#like I've actually got nothing to live for

[toxicanonymity]

Hey Boo,

I've been seeing Joelkemons making the rounds being the best kind of dude to have around when you're crying.

Is Stepdad is having very strong feelings about all of this too? I imagine of Raider (LOML) and NW are being so soft with us, something in stepdad might respond to our hopelessly impotent rage.

I'd love to see how he reacts.

Boy howdy, tho, if I could slip into the brothel and have a big ol' Joel-pile, that shit would fix me all the way.

Thank you so much for everything you do and are.

I hope you're taking care of yourself too.

-- Cupquake <3

black tuesday

JOEL x f!READER | 1000 words

WARNINGS: 18+. Election Night. ANGST. Tears. Fears. This is intended to be a cathartic fic with some comfort but please don't read if it could be traumatic. Allusions to reproductive rights, etc. Reader is angry, esp. at men, takes it out on joel a little. Joel is supportive. Reader dacryphilia, brief smut. STEPDAD AU but you don't need to know it, and the stepcest doesn't come up.

NOTES: Sweet Cupquake, you're welcome and thank you for always being so supportive. Poor stepdad, he's normally the one needing comforting, isn't he? Yes, he has strong feelings about all this. This doesn't fit neatly in the AU timeline just roll with it. My brief post on the election is here. This will most likely be my only fic that overtly acknowledges the u.s. election. DO NOT INTERACT: TRUMP VOTERS, ANTI-CHOICE PEOPLE, MINORS.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment watching the news while Joel makes dinner and a huge mess in the kitchen. When the early votes are counted, we’ll see a lot more blue, they said. No, actually. Not really. You turn the volume way down so you can barely hear it. 

“Pasta’s ready,” Joel announces in a weak, sing-song voice. 

You remain on the floor. Your breathing is shallow, and it doesn’t feel real. 

Joel comes into the living room but doesn’t sit down. He stands with his arms crossed. His neck veins are bulging, his biceps are tense, his jaw clenches as he watches the screen. He’s pissed, he’s so angry watching this happen. He’s embarrassed to be a Texan. He thinks about all the women he knows. Embarrassed to be a man. 

He looks back and forth between the tv and you, and he sees your eyes are watery. He brings your glass of water from the kitchen, but you refuse it. He puts it down on the coffee table. Then, he picks up the remote control and turns off the tv. 

“Why’d you do that?” you snap. 

“It’s only makin’ ya sad,” Joel replies. “It’s still early, there’s time.” 

“Sad?? You think I’m sad?” Heat rises to your face. Your chest tightens.  

“Okay,” Joel acknowledges softly. “I can see you’re not just sad.” 

He sits down and tries to put his arm around you but you scoot over to face him. 

“All you men just go around blowing your loads everywhere and we’re the ones who have to deal with it, and you have the nerve to tell us how.” 

“I’d never tell you how to--you know that.”

“--I am so fucking tired of men talking.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and sits quietly next to you for a minute. It’s hard knowing there’s nothing he can do or say, but he’s not going to leave you unless you tell him to. 

He clears his throat and asks softly, “Would anything make ya feel better?”

“Only waking up from this nightmare.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledges. 

“I don’t wanna feel better,” you begin to cry. “I want it to not happen….Like, is this real life?” 

None of it feels real. Months ago, people in stupid red hats were carrying around actual sperm cups. The highest-profile rapist in the country called himself the father of fertility, and crowds of people cheered. He said “mass deportation” and people cheered more. And then half the country voted for these sick, twisted buffoons. 

“You want some space?” Joel asks. 

“No,” you protest tearfully.

He hesitantly brushes the back of your neck with his thumb. This time, you let him put his arm around you. 

You whisper, “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Sweetheart, it ain’t over. We got time.” 

You shake your head no, ‘cause you can feel it in your gut. 

Joel sits in silence for a moment, and you can’t see it, but he’s tearing up because he can feel you burning and he’s powerless. 

He holds you and strokes your back while you bury your face in his chest. He discreetly checks his new york times app and tries not to react out loud- it’s only getting worse. 

After a few minutes of silence, he whispers your name, and you respond, “mm?”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. 

You look up to see his cheeks wet, his hair messy. Your heart swells with affection. Affection and… gratitude? God, the bar is in hell. But to be fair, you really love him. You’re grateful for the man he is, not the one he isn’t. 

Desire begins to stir in your chest.

Joel presses a kiss onto your forehead, then lifts your chin, and you look at each other. He brushes away a tear from your cheek. With his own cheeks still wet, he swallows, and the emotional bob of his Adam’s apple sends a rush of arousal to your core. You put your hand on the back of his neck and pull him toward you for a kiss. 

Affection and relief floods your body. It’s temporary, of course, but you let yourself have this. You let the nightmare fade into a spicy dream. 

You straddle him and he pulls you close and moans into your mouth. You kiss him desperately and feel him harden under you. He hesitates and mutters, “sorry,” trying to read the room. He pushes your thighs back, trying to put some distance between you and his hard-on. 

“Stop,” you reply, then latch onto his mouth again. He breaks away and says, “Just don’t want ya to feel like I–” 

“Shut up,” you tell him, then scoot yourself closer, your crotch firmly planted on the warm, stiffening shape in his sweatpants. You grind your hips into him. He kisses you back with increased fervor, and moans into your mouth. Kissing passionately, your loins throb warmly together and your hips move in rhythm. 

You reach between the two of you and slide your hand down his sweatpants. You palm his leaking manhood. Pressing it against his tummy, you gently move the skin on his shaft, and  He groans.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and thrusts against your hand. 

You stand up to urgently take off your pj pants. 

His man-guilt is still eating at him. Squeezing his aching hard shaft, he lets out a moan, then weakly offers, “Are you sure you wanna…”

In response, you straddle him, hot and dripping against his bare arousal.  You slide against him, throbbing and ready. Then, as you slide his tip to your entrance, you warn him, “Get it while it’s on the table.” You sink down on him and he shudders. Then he thrusts upward and moans as he bottoms out.  

“My legs’ll be closed for business soon,”  you explain. 

He closes his eyes and breathes deep as your body accommodates his.  “Fair enough,” he answers thoughtfully, then opens his eyes. “Wait. Even if my face is the customer?” 

------

------

-----

NOTES: I actually wrote three Stepdad things, and chronologically, this is no. 2 of 3. The others aren't posted yet. The first one is a standalone pregnancy scare, nothing about the election (would've been before it). And the second one is a post-election talk about contraception.

My brief post on the election is here.

Thank you for reading. Please remember to take care of yourselves <33

[on-a-lucky-tide]

If you're looking for prompts, I've got a little idea, ,,,, I wanna see Nik fight someone for John. Maybe some asshole doesn't like what he sees when they're outside together, or an enemy, or whatever suits your fancy, but Nik unleashing the beast and maybe going too far but no one touches his love while he's around. Nik losing control of himself for a moment and then waking up, feeling very bad about it all. Angst with comfort, you know :3c (if you haven't written anything similar already, of course !! )

Nik believes Price is dead. He tears the world to pieces in his grief.

cw: extreme violence, torture, child endangerment, no MCD. Nikolai goes off the deepend. (Also for Anon who asked for the same.)

Laswell had delivered bad news many times in her career. It usually started the same way. 'Please sit down...' and then you moved onto the facts of the matter - the ones you could actually tell them - 'they died in the line of duty, they were killed by... they served with distinction' - and finally, you finished with 'I'm sorry for your loss, the United States government is at your disposal if...'

She knew what the relative, or relatives, looked like at each stage. The disbelief, the cracks of emotion spidering through their eyes as they tried to keep themselves together, and then the inevitable disintegration. Some people wailed, others sobbed softly into their hands, one person had roared in anguish and dropped to the floor. Grief looked slightly different on everyone, but she had seen every permutation.

There was usually another family member to pick them up, to offer comfort. It was hard. People got through. They healed, or they didn't. But that, as brutal as it was, was none of her concern. She had no loyalty to them and no history.

Nothing in her career had prepared her for telling Nikolai that Captain John Price had been killed in the line of duty.

John's task force stood with her as Nik walked into the room. She had placed damn tissues in the table. Tissues. Like Nikolai, of all people, would disintegrate into weeping and mucus. Perhaps it would have been easier if he had.

"Laswell," Nik greeted her in his usual manner, eyes crinkled in the corners, his hands spread. He looked at the three men standing around her in turn and instantly noted a fourth missing. The one he looked for first every time. The one that owned his heart and soul. His gaze lingered on Gaz, whose head tilted as if to begin an apology, and then finally Nik looked at Laswell. "Where is the captain?"

"Nik, take a seat." She gestured at the chair next to the table. Nik glanced at it, and then looked back at her. There was no point insisting. He was as stubborn as John was... had been.

The facts. "On 8th October, the 141 were involved in a raid on a base in search of a high value target. The mission went awry, and John was... killed covering the escape of his men." She swallowed, lowering her voice. For the first time since she had learned the news herself, she felt a stab of pain in her chest. "I'm sorry, Nik."

She believed she had seen grief in all its forms, but what she saw in Nikolai's eyes added a new dimension to her understanding. It was like all the light vanished in an instant; the jovial, lively man she had known for years since he turned informant for MI6 dissipated like smoke in the wind. It was a silent death; his face turned hard, his eyes darkened, and his huge body seemed to expand, casting a bigger shadow. The Nikolai she knew, and loved in her own way, disappeared before her very eyes.

"How?" he asked, his voice no more than whisper.

