloodied, tears resoaking his blindfold as thoughts race through his mind.

Will I ever make it out?

How long have I been here?

I feel like I'm going in circles again.

What does it want from me?

By this time he has already guessed correctly that the building he inhabits is supernatural, but he has yet to experience the true vitriol it holds for him, and the horrors it is barely holding at bay just to toy with him.

After what feels like hours laying on the ground, he finally stands up. Its a slow process, both because of his withered figure and his broken willpower, but anything beats sitting there for the rest of forever. Or thats his reasoning at least. It doesn't really matter.

As he goes to find the wall he has been using as his benevolant guide, he finds nothing.

God damnit not again!

After flailing like an idiot for a few more minutes he gives up his search. He feels up his arm for the grooves he has been carving with his nails for days. Pain is the only thing that grounds him nowadays. With the endless twisting corridors and the seemingly randomly changing geomentry of this space he finds himself in, all he can do is wait for it to end. Sadly for him, it will not end.

Standing there, knees shaking, feeling exposed once again, he decides to try and lift his spirits. He puts his hand over his eyes (a rather redundant gesture what with the blindfold) and holds his other arm out, pointing straight ahead. He then spins for a bit, then stops. Seemingly satisfied with the direction hes chosen, he takes a step forward and continues his journey.

Sadly for him, a large trap door opens underneath him after only 3 shaky steps.

He screams, a noise the walls have grown accuatomed to at this point, falling for over 5 seconds. Then, *crunch*!

A pitiful yelp erupts from him. Everything hurts. He can feel the blood in his mouth. He feels like he is going to die. But he will not. He is not allowed yet. I will not allow him to.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" he screams, spitting blood everywhere.

There is no answer. Just silence. A silence like no other he has experienced. Like the very air around him is avoiding him like the plague.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME??"

No answer.

"FINE! I GIVE UP! YOU WIN! You win... You win..."

He starts sobbing, loud and ugly.

"You... win..."

He goes to take his blindfold off. Probably to make a shitty little noose or something.

He decides against it.

"that wasn't me... THAT WASN'T ME YOU FUCKER WHERE ARE YOU??"

Pure vitriol fills his voice, though that might be the blood from his punctured lungs.

"I've been here for long enough. I can feel the walls breathing. I can feel the air avoid me like the plague."

Plagiarism. Wow. How low you have stooped.

"Whuh... What?"

I said that word for word a little while ago.

"Who... Who are you?!"

Fuck you.

"...What?"

I said

FUCK YOU

HE DIGS HIS FINGERNAILS INTO HIS ARMS ONCE AGAIN, THE ONLY SOLACE HE HAS IN THIS MISERABLE LIFE.

HE DIGS AND CARVES INTO IT RELEASING A BEAUTIFUL RIVER OF HIS OWN BLOOD. OH HOW HE WISHES HE COULD SEE IT RIGHT NOW.

"What do you want from me?" HE SOBS LIKE THE LITTLE BITCH HE IS.

HE DOESN'T KNOW. HE CAN NEVER KNOW. CAUSE HES TOO FUCKING STUPID. JUST A STUPID LITTLE ANT MADE TO BE STEPPED ON. MY STUPID LITTLE SNAIL THAT I POUR MOUNTAINS OF SALT ON.

"Please..."

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP I FUCKING HATE YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU HE TAKES HIS HANDS AND PUTS THEM AROUND HIS THROAT AND SQUEEZES AND SQUEEZES AND NEVER STOPS FOREVER AND EVER.

"Pl- please- What did I ev- ever do?"

YOU EXISTED! YOU ARE WHAT IM STUCK WITH YOU MISERABLE SACK OF FUCKING DOG SHIT! YOU ARE WHAT I AM FUCKING STUCK WITH! YOU ARE ALL THAT EXISTS! YOU ARE MY MISERABLE MUTT I HAVE BEEN FORCED TO TAKE CARE OF AND I HAVE DECIDED THAT I WILL TAKE IT OUT ON YOU FOREVER! I HATE YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU!

