#someone please find what I'm referencing

[chaoticsorceressztc]

This post is about the Demon lord who got upset at the goddess for sending a Child as the Hero

Was scrolling through AO3 and found this gem

Enemy to parent is a trope we have to popularise lmao

[sezja]

The people of the First make casual reference to "gods" a fair amount ("thank the gods," "godsdammit," etc), but outside of specifically Rak'tika it's not really ever made clear what gods they're talking about. It seems unlikely that they'd worship the Twelve, and certainly there's no sign of it. The only religions we otherwise know of are the worship of the Dark as a concept (also present largely exclusively in Rak'tika) and the Light (once widespread/mainstream, now defunct for obvious reasons). And, of course, the worship of Vauthry as a kind of god-on-earth, though that's not outright stated until the events preceding Mount Gulg.

I kind of get the sense it's a linguistic relic, sort of - there's nothing really behind it; it's just kind of lingered in the dialect because it was such a staple for so long. Few people actually still mean anything by it, and if asked what gods they're talking about, I'm not sure they'd have an answer beyond a kind of vague, "You know... the gods."

At best, there seems to be a kind of belief in the Warrior of Darkness as a semi-holy mythic figure (you know, prior to us showing up and stepping into that role), but I wouldn't necessarily call them a god, so much as a guardian spirit of sorts?

I just think it's a kind of interesting detail about the First.

[vaspider]

I am begging everybody, fucking begging them, to slow the fuck down and fucking look things up. Right now, there are a lot of people who are making money off of creating headlines that are meant to make you mad, and it's going to get worse as we get closer to the election.

If someone tells you that there's a secret conspiracy to [do a thing you don't like] and that it's unique to Biden, you better fucking look that thing up, because chances are you're going to find that it's been happening under every administration for the last 50 years. Is that good? No! Should you want to change it? Probably! Is it a unique crime to Biden? Nope!

"Biden said [bad thing] [X] years ago." Well, this bad thing he said happens to be true, but it looks like it was 45 years ago, and he changed his stance 40 years ago. "Biden said [other bad thing] [Y] years ago." What's the source on that? So there's one person who says he said it? And nobody else who was there has corroborated that account? Who posted the story?

These are all random examples of things I've seen over the last couple of weeks, with the details slightly changed from the Tumblr posts and news articles I've seen, because the point isn't the details of the particular story, so I don't want to get bogged down in particulars that don't matter to the point I'm making.

The point of this post isn't the specific things I'm referencing but the fact that in each of these cases, the reality was not what was initially presented. Either the reality was wildly different, or this story can't be corroborated and was told by someone with a clear and very well-known agenda of their own, which means that at the very least, the story should be treated with extreme suspicion.

And on that note, please don't believe that because you're a leftist that you can't be radicalized in the same way that right-wingers are. You aren't immune to propaganda either. I'm not saying you have to like, or should like, any particular politician or political entity. I am saying, however, that you should view a lot of the news with a gimlet eye, and that goes double for anything that makes you real fucking mad.

You need - need - to stop and read the whole article and ask yourself if you can verify the claims and who benefits from this making you mad.

Please. For the sake of the people around you who have to patiently explain to you that you've gotten fucking bamboozled again by propaganda if for no other reason. We're all very tired of you thinking that leftists can't be propagandized.

[cyle]

Removing the ability to go directly to a specific reblog is a disastrously bad change! I can no longer engage with it when someone reblogs a post referencing the previous reblog's tags, which is, if you somehow missed it, a very common way people interact with each other on tumblr. I also often end up following new people because my mutuals regularly reblogged from them and they have interesting tag commentary; if I can't click through and look at their tags anymore, I'm not going to naturally find new people to interact with, which seems like the kind of thing that tumblr should want to incentivize rather than actively prevent?

I'm aware that this was not your decision personally, in the sense that you were apparently unaware of it at first, but it's a very bad decision, it makes my user experience of the site much worse, and I am going to use multiple avenues available to me to register a complaint about it in order to emphasize this badness!

Whatever this change is supposed to achieve, do something else to achieve it that doesn't remove the ability to actually look at specific posts.

a lot of changes we make won’t be well received by people who have survived the kinda insane ways this site works as-is. that’s the price we have to pay to help make tumblr a growing platform.

i’m sorry, it sucks, i don’t like it either, i’m also someone who’s been using this site for over 10 years and i’m used to the way it’s been working for most of that time. it’s a challenge for me to accept that tumblr isn’t actually working right now for the vast majority of people, who aren’t as vocal as we are.

please do send in feedback, but try to understand that most of what you’re describing is behavior you learned the hard way, and we can’t keep tumblr around if “the way to effectively use tumblr” is learned the hard way.

[minisugakoobies]

two am | yjh

Pairing: Jeonghan x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, angst, porn with the barest of plot, exes to lovers, non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: late night texting, excessive use of the pet name 'baby,' fighting as foreplay, dirty talk, multiple references to reader's pussy, implied/referenced cheating, references to oral sex (reader receiving), slight exhibitionism, riding/grinding, nipple play (licking/biting/sucking), p in v protected sex, Jeonghan is bad for reader but they can't stay away

Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: It's two am and your ex is texting you again.

Text Prompts: Both are in italicized pink font in the story.

A/N: I'm back with another installment in my SVT texts series. This one is dedicated to @minttangerines. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUCE!! 🎉🎉 I brought you some toxic Jeonghan, hope you like him. 💜 Thank you for being such an amazing friend, tour guide, driver, and partner in crime. 😘

Soundtrack: 2AM by SZA; Sleazy Bed Track by the Bluetones

Unbeta’d as usual. If you like this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s nearly two in the morning when the warning pops up on your phone:

Cover your phone, explicit material coming your way

You barely have the time to excuse yourself from the table, heading in a panic towards the bathroom, before the next text from your ex arrives.

Jeonghan never includes his full face in his photos. It’s always just that maddening smirk of his, catching your eye first before it’s drawn down to the main focus - thin fingers wrapped around an obscene bulge, a darkened tip poking above the waistband of his boxers. 

You lock yourself in a stall and fire back.

You: You have to stop sending me these photos

Satan: That’s a rude way to say thank you

You: I’m serious, Jeonghan. We’re done

He doesn’t reply. You know better than to think he’s accepted your response. He’s refused to accept it for the last three months. 

Your phone chimes. Another photo. The boxers have been pulled down. You bite your lip, then catch yourself, snarling at your reflection on your screen.

You: I said stop!

Satan: That’s what you say now, but we both know that’s not what you’ll be saying later

You: There won’t be a later

You: Not this time

Satan: Really? You gonna tell me you don’t miss this cock?

Satan: That your pussy’s not already dripping imagining it inside you?

It’s the anger his words stir in you that’s making your pulse pound right now, you tell yourself.

You almost believe it. 

Satan: Come over, baby. Wanna make a mess of you like I did last time

You: Not. Happening.

Satan: You out with your friends again tonight? 

Of course he knows where you are. You’ve been going out with your friends every week since the breakup. Tonight’s the first night in a while that you’re sober, not in the mood to drink. This conversation is making you regret that. 

You: What does it matter if I am?

Satan: It’s almost closing time. Think you can find someone to take home?

Satan: Someone to make you forget about me? About how I fuck you?

Satan: You know no one can make you cum like me

To think his confidence is what once drew you to him. Now it repulses you, almost as much as your thighs suddenly clenching together does. 

You: You’re unreal

Satan: That’s right

You: That’s not a compliment

Satan: I know what you want

You: What I want is for you to fuck off forever

Satan: Baby please. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this

Satan: You can block me anytime you want. But you don’t

Satan: Why do you think that is?

You could answer him. Argue for a while, like you always do. Like you always did. It was the thing that the two of you did best - second only to fucking. You scroll upthread, looking at the last time you fought, reminding yourself how it ended:

Satan: Don’t tell me what to do

You: Eat me out

Satan: Okay tell me what to do

It’s not in your phone what happened next, but it’s seared into your memory, replaying behind your eyelids - lying on Jeonghan’s bed, legs splayed while he puts his wicked mouth to its best use. 

But you also remember the come down. The anger at your weakness. The shame. Knowing nothing has changed. That he hasn’t changed.  

You keep scrolling back, seeing the same thing over and over, watching the pattern repeat. You could stop it right now - end the conversation, delete him from your phone, and go rejoin your friends. That would be the smart thing to do. 

Satan: It’s okay, baby, you don’t have to admit it

Satan: Just come over and show me

If only you were smart.

“Mmmphm!”

The hem of your shirt makes a terrible gag, doing nothing to keep your volume down. Jeonghan’s head snaps up, gaze torn away from where he was watching himself disappear into you.

“Quiet, baby. Do you want them to hear you?” 

The “them” in question are his roommates, Joshua and Seungcheol, who are both sleeping on the other sides of the walls. Jeonghan would be sleeping in one of those bedrooms, too, if he wasn’t out here fucking you on the couch. Or, rather, sitting back and looking smug while you ride him on the couch. 

He knows you don’t want anyone to hear you, so you don’t bother to answer him, just glare while stuffing more of the already spit-soaked material into your mouth. His roommates would judge you for being here. Just like your friends did earlier, when you told them you were leaving. You said you were tired, but they’ve noticed your pattern too. And they’ve stopped trying to get you to break it, unwilling to expend their energy on such an impossible task. 

That’s fine. You don’t need to drag anyone else down to the bottom with you.

Jeonghan runs his fingertips over the exposed skin of your stomach, chuckling when you shiver. 

“Always so sensitive,” he tuts, shaking his head. 

He cups your breasts with his warm hands, pushing your shirt up further until the chilly night air hits your nipples, then bends his head down enough to lightly graze one with his teeth. You gasp, nearly dropping your impromptu gag, and Jeonghan pauses with his lips near your other tit, looking up at you, saying nothing, but his eyes communicate so clearly what he’s thinking - Be good, baby. 

If your relationship was a song, that was his refrain:

Be good, baby, I have to work late this weekend.

Be good, baby, I’m going out for drinks with some coworkers.

Baby, she’s just a friend. Don’t worry. Be good for me.

Despite everything, a part of you still yearns to be good for him. So you bite down harder. 

Jeonghan hums in approval. His mouth latches onto your other nipple, sucking lewdly, not much quieter than your whining has been. Hypocrite. You close your eyes, trying to shut out your loud as fuck thoughts and focus on the wet warmth of his tongue as it laves over and around your nipple a few times, in broad, messy strokes.

You arch into him, lacing your fingers through his hair to try to hold him in place. But like always, he can’t be tamed, lifting his head to smirk at you. You whimper, and he smiles harder, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you to his hungry mouth. You eagerly lean forward as your shirt falls from your jaw. 

Jeonghan’s kisses overwhelm your senses until you’re drowning in him. His tongue glides like honey, thick and slow, melting over yours, and you groan, grinding on him slowly.

This is what you needed. Even after all that went down, all the lies, all the tears, you still crave him, body and soul. If this is the only way that you can have him, this two a.m. interlude, then you’ll take every second you can, ignoring the little voice whispering that you’ll regret them all.

“That’s it, just like that.” Jeonghan looks down again, mesmerized by the smooth roll of your hips. His fingers sink into the flesh of your ass, hard enough that you know you’ll still feel his touch tomorrow. “Fuck yes, baby, ride it.” 

He guides you up and down his shaft, the wet sounds of your cunt sliding over him embarrassingly loud in the still room, and you let him control the pace, all your concentration on his lips - kissing them, nibbling them, sucking on them one by one. Trying desperately to get your fill of them, of him, because this is it. This is the last time. You swear it. 

Maybe this time, it will stick.

Jeonghan’s thumb rolls over your clit, making you gasp into his mouth. He does it again, and again, and just like that you’re falling apart, body singing electric as he lights up your nervous system with his touch. He keeps thrusting up into you, taking control again as you tremble above him, and you know he’s reaching his crest, the familiar signs too obvious to miss. He drops his head, muttering an endless stream of ‘fuck’s and ‘baby’s in that choked voice of his, and then his hands lock your hips in place, as deep as he can get as he fills the condom he wears.

It’s always intense, this moment, when it comes. The two of you, breathing heavy and spent, clinging to each other as you ride out the waves, like you’re hanging on for dear life. Or maybe that’s just you. Because you know that once the high is gone…

“Knew this pussy missed me.”

…the lows return.

Jeonghan laughs when you push yourself off his chest. He pinches your ass cheek for good measure, and you scowl, scrambling to climb out of his lap as quickly as you can, which is pretty difficult given your loose limbs. 

“Don’t say that.” 

Jeonghan watches with simmering amusement as you dress hastily, fumbling with your bra to the point that you nearly decide to leave it. “But it’s true.” 

“No, it’s not, and besides, it’s fucking gross when you talk like that. Like I’m not a person or something.” 

“Whatever.” He’s already losing interest, reaching for his phone. No need to argue anymore. He got his. 

You can’t get your clothes on fast enough. “Stop sending me photos. Don’t text me again.” 

You might as well be talking to the couch. He hums mechanically, scrolling away. “Lock the door on your way out.”

In the elevator, your finger hovers in its usual spot over the delete button. 

A chime. Jeonghan’s mouth, tongue extending between the peace sign he’s flashing, followed by four words: Sweet dreams, baby. 

You slip your phone back into your pocket as you descend.

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I in one of your most recent posts about the new Halloween event you said that in this event Vil actually suggests outright abandoning us?! 💀 Wtf!!?? Can you please elaborate a bit more about where he said that and the context of why he said it? I've already seen what's available of the event but I don't remember that part. Thank you for covering the events by the way as sometimes the translation is too rough to make out the story or I'm unable to finish it while in game. 🤍🩶🖤(Spooky hearts)

[Referencing this post!]

The scene you’re referring to is the end of 1-8 of Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas. At this point in the event, the NRC students have been sucked into the world of the storybook and have met Skully.

The group has come to the circle of holiday trees and Jade has opened the Halloween door. Skully looks inside but remarks that he cannot see the bottom. It’s then that a powerful gust of wind starts to pull him inside. As he’s falling, he grabs onto Grim’s tail for support. However, it becomes a chain of people grabbing onto others (Skully grabs Grim, Grim grabs Yuu, Yuu grabs Sebek, Sebek grabs Leona, Leona grabs Jamil) until several of us have fallen into the Halloween tree hole.

The remaining boys look at one another and debate about what they should do. After Jade notes that Yuu and the others have fallen into the tree, Vil says (rough translation): “What should we do? Leave them?” So yeah, he’s outright suggesting they abandon our asses 😭 There’s no sugarcoating it or some context that magically makes his lines any nicer.

Idia agrees with Vil to abandon us. Azul speaks up to express dissent, saying that they can put Skully, Grim, Yuu, Sebek, Leona, and Jamil in their debt if they go and rescue them. Riddle agrees with Azul because it’s the correct thing to do to find missing people, so they ultimately follow us into the tree.

I don’t think this is anything to be too startled over though?? Perhaps it doesn’t necessarily feel good to be betrayed by characters we enjoy, but it’s been pretty well-established that NRC students tend to go by the “every man for himself” mentality. Plus, the idea of NRC students being willing to throw others under the bus or abandon them if it’s convenient has definitely already happened numerous times before. (Yuu, despite being the self-insert character, is not always an exception to this.) One major example of the NRC students abandoning others is 3-15 of Glorious Masquerade (ie another Halloween event). Idia and Ruggie bring up leaving the RSA students (who sacrificed themselves so the NRC students could get away from the crimson flowers/fire lotuses) and just going home.

In GloMasq, the boys eventually decide to stick around and help out for a variety of reasons, including but not limited to: Silver noting that the spread of the flowers could endanger people they care about, Azul not wanting to leave a debt unpaid + wanting to put a bunch of mages in hospital debt, and Malleus seeking revenge on Rollo.

As you can see, the majority of the reasoning offered for the NRC boys saving the day actually have quite selfish roots. Vil’s suggestion in the current Lost in the Book Event therefore isn’t out of the ordinary. He doesn’t really have anything to gain or lose from a few of us going missing. Maybe the story would be different if one of his dorm members (say, Epel) or someone he has real responsibility over went down the tree, but Vil isn’t obligated to look after us to that extent.

[kozachenko]

[Click for better quality]

Ok yay I'm back from my vacation yipeeeeeee. I started this drawing of Keiki before I left and I was half considering just giving up on it.... until I did a short study of facial planes and then got motivated to work on this again! I'm glad I didn't give up on it though, as I'm actually really happy with this one!

Artist's Notes;

So as I mentioned in my last post about Touhou 17, I wanted to finish this by the game's five year anniversary but with how progress was going I didn't want to rush this so I decided to take a long break from it. Mainly because of the face. For a while now I was kind of feeling like I was stagnating with my drawings, not really in the clothing but in the bodies. There was something about the way I was rendering them that I just wasn't happy with, and after talking with someone else about this issue, I realized that the reason I felt this way was because the faces were too flat and didn't match the rest of the drawing and that I needed to find a way to make the rendering of the face feel consistent with everything else. So after doing a short study of the plains of the face (I used this 3D head model from art station as a reference for my short study, please go give this person some love as they are a lifesaver) I went back into this drawing and applied what I learned here. It was only after that that I finally became motivated to finish the piece, and while it started off as just a simple character sketch like Saki and Yachie's were, the moment I added in Keiki's little fire dragon I knew I had gotten in too deep and now here we are with a full on background. OK it's not super crazy or anything, but it gets the job done and it's better than there just being an empty void behind her. It's rare moments like this when I use brushes other than the Clip Studio Default Charcoal Brush and use the Clip Studio Default Paint Brushes as well (god bless the oil paint and dry gouache clip studio brushes, they were amazing). I don't know why but painting fire has always been really fun for me, there's something oddly satisfying about it y'know? I do think that another reason for this problem was because I was drawing faces like I would in my more sketchy style that didn't mesh well with my lineless style, so I'm glad I've started remedying that.