"He was shot," Sergeant MacTavish stepped forward. The scar down his face was still raw; a livid red in the artificial lights. "Savin' us. Watchin' our backs. Like he always did." Soap pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the table to Nik's hands. A boonie hat, Laswell noted. "Don't even 'ave his dog tags tae give ye, I..."

Nik looked at the folded beige cloth in silence, his eyes moving left to right as if he was reading something from it. When he picked it up, he touched the folded rim to his lips and then his forehead, before gazing down at it in his palms. "Who?"

"Nik?" Laswell asked, watching him carefully.

"Who is to blame? Give me the name."

"Nik, I can't--"

"A name, Kate!" His voice snapped like a whip through the room, with all the impact of a gunshot. She saw the fury in his eyes, the sharp edges, the fury, turning his usually warm brown hue into two bottomless pits.

"Makarov," Lieutenant Riley said. "Vladimir Makarov."

"Ultranationalists." It rolled out of Nik's mouth like he was spitting poison from his tongue. The corner of his eye twitched, his lips curling in a sneer. Laswell often forgot how dangerous, how volatile, Nikolai had been in those early days, when his wounds were raw and open, before John had helped him heal into the best version of himself. But she remembered now as she watched those proverbial wounds split open again, rending through psychological scars long since faded. Nik said nothing more, but tucked John's hat into the loops of his belt as he turned to leave.

"Nikolai, whatever you're planning on doing, we must ensure you--"

"There is no 'we', Laswell," Nik said. "There is not even a 'me' anymore."

She watched him leave, her words lodged in her throat. No one else tried to stop him either. They had lost their mentor, their captain, their friend. Nik had lost his heart. She cast a glance at Riley. "If it gets bad, if he goes too far, it'll be you that has to put him down."

Soap scoffed. "Why'd we do tha'? Hope he gives 'em hell."

"The only thing that kept Nikolai on our side was John Price," she said. "And once he's finished tearing through Ultranationalists and realises it hasn't healed his grief, or brought him peace, who do you think a man like Nikolai will come for next?"

They stood in silence.

***

"König, ich möchte dich einstellen."

"Ha! Nikolai? Was ist mit Chimera passiert?"

"Dafür brauche ich eine andere Strategie."

***

"Do your worst. I have nothing to tell you," the prisoner spat, a globule and saliva and blood landing on the floor near Nik's boot. Nik had already torn out three teeth with pliers, broken his ribs and two fingers. The man, one Ivan Yegerov, was tied to the chair with rope and barbed wire, which meant every convulsion tore into his skin, leaving deep welts of rended flesh leaking onto the floor.

He wasn't the first. Not even tonight.

Nikolai had shattered Yegerov's friend's skull with the wrench propped up against the wall nearby. The blood had spattered up his bare torso, matting his chest hair, stained the side of his face. Shirtless, with a buzzcut he hadn't worn since his time in the Russian Air Force, he looked every part the madman he had become. He had ignored Laswell's attempts to contact him, leaving bodies for her men to find, with notes pinned to their foreheads containing their sins. She had stopped trying after two years, but he knew she was still following his blood trail.

Yegerov and his ally had been at the base in Ukraine and, with KorTac's help, it had been a simple matter of extracting key links in the chain for a conversation. Nikolai was tracking them down, one by one, and once he was done there, he would make his way slowly to the top.

"This is not an interrogation," Nik said as he ran his fingers over the tools on the table. "This is revenge. The interrogation will start soon."

Nik selected a serrated hunting knife and turned it over his fingers as he walked towards his captive. Yegerov leaned back in the chair as Nik planted his hands over his broken wrists, seething and whimpering in pain. "Do you know the best way to extract information?" Nik asked. Yegerov said nothing, so Nik squeezed his wrists. "Answer."

"Ah, no! No! I do not."

"They truly do not make terrorists like they used to," Nik said quietly. "I will tell you." Nik ran the tip of the hunting knife down Yegerov's cheek as he spoke, not quite pressing hard enough for it to cut in yet. "You must find a bargaining chip. Every man has something in their life that they cannot live without, a line they will not cross. It is their reason to breathe, it governs their actions, it helps them... find their limit."

Nik stood up straight and reached into his back pocket, his fingers skimming over the folded boonie hat threaded through his belt loops. The picture he pulled out was crumpled and worn, spattered with sweat and blood. It had been pristine when he had snatched it from the overhead screen of his Black Hawk, the rage running in torrents of tears down his face as he had pressed it to his lips.

He had torn himself out of it, because he looked nothing like the man he had; his hair buzzed down to a military shave, his body leaner, his eyes dead. Only John remained, with his big grin and his glittering eyes. Nik pushed the picture close to Yegerov's face as he had done with every man he had killed so far. "He was my line. My reason to breathe. And you took him away."

Yegerov squinted, terrified eyes lifting away from the picture of a smiling John Price to Nik's. Before he could say anything, the nearby door burst open and König forced two hooded figures through in front of him, one so small he barely reached his hip. "Ah, bargaining chips," Nikolai stood, throwing the hunting knife to the table. "Shall we find your line, comrade?"

König shoved his hostages forward to stand before Yegerov and then tore their hoods off. Yegerov let out a strangled wail of horror as he drank in the tear-stained faces of his wife and daughter. "No, no!"

"This is how it works," Nikolai said. "You give me name of someone who will know the current whereabouts of Makarov, and I will allow you to choose who survives." It was unlikely Yegerov would know anything. Nik just wanted him to experience the feeling of powerlessness as his loved ones died before his eyes.

The same feeling Nik had felt when he had been considering turning his Black Hawk towards the White House; suicide by F-15. Numb emptiness, desperation, a bottomless, writhing grief that shredded his heart. He had decided then to leave a trail of bodies in his wake first, only then would he join John.

"No, please... please, no."

Nik picked up his M9 and checked the magazine. "I count down; five, four..." He pulled back the pistol slide and turned the weapon first to the woman, who cowered, clutching her child's head to her chest.

"Please, she is just a child!"

"...three, two.."

"Wait! Wait! He's alive!"

Nik's finger lifted from the trigger just as he was about to pull it, settling along the barrel. He looked first to König, and then to Yegerov. "Repeat."

"He's alive... John Price," Yegerov said, almost hyperventilating. "Stop pointing that gun at my wife! I will tell you! Tell you everything. Please."

Nik hesitated. For the first time since this crusade had begun, he hesitated. He returned the M9 to the table and trudged back to his captive, both hands slamming down onto his broken wrists. "If you are lying to me, I will make you watch as I peel every inch of skin from your wife's body while she is still alive."

Yegerov swallowed. "On her life, he is alive. Prisoner 627. He is at a gulag in Petrovpavlosk. Please. He is alive. You can check using my... my passkey in our system. Do not kill my family. Mercy."

Nikolai looked at König who inclined his head, disappearing from the room to follow the lead. The two hostages sank against the wall, whimpering and shivering, and Nik straightened slowly. His fingers ghosted over John's hat, and then found his picture again. Hope was a dangerous thing and Nik resisted the heat of it burning in his chest. "Mercy is for those with a heart," Nikolai said. "You tore mine out the day you took him from me. Pray that we find him."

***

"This belongs to you, sir."

***

Price watched the drills in the parade square outside and wondered whether the drill sergeant noticed the trooper lagging slightly out of step in the third row.

The medics had cleared him to leave. There was a pamphlet about PTSD shoved in the side pocket of his bag, and he had weekly meetings with the base psychologist until they were happy he wasn't going to snap at the wrong moment. He wasn't sure what the road forward looked like, or how to even take the first step, but there was one person who he knew he wanted to be there when he did.

The door behind him opened and Price turned. The man that stood in the doorway was leaner than he remembered, his black hair cut in a military-short back and sides he hadn't seen for nearly a decade. Nikolai looked knackered, no better than Price did, which was understandable given what Price had been told.

Nik walked in tentatively, as if he felt like he was intruding, and that cut Price down to the quick. If there was one fuckin' person he had wanted to see all this time, it was the weary Russian pilot currently stood before him. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Nik's broad chest and burying his face in his shoulder. Nik squeezed him back, just as desperate.

They held each other in the quiet, confirming, checking they weren't dreaming, until finally Price pulled away to study Nik's face. "Yer hair looks shit," he croaked.

Nik smiled, just as lopsided as Price remembered. "And your beard is bad."

"Least I had an excuse," Price said, scratching at the scruffy stubble on his jaw.

Nik's eyes saddened. "As did I." He lifted a hand and cupped Price's face, bringing their foreheads together. "My life ended when I lost you."

"Ya didn't lose me. Ya found me, didn'tcha? Tore the world to pieces, Simon said."

"My hands got dirty, John," Nik rasped.

"Dirty so that my men could stay clean.'

Nik lifted his face away, studying Price's eyes, looking for condemnation, anger, disgust. He would find none of it, Price was certain. All he felt in that moment was gratitude, relief, exhaustion.

"Laswell has agreed to waive my arrest warrant," Nik said, clearing his throat. "Under the agreement that I am to retire when we have defeated Makarov."

"Sounds fair. I've always thought ye'd make a good stay at home husband."

Nik looked startled, and Price leaned in to kiss the stupid look right off his face. Bewilderment broke into relieved laughter, and then eventually tears. Price held Nikolai's face to his shoulder as the sobs shuddered through his body.

"S'olright, I'm home."