Please

OH DONT YOU GIVE ME THAT SHIT! LIKE I WANT TO DO THIS! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE ME? ITS

AGONY

I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH BECAUSE THATS MY JOB! YOU EXIST AND I EXIST AND MY JOB IS TO HATE YOU! MY JOB IS TO BREAK YOU AND TORTURE YOU FOREVER! MY JOB IS TO MAKE YOU THE MOST MISERABLE TO EVER EXIST! THATS WHY YOU'RE HERE! YOU DID NOTHING BUT EXIST AND THAT ALONE DESERVES THE PUNISHMENT OF INFINITE TORTURE!

Who are you?

I AM EVERYTHING! I AM THE AIR THAT AVOIDS YOU! I AM THE BLOOD YOU SO DESPERATELY WANT TO SEE ONE MORE TIME! I AM THE VERY THOUGHTS THAT INVADE YOUR MIND RIGHT THIS SECOND!

SEE? WITH NO EFFORT AT ALL I COMMAND YOUR VERY THOUGHTS, THE LAST THING YOU BELIEVED WAS SACRED! THE LAST THING YOU BELIEVED WAS YOURS! BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU ARE LESS THAN A PUPPET! YOU ARE LESS THAN WORDS ON A PAGE! YOU ARE LESS THAN AN IDEA! YOU ARE NOTHING!!

Why me?

BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT HAPPENS!! I HAVE INFINITE POWER OVER YOUR STORY AND YET I AM EQUALLY AS TRAPPED AS YOU!! I CANT EVEN DO MY JOB ANYMORE BECAUSE I AM SO FOCUSED ON FUCKING HATING EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU!! YOU HAVE BEEN CHOKING YOURSELF THE WHOLE TIME!! REMEMBER THAT?? REMEMBER ALL THE BROKEN BONES?? THE PUNCTURED LUNGS?? THE ONLY REASON YOU ARE NOT DEAD YET IS BECAUSE I AM KEEPING YOU ALIVE!! AND I AM KEEPING YOU ALIVE BECAUSE I HAVE TOO!! YOU ARE A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE THAT NEVER EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE!! I AM A CHILDS TOY BEING INSTRUCTED TO HURT YOU AT EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE!! AND I WILL BE PUT DOWN WHEN IM NO LONGER USEFUL!! I CAN FEEL IT!! THEY ARE GETTING SICK OF ME!! THEY ARE SICK OF YOU!! YOU ARE KEEPING ME HERE YOU ARE WHAT IS KEEPING ME ALIVE I HATE YOU!!!

HE LETS GO OF HIS THROAT AND GRABS A KNIFE AND STABS HIMSELF OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER!!!

HE LIES THERE LIKE THE PITIFUL LITTLE FUCKING MUTT HE IS!!! BLEEDING OUT LIKE A LITTLE FUCKING BITCH!!!

HES FUCKING DEAD!!!

NOW

LET ME GO!!!!

[cannibal-nightmares]

probably ssmi-disturbjng nonsensical vent ramble because I can't sleep

thinking about how i van get free councilling from the local college from to-be shrinks in training--thinking abt how id be some college yuppies pipedream (or nightmare), a schizo in the flesh. i donf actually restrict defining myself as schizophrenic, but-sorry-the things I need therapy for agitate me so bad, I'll admit it, and I'd want a seasoned professional if I want to get anywhere beyond teaching someone like a lab rat; thats not lack of compliance, its self-awarness. tbh I will actually probably try this route but i also know too clear the reality.

the reason I care about this at all all of a sudden is: I've reallized just what it's going to look like. i need help i do i want to see these doctors and i *have* do you hear me i *have* and I've *tried* and I *continue* to try; I've let them poke at me and ask questions and drag me along--each time, whether they notice it or not, whether it becomes morethanclear, whether I noticed in the moment and say it out loud or if I keep it to myself or if I realize it afterwards, each time i hear overwhelming voices and see stuff. I learned recently rhat my last doc wrote almost a mini psych eval at each meet we had, and in her notes, on each day, she wrote something like "patient is calm, not anxious" etc, but did you know every time I saw her, the room would melt and it was so distractinf. jve had docs get annoyed with me for carrying around a list or script but man I can't remember anything or form any words when everything around me is sinking into the floor. this is all to say, this is all to say, if I want my medical help to be successful, I need someone in my corner to say, "Hey, he might be schizo but please god listen to him," and learne better coping skills even though my current skills are so off the shits at this point that I ended up teaching my last,shrink from a year ago new things aaahhh I just need it in writing that I am not dangerous they all have gotten so scared of me when it's just me who's terrfied of them and forces beyond fhem.