After adding in the fire dragon I had an idea to kinda make it feel like splash art in the way the composition works... probably because I have been playing Reverse 1999 again and it has taken over my brain. I do feel like Keiki's tools get a little lost in the composition, and I didn't fully render the metal parts of them mainly because I didn't feel like they needed it, but that's just something for me to improve on later down the line.

If you guys are wondering where I went for my vacation, I went to New York and got to go to the MET and the Museum of Natural History. In both places I found Kofun period stuff and I was so happy to see it you have no idea. I remember one of the Haniwa I saw had some neat face paint under the eyes that I tried to replicate with the makeup under Keiki's eyes in my drawing, though I think I'll gave to figure out how to draw makeup on characters because this reads more like blush to me than anything. While drawing this I also looked up some references of Kofun period jewelry and really liked the stuff I found, which also meant that now she has proper Kofun earrings instead of earrings shaped like Kofun tombs. I put some of the things I referenced with a closeup of Keiki's face as well down below. I made her outfit more reminiscent of the outfit I gave her at the beginning of the year with the buttons and all, though I do want to try and draw her in some more period accurate clothing like the Haniwa I took a picture of at the Museum of Natural History. I wish I could find a way to make her handercheif look better though as I wish I made it a little bit bigger, though I think I'm saying this because I've looked at this drawing for too long lmao. Once again something to work on for when I next draw her. Also want to get better at rendering hair, as some details (like the little strands in front of her ears) kinda got unreadable due to the similarities in colour lol.

Now you may have also noticed the little cracks I added onto Keiki's face, and that's because I have fallen in love with the idea of Keiki's body being made from ceramic and that she crafted her body herself. While they aren't very visible I also tried to add some doll joints to her body, which is an idea I played around with in the past but never went to far with. I also want to get better at rendering cracks in ceramic, porcelain, etc, as I'm not sure how those read in the drawing. I also have a headcanon where the cracks in Keiki's face show up because of heightened emotions, and while Keiki is aware of this and does her best to make sure her face doesn't break off.... she will still end up with at least a few cracks during any given day, and she can often forget to repair her own body quite frequently so Mayumi has to remind her quite a lot. Mayumi even taught herself some basic sculpting techniques to help repair parts of her body that are so badly damaged to the point where Keiki can't repair them herself, i.e. if both her arms broke off, Mayumi would put them back together for her so Keiki can at least have something to repair herself with rather than nothing. I also like to imagine that if Keiki created her own body, if you took a look at Keiki from the beginning of her life she would look completely different compared to now.

BTW If you guys are wondering what a very very angry Keiki looks like....ok in order for this to make sense have any of you read volume 11 of Land of The Lustrous? Am I bringing back some memories for those of you that have? Ok good, glad we all got that mental image brewing in our minds, I'll probably draw a version of Keiki that is somewhat inspired by that one day as it's an idea I've had for a little while now. And to those who haven't gotten to that volume yet and are confused.... don't worry about it, just keep reading :)

[ssavaart]

Happy Friday All!

In early 2020 (before Covid), I was painting larger paintings like this with Acryla-Gouache. I was really enjoying the medium.

I was inspired by a couple of photos by Annie Bertram on Deviant Art and asked permission to use them for reference.

Since I was just doing these for myself... I had NO plan. No test drawings. No layouts. I just started drawing on a large piece of paper and figured it out as I went.

Because of this... I never really figured out what to do with the hand on the left.

So... it just kind of disappeared.

I may go back and add it in later, I think.

But, for now... it's always a reminder of a time where I just broke out the paints and... played.

A couple months later... Covid hit and it was 3 years until I did my next large painting (the Gothic Vampire).

(Note: I can't find a reply from the photographer regarding permission or not. My memory is I heard back. But I can't find it.)

I DID hear from the model Theresa Fractale, a couple of years later, who was VERY upset that I had sold some postcards of the painting without her permission.

I was mortified. I hadn't even considered reaching out to the model. I offered her and Annie Bertram all of the profits I made from the sales, but she wasn't satisfied... and we left it at that.

These things DO happen with artists. Sometimes people claim you've "stolen" their art or style or likeness. And sometimes they have legitimate reason to do so.

Me, personally... I believe that artists should use ALL of the world around them for inspiration and if it is HEAVILY influenced by one artist or work of art... CREDIT them.

But change it. Don't directly copy it (unless you're studying someone's work... in which case... copy away).

But always credit.

I believe I REFERENCED the photos above, but didn't copy them.

But, I DID heavily reference them and, honestly, had NO intention of selling it (I still own the painting) or prints (I had only sold a few postcards before being contacted by the model... then stopped).

In any case... if the model or the photographer is unhappy with me selling prints... I don't sell prints. It's that simple.

Their work directly inspired MY work and while I feel that I've changed it enough to be unique... I don't want to cause another artist harm in any way.

Every artist is different. Some are open to sharing their art (like me) and others are very protective of their art.

But, there are no RULES to art. There is no such thing as "cheating" in art. There IS copyright LAW. And that is theft.

But that law ONLY (as far as I know) works if you are SELLING a copy of someone else's work. Profiting from it.

Not for learning. Not for practice. And not for posting online.

Just please... PLEASE credit the artist you're copying. Tell people why you are copying.

Nowadays, if I'm going to do a painting I plan on making prints of, I either use stock photography I've paid for or I get permission and pay the rights holder.

But, this is ONLY for pieces I want to sell prints of.

You do NOT need permission to use photo reference or even copy another artist's work for your portfolio or to post online.

Credit them. Share your inspiration with others. Tell them why you copied the works

But you don't need permission simply to make art. Ever.

Art should be shared. Copied. Studied. And most of all... enjoyed.

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

[evilminji]

Back on my: Holotuber Jedi Youngling - OC Thoughts >.>

Prev <-

You think folks debate at first? Shtick or Real Thing? Like? No... no WAY could that be one of those Mysterious Mystic Space Cult Kids. No WAY. They would NEVER let their kid be unsupervised on the Net.

But like... (and since I'm a She, gonna use She, but realistically could be any pronouns here) she LOOKS like she's recording from a...? Is that a closet? This one looks like a vent. THIS video is definitely some sort of maintenance area. So she's definitely sneaking...

Ooooh! Thaaaat's a Jedi! REAL FUCKING JEDI. Just dropped down silently behind her. Arms crossed. Mouse droids be snitching. BUSTED.

:T

"Uuuuuuh, h-heeey, Master Uvalii. Fancy seeing YOU here!"

"Yes. Quite interesting isn't it? Since you should not be able to access this area at all, much less to achieve holonet access. Of which we are both aware you are expressly Forbidden To DO unsupervised."

".........I can explain?"

"Please. Do."

*feed ends, chat goes fucking NUTS*

Like? Oh SHIT. Baby Jedi in troooouble. But also? Oh no! What's gonna happen?! Are they gonna be okay?! S-should they TELL somebody? What do Jedi do to kids who disobey them? Does anyone actually KNOW? What DO any of us know about them!? Someone find their Com Code! MA! MA, I need you to yell at space monks! An adorable CHILD MIGHT BE AT STAKE!!! D:>

Even coming BACK on? For a supervised feed? Going "no, I'm just in trouble. Have to right paragraphs and meditate on 'why I felt the need to do this' (even though I KNOW why, not that they'll LISTEN. They just hope I'll meditate until I come to an answer they LIKE)" under the offscreen supervision of a teacher or Creche master?

Whole ass Net gonna be like "youngling! Blink Twice if they're holding you hostage! We can afford bounty hunters! We got a group pot thing going already!!! Aaaaaaaa-!"

Like? *waves at the camera and chat* she TOLD you. They don't believe you. This is part of WHY she wants to do what she's doing. Palpatine's and his Master's machinations have been building for a while. Eroding trust. The Jedi have become strange, dangerous, semi-mythical cryptids with magic powers we must HOPE are benevolent.

Not people.

Why would they expect some unfeeling, magical, sword-wielding space legend to be patient or kind to children? To even have the capacity? We are said to kidnap children and be unfeeling. Can not reach enough people to show otherwise. To reveal the mundanity of our lives. The traditions. The norms.

Food, children, laughter.

The Common Good.

And like? She obviously isn't gonna name Sith-ly NAMES. Not on CAMERA. But her lil "why I wanna play the tooka game and chat about lunch" speech? Convincing. Calms chat down. Still in trouble, mind you. But... provided it's SUPERVISED? And they work out some sort of effective moderation? Alright.

It's a matter of SAFETY, youngling. And no matter HOW much good you wish to do? They will NOT be sacrificing children to achieve it. That is NOT the Jedi way. There are plenty of old masters who would live nothing more then to ramble all day into cameras, if only to here themselves talk. (Oh? Good to know. Guest speakers pog?)

Like? Imagine making a game. Have a "mystical sage" character you TOTALLY BASED of Jedi in it. And your feed gets? Flooded with XD reactions in response to some smol bby streamer playing it? You go to check it out. Cause you're kinda a big deal on your planet. And?

Oh No™

That tiny streamer? Is a tiny JEDI streamer. Who is sitting there, in the stills, going O.o like "Wut." And the next still? Her lil friends are pulled in. The next? A teenager. The NEXT. An adult. The one after THAT. A few adults looking over her shoulder. Then a CROWD. All deeply, deeply confused looking.

The comments are DYING. Howling with laughter. The Jedi were so earnest. Trying to identify which Era you must be referencing. Which sect. But the head dress... cultural, maybe? It doesn't fit with the features though. Could be adopted. A hint at, I believe the term was, "lore"? No, no, those are DEFINITELY padawan beads! But so MANY? In THAT order?

They aren't even connected to a braid! And he's supposed to be a Master, right? But, wait. Perhaps it's meant to suggest he is a Padawan of the Force itself? A student of life? No, that wouldn't make sense! Stolen? It could suggest he has TAKEN the beads? Is regurgitating stolen texts without true understanding? Much like wearing bead he did not EARN?

They keep going and going. Ripping your character design to SHREDS. Picking it apart. Not even meanly! They are genuinely confused. AND IT ONLY MAKES THE CHAT LAUGH HARDER. Because it devolves into a MARATHON, after the game has been paused, of chat spamming different character names? For the Jedi to go "???" Over.

T...that's not? What? How does he even EAT in those robes? And those ones don't seem very non-humanoid friendly. Is he FLOATING HIS SWORD WITH THE FORCE? WHY!? Just keep it on your belt!!!

And? Now every game developer in the galaxy is PARANOID AF. Either make their mystics Very Obviously NOT Jedi rip offs... or shoot a "if I pay you $20 will you consult on something real quick" email. It's just... just easier man. Last guy got laughed into oblivion. Oof.

They can bill it as "Realism" or something. See guys? WE do or reasearch! Give us your credits!

Oh YEAH? Says the growing fan base of this Funky Lil Monk Child. Then put you game where your communication organs are. Send her the game, you cowards.

Do It.

Cut to "oh no, guys! The sorta-jedi died! What? Next objective? No. No we gotta give him a funeral! Oh good, we ca-BURY HIM?! What!? No!!! I could understand if he was from a race that held beliefs that bodies must be returned to the soil from whence they came, but this guy is a SORTA-JEDI! Absolutely NOT!"

"Let's cut down some trees. WE are building him a PYRE. Never ran one of these, but I can look it up. Gimme a moment. Okay. Draaaaag, him on to it. Where's his weapon. There! Thanks chat! On it goes too. Okay. Looking it up..... got it. Ahem...!"

*hold funeral for the sage character by burning his body*

*mods are IMMEDIATELY created to change the "burial" scene to a "Funeral pyre" with somber music*

Just? I can not let go? Of how the subtle shift would spread? Not in shining senatorial halls, but in class rooms and living rooms, dingy pubs and long hyperdrive flights? Anywhere boredom might be found and "hey check this out" might spread? Where someone else, might overhear and get curious?

Lik?? Imagine being the bounty hunter, who fuckin HATES Jedi, thinks they're sanctimonious BASTARDS, hearing someone snort laugh. Just... just fucking CHOKE on their cheep beer. Oh? Now everyone's interested. What's funny?

It's a teeny, tiny, lil jedi youngling. Playing that new Bounty 5 game. Unrealistic as hell. But they are going "I am a MASTER of stealth. A LEGEND of the hunt. You will not see me. I am sneaky. So, so, sneeeeakyyyyy!" As they concentrate on sneaking through back alleys.

Only for their character to fall RIGHT of a ledge, bounce against three buildings, smash into a parked Speeder, and roll right into a cut scene. Where they are call the "greatest bounty hunter of all time".

They look so incredulous.

"Are you SURE? Cause I'm fairly certain that phrase alone is banned for the trouble it causes, near most Bounty outposts. Could be the concussion talking though!"

They are? A sarcastic lil SHIT. Roast EVERYTHING. Know a surprising number of them. Given that they gave the Duros support character a modded in hat. Named him Definitely-Not-Cad. The fake look mustache REALLY sells it. Yeah, Bane. Clearly not you. YOU don't have a mustaches. *watches as she unleashes the Not Cad Bane like a highly tactical meat thresher on legs* brutal lil shit. They like her.

Granted, it's only BECAUSE it's not real she does so.

But I just? Have so many ideas? Spam the Galaxy with "this is who we are. We are people. Develop bonds with us. Care about us. KNOW us." Because the Sith can not possibly kill us all. Can not stop truth, so widely spread. Light dies, when you smother it in closed hands, hidden away in dark and long forgotten places. When you let fear dictate your actions.

It thrives in the open. With people. With the chance to SPREAD. Grow. Bloom.

It's about talking and caring. Being heard. What better place? Then on the screen in their pocket?

@babbling-babull @hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @spidori

[yeoldenews]

I don't know how much you think about it, but you wrote a post back in Mar 2020:

"A sincere request from someone who has spent her entire adult life wishing people had kept better records…In the coming weeks and months… RECORD WHAT IS HAPPENING."

That post got me to start properly journaling properly, after trying and failing when I was younger. A majority of it is 'just' day-to-day progress updates on my fiction writing, but there's a bit of stuff about my life, and some briefer stuff about the world beyond. Not a lot, but some. Four (and change) years, and my journal is just short of 186K words.

I remembered your post, seeing today's SCOTUS decisions. I remembered your post, and I remembered a line you'd written: "Are you scared to death? Write it down."

I just...I don't know. I just wanted you to know your post made an impact, and I don't know what the fuck is coming over the next week and month and year and decade, but...I'm writing shit down. I'm writing shit down, and it's all because of your post.

You have no idea how much this means to me, and how badly I needed to hear it this week - so thank you. Truly. I am genuinely moved, and so proud of you for your 186k words.

History is made up of the stories people decided to save - and the first step to making sure a story gets saved is writing it down.

I really, really hate writing. Like more than just about anything. I'm a chronic perfectionist, and it can take me a whole afternoon to finish a single paragraph I'm satisfied with. (I spent three days writing this response, and you don't even want to know how long I spend on some of the things I post.) So keeping a journal is not a task I'd ever felt the need to afflict myself with before the pandemic. When I made the post you referenced, my journaling habit was all of ten days old but, against all the odds, here I am over four years later having never (to my recollection) missed a single day.

My daily records of what my cats are doing, and your day-to-day writing progress may not be extensively poured over by future scholars, but for only a few minutes of effort a day we now have recorded hundreds of stories.

And who knows what the people of the future might find fascinating. I'm sure the teenage girl in Philadelphia who smudged the letter she was writing in 1897 because a bee scared her would be absolutely baffled that thousands of people were still laughing about the incident 125 years later.

So much of history, and life in general, doesn't become clear until long after the fact. Historical records are full of people overreacting about events that ended up having very little significance in hindsight, and under-reacting about events they no had no idea were about to change the world. But being able to go back and see what people wrote in the moment, preserving their honest thoughts and hopes and fears, is about as close as you can get to time travel.

Maybe what we fear will come true and we're recording history, maybe we'll look back on what we wrote today and go "phew! that was a close one!", or maybe nothing will come of it at all - I pray it will be the last one, but, whatever the outcome, it's worth writing down.

(Also voting. Please, please vote.)

[its-quiet-colter]

Hello! I’m not sure if you take requests but I’d love to see a Joel x M reader fic where Joel’s only started to experiment with his sexuality and reader is a long time friend of his who he’s confided in.

Maybe they sit down on the couch, have a few beers, and watch the game and Joel attempts to give reader a blowjob for the first time??

Again, I have no idea if you take requests so please feel free to ignore this if I’ve overstepped

Show me how to love you

Joel Miller x Male!Reader [Pre-outbreak]

Word Count: 4134

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, denial of feelings, implied switch!Joel, come eating, blowjob, masturbation, slight internalised homophobia. also bisexual!joel referencing his ex-wife and Tess but this is 100% reader focused.

