#terminally long post tw

[brooklynislandgirl]

Beth x Gareth for the ship meme (if it's okay, if not, just ignore this!)

Come Together || Accepting

RATE: NOTP | Ew | Nah | Alright | Cute | I LOVE them | They are perfect | OTP | THEY ARE MY BEAUTIFUL, SWEET CHILDREN AND I SHALL PROTECT THEM AS THEIR MOTHER

I. Who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon? Beth's hand splays across his belly, slightly crumpling his worn and comfortable 'I Hate Sand' shirt beneath her fingers. She'd laughed the first time she'd seen it when he'd come into the bedroom, and feigned hurt on behalf of sand everywhere. She cheekily pointed out that sand comprised a good deal of her life. She isn't laughing now. To say she is a light sleeper is to say the sun is bright, that it is hot. For their own carefully guarded reasons they share the curse of insomnia in common, and she's more likely to toss and turn than she is to rest. Over coffee, tea, and one each copy of the Times and the Daily Telegraph he ventures forth the idea of separate beds, his only response being a crisply turned page and a scrunch of her nose. Perhaps they would revisit the topic at some point. But for now she presses her face into his spine and holds him close. The sound he'd made that woke her was one she'd heard before. They have a gentleman's agreement about asking questions, but she knows terror when she hears it.

"S'just a dream, Gar." The rest of his name is more a drowsy sigh than actual syllable. "You're home and in bed, but I could go get you a book an' a cuppa if you like."

"No." Shaky, so he repeats himself, firmer now in conviction. "No."

He takes hold of her hand and lifts it to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. After a moment she slips a hand free and turns over. He follows suit and she rests her arm over his as he curls it around her.

She watches the sky start to lighten through the seam between the curtains. His breath is even and deep as he holds her close. She smiles and finally closes her eyes.

{If they can be said to sleep, they often end up swapping between the two options depending on which one is experiencing distress} II. Adult!Verse Heights: He looks no more comfortable in her flat than he does his own house. But maybe it's because she's wearing denim shorts that mould across her backside. Or because he's caught her precariously balanced on the minor slice of solid wood that pretends to be a counter top. Or just maybe it's because unfortunately, her scar is on full display. From just below her knee to just above her ankle the almost oval shape ~still deep purple even after so many years~ dominates the lower portion of her leg. The space inside that outline has all the distinct hallmarks of missing tissue. What is left is unsightly. Is atrophied. The fact that she can still use it and still has sensation is a testament to the Admiral's skill in the field of neurosurgery. No one but Beth sees the inherent cruelty in how she'd been healed.

Before he can say anything, she holds up a hand, index finger raised. "I have a perfectly good explanation. The housekeeper my auntie hired is a lovely Swedish man named Johan Anders. He is, however, ridiculously tall and thought to use the dead space here to hang my elephant-ear pathos." She indicates the thriving vine plant. "Unfortunately, he had to call out sick today, and I can't reach Freddie to give him a drink. So, what do you say? Spare a house-plant dehydration and get him down for me, or decide right now that I am entirely too short to live and watch me try to circus-clown my way up here."

The giggle implies she is not bothered by whatever choice he makes.

{Gareth is just a shade over six feet, while Beth is much smaller at five foot even.} III. Who Suggests Watching Romcoms?

Gareth had to explain to her what exactly a television licence is, and why they had one, even if you tended to stream rather than watch broadcast. At first she thought the idea was bizarre, until she realised the average American spent more than the yearly fee each month for cable in their own homes, though they often had that bundled with with internet and phone service as well. Not that it truly haunted her conscience, she's never actually had to pay a bill in her entire life; her trust was in capable and respected accounting hands. Most of the time though, they don't actually actually bother with television. Gareth reads, as does Beth. Or she might unwind with knitting. It is a companionable silence. They might play chess or practice yoga.

Tonight, he's elbows deep into a book and she's laying across the couch with her frozen little toes tucked under his lap. Her laptop is open on the coffee table and she's pulled up her Netflix account. She starts a movie and seems excited about it. Her volume is off so as not to disturb him, and she prefers subtitles anyway, especially an old favourite. And it is old. Dates back to 1961, long before she was born. But she has loved Gregory Peck, Anthony Quinn and--

"David Niven." There's a certain shape to his tone.

She smiles. "Guns of Navarone is one of my favourites."

"Mine, too." IV. Who falls asleep while watching romcoms? Gareth indulges her with a smile and puts his book down. At the pressure of his gentle hand on her knee, she reaches out and fiddles with a couple settings on her laptop, and then the remote. The video comes up on the television. And when the movie starts to play, captions and all, she shifts. Not so abruptly as to shake him from the pleasant quietude of their former lounging, but she moves until she's pressed against his chest, half tucked under his arm. Presumably for a better view. In truth, she simply enjoys being close to him. He radiates a comforting warmth, a solidity that belies his leanness that draws her to him. Fifteen minutes in and she experiences ever increasing long blinks. By twenty-five minutes, her head is dipped low, her lashes graze her cheeks, and her breath is slow, steady. One arm is wrapped around him the way it coils normally around her pillows. V. Who makes all of the decisions?

"Are you free for dinner Saturday evening?" He suggests.

She winces. "Yeah, no. Working. Late lunch Friday?"

"Oh, sorry. Meetings all day, don't know when I'll be able to get away."

A momentary pause, then they flash smiles at each other, arriving at the solution at the same time. "Brunch, Sunday."

Gareth and Beth have gruelling schedules and neither of them have jobs that easily allow sudden changes in plans or lack of coordination. Occasionally weeks go by before they finally have a chance to meet up, and when they can make it work they both try very hard to be amenable to one another. They are still learning how to navigate things as a couple. Gareth has more experience in that arena but Beth's irreverence toward authority sometimes drags him out of his carefully constructed shell. VI. Who carries the other one to bed when they fall asleep on the couch?

Beth could try and move Gareth if he dozes off, but to do so would be an exercise in ridiculousness. She'd have to consider him a single-person transport, without any assistive equipment. She'd have to lift him high enough to rest against her chest, while she wraps her arms around his chest, then she has to drag him off the couch, across the room, up the stairs. Maybe a hundred times of distance than she might have to move a patient. And in doing so, she'd end up waking him and thus defeating the purpose. More harm than good. So instead, if he falls asleep in his chair or his sofa, she will drape a throw blanket over him and let him be.

She knows the reverse is true; if she is the one who falls asleep, it takes very little for him to slip an arm under her shoulders, one under her knees. She might stir at the motion ~not dissimilar of being rocked in a hammock, or the motion of a boat, surfboard, other water craft. He might only run into trouble when she curls her arms around his neck and nuzzles into his chest.

"I've nevah slept a day in my life," she giggles. VII. Who proposes?

The small cathedral at the end of the street rings their bells; in the door way are a bride and groom fending off rice ~Beth doesn't mention that birdseed for the local population is a far better choice~ from onlookers. It draws both his attention and hers, and while she looks on with a smile, Gareth looks down at her. Observes her face. Her expression is open and unguarded as she mumbles a blessing for the couple. She doesn't let go of his arm to make the Sign of the Cross. So much fondness clouds her eyes that it makes him ask if that's the kind of wedding she envisions.