[hyperdramas]

assumptions | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warning: non-idol au, angst, romance, major league baseball player!seokmin, popular x nobody, depressing themes, unlikely meeting, sprinkles of fluff, miscommunication, pg-13/some suggestive themes (??) mentions of peer pressure, drinking & insecurity, cursing, there IS a happy ending (i promise)

playlist: assumptions, sam geliatry | runaway houses city clouds, tame impala | softcore & reflections, the neighborhood | passion, pinkpantheress

part: 1 of 3 extra note: thank the amazing @slytherinshua for coming up with this absolutely GENIUS idea🙏 / word count: 1.7k (longest thing i've written???)

Even though popular and talented Major League Baseball player Lee Seokmin had everything that eleven-year-old him would've wanted, he felt empty as he watched his own replays on the television.

Seokmin had fame—he was known everywhere, not only for his raw talent as a pitcher, but his model-like qualitites and his supposedly likeable personality. Seokmin had money—he lived in a pretty upscale apartment that was cut off for the rest of society, tucked away on a cliff overlooking the bustling night view. Seokmin had merit—he was praised for his physical ability, humble disposition, and respectable talent.

He had it all, and yet he had absolutely nothing.

Just hours earlier, the crowd's roar was tantalizing, drawing Seokmin in as he stared out at the thousands of fans coming to cheer for him and his team. Now, it sounded static-like and overwhelming, the sound unbearable as he had to switch the television, sighing as he moved away from the suffocating room that was once his comforting living room.

Seokmin's footsteps echoed into the empty, lavish kitchen, white tile unblemished as he searched his fridge. He wasn't hungry, but he looked inside it anyways, closing it moments after as he sighed to himself, hands in his hair as he rested his elbows on the sleek marble countertop.

Why did he feel so empty? He had his teammates if he needed to call, but he didn't want to hear their voices right now. He didn't know why he was angry at them, but he was.

Seokmin was never an angry person—sure, he got fired up at times or had strong opinions that he wasn't going to let go without a fight, but he was never one to just be angry for no reason. Something was bothering with him, but he couldn't figure out what it was or how to stop it.

Why was he even trying anymore?

"Fuck." Seokmin sighed out the curse word, bite still harsh behind it as he let his head fall down on the counter with a hard knock.

A knock at his door brought him out of his sour reverie, and he stared at it confused. He lived far off from the nearest residental area—who was here? How did they get here?

The doorbell rang just seconds later, and Seokmin groaned, tired eyes empty as he made his way to the front door, swinging it open to reveal you, standing in all of your oblivious, confused glory.

"Can I help you?" Seokmin's voice was obviously not the one you were expecting to hear, and you jumped at it, face a hot, blaring red as you realized what was actually going on here.

Your friend had given you an address that a party was going to be at, and you reluctantly promised that you would go. You had followed the directions to the letter, and didn't even think twice about when you arrived at the massive apartment, undeterred by the lack of cars or absence of party music.

You were obviously at the wrong house.

"Can I help you?" Seokmin repeated again—this time around, his voice was sharper, more annoyed. You stood in shock, obviously in denial that this had happened to you.

"Is there a party going on here?" You questioned, and Seokmin blinked, silent before he shook his head slowly. "....No?"

Not only were you at the wrong apartment, but you were at popular celebrity Lee Seokmin's apartment. The Major League Baseball player your little cousin was a fan of was standing right in front of you, in his attractive, dashing glory.

"I'm so at the wrong house." You say awkwardly, and Seokmin just stares at you, just as confused and disturbed as you are. There was this random girl at his door, talking about a party that he had heard absolutely nothing about.

"Yeah, you are." Seokmin actually let out a little laugh at that, eyes crinkling like the ways you say they did on television. You smiled, an even brighter red because the Lee Seokmin was laughing at you.

"Well, I should go. I'm sorry, uh, Mr. Lee." You said, trying to mend the awkwardness you were feeling. Seokmin paused, eyebrows furrowing together slightly as he spoke. "You know who I am?"

"Well, yeah. My—my little cousin—he's a really big fan of you." You reply, mind somewhere else. You're not a big fan of the man or anything, but you have said he's attractive on multiple occasions to your Major League Baseball-enraptured friends (who would not let you live it down if you told them that you had met him by accident).

"That's sweet," He says, and you nod, offering a small 'yeah' as the two of you fall quiet. "We'll, I'll go now." You say, smiling awkwardly as you start to walk away.

"Stop." Seokmin's voice is quick, but strong, and you pause, turning back around as you meet his gaze. His brown eyes were even prettier in person, and the tight, black tank top he was wearing (and you were trying to ignore) just made the whole ordeal even more unbelievable.

"Can you stay?" I just—" Seokmin pauses, struggling to find the right words. He couldn't even believe what was coming out of his mouth right now, but he couldn't seem to stop the words from coming. "I don't want to be alone."

You were stunned, unable to speak for a second as you replayed his words—he was asking you, a random college girl who inputed the wrong directions and ended up at a celebrity's rich-looking apartment—to stay with him.

And here you were, saying yes. "Yeah, uh—sure." You conceded, stepping inside the apartment as you slipped off your shoes.

Everything was so upscale, and you felt out of place, t-shirt and sweatpants doing nothing but making you feel like you were intruding in Seokmin's clean, neat space.

"Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink?" Seokmin was in his kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water as he looked to you for your response.

You were watching his back intently, watching how his muscles tensed when he did certain things—he was built, no doubt about it, and you could imagine the curve of his collarbone and dip of his abs from your vantage point.

"Oh, um, water's fine." You answer, noticing that Seokmin had been staring at you for who knows how long, waiting on a reply.

He went to work, filling your glass as he passed it to you. It was cold, and you took a sip, quiet as Seokm looked out the massive window that stood his dining room. The air between you two was still very awkward, but you felt like you could open up about anything to him, and he wouldn't judge you like your mom or friends would.

"So, you live here all alone?" You questioned, and Seokmin nodded, taking another sip of water. "Yeah. It's just me." Seokmin answered, and his hand tightened around the glass. He was so alone, and so miserable.

"What about you? Do you live alone?" Seokmin returns your question, and you shake your head. "I live with a college friend."

"Oh." Seokmin nods, and you nod with him, silence falling over you two again. It was so awkward, sitting with this famous baseball player while drinking cold water and talking about your living situations. Could your night get any weirder?

You studied Seokmin's face, never really paying attention to it while you were talking. All the pictures never really did him justice—his eyes were prettier in person, and you never knew that he had a tiny beauty mark on his cheek. You guess it must've always been covered up, or obscured by his helmet.

His frame was as described by everyone in love with him—he was strong and broad, muscles bulging from his sleeveless tank top.

According to a Men's Health article you read once, Seokmin worked out daily, and they weren't lying—he looks like he was sculped by God, spending hours and hours to get to where he was now.

"Thanks for staying, by the way. I know it was weird, asking you to randomly stay with me in my house." Seokmin becomes timid, and you shake your head, shrugging. "Of course. I mean—I have nothing better to do, and I really didn't want to go to that party my friends were going to."

"You really didn't want to go, did you? You came to the wrong address just you wouldn't have to, huh?" Seokmin laughs, making a joke. You flush, laughing nervously as you set down your glass. "I guess you could say that, yeah."

The laughing dies out between you after a while, and you yawn, eyes growing heavy. Whether it's because the lack of real conversation you and Seokmin are having, or the fact that his voice is so calming and down-to-earth that you could phase into his countertop and sleep forever, you don't know.

"Your eyes are closing." Seokmin says—his voice sounds like he's laughing at you, but you're too busy fighting sleep off that you let it slide. "Well, yeah, I guess so."

"You're getting sleepy, aren't you?" Seokmin questions again, and you nod without thinking, head falling on the countertop as you mumble a yes.

Seokmin leaves his place on the other side of the countertop, making his way over to you as he leads you by the shoulders into his living room. His massive, warm hands engulf your shoulders easily, and you let him lead you, not putting up a fight as he lays you on his plush, velvet couch.

"What will the people think if they found out I was sleeping on your couch?" You muse, half-asleep. Seokmin pauses, brain racing at your simple question—so many things could happen if this were leaked to the public. His clean image would be stained by dating rumors if that happened to you, and Seokmin didn't know what he would do if the word actually got out.

"They're not going to." Seokmin says blankly, and you mumble something before drifting to sleep. Seokmin stares down at you, watching your soft features contort into a neutral expression.

What would reporters say? What would his teammates say? What would his coach say? What would his manager say?

Seokmin didn't know, but he found himself not wanting to think about that as he dimmed the living room's lights, walking upstairs to his room as he stripped himself of his pants and got into his bed, lights going out as he stared into the darkness.

What was he doing?

feedback & reblogs are so appreciated! i wanna hear your thoughts :>

[deadpoetmagda]

The way everyone now took up in arms blaming women and girls for the elections results and young men turning into the far right truly made something click in me, literally everyone and their grandpa is blaming women, even groups who hate each others are now bonding together like besties just to blame women, so excuse me for ranting on tumblr.com, this is gonna be long :)

What's been happening lately really opened my eyes to how hypocritical everyone is, what's everyone only ever good at is pointing their fingers at women and throwing the blame at us, misogyny and violence against women in all its shapes and forms since the dawn of time till these days didn't cause women to go out on the streets and murder men in masses, yet apparently misandry is real and some comments online made by the evil feminists were enough to radicalize young men and turn them into far right incels and are to blame for the elections in the US, women are always to blame for everything, I'm not surprised with this coming from men but to see women spewing this dumb bullshit too is so disheartening, to me you're no different than the conservatives who blame women for men's "loneliness epidemic" instead of encouraging them to start treating us better, teenage boys and men are shouting "your body our choice" at little girls and young women yet all you fuckers can take from that is that these girls and women are somehow to blame for it!!! A 19 yo girl typing I HATE MEN on her silly little Facebook page or reddit discord after years of nothing but stories of rape and misogyny in the news and in her neighborhood and her school and her home and literally fucking everywhere is to blame for men and boys being radicalized actually, meanwhile the internet is filled with men sharing rape videos and their violent fantasies about us and then they go out in real life shouting and smirking at us admitting how badly they want to strip us of our rights!!