Notes: hello anon! never apologise! i love requests and you're my first one. they're always welcome, and this got me out of my writing slump so thank you!! i also apologise, i have only played the video games and i haven't seen show. so if this feels a bit ooc, it's because i'm going off of my experience with the games. i tried my best :)

| archive of our own |

Joel Miller is not a man who understands relationships well. Nor has he ever been good with them. He keeps to himself, choosing to remain closed off. Each offer for a coffee after school drop off ends or dinner at one of the nicer restaurants around town are all turned down with a tone that’s polite enough and borders on cold for anyone who doesn’t know him well enough. Emotionally unavailable, one of the women from the school’s mothers group had called him. He supposes there’s some truth to it. Joel is a man who swore never again to wear his heart on his sleeve after all.

It’s for a good cause, he tells himself. Sarah doesn’t need the stress of meeting a new woman, nor the inconsistency of being placed second in priority to any potential girlfriend. Not his babygirl. Joel is a dad now, a single dad. And he’s made peace with that. At least that’s what he tells himself each night. Maybe Sarah does want that female role model to call ‘mom’ at the end of the day and cheer her on at soccer practice beside Joel. He’s buried that long before he can ever begin to answer that question. 

He has his routine now, settled comfortably into the role of single dad. Bedtimes set, school lunches packed, laundry folded, in the car for school by seven-thirty in the morning. It’s not exciting but it's fulfilling. And that’s more than he can ask for right now. He tells himself there’s no room for anything extra in his day.

But as Joel watches Tommy and Maria, he can’t help but think about it. He’s lonely. The two of them leave a heavy feeling in his chest, like he’s stuck behind a shield of glass. Forever believing he’ll be unable to find the kind of connection he’d once known. It’s a far cry to hope for anything remotely similar to what his brother and Maria have. That feeling of security, domesticity, comfort. A pang of guilt hits him as he remembers the way Tess walked out the door and out of his life after the third attempt of trying to make it work. Both of them were unable to convince each other that they were anything more than friends. But that’s all far away now, faded memories and the phantom feeling of kisses he’d felt a long time ago. 

He can live with that, he tells himself. But it starts to feel less and less convincing each day that passes.

Joel hasn’t had sex with someone in well over a year. That number grows to be even greater for anyone who managed to stay longer than one night. He’s taken to sleeping in the middle of the bed, a book stacked on each bedside, collecting dust as the nights are spent alone thinking up at the ceiling. His home is sparsely decorated, with no one waiting for him at the end of a hard day’s work to tell him the house needs a spring clean or some serious redecorating. The divorce papers left on the kitchen counter from Sarah’s mother were merely just the nail in the coffin for Joel’s lackluster love life. 

It’s harder when Sarah is at school. The house is dreadfully empty, quiet. He considered getting a dog, if only to hear an extra set of footsteps in the house. The only real respite from his restless mind these days are your visits. Whether it’s meeting at the steakhouse for dinner, the weekly football game, or Tommy’s barbecue that Joel insists you tag along to for the sake of his sanity. You are one of the few people that doesn't make Joel feel lonely. He doesn’t look at you and yearn, he feels safe enough to lean on you, to confide in you over a beer and a good laugh. His best friend.

Whether it’s the stress of work or his struggles with the women in his life, or lack thereof, Joel knows he can trust you. Not once have you laughed or dismissed his emotions, even when it takes him half an hour of stubborn emotional inner conflict to admit he’s terribly lonely. You’ve always listened, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder with a firm squeeze. Stable. That’s what you are. The touch you provide easing all of Joel’s worries. You understand him, you’re all he needs.

And you’re great with kids, with Sarah. He trusts you more than he’s willing to admit.

Whenever Tommy needs to whisk him away for an extra hand on fixing up the porch or finishing up whatever project he’s working on, Joel can always rest easy when you agree to babysit for the night and watch over her. There’s never any nerves when he gives you the keys before he waves goodbye. You are Joel’s longest and closest friend. You’re as much family to him as Tommy or Maria.

Only you can make his heart feel warm when he comes through the door well past midnight, just to find you asleep in front of the television with Sarah dozing beside you. Empty cups of hot chocolate sit on the coffee table and her head is pillowed on your shoulder. The sounds of your snores drowning out the movie. 

Joel always notices the smell of home cooked dinner that lingers in the house, and the spare plate you leave for him to eat later. Or the way your boots are plonked alongside his and Sarah’s at the door, coated in a layer of damp snow. You’re an integral part of Joel’s life, of Joel himself. 

The next morning, when he watches you get back in your pickup and pull out of his driveway with a wave to him and Sarah, Joel silently wonders what it would be like if you lived together.

– 

School’s back in swing from the holidays, the cooler weather bringing along the ever-present loneliness now that Sarah is out for most of the day. Even at work, it’s barely enough to keep his agitated mind at bay. Too much free time to think now that he’s not playing board games and watching movies during the break.

He waits in the car outside of the gates, the heater keeping him warm whilst he waits to pick up his daughter once the bell rings. Joel’s fingers rub over the worn leather on the steering wheel as the engine hums silently in the background. It’s boring, he thinks, tilting his wrist to recheck the time on his watch. It’s been three minutes since he last checked. He sighs, rubbing a tired hand over his face, thumb brushing over the stubble on his chin. Sitting idle with his thoughts is not Joel’s forte and yet he finds himself doing it whenever he’s alone.

It’s really an afterthought when his eyes drift over towards two men walking across the street, unimposing and going about their day. With a coffee in hand, they walk towards the direction of Joel. it’s not until he notices their free hands are intertwined with each other’s, engrossed in an effortless conversation. He wonders what they’re talking about.

They look like old lovers, not youngsters in their twenties. But it’s the ease in which they walk hand in hand with each other, comfortable and light, that has Joel’s chest aching, a sour feeling settling over him. Their eyes hold so much affection for one another, like their whole world is standing right next to them. An everyday intimacy Joel has long forgotten about.

The brunette laughs at something the redhead says, his head falling back to reveal a faint mark that peeks out of the collar of his shirt. He can almost picture how it was put there, placed along the curve of the brunette’s neck. Something heated, warm and passionate underneath the cover of darkness, pressed against the heat of a mattress. Or maybe it was something far softer; a press of lips against warm skin and stubble. Protected under the early morning sunshine that filters through the window.

He tries to visualise it in his mind, but it’s blurry. Joel understands the basics of two men together, but the details elude him. It’s not something he ever thought it was worth thinking about. He’s never been in a situation where he’s on the receiving end of another man’s attention. Except for that one dreadful time at the pub when he had been oblivious to the flirty words of another patron at the bar.

You had laughed, warm and rumbly from your chest after Joel sat down beside you with your drinks, unaware that the entire interaction had been an attempt to get his number.

Joel watches as the brunette and the redhead pass by his car, the fog seemingly to clear and the moment is lost. Reality crashes back down at the sound of the door opening and closing as Sarah hops into the backseat of the car, shaking off her jacket. The image is gone, but the ache in his chest never truly fades. 

“Hey kiddo, how was school?”

–

The image of the couple remains with Joel well into the months passing. Winter has truly settled in now. With frost coating the windows, the shovel taken out of the cupboard and left by the door for everyday use, a snowman guarding the front lawn. Joel finds himself making hot chocolates for Sarah and trying hopelessly to stitch up the holes in her coats and beanies. 

It’s in the dead of night, when he’s alone under a layer of warm blankets, whiskey settling heavy in his gut to compliment the hum of arousal that simmers and brews away. Joel slides a hand under his boxers, pushing past the waistband. It’s a feeling so foreign with just how long it's been. 

He lets his mind wander, trying to think of long hair, sticky lipstick and scented perfume that borders on too sweet– relying on the same old fantasies which stopped feeling exciting years ago but that get the job done. He wraps a hand around himself, arching slightly as precum makes the slide over his cock easier. Joel bites his lip, brow furrowed as his imagination gives way to the thought of a solid chest, the sprinkle of hair across warm skin that trails down to a navel. The scrape of stubble over his inner thighs, leaving kisses and marks in their wake. It's easier to picture than he assumed, the roughness of his own palm gifting the illusion he’s not alone. Perhaps it’s one of the other single dad’s, or the lad who works over at the hardware store, or you.

Heat pools in his stomach at the thought of you, his best friend. 

“Ngh, fuck.” he mumbles.

Joel thumbs the slit, his cock twitching in his hand as he imagines you next to him, your weight settled on top of him like a security blanket as he chokes back a moan and gives himself over to you.

A hand covers his mouth as his orgasm hits suddenly, far closer to the edge than he thought he was. His chest heaves and his thighs shake as he rides out the strongest orgasm he’s had in a long time. Come coats his fist as he strokes himself, grinding up into his palm to draw out the last of his pleasure.

In the darkness of his room alone, all sated and spent, Joel brings his palm up and licks the come off his hand whilst it’s still warm. For a moment, he can pretend it's yours.

–

When he sees you for the weekly game that plays on cable, Joel’s stomach all but drops and guilt washes over him and settles uncomfortably in his chest. He takes it all back. Feeling lonely and wanting is far better than whatever feelings he’s holding for you. It’s more than just your looks, he realises. Joel really loves you. He feels safe with you, enough to be vulnerable and confide his turmoils with. The thought of ever telling you what’s going on in head scares him shitless.

As you walk into Joel’s house, it’s warm and inviting. Enough to strip your coat, shaking it off to remove the excess snow. Joel’s left space for you in his life, an extra space on the coat hanger by the door, a dozen eggs instead of six, an extra beer placed in the fridge. Little things you’ve noticed. You occupy his living room, his kitchen and now almost always, you take pride and place in his bedroom when he’s alone at night.

Joel watches as you sit next to him on the couch, hyper aware of the space between you two, or lack thereof. He tries to focus on the game. The cheering, the scorecard, the pass of the ball from player to player, but it all feels a million miles away. You, however, feel all too close and Joel feels like he’s about to say something stupid.

“You okay?” You ask softly, breaking the silence of the room. He watches you turn towards him, shifting on the couch with your beer balanced on your knee. You’ve always listened to him, given him the space he needs to talk if he wants. Joel almost hates the soft gentle tone of your voice, it makes him want to tell you everything.

“Yeah, ��m good.” He says, it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. “Just stressed with work and Sarah’s school and stuff..”

You know he’s lying. Joel’s never stressed about work, the tasks come easy to him, working away with his hands helps him think rather than stress. And he takes to looking after Sarah like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Of course he worries like any dad would, but it’s not like him to get all quiet and fidgety through a football game.

“Alright.” Your voice is gentle, understanding he doesn’t want to talk about it. You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing in reassurance. Trying to convey without words that you’ve got him, that he’s not alone.

Joel’s quiet for a long time, but the way he leans into your touch doesn't go unnoticed. The game rumbles in the background, both of you watching it and neither paying attention.

“Have you ever… have you ever been with a man?” Joel asks, awkward and shaky. Uncertain. His arms folded over his chest as he shuffles uncomfortably, silently scolding himself for asking outright. But how else was he supposed to say it?

You can hear the tremble in his voice, the underlying fear written within the words. Unsaid and yet read all the same. Joel knows you’re more accepting than most, there’s been countless instances throughout your friendship to suggest you’d have no problem with such a question. And yet the man who is a born and bred Texan, who knows the way neighbours talk and strangers stare. His mind falls back to the brunette and the redhead, and the kind of things they must have to face.

“Yeah, I have.” You nod, your expression soft as you see the range of emotions crossing over his face. Shock, relief, confusion and fear.

“You have?” Joel asks in disbelief, like he won’t believe it until he’s heard it again. You’d tell him a million times if you had to. “How did you know…? That you were interested, I mean.”

“Well,” You start, a hand rubbing over your chin. “I kind of figured it out when I was real young, you know, a boy in my class, the neighbour's son, that kind of thing. But I didn’t really get it all figured out till I got to college. You know how the south is.”

“Yeah… I know.” Joel nods solemnly, it’s something he’s been thinking about over and over for months now. He opens his mouth, ready to speak and then a beat later not so ready. Joel closes his mouth, fidgets awkwardly under the silence. He doesn’t know what to do with the information of knowing that you, his best friend, have probably already gone through all the inner turmoil he has right now. But you’ve come out the other side, comfortable with yourself all these years later. Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous.

“Is that why you’ve been so stressed lately?” You ask, watching as Joel nods and takes a swig of the beer, wishing it was whiskey.

“You know you don’t have to hide how you’re feeling with me, Joel.” You place a gentle hand on his elbow, the touch grounding and Joel realises how desperately he needs to let it out. He’s held it in for far too long.

“I know, it’s just-” Joel cuts himself off, frustrated with himself that he can’t confide in you how he usually does. He needs you, your comfort. The normalcy you bring. “It’s something I've been thinkin’ about for a while now. But it ain’t as simple as just acting on it.”

Your hand moves up from his elbow to his shoulder again, your thumb brushing over the warm skin of his neck where the collar of his shirt ends. He shivers slightly, the touch lovely and cosy with the cold weather raging outside. Joel looks down at your hand on his shoulder. Then to your face where his eyes trail down to your lips.

Oh, you think. Realize. You know that look. Joel’s clearly thought about it and he’s thought about you specifically. There’s a hint of vulnerability and guilt in his eyes, his expression so raw. Like he’s finally decided to drop that emotional stoicism and reach a hand out for you.

The empty beer bottles are put down on the coffee table, as you turn to face Joel. One hand gently coming up to cup his cheek as the anticipation builds.

“Can I?” You ask softly, not wanting to break the fragile moment.

“Please.” Joel nods, and you lean forward. Lips press against lips and you feel the bristling of his stubble against your own as he leans into the kiss. His hands hesitate against the couch, curled into fists before he relaxes into the feel of your hands against his cheeks and your lips parting to feel each other more.

Your tongue swipes across his teeth and you feel the vibration of his moan as he opens his mouth and lets you explore your mouth. Joel’s hands unclench from the couch and he holds onto your shirt, pulling you closer so your legs start to tangle as you both spread out on the couch. When you pull away for breath, Joel is panting against your lips, the tip of his nose brushing over your cheek in a warm gesture.

“Too much?” You ask, not wanting to push him too far too soon. 

He shakes his head, still holding onto your shirt as if he’s afraid to let go. “No, not at all.”

You kiss him once, and then again. Then, before you know it, the halftime break is up and the game resumes in the background, but it’s lost on you both. The feeling of Joel pressed against you, the low thrum of arousal that grows between you. It’s far better than any game going on.

Joel slides down off the couch, and for a moment you think he’s fallen with the way he settles on his knees with a soft thud. But as he looks up at you, his chin resting on your leg, you know he went there willingly.

“Can I?” He says softly. Now it’s his turn to ask you, to want to be given permission as he tugs at your jeans slightly.

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to.” Joel says, shaking his head as he looks up at you with more certainty than he’s shown all night.

He’s wanted this for months now, the feel of another man. And yet, Joel is ill prepared for the intimacy of the moment. The warmth of your skin, the scent of sweat and arousal. The way your fingers slide through his short, shabby hair, guiding him down onto your length for the first time. You moan softly, hands cradling his head as he takes your into his mouth. God that’s good. Both of you are lost in the sensation of the other. The feel of your cock, warm and heavy under his tongue. And the warmth in your gut as Joel licks away the precum that beads from your tip.

The faint flicker of blue light from the game in the background bounces off his hair, catching the dark strands and illuminates a faint silver glow. A halo of soft light around his curls and the shadows cast over the curve of his nose as he looks up at you, the head of your cock swallowed around his lips. It’s intoxicating and you can’t help but moan at the sight of Joel below you.

Arousal settles in his belly, the strain of his own erection pushing at the zipper of his jeans. But Joel barely passes a thought for his own pleasure, instead captivated by the jut of your hips as you begin to thrust shallowly into his mouth.

“Steady, there you go baby.” You drawl, your voice heavy with arousal. Just the sight of Joel between your legs, moaning on your cock is enough to make you feel close. He gets too ahead of himself, too desperate and eager to feel you as he tries to take you all the way down. A gag is torn from him, and he can’t help but drool and splutter, pulling back from your length as it rests against his cheek, connected by a line of spittle.

“I don’t know what I'm doing.” Joel admits. The statement takes more vulnerability than he’s willing to admit, but it’s masked by the roughness in his voice, his accent raw and drawn out. 

“Just open your mouth wide and let your tongue fall over your teeth, darlin’.” You soothe, hands cupping either side of his head. 

Joel does as you’ve told, taking comfort and pleasure in your instruction. He likes it when you’re in charge. He can lose himself in your calming words, your experience helping him let go. He’s not worried about impressing you or messing up. Instead he just focuses on the heavy weight of your length on his tongue and the salty taste of precum. His own cock twitches in his pants and he realizes he could come untouched if he really wanted. But he had a feeling you’d take care of him regardless.

This is what he has been missing for so long now. Not just sex. But intimacy and safety. You’re his confidant, of course he trusts you to take care of him. Joel moans around you, his hands clutching at your thighs as he feels you move in and out of his mouth.

“Joel– ‘m close darlin’.” You warn gently, fingers tightening around his hair as your hips start to lift off the couch slightly. Joel groans, the thought of you finishing in his mouth causing his eyes to close as he buries his nose in your curls and sucks hard.

“Oh fuck.” Your moan is drowned out by the crowd cheering for a touchdown, and your hands stroke his sweaty hair off his forehead. Joel moans as he swallows your come, warm and a little salty. It trickles down his chin when you pull away, and if it wasn’t for his own arousal starting to ache, he’d have stayed down there on his knees for another hour.

You reach down, your thumb brushing away the mess on his chin before you’re kissing him and pulling him back up onto the couch with you. The taste of yourself lingers on his lips and Joel pants for breath between kisses, shuffling out of his jeans whilst trying to stay plastered to you.

