#it's been difficult but it's only a matter of time now

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 19)

masterlist

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A blood-orange sun hangs low in the sky.

You might think it ominous on any other day, but not this one. What more adversity could stand in your way? 

Instead of sharing a saddle with John, you ride the same horse that Graves rode out of town. Days spent on horseback have finally caught up to you, pain radiating up and down your legs, a soreness embedded deep in your inner thighs, the skin positively chafed from the constant friction. At least you no longer have the handcuffs digging painfully into your wrists, the metal cuffs long since unlocked using the key in Graves’ pocket and discarded, now lost some acres back for the coyotes and the hares to prod at and sniff. 

You drift in and out of conscious awareness, coming back into your right mind every mile or so, losing track of time along the way. Sometimes you blink and trees disappear out of sight, already ten miles back. Scouring the landscape for something familiar only to come up empty. 

Recent events lour over your conscience. It’s difficult not to let it get to you. So much has happened in such quick succession that part of you still thinks you’re dreaming in the abandoned shack with Graves sleeping just a few feet away. 

A distinct sound scrapes against the inner recesses of your mind and eardrum. If you were to look behind you, you’d find the source of it wrapped in a shroud and dragged behind John’s horse. Drying blood stains the fabric. The head, obscured under the fabric, jostles from side to side as it passes over rocks and undergrowth. 

It’s beyond you now though, the future shuttling forward at an unfathomable speed and taking you with it, willing or not. The world hurrying on to repeat its past mistakes. 

So you don’t look behind you. 

“Won’t be much longer,” your husband murmurs from beside you, speaking just loud enough for you to hear him over the influx of thoughts in your head, which rapidly empty out at the sound of his voice. 

“We can stop for a break after?” you ask, turning your head enough for your eyes to land on the hard, bristled line of his jaw. He nods. 

“Just gotta get this part out of the way.”

He says it so casually, like a bit of unpleasantness that has to be dealt with; no way around it. Unfortunately, a body isn’t something that can be just swept under the rug. No matter how much your muscles beg for a moment’s reprieve, you won’t get it until all the loose ends are tied up. 

“How do you know the land around here so well?” you ask as John leads the two of you deeper into the plains.

“The boys and I have been out here before. Grew up in this county anyway; been wanderin’ these parts since I was born.”

You can’t imagine John as a young boy, uncertain of his place in the world. He seems like someone who emerged from the womb ready-made, already able to skin a deer and build a bushcraft shelter by hand. But he must have been young at one point. 

Finally, he comes upon a suitable place to bury the body. 

Deep in the wilderness, he digs a shallow grave with the short shovel strapped to his horse, sweating up a storm before the hole is big enough to bury the body. You dismount your horse and wander off while John handles the burial. 

This is the part where you have to turn away and pretend it isn’t happening. You stave off the urge to plug your ears and close your eyes. Dogear any page in your life except this one. This is the only memory that you want to fade into obscurity, pretend that it never happened, that this was some bad dream that you only half-remember twenty years from now. 

You glance back only once to find John breathing heavily at the edge of the hole, having just hauled himself out. Sweat slicks his brow and drips down the side of his face near his temple, a dark flush spreading over his cheeks from exertion. Even his shirt is damp with sweat under the pits and around the collar. 

You force yourself to look away. Now is not the time for your libido to trouble you. 

Graves’ body lands with a dull thump when John rolls it into the makeshift grave. You bite your lip and let your eyelids slide shut. Then he starts the process of covering the body, shoveling the dirt back into the hole. It takes a while. An offer to help hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite make yourself say the words. 

A half hour later, it no longer matters, the hole covered until the only thing demarcating the grave is the layer of upturned soil, slightly darker than the dirt in the surrounding area.

“That’s it,” John announces, making his way back to you with the shovel slung over his shoulder. You can smell the ripe scent of sweat wafting off him even from a foot away. “Let’s head out; we’ll wanna make camp before it gets dark.”

You don’t answer. Not verbally anyway. The guilt almost makes it hard to breathe. In all your stupidity and poor decision-making, you’ve inadvertently made John an accomplice in your crimes; forced him, in fact, to commit one as heinous as the one that had started this whole debacle. 

You travel the next mile in relative silence, scouring the landscape for a neat patch of land to set up camp. The sun plummets towards the ground at a faster and faster pace until it’s tugged below the horizon, vanishing with a green flash. Then it’s too dangerous to keep going, the way back far too dark to keep traveling down. 

John builds a small fire after tying up the horses for the night. The temperature drops exponentially as the sky darkens, the cold sinking low to the ground. You help with gathering the kindling, mostly twigs and clumps of dry grass, then take the packs off both horses to use as makeshift seats by the fire, unrolling the sleeping bags as well. 

It comes as a relief to finally sit down after the fire is struck. Rest is a double edged sword though; the longer you sit with Graves’ old pack propping you up, the more the pain has time to sink its claws in deep. 

In the hours since he shot Graves, neither of you have spoken more than a few words to each other. You certainly haven’t brought it up. The memory of Graves revealing the truth of what you’d done back east to John looms over you. It’s inevitable that you’ll talk about it eventually though. It’s heavy in the atmosphere, almost oppressive; the weight of everything said and unsaid. You can’t take back what Graves revealed to John. At some point you’ll have to face it. 

At what point will you have to beg for forgiveness? It sits on the tip of your tongue. 

The small fire crackles in front of you. Red tongues of flames lick at the darkness, the light extending out in a circle around the two of you. You’re grateful for the warmth though, particularly after spending the previous night in the cold.  

“Nothing to eat, m’afraid,” he says apologetically, brow creasing. “I didn’t exactly pack before coming after you.”

You shake your head. “That’s fine. I’m not hungry anyway.”

In a few more hours, you might work up an appetite again, but for now, you couldn’t be further from it. All you want to do is lie down on your bed back home and sleep through to the next day. 

“Yeah,” John sighs. “Me neither.”

He picks up your hand and holds it in his for a time. It’s strange how such a small gesture has become such an immense comfort for you. You wish you could thread your fingers through his and bring his hand up to your lips to kiss all over, but you’re too tired for a gesture of that magnitude. 

When he lets go of your hand, it’s only to transfer it to your face. His thumb runs over your split lip, pulling away when you wince. “Looks like it’s healing on its own.”

“That’s good,” you mumble. “…It hurt a lot more yesterday.”

John’s nostrils flare. The fire reflects off his eyes in such a way that, for a moment, it almost looks like it’s coming from within him. “I’d kill him again if I could.”

Your stomach clenches at the ferocity behind his words. 

“You—you shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” you croak. “Not when he was—” right, you don’t say. Right to haul you out of town by your hair and drag you back to the scene of the crime, back to pay for what you’d done. 

“Now I ain’t gonna hear you go spoutin’ that horseshit,” he growls, clasping you by the back of your neck and tugging you to his side. It’s so sudden that your butt skids across the ground, raking up a small mound of dirt with the weight of your body.

You look away, unable to meet his eyes even as he pulls you forward until you’re nearly nose to nose. “It’s not—”

“Yes, it is, darlin’. That shit weren’t none of your fault. You ain’t done a thing wrong by keeping yourself safe.” 