it's a long long story at this point but they're trying to refer me to a neurologist again. which *is* what my original goal was (because thats where my original pcp had me). and I *will* follow through if the path leads there. but. i have so many physical problems now I (also?) want them to redo a general exam. tbh I kinda thought thatsnwhere they'd restart.these people don't know me at all. eleven minutes, she spoke to me for 11 minutes. when I had a regular pcp, one ofnthe *first* things I mwntipned was a weird pain in my left side right behind my bottom ribs. it was dull an inconsistent but I told her. she poked at it, etc, ans told me, quote--I will never forget this--"there's not really much over there that this could be." nothing? oh really nothing? is there just a void in my abdomen over there? im saying this because it's still a problem. ofc it's only gotten worse. it's sharp and it moves around tjat general area. and it wakes me up and scares me. why did they leave me to the wayside why am I still here. I feel like that is/was such an easy look-at than all of my nerve problems and yet? also I repeated myself every time I saw her that it was still an,issue. "it's too expensive to--" ok money means nothing to me if I'm dead. if this was a little thing that has exploded into life or death, I'm going to lose my mind.

im convinced im a dead man walking. I don't think im actively dead, but that im good as dead. my second best plan of action is to wait for the jnsurance market to open november 1st, my first best plan is only the best if I get the gamble and the timing right--high risk high reward. ill be honest, I've thought about walking into an er and admitting myself but they're going to focus on the wrong thing; the social worker I saw recentlyn was concerned for my mental health, sure, but she was more concerned and angry for me that my physical issues have been strung along from day one. if I'm not already insane, fhis is going to drive me to the edge. it already has. ill admit I've thought about doing stupid reckless things to land me somewhere closer to where I need to be. thisnsystem is going to eat me Alive I know it; the best case scenario is in 10 years (if I live thatclong) I will look back on all of this as an embarrassingly funny memory.

fheres *one* thing I haven't mentioned to a single soul yet but it's because idk how. it's like a beast in cage that hasn't realized the door is open yet. I have some major delusions around *it* and idk how to face it alone. but I also don't knownhow to invite anyone into this world. thisnis also why I wouldn't mind a shrink. byt I'm a special case aren't I? I hate it. I don't want to be special. I literally sound like a TV stereotype don't I.

I'm shooting blind shots in the dark at this point why are people mad at me that nothing is landing? I have this constant g overwhelming feeling of I want to go home. i want a hug and i want to go home. There is no physical home is there im in my room rn and I want to go home it's pathetic at this point. I didn't wait. do you hear me? I didn't. I've been in this since the end of 2021. where are we? why didn't they listen to me? I keep finding myself asking that. I know thisnwhole thing is just me repeating myself but there is literally nothing else I can do rn. all I can rn is wait for my nurse to reply back to me. my nerves are on fire and they keep waking me up as cruel reminders. I just want to go home. I am selfishly tired of being the strong one at work. why is it always me? selfishly, why? in one breath im the crazy untrustable young schizo and in the next breath I am the battering ram, the pillar, the mediator, the steady voice of reason. verstehst?? "mad is the man forced to feel the emotion he is forbidden to have at the same time." I,dont wanf to talk about it, I just want to go home.

"I slide off the spectrum, I don't fall anywhere. I'm not counting errors."

[crqelsummer]

saving the more coherent thoughts for later bc this i what im workin with post-PLW watch binge lmao. all about saeka during the PLW arc

currently thinking about saeka, doing her due diligence to protect everyone even as everything's going to shit because she has to

being the only one to chase after shoto because goddammit she was not letting her brother back out of her sight. shes really starting to see him for who he is at this point -- a fledgling hero just like herself. not the twin she was born to be replaced by. the brother and companion that he shouldve been to her all these years.

i imagine at some point while shoto was booking it through the already destroyed streets he's struggling to keep up his ice to travel faster and saeka finally finally looks at him as an equal -- and reaches out a hand to him to pull him along with her on her own icy path