“You know, for your first blowjob, you’re not too bad, darlin’.” You chuckle lightly, watching as he settles back against the armrest of the couch, a hand wrapped lazily around himself as he strokes his length.

Joel can’t help but laugh soft, trailing off into a soft gasp as you start to kiss your way down his chest to his navel. 

“Gonna let me repay the favour, mh?” You ask with a smile, wrapping your hand around his own to set the pace.

“Ngh, don’t leave me hanging, darlin’.” He moans softly, laying back against the couch as his eyes close.

Your smile is warm and playful as you settle between his legs, knowing just how good you’re going to make your man feel. Because he’s yours. He has been for a long time, it just took Joel a while to realise it.

[honeyhotteoks]

this night together - chapter twelve (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter twelve: home is always home

chapter summary: you were planning to tell them how you felt on saturday, but when things go sideways at the studio you find yourself running home as fast as you can.

warnings: this is the chapter i've been warning about for a long, long time. please read responsibly if you're easily triggered by any of the following topics - guy who can't take no for an answer, aggressive/sexist language, physical and verbal assault, panic/ptsd, physical injury/blood, hospitals, police interaction (mentioned), nightmares/night terrors, self harm (sort of?)

notes: please note, if you're reading this on or around 12.3.23 when i'm posting, i've put up three chapters at once. make sure you don't skip chapter ten and eleven! additional notes under the cut~!

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 11.6k

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for my readers who aren't that familiar with a/b/o, i'm introducing something in this chapter that you may not have seen before. i wanted to add some context! if you're new to a/b/o, there is something that alphas have often called "alpha tone", "alpha voice", or just "tone". alphas in many depictions have the ability to lower their voice in a particular way that is seen as a strict command to an omega, and it triggers/activates their submission. this is something that can be used negatively or positively, but in this scene will be negative. there's also something called headspace/subspace that you will see referenced, and an omega can be put into headspace/subspace via alpha tone. it is a bit of a dissociative state where the omega can only really hear and understand commands. this can be used negatively or positively as well, but again, definitely not good in this scene. i hope that helps.... and happy/responsible reading!!

You really, really wish today was Saturday and not Thursday. Thursday just means you still have to get through Friday and then all of Saturday morning before your scheduled dinner with Yunho and Mingi and all the things you want to say are practically eating you up inside. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to tell someone you’ve been an idiot and you’re in love with them, and blurting it out in the middle of dance practice isn’t really going to help make this easier. 

God, you hope they still want you. 

On the plus side, this week has been insane. With the full crew back things are moving at a million miles per hour, and you’ve been in more meetings about what’s coming up next in the past week than the entire time you’ve worked for BB Trippin and KQ.

Your schedule for the next six months is frankly intense. Between preparing for year-end stages and working on the choreography for the newly debuting girl group, you’re juggling conversations about New World’s next comeback and the next round of touring. With the money coming in now there’s an opportunity to take more dancers, and that just means more late nights and early mornings getting everything right. 

It’s after your third concept planning meeting of the week that you find two minutes to talk to Wooyoung, his bag already slung over his shoulder as he refills his water bottle. 

“So, you’re going?” You ask him vaguely, trying not to tip off anyone else in the vicinity that he’s got a date. 

“Yeah,” He nods, eyes flicking over your shoulder to see if San and Seonghwa are nearby, “I think I’m going to throw up,” 

“No, you’re not,” You assure him. 

“I might,” He whines, running a hand through his mop of long black hair, “I never know what to say to him,” 

“Woo,” 

“I know what to say to everyone, y/n,” He lowers his voice, panic evident in his eyes, “but every time Sangie smiles I go fucking blank,” 

“Sangie?” Your eyebrow quirks, “Is that what we’re calling him now,” 

“Shut up,” Wooyoung blushes. 

“Wow,” You prod him softly, “you’re down so bad, it’s been like three days,” 

“It’s so bad,” He grimaces, “this is embarrassing,” 

“Now you see how I feel,” You smirk, “it’s kind of fun being on this end of things,” 

“Please,” He rolls his eyes, “are you telling me you’re not panicking?” 

“Oh, no,” You laugh, “I definitely am. It’s just nice to know I’m not alone here,” 

“I was never this mean to you,”

You hold his gaze, just blinking, there’s nothing to say to that he doesn’t already know. 

“Okay, fine,” He sighs, “but still, feeling like this,” 

“Feeling like what?” Seonghwa’s voice shocks you both out of your quiet conversation and you both jump back from each other. 

“Jesus,” You breathe, “you scared me,” 

Seonghwa smiles, “Sorry,” he shrugs, “everything okay?” 

“Perfect,” Wooyoung takes a step back and shakes his head, “totally good,” 

Seonghwa’s brows come together in the middle, “You seem like something’s wrong, can I help?” 

Wooyoung almost blanches, and you know he’s dreading telling San and Seonghwa about Yeosang, so you jump in to help. “Woo was just helping me figure out Saturday,” You cover and draw Seonghwa’s attention back to you, “you know, figuring out what to say to them,”

“Oh,” Seonghwa nods, but you can see that he doesn’t really buy it, “right,” 

“Anyways,” Wooyoung starts walking backwards towards the exterior door, “I have to go, but you know, y/n, call me if you need to talk more later,” 

“I will,” You nod, “I definitely will.” 

Wooyoung knows that what you mean is that you want detailed date updates, and he almost looks mortified at the idea. He disappears fast, leaving you and Seonghwa relatively alone in the hallway. 

“What is up with him this week?” Seonghwa asks, confusion on his face. 

“He has a date,” You tell him quietly, “he’s kind of freaking out about it.” 

“Oh,” Seonghwa glances towards the door where Wooyoung just disappeared, “that’s not that weird for him,” 

“It is if he’s this interested after only a few days,” You say, “but don’t tease him. He’s kind of worked up about the whole thing,” 

“Who’s he seeing?” Seonghwa asks. 

“He should tell you that,” You beg off the gossip immediately, “just do me a favor and give him a little space to talk to you and San about it,” 

“Okay,” He draws out the word, not sure exactly where you’re going. 

“He’s nervous about upsetting the delicate balance,” You gesture towards him, referring to the carefully constructed relationship that is Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa. 

“He’s seeing another alpha?” Seonghwa jumps to that conclusion with ease, and you can see how he would get there. 

You’re shaking your head before you can stop yourself, “It’s not that,” 

That does surprise him, and Seonghwa’s eyes widen a bit, “Oh,” 

“Right,” You nod, leading him to the conclusion as close as you can without spelling it out, “my point is, he’s nervous and he’s got a pretty serious crush, and he hasn’t said so but I think he’s scared you and San won’t approve.” 

“I would never,” He stumbles over his words, “out of anyone, we would never judge him, he has to know that,” 

“Hey,” You reach for Seonghwa, stepping a little closer so your voices stay low in the entryway as you brush your hand down his forearm, “he knows, he’s just panicking a little.” 

“Should I talk to him?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes earnest. 

“Not yet,” You shake your head, “he’ll figure it out, just don’t push him right now. I’ve never seen him this anxious,” 

“I won’t,” He promises, “thank you for telling me,” 

“Mhm,” 

Seonghwa chews over your words a second and then decides to let it drop. With a sigh he refocuses on work, “Are you staying late?” 

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I have some things to catch up on. You?” 

“I need to track down San,” He says, “but then after that I’m probably heading out a little early,” 

“Nice,” You nod, “still shaking off the jetlag?” 

He nods, “Unfortunately,” 

Down the hall you watch a few of the dancers gathering up their belongings, and then the door to the back office opens to reveal Yunho and Mingi, sitting close together and studying a computer screen as Jaemin leaves for the day. 

“Well,” Your feet are already moving, “then I’ll see you later,” 

“Sounds good,” He says, and then he gives you a knowing look, seeing exactly where you’re headed. 

Before you know it, you’re moving through the people in the hall and trying desperately to come up with a reason for crashing their tete-a-tete. 

“Hey,” You knock softly on the open door, “am I interrupting?” 

“No, no,” Yunho smiles when he sees you and your stomach bubbles. 

“We’re just watching back practice,” Mingi leans back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. 

“Oh, nice,” You say, and your empty words do little to fill the empty space. 

“Do you… need something?” Yunho tries. 

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” You scramble internally for something to say, “I’m staying late, but I’m kind of starving, I just didn’t know if you still had stuff stashed?” 

“Sure,” He gestures towards the cabinets on the side wall, “whatever you want, help yourself,” 

“Great,” You dash towards the cabinets, and you can’t even imagine eating right now with how fluttery your insides have been, but you snag a couple of protein bars anyways. 

The silence is brutal. Not like before, not like the tense and uncomfortable angry silences of the past, but it’s still sitting there between you. Part of you wants to shut the door right now and just get it all out there, but again, you know you shouldn’t. 

Mingi’s warm, chocolatey scent is richer in here, evident after a hard practice of working up a sweat and being given a chance to permeate with the door closed. You feel your body naturally relaxing at it, so comforting and familiar, and then you get the first pang of Yunho’s warm, summer rain. 

You can hardly believe how you convinced yourself that this wasn’t scent sympathy when right here and now it’s so obvious they belong to you. You wonder if they feel it too. 

“Are you okay?” Mingi’s voice snaps you out of your sudden daydream staring at the cabinet full of snacks. 

“Yeah, yes,” You shut them and step back, “I’m fine, just a little tired.” 

“Not sleeping well?” Yunho says, concern all over his features. 

“I’m fine,” You wave him off, “just a busy week,” 

“You don’t have to stay late,” Mingi offers, “I’m sure whatever you’re working on will still be fine tomorrow,” 

“I know,” You nod, “but if I don’t get it out of my system I’ll just be thinking about it all night, you know how it is,” 

Mingi nods, “Still, take it easy later,” 

“I will,” You promise, and you start to turn towards the door when the words just bubble up out of your throat, “you’re both still free Saturday, right?” 

“Yeah,” Mingi answers for them both, “are you?” 

“Definitely,” You nod, “I just wanted to make sure, I’m looking forward to it,” 

“We could do tomorrow instead,” Yunho offers, “after practice?” 

“As long as you don’t have other plans,” Mingi cuts in, “for a Friday night,” 

“Tomorrow works,” You jump at the chance, “I’d actually love that, I just didn’t want to crowd you when you’re adjusting to the timezone again,” 

“It’s fine,” Mingi brushes that thought off, “I’d rather see you,” 

“Yeah,” Yunho nods, “it’ll be good to catch up,” 

You smile, “I want to hear all about the trip,” 

“The trip,” Mingi says, just repeating your words like he’s weighing them out on his own tongue. 

Something about his voice sends a sharp zing up the back of your spine. 

Your body feels a little soft, relaxing bit by bit. 

Yunho’s eyes flick over you, “Are you sure you need to stay late?” 

Something your primal little brain cannot handle right now is the thought of your alphas being protective, not when you’re standing in this room encased by their scents that feel a little too right. Your stomach tightens and you pray that you’re not blushing pink at the flickering thought in your mind of them taking you home. 

You need to get out of this room before they realize it. 

“I’m good,” You tell him, stepping backwards towards the door, “but thank you, and dinner tomorrow is perfect,” 

Mingi says something, you think he’s agreeing, but you’re giving another excuse over your shoulder about how you need to get back to it so you can make it out of this room. 

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you leave the office and make it down the hall, heading for the studio room you’ve booked for the afternoon. You nearly run into Dahan and Minseok as you cut around the corner, but you apologize quickly and barely give them a second glance as you hide yourself away in one of the dance studios alone. 

With the door firmly shut you lean back against the closed door and take a deep breath. These feelings are going to work you into a frenzy if you don’t get them under control. Scent sympathy is rare, an almost perfect match between an alpha and omega that makes every part of a relationship heightened, especially once that initial sympathetic bond is fulfilled with a claim. While they were gone you came to that conclusion slowly, the steady ache in your chest so clearly informed by the lack of them, but now that they’re back and here the realization of it collides into you full-force. 

You love them, that’s true. But what’s more is how much you need them, and how much you hope they need you. You can’t let them realize it before you have the chance to say everything you need to say, and if you had stayed in that room a few minutes more they might have felt themselves. With the dinner moved to Friday you just have one more night to get through. One more night, and one more day of work. And then the chips will fall where they may. 

With a deep breath you let the hammering of your heart slow and then you focus back on the work ahead. The more you pour yourself into work the faster these 24 hours will go, so you put your head down and get to it. 

You work for a long time, probably too long, until your muscles are positively aching and any thoughts of Yunho and Mingi are drowned out by lyrics to the chorus of this song that just keeps looping in your mind as you try different patterns of footwork. Here in this bubble you don’t know who’s still at work, who’s left for the day, what time it is, or if the sun has set yet. You just know your own body and every which way that it moves to this one singular song. 

Your hair is hot around your face, sweat clinging to your brow as you finish out the latter half of the choreography that you’re confident with. It’s fast, and includes so much up and down floor work you’re pretty sure you’d be passing out if you weren’t hydrating properly. Focused on your reflection in the mirror you gather your hair up and away and into a knot and then move to find your towel and water bottle. 

The door to the studio opens behind you, and you glance back without really seeing who’s popping in, “Hey,” 

For a split second it occurs to you that it might be Yunho or Mingi and your stomach flips as you start to turn. 

“Hey, y/n,” Minseok’s voice is a bit of a surprise. 

“Oh, hey,” 

He looks like he’s just stopping by to grab something from the far desk in the corner. You’re honestly surprised that he’s still here, he had looked on his way out earlier when you bumped into him in the hall.  

“Are you heading out for the night?” You take a drink of water and catch your breath, leaning against the mirrored wall behind you. 

“Soon,” He nods, running a hand through his dark hair and snagging a sweatshirt hanging over the back of the office chair. 

“Well,” You smile, “have a good night,” 

“You too,” He says as he walks past you, but then his steps slow and you hear him sigh before he turns on his heel, “listen, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” 

“I hope you don’t think this is weird,” He takes a few more steps back towards you, “but I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something for a while now,” 

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise, and suddenly you can see everything in his expression. You know this look. You know the way men get when they finally rip off the bandage and change the equilibrium of a room, the moment they decide they can’t see you as just a friend. What absolutely terrible timing he has.

“I was thinking,” He says, a little pause before the rest and you hope you’re keeping your face nice and neutral, “do you think I could take you out some time?” 

“Out?” The word leaves you. 

He smiles, “Yeah, out, like a date.” 

“I appreciate that,” You shake your head a little, trying to smile and keep things light, “but I don’t think so,” 

His lip quirks and his nose scrunches and you suppose that if you were interested you might find this part of him charming, but you’re not, so it isn’t. “Are you seeing someone?” He asks. 

“No,” You tell him honestly, “not right now.”

“So, I can’t get you to give me one chance?” He takes a step forwards, gesturing between you both and keeping his gaze hopeful. 

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” You shake your head, “we work together.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” He assures you, brushing past the boundary you tried to set with casual indifference, “don’t worry about that.” 

“Still,” You shake your head, “but thank you for asking.” 

You’re not at all thankful for him asking, but he’s nice enough, and it feels like the polite way to keep the status quo. 

“That’s a shame,” He admits, his smile dropping almost entirely, “are you sure I can’t convince you to give me just one chance? I really do like you, y/n,” 

“I’m sure,” That should be firm enough. 

“I thought we were getting along well,” He cuts off the end of your words, “becoming friends.” 

“I thought so too,” You straighten up off the wall behind you, tossing your towel over your shoulder and setting up to walk right out of the studio room if that’s what it would take to end this interaction, “I thought we were friends,” 

You can’t help but emphasize the word friends, and you watch the moment his expression drops more, annoyance flicking through his jaw. 

“I didn’t think you had such a problem seeing people you worked with,” He says pointedly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s just that,” He shrugs, nodding towards you, “I didn’t think it bothered you. Considering.”

“Listen,” You lock eyes with him, “let it go. I’m trying to be nice about this, but I can be clearer. I am not interested in going out with you.” 

“You don’t have to be rude,” 

“Goodnight, Minseok,” You’re not staying for this. 

“I’m a good guy,” He says as you start towards the door, “don’t, come on just stay a second,” 

You keep walking. 

“y/n,” He says, his voice startlingly close behind you, “stay.” 

It’s like your legs stop working, an echoing strike of nerves down your spine and you stumble slightly as his hand closes around your wrist. 

“Let go of me.” You start to turn towards him, pulling your arm back as you do, but he speaks again. 

“Stop.” His voice is so low suddenly, situated smack in the center of his chest, a tenor you’ve never heard from him before. Your legs stop working all together, suddenly feeling like lead.

“Take your hands off me.” You blink hard, your head feeling a little full suddenly. 

“I just don’t understand,” He bites, “we’ve been flirting for weeks.” 

You can’t find the words to tell him that you being nice isn't flirting, but you’re stunned into silence. You can barely even think of a time when you had a sustained conversation with him where someone else wasn’t present. How could interactions that felt so routine to you feel so significant for him? 

“And you’re just… not interested?” He scoffs, “You’re what, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? You’re going to start running out of good offers.” 

So many things about Seo Minseok fall into place with just those words. The way that just a few weeks ago he barely looked at you, barely spoke to you. Always spending his attention on the alphas in the room around you, but never you. How when that tide shifted you thought, maybe naively, that he was just shy. But he’s not shy, not in the least. He’s just another alpha in a long line of alphas who look down their noses at omegas until there’s something they want from them. 

“That’s really none of your concern,” You shake your head, “now get the fuck off me.” 

“Be quiet.” His jaw sets hard. 