It’s almost hard to hear. It’s taken you months to scrub the dirt from your soul, which until recently was raw to the touch and pained you to even think back on. And the hopelessness. And the longing, the irreversibility of it; irreversible in the way that you couldn’t turn your pain inside out. You could never go back to the way things were because the only way out was to keep on trudging forward. 

Like rain in a drought, you’ve been missing someone’s mercy. You’ve been waiting for someone to come and forgive you for your sins; someone to absolve you of them. 

You lean forward, burying your face in his neck. Not making much of a sound except for a harsh exhale, your throat quavering with something unsaid. 

Then you grip him by the back of his shirt and pull him to the ground with you. 

Out in the open like this, John doesn’t dare remove your clothes, but he does reach beneath your dress to pull off your underclothes. He’s silent through it all, eyes fixed on yours. Never wavering or dropping your gaze. It’s intoxicating to be stared at with such a fierce intensity. Vaguely overwhelming, the sensation creeping up your chest and lodging in your throat. 

The light of the fire he built for the two of you flickers across his skin, illuminating his face in shades of orange and gold. 

He holds your gaze when he rucks the skirt of your dress up and crawls down the length of your body until his mouth is level with your center, slick already dripping from your sex. Your breathing goes haggard, anticipating his mouth before it’s suddenly there between your thighs, planting a gentle kiss on your inner thigh before dragging his lips over your sensitive skin until they brush your clit. Your mouth opens to a soundless gasp. Electrical impulses travel up your spine, your arching back following their trajectory. 

He pulls back to stare at your dripping hole. “Missed me, my love?” 

You’d answer if you could form words, but then you realize who he’s talking to and your mind goes blank. 

When he runs his tongue up the seam of your pussy, you jolt, legs slung over his shoulders kicking at the air. He eats you out with gusto, with reverence, sighing into your pussy that it’s been too long, that he’d worried himself nearly half to death over you. 

Rough hands hold you by your waist and pull you down onto his face. Long, crude licks of his tongue, rubbing the flat of it over your clit until you’re a roiling, twisting hotbed of pent up arousal. 

The urge to suppress your noises is almost overwhelming. When you twist your head from side to side, there’s nothing but miles of land; trees and shrubbery and a deep, impenetrable darkness. Not another person around for miles. It makes you shiver when you stare out into it. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—” you gasp, chest getting tighter and tighter until you expect it to burst but it doesn’t. It stays all pent up, all itchy and scratchy and you can feel the sweat slicking the small of your back and the blood furiously rushing to your cheeks, heating you up from the inside out. Sweat-laden and flustered. 

Your toes curl in your boots, throat tightening up the closer it gets. All it takes to push you over the edge is John cupping his hands under your butt to tilt your hips up, licking you from hole to hole. The impertinence and thrill sends a rush through your body, the coil in your belly twisting and releasing, core pulsing around nothing. Your body gives a violent jolt when he gives your clit one last wet, suckling kiss.

“Are you comfortable like this, darlin’, or should I wait until we��re home?” John asks when he positions himself over you again, beard still wet with your desire and a big hand cupping the front of his trousers. You stare down at the hair dusting his knuckles and the bulge straining against his pants. 

The shadows make it seem even larger than usual. Your throat goes dry the longer you stare down at where he fists his length through his trousers.

“Darlin’?” he repeats, drawing your attention back up to his face.

“Oh?” you ask, cheeks heating. “I’m, um…I’m quite comfortable.”

It seems absurd to have such a conversation when your husband’s hand is reaching into his trousers to pull out his cock and fuck you with it, but the nervous tickle in your belly is far from unpleasant. 

He’s so careful with you, cognizant that your muscles are already sore and aching from days of being on the road and the abuse Graves put you through. Gentle hands maneuver your legs around his hips and move your hair from your face. Again your belly flips. 

Your grunt is involuntary when he first pushes in, walls stretching around the head of his cock. It hasn’t been long enough for the blunt intrusion to be painful, but it’s overwhelming all the same. You wince and grimace through it all. 

“Easy does it. You’re alright,” John shushes when you whimper, rough hand cupping your cheek. It sends a thrill down your spine, but doesn’t lessen the intensity. 

He stays like that for a time, hovering over you and stroking a thumb over your cheekbone until you relax around his girth, gradually finding your breath again. In and out; one after the other. When he pulls his hand away, it’s to plant his forearms on the ground beside your head and grind his hips forward, taking your breath away. 

“Oh Lord,” you wheeze, then brace your hands around his neck. 

“You’re doing great, darlin’. Just hold on; I’ve got ya.”

It’s nothing like the times before; your arms link around his neck and your breath goes shallow, hitching with every measured thrust. It’s too much and not enough. You feel windswept and battered, bruises smarting now that you’ve had time to feel them, but still you need more from him. 

He works himself into the wet flex of your pussy with slow, heavy thrusts. Taking his time. Not rushing it just yet because though the threat of you being taken from him still looms over his head, he’s sated his bloodlust. His reassurance now comes in the form of your legs spread to receive him and the fat head of his cock fitting snugly in you. 

The heels of your boots press firm against the flesh above his buttocks. Taking him this way with your clothes still on feels debaucherous, filthier than usual; like you were so desperate to have your husband inside you, that you couldn’t even be bothered to remove your garments. 

He must feel the way that thought heats you up because he rasps, “Need a lil somethin’, love?” 

Before you can even answer, he’s reached a hand down and tucked it between your thighs to strum the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. 

“John—”

Your fingernails must dig into the back of his neck because he grunts. Serves him right, you think, digging your nails in all the harder when grinds a knuckle against your clit and you briefly see stars. 

You’re splintering down to the root, coming apart in his hands like clay; when he says your name, the darkness fades and for a moment, you’re in the light, a shaft of it haloing your face. Chasing it no matter how fast it runs. A hare in a snare, a shadow captured in the palm of your hand. 

It comes fluttering down from somewhere beyond sight. Gasped out in another voice, a truer voice. From the depths of you, true as stone and air. 

“I love you.”

Give it time and it’ll come naturally. Now, it comes as a gut punch. Even John stills over you when he hears the words, and you can feel the shudder that runs through him under your fingertips. There’s no time to sit and talk about it though, not with the frenzy that comes over him, blue eyes glazed over by a manic glint. 

He braces one hand on the top of your head and surges forward, so rough with you that your teeth clack together, eyes rolling back in your head. 

“Say it again,” John growls, leaning down until his mouth is right next to your ear. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Then it hits you. A wall of heat. Your belly rolling and cheeks burning, walls squeezing around John’s cock, tighter with every thrust. You yelp when he lifts himself off you to yank the skirt of your dress up higher and presses his hands to your inner thighs, spreading your legs wider for him. Bullies his cock into your channel even as you try to squeeze him out, pounding into you until the lurid torrent of words spilling out of his mouth go slurred and his release floods into you, his hips slapping against yours until he’s emptied the last of his spend into your womb. 