If anything, she shrinks away from the mere mention. "Oh, no I…I don't think…" She shrugs. "I don' know about gettin' married. No one's beatin' down my door to ask, an' I could not imagine asking, either."

She has nothing to offer; she can't cook. She can clean but works to much to really contribute. It's a reason she has a house-keeper. She can't provide children to secure a future. At best, she is a respite from a stifling organised world. She is cooling rain in the middle of summer. A fleeting thing, and she knows it. Gareth will surely see it too. "Is that something you're looking for?"

VIII. Will they have a big wedding?

Gareth lets her answer lie between them for a few weeks, but over dinner and a glass or two of wine, he asks her what she would imagine her wedding to be like. Her lips purse as she swallows a sip of Shiraz. "If I ever finally managed it, the announcement alone would run internationally. The Admiral would use it as an excuse to boost his poll numbers, and my auntie would throw her full support behind it. They would have at least three hundred guests and it would rival some of the royal weddings. Swords, carriages, antique jewels, jus' a whole logistical nightmare, really." She imagines he regrets asking. "If I had my preference, it would be a small handful of people if that many, on a beach in the North Shore of O'ahu. Do things the way my ancestors have done for ages. But honestly, I think it should be something for both partners t' agree on, something that would make them both happen. Might be civil ceremony in front of a Judge, or…whatever. What do you think? If you were to have a service, you'd likely want your bride to be Anglican, yeah?"

IX. Who accidentally eats all the popcorn while sharing a box?

The black and white film festival was the perfect sort of charity endeavour for them. It's far quieter compared to the party they'd met at, there's something to take up the lapses into silence they might have. It is absolutely companionable, being drawn into beloved films ~the Maltese Falcon being one of her favourites~ is not unexpected. Best of all, it's outdoors so they can lounge on the spread blanket beneath them. Casual, comfortable. And maybe conducive to a few kisses under the stars. The whole reason she decided not to bring her own spicy garlic pepper saki ika. No one wants fishy-breath. On the other hand, she isn't aware until her knuckles brush his at the bottom of the bucket that she's eaten a majority of the popcorn. She looks up and at him, but only sees the smile on his face before he leans in and finds the salt and butter on her lips in a gentle kiss. X. Who pays for dates?

There's always a moment in which Beth feels her belly tighten and not in the good way. Anxiety has a mighty fist. Traditionally, society rules dictates that the gentleman should pay for the date. But things have changed since that was the rule of the day. Even if she had to budget an monthly indulgence, Beth knows she can't run through her funds even if she splurged like crazy. She doesn't want to trample his pride. She doesn't want him to feel as if she doubts his ability to orchestrate, see through, and pay for an outing.

"Compromise, then," she murmurs. "If I ask you out, then it's on me to handle everything. If you ask me, then I will defer to you. Deal?"

She holds out a small hand to shake. XI. Who's the most romantic? A year. Twelve months. Fifty two weeks. Three hundred sixy five days. One revolution of the earth around the sun. This is a milestone, every book and magazine article ever written about relationships say so. They have a quiet dinner in. An exchange of gifts. Hers is a little potted plant, that mostly looks like a stick shoved in deep loam. But the corners of her mouth quirk, her eyes water with tears unshed before she throws her arms around his neck. She knows what it is on first sight, this little ugly duckling that will soon bloom into a swan. A piece of home, the one she talks about with love and reverence. The florist called it frangipanni, but they both know it as lei flower.

"For…for the garden," he says, returning the hug. He means the one outside of his little house, the one she's meticulously brought back to life with hard work and gentle care. Maybe it's a metaphor for what they share.

Hers? She presents it gingerly. Holds the box with oven mitts which come away once he's taken hold of it, and bare fingers rise to her lips, guarding her mouth, her breath, her worry that he won't like it. The tissue paper surrounding it is a shade of blue similar to his eyes, a contrast to the rich, cream colour of the Aran sweater within, merino wool. From sheering to carding, to making the skeins she needed, and the knitting itself. She has had a hand in all of it. A secret affair that began with draping herself across his back when he worked from home or other little hugs here and there, to measure him without being obvious. A belated explanation when she's turned down plans to meet with him so he doesn't see the near blistered skin and swollen knuckles from her work ~she's allergic to wool, after all~ but this is a symbol just as much as her plant is. A promise of warmth, of sacrifice, of beauty, of the deep care she will always take of him, as long as he lets her.

Neither find it easy to express the deeper things, there's always the catch of fears their past has turned into nets, but sometimes… even the quietest things sing the loudest. XII. Random headcanon

Beth noticed them the first time Gareth fully smiled at her. His canines are long as hers, and just a little crooked as well. His teeth are beautiful and make his smile even more appealing to her. She's not used to meeting people with similar teeth, and it makes her less self-conscious of her own, to the point that she is quick to not hide her smile behind her hand or beneath closed lips. And when his kisses eventually make their way toward the column of her throat, she always finds herself pressing her skin to them. An invitation to graze them across her neck. To bite down and leave their impressions behind. And to make no mistake, sometimes she runs the tips of her fangs along his lower lip or in sharp kisses against his collar bones and shoulders.

[brooklynislandgirl]

His laughter is a pure sound. It reminds her of muted sunlight trickling in from behind the curtains on a lazy spring morning. Not yet too much from summer's harsh kiss, not tinged with cold from winter's bitter and lingering bite. Of course, he'd probably die of embarrassment were she to tell him so. It's not that he doesn't take compliments well but rather that Ben is a sensitive soul and sometimes being noticed or admired, regardless of reason, doesn't sit well on him. She can absolutely understand that. "Oh, that's a good one," she says and giggles softly in her own right. "And good for you that I'm really…bendy." His comment about animals serves to endear him to her even more but she arches a brow, unable to stop herself from having to ask- "Uh…do I wanna know about pisceside? Is it a personal bias or just habitual neglect? Not that I'm judging here." Okay, maybe she is just the tiniest of bits but he doesn't have to know and she keeps it hidden. "Short list… Princess Bride by William Goldman. Night Watch by Terry Pratchett. Trilogy of the Rings, Tolkien. Dumas' Count of Monte Cristo, Gaiman's American Gods, the Sackett series by Louis L'amour. I mean I could go on forever, and might do better with the boundaries of genre, or at least an idea of the kind of story you want to read. But now, it's your turn to share some titles with me. And maybe we agree to a custody exchange of our favourites. It's not really steppin' out on your library, I promise. All that being said, maybe I am a tease." The faint flush of her cheeks suggests she's no such thing and even just saying it feels odd. She doesn't seem to mind these all too brief and somewhat prim touches they trade between one another. Her gaze lingers on his lips in a sultry fashion as she narrows her eyes on his face. A moment later though she flashes him a glimpse of the sharp points of her teeth in a fully blossomed smile when he feigns shock. "Oh yeah, no," she's quick to interrupt, waving a hand in front of her face in small circles. "All this? Carefully matriculated glamour to pass unnoticed amongst mortals." She lowers her voice to conspiratorial whisper. "Just like under those button ups, sweaters, and oxfords? Abs hidden by golden armour, wide opalescent wings, and somewhere secret? Flaming sword. Tell me I'm wrong. I dare you."