Teenage boys are watching violent porn, men gang rape teenage girls, women and girls get trafficked, raped, beaten, murdered on the daily around the globe, it's statistically proven that husbands mistreat and abuse their wives on such a high scale even in first world countries, not to mention the daily misogyny and sexsism we face, men don't even need to get "radicalized", the majority of men out their don't want us to reach them and be "nicer" to them like you preach, they simply want power over us and to misuse that power, and women and girls who recognize this and see it clearly in the world we live in right now and the thousands of years of recorded history we have and not even to mention personal experiences are the ones to blame... for being aware of it and acknowledging it and demanding change!!!! How fucking dumb are you, or maybe you're just a pretentious hypocrite :)

No one's ever blamed these boys and men for me and other women to end up having radical feminism views, nah they're too busy calling us demented and mentally ill and lecturing us about how to treat men better lest we fail them and blaming us for everything wrong with the world!

Ever since I got introduced to radical feminism and found myself agreeing with some of its ideas and arguments I was always still critical and sometimes even wary of it and never really called myself one, but now if I get totally sucked into it and get "radicalized" myself it's actually all your fault, how about that? Congratulations, centuries of men raping us and creating endless systems to oppress us in unimaginable ways didn't radicalize me, you and your hypocrisy did that instead :)

Honestly fuck all of you dumb shitheads, you can't gaslight us into cuddling men while they keep beating us bloody, I've had enough!

[breadvidence]

I've dithered over making this post because I will feel incredibly silly if everyone else got this on the first go-through rather than the—Lord alone knows how many times I've read this particular scene, actually—but there I was, me and "The Seventh Circle and the Eighth Heaven"—as you do, for idle and entertainment, and I reach

If you will allow it, I will come to see her. I assure you that I desire it greatly. If I had not cared to see Cosette, I should not have made to you the confession that I have made, I should have gone away; but, as I desired to remain in the place where Cosette is, and to continue to see her, I had to tell you about it honestly. You follow my reasoning, do you not? it is a matter easily understood.

And realized that despite the character stating his reason right there in the text I have misunderstood badly. I took Valjean's intent with this confession and in his behavior afterwards to be separation from Cosette, that his desired outcome is to die alone, that he struggles against his love of her to reach that solitude, but it's—not. He says earlier that it's not, as well.

Stay, the unfortunate point is that I have a thread in my heart, which keeps me fast. It is when one is old that that sort of thread is particularly solid. All life falls in ruin around one; one resists. Had I been able to tear out that thread, to break it, to undo the knot or to cut it, to go far away, I should have been safe. I had only to go away; there are diligences in the Rue Bouloy; you are happy; I am going. I have tried to break that thread, I have jerked at it, it would not break, I tore my heart with it.

The thread—to Cosette. He can't separate himself. He would not have to make this confession if he could simply leave her. Therefore he has to confess to Marius for two reasons, as I see it: (1) a big dramatic compulsion to honesty about his symbolic status as one who cannot live in the family of men, sure, but (2) like, real literally, he cannot live in the house. Valjean is practical, he makes arrangements, he's smart, his confession draws from the saint but I think it's also the thief, and what does the thief need? A co-conspirator. Both morally and practically he's averse to living at the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, and with both Cosette and her "master" Marius pushing him to move in, he'd have to move totally away, as he's certainly not going to give in—but now he's got Marius' backing to allow him to stay at the Rue de l'Homme-Armé, and he can exist in the in-between space he's always occupied, there in the back courtyard of Cosette's life.

I always wondered at Valjean's vacillation—that he says "To-day, Cosette passes out of my life; our two roads part. Henceforth, I can do nothing for her.", then begs Marius for the right to visit her. But he didn't change his intent at all; he was always keen to visit, to live on the crumbs that scatter from the table. He simply can't pull up a chair.

Marius' passive-aggressive attack on that thread, the destruction of Valjean's heart, Valjean is complicit in accepting that, yes. But he did not come into this parlor looking for that outcome.

🤦‍♂️

[rafesbangs]

What did u think of season 4? And how they ended it?

omg i've lowkey been waiting to yap abt this...

spoilers under the cut !!!

first of all, am i the only one to have predicted jj dying??? and that sarah was pregnant?

rudy had previously said he wants out of the show and all the drama surrounding madison and rudy just kept getting worse and worse i swear so literally even before the season aired i was like "they're killing him off" and then especially after they released the news about there only being one more season i was like "yeah rudy's done"

and as for sarah, i think they just made it super obvious in the trailers and stuff like she had never looked at kids or whatever before hand and ESPECIALLY when jombee was mentioning having a family.

anyways, as for season 4 as a whole... i kinda loved it?

i actually genuinely think they kinda got back on their game bcs personally i really wasn't a fan of season 3... i thought the whole vibe of it wasn't outerbanks if you get what i mean. and dont get me wrong, season 4 was also drastically different but i feel like they kinda got back on their game. (i know this is a very differed opinion from the masses, im just a girl)

jj dying was disappointing for sure but it kinda made sense to me like of course a beloved character that had a tragic life is gonna have a tragic end like that especially in this genre of tv.

and RAFE this season OH MY GOD. he was so delish in part two, ESPECIALLY when the pogues got svaed by him and IN MOROCCO.

he was fucking knocking everyone out left and right like one of dalia's bitches (i forget his name but you KNOW what scene im talking about) had a whole gun AND knife and rafe handled him like it was NOTHING. im SO excited to see more of flashback s2 rafe in s5 omfg.

i will say the fanficification of rafe was off like idk how i feel about proposing to sofia when he couldn't even call her his girlfriend in front of other people but idk i think they realised this season that rafe is an EXTREMELY popular character (and in my personal opinion kinda carries the popularity of the show along with jj) so they were like "lets curate him towards the masses a tad, see how they react"

if they kill him off at the end of season 5 in a whole saving sarah, final redemption situation i will throw a fit. LET HIM LIVE.

anyway thats my two cents. ty for the good question !!

[changingplumbob]

CW: Low level sim spice - Guide to content warnings

Glenn found Silver reading his books again, and had to admit the sight of him relaxing on his bed was a nice one.

Silver: Are you wanting to jog now or not yet

Glenn: In a minute. There's something I want to give you first

Silver: A kiss?

Glenn: *smiles* Not this second. Um, do you know what a phone is?

Silver: Do I know what a phone is? Of course. It's a handset thing that lets you talk to people who are far away. Of course I've never really had to talk to people not with me

Glenn: Well I'm hoping that when you leave and are far away from me you might feel like talking to me still so this is for you

Silver: You got me a gift?

Glenn: Sort of. Um, so Ophelia can see the future and asked Miranda who is like a tech spellcaster to make something

Silver: I don't know what tech means

Glenn: It means technology. You know what technology is right

Silver: Televisions are technology and they're not bad. Can I open the box now?

Glenn: Yeah of course

Silver: This is so exciting! I haven't been given a gift in over a century

Glenn: Really? Well I'm honoured to break the drought

Silver opened the box and paused. Glenn grew worried, wondering if he'd misread the situation. Maybe Silver didn't actually like him enough to want to stay in touch. Watcher was he being too clingy?

Silver: I want to say I love it but honestly... I don't know what it is

Glenn: It's a phone, a smart phone

Silver: Smart? I thought phones had wires, and the fun spinning number dial. Or payphones have like the fun giant buttons

Glenn: Damn you really have been living away from society. Well technology, remember technology, has evolved. You don't need a giant box or a spinning dial, you just need this

Silver: So this shiny skinny brick is what phones look like now? I might need a crash course in using it

Glenn: Oh I can do that! But um... I'm trying to say... I know you like to be on the move and in nature more than me which really is saying something but if you have this it means wherever you are, I'll be able to talk to you. I would like to keep in contact with you Silver. If that's something you would want...

Silver: In contact? With me? I...

Glenn felt his breath catch in his throat. Maybe he had misread things. Maybe Silver just wanted a fun flirt and nothing more. Silver sat down on the bed and looked like he was thinking. Glenn didn't want to interrupt so just stayed where he was standing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Silver: Glenn, I like you. I've thought you were handsome since I saw you on the TV but... I'm not the best bet for a relationship

Glenn: What do you mean

Silver: I've been away from anything resembling a society for a long time. I don't really know how to be with people anymore. I'm not good at social cues and I just say what's on my mind without caring if others think it's wrong because I'm used to them not liking me

Glenn: Well I like you

Silver: Maybe you do now but what will you do when your grandfather thinks I'm rude? Or when the other spellcasters tell you it's wrong to have feelings for a someone who doesn't even know what a phone smart is?

Glenn: I don't really care if you know what a smart phone is so long as you pick up my calls. Stop worrying about me for a second. Do you want a relationship in your future

Silver sat and thought. He missed having a family, even if his dad was harsh being part of something was nice. He had been alone for a long time but he didn't want to be that way forever. A partner... and maybe some kids... he wanted that. So if Glenn was here and willing to make some allowances why would he push him away?