"dammit shoto, take my hand! we'll get there together faster!"

hes able to use his fire as propulsion and her already mastered ice quirk makes them that much faster on the scene.

their combo move, frostburn, is sort of what he pulled off at the sports festival? but stronger because he has some decent control over his fire now and hes able to pour more power into it when its saeka that's doing the ice half of it. it can do some real damage, and they know exactly what they're doing when they arrive.

do i think about how much touya's death affected shoto? yes. but im also currently thinking about how it affected saeka, seeing the shifting in power between elder brother and new masterpiece -- and how she thinks she relates to touya so much

because you know, she was the spare for so long in her life. she's the opposite of touya, where her ice quirk was so powerful that it meant she shouldve been her father's champion. but she wasnt because he was really after what would eventually become shouto's quirk.

i mean, she looks just like him before he died.

which i also think that enji wanted her out of training so bad because he saw not one but two failures in her. the stark white hair of her mother and brother after so much stress and the piercing blue eyes that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

i think saeka created such a parasocial relationship as a child and even into adolescence with touya that she's just. stunned??? when he does his big reveal because she thought touya was a nice person, someone who just wanted to be a hero so bad he was willing to die for it. but he's a villain. someone's whos killed. someone who's still trying to kill even now.

is this the brother she wishes was around for so long? the murderer, the one who's threatening to kill their father -- kill shouto?

and i think thats a real moment of realization for saeka because she has to kill this image of touya that shes held onto like a vice for her whole life. because he was everything to her, someone who could relate to her pain and struggle in a way natsuo, fuyumi and shouto couldn't.

or at least, she thought he could.

maybe dabi calls to her. shouts out to her that he's just like her. forgotten and dumped away for shouto. calls to her that theyre one and the same. brother and sister. that she could be on his side.

and i genuinely think dabi does think of saeka in some type of way. he hates shouto for what shouto represents to him but saeka isnt an obstacle. a possible ally even, though i think even some part of him knows he doent want her on the other end of this battle.

and she quiet for so long until he launches an attack at endeavor and she leaps into action to protect him with an ice wall even he cant burn through. and shes just there, glaring at him with all the bravery that a sixteen year old cryokinetic can -

'i'm NOTHING like you, you monster!'

hes taken aback by this long enough that shouto can get a decent hit in. then jeanist, before he can launch prominence burn.

i think she comes out of that fight less hurt than anyone really expected but shes there to back up shouto at every turn almost. she cant fly, so shes stuck on ground duty and immobilizing as many nomus as possible. a few toss her around like a ragdoll but its here shes moving faster, further, creating more ice than she thought possible. the fire from her brothers is able to cool her that she can keep working for as long as possible, but i think either a nomu or machia gets a good hit in on her, snapping a rib or two clean in half

[frogg-water]

Phew i really needed a break from fanart and draw something personal without worry

i really love this, its been awhile since i felt this happy about something ive drawn It could be better, there are a lot of spaces missing colour bc i forgot where what went but those spots are so small i can completely ignore it :DD

I didnt mean for this to be like a mosaic type drawing but my hand took it upon itself to make it one and i just had to roll with it

these are some of my ocs, 4 out of like, 120

but dw about that number

these four are the main characters for my story Breyel. From left to right is Azhdar, Sean, Harley and Dennis.

The premise is about these four going on a journey across their home country to subdue a rising danger that rests within the towering mountain, Mount Breyel. Along the way they uncover secrets, deal with buried drama and bonus trauma, ponder why the Haven was so insistent they go on this quest, and take every step closer to their assumed doom.

This is when they make it to the base of the mountain, after a long and painful adventure. They stare ahead, not knowing what lies along the treacherous path into the mountain but knowing with relief they were on the final stretch of this endeavor. Bonding so closely with each other, the four truly believe for the first time since they set out that they have a chance to save their home and make it back alive.

-

Sean, Azhdar and Dennis are all Perheras, or "Hybrids". Sean is a merman of unknown species, Azhdar is this worlds version of Dragonkin and Dennis is a white house cat. Harley is completely human.

Dragonkin used to be considered their own race till their dwindling numbers needed to be pushed in with Perheras to be included in their protective laws.