That pronouncement that he's some sort of arch angel is further cemented in her thoughts when he talks about the disaster of his own prom, and she can hear the upper middle class at the very least dripping from his tone. Feels empathy flood her chest with a desire to comfort him. If she thought he wouldn't shy way from her, she'd offer him a hug because things like that leave behind residual trauma. Parents never seem to understand how much damage they do to their children, and how they make it impossible to ever try and fix it. "What happened with the girl you actually liked? Tell me there was some kind of fairy tale moment where you connected at least before you went away for University? Or that at least your cousin bought you new shoes." Beth chokes on a laugh or her words when he offers the word thesaurus. He's not wrong. She doesn't really have language for what she is. There are a lot of terms and flags that are thrown around like beads during a Mardi Gras parade on Bourbon, all of which seem to fluctuate depending on who chooses to use them, and what aspects they seem to incorporate with best. Beth has never thought of herself as anything other than a girl. Woman now. She's never really had any celebrity crushes beyond Eddie Vedder and even that's more an admiration of his charitable nature and his activist choices as well as his music. She has noted that the two times she'd ever felt a more-than-platonic feeling for someone, it had been a man. She's not been attracted to another woman before, but she can't say she never would be, nor any combination in between. Ben swoops in though and tries to keep the moment grounded in the here and now, and not some internalised hellscape that they are both easily inclined toward through experience, and she can't begin to express her gratitude that he does. So she simply reaches out and takes one of his hands and cradles it between both of hers, tangling the ends of their fingertips loosely. "See? I couldn't tell. I always thought bringing physical intimacy up in a coffee shop was totally apropos, and you shouldn't feel awkward at all." A shake of her head denoting she wasn't serious, and for a second, the air catches the very subtle scent of her perfume. "You're not wrong though. After my brother's…I ended up slipping out of the house and heading down to his favourite bar. Fortunately, my best friend was able to stop me from making a huge, huge mistake. I don't know that I wanted to be fruitful, I just didn't want to be…lonely." And again, everything turns on its head. Her elbows on her knees, his hand held in hers, she leans forward, closer to him. She meets his gaze without shyness or emotional distance. "I'm going to assume you've ah… been with someone before…in that way. What was it about them? What did it make you feel?"

Kink shame?

Ben laughed at that, his eyebrows drawing high on his head. "All right, so my humor's a little one-note these days," he agreed. "If you'd prefer I shake things up, I could always pretend to be something more exotic, like an art collector who plans on stuffing you into my comically under-sized suitcase." He held up a hand by way of making a solemn vow. "And I would never orphan your cat. Animals are arguably more deserving of my respect than people...if you ignore that I've gone through an embarrassing amount of goldfish as of late."

Ellie's nose crinkled and she grinned, the warmth in her gaze much like a dazzling, summery blossom that made Ben fight off a smile of his own. The playful skim of her fingertips over his knee caught him off guard, and flustered, he ignored the pink in his cheeks while reassuring, "Oh no, I was dead serious. I do spend an ungodly amount of time at the library, and I am a proud carrier of a library card. The joke in question was myself." Here, his lips lifted into his trademark grin of self-deprecation. "And please do tell me your favorite books. If you don't, I'll be forced to deem you a tease."

Gently, he knocked his foot against hers underneath the table, if only to convey his jest.

"…And if we're going to get personal? It's because under this alluring and mysterious facade, I'm actually a hideous troll and live under the Triborough Bridge."

Ben gave a faux gasp. "I knew it. All the pretty ones have real estate underneath local bridges." He nudged her again. "C'mon, you don't actually expect me to believe that, do you? A troll, maybe, but hideous? Never."

While Beth regaled him with bread crumbs from her childhood, he fell silent, his smile far more subdued as he tried to picture her -- smaller, bright-eyed, quiet, but with a brother who loved her and made the pain of adolescence worthwhile. Unbidden, a twinge formed inside his chest and he resisted the urge to reach for her -- surely, she wouldn't wish for that? -- and instead, he offered, "Sounds better than my senior prom. I had to go with my cousin. No..." He straightened with mock pomposity. "Correction, it was a 'privilege,' according to my uncle, to take her instead of the girl I was actually attracted to. And for all the thanks I deserved, she ended up sneaking in some liquor and hurling all over my shoes."

Despite his attempts at levity, Ellie's features darkened. "And maybe most importantly, I'm…ah. I'm…"

"In need of a thesaurus?" he teased.

"Let's just say…it takes me a long time to realise that I might be interested in someone in a romantic way, and people don't like waiting."

Oh.

"Their loss," Ben decided. "In my mind, the best companions are always the ones worth waiting for. Unfortunately for me, I'm rather woeful at social interaction -- in fact, this is the first time in a long, long while that I've felt comfortable talking in this way...so my sincerest apologies." Here he chuckled, lifting his shoulders. "Still, you'd think I'd be able to get at least one date, seeing how funerals allegedly fill people with the ancient, primordial urge to 'be fruitful and multiply.' According to what I've read, a self-preservation instinct kicks in when people die, and some mourners seek coitus to alleviate that so-called danger of dying out. But fear not! Thus far, I haven't felt the need to jump anyone's bones, so you're safe...however, if you keep referring to yourself as a 'sexy troll,' I just might not be able to help myself."

[prince-honeypaw]

WARNING: This post contains mentions of terminal illness and parental death! Proceed with caution.

♡ There are no secrets kept between Tamaki and Mirio. They've grown up together since they were just developing their quirks and have been attached at the hip for just as long. Where Tamaki went, Mirio was never far behind! They're in perfect tandem.

♡ Up until their first year at UA that is.

♡ Going to a prestigious hero school was already very stressful for Tamaki, but that wasn't all that bore down on his frazzled mind. Not long before he was accepted into UA, his grandmother had passed away. She was his only living family member after his mother passed from a terminal illness when he was rather young, which meant that he was hopping from foster home to foster home his entire first year. It was terrifying for him!

♡ He was so afraid of being alone again.

♡ Mirio was at a loss on how to help his closest friend. He knew that Tamaki was struggling with moving every month or so, but nothing he tried seemed to alleviate that stress. From putting time aside to help him try to regress or taking him out to do something fun, it only ever ended in Tamaki going home in tears.

♡ It wasn’t until he started his work study with Fatgum that someone finally found the solution to—at least one of—Tamaki’s anxieties. He was adopted by the BMI Hero and finally had that stable living situation that he desperately needed in order to thrive! And, with that settled, Tamaki’s little slowly started to come back out one step at a time. He was hesitant to let Taishiro know about his regression, but Taishiro is one of the most understanding and open minded heroes out there. Different strokes for different folks!