Silver: I do. I want love and birthday parties and kids and the best fish I've caught swimming in bowls

Glenn: *chuckling* That does sound good. So will you let me show you how the phone works? And let me call you?

Silver: I'd like that

Glenn smiled and began to show Silver how to turn the phone off and on. As he worked his way through the phonebook and the messaging app Silver slid closer to Glenn. He could feel Silver's arm snake behind his waist and it became harder to focus.

Glenn: That's my number in yours and then I'll put you in mine under... Beefcake!

Silver: *chuckling* Beefcake?

Glenn: You wanted a cute nickname. Beefcake makes sense because you're beef, or at least your arms are

Silver: What does that mean?

Glenn: Built. Muscular, strong. And then cake because I think you're secretly sweet and I love eating cake

Silver: Do you promise to eat me then

Glenn: *blushes* I'm going to go get dressed for a run. You can get changed in here

When Glenn came out he was quickly distracted by the fact that Silver didn't have a shirt on. He did have abs! They were impossibly well defined. And the creases of his hips-

Silver: My eyes are up here Glenn

Glenn: Right! Um, sorry if I came back in to quick

Silver: Oh I don't have a shirt on when I go running, I get too hot. It's a werewolf thing

Glenn: Yeah... Running, we were going for a run

Silver let Glenn down the stairs ahead first, enjoying the view.

Previous ... Next

[t1oui]

thinking about how living w regulus would affect harry like

he's such a fucking snob about everything. food, decor, fashion, you name it, he's got opinions on it.

he does ballet despite being the least graceful person on the planet. he's somehow pretty good at it, likely out of spite

speaks french

very much a cat person, has a cat named leo who is his baby

like yk how james and sirius are extremely codependent? that's how harry is w leo. both of them can not handle being apart from each other too long

reads a lot of stories

thinks seeker is the best quidditch position

on that note, lots of slytherin house pride. james hates it. harry refuses to put any gryffindor decorations up in his room

harry loves taking pictures just like reg so the house is filled with photographs

and ofc harry is snobby about what types of cameras he uses thanks to reg. james now just lets them deal with the cameras & photography stuff bc he's scared to get the wrong thing lol

harry is taller than reg but bc dysphoria all of reg's old clothes (like quidditch jerseys + hoodies and stuff) are his size so half his wardrobe is from reg's hogwarts days

definitely the type of guy to change his bedding & curtains & everything in his room based on the season. will anybody actually be in there other than him and his parents? not really, but he MUST redecorate

idk what this even means but snobby about candles. this is another thing james is scared to buy him

harry and reg speak french w each other more than english

since james doesn't speak french w harry (i hc he's only comfortable speaking it w reg) harry is used to having a conversation in two different languages so sometimes he'll be speaking french w his friends without noticing

he'll be in the middle of a rant and realize they don't understand a thing he's saying lol

reg and harry control the decorating for every holiday, every birthday, etc.

the one thing harry knows how to do that reg doesn't/reg didn't teach him is cooking. reg never cooked for himself as a child so james was the one who taught him

doesn't look like it most of the time but all of harry's clothes are very expensive... did i mention he's a snob

harry is such a dry texter/writer... he's such a dick about grammar when it comes to writing even tho he can barely string a sentence together when speaking

deeply sarcastic (look! a canon detail! we never thought we'd see that on this account, did we?)

will take his partners on the most expensive dates & whatnot like it's nothing... cedric the farmboy™️ is not prepared

writes sad boy poetry when he gets annoyed w someone... like harry will storm off all pissed and then he comes back 20 mins later with a beautifully written, very angry poem for whoever made him mad

has so many clothes & different curtains and bedding sets for different seasons that he also uses the closet in the guest room (reg takes up 99% of his and james's closet for the same reason)

has an inherent hatred of fake plants

bedroom is simultaneously tidy and so messy a hurricane might as well have come through

leaves a book behind everywhere he goes

secretly the worst sense of humor lmao

he may not have gotten his love of drawing/painting from regulus, but you def see reg in the way he is, you guessed it, a massive snob about art supplies

soooo indecisive. redoes his room at least twice a year

an asshole when he gets less than 10 hours of sleep... he's mildly tolerable after 3 cups of coffee (black, of course) but you might as well just ignore him until he gets a nap in

on that note is very good at making coffee and is, drum roll please, a massive snob about it. who would've guessed (somebody count how many times i've said snob in this post and comment it please and thank you)

if he doesn't like a gift he's horrible at pretending he's happy w it so people usually go through reg whenever they buy him something... this goes both ways too, people go through harry when buying something for reg

is visually james and lily's but in personality is really just reg's (and also lily's... he definitely inherited his spite from her lol)

is a crazy cat lady by age 20

at least 10 pictures of leo in his room... he has whole photoshoots for her and she poses for them

might as well not hang out w harry at his house bc he'll make out with his cat the whole time

loves going to art museums w regulus

he's a, surprise surprise, snob about art. james just doesn't comment on art altogether atp

his vocabulary is a weird mashup of french, english, and hindi that makes it very hard for anybody who doesn't know him well to understand what he's saying lol

looks angry until he smiles (he got this from lily but a life with reg has perfected it)

needs a golden retriever to his black cat in any given relationship (enter cedric and cho) (yes i'm going to push my rarepair on everyone reading this)

tl;dr being raised by/living w regulus has turned harry into a massive snob about literally everything and regulus is proud of it (blink twice if you need help, james)

[izudeeilo]

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You can study me

Sero hanta smau

volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

a/n before you go on! there's going to be more pictures throughout this part, so when you see the divider (yellow line), stop and go back to the reading part :)

Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.

But... you can't pick a friend.

Part.5 • Part 7 (soon)

Part 6

Ever since he sent you that message you’ve been anxious of what he had in mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about it and hated that you had to wait the whole weekend for it. He hasn’t texted you since and your head was overflowing with scenarios.

“I think I'm going to go insane” you say groaning as you walk in the kitchen where the girls were cooking together.

“It’s going to be fine you drama queen. It’s not the first time you hang out without any plans” Himiko says while chopping vegetables.

You cross your arms and lean on the doorframe. “But it feels like it's more than this, he hasn’t even texted me since” you retort.

Throwing your head back with another groan, you approach the counter and take a piece of cut cucumber.

“Listen, it’s Hanta okay. There’s nothing to worry about” Mina comes up to you and puts her hand on your shoulders. “So stop your drama, and we’ll soon clear your mind with our little girl time mmh” she tilts her head with a reassuring smile.

You sigh and laugh. “You’re right, now that I admitted that I liked him, I've been overthinking every small thing he does…”

“So you do still have some sense left in you” Ochaco turns to you both with a smirk.

“Oh shut up” you roll your eyes. “Now what do you need help with” you ask, rolling your sleeves up.

You and the girls were now having a little party every weekend when you didn't have anything else planned. You cooked and baked together, chose a movie to watch while sipping a glass of wine. Pretty cliché yes, but don’t clichés always end up being the best.

At the end of the night, you all go back to your rooms and as you lay down on your bed slightly tipsy, you grab your phone and open your discussion with Hanta and just type.

You

made me anxious whole weekend dumbass

You woke up the next day thankful classes were canceled today, so you could prepare yourself mentally before 6pm came. You were of course excited to spend the evening with him but you just had that weird gut feeling that something was going to happen.

As you slowly got ready, showering, finding a simple and comfortable but still cute outfit, you were left sitting on the couch. It was only 3pm and you decided to draw some composition ideas for the painting.

”What are you working on?” Ochaco walks in with two cups of hot chocolate, handing one to you. You smile and thank her, sipping on the warm drink.

”Trying out some composition for the painting. Pinpointing where everything is going to be you know”

“It’s ending soon right?” she asks, seating next to you.

“Actually, our teacher realized she may have been too hard on us and gave us the whole year.” you chuckle.

“Wait what— How come I didn't hear about this?!” she straightened herself.

“She sent us an email quite late in the night. Some sense got knocked in her head at 2am I guess” you laugh.

”That’s great! More time with Hanta” she elbows you and chuckles.

”Stop…” you say shyly, hiding your face with your hand.

—

“Do I look good?” you ask worriedly as you show off your outfit.

”For the hundredth time… Yes you look great” all three of your friends sigh dramatically.

You’ve been running around between your room, the bathroom and the living room to make sure you were looking good. You knew it had to be a simple hang out but couldn’t help the amount of stress you had inside you. And before you knew it, the sound of the doorbell echoed in your apartment and the girls immediately went into hiding.

You shook your head at their silliness and went to open the door thinking to yourself. This is Hanta, it’s going to be fine, nothing is happening.

As you open the door, you see him standing there with a smirk on his face but you could see the crease between his eyebrows, indicating he was nervous. He looks you up and down and you can see him gulp before taking a breath.

“Ready to go?”

“Been waiting forever” you walk out the door and roll your eyes teasingly and he guides you down to his car. Once you get there, he opens the door for you.

”What a gentleman we have there” you tease.

”You doubted it?”

”Never”

After a few minutes he parked his car in front of a quite big building.There was no indicative sign of what the building was, it only had two wide doors in the front. He gets out first and helps you out of the car.

”So what are we doing?”

”You’re so impatient, wait a few more seconds” he ruffles your hair.

”Well if you had texted me, maybe i wouldn’t be so lost. “your words come out a bit more bitter than you wanted to.