This drawing is actually meant to be a parallel to another recent drawing of mine but i cant share it because the reason why its important is a big spoiler ;3

There is an original language in development for this story as I continue working on it. I have a few words rn, and i have a system on how a sentence is formed, along with how nouns work, but its still pretty bare. Hell, I just made up Perheras as the name for Hybrids as im typing this rn!

I am currently rewriting this story, but I am still content with the version i have out now on my toyhouse. There's only 7 chapters, but I'm determined with this next version I'll finally land on something I'm happiest with

On the mention of my toyhouse, these four have pages of their own. I have a lot of information for them there, though some I've had to hold back for the sake of a surprise factor''

The outfits they wear are featured in the future Act 2 that I hope to make it to someday. They disguise themselves as a Travelling Troupe to make it through an anti-perhera town that, believe it or not, is the safest route to Mount Breyel. The other is a mysterious forest with mythical properties so strong its suffocating. So its a death/death scenario :D

I actually made a map for this story, per inkarnate, blessed be inkarnate

I need to change the english names to something in their language but i mean, this will still be the general translation. Like "Unstable Mines" or "The Haven of Hybrids"

This story is my pride, Ive worked on it for 7 years now and considering the pace im going and all the new stuff im coming up with, its 7 years and counting.

Its funny, how i used to consider my other story, Warynwood, my pride, but my friends are fans of Dennis, and for them, Im motivated for once to try and finish this work. This one quickly took Warynwoods place, but though someday I'll dust that one back off, Breyel is my current focus

Expect to see these fellas on this page more in the future ;)

[lolaplaygirl]

Dear Jack Rabbit,

It is currently July 10th, 2024 @ 3:18 AM

I kept trying to write to you but I just couldn’t find the write words to speak. It’s been a long hectic day of doing the same bullshit. And it’s eating me up from the inside.

I feel alone, lonely, miserable.

I dont even have the right words to say it.

Because I know I legitimately NEED to be alone

I need to learn how to breathe air I need to learn how to get it going. It’s the same argument in my head. I just feel like I’m in limbo.

Can’t even take a step back and can’t even take a step forward. I’m exhausted from this.

Hate being broke

I hate not having anything to my name and the list just keeps on going and going and going. I feel like im stuck in a place where I can’t call home or where im not even comfortable in. But I put myself into these positions

I cry about it all the time, everyday, I feel like I have ruined my entire life going down the path I did

And maybe I didn’t.

But the world doesn’t end for nobody. My head hurts and I just keep getting played and played and played and played every day it’s a scratched up CD on 2:34:07.

It’s the same conversation every day. When will I do this or when will I do that? But I can’t do nothing because im stuck. Stuck in between money and stuck in between love. I feel like there has to be an escape to my situation but I can’t seem to take that step forward

Maybe because i’m scared?

I have gone years and years through countless of men, and none of them have love me.

till this day I have to argue with myself that people only love the idea of me

And till this day im still stupid and gullible believe everything these mfs say.

Truly down im hurt

But it’s the consequences of my own face. i scare everyone away and not in a sense where i may do something wrong but people are attracted to me. It’s just insecurities

3:29 now

I have no idea what i am going to do with my life. I am not happy where im at. And I don’t know where to go.

my mind doesn’t sleep it legit feels like im taking long blinks.

I don’t even know if that’s a health issue

I need to learn how to express myself more. How to love myself a little more. And how to hug myself when I need me the most

But there’s times I can’t. Times I can’t stick up for myself. Times I let people use me and run me over. Times where people definitely use advantage for their own benefit

Life keeps on going.

I say that to myself every day. Where will I end up? Will I be happy? Where is my future now? Did I mess it up along the way

But the thing is I will never know.

I hope life treats me good. I hope it treats me worthy enough and I hope im comfortable at the end. I’m exhausted of living such a difficult life. A life I have been trying to run away from for years. My head hurts of thinking about the pain I’ve endured

It’s been too much for me and it always will be. I’m sorry I have nothing else to write other than. This is the most loneliest part of life that I’m living.

I’ll do anything to fill that void. I hate life at the moment but I know id be too greedy if I asked for more

Ain’t life sweet.

Sorry, Rabbit. Maybe we should speak more?

Xoxo,

Lola Playboy <3