♡ And, while happy that Tamaki was starting to feel better enough to regress again, Mirio couldn’t help but feel this little twinge of disappointment. Disappointment in himself for not being able to help his best friend when he needed it most. He tried his best to not let it get to him, but oh did his smile not quite reach his eyes for a time afterwards. He was afraid of not being needed anymore.

♡ Soon after, things went back to how they used to be! For the most part. New routines filled the cracks and became the new norm... Up until another wrench was thrown in the cogs a year and a half later.

♡ UA's dorm system was implemented for the safety of the students, but Tamaki feels like it was an attack on him personally. He had gone through so much to settle in with Taishiro! He paced and fretted over the new stressor for days upon days before it was time to move in. Taishiro promised that everything would be peachy keen, and that he'd always have his home in Esuha when all was said and done! It wasn't like he was being exiled.

♡ His words went in one ear and right out the other the moment he had to pack away his regression gear, squawking and fretting that someone would find out! He couldn't- He shouldn't- He WOULDN'T! And, regretfully, he didn't. Taishiro said that if he changed his mind, he'd have it all packed and ready to go when he saw him next, but Tamaki was stubborn in his decision.

♡ Moving into the dorms was suspiciously simple to Tamaki. He didn't drop anything, didn't trip up the stairs, didn't spill water on the new carpet in his dorm- And having dinner with the rest of his class wasn't a disaster either. It was actually... Very fun! Nejire was in the dorm across from his own and Mirio was just a floor away, so he didn't feel as alone as he thought he would be.

♡ It was nice. Something he would have to tell Taishiro about later.

♡ However, he hadn't noticed just how much later it had gotten! The sky had grown darker and most of the class had already disappeared into their dorms, leaving a chilling quiet to bear down on his mind. He'd been so content with the company of so many familiar faces that it never occured to him that his schedule had been thrown off entirely.

♡ First was brushing his teeth. Then was taking his medication with a bottle- A bottle he didn't have. That was fine, it was fine! There was no need to freak out, okay... He could just skip that part and take his medicine with a glass of water. Then he could get dressed and get Lilliput r- Lilliput was still at home. Okay... Okay, that would be harder to do without, but he didn't need to freak out! He... Papa could fix it-

♡ Like the shatter of glass, Tamaki's already slipping headspace crashed to the floor with that realization. Papa wasn't there. He was all alone now, all alone without the comforts he'd grown to rely on when the world felt so much bigger and he felt so... so small. Tears fell hot and thick, hiccups burning his throat. He was alone, he was alone, he was alone, he—

"Tamaki?"

♡ His breath caught and he snapped to attention. Mirio, suddenly understanding the situation with only a look, wore an expression that was as warm as sunlight, reaching out and taking Tamaki's hands.

"Hi there, sunshine! What's going on up here?" He asked with a gentle tap of his fingertip to the baby's forehead. Tamaki blinked through the tears and immediately jammed himself into Mirio's comforting presence and fit against him like a puzzle piece, hiccuping when he managed to speak. His words were jammed together between panic and his headspace, but Mirio nodded along as though it was just another conversation.

♡ Because, to him, it was! He knew baby Tamaki just as well as he knew big Tamaki, through timid mumbles and teary babbling, Mirio understood him. Rough thumb pads gingerly wiped the still falling tears off his ruddy cheeks, and Mirio spoke in a soft voice he knew was just for him.

"Okay, I gotcha, I gotcha! I still have some of your stuff on hand, remember?"

At the slow nodding, Mirio smiled, "That's right, so we can text your papa that you need your stuff and go get it after class tomorrow, 'kay? It's no big deal."

♡ Tamaki, still sniffling, echoed the words, "No big deal...", before letting Mirio guide him through his nighttime routine with what they had. A sippy full of water and a puppy plush suited him just fine, but following Mirio to his room was just inevitable. He felt so much less lonesome with him there and Mirio couldn't find it in himself to take Tamaki up to his own room.

♡ So, they settled in for the night in Mirio's dorm. Tamaki picked out a story on his tablet while Mirio washed the spare pacifier he kept around for Tamaki when he would stay over. With the pacifier clean and the sippy refilled with fresh water, Mirio returned to tuck in under the covers and pop the soother in Tamaki's mouth. They were in for a night of reading fairy tales and just being together.

♡ Tamaki barely lasted more than five minutes before he dozed off, his head resting against Mirio's chest. The thrum of his heartheat against his ear was like a lullaby soothed him into letting out a murmured, "N'ni, Mewi..."

♡ While holding Tamaki in his strong, scarred arms and stroking calloused fingers through indigo blue locks, feeling Tamaki's breathing slow into a gentle purr of sleep... Mirio wonders what he ever had to worry about in the first place.

[darehearts]

me signing on after 48 hrs of radio silence  :  does anyone.......  remember me  ?!  hEWWO....... ?!?1  🤧

[zairas-realm-gateway]

OFF ramblings: Batter's Purpose

Content warnings for discussion of canon and speculated canon content: violence, medical trauma, abuse, child neglect, terminal illness, child death.

This post is a basic layout of the general conversations I had with my sister when I showed her the game OFF recently. These are just our speculations, observations, and headcanons.

This post will discuss our deductions behind Batter's in game creation and his opposition to the other characters.

As we all know, Batter (in universe) is created at the start of the game. He has never before existed in the lonely, tormented world of the Zones before. My sister and I discussed why he never existed in the world before that point. We think we have deduced why from the information given in The Room level.

First, we have to note the importance of Batter, Hugo, and Queen. Hugo has manifested representations of his parents in his fucked up world. His father is Batter and his mother is Queen.

Now, my mother is chronically ill, so I've spent a lot of time in hospitals. So, when Batter enters a new location at the end of the hallway when you enter the Room level, my sister and i immediately recognized it as a hospital. It reminded us of many we've been in before and left us uneasy.

In the Room, Batter goes to the small room on the left. This room is returned to many times. It paints a painfully vivid picture:

There is a sick child (Hugo) in the hospital. Probably between the age of 10-17 because they can talk in complete sentences but are still referred to as "the boy". This child is terminally ill and immuno-compromised. You can tell when the note says that his father (Batter's human counterpart) says they can go outside tomorrow but that trip outside never comes. The notes say that his father comes regularly to play with him but he doesn't like his father and wants his mother instead but she never comes to pick him up or visit.

This tells me a lot. It says that Hugo's father (we'll keep calling him Batter) is cold but holds deep affection for Hugo. Based on Spectral Batter's personality, Human Batter probably has difficulty with emoting. Meaning he has trouble displaying and expressing emotion both physically and vocally. To a sick and distressed child, this would appear as if his father doesn't love him despite Batter visiting constantly and playing with Hugo.

This could explain why he wants his mother over his father. Affection and emotional support are needed for comfort when sick. It seems like Queen can probably express emotions in a way that would be comforting.

Or, she would, if she ever showed up.

It's speculated that Human Queen has a job that makes her a lot of money but forces her to work/travel a lot. Spectral Queen's later argument with Batter makes it clear that's she's pretty much phoning it in as a mom. The cadence of Queen and Batter's conversation is that of a divorced couple. If this is true, it sounds like Queen has primary custody but just is never around.