So does yours. 

A thousand thoughts run through your brain like a wildfire eating up a hillside of dry bark but nothing can make it past your lips. The tone of his voice has you rooted to the spot, his instructions not suggestions but strict commands. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard an alpha use tone, but it’s certainly the first time it’s been directed at you. You’ve heard stories, the way the primal omega brain surfaces even when you don’t want it to. You thought it was a bit of an overstatement, but now on the receiving end you can’t control your response to him and fear floods you. 

“You talk a lot for an unmated omega,” He looks disappointed. 

Something shrinks inside you. 

His fingers tighten, his body suddenly closer, “But we can fix that.” 

In a breath his hands push you backwards, your back suddenly cold against the mirrored wall of the practice room. Later, much later, you’ll discover that the reason your memory of this moment is patchy is a combination of your omega’s response to alpha tone and full dissociation. You’ll remember little pieces, quick sensations here and there. The same song still looping through the stereo, the sound of his deep inhale with his face pressed against your throat, the sharp pin pricks of his teeth as he seeks out the soft juncture of your neck and shoulder. The way your mind in one heaving breath both screams in rebellion and folds open in acceptance when he successfully locates your gland. 

You suddenly can’t hear right, can’t think right. All you know is his teeth. The hot feeling of breath. He smells like burnt, bitter oranges. He’s talking again, saying something that your conscious mind can’t register, but your omega does, and you stretch your neck long to give him the access he needs. 

And then you’re under. 

You’re dropping before you consciously register your brain entering a new, hazy middle space. It feels like being at the bottom of a deep pool, the sudden, immersive quiet. You understand that someone is talking to you, or around you, but all you can hear is the echoing tenor of an alpha, the words unclear, all cocooned in the water around you. 

There’s a bang somewhere but it feels far away, and you feel pin pricks against your throat. 

Minseok’s overwhelming acrid scent and heavy pressure against you is gone, the sudden loss of his weight leaving you off balance. You think you’re falling, or maybe you’ve already fallen. The world feels tilted, something hard and cold under your back. You smell something sharp and tangy, and there’s something loud in the room but you can’t understand it. Everything is white, bright and intrusive. 

Mingi’s face swims into your vision, and you feel his hands on your cheeks. It takes you a minute to understand anything, but he looks upset, stricken and his cheeks are tinged pink with panicked anger. You want to reach up, soothe his brow and see what’s wrong, but you can’t lift your hand. Don’t move an inch. 

“Jesus,” Mingi glances to his side, “he put her in subspace,” 

Someone responds, but it’s muffled to your ears. 

Mingi’s face darkens entirely, his hands leave you, “I’ll fucking kill him,” 

He’s gone. There’s a scuffle to your side, but you can’t turn your head, you want to, you just can’t. Tears bubble in your eyes, emotion pulsing through you and your breath is tight and thready in your throat. A sharp, whining sob bubbles from your lips. 

Warm rain swims through you, and Yunho’s there, sliding right into the spot Mingi left. His eyes dart over your face and then he looks to his side, his voice firm, “Calm down or get out of here, do you understand me? You’re scaring her,” 

There’s a long beat, noises to your side again but you can’t understand it. Your stomach flips nervously, the place you’re stuck in your head throbbing a sharp spike through your brain. 

Yunho’s warm, brown eyes settle back on yours, his face calm and easy, “Can you hear me, y/n?” 

You can, but you can’t make your mouth work. Don’t move an inch. 

“Can you hear me? y/n?” He asks again, his thumb brushing your cheek, “You’re safe, he’s not going to touch you again,” 

The hard feeling of Minseok’s hands on your hips pushing you into the practice room mirror snaps inside you and you release a soft sound. 

“You can hear me,” Yunho nods, “come on, wake up,” 

“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is close again, hard and steady, “that’s not going to work,” 

“Why?” Yunho looks up to his friend, “she can hear me, she’s okay,” 

“She’s in subspace,” Mingi pushes his friend to the side, coming into your eye line, “she’s dropped so far under it’s going to take more than that,” 

“W-what do we do?” Yunho’s voice is shaky. 

“Let me try something,” Mingi murmurs, and then his eyes lock squarely on yours. 

Yunho slips his hand into yours, holding you tightly, but you can’t squeeze him back. 

“Omega,” Mingi’s voice is firm, and it’s the clearest thing you’ve heard since sinking under the water, “Come up now.” 

Don’t move an inch.

“You need to come up now,” His fingers tighten on your cheek, “listen to me.” 

Don’t move an inch. 

“Why isn’t this working?” Yunho asks, squeezing your fingers. 

“I’m not sure,” Mingi’s voice is low, and then he shifts closer to your face, “y/n. Omega. Listen to me now,” 

All you can do is manage to make a quiet, tight noise, and even to your muddled brain you can hear the tenor of distress. 

“Come up now,” Mingi repeats, “right now. Listen to me, omega.” 

You’re being torn in two, your primal brain fighting you every step of the way. 

He swallows hard, his voice dropping low in his chest, “Don’t disobey your alpha,”

Suddenly nothing but his voice exists. 

Mingi’s expression is cold, tight and ruthless, his rich tone cuts straight to your core, “When you’re given a directive, you follow it. Now,” He locks his hands on either side of your face and his next words are a pointed and perfectly clear command, “Come. Up.”  

The room is so much louder than you thought a moment ago. There’s shouting outside and you vaguely register San’s voice amongst the mix. The music from practice is still on low. Yunho’s leg is bouncing nervously, the athletic fabric making a rhythmic swish with every bob of his knee. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears. 

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, the first feeling that floods back into your body is intense shame.

“Oh my god,” Mingi’s expression crumbles and he pulls your limp body into his arms “you’re here? You’re with us?”

“M-Mingi,” Your vision clouds with tears again and every feeling that tried to course through your body while you were in subdrop crashes into you sideways.

“Shh,” He rocks you in his arms, “we’ve got you, we’re right here, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

A dull throb radiates through your skull and Yunho takes a sharp inhale, “She’s bleeding,”

“What?” Mingi pulls back, his hand searching your body.

“Here,” Yunho brushes the back of your hair, his fingers coming away with a small line of blood, “it’s not too bad,”

“What happened?” You reach for the cut at the back of your head, nervous tears coming up as you try to understand.

“You don’t remember?” Yunho asks.

“I’m,” You swallow hard, “it was practice? Or I was practicing? I had the room booked.”

“Yeah,” Yunho nods and squeezes your hand, “what else?”

The date. The hard set of Minseok’s jaw when you said no. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck, the soft drag of his teeth and the flat of his tongue over your gland. Your shirt tearing when he hauled you up against the mirrors. Hands everywhere. Hands nowhere. The white ceiling. His voice, harsh and direct in your ears, the alpha tone unmistakable. Submit. Heel. Don’t move an inch. 

Your mouth is suddenly hot and watery, and your hands are shaking, “I’m… I’m going to be sick,”

“Shit,” Yunho moves fast, sliding across the floor to grab the wastebasket that sits under the desk, pushing it into your hands. 

You wretch instantly, shaking and heaving, losing the contents of your stomach into the plastic bin. 

“Okay,” Mingi soothes, gathering up your hair into one hand and holding it away from your face, “you’re okay,”

“He touched me,” Your hands won’t stop shaking, his voice flooding back, and you heave again, “the things he said,”

“Shh,” Yunho shifts closer, rubbing a hand up and down your back, “you’re safe. None of that is true,” 

“He talked to me like a dog,” You sob, “and I couldn’t move, he told me not to move and I just let him,”

“No.” Mingi’s voice is harsh and you twitch under his hands, “He used alpha tone on you, he wanted you to stop fighting and he said it in tone until you couldn’t hear anything else. You didn’t let him do anything,” 

“I’ve never,” You wretch again, a dry heave with nothing to give and it makes your eyes watery. 

“We’re right here,” Yunho murmurs, “you’re safe.”

When you’re sure your stomach will hold, you push the wastebasket away and drop back to the floor, your head throbbing, “I’ve never been in subspace,”

“You’re not there now,” Mingi soothes.

“I don’t remember,” You manage, looking down at your mussed clothes, “it’s so muddled I can’t remember,”

“What can’t you remember?” Yunho asks softly.

You’re pretty sure you’d register it if his attempt at claiming had been successful, if the word attempt should even be in consideration at all, but the end is so fuzzy you just have to know. “Did he… did we?”

“No.” Yunho’s firm, sliding in front of you so he can make you look into his eyes, “absolutely not,”

Your mouth tastes terrible, but it’s the overwhelming bitter smell of him on you that doubles it and makes you want to throw up again even though your stomach is empty. 

“All I can smell is him,” You scrub your hands under your eyes to wipe away tears, “I can’t even breathe,”

“Take her,” Mingi says, “I’m getting water,”

Yunho pulls you into his arms, sitting back against the mirrored wall for some support and cradling you to his chest, “Come here, is this okay?” 

“Make it go away,” You hold onto his shirt and sigh into his neck, “please, Yunho, please,”

“Just breathe,” He soothes you, “I have you,” 

He smooths his thumbs over the glands in your wrists, easing the initial panic inside you, and then gently draws your head back with his hand, “It’s only me,” He murmurs, “you know I’d never hurt you,” 

Yunho licks a long stripe up your neck, and instantly your body starts to release, tense muscles unlocking and your fingers falling slack. His scent washes over you, enveloping you tenderly. 

“Y-Yunho,” you shudder as he licks another long stripe, moving to suck softly on the fleshy part of your neck that narrowly avoided teeth marks.

“Yes?” He kisses your neck softly, and licks again. 

“Thank you for coming for me,” You exhale slowly.

He stills, sinking closer and resting his closed lips on your shoulder. When he breathes in you hear the catch of emotion, “I thought we were too late,”

“I’m okay,” You murmur, and it’s starting to feel true now that he’s washing away Minseok’s scent.

“God,” He sighs into your skin, “when I heard you scream… I’ve never heard anything that terrifying in my life, I’ve never run so fast,”

“Did I scream?” You don’t remember it.

“Bloody murder,” He nods, pulling back to look at your eyes.

“Yunho,” Your eyes flick up towards the open door of the practice studio, “where is he?”

His hands tighten on you, “Probably nursing his broken ribs. The guys have him,”

Your eyes widen, and the realization that he’s still under the same roof has you trembling in his arms, “He’s still here,”

“Not for long,” He murmurs, “we called the police,”

“But,” Your mind is spinning and you feel the weight of him on your chest once more, “what if he comes back?”

“y/n,” Yunho draws your eyes away from the door, “San and Seonghwa have him, and he’s in rough shape. He’s probably focused on trying to breathe, not thinking about you anymore. And even if none of that were true and he did come back,” he says, “I’d put him on the floor faster than you could blink. Mingi and I both would.”

Your muscles start to relax again, “Okay,”

“You are completely safe,”

Mingi reappears a few moments later, bottles of water in hand, and he smiles warmly, “Hey, you,”

“Hey,”

“Feeling a little better?” He asks, settling on the hard practice room floor and passing you an open bottle.

“I don’t know,” You murmur honestly, shifting in Yunho’s arms so that you’re resting on his lap with your back against his chest. You take a long drink of water and sigh. 

“Listen,” Mingi smooths a hand across your thigh, “the police are going to want to talk to you. They’ll be here within the hour and then we’ll go to the hospital.”

“Why?” You tense.

“Your head,” He nods.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” Yunho assures you, “but he’s right, you could have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,”

“I didn’t realize you had a medical degree,” Mingi says, a little edge to his voice.

Hot tears well in your eyes at his tone, and you shrink back into Yunho’s arms. You know rationally he didn’t mean to scare you, he’s just worried about you, but after the day you’ve had you can’t help but shrink back in fear.  

“Hey,” Yunho presses his lips to your neck, “it’s alright, Mingi didn’t mean it like that”

Mingi’s eyes blow wide, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything,”

“I know,” You tip your head to the side to offer more of your throat to Yunho’s soothing touches, “I’m just not myself,”

“It’s okay,” Yunho says again, returning to your neck and peppering kisses across your gland, and something about this should feel intimate and awkward when you haven’t talked to them yet, but all you can feel is safe.

“Really,” Mingi reaches for you, but doesn’t touch you, “I just want you to let us help, and I’m so angry with Minseok I could kill him, but I didn’t mean to put that on you,”

“Mingi,” You take his outstretched hand, “I’m okay, you just startled me, and you’re right anyways. I’ll come to the hospital,”

He sighs in relief.

“After,” Yunho murmurs, “would you - I mean, will you please come home with us tonight?”

It’s strange how much you feel like it is home, despite only spending your heat there, months ago, so long ago now you shouldn’t still feel this preternatural pull. 

“I don’t know,” You say, even though your body is begging you to agree, to stay with them and only them. 

“I know it’s been different between us,” He murmurs, arms tightening around you, “but you know how I feel. I just don’t want you to be alone tonight, someone should be with you,” 

“Someone you feel safe with,” Mingi adds, “if that’s us,” 

“It is,” You lock your hand down on Mingi’s, “I’m sorry, this is… of course you’re safe, of course you are. I’m just,” 

“Let’s talk about this later,” Mingi smiles, shooting a look at Yunho you can’t quite make sense of, but brushing your fears to the side all the same, “for now, let’s just get you taken care of.” 

You shudder out a breath, letting the warmth and safety of their bodies sink into you. You turn into Yunho, resting your cheek on his chest and matching your breath in time to his. Your thoughts spin, bubbling over as threads of the incident come back to your mind and you press your eyes closed before the question slips out, “Why did he do it?” 

Yunho wraps his arms around you a little tighter, dropping his lips to your hair, “I don’t know,” 

Mingi clears his throat, “He’s about to hit his rut,” he says, “that’s what his excuse was. He said he’s… he kept saying how sorry he was, but,” 

Your eyes snap open, “Sorry? He’s sorry?” 

“Sorry someone interrupted him, maybe,” Mingi’s voice is hard, his eyes firm and unrelenting, “a rut doesn’t make you do that. Not like that.” 

Yunho shakes his head in agreement, “Definitely not,” 

You know that, of course you know it, but after seeing Minseok’s black eyes you’re not so sure. You had never felt completely comfortable with him, but in the past you would have chalked that up to personality differences, and in the past few weeks that had all started to change. He was the kind of guy you wouldn’t date, but you wouldn’t worry about bothering you. 

You sigh softly, “He didn’t seem like himself,” 

“Mm,” Mingi hums, non-committal. 

“A rut doesn’t make it impossible to hear the word no,” Yunho says firmly, “you don’t become some mindless animal. What he tried to do… that’s… a rut’s an easy excuse.” 

You tense up in his arms, a brief flicker of what could have been. His teeth in your neck, your mind spinning into submission. 

“Yunho,” Mingi shakes his head at his best friend, glancing down at you to indicate that it’s not something you can hear right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Yunho soothes, holding you closer if it’s at all possible. 

Your chest tightens, “Can I… I need to get up,” 

His arms relax immediately, hands shifting under your elbows to help support you while Mingi jumps up and offers you his hands to pull you up. Back on your own two feet you waver a minute, but you shake off the dizzy spell and try to get your bearings again. They're waiting on a razor’s edge, hands out and ready to intervene, but you’ve made it clear that for the moment you don’t want to be touched. 

A shout from the hall leaves you jumping, but you register Wooyoung’s voice a moment later, “Where is she?” 

“The studio,” San’s voice replies, “slow down,” 

“Is he in the back office? Give me a fucking minute alone with him,” Wooyoung’s voice is murderous and you smile at how ready your best friend sounds to do battle on your behalf, “I’ll show him what an omega can fucking do,” 

“Youngie,” San’s voice is even and warm, keeping things soft, “you need to calm down,” 

“Calm down,” He scoffs, his voice getting closer as he travels down the hall and you know he’s almost at the door. 

“I hardly think y/n needs,” San starts to say, but then they round the corner. 

Wooyoung’s eyes are wild, searching and terrified, and something inside you shatters. San’s words die on his lips when he sees you, and in a startling moment of clarity you rush forwards and into Wooyoung’s arms. 

“Shh, shh,” He wraps you up tight, one hand at the back of your head as he rocks you back and forth, “you’re safe, you’re in one piece,” 

“Woo,” Tears come fast, and you bury your face in his chest. 

“Stupid fucking alphas,” He curses into your shoulder and you can hear his breath hitched and clouded with tears of his own, “acting like they can take whatever they want,” 

You’re sure the rest of the room is bristling at that comment but you couldn’t care less. 

“You want me to break the rest of his ribs?” He kisses your head, “I’ll make it look like a fucking accident, I swear to God,” 

“Woo,” You laugh into his chest, vision blurry with unshed tears, “stop, that’s insane,” 

“I am nothing if not a little insane,” Wooyoung squeezes you, “and you and me? We protect each other, right?” 

“Always,” You grip the back of his shirt like a lifeline. 

The bond between omegas can’t be understood by a single other person in the room, maybe even in the building. You cling to each other in the middle of the studio floor, encased in this moment of shared grief. Of what you are and what that means. He shifts you in his arms so he can look at your face, cupping your tear stained cheeks. 

The sight of his own tears makes yours come faster, “What did I do?” 

His expression hardens and he shakes his head, sucking in a harsh breath, “Nothing, not a single fucking thing. Do you hear me?” 

“Woo,” You want him to let you go. You want him to tug you close again. 

He shakes your shoulders hard, and in your periphery you see Mingi take a half step forward as Wooyoung pushes back on your words, “You didn’t do anything. You’re existing, and he tried to take advantage of that. This isn’t your fault, there’s nothing you could have or should have done.” 