It’s a while before either of you can move after that. Your energy melts into the ground like rainwater, purifying the earth. Maybe life is already germinating beneath you, grass seedlings about to burst from the dirt, flower buds curled up in tight coils until they’re ready to bloom. 

Your hands shake when you lift one up to wipe the sweat from your face. 

When he finally pulls out of you, the feeling of his come leaking down your inner thighs makes you fussy. You lift your thighs just enough to let him pull your drawers back up before lying back down, no energy left in you to do more than that. You only scrunch your nose a little at the feeling of your combined juices already wetting the gusset.

Time seems to come apart and then piece back together. You roll over onto your side and nestle up against John’s chest, staring up at him wordlessly. His eyes stay shut for some time until he feels your stare on him and they peel open, the color of his irises barely discernible in the flickering light. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” he asks in a tone so devoid of accusation or condemnation that you’re almost thrown by it. He says it like it’s just another day, like something horrible and monumental didn’t just happen. 

It takes you a while to find the words. Even when you do, they come out jumbled and disjointed. “How long have you…—when did you find out?”

“‘Bout what happened back East?” he clarifies, blunt as usual. 

The question makes you swallow impulsively, anxiety secreting from you again. “Yes.”

John looks up into the dark sky, quiet for a spell. “Not until recently. The arrest warrant drifted across my desk probably around the time Graves first stopped by. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together after that—you showing up in a tizzy around the same time as the warrant was issued. General description matched as well.”

You feel a bit foolish in retrospect, certain that you were getting away with it all this time. 

“You know my name.”

“I do.”

“My real name.”

“In a manner of speaking. Got yourself a new last name since then though, didn’t you?”

Your lips pull up at the corners involuntarily. “Yes. I guess so.”

You can almost hear it now. The penultimate note of the overture writhing against convalescence like you might stay this way for a second longer. But it isn’t right to keep feeling the same old pain. At some point, it has to heal. 

“Hey,” John says, giving your shoulder a little shake to draw your attention back to him. The look in his eyes is serious. “This is as far as the story goes, alright?”

You stare up at him silently until you nod against his chest. 

“You’re my wife. End of story. The rest ain’t anyone’s business but ours.”

Off in the distance, an owl hoots, and its call hits your ear as a distant evocation to sleep. You press one last kiss to his chest before rolling off him, letting him put the fire out before the two of you turn in for the night, and then drawing a blanket over the both of you. 

And then, you go to sleep.

[narsh-poptarts]

my dark link thoughts coalesced into wonderful headcanons and crazy amounts of forced perspectives and dutch angles

also sorry HW i would have included your dark link(s) but i do not have passion for your game <3 maybe next time

Some thoughts below

I have thoughts about dark link that boil down to basically two things: 1. it's always the same dark link, and 2. dark link has a very difficult time changing.

No matter how many times dark link is brought into existence, he is formed from the shadow of link usually to test link's will. that shadow can be duplicated (as seen in HW) but generally speaking it's the same guy, sharing the thought space, you know how it is. In terms of sentience/thinking for himself, I don't think there's all that much of it. He is a dark reflection/shadow of link, so shares his abilities and thought patterns (for combat) with added aggression and. evil. i guess.

As said by navi, "conquer yourself", and all that. He's a challenge to the inner will power.

That being said!!! he can have a little bit of individuality, as a treat. Just in the form of being mean and sadistic <3 he's got thoughts, he's not just a combat doll (tho in times of low power, or a greater power having the reins, he reverts to that), so he can be frustrated, vindicated, happy, etc etc. though when your thoughts are mainly "evilevilevilevilevil" your idea of these emotions are a bit skewed.

When he's summoned for each different link, i hc that it's all the same magic, so the same dark link every time. he "remembers" in an abstract sense of his role in the same way a link or zelda "remembers" their own reincarnation. tho his is less of a reincarnation and more being used over and over again. a persistence.

The iteration that's summoned reflects the current link at the time, the part of link that needs testing/defeating, so it's not an existence that he himself can change to match the present. he's locked to that first copy/shadow only. So if he were to have a second encounter with an older link, he'd look like the first time they fought, unless he was specifically re-summoned. i hc he's got limited magic, so this is not something he can do himself.

in a links-meet scenario, his form would be limited to those specific forms of the links, and it would always be the points in time in which he first encountered them, unless there's other magic either he or someone else has access to to allow him to change forms to match.

now you might be saying at this point "wouldn't he be a weaker match if he was put up against an older link?" yeah probably lol. but also!!! i like the idea that with the limited magic he has, he's able to change juuuust enough to stay relatively evenly matched. being able to play to different strengths and all that. but the base stuff is still the same, so he is decently easy enough to read if link remembers the kind of stuff he was pulling back when he originally fought dark link.

dark link also knows about all this so while limited to the particular skillset, is able to adapt slightly.

but yeah been thinking a lot about a links-meet au where dark link is there choosing a different link to be every time he appears to the party.

though there are a couple links that he never impersonates in their games!!! so can't change into those guys unless he gets a new round of copycat magic.

Anyways goodbye guy standing there with standard camera angle, i have dutch angles and forced perspective

[spiderman2-99]

✨:guilty-Gabriella

[5.20.2022, TRN-1042]

Gabriella had been… unusually sullen in the car ride after school today. Today was PTA meeting day, and one of the discussions was about some C’s in certain classes. The teacher told Miguel how he could help, that otherwise his daughter was a treat to have in class, etc etc., sometimes kids just struggle with some subjects. Miguel understood just fine, promised that he'd help, reassured that it was just a monetary setback, all that.

But Gabriella had been sulking in the passenger’s seat the whole ride home. At best, she’d give monosyllabic answers to Miguel if he asked anything— a far cry from the usual ball of energy he'd come to know and love over the last couple months.

She curls up a little in the seat, her forehead leaning on the glass of the window, arms crossed. She looks… disappointed in herself. Or apprehensive, maybe? Miguel won’t claim to be emotionally intelligent, as much as he tried to be for Gabriella’s sake. He never had to be until Gabiella. Shock. He still has so much to learn. Too much to learn.

He swallows thickly before finally breaking the heavy silence that descended upon the car ride.

“Gabi,” he begins, his voice gentle yet firm, "something's clearly bothering you. You've been silent since we left school. Is everything okay?"

Well. That was a lame start that, as expected, didn't get an answer beyond a half-hearted shrug. Dios en el cielo. He really doesn't want to pull teeth.

"Is it... about the C’s in your report card?"

The last sentence makes her wince slightly. So that was a yes.

(Miguel can't stop the awful thought of what if the other Miguel yelled at her about grades? He has to physically shake his head slightly to clear it.)

She shifts a moment in her seat. “I know, I’ll study harder…” she murmurs like she’s preparing herself for the gallows.

Miguel lets out a sigh through his nose. He isn't entirely an idiot, he figures it's more than just the report card— or maybe something so pressing that it's causing the slip. The problem is trying to get to it delicately; which is much more difficult than it should be for him. Being... soft, gentle, paternal just doesn't come naturally for him. He never had that sort of role model, and now he's flying blind in a life he stole, at any moment about to ruin it, and the sweet little girl that came with it-

Okay, no, no. Breathe. Get your head on straight, O'Hara. You're better than that.