Batter is his most emotional during his argument with Queen right before their battle. He is still flat in dialogue tone but it is clear he is passionate about the subject. He accuses her of taking all the steps of being a mother with none of the emotion, care, or memory for who her actions are for (Hugo). Rather than defend herself, Queen just deflects until Batter gets angry.

To argue the point of Queen doing the right moves with none of the personal touch, I want to talk about the three guardians. It is said the Queen appointed them and I think this really happened.

My sister and I speculate that the three guardians represent the specialists that Queen hired for Hugo while she was away on business. Dedan is speculated to be a surgeon based on his temper and excessive need for total order and demand everyone be efficient at their job. Japhet being a bird, dove, and loving books is probably a priest. Enoch would be a private chef. These three were left with explicit orders to keep an eye on Hugo, which is why they're called his friends in the notes. This would also make them opposing forces to Hugo's father and the hard decisions he has to make. One of those decisions is massive and we believe it is what manifests Batter for the first time.

It's the decision to unplug his terminally ill child from life support.

Now, I see a lot of speculation that Hugo bases Batter on Ballman. But I think that Batter is a dual manifestation of Ballman and Boxxer. This would make Batter both the hero and the villain, hence the choice at the end of the game.

This is what brings Judge into the mix. We speculate that Judge is Human Hugo's high consciousness, the one aware of the pain and suffering of the world. Judge thought Batter was a savior but after Hugo's death, he calls Batter a monster. If Batter is both hero and villain, it makes sense that Judge trusted him to help but was unaware this is the action that would taken. He had no clue that this was the only solution that Batter could see.

If Judge is Hugo and Batter is Hugo's father, then the truth that his father is taking him off life support would paint his father as a monster. A villain that is murdering him.

Meanwhile, Hugo's father had to live with that truth and the reality that it is his duty to keep his child from suffering. And the end stages of terminal illnesses are only suffering.

I feel this is why Hugo takes the form of an infant. Because a child, no matter how old, is always their parent's baby...

[im-tempted]

As an aromantic person who used to have a terminal illness

Oh my god I have so many hanahaki thoughts and none of them make sense

[hellsitegenetics]

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homestuck

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[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Tw: angst

Series masterlist

The soft sound of the baggage carousel echoed in the dimly lit terminal as Noah stood there, fingers drumming lightly on his thigh. The past two days passed so quickly.

With the two days of traveling, performing and then traveling again, he had barely had time to think—except, of course, for one thing: you. And Luna. The thought of you two had never left him during the long hours on the road.

Noah smiled faintly at the thought of finally coming home. Even though only two days had passed, it felt like weeks, and now he just wanted to come back to you. He couldn’t wait to hold you again, to feel your arms around him, and to kiss you the way he had been missing.

Despite the physical exhaustion, his mind felt clearer than it had in days. He realized something during these past two days away: that no matter how Jason looked at you, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long, like he wanted you all for himself, the way he would go to the café just to talk to you, the way he would prentend to be so nice and kind now, he knew the truth.

You were Noah’s. And Noah was yours.

And the distance had done him good. Two days apart had helped clear the fog from his mind. He wasn’t going to let that gnawing insecurity eat at him anymore. He wasn’t going to let it ruin his peace, his relationship, or what he had with you. It didn’t matter how Jason looked at you or said—it was Noah you came home to. Noah you loved.

And that realization brought a sense of relief he really needed.

The soft murmur of his bandmates laughing and talking pulled him back to the present. Matt was the closest to him, fiddling with his phone, scrolling absentmindedly, while the others were cracking jokes about the tour.

"You almost tripped, I saw that!" Jolly laughed.

"Me? Nah, it wasn't me." Nicholas tried to convince him.

Noah chuckled to himself, his gaze softening.

He really couldn't wait to get his baggage, travel a couple of hours more and get home to you and Luna, but before that moment arrived, something caught Matt’s attention.

He had been aimlessly scrolling through Twitter, a little too tired to engage, looking at memes and raccoons pictures, but out of habit, he found himself looking up posts from the previous night’s show. Just some fan reactions and thoughts. And then, unexpectedly, it happened.

He didn't understand immediately. Why was that picture tagged as 'bad omens'?

Matt’s fingers froze as his thumb stopped scrolling. There was a photo, blurry and grainy, from a distance. It wasn’t much—taken at night, the porch barely lit—but there was enough detail to recognize that house. The one Matt has been many times to visit Noah, the one he’d been so proud of.

It was Noah’s house.

And standing on the porch, framed in the dim light, was you.

But you weren’t alone.

A man was standing too close to you—Matt didn't know who he was but he had a feeling he could easily guess. His hand was placed on your arm in one of the pictures, in another one, your hand was on his chest, your faces just inches apart.

Matt’s stomach twisted, and he leaned closer to the screen, squinting at the figure. This wasn't about him, it was about Noah, but still, his heart pounded a little faster as he clicked on the image to enlarge it.

Then, he looked at a couple of other pictures and a short video. It was you for sure. And that was Noah's house.

@/Erikka_1999, the original poster, had tagged the post with #badomens, #NoahSebastian, and #homewrecking. The hashtags were cruelly apt.

Matt didn’t need to see the comments to feel his stomach turn, this was the last thing he wanted to happen to his friend. But still, he scrolled down.

@/user7216: What the fuck is this?

@/noahstwitchstreams: wait is that Noah's gf?

@/lisa_omens: What is Y/N doing????

@/olisykesdavis: girl, not when noah is in another state

@/bomensandmore: This is so messed up...who tf is that man?

@/silent-stories: let's not jump to conclusions guys!!

@/concreteoomens: I KNEW ITTTT

@/noahsdailys: maybe they broke up??

@/user2727ii: they were together 2 days ago???

"Shit," Matt muttered under his breath, his voice filled with disbelief and frustration. His first instinct was to confront Noah, but even before he got the chance, the band began to gather their things, preparing to head toward the exit. Matt hesitated, then stood up quickly, phone in his hand.

He needed to talk to Noah. He needed to show him. He deserved to know.

Noah was standing by the baggage claim, his attention half on the carousel and half on his thoughts. The sight of the suitcases coming out on the conveyor belt didn’t even register to him; he was lost in the image of you, of coming home to you and telling you that the way be reacted in the past couple of days was a bit too much, that he was just scared of losing you, that he loved you.

He imagined the softness of your hands, the way your lips would feel pressed against his neck as you whispered his name again. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of seeing you.

But then Matt was in front of him, holding up his phone up for him to see.

"Hey, man," Matt said, his voice unusually tense. "You need to see this."

Noah didn’t immediately register the urgency in Matt’s voice. "What’s up?" he asked, glancing up in confusion.

Matt shoved the phone toward him without another word, and Noah, a little confused, looked at it.

The moment his eyes landed on the screen, everything seemed to stop.

He could feel his blood run cold, his body stiffening as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. The first thing he saw was the porch—his porch—and there, standing in the weak light, was you. And the man standing far too close to you—no mistaking it—was Jason.