You walk through the reception with him and he grabs your hand and asks you to close your eyes.

”Hanta seriously…”

“Come on, hermosa just a few more seconds.” he pouts and you couldn’t resist.

Guiding you through a corridor, he opens the door and you can feel the breeze hitting you again in the face. He stops and walks behind you.

“You can open your eyes now”

You take a deep breath and open your eyes. You are greeted by an empty ice skating rink. No one, absolutely no one was here. Small lights were hanging all around the rink, you could hear a song quietly in the background that you recognise to be Just like Heaven by The Cure.

You turn your head to Hanta, mouth agape. You had no idea what to say, did he set everything up himself. Did he ask to privatize the whole ice rink for you two?

”Hanta this…this is absolutely crazy. Did— did you do that all by yourself?” you ask.

”Well I’ve had help but it was my idea yeah…” he rubs his neck nervously. “You like it?”

“Like it? Hanta I love it! This is incredible” you ran to his arms hugging him. He’s taken back but hugs you back almost instantly.

After breaking the embrace, he grabs your hand again.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You don’t think you’ve ever had that much fun before. This was truly like something out of a movie. You and Hanta were both skating for god knows how long, dancing along to the playlist he had made for the occasion and you couldn’t help but fall even more for the boy.

How could you not honestly. He’s all you had ever dreamed of and he keeps showing you that everyday. As you hold hands you can’t help but have a constant smile on your face.

Hanta kept glancing at you and his eyes softened anytime you looked at him with that sparkle in your eyes or with that pretty smile of yours. He keeps going back to the day you first met and how everything had evolved between the two of you ever since.

All thanks to that assignment you had been given. He never felt luckier than right now.

He spins you around just to hear that laugh he wishes to hear for the rest of his life. And as you continued to skate around, he let go of your hand and you slid away, without realizing he wasn’t by your side anymore.

The lights suddenly shut off but came back a second later, less bright this time. As you turn around, you see Hanta a bit further away from you and the song changes.

Can’t Take My Eyes of You by Frankie Valli begins playing at a low volume and you hide your face in your hands trying to hold in your chuckle and the warmth that was spreading to your cheeks. Surely this wasn’t real right, you had to be dreaming.

When you look back up, Hanta was right in front of you. A dorky smile is present on his face as he holds a bouquet of flowers tightly in his hands.

You can’t help the wobbly smile that spreads across your face as you both stare at each other before Hanta begins talking.

“First of all I’m sorry for not texting you at all this weekend. I may have been as nervous as you and maybe even more because I wanted everything to be perfect.” He chuckles and you continue smiling at him.

”Fuck..uh” he struggled to find words when you looked at him like that.

“I don’t think I can hide how I feel anymore. Ever since we first met, you’ve been the only thing on my mind and I only wanted to get to know you more. The more time we spent together, the more this feeling grew.” he looks down before looking back up.

”You brighten up every single one of my days and…” he stops for a moment but you continue looking at him adoringly. Heart beating fast you think it might get out of your chest. It seems like time had stopped before he continued.

”I love you y/n… Te amo querida.”

You feel your eyes getting wet so you take your hand to wipe them away but you suddenly feel Hanta’s hand caress your cheek and wipe a falling tear with his thumb.

”You okay?” he asks worried.

You nod reassuringly. “Never been more okay.”

”I love you too Hanta” you respond back through a half chuckle and sob.

He softly puts down the bouquet before wrapping his arms around your waist, taking you off the ground and spinning you around. Surprising you as he still had his ice skates on. He puts you back on the ground and asks.

”Can I kiss you?”

”Of course you idiot”

I love you baby and if it’s quite alright I need you baby…

His hands held both of your cheeks tenderly before he plants his lips on yours. You were quick to wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you. One of his hands slowly moved to wrap itself around your waist. Your mouths moving slowly in a perfect tender rhythm. He couldn’t pull away, you were too sweet for that. And as you moved your hands into his hair he felt like he was in heaven. You pulled away for a second to breathe and chuckle at your flushed faces before his lips found their way back to yours. Snow was falling all around you and as the slow kisses turned fast you both got lost in the moment.

His lips finally parted from yours after a while. Panting and heavy breaths were all you were hearing as you looked at each other.

“Does that mean I’m yours mi amor” he breaks the silence.

“What do you think…”

”I don’t know, maybe it was just a friendly kiss.” he jokes.

”Oh you’re such an idiot. I hate you”

”You know you love me” he grins, pulling you closer if that was even possible.

“Yes. Yes I do”

��

After that, he wanted to immortalize this day. So Hanta brought you to the nearest photo booth and had you both take the cutest pictures ever.

“Come on this is going to be fun” he urges you.

You take off your coats and begin posing. You laugh and make the silliest faces. Bringing his face to yours, you pepper his cheek with kisses.

He drives you back to the apartment and both of you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. You were still in his car, the only difference was that you were now sitting on his lap. The kisses grew deeper and he couldn’t let go of you. He became obsessed the moment he had a taste of you. You tug slightly at his hair as you feel him bite your bottom lip before going back to kiss your already swollen lips.

“Hanta…” you whisper when you pull back from him.

”Yes mi vida…” He places soft kisses at the nape of your neck, eyes not leaving yours.

“It’s getting late. I should go” you caress his cheek.

”Already…what time is it?” He reaches for his phone and reads the time. 11:05pm.

Hanta groans and settles his head on your chest as you begin playing with his hair. Staying in that position for a few more minutes before you plant a small kiss on his head and get back to the passenger seat. You put your coat back on and hear Hanta open his door. You get ready to get out with the bouquet in your hands but he beats you to it and opens your door before bending down and wrapping his arms behind your back and knees.

”Hanta, what are you—“ you make a small noise as he slightly adjusts you on his arms. He closes the car door with his legs and locks it.

“Up you go” he smiles down at you and you roll your eyes.

He takes you up the stairs and to your front door. He sets you down and you search for your keys.

“Thank you for today Hanta” you say, opening the door quietly.

You set the bouquet on the table before turning back to him.

”I’ll see you soon” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and plant a sweet kiss on his lips one last time.

“Dream of me amor” he winks at you and steals another kiss before making his way to the stairs. You begin to turn around but stop yourself in your tracks when you see him kissing his hand and sending the “kiss” to you.

You chuckle quietly and mimic grabbing the kiss and planting it on your cheek and watch him smile like a little kid. Only then you truly go back to your apartment and close the door with a smile on your face.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

a/n i finished this at 2 am...i'm going to sleep hope you enjoy this longer part!

[kittymoonblog]

"Being laid back in some scenes doesn't indicate."

Butch isn't just laidback in some scenes, but in general.

In the comics, He rarely gets mad just annoyed.

Boomer played prank on him and instead of resorting to violence, He just tells Boomer that now he has to dry up his clothes.

Also Boomer literally kicked Butch, He asked what's the big idea? But then never kicks Boomer back. (Maybe he forgot)

Butch also trustes Brick alot, When Brick tells him that their is a dryer. He believes him and thanks him. (Only for Brick to scare the living crap out of him.)

In boys are back in town, Butch didn't do much to Buttercup compare to Brick and Boomer. Brick uses Blossom like a microphone and then plays a psychological trick on her by spitting on her. Boomer literally stomps on Bubbles's head and Boomer chooses Bubbles for the whole slug thing.

All Butch did was slam BC on his chest. Like a Gorilla. Compare to Boomer this is nothing.

When Bubbles accidentally shot him with the spit. He doesn't even look mad, He just look daze. He also doesn't beat up Bubbles/Boomer for it.

It's not like he isn't aggressive at all, but He is just the least aggressive out of the three.

Personalities wise, I don't think he is as aggressive as his counterpart. He is certainly energetic and silly and pretty laid-back from I've seen. (Also twitching doesn't mean he is mentally unstable). Although, I do think he parallels BC some aspects. Like his role. Brick seems to favor Butch a Lil more. When he needs a hype man he always looks at Butch. And maybe he doesn't get bullied picked on just as much as Boomer.

Since the reason why they bully Boomer is because he stands out to much. So, Maybe he is the RRB's Co Leader or Brick's right hand man.

And maybe there is a reason why Brick refers to Butch as the "Baron of Beserker".🤷‍♀️

"Boomer doesn't seem to talk back to Brick unless he is getting treated unfairly."

Fair, But Boomer seems like a very individualistic person. He always tries to stand out. And even stands out to much.

In some situation, especially in the comics, he is the aggressor.

-Boomer throws salt on Brick's face

-He kicks Butch

-He pranks Butch

Boomer is also the most brutal/evil out of all 3 of his brothers.

In boys are back in town, He treated Bubbles the worst, He choose her for the slug prank and Stomps on her head.

In the comic, Father knows Worst. The boys were competing who is the most evil. Boomer is shown to be more "evil" because Boomer is only one to put civilians in danger. While Brick and Butch only pulled annoying pranks.

In the Boys are back in town, Butch and Brick both show a reaction after getting humiliated by the girls. But Boomer is just stone face throughout the whole thing.

I don't think Boomer is the most evil, But he definitely overcompensates alot due to being bullied. Hence why he is more brutual. (Kinda reminds me of Bubblesvicious.)

"Attacking Blossom when she was pretending to be MOJO"

Bubbles wasn't pretending, she hit her head.

I also don't think bubbles is dumb. I mean the episode where she dressed like Boomer proves that. Because She can spell correctly and cursive.

Bubbles is still 5 and is still in school so her not knowing certain things is okay. I don't think bubbles is dumb. She is just nice and cute.