“It’s not just about the grades, is it?” he urges. “There’s something else bothering you, and I want to know what it is."

He risks a sidelong glance. She has to know he's serious. "I’m here to listen, Gabi. I promise."

“I dunno… it’s kinda dumb, but…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Miguel can see Gabriella sit up straight, hesitating, trying to collect her thoughts. He won’t rush her.

“You’ve been forgetting a lot lately. Like… remember when I told you about Emily’s birthday? I’ve been friends with her forever, but you had to use a GPS to find her house. And sometimes I’ll tell you about something we did a year ago, and I can tell you’re trying to act like you remember but you don’t. And when we visited Abuela, you acted weird around her, like you didn't know her at all.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. His daughter, his beautiful, wonderful, smart daughter, noticed the discrepancies between him and the man he’d replaced; the gaps in his cover. It was only a matter of time before she put the pieces together.

"You've been forgetting events for school, and getting lost in our own city, and when tío Gabriel visited, you couldn't even keep up with the conversation he was making 'cause he was bringing up things you didn't remember..."

Then, Gabriella turns to him and gives him a look with those big, watery hazel eyes that makes him want to throw himself off a cliff. “Did you get hurt at work, Papa?”

...

Well. Maybe a little more time.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his fingers clenching the steering wheel tighter. "No, sweetheart, I didn't hurt myself at work," he reassures, but the lie tastes bitter on his tongue. "It's just..."

“Something complicated again?” She interjects, going back to looking out the window.

Miguel grumbles in frustration. He should’ve realized his daughter would be just as much of a smart-ass as him. "Yes, mija, it's something complicated. But I promise, I'm handling it."

'Complicated' is an understatement. It’s a whole paradox, a breach in reality, a cosmic crime against nature. He hates not being honest with her, but how the hell is he supposed to say ‘your real father is dead and I replaced him’?

God, he's a coward.

Miguel would give everything, anything, to make sure she’s okay through all of this. But the more time passed, the more he knew he didn’t deserve to be her father. He isn't her papa. He could never be.

"It’s nothing you need to worry about, okay?” he continues through the lump in his throat. “It’s something... something only adults have to deal with.”

"Everyone always says that; it's always something 'only adults deal about'," she retorts, glowering at her father. "It's affecting me too, but anytime I ask—"

"I can't tell you, okay?" he snaps, his voice strained; the tension rising between them as foreboding as storm clouds in the horizon. He has to take a deep breath before he continues, forcing a calmness in his voice. "I can't. Please, you have to trust me. It’s- it's for your own good, mija."

"And that's another thing they tell me; it's aaaalways 'for my own good'-"

"Gabi..."

"-but how can I trust you when you don't trust me, huh?"

"Gabi."

"When you're acting all weird and not telling me anything anymore and-"

"Gabriella Angela O'Hara."

She winces and shrinks back into her seat. Christ in Heaven, this is going all wrong, and it feels like all Miguel can do is watch it happen.

"You think I don’t want to tell you?" He continues, grinding his jaw to keep the rising anger out of his voice. The last thing she needs is his anger. He can't act like George O'Hara. "You think I want to keep you in the dark? Do you think I like hiding things from you? I’m doing this to protect you, because..."

Miguel's words trail off. He can’t say ‘because I’m not your real father.’

Baffled, hurt, she presses on. "Because what? You- you think I'm too stupid or something? I can't handle it?"

Christ, isn't that a wonderful, ice cold jolt to his already frayed nerves? "No! No, it's not that! You're not stupid, you're the most brilliant, amazing child I've ever met."

He swallows hard. The lump in his throat feels like a brick.

"It’s not that I think you can’t handle it, it's that you're still just a kid! And you shouldn't have to handle it!"

Gabi lets out a long groan, slumping her head against the headrest, but seems to drop the subject.

Momentarily.

Long enough to lull Miguel into a false sense of security. Long enough for him to pull in their driveway before he hears--

"Still get to feel it all go to shit though," grumbled under her breath; only audible due to Miguel's enhanced hearing.

He kills the engine and just... sits there a moment; the silence thick and oppressive, thoroughly killing any semblance of energy he had left. The language suddenly doesn't even feel worth reprimanding.

Slowly, he turns to look at her. His daughter. His sweet, beautiful, brilliant baby girl. The only thing left in the world that is truly good.

I'm ruining her.

Then again, he ruined her the second he inserted himself into a life that wasn't his. He should've known this charade would blow up in his face. God knows he can never have anything nice without having to fight for it; tearing into it with his teeth and shocking it all up from his own desperation.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, pained.

"Gabi," he begins, his tone heavy with a mix of guilt and frustration. "I... I'm doing the best I can. I'm trying."

She doesn't even look at him. "Not trying good enough."

Shocking hell. Out of all the things she could inherit from her father, did it have to be his bull-headedness and the ability to cut where it hurts? It's bad enough on him, but when it's someone else? When it's the truth?

He has to fight the urge to snap back, to say something he’ll regret, to prove his own inadequacy correct. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a breath in an attempt to collect himself.

Operating word being 'attempt'.

Bile still leaks into Miguel's voice as he grates out, "Get out and go to your room."

"What-" So now she decides to spare me a glance.

"Get out," he repeats, low and deliberate, "and go to your room. I don't- I can't be with you right now."

The pause that follows as his words sink in isn't just pregnant; it's straight-up post-due with a necrotic placenta and a calcified fetus.

The words are already out; no taking back even if he felt they deserved to be. Gabriella's expression morphs from horrified to disgusted to a sort of passive anger.

Finally, the silence is broken by the sound of her seatbelt clicking. Then, "fine. I don't wanna be with you either," followed by the car door slamming.

There's no parting barb, no further vitriol thrown at him. Maybe there should've been; there'd at least be some sort of outlet for Miguel to let out his metric shitton of pent-up frustration and sheer, utter rage. They'd both deserve it then.

But there is nothing.

Just a broken, run-down, irreparably shocked up man trying to pretend to be a father; the role fitting him as good as if he'd skinned his alternate's face and wore it on top of his own. Why did he bother? Gabriella doesn't deserve her life being ruined by a genetic abomination from another world deluding himself to be something capable of loving.

He slumps his head against the steering wheel and screams.

[pandorasword]

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

CHAERI'S MASTERLIST

Check CHAERI'S LOVE LIFE'S TIMELINE to discover when this event takes place

Web article

August, 2023

Anyone who loves and follow KPOP, which has become a global phenomenon, cannot ignore the increasingly persistent rumors about a possible breakup between Chaeri, the only female member of BTS, and Hongjoong, the leader of ATEEZ. The two, long considered one of the most iconic couples in the music industry, seem to have taken separate paths: no more sightings together, absence of interactions on social media, and now a new very personal song by Hongjoong that has raised many suspicions.