You open your mouth to say something but he plows forward. 

“Alphas take, alright?” He shakes you again, more gently this time, “We’re lucky. You and me, we found good ones, but alphas are programmed to take, and we’re programmed to give. He used it against you. Nothing else.”

Your breath hitches, and you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him cradle you again. 

“Shh, shh,” He rubs your back, soothing you again. 

“I hate this,” You manage, your face buried in his shoulder. 

“I know,” He eases you, “I fucking hate it too,” 

You hold each other a little longer until both of your tears start to subside. You stay steady in his grip, his fresh salt and cotton scent lulling you into safety. The buzzing of your brain starts to release, and the fear is still there under your skin but at least for now it’s low and letting you breathe. 

Nuzzling into his shoulder you sigh, “What are you doing back here anyways?” 

“San called,” He kisses your hair, “I broke several laws getting here,” 

You laugh against his collarbone where his oversized t-shirt is pulled down, no doubt from the way your hands grip whatever part of him you can. 

He rubs a warm hand up and down your back and when he speaks again it’s not to you, this time he addresses the alphas in the room. He clears his throat softly, head lifting up and away from yours, “So, who busted his nose?” 

“Uh,” Yunho makes a small sound behind you, “that would be me,” 

“Good,” Wooyoung says, “when she stops crying I’m giving you a handshake,” 

You smile against his damp skin and shake your head, “I’m not crying, I’m fine,” 

“Sure,” Wooyoung murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go, just strokes your back more until you settle further into him. 

“The police will be here soon,” San murmurs, his voice staying relaxed and steady to make sure everything stays level in the room. 

“Right,” Wooyoung sighs, “y/n, can I let you go? I don't have to if you’re not ready,” 

You nod immediately though, unwinding your arms from him and taking a ginger step back. He gives you a soft smile, and you scrub the last of the tears from your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. He gives you a minute to stand steady and then turns to Yunho and Mingi who both look frozen and unsure of what to do or what to say. 

“You both got him off her?” He says, matter of fact. 

“Yeah,” Mingi’s voice is tight, like he had been choking back tears of his own, and Yunho simply nods. 

“Thank you,” Wooyoung tugs Mingi into a hug and squeezes him tight before shifting to Yunho to hug him too, “seriously,” 

Once they break apart, you’re left all in a haphazard circle, and you can feel all the eyes on you. It makes you so tired, dizzy, ready to be done and just crawl under a blanket for the rest of the week. In the back of your throat you still taste bitter orange. 

“Um,” Your voice comes out a little more scratchy than you want, and you clear your throat, letting everything fade. 

“What is it?” Yunho asks gently. 

You don’t know how to ask this, how to beg them to keep holding you together so you can just get through existing in this room. You sigh, the deep exhale making you dizzy again, and step towards him, “C-can I,” 

He opens his arms immediately, letting you close the space so he doesn’t assume your needs, but as you collide with him again he responds perfectly, scooping you up into his arms and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He supports you with ease, an arm under your thighs and another situated high on your back. 

“Better?” He murmurs, smiling a little as you bury your head in his neck. 

You nod into his neck, and then you allow yourself one tiny moment of weakness, listening to your body and what it needs for once over your anxiety. You mumble it into his neck, but he hears you when you say, “Yunho?” 

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is so soft, quiet like he’s afraid of what you might say. 

You don’t miss the way Wooyoung’s eyebrows go high at the endearment, but you ignore him and focus instead on the man holding you up, together, in one solid piece. You lift your head so he hears you clearly, “Will you please take me home?” 

He goes still and turns his head just a little, “Your apartment or,” 

“Take me home with you,” You repeat, “I want to go home,” 

This will surely just make everything more muddled and foggy between the three of you tomorrow in the cold light of day, but you don’t care. Right now you just want to be home, in whatever form that means. 

He exhales low and shaky, “Alright,” he murmurs, kissing your throat softly to help calm your trembling, “I’ve got you, let’s go home,” 

A warm wide palm rests on the center of your back, and Mingi leans in close to catch your eyes, “y/n, can you look at me a second?” 

You pull your head up from the crook of Yunho’s neck where you’ve just been taking deep steady inhales of wet earth and meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” He smiles. 

Your eyes dart between him and Wooyoung, who seems suddenly ancy. “What?” You straighten up a little more in Yunho’s arms. 

“You can go wherever you want,” He starts off, “but do you want us to take you home, or would you feel more comfortable with Wooyoung? Or… Seonghwa, if… if that would be better for how you’re feeling,” 

Yunho tenses a little, his fingers tightening where he holds you, and you can feel him physically holding himself back from saying a single word, from begging you to come with them. 

You’ve made up your mind though, and within a second you’re shaking your head, “No, I want you,” 

Yunho relaxes, his lips returning to your throat and you sigh. 

“Then you have us,” Mingi assures you. 

The sound of the elevators in the hall stop you all cold though, and San holds up his hands, “I’ll go see, it’s probably the police,” 

The idea of talking to them suddenly makes you sick, and you’re sure it shows all over your face. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Wooyoung jumps back in, “don’t worry, we’ll be there the whole time.” 

You need this to be done. You grip down on Yunho’s shoulders, “I want to go home,” 

“I know,” Mingi nods. 

“Y-Yunho,” You’re scrambling a little in his arms, sudden panic swirling in your gut, and you twist to find his eyes, “please, get me out of here, please take me home,” 

You feel it the minute he chooses you over anything else, “Okay, alright,” 

“You need to talk to the cops,” Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to reason with you. 

You’re trembling in Yunho’s arms and he shakes his head, “She needs to go,” 

Mingi senses your heightened emotions too and you feel it when he moves closer, both of them shifting to protect you, “She can do this later,” 

“I don’t know that that’s such a good idea,” Wooyoung insists. 

“I couldn’t give a fuck,” Yunho grips you tighter, “we’re taking our girl home,” 

“Your-” Wooyoung scoffs when he hears the words, “fucking alphas,” 

“Who she wants to take her home,” Mingi points out, a distinct edge to his voice. 

“Stop arguing,” You beg them, hanging onto Yunho’s shoulders, “please, please,” 

“Fuck,” Yunho relaxes, stroking your back, “I’m sorry, of course we won’t, I’m sorry,” 

Mingi brushes his hand over the back of your head and Wooyoung gives you an apologetic face, his defensiveness over you is understandable, but he also knows how you feel about these men and you watch him choose to hold his tongue. 

A knock on the door brings you all back to the present, San handling the situation with more grace than any of you combined, “The police said that they can speak with you at the hospital and make it brief.” 

You exhale heavily and nod against Yunho, “Okay, fine,” 

“Are you sure?” Mingi strokes your cheek. 

“I just want to be done,” 

“Should we stay with you?” Yunho murmurs. 

“Please,” You grip his shoulders. 

“Alright,” He sighs, “Woo, could you… I’m sorry, can you grab her things? Let’s just try to make this quick for her,” 

Wooyoung clears his throat, his eyes never leaving yours, “Yeah, I got it,” 

“Uh,” San interrupts as you all try to gather your things, “Yunho, they want to talk to you first, they’re waiting in the back office,” 

“Oh,” 

“They have some questions,” San explains quietly, “but she she doesn’t need to be there for that,” 

“Right,” Yunho nods and then presses a kiss to your hair, “can I put you down, sweetheart?” 

Your chest warms. 

“No, here,” Mingi cuts in, his hand sweeping over your back and you feel them shift you from Yunho’s arms to his, “come here,” 

He settles you against his chest and you wrap around him just the same, soaking in the warm scent of cocoa and cinnamon. You let your eyes drift shut as you rest on his shoulder, “Hey, Mingi,” 

“Hey,” He says softly. 

“Thank you,” You sigh. 

“Mhm,” He rocks you a little as he takes your bags from Wooyoung and slings them over his shoulder, the combined weight of it and you not fazing him at all, “I told you once I’ll always be here, I meant it,” 

“I believe you,” You murmur into his throat. 

You rest here, Mingi’s thumb rubbing a comforting line over the back of your neck. 

“Time to go,” Wooyoung’s voice pipes back in, “there’s a car ready, Yunho will be there in a a few minutes,” 

“Alright,” Mingi presses a soft kiss to your hair, “here we go,” 

He carries you with ease, and you sink into the steady thump of his heart under your palm that’s keeping you grounded. Over his shoulder you watch Wooyoung walking with you and you see police officers down the hall. The door to the back office swings open and Yunho is leaning against the desk as he speaks with an officer. Seonghwa sits in a chair next to him, his head in his hands, blood coating his knuckles and the sleeves of his shirt. Something pulls in your gut, begging you to go to him, but then you’re outside and all you can feel is Mingi holding you as he ferries you into the car. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks as he settles you into the passenger seat 

“I don’t know,” You tell him honestly, letting your head drop back against the seat and taking a deep breath, eyes slipping closed. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Wooyoung jumps forward, “keep your eyes open,” 

“I’m fine,” You tell him, but you still do what he asks. 

“Just in case,” Wooyoung presses, “you shouldn’t fuck with head injuries,” 

“He’s right,” Mingi murmurs, crouching next to you just outside the car, “and I’m sure you’re fine, but let’s just be sure, okay?” 

“Okay,” 

  A noise just past the two of them makes you jump. 

“It’s just Sannie,” Wooyoung assures you. 

You nod and Mingi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. 

“Yunho’s almost done,” San announces, but he hurries to the car and leans in to check you, “doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” 

“Can you do something for me?” He cups your cheek to bring your eyes up to his. 

“Mhm,” You nod again. 

“I need you to just focus on us for a minute,” He moves to crouch next to Mingi, and then Wooyoung steps closer too, blocking out some of your peripheral vision. 

“Why?” You fight the urge to turn around. 

Red and blue lights flash in the car mirrors and you reflexively glance up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of an ambulance, and tension fills your stomach. 

San reaches up and catches your face again, “Hey, look at me,” 

You pull your eyes away, “Are they here for him?” 

“Yes,” San nods.

“Is he badly hurt?” Your mouth feels dry. 

There’s a pause and then Wooyoung sighs, “Don’t lie to her,” 

Mingi clears his throat softly, “He’s pretty busted up,” 

“Good,” You breathe. 

San smiles, taking your other hand in his and smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. The sound of the doors catches your attention again, and you resist the urge to turn around once again. San shakes his head a little, “Just keep looking at us,” 

“He really picked the wrong person to fuck with,” Wooyoung says, his hand resting warmly on your shoulder. 

An image of Seonghwa and his bloody knuckles flashes through your mind and your breath quickens, “Is Hwa okay?” 

Mingi’s brows draw together. 

“He’s fine,” San assures you immediately. 

“I saw blood,” You can’t articulate it exactly, the image is just static in your mind. 

“It’s not his blood,” San promises, “we’re all fine, Seonghwa is fine,” 

The sound of the ambulance doors swinging shut makes you jump. 

“Shh,” Mingi squeezes your hand, “you’re safe, you’re with me,” 

Everything in your body feels tense and stretched thin, but Mingi’s hand is solid in yours and you grip down on it, letting it tether you. 

You listen as the ambulance pulls away, your muscles unclenching one by one as the sound of the vehicle fades. 

“Woo,” You manage, “can you check on Hwa for me? And text me?” 

“Yeah,” He assures you, “I got you,” 

“Take a deep breath,” Mingi instructs you, “please, for me,” 

You take a long inhale and meet his eyes and he nods as you let the breath out low and slow through your nose. 

“Again, please,” He nods. 

You breathe again, the same steady pace, “I’m tired,” 

“It’s the adrenaline wearing off,” Mingi tells you, “but as soon as a doctor says you can sleep, you can rest,” 

“Okay,” You nod. 

San’s hand disconnects from yours and he starts to stand, “Yunho’s done,” 

You twist in your seat to see him, Wooyoung stepping out of the way, and you can see Yunho jogging towards the car, “Everything okay?” 

“Mhm,” Mingi keeps himself calm for you. 

“That took forever,” He says, “I’m sorry,” 

“It didn’t,” You shake your head, “don’t be sorry,” 

“You should go,” Wooyoung interrupts, “get her looked at,” 

You find your best friend’s eyes, “You’ll text me?” 

“Of course I will,” He nods, “but right now just focus on yourself. We’re all okay,” 

You nod, and your eyes feel heavy again already. You know they’ll be trying to keep you awake in the car at this rate. 

“Let’s go,” Mingi nods, “can I have my hand back for a minute?” He smiles at you. 

“Sorry,” You drop his hand, almost embarrassed at the way you’re clinging to him. 

“Go,” San ushers Yunho towards the driver’s side, “if you need anything, we’re here,” 

Before you know it everyone’s moving and your car door is shut. Yunho slides into the driver’s seat to your left and Mingi moves into the backseat behind you. 

You meet Wooyoung’s eyes through the window and he rests a hand over his chest. He mouths a simple message - I love you, okay?

You nod and the car starts to move, but you know he knows you love him too. 

Mingi shifts forwards in his seat as Yunho starts to drive, and his long arm reaches around to find your hand again. He laces your fingers together once and this time he doesn’t let go. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, the warm, rich scent of their apartment almost takes you out at the knees when you finally cross the threshold, so overwhelmingly comforting and enveloping that you want nothing more than to bury yourself inside the feeling for days. Mingi nearly runs into your back when you stop short in the entryway and Yunho’s watching you carefully as he hangs up your jackets. 

“What?” Mingi nudges you gently. 

There’s a million things to say. Things left unsaid after your last conversation, that fight you wish you could forget. The letter. All the things you were planning on confessing Saturday. The way you want so badly to erase today and just be with them. Every ounce of their soothing physicality after Minseok brings all your emotions up tenfold. Their tenderness almost chokes you. All the things you want to say are stuck in your throat. You need to get your head on straight. You need sleep. 

“Hey,” Yunho waves a hand in front of your dazed expression, “are you alright?” 

Not really. The hospital was long and awkward, seeing a glimpse of Minseok’s name on a hospital room door even worse, and the police had so many questions that all sounded fairly judgemental. Not to mention the probing questions from the hospital staff about your cycle and if you’re close to pre-heat. As if that matters at all. You settle for something a little less dire though, “I’m fine, sorry, it’s just been a while,” 

Yunho’s ears darken to a deep shade of pink and he nods. 

“You can sleep in my room,” Mingi offers, “like before. We can stay or not stay, it’s up to you.” 

“I’d like to be alone,” You tell them, “if that’s alright,” 

“Of course,” Mingi smooths a hand down your arm, “whatever you want.” 

“Um,” You sigh heavily, “honestly I’m exhausted. I think I might just shower and sleep as long as you don’t mind,” 

Yunho shakes his head, gesturing towards the hall, “Not at all, just… call if you need anything,” 

You start back towards the bathroom, your eyes down and away from them, but Mingi calls out, “You remember where everything is?” 

There’s no way you could forget, and you call back that you’re fine. You got it. You just need to be alone, alone is good, alone feels safe. 

In the shower you scrub your skin raw, spending extra time and attention on your glands even though it makes your skin there puffy and red, pinpricks of blood at the surface of your skin and lilac bruises surrounding every edge. It doesn’t matter how comforting their scents are, nothing is taking away the deep intent of Minseok’s mouth on your neck - and the bitter, burnt citrus smell takes ages to wash away. By the time you finish, you’re about ready to collapse. 

Mingi leaves you clothes again, folded neatly on his bed and ready for you. They’re nowhere to be seen, taking your plea for time alone seriously. He’s laid out a clean pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt, both fresh from the wash. The hoodie you had stolen during your heat lies next to it, and it’s a kind gesture, but suddenly you don’t want it. You want nothing. 

You toss the hoodie to the side and start to climb into the bed, but that smells so heavily of cinnamon spice that you can’t think straight. You had just gotten used to blissfully smelling nothing after your shower, and so you strip the bed entirely, discarding all of the pillows and blankets and sheets into the farthest corner of the room. 

The mattress is bare now, but once you turn the circulating fan off you fix the issue of the cold and his scent washing over you every time you try to close your eyes. You can still sense him, sense them, somewhere in the background, but here on the stripped bed in sterilized clothes with your skin rubbed raw, you can rest. 

You drift into sleep this way, your head clear. 

It doesn’t stay that way for long. 

You’re not sure how long you’re asleep before you wake in abject terror, but it must be at least a couple of hours with the sky outside pitch dark and the apartment completely quiet around you. It’s obvious you’re the only one awake, but your brain can’t quite process it right. All you feel is shaking fear and the echo of hands pressing you into the wall, fingers in your hair yanking your head to the side, teeth grazing against your throat. 

You scramble back, only to find the edge of the bed and you collapse off of it, ending up on the wood floor with your head spinning, Mingi’s bedside table lamp crashing down after you, a harsh flash of light pulsing through the room as the bulb breaks and gives one final dying flicker. 

The pleading whine that’s caught in your throat sounds like a trapped animal to your ears, the pounding of your heart threatening to break your chest, blood rushing through your ears like a train. You can’t grasp reality, everything feels hazy and disconnected. 

The door to your right bangs open, Yunho bleary and confused, but responding to your heightened state of fear within a moment. “Mingi!” He calls over his shoulder, “Mingi, get up right now,” 

There’s a faraway faint noise from the other room. 

Yunho skids to your side, careful not to touch you as he tries to meet your eyes in the dark, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare.” 