Noah’s breath hitched, and a cold sweat prickled down his neck. He didn’t even need to look at the hashtags, didn’t need to see the comments. He already knew what was happening. This wasn’t just a misunderstanding. This was betrayal. There was no explanation for the short video showing of you pushing Jason into the house.

His hands started to shake. His chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of the world pressing down on him, suffocating him. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“This... no. This can't be. Not again." His voice cracked as he whispered the words, trying to deny it, trying to make sense of it all, but he knew. He knew in his gut what this was.

Jason had been lingering, making his move, and now he was there—at Noah’s house, with you. The person Noah loved. The one person he thought he could finally trust and wouldn't stab in the back when he left for just two fucking days.

"I'm sorry, man." Matt whispered.

Noah's breath came in short gasps, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He didn’t even hear Matt's words.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” He finally managed to say, his voice hoarse and strained, barely holding it together. His gaze was still fixed on the screen, but he could no longer process the image. The betrayal was all he could feel. “Tell the others. I'll... I'll be right back.”

Without waiting for Matt to respond, Noah turned sharply on his heel and made his way toward the nearest bathroom, his heart heavy with the weight of everything crashing down on him for the second time in his life.

His mind raced as he pushed through the terminal, each step feeling like it was taking him further away from reality.

He shoved the bathroom door open, the bright lights inside feeling too harsh against the overwhelming darkness creeping in. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him and he realized no one else was there, Noah collapsed against the cool tiles, his back pressed against the wall, his knees weak beneath him.

His breath was ragged now, coming in shallow, desperate gasps. He felt like someone was pressing on his chest with a boot.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs. But all he could do was sit there, utterly devastated, his mind replaying the scene over and over— your hand on Jason's chest, you pulling him inside his house.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not yet. Not here.

His heart felt shattered, the pieces scattered and irreparable.

You were one of the most important people in his life. You were the one who proved to him that he was capable of loving again after Hannah had left him. You were the one who showed him that it was possible to be loved by someone who wouldn’t leave or break his heart a second time. Or so he thought.

Noah pressed his palm to his face, the weight of the betrayal almost too much to bear. His fingers trembled as they brushed against his skin and tangled in his own hair, trying to find something, anything to steady himself. But nothing worked. Nothing would ever fix this.

He hoped it was all just a bad dream, that any moment he would wake up next to you, at home. But as the minutes dragged on, the cold of the tiles beneath him became unbearably real.

He found himself wondering whether you would still be there when he got home, or if, like he had seen Hannah do once before, you would have already packed your things and left. He cursed himself for being so stupid, believing that this time things would turn out differently, that the universe wouldn't play the same trick on him once more.

The world outside felt distant, muffled, as he sat there alone in the bathroom, surrounded by the deafening silence of his own thoughts.

The morning light filtered through the window, gently brushing against your closed eyelids. You woke up suddenly, feeling a strange heaviness on your body. A deep breath, your heart racing a little faster, and then it hit you: you had fallen asleep on the couch, and Jason was still there, beside you. The scent of alcohol and smoke lingered in the air.

Damn it.

You didn’t even have time to check the clock before you were already shaking Jason, stirring him awake with urgency in your voice. "Hey! Jason! It’s time to get up, you need to leave. Get out. Of this house. Now." Your voice trembled, frustration and maybe a little panic slipping through as you tried to shake him out of his heavy sleep.

"Jason! C'mon! Get the fuck up! Go away and I never wanna see you again."

Jason stretched, his eyes barely open, but when they fluttered fully awake, his expression was one of confusion. "What? Y/N, calm—" but he didn’t finish his sentence.

Just then, the front door opened. Noah walked in, his steps heavy and deliberate, and the moment he saw the scene, his face paled, his breath catching in his chest. "What the fuck is going on here?!"

The air seemed to freeze. Jason’s eyes snapped towards Noah, and for a split second, everything went silent. Noah’s gaze was burning with anger, but there was something else there too, he was hurt. He looked at you for a moment, searching your face for an explanation, but the confusion gave way to rage as he took in the situation.

"Get the hell out, dude. Now." Noah’s voice was low, filled with an anger that you’d never heard before. His fists were clenched at his sides, his body tense.

Jason didn’t move immediately. "Man, wait, listen-"

Noah cut him off, voice rising. "I said, get out before I fucking break your face." The words were harsh, cruel, and they hung in the air between them.

Jason tried to speak, but Noah was already walking toward him. He reached forward, grabbing Jason by his jacket and showing him toward the door, not giving him a chance to argue.

Jason hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on you.

"Get out of my fucking house!" Noah shouted.

Slowly, he turned and headed toward the door, but just before leaving, he shot one last glance at you. The look in his eyes was the look of someone who got exactly what he wanted, but you barely had time to register it before Noah slammed the door behind him.

This was part of Jason's plan, this was what he wanted. Damn, you had been so stupid.

"Noah..." you began as soon as he started walking toward you again, but the words got caught in your throat. You wanted to explain, but you knew it wouldn’t be easy. You knew he was going to jump to conclusions. The wrong ones.

His eyes were hard, though there was something raw in them too. Something that almost broke you. "What the hell is going on, Y/N? What the hell was that?"

You took a step forward, reaching for him, but Noah flinched away from your touch.

"Noah, please, let me explain—"

"Explain?" He cut you off, his voice shaky but full of anger. "What the hell do you want to explain? What is there to explain? He was here, in my house, with you!"

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you tried to hold them back, knowing how badly you’d hurt him. "No, Noah, it’s not like that, please. You need to believe me. Jason was drunk. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t want to just leave him on the street. You weren’t here, I didn't want him to make a scene and wake half neighborhood up, trust me, it happened once, and—"

"No, Y/N." His voice cracked, and the pain in his eyes made your chest tighten. "No, this isn’t just some fucking misunderstanding. This is not the first time, isn’t it? This is not the fucking first time you make excuses for him. You’re defending him when he gets into fights, you keep his damn necklace, you try to convince that he's not still in love with you—and now this? What the fuck am I supposed to think, huh?"

His words felt like punches to your gut, and you could barely breathe. "Noah, I swear, it wasn’t like that. I love you. You have to believe me. Please, just let me explain. He was drunk as fuck and I didn't know what to do. Maybe I fucked up but it's not what you think and-"

He took a shaky breath, shaking his head as if he couldn’t even process what you were saying. "I��m not hearing it anymore. I can’t keep doing this. I thought you loved me. But since that motherfucker came back, it’s been like everything I thought I knew is falling apart." He looked at you, his eyes full of hurt. "I can’t keep doing this. Not this time. This... it’s too much."

You felt the tears begin to slip down your cheeks, the weight of it all crashing down on you. "Noah, please don’t say that. Please, I need you to believe me. I’m not—I’m not doing this to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you. Noah, I love you and I've been so fucking stupid to think that Jason maybe had changed and was a fucking normal human being now."