Signs of a possible crisis are not lacking. Recently, Chaeri ended her contract as the choreographer of ATEEZ, a role in which she was considered the creative mind behind many of their breathtaking choreographies. A choice that many interpret as a signal of the young artist's desire to distance herself not only professionally but also personally. Even though Chaeri explained in a recent live broadcast that the collaboration with ATEEZ was always intended to be temporary and that she now wishes to focus on new projects with girl groups, fans remain puzzled and find it hard to fully believe her. The timing of the contract's end and the alleged distancing between her and Hongjoong appears to many as too strong a signal to be ignored.

As if that were not enough, Hongjoong has released a new song that seems to be an open confession, and perhaps an implicit accusation. The lyrics of the song, titled “Why Do You Love?”, enigmatically address someone who seems to have “replaced” or “forgotten” him. With intense phrases like “You can’t be with anyone else, only me” fans are hypothesizing that the ATEEZ leader is expressing his pain over the possible end of his relationship with Chaeri.

In the most dramatic lines of the song, Hongjoong sings: “You said you couldn’t imagine yourself with anyone else but me… I hope this is just a misunderstanding.” Words that leave no doubt about the artist's suffering and confusion, as if he is struggling to accept the reality of a lost love that he perhaps believed was to last.

Fans on social media have been very active about the matter, with many wondering if there really is another love in Chaeri's life, if the song is a desperate call from Hongjoong to win her back, or if the two things are not related at all.

For now, neither of them has made any official statements. The uncertainty about the truth behind these signals is splitting the fandom: some hope for a return to the spotlight for the couple, others ardently wish that their relationship is really over.

If confirmed, the end of Chaeri and Hongjoong's relationship would leave a bitter taste in the mouths of many fans, who considered them to be THE couple of K-pop, among the first to expose themselves so much and so naturally to the public. Are these just rumors or are they really going through a difficult time? While awaiting an answer, we advise fans, for those who haven't already done so, to listen to “Why Do You Love?” by Hongjoong.

Not only could the song offer some more clues about his emotions, but it is also an incredibly well-produced track. The song has already won the hearts of many listeners for the artistic skill with which Hongjoong has voiced his (alleged) feelings.

Twitter / X after the article:

💭 If Chaeri really started a relationship with someone else, I am sorry for Hongjoong. He doesn't deserve this

💭 Chaeri always seems too focused on herself, and now Hongjoong loses out. It's a shame

💭 Hongjoong, atinys are here to support you, whatever is going on. No one should see you like this.

💭 I hope Hongjoong is not hurting too much, honestly don't know what he found in her. I hope he finds someone who really appreciates him!

💭 I've listened to 'Why Do You Love?' a thousand times, and there are details that suggest it's really dedicated to her…

💭 Ok, maybe Hongjoong is really suffering and has dedicated an entire song to her, but am I the only one annoyed by this? I mean, it's already enough to have had their relationship thrown in our faces all this time, and now we fans are also forced to listen to music written for her?

💭 No matter what happens in his personal life, Hongjoong is an extraordinary artist and his music is always powerful.

💭 He so beautiful even without makeup and completely au naturel, if Chaeri doesn't want him I will volunteer very gladly.

💭 I don't understand all the hate for Chaeri. Being a female idol is hard enough; criticizing her for something we don't know is unfair

💭 They are human, and couples break up all the time on a daily basis. If they did, I don't understand why we should care so much about it. It's their own business

💭 Leave Chaeri alone.

💭 As a BTS fan for years, I knew that the relationship with him for Chaeri would only be a problem. He clearly never lived up to her standards and if she realized this now, all the better!!!

💭 This song makes me realize more and more that I am probably a child of divorce 🥺 Chaejoong, you were THE couple.

Last conversation on Chaeri's phone

**I know that Hongjoong's song was released this August, but for storyline reasons, I indicated the release date as August 2023

taglist: @alixnsuperstxr | @bts-dream | @enchantingbrowneyedgirl | @ycuvi | @cosmicwintr

[artsekey]

That's what makes it worse-- it's not free! They're paying!

And it's actually a lot harder to "crack down" on AI in art education than you'd think because:

AI is so new that many institutions don't have firm rules. Being firmly "anti AI" may not pan out in terms of preparing our students for the future (which may use AI) so the level to which AI is permissible can vary from course to course, instructor to instructor, or institution to institution.

Even though that may sound ridiculous, I did have a postgraduate student ethically use AI to generate concept work for their project... because the algorithm was only feeding on their personal body of work that they'd created. It was part of a research project. Having an institution be entirely anti AI would've prohibited them from researching that subject in that way.

2. Proving a student has used AI in their final project without a shadow of a doubt is extremely difficult. AI checkers aren't entirely accurate; sometimes AI is a base that's then blended or drawn over, or-- in other cases-- it was used for ideation but not submitted as part of the final (but hey, caught them on that too!). If there's any doubt that implies was or could've been drawn by the student, then the case cannot move forward... even if everyone involved can clearly see that AI was implemented.

So, yeah. I'm not shaking my fist at AI here, because no matter how "high fidelity" it gets, it won't ever be able to say anything, but I am baffled by the uptick in visual arts students trying to use it in their coursework. It's just a huge waste of time!

And on that note, since I'm here-- I think it's fair to say that AI images can look pretty. They can look complete. The algorithms that feed them are like vultures that pluck the prettiest gemstones out of the eyes of some of the most influential artists of our time and throw them into a pile that anyone can sift through at a moment's notice. Paired with the piss-poor state of media literacy across the United States, these desecrated remains satisfy the average user's immediate desire to "create" something pretty that can miraculously take a cognitive idea and make it "real".

So many pro-AI "artists" disparage the idea that AI art feels "cold". How can art feel "cold"? Oh, you're just mad the computer can do what you can do! No, I'm not. I think the computer can make pretty images, but it can never understand why the elements present in a composition have meaning. It cannot re-create meaning because it cannot understand meaning, because meaning is something that shifts with time, culture, and lived experience. It cannot exist in the socio-political/cultural climate we live under and make art that could only be created here and now.

If you, as a professional artist, think that AI art can match what the human hand can do, you need to study more. It's okay if you don't see it yet. It takes a lot of time, and as a consumer it reaches you unconsciously, but once you do...

I keep seeing AI shit in student work. I can't take it, sarge. Can't take it.

Why. Are you. Pursuing higher education in visual art. If you're just going to throw AI at your assignments.

It's not hard to tell. You know why it's not hard to tell? Because I've been studying this for almost a decade now. Yeah, the image looks 'complete', but it's not informed. There're weird artifacts that aren't from the creative process. Small details a real artist pays attention to, or overworks, or underworks? They're absent.

If it doesn't look bad to you, it's because you don't have enough knowledge about art to see that it's bad, which means that you REALLY should not be skimping on your assignments.

[hoonieyun]

collecting tears - jongseong

jar of tears that were shed for jongseong

park jongseong x reader "y/n"

genre: angst, breakup, the one that got away

warnings: profanity, mental illness/depression, overall 18+

summary: no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get jongseong out of your head. two years after your tear filled and emotional breakup, he's still on your mind but it seems he hasn't thought about you since that night.

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier olivia rodrigo - happier word count: 2007

text in italics are flashbacks

You saw him in everything. 

You saw him in the way your glasses reflected the light as it sat on your vanity.

You saw him in the way your guitar collected dust in the corner of your bedroom. 