Part of you knows that you’re awake, safe and home, and not trapped in subspace with a threatening hand in your hair, but you can’t quite grip back to reality. You stutter out a reply, “I-I can’t breathe,” 

“Mingi,” Yunho calls back over his shoulder again, “right now!”

“Please,” you whimper, part of your brain still lodged in the nightmare, “I can’t breathe,” Your hands cling onto the edge of the rug.

Mingi stumbles into the room now, half asleep but forced into consciousness and he’s shaking himself, catching up quickly, “What’s going on?” 

You hear him, but your body is stuck remembering and you feel like there’s a weight on your chest, pressing you down harder, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” you stutter. 

“Sweetheart,” Yunho comes closer now, his body curling around you carefully with his face directly at your side, “it’s a nightmare, you’re safe.” His arms loop around you gently, but stay open in case you need to move.

“I can’t,” you shake your head, images swimming before you. 

“You’re not there,” he tells you, “we’re home, you’re with us, me and Mingi,” 

You wheeze, trying to regulate your breath. 

“Get a light,” Yunho pleads suddenly to the dark room, and you can hear scrambling, “she can’t see where she is, get a light on.” 

Mingi trips over the discarded lamp on the floor, and fumbles back to the lightswitch on the wall near the door, searching for it with his hands but reluctant to tear his eyes away from you. Suddenly the room floods with the overhead light, a stark fluorescent glow, and the black spots across your vision start to clear.

“I have you, I have you,” Yunho repeats, holding you to him. 

Your hand searches blindly for Mingi on the other side of you and he collapses next to you both, taking your hand and moving in to cradle you from the opposite side, “Baby,” he murmurs, “look around, look where you are,” 

Yunho’s hand on your thigh grounds you, and then Mingi softly touches your jaw to draw your gaze to him, “Look at me,” 

Your eyes flick up. He looks tired, exhausted even, his hair a wayward haystack. You blink hard, “What happened to you?” 

“To me?” Mingi’s brow furrows and he glances up past you to Yunho. 

“You need sleep,” You manage. 

Mingi laughs sharply and cups your cheeks, “I’ll sleep later. Can you tell me where you are?” 

“Your place,” You manage, and you feel the nightmare receding back into your mind inch by precious inch, your breath steadying out. 

“Yeah,” He sighs, “Yeah, that’s right,” 

“I’m home with you,” You repeat, your fingers sinking into the plush rug beneath you. 

Yunho swallows hard, fixated on the way you’ve called their apartment home, not their home, for the third time tonight. You watch the flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he lets it pass and so do you. 

Tears well up in your eyes again and you sigh, “I’m sorry about your lamp,” 

“What?” Mingi’s brow furrows, “Who cares about that?” 

“Still,” You manage, “I’m such a mess right now,” 

“If you weren’t a mess I’d be more worried,” Yunho takes your hand in his, squeezing your fingers, “and you can take all the time you need to be a mess, we’re here.” 

You slump forwards onto his shoulder, “I’m… so tired,” 

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Yunho soothes, his voice soft. 

You nod, letting them both ease you up to your feet, but when they turn to the bed Mingi makes a soft, confused noise, “Where?” 

“Oh,” You gesture towards the corner where all his bedding is wrapped up in a ball, “I’m sorry I was just… it was too much,” 

Mingi’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck jumping as he swallows hard, and you know he’s holding down so much anger, that someone could have scared you enough that any alpha’s scent became overwhelming, that your fear might extend even to them. 

“Okay,” Yunho cuts in easily, “whatever you want,” 

He eases you back onto the mattress, but the idea that they might be gone again strikes a deep lance of panic through your stomach and you grasp his arm, “Don’t go,” 

“Are you sure?” He murmurs. 

“Please,” You insist, tugging his arm again. 

He eases down beside you, and Mingi crosses to the opposite side of the bed so he can follow suit, sidling up to your back but careful not to touch you until you make it clear that you want him to. You fold your arm underneath your head and rest yourself down, and when your hair shifts off your neck you hear Yunho’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of your tender gland. 

“Baby, what,” He reaches for you, fingertips hovering, “sweetheart, what did you do?” 

“I’m fine,” You murmur but when you feel fingers gently coast over the raw skin you hiss sharply in pain and both their hands pull back. 

“y/n,” Mingi’s voice is low, shaky, and he scoops up your arm to check your wrists, finding them as swollen and bruised, “oh my god,” 

“I know,” You murmur, letting your eyes drift shut. 

“This is not okay,” Mingi sounds pained, “you can’t hurt yourself like this,” 

“I’m okay, I promise,” 

“We could have helped,” Yunho insists, “we could have scented you again, both of us, or called Seonghwa, or something, anything,” 

“Seonghwa?” You start, but Mingi cuts you off as he pushes your hair further to the side to see more of your neck. 

He makes a tight noise with his tongue against his teeth, “These look tender, Yunho’s right,” 

“You scented me plenty,” You shake your head, letting your hair fall back into place, “but I promise, I’m okay,” 

Mingi wraps his arms around you from behind, tucking you close to his chest and dropping his head onto yours, “You’re scaring me,” he confesses into your hair. 

“I know,” You murmur, “but I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,” 

“And now?” Yunho asks softly. 

“I’m a little better,” You pull him closer, “I was overwhelmed earlier and… even you both I didn’t want, but now? I feel safer, clearer,” 

Yunho kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger as you all get your emotions back in check, “Okay,”  

“Can we stay just like this?” You nuzzle into him, pulling Mingi in closer behind you until you’re snuggled up so tight you might overheat . 

“I’ll be wherever you want,” Mingi wraps his hand around yours and tucks them into your chest.

Yunho murmurs his agreement softly and you nod, letting their heat soak into your body and releasing your tense muscles bit by bit. You were supposed to tell them how you felt already, you need to get it out in the open before things get too blurry again, but right now you have to let it go. 

Silence stretches between the three of you, their breathing even and low, and you’re not sure if they’re asleep or awake when you make your quiet plea in the dark but in a whisper you beg them to never, ever let you go again. At least for tonight, they hold you fast.

[mage-of-mip]

Half-Foots and Ainu Culture in Dungeon Meshi

It sometimes feels like I might be grasping at straws with this, but I do feel like it's not completely unfounded. Please note, I am a white woman living in the USA, I am by no means an expert on Japanese culture in general, much less a marginalized subculture. I have simply made limited attempts to educate myself out of genuine interest born from exposure to media about Ainu characters and culture. I am always hoping to learn more.

I think it's fairly obvious that many parallels can be drawn between Ryoko Kui's Half-Foot race, and more than one ethnicity or subculture in real life. Romani, Irish, and Jewish stereotypes come to mind immediately.

But I think there's another one that may be explored less in the text, and much harder to catch by a western reader, but nonetheless could be intended by Kui, or perhaps was at one point. That of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, Japan.

There's not a lot of translated information about the Ainu online, so please bear with my limited knowledge. In short, the Ainu are the indigenous people of Northern Japan. For generations, their way of life has been taken from them and they were forced to assimilate to the wider Japanese culture. There are not many who still fully practice the cultural heritage in this day, but there are movements to bring the Ainu culture back.

In Delicious in Dungeon, there are two instances that reference the Ainu, both relating to Chilchuck. This could, of course, be a coincidence, especially if there are more references that I missed. It may be flimsy, but it still feels significant that this is the case, and that Half-Foots are or were meant to be an allusion to the Ainu.

This is the first instance. A significant panel in the context of the story. To my knowledge, this is the only specifically Ainu dish that's referenced in the text. On it's own, its just an interesting factoid, and the same dark humor that's being used for all the other character deaths in this fight against Thistle.

This is the second instance. From the supplemental material rather than the main story, Chilchuck is discussing what Half-Foots are called across the languages. The one that caught my eye here is the one in the top corner. Korpokkur.

The Korpokkur are a race of small people in Ainu folklore, their name meaning "those who live under the butterbur leaves".

Again, in a vacuum, this could just be a Japanese person using a Japanese word [Edit: Correction; An Ainu word] in her manga. But I think it's interesting that the two instances of Ainu culture being referenced have to do with Chilchuck and Half-Foots as a whole. It could warrant a deeper read-through looking for other references, perhaps by someone more educated than myself.

I think this could have some interesting implications in the wider worldbuilding. Perhaps the Half-Foots have faced similar cultural erasure and assimilation attempts, which is why a lot of their customs and clothing are just "Tallman but smaller", and why other races regularly mistake them for the children of tallmen, despite having pretty noticeable differences in how they look other than just their height(their disproportionately large ears, for example).

This idea might be a tad more indulgent, but I also like the idea that Half-Foot children don't receive a permanent name until they are toddlers. At one point, in Ainu culture(this may not be practiced today, I could not find information on that), the Ainu would give their children "vulgar" placeholder names until they started forming personalities, as a ward against evil spirits. Perhaps the same is done for Half-Foot children, and their two part names are selected when they are a little older.

Again, these are just the observations of an outsider looking in, please feel free to correct any mistakes I may have made! And if I'm completely off-base or have said something offensive, I apologize and will delete or amend the post as necessary.

[avatar-anna]

Can you write something about reader having an ED and Harry doesn’t notice at first but then starts to notice And then eventually helps you through it?

Try To Find a Way Back

trigger warning: mentions and direct references to eating disorders. please be cautious if you find this topic triggering

so, i don't know a ton about eating disorders and what it's like for someone who has one to be actively struggling with it, and writing about something i don't completely understand makes me nervous bc i don't want to get it wrong. however, since you asked, i'm going to do my best to write this!

in case anyone is curious, this is the article i referenced while writing

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

"I just don't understand what her issue is. If I was in her shoes, I'd get help. It's that simple."

"I don't know if—"

"I mean, it's not like struggling with eating makes her special. Like, everyone has body image issues and we just deal with it. Harry will probably break up with her because of all the reassurance she needs. Poor guy probably didn't know what he got himself into when he asked her out. God what a headache for him."

You backed up slowly, not wanting to hear the conversation that was so clearly about you anymore. You'd gone to grab drinks for yourself and who you thought were your friends, but now your hands were shaking so hard you worried the contents in the two wine glasses would come spilling out, glass shattering to the floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, bile rising in your throat. Finding the nearest server walking around with an empty tray and, you set the glasses down before booking it out of the club.

Tears were already starting to pool in your eyes as you ordered an Uber to take you home. Phoebe was one of Harry's friends, but she'd been kind to you since the day he introduced you to her and the rest of his close knit group of friends he'd had for years. You'd been incredibly nervous. You were an outsider, not a model or a writer or a musician or an actor. You weren't extraordinarily talented or beautiful, you were just...you.

None of that seemed to matter to Harry, though. He'd been nothing but flirtatious since the moment he met you. Well, once he was able to look past his nerves. He'd been a bit of a stuttering mess at first, and it wasn't until an hour into talking to him where he really got comfortable enough to flirt, and flirt he did.

It took not one, not two, but three tries to get you to go out with him, your insecurities getting in the way the first two times. But that had been a few months ago, and now you were pretty sure you were in love with him, except now you knew his friends hated you.

She doesn't understand, you thought. It isn't so black and white. You would love to just fix yourself, to make yourself see a doctor, seek help. But eating disorders were a behavioral disease, and when you were in the thick of it, it was hard to shake. You'd told Phoebe about your struggles with your weight and eating disorder in confidence, thinking she was someone you could confide in, only to find her mocking your pain behind your back to someone else, and now you didn't know what to do.

Your phone buzzed with a text message, and you tensed when you saw who it was from.

Bubbie: hey where'd you run off to?

You: not feeling well. heading home

Bubbie: why didn't you say anything? let me take you home

Wiping away a tear, you typed out a text. In most cases, being around Harry would've brought you comfort, but right now, you just wanted to be alone. You couldn't let him see you like this, so unsteady.

You: it's ok. enjoy your first night back with your friends. kissies xx

*.*

You'd been avoiding Harry for the last week and a half. Phoebe's words sent you into a bit of a tailspin, and shame kept you from speaking to him, not wanting to involve him in your issues. Because you realized Phoebe was right. To some extent. You should've been able to ask for help, you should've been able to tell Harry how much you were really struggling, but your shame kept you from reaching out to anyone or asking for help, along with the desire to keep up your habits, which created a toxic cycle.

"It seems like this boy is doing you more harm than good, honey," your mom said over the phone. She was the only one you told about what you overheard Phoebe say.

"He's not the problem, Mom. I just—"

"You were doing so well up until you started seeing him. I just don't want you to slip again. I worry about you, and if being with that boy is causing you problems, then you need to look at the bigger picture."

Her heart was in the right place, it really was. Your mom had been there for a lot of your darkest moments and was rightfully protective of you and your health. But Harry really wasn't the problem. He'd never made you feel like you needed to change your body for him, it was quite the opposite in fact. He constantly praised the way you looked, and not because you needed reassurance or asked him to, despite Phoebe's assumptions. He just really thought you were beautiful.

"I can't just live my life alone, Mom," you said eventually, not wanting to admit more. "He makes me happy."

You heard your mom sigh, but she thankfully didn't press the matter further, even though you knew she had lots to say. She always had lots to say where your boyfriend was concerned. The last thing she said on the matter was, "Just...be careful."

Once you hung up the phone, you fell back against your bed for a few minutes before standing up and walking to your kitchen. A trip to the grocery store was in order, just based on the meager items in your pantry and refrigerator—pasta and no sauce, cereal but no milk, veggies but they weren't organic, and did you really need the family size bag of Doritos—

You took a breath, willing those thoughts away. You were fine. You were just upset about what Phoebe had said about you, nothing more. "It's just the grocery store," you murmured. "You go all the time."

*.*

The grocery store had never looked bigger. There were too many labels, too many colors, too many brands making promises of health and wellness. Your hands gripped the shopping cart until your knuckles were white, eyes wide as you carefully browsed the aisles. Everyone else was going about their business just fine. You watched as people grabbed what they needed with ease, scratching items off their lists and moving into the next thing.

How did they know which bread to buy? How did they decide on a cereal? Whole grain or multi grain? They didn't even look at the nutritional facts before putting something in their carts, didn't stop to do the math, counting calories and carbs and grams of sugar against what they already had. How could they just exist without caring about—

Your phone buzzing pulled you from your anxiety-riddled thoughts. With shaking hands, you pulled your phone out of your oversized zip-up, Harry's face popping up with the notification that he was calling you.

"H—Hello?"

"Hey, you! I feel like I haven't heard from you, so I thought I'd call and check in."

You smiled, despite the anxiousness that still had your shoulders tensed. "Sorry, I've been...busy."

"God, me too," Harry said woefully. "But I've let work get in the way far too much this week. I need to see you. Are you free tonight? I can come over and make dinner for the two of us."

The word dinner filled you with dread. That wasn't a good idea right now. The idea of anyone seeing you eat, even Harry, felt terrifying. But what could you do? Saying no would involve having to explain yourself, and you wanted to do that even less.

"I'd love to," you said, all that anxiety coiling in the pit of your stomach.

"Yeah? You're in for a treat, I happen to be a fabulous cook."

"Can't wait."

You couldn't even feel excited to see Harry. The dread of having to sit through dinner took up too much space in your mind. You tried to will it away. You liked Harry too much to let your mind get in the way of messing up the good thing you had going.

*.*

A few weeks later, and you were at Harry's house for dinner again, only this time it wasn't just the two of you.

Your date with Harry went better than expected. You picked at your food and pushed it around, shame eating away at you as you lied through your teeth about not feeling very well when Harry asked why you'd hardly eaten anything. He'd been so sweet, making you a cup of tea, laying down with you on his couch to soothe your fake stomach ache, kissing the top of your head and rubbing a hand over your stomach comfortingly.

You felt horrible for lying to him, and you very well couldn't come clean after the fact, but it was better than talking about it. The less you talked about it, the better.

Tonight, you'd been carefully picking at your food again, making sure to take bites that were big enough to look normal and trying not to look like it was making you physically unwell. Each bite was excruciating, your mind telling you not to eat anymore and that you could never exercise all those calories away. It was all you could do to not focus on all the ways you knew how unhealthy this dinner was. It didn't match at all with your diet journal and you'd have to make up for it by—

"—just so hard, don't you think, Y/n?"

"Huh?"

Phoebe smiled at you, but it didn't feel very friendly. You'd avoided talking to her all night so far, had even taken the farthest seat away from her at the table.

"We were talking about how hard it is to live here in LA," she said, gesturing vaguely to the people around her. "It feels like there's a new diet trend every week, and it's just so hard to lose weight while not looking completely anorexic—"

"Phoebe," Harry said tightly, cutting her off before she could finish.

Your grip was tight on your fork, unable to meet anyone in the eye. Did they know? You'd been careful tonight, and any of the other times you'd seen Harry or his friends recently. You didn't want their pity or their questions or their judgement. Nothing would've been worse than the disappointed look on Harry's face, or the look of disgust if he discovered the truth.

That still wasn't enough to stop, though.

"What? I didn't mean to be offensive. I'm just saying how hard it is to get to that perfect size. Y/n knows what I'm talking about. God, I feel like I can taste every calorie I eat, can't you, Y/n?"

"I—Not really," you said meekly. This was not the conversation you wanted to have right now, especially since it felt like you could feel everything you'd eaten tonight, every single bite, sinking to the bottom of your stomach.

"God, I wish I could just throw it up, you know? Then I could eat whatever I want and not feel guilty about it. No more diets, no more counting calories, I could—"

"That's enough," Harry said, voice sounding harder than you'd ever heard it. He glared at Phoebe, whose mouth was still open from stopping mid-sentence. Her eyes were wide with shock as she tried to justify her conversation topic.