Boomer is well, Actually dumb and uneducated. For example, when the puffs stops him and his response was "what are you going to do? Beat me up" and then got beat up.

Boomer is certainly brave, But stupid. He isn't afraid to defend himself. That's why when Bubbles dressed like Boomer defended himself. And told Brick and Butch that he ate the candy. Brick and Butch just laugh at him. Indicating that Boomer isn't a pushover and can stand up for himself.

And sometimes he talks back to Brick even when Brick doesn't attack him hence why Brick hits him alot.

Bubbles hate fighting and arguing. Boomer isn't afraid to fight and argue. In the comic father knows worst, Brick and Butch get into argument Boomer stops them, But not for the reason he hate seeing them fight but for the reason he want to proof to them that he is the most evilest.

So while Bubbles and Boomer may parallel each other in situations and role. Their personalities are not the same. Bubbles is sugary and sweet. And Boomer is snippy.

In the idw comic, Boomer calls bubbles weak for not liking loud music, While Bubbles was about to show him weak.

But I do agree they are both airheads. Boomer tends to be absent mindedly cheerful. While Bubbles is cheerful.

In conclusion, One side believe they are opposites while the other side think they are parallels. There is a reddit, where someone analyze and peiced together the RRB'S Personalities.

I think the agreement can go both ways, But we don't have enough information about the boys to make a proper conclusion.

There personalities could be opposite to their counterparts while their situation can be parallel.

But, If Butch is supposed to be BC but only with her worst traits. He isn't doing a good job of it.

Unpopular Opinion and Pet Peeves in the PPG Fandom

If you got anymore please tell me in the replies or ask

TW: Sexual Topics,Sexual Harassment

I hope you agree with me byeeee🫶🏽🤭

[eggmeralda]

I may have lost all hope

[halorvic]

[paperbackfable]

Erend: they don't Id me at the liquor store anymore because they see the light has left my eyes

-

Erend: We're playing Scrabble. It's a nightmare.

Alva: Scrabble? Scrabble's great.

Erend: Not when you're playing with Zo, it's not. They put words like "ephemeral" and I put "dog".

-

Varl: You're ignoring all your problems.

Aloy: I know.

Varl: You also know it's an unhealthy coping mechanism?

Aloy: I'm ignoring that fact as well.

Varl:

-

Zo: In your opinion, what's the height of stupidity?

Aloy: turning to Sylens How tall are you?

-

Aloy: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Sylens: Oh yeah? You're the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD.

Aloy: I'm leaving you, and I'm TAKING BETA WITH ME!

Varl, picking up the strike board: I think we're gonna stop playing now.

-

Aloy: Want do you want to be for "Halloween"?

Beta: Loved.

Aloy: Don't do this.

-

Sylens: I will not stand to be disrespected like this!

Aloy: Then sit.

-

Alva: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the things you lost throughout your life...

Zo: It would be nice to have my sense of purpose back.

Aloy: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this.

Beta: My will to live! I haven't seen this in years.

Erend: I knew I lost that potential somewhere.

Varl: Mental stability, my old friend!

Alva: Ancestors, could you guys lighten up a little?

-

Varl: What do you think Kotallo will do for a distraction?

Aloy: Probably, like, whistle or throw a rock. That's what I would do.

Building explodes and several car alarms go off

Aloy: ...or they could do that.

-

OK THAT'S ENOUGH I SHOULD PROABLY STOP NOW BYE

[cuubism]

needless to say I've written many new fics instead of finishing my existing ones. and this is one of them. a strange little fic for you.

-

Something was preying on the village's children, and Hob had been elected to go out and kill it.

Alright, it wasn't actually eating the children, they were still alive and largely unharmed. But something out there was doing something to them, because children kept going out to play by the edge of the woods and coming back wrong.

Indefinably wrong. Quiet. Serious. Disinclined to play as they were before. Even the parents who'd once complained of their children's lack of discipline and work ethic were disturbed by the sudden absence of laughter and energy in the village.

So Hob was sent to make it stop. Probably because he'd spent so much time in the forest he knew it better than he even knew the village. Probably because he had no children of his own. No one to leave behind.

He'd been sent into the woods to find out what was what--or rather, to simply take the thing's head off its shoulders, but Hob was more inclined to find out what was what first, for curiosity's sake if nothing else.

It was near dusk when he reached the edge of the forest. Mist lay heavy on the tree branches, haze stole between the bramble bushes. Darker still it was deep in the woods, wet and hushed, no animal life now with the sun going down behind the clouds, only leaves ghosting down, the whispers of early autumn decay.

Hob loved this time of year, not least for the good deer hunting it brought, but also for the quiet, the last breath of settling down for winter. Everything was starting to go grey, and it was good, after the activity of the summer, and of the harvest, to fall into that cycle again, setting fires and shuttering windows, waiting for the onset of the cold.

Or, as was he wont, as he was doing now, treading silently into the forest, steps careful on the wet, leafy floor. His bow was at the ready, the grip familiar in his hand, quiver of arrows at his back. He wasn't sure where exactly he would find the thing, the creature he was hunting, though if it liked to prey on the children playing by the edge of the forest, it couldn't live too deep in the trees. Perhaps it would come for him, thinking him prey, though Hob thought he might be too big for it, in comparison to a child.

Still, he made his way into the chill embrace of the woods. In the low light the trees all started to blend together, yellow orange and brown all melting and bleeding like wet paints. Droplets fell on his shoulders, branches tugged on his hair. But Hob knew how not to draw the attention of anything but the trees.

Eventually he made it to the edge of the lake. The water was utterly still, reflecting the forest in perfect mirror. And Hob went equally still, grip tightening on his bow, for there was something crouched by the water's edge, peering into the shallows.

Hob froze in the trees, watching. It was a leggy thing, long thin limbs curled under an angular body, spine curved as it bowed before the water. Black fur--or feathers? he was unsure--ghosted along the back and limbs, though the face was pale, angular and more human-like than Hob had expected. It was a solemn, contemplative face, reflected moonlike in the water, and the overall impression was haunting but beautiful. Hob had always felt he belonged in these woods, but in comparison to this creature he was an intruder, a blundering interloper, while the creature emerged right from the mist, and could very well vanish back into it.

He knew, somehow, that this was what he was looking for.

And he didn't want to kill it. He couldn't bear to just kill it.

But at the same time, he couldn't just let it keep preying on the children. No matter how pretty it was. Wolves, too, were beautiful, but when one got too comfortable going after the sheep it was time to take action.

He crept closer. The creature didn’t seem to hear him, or was absorbed in its thoughts. As Hob watched, it shook mist droplets from its feathers, but didn’t otherwise stir.

Hob crept ever closer. He could not seem to find the usual thrill of the hunt he felt when he followed a deer or a fox. He felt sort of… sick. Like his soul was rebelling against the idea of hurting the thing by the water. Still he came closer, trying to shake off the feeling.

Suddenly, though Hob made no notable sound, that pale sharp face whipped up to look at him. Its black gaze pierced through him like a dagger, and Hob flinched—and in the breath of that flinch, it ran.

Hob’s instincts caught up to him a second later. He had his bow nocked and drawn before he’d consciously thought of it, operating on muscle memory, the ingrained motions of the hunt. He couldn’t let it get away.

He fired.

The creature dodged his first shot, pelting out of the way through the trees, but Hob was used to the erratic sprints of deer and foxes, and aimed better the second time. He caught it on a turn, just as it was... disappearing? It started to go kind of thin, kind of see-through, like mist—but Hob's arrow sliced through its thigh before it could vanish.

The creature shrieked, tumbling to a stop in the leaves. Hob chased after it, bow now loose in one hand—he didn’t want to shoot again, he still didn’t want to kill it. But he chased it, skidding to a stop by the prone body where it lay shuddering in the shadows, Hob’s arrow stuck clean through its thigh.

Hob noted with relief that it did not seem to be a fatal wound, though the creature was doing its damnedest to make it so. Its form flickered before his eyes, vanishing and returning, vanishing and returning, and all the while dark blood spilled from the wound, staining the forest floor black. It seemed to be trying to disappear, but the arrow held it fast.

"Quit panicking, you're making it worse," Hob warned, now genuinely concerned it would aggravate the wound and make itself bleed out. He moved to press his hands over the gash, but the creature made an awful, grating panicked sound and clawed at his hands, scrambling away with another trill of pain as the arrow caught and dragged. Hob hissed at the scratch torn across the back of his hand, but he couldn't truly blame the creature for it. Fair enough, honestly.

"I don't want to kill you," Hob said, raising his hands in surrender.

The creature narrowed its black eyes at him. "Take back your arrows, put the fire back into your bowstring, perhaps then I might believe you."

Hob stared, dumbfounded. He honestly hadn't expected it to speak. He'd expected it to be more like an animal—a particularly intelligent one, a magical one, to be sure, perhaps even a spirit of some kind, like in the stories—but not to open its mouth and speak just like a man would. Then again, it did wear a human face. Perhaps that face was truer than he’d assumed.

“Okay, you’re right,” Hob conceded. “But I couldn’t just let you run.”

“What right had you to stop me, human?” The tone was indignant—but it was afraid of him, Hob thought. The dark eyes glinted and rolled, and every muscle was taut, blood pulsing sluggishly from the wound, unimpeded as the creature kept its hands free to attack him if needed. “To chase me down like a common beast?”

“What right?” Hob said, incredulously. “What right did you have to prey on those children?”