He stood there, his chest heaving as he took a long look at you. "What do you think this looks like? What am I supposed to think when I come home, and he is in my house, with you? Do you know there are pictures online? Pictures and videos of how he arrived here, talked to you a bit still outside and then you pushed him into the house. You probably didn't see them cause you were too busy fucking your ex while I was away for only two fucking days!"

"Fuck- Noah. You think I had sex with him? You think I really cheated on you?"

"Well, I don't know what to think anymore now!"

"Noah, he was drunk and I didn't know what to do! I didn't-"

"I don’t care!" Noah’s voice rose, cutting you off. "I don’t care. I don’t care what his fucking excuse is. You don’t get to do this to me. Not again. Not after everything we’ve been through. I can’t—" He stopped, his voice faltering for a second, but he quickly steadied himself. "I can’t do this anymore, Y/N. I... this hurts."

Your heart shattered, and you took a shaky breath, staring at him, trying to process what he’d just said. "What do you mean? What are you saying?"

Noah’s face was unreadable, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger, heartbreak, and resignation. "I’m saying that I can’t go on like this. I don’t want to. This is the second time someone I loved broke my heart, okay? I can't - I can't do it anymore. I thought you were different. I thought I had something with you. Turns out I was wrong. Turns out everybody leaves me, eventually."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He’d already made up his mind.

"But I don't wanna leave."

"It's better if you do."

"Please, Noah," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Please don’t do this."

He looked at you. More than mad at you, he looked so disappointed. "I don’t know how to fix this, Y/N. And I don’t think I can." He shook his head, his voice quieter now. "You need to go."

You wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, to make him understand, but you knew it was already too late. The damage had been done.

You stood there, the weight of Noah's words still echoing in your ears, your heart a heavy lump in your chest.

The thought of never seeing him again hit you like a wave. Never again would you fall asleep in his arms, your body curling against his as you spent lazy nights together, watching anime until you both drifted off to sleep.

The way he would murmur nonsense into your ear as his fingers played through your hair, the sound of his rough, sleepy voice in the mornings that always made you smile.

Those little moments you had taken for granted. They would never come again. The mornings when you’d made pancakes, his hands brushing over your waist as he tried to help, the soft touch of his lips against the back of your neck as you laughed over something stupid.

And Luna. The thought of her growing up without you there, without you watching her change and develop into the amazing person she was meant to be. You wouldn’t be there for those milestones. You wouldn’t be there for her, and deep down, you knew she would forget you. She was not even four years old.

Maybe one day, as a teenager, she would find an old drawing made when she was just a child and wonder who that weird shape that looked like a woman next to her dad was.

That thought, that painful truth, made your chest tighten and tears well up in your eyes.

Maybe one day she would come to the café with her friends after a day spent shopping and wonder why that place seemed so familiar, why those cookies she had ordered tasted like home.

You didn't want to leave them. They were everything to you.

What hurt the most was knowing how much Noah had feared this. He had always been terrified of losing you, terrified of being replaced. You’d seen it in his eyes more times than you cared to count—the constant worry that one day, you’d leave him for someone else.

And now, here you were, standing at the precipice of exactly what he had feared. What he thought had happened between you and Jason had only confirmed his worst nightmare. And it was your fault. You had done this to him. It wasn’t what you’d wanted, but the damage was done.

And if you could go back to the night before, when Jason was on the doorstep, you wouldn't have hesitated to slam the door in his face, telling him that if this was all part of his stupid plan to get you back and ruin your life with Noah , he could go fuck himself.

You never, ever wanted to hurt him. If you could have taken back every single mistake, every moment where you had caused him pain, you would have in an instant.

Noah was really one of the best people you had ever known in your entire life. From the very first moment you had met him, you had felt something shift within you, something that you couldn’t fully understand at the time.

He had changed you, and not just in the way that love changes people. He made you see yourself in a new light, a better light. You had learned what it meant to truly be loved—without conditions, without hesitation, without fear. Every moment with him had been a treasure, a memory etched into your heart that you would carry with you forever.

But now, you were left with nothing but the crushing reality that you had shattered the one person who had given you everything. You loved him more than anything else in this world, more than life itself, but now you had to leave, if that's what he wanted. And you had no one to blame but yourself.

"Noah."

"Please." His voice cracked, his brown eyes were glassy. "Leave."

Your vision blurred, and tears started to spill relentlessly down your cheeks.

With one last glance around the room—at the life you had built with him, the house was starting to feel like home to you too—you stepped back.

"I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you. You didn't deserve any of it."

You opened the door, knowing that this was the last time. The weight of your heart in your chest was unbearable, but there was nothing left to do but walk away.

You turned away, your heart breaking with every step. You walked out the door, knowing that something inside you had broken too.

Noah stood motionless in the center of the living room, the door closing behind you with a finality that rang in his ears like an executioner's bell. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

His body felt frozen, every muscle locked in place as if he was trapped in the aftermath of some devastating dream. His mind buzzed with the cruel reality of what had just happened —of how he had stood there, helpless, watching you walk out of his life.

After all, that was what he asked you to do. He was the one who told you to leave. Or maybe it was his broken heart speaking for him, either way the words had come out of his mouth. And you were gone now.

His chest was tight, every breath a struggle, as if the air itself had become too thick for him to inhale. The ache in his heart wasn’t just an emotion; it was a physical weight that crushed him from the inside out. His head was spinning.

The tears came slowly at first, like a whisper of pain that barely registered, but then they built, a flood that couldn’t be held back any longer. His chest shuddered with the sobs that ripped through him, his face contorting with the weight of his emotions.

He could feel the heat of the tears as they streamed down his face, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. He didn’t care anymore. Every part of him was unraveling, every thought tearing him apart.

He thought of you—God, how he thought of you. The way you had been his light, his strength, the one person who made him feel whole again after Hannah had left him. He had never expected to love again, to trust someone like this, but you had proven him wrong. You had made him believe in something real. And now… now you were gone.

How the fuck was he supposed to explain this to Luna?

Her innocent eyes, the way she trusted him you trusted you. He couldn’t imagine telling her that the person she’d grown so attached to, was never coming back. What would he say? That it was because of something he couldn’t control? That he had been too blind to see what was right in front of him? How could he explain this heartbreak to a little girl who just wanted to see her world stay the same? How could he tell her that the woman who had made pancakes with her, who had hugged her and told her bedstime stories, was just gone?

At the thought of Luna growing up without you—his heart shattered. You two were his family.

Noah sank down to the couch, his hands gripping the fabric, as if holding onto something solid would stop the shaking. His breathing was uneven, ragged, as the tears continued to spill from his eyes. He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes, wishing he could block out the reality that had crashed down on him.

He could still feel the sting of your absence, as if the very air was different without you in it. His chest was raw, empty, and he could barely catch his breath as the sobs wracked his body.

He had loved you so much. Too much. And now he was alone.

The door to the living room creaked open, but Noah didn’t hear it at first. His mind was consumed with the pain of your departure, with the image of you walking away, your back turned to him, leaving him in the ruins of what they had built together. He didn’t even register Luna’s small form standing in the doorway until she spoke.

"Daddy?" Her voice was soft, unsure, but it cut through him like a knife.