And you saw him in your reflection as you stared at your tear stained face and dark circles under your eyes. 

The memory of Jongseong that you held onto hurt more than the idea of being without him, because being without him only led to the memories of when you were with him, something that no longer exists in your life. 

Jongseong. 

The events of your tear filled and emotional breakup replays in your mind often, Jongseong’s tired face and the broken picture frame scattered into thousands of pieces in your bedroom. You could hear the argument in your head like it was playing through a speaker that followed you wherever you went. The last words you ever spoke to him ringing in your ears as a constant reminder that your inability to process your emotions and failure to stabilize your mind was the reason you were so lonely, even two whole years after your breakup. 

It’s a gloomy afternoon in the middle of September. The weather foreshadows the inevitable dreary, dull, and dark outcome of what your life would be for years to come. You had been in bed all day, crippled by your anxiety and depression, making it difficult for you to make any rational decisions or clear judgement of what you should be doing. 

Your phone fills with unanswered calls and texts that would remain unanswered until you convinced yourself enough that you weren’t a burden to others. Something that you wouldn’t be able to shake off for almost half a year from today. A feeling that still lingers and creeps up onto you every now and then. 

“Honey?” a voice asks from beyond the darkness of your bedroom. You quickly wiped away your tears and did your best to make it seem like you weren’t crying the whole day. Pulling yourself up and dragging the blanket further up your body to cover yourself as if your boyfriend, Jongseong, was anyone you should be hiding away from. His tenderness and soft demeanor was the first thing that attracted you towards him, his good looks was just a plus. 

“Honey, are you still sleeping?” Jongseong asks as he slowly pushes the door of your bedroom open, a slight creak sounding from the hinges as light emerges from the other side of the door, Jongseong’s silhouette outlined by the light. “Hi… No, i’ve just been in bed. Doing some thinking…” you say, trying to avoid the fact that you were just crying and hoping that he doesn’t notice as he makes his way closer. 

Your bed dips as Jongseong takes a seat next to your figure, still hiding under the blanket. It goes without being said but Jongseong knew you all too well.

He knew when you were really happy over fake happy because true joy spreads across your face when your eyes widen and you blink a thousan times, like you were trying your best to contain your joy but ultimately failing. 

He knew when you were upset because you would sniffle your nose as a way to avoid awkward silence or having to voice out your feelings. 

And he knew when you were sad because you’d rather surround yourself in the comfort of the darkness instead of reaching out to the hand that could pull you away from the dark. Much like how you were right now. 

Jongseong would’ve never abandoned you. He vowed that he would always be by your side no matter what, had you let him. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” he asks, already knowing the answer but he’s made it a habit to encourage you to vocalize your feelings so that it would be easier for you to process them. You only hummed in response but you knew that you should’ve told him how you felt in that moment because it only manifested into something worse. 

He sighs at your response, he would be lying if he said that sometimes he wished it was easier, but what was love if it didn’t have some ups and downs. Jongseong just hoped that it was up more than it was down. You scoff at him. Your anxiety was already talking you closer to a ledge and you didn’t need this from him right now. You were convinced that he only came here to make you more upset and the voices validated that outrageous claim over the evidence that Jongseong only had love for you. 

“You don’t need to be here. You can leave.” your harsh words piercing into Jongseong’s heart, a feeling of guilt over hurt as he had hoped his presence alone would be enough to make you feel better but it only made you feel worse and he didn’t know why. 

“Why would I leave? I want to be here, let me take care of you.” Jongseong says, inching closer to you but you quickly recoil away from, widening the distance like your mattress was meters long. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me…” Jongseong urges but his pleas of wanting to be let in only read as judgement. Like he was judging you for the way you were instead of trying to understand you. Your mind forces a lie for you to believe over the truth, that Jongseong loved you and he wished you knew how much he did. 

He loved you more than anxiety loved to cling onto the smallest piece of doubt in your mind. 

He loved you more than you loved the darkness. 

And he loved you more than words could say but no amount of words could ever tell you that. 

“Just leave, I don’t need you here to think I’m someone to take care of and be seen as a burden!” you say, voice now a bit louder as frustration begins to build inside of you. “Honey, you’re not a burden and I’d never treat you like that.” Jongseong says as he settles his hand over your thigh, rubbing it softly over the blanket. 

“Why do you do that? Huh?!” you ask, scattering away from his touch and dragging yourself out of bed to stand in front of him. 

“You think you can just come in here and act like I’m some poor and unfortunate thing that needs to be fixed or that needs to be looked after. I know you see me as a burden Jongseong, you just don’t want to say it because you’d rather convince yourself that you love me instead of facing the truth. 

What did you even come here for? To make sure that I wasn’t doing well? So you could come and swoop in to save the day? You see me as nothing more than just a sick puppy to take care of. You’ve only stayed as long as you have because you pity me more than you love me.” the words just continue to spill out of you. the voices inside of your head had fully convinced you that everything you were saying was the truth and you were only just helping Jongseong face it. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He loved you more than anything and he couldn’t process the fact that you only saw him as someone that pitied you over someone that truly loves you. Because he did. He loved you… or was he starting to believe that what you were saying was in fact the truth. 

“How could you say that?” Jongseong says, voice low and discouraged. Great, now you had upset him and intead of focusing on yourself you now had to worry about your boyfriend’s feelings. 

“I- You know what. We’re done. Get out.” your voice was dull but it stabbed Jongseong’s heart like it was nothing. “What?” he says in disbelief and you don’t even give him time to process as you're grabbing his wrists and doing your best to drag him out of your apartment. His body was heavy as he tried to stop you but there was something, aside from you, pulling Jongseong out of your apartment and away from you. 

Was it wrong to say that maybe there was a small chance he had been waiting for you to push him away? That he had been secretly hoping you would finally get tired of him so that he no longer had to deal with you? Was that so wrong for him to want to be happy in the chance that it meant not being happy with you?

As he pondered these questions, the slam of your front door knocked him out of his thoughts, eyes glued onto the brown paint of the front door. Jongseong contimplated to knock on the door, beg for him to be let in, but he chooses not. Dropping his hand to his side with a sigh as he turns on his heel and walks away from your apartment. 

And ultimately walking away from you, forever. 

You, on the other hand, waited on the other side of the door, tears welling in your eyes the longer you waited for Jongseong to try and make his way back in. Hoping that you would hear his voice that you loved so much, ask for you to open the door so he could take care of you. 

Because maybe, even if you thought you didn’t need it, you did need to be taken care of. And Jongseong was the person who had done that for as long as you could remember. 

But the longer you waited the more sadness and regret filtered out the insecurity and doubt. Leaving you to stand in your home, alone, and never to see Jongseong again. 

You drag yourself back into your bedroom, flickering the light on and the first thing your eyes fall to is the framed photo of you and Jongseong. The photo was of the day he asked you to be his girlfriend. A photo of you sitting in the middle of a field for a picnic that he had planned. Flowers and your favorite food and snacks sitting next to the both of you on the picnic blanket. 

The anger you felt from the photo surged throughout your body and without even thinking you swipe the photo off your vanity, tears flowing from your eyes as it crashes to the floor into thousands of pieces. 