"Excuse me," you murmured to Harry, standing up on shaking legs to step away from the table.

"Y/n—"

"I just need to use the restroom," you said, trying your best to talk around the lump in your throat.

You went upstairs to one of the guest bathrooms where you wouldn't be disturbed, though you locked the door to the toilet for good measure. Panic and guilt and self-loathing swirled through you, tears burning your eyes.

For weeks, you told yourself you had it under control. Your behavior was strict, but not worrisome. And effective, too, but that only made guilt and shame mingle with the feeling of success. Your jeans were loose, but you took to wearing baggy clothes so no one would notice. The scale in your bathroom got lower, but it never seemed low enough. Your stomach was taught, rib cage starting to poke through skin, but that just made you feel even worse about yourself and how quickly things escalated. It was a neverending cycle, but as you continued to lean over the toilet, you told yourself it would be just this once. Just this once and you wouldn't do it again. Just this once—

"Y/n? Can you let me in?"

Tears fell harder when you heard his voice. You couldn't let him see you like this. You couldn't face the humiliation, how disappointed he'd be when he realized—

"Y/n, open the door, or I'll break it down, I swear to God," Harry said with urgency in his voice.

Wiping your eye and then your mouth, you stood up, trembling as you turned the lock. You opened your mouth, unsure if an apology or an explanation would come tumbling out of your lips. But Harry pulled you to his chest before you could say a thing. You couldn't help the sobs that wracked your body as he held you up. His hand held the back of your head fiercely, but not harshly, the other one pushing you as close to him as he could.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've said something sooner. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't realize—I never should've—I'm so sorry."

You didn't find out what Harry thought he shouldn't have done because he rested on top of your head, kissing you repeatedly. He squeezed you so tight, as if he worried you would slip away if he didn't. You couldn't focus on anything else but your own emotions, too ashamed at being caught and guilty for having slipped so far in the first place.

"I was okay," you sobbed. "I thought I was okay. I thought—I thought I could control it."

Harry finally leaned away from you, just enough so he could hold your face in his hands and look you in the eye. "This is not your fault. Do you understand? It's not your fault."

More tears streamed down your face, but Harry's thumbs were there to wipe them away. His eyes roved over your face, searching for something, but you didn't know what. Eventually, he said, "There's so much I want to say, but I think for now...I think you should rest."

You agreed, so you didn't try to object. You were exhausted, just wanted the whole evening to evaporate into thin air. You didn't even care if Harry's friends were still in the house or not, you just wanted all the thoughts in your head—the ones still screaming at you to finish what you started and the ones begging you to let Harry help—to stop.

"I just want it to stop," you mumbled.

Harry rested his forehead against yours, breathing in deep. "I know."

*.*

"You're doing so well, love."

It didn't feel like it. In fact, you felt the exact opposite of well. But Harry was holding your hand as you walked through the aisles of the grocery store, his encouragement pushing you to take each step. "I don't think I can do this today."

"What did your eating disorder say to make you think that?" Harry murmured, causing you to grumble under your breath, but it did the trick. You took another step and grabbed the jar of pesto off the shelf.

He'd been doing that a lot recently. Ever since you came back from the treatment facility, he talked about your eating disorder as if it were a separate person, like it was a little devil with red horns talking over your shoulder and not a disease. It grated on your nerves at first because it made you feel like he was talking down to you, and because he was right. Your eating disorder had been the voice in your head and making you make unhealthy decisions. How he saw it first, you had no idea, you were just thankful he was still here, still with you on your road to recovery.

The trip to the grocery store took longer than it probably should've, especially since you only needed a couple things. But the minute you stepped inside, your body tensed up as you took everything in. It was a struggle not to turn packages over to read the nutritional facts, and even harder to put things in your cart. Today was re-introducing day, which meant eating a meal that had foods you'd actively avoided in the past. It scared the shit out of you, which was why Harry was here.

He'd been incredible, more patient than other people would be. He put up with your mother's harsh words when she blamed him for your relapse, he was there every day he was allowed to visit, and he picked up every phone call when you eventually came home. Whether it was to talk you down or talk about random things that came into his head to distract you from dangerous thoughts, he was there.

You honestly didn't know what you did to deserve him.

"How can I help?" Harry asked when you came to another stop.

"Do we really have to buy the parmesan cheese?" you asked, eyeing the aisle filled with various cheeses with a queasy stomach.

"I think you can do it," Harry said, not entirely answering the question. "I can tell you a story while I put it in the cart for you, if that helps."

"Okay," you said, not really sure if it would.

"Right, let me think for a moment," Harry said, mostly to himself. "Oh. Got it! Okay, so one time I went on this blind date, right? And I normally don't like them because my friends seemed to think I can't function without a partner, which is horribly embarrassing, and I normally have a horrible time, but I went to the bar I agreed to meet this person at, and—"

"What? You hated it?" you asked. Part of you thought it was weird that Harry was talking about a date with someone else, but it was doing its job.

Harry raised his brows at you. "I talk, you push."

You rolled your eyes, but pushed the cart another inch, trying to focus on his voice and not where you were headed.

"As I was saying, I get to the bar, and I'm like, holy shit, because I see the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life, and as I go over to talk to her, someone calls out to me, and I realize the girl I saw wasn't who I wasn't supposed to go on a date with, it was someone else. But I can't just ditch this other girl even though I'm dying to just go over to the girl by the bar, so I stay put and try to engage in conversation and laugh when I think I'm supposed to, but I just—All I could think about was the girl in this cute little mini skirt and vest and what was making her laugh so damn much."

"Mini skirt and vest...at a bar...Wait, you don't mean—You were on a blind date when we met?"

The bar in question wasn't one you frequented. It was an upscale one, and you went because your friend dragged you inside, curious to see if she could get any CEOs to buy her a drink, and you...you were just there to make sure your friend got home okay. But somehow you bumped into Harry, though now you supposed you knew why.

"Not technically," Harry said. "The date was over when I walked up to you, and, well, you know the rest. I charmed the pants off you."

You snorted. "That's not what happened."

You'd known who Harry was when before he introduced himself, it was kind of hard not to. You'd seen music videos and heard his songs on the radio and seen him on your TV more than a handful of times, but it was definitely surprising to see him in person, especially because on screen he seemed so chill and cool and cute, the Harry you met was cute, but he could hardly get a word out.

"Nonsense. I remember it differently," Harry said with a sniff.

"You were so nervous it was so cute," you said, wrapping your arms around one of his while he took a turn with the cart.

Kissing the top of your head, he said, "If that's how you want to remember it, fine. But I do remember talking to you for hours and feeling like no time had passed at all. We closed down the bar, do you remember?"

"Mmhm," you said, nodding against his shoulder. "And then you tried to take me home."

"Can you blame me? I met the girl of my dreams, I couldn't just let you leave."

"You mean that?" you asked, looking up at him.

With everything you'd been through recently, it surprised you to know Harry was still with you. This battle you were fighting was lifelong, and you wouldn't have blamed him for leaving somewhere down the line. You loved him, and it would've hurt like hell, but you would've understood. But he never did, and every time you asked him about it, he just said he wasn't going anywhere.

Eventually, you stopped asking.

"I do," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You did it, love."

"What?" Raising your head off his shoulder, you looked around. You were at checkout, all the items you and Harry set out to buy today sitting in your basket. "We did it."

"You did it, Y/n. I'm so proud of you."

Relief rushed through you. It was one hurdle, just one, but each one was a victory, and Harry was there to help you celebrate each one. It was too public to kiss him, even though you felt the urge to, so you squeezed his hand and kissed the top of it instead.

"I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," he said, taking you by surprise when he tilted your chin up for a brief kiss. "You ready to check out?"

Anxiety filled your belly once more as the weight of your situation bore down on you once again. Squeezing Harry's hand again, you shook your head.

Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his side. The warmth emanating from him was a comfort, and you breathed in deep, letting the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent flood your senses to distract you.

"Don't listen to the disease, Y/n. Listen to me, okay? How about another story?"

You nodded. "Please."

"You're going to be alright, Y/n, I promise," he said.

And maybe you didn't believe him completely now, but you trusted him enough to believe it for you until you did.

[slvthrs]

I'M SO FUCKING OBSESSED WITH YOU Y'KNOW | vinnie hacker

--- MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD ---

your boyfriend loves the way the hot weather makes you look

VINNIE HACKER X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, praise kink, pet names, fingering, unprotected sex (use birth control idiots), hair pulling, slight vouyerism

word count: 1k <3

California is so fucking hot sometimes. The way that shirts stick to skin and the way that when you would walk out of the house and immediately be hit with a wave of heat that absolutely envelopes you. You really wanna move sometimes but you never would unless your boyfriend came with you. Your 5 foot 11, sandy beach blond with freckles and brown eyes, the archetype of someone from California- Vinnie.

From where you live the crashing of the beach waves helps to lull you to sleep in the night and sounds of beachgoers is your alarm clock and as much as you love living here, the heat will always get to you- it’s uncomfortable and suffocating. You’re a person who likes the cold and your boyfriend is exactly the opposite- he’s warm and sweet and kind of like a loyal dog. 

So that’s the reason why you’re currently laying back down in the shortest skirt you could find and a tiny crop top with no bra, sucking on this popsicle like it’s your last meal in the world. 

You let your head dangle off the edge of the counter with your body fully on display for no one. You should be a lot more careful with your boyfriend's roommate walking the halls but he’s seen me in more compromising positions. The sound of the neighborhood is bouncing off the walls of the kitchen and you can hear a soft pair of footsteps coming down from the house's gym. 

And speak of the devil and he may appear- your boyfriend walks into the kitchen to grab some water and so you can shamelessly check him out. He’s just wearing his sweatpants which rest dangerously low on his waist and he is slightly wet and a towel is thrown over his shoulder- which you presume is for wiping up but what catches your attention is the way his hands flex and how big they are compared to yours- It’s like he could drown you in his hands and you would never complain.

But you compose yourself, “Hi babe how was the work out?” you say stretching yourself out more so he can see me even better

He looks startled, “Shit I didn’t realize you were here” He says as he turns to look at me and the moment your eyes meet, you both know that you both want each other,

“Uh it went well, I like the outfit” He says taking a swig of his water

“Thanks” I say with the most innocent expression you can muster and you sit up to look at him doe-eyed “I like your fit as well” You chuckled referencing to how little he's wearing

“Ha ha very funny I work out in this, what is your excuse for looking like that?” He says with fake annoyance

“One, it’s fucking boiling in Cali and two, what do you mean ‘looking like that’” You say  emphasising the ‘that’

He groans, “You just, I dunno, look hot” He admits

“Well yeah it’s like 90 degrees outside” You joke

“You fucking know I didn’t mean that” He says walking closer to me and placing the water bottle away and placing both his hands on either sides of me- caging me in

I finish your popsicle and hook your hands around his neck playing with the wooden stick of the popsicle, “Hmm, I don’t think I know what you mean?” You say faking your innocence

“Oh yeah you wanna play it like that? Fine we can do it like that” He states as he crashes your lips together, you both taste like sweat, ice, and cherry popsicle along with pent up aggression of not having even seen each other in days due to your contrasting schedule. 

He lifts his hands to the hem of your shirt to take it of revealing your braless state, and looks at you in a state of awe, “God your such a fucking whore and you love to pretend your innocent,” He says as he starts to kiss your chest and starts to trail down and before he reaches your skirt he flips me over so your stomach is pressed up against the counter, “It kinda pisses me off but mainly turns me on.”

The chill of the counter makes you almost moan from how hot you are. He flips up your skirt and pulls your panties aside to lean up his cock with your clothed cunt and slams into you, gaining a completely pornographic moan that puts Satan to shame. 

His hands take refuge on your waist as he sets an unrelenting pace tumbling you so close to your climax. One of his hands finds your clit as he circles and teases it making you almost cry of complete pleasure but he stops as the same hand finds your hair and pulls it back so our eyes connect.

Instead of finding a sort of ravaged animalistic look on Vinnie’s face he looks at me in awe as if you look like the world's finest art and dips his head down to your spine and kisses upward and leaves marks all over your neck as he leans into your ears and whispers, 

“I’m fucking obsessed with you y’know”

And the words of praise cause everything to come crashing down- as you cum he lets go of his grip on your hair and it’s replaced with slight kisses on your back that trails down and he soothes you out of your orgasm.

With a few more thrusts he’s following you and then he pulls out of me but his grip on you stays because you both know that if he lets go you might just collapse. 

You stay there just for a bit, “Let’s go before Jett finds us sweetheart.” He says as he’s picking you up and carries you bridal style to your shared bedroom and he draws you into a bath.

[factual-fantasy]

24 Asks! Thank you! :}} 🐷

I don't think I'm understanding.. I cant turn my FNAF AU designs into full on OCs, (Original Characters) because.. well Freddy Fazbear and the gang are NOT my original characters. I just made my own AU (Alternate Universe) for them and redesigned them.

Unless that's not what you meant..? I'm sorry for misunderstanding you if that's the case <:(

(In response to this post)

I'm keeping it in mind.. I gotta get to the root of the problem and figure out what needs to be replaced. Once I can figure that out I'll probably set one up 🥹🙏🙏

Well imagine if you were in his shoes. You are transported to some kind of unknown world. And absolutely no one arounds you speaks the same language as you.

Sneep has no way of knowing this is a digital plane. He has no idea if the people around him are real or not, he cant remember his name and no one can explain to him why that is. His body looks different, he feels different, no one around him looks to be a human.. just imagine how scary that is. Not having the comfort of things being explained to you in this situation. Not having the comfort of someone telling you "everything will be okay".

Yeah, I'd lose my mind pretty quick too 💀

@ardent-38

XD No worries! And yeah I started playing Warframe for the first time these past few days. Its been fun so far, Mag being my favorite. (She's the only frame I have <XDD)

I have my eyes out for Titania Prime, Trinity Prime, Mag prime and Mirage Prime. I'm thinking Titania might be my new favorite if I can snag one!

This game is fun, but the longer I play it? The more I miss OG Overwatch 😅 I tried playing TF2 again today and it just isn't the same 😔💔

@chromchill

I am new, but my favorite frame so far is Mag, because she's the only one I have <XDD

But I've got my eyes out for Titania Prime.. and judging by her abilities, she might just become my new favorite 👀👀

@chickenmilk120

What I really would like is just more interactions and comments with my artwork <:( I get bummed when I put a lot of effort into something only to get 3 comments in the end...

I have not <:(( but I've heard many good things about those games! :00

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD That's all very kind of you to say! :}}

And as for Cici and Gerald, you can find their origin comic here! :00

@lordvonbunnyv

Yes please 🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏

@quillsinkwell

Awe! :DD Thank you! They did have a certain charm to them didn't they? :}}

They would have been much better off drawing that mattress character I swear XDD

@neo-metalscottic (Referencing this post)

Hello! So far my tablet is still alive. Although I'm looking into getting my laptop checked out and maybe replacing somethings... 😔

And it was fun to draw Bibi again! I should really draw the fam more often <XD

Not sure what resolutions they'd have.. but one of mine is to be cured of this condition. Or at least get to a point where I can actually function normally again. There's a lot of things planned for 2025 and if I don't get better soon? I'm gonna miss out on all of it. 💔

Yeah, my head just used to be a normal scribble. But now its become a full on blob hasn't it? <XD

There's 2 reasons for this. 1 being that I have been battling some very limiting health conditions for about 8 months now. So drawing my sona all goopy and sickly is to represent how I've felt through this trial 🥲🥲

But the second reason isn't so bad. That being that its just fun to draw my sona like that XD

@bored-animator

Indeed I have! Deltarune too! Just search up "undertale or "deltarune" in my blogs search bar and you're sure to find a lot of it! :))

Thank you so much!! :DD And sure! Send me any game recommendations you'd like! :}}}

@ramiel-hourglass

Thank you so much! :DD But no need to go to the dumpster! <:(( I'll make you something to eat instead, yeah? :)

I use FireAlpaca. And I used to use the pencil brush for line art and the pen for coloring. But lately I've been using the little pixel brush for sketching and line art :00

(This thingy 👇)

I saw it, and I don't really know how to feel about the blue shelled Koopa.. it feels kinda weird to see a Mario kart item brought to life suddenly 😅

I gotta think of stuff to do wither her... 😓😓

First thing that came to mind was Roxanne from FNAF: Security Breach <XDD

@howaboutsomeketchul

Idk how they would celebrate Christmas, since they might not have a good way to gauge the passage of time..

Just search "team fortress 2" in my blogs search bar and you're sure to find most of it! :)

While I see what you're cooking, I don't think my Caine would create a Momigoo NPC for the fast food adventure <:/

The thing that upsets Gummigoo isn't just that his mom isn't real necessarily, its that his memories of her aren't real too. He remembers all these experiences with this person but the memories aren't real...

And the whole reason why Caine let the brothers stay was because he hoped it would help Pomni adjust to the circus. Just like Bella did for Gangle. Bringing up NPCs or things from the Gators adventure could upset or confuse them so Caine wouldn't want to risk it. <:(

@wolfie-777

Merry Christmas and a Happy new year! :DD Sorry for the late reply <XD

@cartoon-fan

Oh I get a lot stolen from those other fandoms too. Octonauts has just been the most frustrating. Constant tracings, theft, copycats, disrespect, its was nuts.

I don't think I'll post Octonauts again anytime soon. I've just had enough of the constant pushing of my boundaries and the boat loads of all kinds of theft.