“I am not,” said the creature stiffly, some of its fear sloughing off in the course of its offense, “preying upon them. You humans only see what you inflict upon others. The children will soon be returned to how they were. In fact. They will be better than they were.”

“That’s not how it seems right now,” Hob said, remembering the listless gazes of the village children as they went about their chores.

The creature huffed, irritated. “You give them no time. I needed only to borrow their dreams,  that I might sustain the magic that upholds all dreams. They will have them back. In addition. I have given them a gift. Children so often lose touch with their dreams as they grow. Becoming dull. Narrow-minded.” He glared as if Hob was an example of this. “But these will not.”

“…What are you, then?” Hob asked, trying to process.

The creature edged away from him, wincing as the movement tugged on its wound. “It matters not to you. Leave me. And perhaps I may not punish you for these crimes.”

“Doesn’t seem like you can do much with that arrow in you,” Hob observed. It had prevented the creature from disappearing, after all.

And before Hob could react, the creature had grasped the arrow in one clawed hand and yanked it from its leg.

“No!” Hob yelled, but it was too late, blood was already gushing from the creature’s thigh.

“Better than whatever fate you might have in mind,” it hissed, form starting to flicker. But its eyelids fell just as fast, consciousness slipping as blood poured from the wound.

“No!” Hob yelled again, grabbing the creature and pressing his hands to the wound, staunching the flow of blood. The beast slumped against him, unconscious. But alive. For now.

Hob felt he’d made a terrible mistake. He still didn’t understand what exactly the creature had been doing to the children—but he didn’t want to just let it die.

He had some bandages stashed in his tunic—he’d brought them for himself in case the creature turned on him—and quickly wrapped the wound, tying it tight to stem the bleeding. Then, having no other recourse, he picked the creature up to take it back with him.

I’m going to get bit for this, Hob thought, as he started to make his way back out of the woods. The creature would not be pleased to find itself in Hob’s cabin when—if—it woke up. But he carried it back anyway, through the damp, misty trees, night properly falling around them.

The creature was lighter than Hob would have thought, barely there in his arms. As he walked he had the chance to observe its features at peace. The face, as he’d thought, was very human, especially with those dark eyes closed—soft lashes and messy hair, sharp, almost gaunt cheekbones, bitten lips. It—he? Hob wasn’t sure—was really quite beautiful.

Fortunately Hob’s cabin was far enough from the rest of town that no one would see him bringing the creature back instead of killing it. He hurried inside, set the dream creature on his bed and stoked the fire from embers back to blazing warmth. The creature—he wished he knew if it had a name—had started shivering, and Hob laid a thick blanket over him, careful of the wounded leg.

Damn thing, he thought, but with more guilt than ire. If only it hadn’t struggled, hadn’t tried to yank the arrow out. Then again, Hob would probably have done the same, in its position.

He had come into the woods to kill it, after all.

He double-checked the bandage on the creature’s leg—the bleeding had stopped, thankfully—and kept watch into the night. The creature gradually stopped shivering, and Hob found himself obsessively checking its breathing every few minutes, sure that this meant it had died rather than simply warmed up. But the creature lived on. And as night fell to utter blackness, as the fire crackled warm in the hearth and Hob kept up his position in the chair by the bed, his eyelids began to droop.

He shook himself, pinched himself, tried to stay awake. But sleep tugged on him anyway. Its draw was impossible to resist, and he sank down into his chair, body slumping, head dropping to rest on the chair’s back.

The wood was dark, and Hob was hunting.

He wasn’t sure what, but he knew he had to catch it. He was chasing it, running through darkness, stepping on instinct, bow clasped in his hand. The thing scurried before him, he could hear it, even if he couldn’t see it.

And— there! In a patch of moonlight. A flash of dark feathers and pale flesh and—

—Hob reached out and caught it. His hands wrapped around a slim, fragile neck, and he pounced on the thing, pressing it into the ground.

As his weight landed on it, Hob would have expected the creature to scream, fight, claw at him—but it just watched him with dark eyes, fingers gripped lightly around his wrists. It looked… perhaps faintly scared, but mostly resigned to its fate.

All at once Hob felt sick at the thought of hurting it. He lurched back, letting it go, falling back on his haunches in his haste.

The creature leapt for him, landing on his chest, nails digging in—

Hob woke with a gasp, and couldn’t move. He flailed, but the weight on his chest didn’t budge, he opened his eyes—

—the dream creature stared back. Hob was lying on the floor, having apparently slid from his chair while asleep, and just as in the dream the creature was perched upon his chest, staring at him with its piercing blue eyes. “You are an interesting human,” it said. “Hob Gadling.”

Hob started, heart still pounding from the dream. How did it know his name?

“I thought to uncover your real intentions in your dream, but it seems your word is true,” it continued. “Unusual among adult humans. Usually you lose your honesty as you grow.”

“Is it?” Hob asked shakily. The thing’s talons were digging into his chest. “You know a lot about dreams, I guess.”

The creature narrowed its eyes and Hob got the distinct feeling that it thought he was stupid. “I am Dream. I am the spirit that governs and shepherds that realm. Why did you try to save me?”

“Felt bad,” Hob said, trying to grapple with the spirit that governs dreams. It wasn’t like he didn’t know such spirits existed—but he had never heard of one that could walk dreams before. “I’m the one that shot you, after all.”

“Hmm.” Finally, it— Dream— climbed off him, sitting beside him with limbs folded up, studying him. He really was kind of a strange-looking thing, but more human-like than Hob had realized in the dark wood. Very much like a human stepped out of a dream, a little twisted and shadowy and wrong. He was very beautiful too, birdlike where he wasn’t quite human, sleek feathers and sharp features.

“Look,” Hob said. “If you’re really not hurting the children, then we don’t have any trouble, do we? Just go.”

Instead of fleeing into the night, Dream crept closer again, reaching out with a taloned hand to comb through Hob’s hair. Hob stayed very still, with those claws so close to his eyes.

“I enjoyed your dreams,” he said. “They were… rejuvenating.”

“They were?” They hadn’t been very rejuvenating to Hob.

“Mmm. Rich, dimensional like a fine wine.”

Oh, great.

“Other dreams aren’t rejuvenating to you?” Hob asked, strangely breathless.

“I rarely partake,” said Dream, now tracing his fingertips over Hob’s face, as if mapping the shape of it. “I merely borrow dreams to strengthen them, and solidify their power for dreamers.”

“For kids who aren’t yet adult hopeless cases,” Hob said.

Dream’s lips turned up in a smile. “Yes. Adults cannot be helped. You have already lost your whimsy.”

“Have we?” Hob asked. “You don’t even want to try?”

Dream looked at him sideways. “Will they shoot me if I do?”

Well. Kind of fair.

“I’ll at least tell everyone that you’re not a threat,” Hob promised. “How about that?”

“Very well. I shall hold you to it, Hob Gadling.”

He stepped away then, letting go of Hob’s face, and Hob tried not to feel disappointed that he was going. Dream was definitely the most interesting thing he’d seen in a long while.

Magic started to swirl around Dream, his form becoming more indistinct. But before he could disappear, Hob sat up quickly, called out, filled with some strange desperation he couldn't quite name, “Wait!”

The magic settled down again, and Dream studied him questioningly.

“Come meet me again,” Hob said. “In the forest.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Why.”

“I’m curious,” Hob said. It had gotten him in trouble before, but somehow he didn't think it would this time. “I want to know more about what you do. About— about dreams. In return— well, you said my dreams were ‘rejuvenating.’”

Now that he thought it, Dream seemed… hungry. He was very thin, and if he truly never took anything from the dreams he walked…

“They are,” said Dream, cautiously. Then, at length, “Very well, Hob Gadling. I shall find you again. But know that should you betray me, and lead other humans to me to capture me, then your dreams shall be very unpleasant indeed.”

With that, he was gone.

Hob finally got to his feet, shaking a little from the crash of emotions in the wake of Dream’s departure. What a deeply strange creature. His touch, though, had been surprisingly gentle— his look upon Hob, in the end, more interested than angry.

Though he knew Dream had gone into whatever spirit or dream realm he traveled through, still Hob went to the door and looked out.

It was late—or rather early—enough now that dawn was just starting to rise, the grey haze of morning seeping over the horizon. Mist covered the fields, and settled heavy and wet on the edge of the forest. Hob gazed out towards that forest, thinking of its darkness, and of Dream, somewhere in it. He knew he would not get Dream out of his mind for a very long time.

In fact. He may be going back out to the forest much sooner than he’d anticipated.

First, he had to let the villagers know that Dream wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t sure whether they would believe him. But maybe by learning more about Dream, Hob would be able to convince them.

For now, Hob closed the door, and went back inside to make some breakfast. He doubted he’d be getting back to sleep this morning.

Even if he was somewhat tempted to try. In the hopes that he just might meet a certain dream.

promised myself i wasn't going to write any new fics until i finished some of my existing wips, but it's been such a beautiful fall week that i've got a little fall drabble for them spinning in my head. though much like my winter drabble from last year, it's not so much cozy seasonal vibes as it is about Strange Creatures in the woods. after all the best fall day is one where it's drizzly and misty and a little grey, and the yellow leaves are stuck to the pavement, and everything looks painted in dripping watercolor. and i think it's a good sort of day to meet a strange thing in the woods, especially when that thing finds you, a human, more horrifying than you find it.

[skeletalheartattack]

...am I just losing my mind or did yer icon become evil? I don't remember that BeAst behind Boe

yuuuump always been behind me

[btsbs]

.