You would have hoped that two years after your breakup that you would’ve gotten better and gotten over him, but you fell back into the cycle of shrouding in darkness when a photo of Jongseong appears on your SNS. 

He’s smiling, hair done in the way you liked, in a suit that made him look like a prince, and an arm around the waist of a girl you didn’t know. Your eyes trailed over from his arms, to her waist, to her arm, and then to the ring on her finger. 

It felt like your heart shattered in that moment. Like you were offended and hurt that Jongseong would ever choose another girl over you as if you gave him a choice like you hadn’t made that choice for him. 

More tears well in your eyes as you glance over to Jongseong again. His smile was so beautiful and that was when you realized you had never seen him smile like that when he was with you. He seemed so happy and it hurt even more knowing that he was happy without you. 

But there was no one to blame but you. 

You forced him away and what a waste of a life for Jongseong to never choose happiness. 

You only ever wished that he would be happy. 

Just as long as he’s not happier without you. 

Maybe in another life. When you weren’t so convinced that everyone hated you and that you were deserving of Jongseong’s love. 

Maybe in another life. 

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

the credit for the lyrics used in this piece of writing go to their rightful owners

[anxious-lee]

|| These Moments That I Treasure || Arcane Tickle Fic

A/N: holy cow does this fandom need some fluff right now 😳. this takes place before season two, but other than that, it can pretty much be whenever you want. if for whatever reason, you don't like these kinds of fics and you stumbled onto this, SCROLL AWAY

Summary: During one of their quiet moments in the lab, Viktor learns something about Jayce

Lee: Jayce

Ler: Viktor

---

Sometimes all it takes is one touch. One sweep of skin on skin to dissolve all your worries. The throes of passion are nice too, but even they cannot replace the value of a simple, delicate touch.

Viktor and Jayce knew this truth better than most. In Viktor's condition, delicacy was crucial. Sometimes in between work sessions, they would prop themselves up on the table, and just hold each other. Playing with fingers, rubbing shoulders, combing through hair, it didn't matter. It was what kept each other grounded when the obstacles seemed too insurmountable; when the weight of living was too difficult to bear.

It was in one of these gentle moments, that Jayce let something slip.

Viktor was exploring the skin underneath Jayce's shirt, taking in every crevice and contour, when he felt his partner shift.

Then came a huff. "Be careful down there."

Viktor's concern was immediately piqued. He hadn't realized that there was a boundary there not to cross. If he had, he would have been much more careful. Jayce had told him about the sort of trouble he used to find himself in, and the memories that his body kept record of.

"You have scars here too?" Vik asked.

The fret in his partner's voice was laughable to Jayce. Absolutely laughable. But only because it was severely misplaced.

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm just..." He trailed off, smothering his sheepishness long enough to say, "... a little ticklish there."

A moment of relief. A moment of quiet. A moment of opportunity.

Viktor chuckled. "You shouldn't have told me that."

Before Jayce could process that threat, nimble fingers were dancing over his ribs like they were plucking a harp. It was electrifying. He was so unused to this feeling that he choked on his own laugh.

It was a sound of shock, but more importantly to Viktor, it wasn't a sound of discomfort.

Jayce tried to hold it in like a breath, but some part of him didn't want to. That part of himself just wanted to enjoy how ridiculous this all was and laugh about it. But alas, his pride was stronger, and so was his will to stay quiet.

Viktor wouldn't let him. He moved his hands down the front of his belly and around to the backs of his sides. Jayce's bubbling laughter was his reward.

"It's funny. I never thought to try this. Now you'll have to listen to me when I tell you to go to sleep at a decent hour."

"You're one to talk," came the giggly retort.

The devilish hands trailed higher, drawing higher chortles. Jayce was now folded in half like a mouse trap, flinching but not quite shifting away.

"I see I'm not the only one having fun," Viktor smirked.

"SHUHUT UHUP!"

Viktor couldn't contain a chuckle of his own. "Where else are you ticklish?"

The audacity to expect Jayce to reveal himself like that amused him. That was such a Viktor thing to do.

"I'm nohot telling yohohou that!"

"That's okay. You don't need to," he said simply.

Suddenly Viktor's hands abandoned their post under Jayce's arms, and instead latched themselves onto his thighs.

The shriek was incredible.

Jayce could do nothing but cling to his torturer's shoulders. He was so overcome with hysterical laughter that he couldn't see Viktor's smile, bigger and brighter than it had been all month.

"I love you like this" Viktor said.

"LIHIHIKE WHAT?" Jay wheezed.

"Glowing. Happy. Not thinking," Viktor would have had half a mind to be embarrassed of how sappy he sounded right now, if he wasn't so enamored with his partner's smile.

At the unexpected sincere words, Jayce looked up at Vik for the first time since this whole game began. He got a good look into the eyes of warmth and love that were reserved only for him. How he treasured those eyes.

Viktor hadn't realized he had stopped tickling. He also hadn't realized how close his lips were to Jayce's.

The gap between them closed, and whatever they were working on today was entirely forgotten. Nothing in this dusty laboratory could replace the value of a loving, delicate touch.

---

i really need this after yesterday's episodes 😭

[lexxiie]

Since no one else is doing it, let me do the job for them

May I ask for Nathaniel's relationship headcanons? Please keep it sfw!

We are the same, we're both down bad for this man 😄

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS: NATHANIEL

Alipede version

Fandom: Killer Peter

Pairing: Female reader x Nathaniel.

Ohhhh to date this man, it’s great, but also very difficult. It is worth it, though… Right?

A nerd at heart.

He’s an incredibly smart man, which was actually what caught your attention the first time you met him.

He’s just the kind of person who knows a little bit of everything. You can have a conversation with him about any subject and he’ll be able to follow.

It’s just sooo attractive to you to hear him speak on those things that he’s passionate about.

I also picture him as someone with a great sense of humor, maybe a bit dark sometimes, but he doesn’t fail to make you laugh.

The thing is, the more you get to know someone, the more you get to know the bad sides as well, and Nathaniel is not perfect.

He’s a very ambitious man. His ambition tends to be his main focus occasionally, which is a recurrent problem between you.

I believe that before his fight with Peter, he wouldn’t have been able to have a partner. His whole life revolved around getting stronger, so he didn’t even had the time to meet people, and no girl would want to date a guy who clearly doesn’t prioritize her.

With this, I don’t mean that he never had a partner, he had his good times back when he was younger, before obsessing with evolution and stuff. He’s a handsome man, women have always been interested.

But after the fight (and assuming he may be alive) he realized that he would never be the strongest human ever, it was a hard pill to swallow, but he’s not stupid. He knows that’s the way things are.

He probably had a lot of time to reminisce on his whole life, on his rights and wrongs.

And he realized that none of the things he had been missing out on had been worth it. That’s when new things started to come his way and he met you.

Meeting you after this realization of his was actually really good for him. It’s not easy to learn that everything you have worked for your whole life was for nothing, you know? This was a very dark time in his life.

In his mind, he had justified all the lives he had taken by pretending that it was for a greater good, for research and science.

But now he had the cold mind to understand that he had fucked up.

Having you around, someone who appreciated him despite who he was and what he had done was the only thing keeping him sane.

In case you met him without knowing of his past, he took a looong time to tell you himself. He was convinced that you would hate him and leave, and more importantly, he was incredibly, deeply, ashamed.

But just when he thought that he couldn’t love you more, you stayed even after knowing the truth.

You just saw things as they were, you know? The man you knew had a good heart. You had seen him taking care of his pediatric patients, taking care of you… he wasn’t a monster.

But good people do bad things too, and bad people can become good.

You truly changed his perspective on life. You showed him what the things that actually mattered were, and for the first time, he was no longer living just for himself.

Now, no one changes overnight. He’s still a proud, ambitious man. But he wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t.

Sadly, you don’t get too see him as often as you’d like. He’s still a doctor, after all. His shifts are looooong, you can go full days without seeing him.

He’s a total workaholic. He sometimes even forgets to eat, but thankfully, that’s the perfect excuse for visiting him.

You have this little routine where you bring lunch to him on his breaks, and he loves it.

Those 20 minutes he gets to have a meal with you and talk are the best part of his day. Besides, it really warms his heart to know that you care that much for him.

And he also feels superior than all the other doctors who have wives who hate them or are already divorced

He can feel their jealousy.

I believe his work mates don’t like him very much to begin with because of how young he is and the fact that he’s already so high up.

Speaking of jealousy… yes, he is very jealous. Being confident in himself has never been his thing, you know? It might appear like it, but he has always felt less than others. Weaker, weirder… just not normal overall.

He’s just scared that you’ll realize this and understand that he’s not a good fit for you.

He feels like it’s quite the miracle that you’re with him, like it’s some kind of dream that could be over soon.

On the other hand, you also get a bit jealous sometimes. All the nurses are in love with him. And the mothers of his patients too.

He’s actually a very romantic man, by the way. Might not seem like it, but he is. Nathaniel has no problem with telling you how much you mean to him, nor with having any sort of gestures with you.

He loves to take you out on dates and bring you flowers, and he loves being affectionate in public.

Plus, he feels the need to compensate that he doesn’t see you much on weekdays.

It’s so cute to see how all of the kids at the hospital love him, they always want to be around him.

He’ll cook for you when he has days off, believe it or not, he’s fairly decent at it. He has lived by himself pretty much his whole life, so he had to learn.

He just doesn’t do it often because of the hectic environment at the hospital, instant food is easier.

Back to the kids thing, he really wants to have children. It’s a complicated subject for him, because he doubts of his capacity to be a good father while at the same time he’s dying to have a family with you.

He has talked to you about it. Would not put pressure on you if that’s not what you wish, but it would make him incredibly happy if you feel the same as him. There’s still a lot of time to figure that out, though.

He likes to plan ahead of time a lot, always prepared for everything, always thinking about every single thing that could happen in the future. This may be what made him buy a ring after less than a year knowing you.

He just knew it. Still waiting for the right time, but he knows who he wants.

Getting sick while dating him is more of a good thing than a bad one. He’ll take a couple of days off to take care of you, it doesn’t matter if it’s just a cold. He’ll make sure you are warm and take your meds, and he’ll bring your meals to bed.

Overall he’ll treat you as if you were incapable of anything. He’ll even bathe you and change your clothes for you.

Being a caregiver is carved into his soul.

It’s is no news that he is STRONG.

He lifts you up as if you were a sheet of paper, no matter how much you weight. And you love it.

Whenever he comes home from work, he’ll greet you with a hug that lifts you up in the air, he can’t help it.

He likes to tease you, too. It is way too fun for him to lift you up very high and pretend that he’s gonna let you fall.

Though he is very careful with his strength around you, would never actually intend to hurt you.

Drama queen. Will make a fuss out of everything. You burnt yourself while making eggs? He’ll have the first aid kit ready.

He thinks you are very fragile, tbh. He doesn’t say it because he knows you’ll get mad, but that doesn’t change the fact.

Loves to see you walking around in his clothes!!!!

He misses you like crazy when you are apart. Spends his long shifts counting the hours to see you again. He also tells his patients about you from time to time.

The kind of man to keep your picture in his wallet.

He is a rare species of men who love to go shopping with you, walking that much is worth it when you model your new clothes for him.

Will buy you some stuff for himself too, if you know what I mean…

He’s just someone who’s very dedicated on everything he does, while at the same time he is a perfectionist. Nathaniel rarely does something that he knows could affect your relationship, which turns him into a great partner.

You won’t be disappointed , and more importantly, you will never feel unloved.

MASTERLIST

[icurushasfallen]

Hello, unfortunately my previous account was deleted so I will retell my story, my name is Ahmed Al-Dani, I am 14 years old. I live in Gaza, where I was born amidst ongoing conflicts and wars. In 2008, while my mother was pregnant with me, a phosphorous bomb fell near our house, and I inhaled the toxic gas. This led to genetic deformities that affected the growth of my teeth and hair.

Throughout my life, my family has tried to find solutions to my health problems, and we have visited many doctors in Gaza. The treatment recommended by the nurses was dental implants, but each tooth costs about $1,000, which is beyond our means.

My treatment journey began, but the ongoing conflict has made things more difficult. My family and I have been displaced more than seven times in the past ten months, and we now live in the southern part of Gaza without work or income, relying only on savings that we hoped to use for my treatment.

Please support me or share my story to help me continue my treatment and travel outside of Gaza, where I can complete my dental implants and take care of my health. The total cost of coordinating the travel and medical treatment is $50,000. Every donation, no matter how small, will be a beacon of hope for a better life.

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #198 )

Thank you for your generosity and helping me get a chance at a new life.❤️❤️

https://gofund.me/4258a923

help a family in need

[jin-zixun]

i think it's actually very brave to fight for yourself when no one else will, to insist upon your own self worth, if only in your own actions and self-preservation, when everyone around considers you worthless or unworthy.

If no one else cares about you, you will care, if no one else loves you, you will try to show yourself love to the best of your ability, even if you don't know it, if no one else will protect you then you will fight for yourself. Keep yourself alive. No one else will and it's you're no less worthy than who you're being told to put yourself to the side for, to die for, to admit you are nothing for.

It's trauma, it's resilience, it's survival, it's fight, it's advocacy, it's perseverance, it's natural, it's difficult, and it's brave.

[kizzington]

Not aiming this at anyone specifically, but I’m genuinely so disappointed & annoyed at the fact no one in my real life circles bothered to reach out to me to check up on me regarding the recent Liam Payne/One Direction news.

[nomairuins]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[bisexualamy]

.

[youweremyridehome]

once again in a murderous mood due to the menstrual agonies

[what-even-is-sleep]

Trying to get ahead of an unsustainability cycle that might be starting up this week,,, (I start work).

[orcelito]

It's a little funny. I spend so much time compartmentalizing that I convince myself I'm totally fine, of course, all the time.

But when I was filling out the questionnaire before my therapy appointment yesterday, it was like

.... OK yea maybe I have some problems

Also this one 😂😂😂