Fuck.

Noah froze, and for a moment, time stood still. His heart clenched at the sound of her voice—his little girl, standing there, her tiny face full of concern. She was holding Mr.Flop in a hand and she was wearing her favorite pink pijamas. She looked at him with wide eyes, confused by the sight of her dad crying in front of her for the first time.

He quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to clear the evidence of his tears, trying to appear strong, but it was no use. She had already seen him, her big brown eyes noticing everything, even when he tried to hide it.

Luna took a tentative step forward, then another, her soft footsteps barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. She came closer and then, in the purest, most innocent way, her little voice broke the silence.

"Are you sad, daddy?"

It was the way she said it—so sweet, so trusting—that made his heart break even more. His arms opened instinctively as she reached him, her small body pressing against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Yeah. Dad's a bit sad right now. It will pass." He sobbed.

Noah held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, unable to stop the flood of tears. He couldn’t stop the sobs that shook his body, couldn’t stop the grief that felt as if it would swallow him whole. His fingers gently stroked her back as he tried to steady his breath, trying to reassure her, even though he couldn’t reassure himself.

“I love you, my Lu,” he whispered through his tears. “I love you so much.”

Her small hand patted his back, as if she understood, as if her little heart could feel his pain.

“I love you too, daddy." she murmured, her voice small.

Noah closed his eyes tightly, letting her words wash over him. The pain of losing you was still there, raw and crushing, but in this moment, holding her, he found a sliver of strength. For Luna. For her, he had to keep going, even when everything else felt unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

You slid into the driver's seat of your car, the cool leather pressing against your skin as you closed the door with a soft click. The morning light filtered through the windshield, casting a soft glow over the interior, but it felt distant, too bright, too unforgiving.

The silence was suffocating as you took a deep breath. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, fingers tightening around it, trying to steady yourself. After what seemed like hours, the tears had slowed, but the ache in your chest remained, a constant, gnawing weight.

You sat there for a moment, letting the stillness surround you, as if the car could somehow protect you from the world outside. The quiet felt almost unbearable, pressing in from all sides.

The city outside, still waking up, seemed so far away, as if you were in a different universe entirely. Your body trembled, the quiet grief of what had just happened settling deeper with each passing second.

And then, without warning, the flood of frustration and pain burst free.

A scream tore through you, raw and guttural, a release of everything you had been holding back. It was a sound of pure anguish, as if your very soul was crying out. Your voice cracked, your throat burned, but you couldn't stop. You screamed until it felt like the very air around you was vibrating with the force of it.

When it finally stopped, there was only silence again. But it was different this time—empty, hollow, and exhausting. Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, and you slumped forward, your head resting against the steering wheel as you tried to catch your breath.

That afternoon, the dim lighting of the bar flickered slightly above them, casting elongated shadows across the cracked wood of the table. Jason sat back in his chair, a smug grin curling up on his lips, the scent of cheap beer and stale cigarette smoke hanging heavy in the air. Across from him, Rick twirled the straw in his drink absently, his spiky black hair glistening under the dim bar lights.

Jason leaned forward, eyes glinting with a mixture of pride and mischief. “You know, man,” he said, his voice low and almost conspiratorial, “I told you this would work. I was right. Noah and her, they're done. I'm aure they're done. Thank you for leaving in the middle of the road, I guess.”

Rick looked up from his drink, his brow furrowing, the slightest flicker of concern in his eyes. “Wait. What do you mean? You actually think it worked?”

Jason smirked, clearly satisfied with himself. “You heard me. I'm sure they broke up. Just like I said.”

Rick blinked, processing for a moment, his fingers nervously tapping against the edge of his glass. The memories of the past—of all the stupid things they had done together—flickered behind his eyes. He remembered the convenience store incident, the stolen bottles of Jack Daniels, and how everything had spiraled from there. He’d followed Jason then, blindly, and here he was again, stuck in the same orbit.

He remembered the graffiti on private properties, the cops outside his house for disturbing the neighborhood with music in the middle of the night, the arrest for getting into a fight during a band's show in the city center, the time he bought a gun from a complete stranger, when he had lost a bet and had walked naked for thirty minutes through the streets of the town.

But this time, for the first time, Rick felt bad about it.

He cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. “So... you think she’s gonna come back to you now?”

Jason shrugged, tapping his fingers on the table, his blue eyes distant as he considered Rick’s question. “Honestly, I don’t know anymore. But who cares at this point? At least she’s not with Noah anymore.”

Rick shifted in his seat, discomfort gnawing at him. His mind was racing, piecing together the past and present. Jason was always like this—getting what he wanted, no matter who he had to hurt to get it. But this? This felt different. He could feel it in his gut, a quiet voice telling him this wasn’t right.

“And if she doesn’t come back to you?” Rick asked carefully, his tone almost guarded. “What then?”

Jason’s eyes hardened, the smirk turning into something colder. “If I can’t have her, neither can Noah.” He took a long sip of his beer. "And honestly, that's all that matters now."

Rick was starting to realize that that was wrong, but he stayed silent, unwilling to question Jason just yet. He had always been loyal, too loyal for his own good. He’d followed Jason into trouble before, and this felt like just another step down a familiar path. But the pit in his stomach kept growing, gnawing at him.

Jason’s eyes gleamed, satisfied with himself, as if he had already won.

Rick took a deep breath, trying to swallow the rising discomfort. He remembered when they were just a little more than kids, how Jason had always been the one with the plans, with the schemes. And Rick had always followed, too trusting, too eager to please. But this? This was different.

“You don’t think...” Rick started. “You don’t think you’re being a little... I don’t know... messed up? I mean, she’s not some... prize, Jason.”

Jason’s eyes flashed, a brief moment of anger flickering beneath the surface. “Don’t tell me what she is, Rick. You don’t get it. She doesn’t belong with him. She belongs with me or no one else.”

Rick couldn’t argue with that. He had seen the way Jason always believed he was entitled to everything he wanted, and in his mind, this was no different. But there was a nagging doubt inside him, something that was slowly starting to unravel the threads of loyalty he had to Jason.

“You really think you can just take her from Noah like that?” Rick asked quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Jason didn’t hesitate. “Why not? If I can’t have her, I’m damn sure not letting Noah keep her.”

Rick met Jason’s eyes, searching for some trace of the friend he had once known, the one who had stood by him, who had shared his ridiculous ideas and reckless plans. But this time he wasn't sure he agreed with his ideas.

Jason leaned forward again, his voice lowering. “I won, okay? I fucking won, dude. Thank you for your help."

Rick said nothing. He simply took another sip of his drink, the cold liquid feeling like it couldn’t even touch the knot of guilt building in his chest. Part of him still wanted to believe Jason, wanted to go along with it. But another part of him was starting to wake up—to realize how much damage Jason was willing to cause just to get what he wanted.

And Rick wasn’t sure he could be a part of that anymore.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

TBAF Tags: @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @clickmedead @missduffsblog @whenyouwannafindlove @chey-h @kenjipepsi1

[forwhump]

a/n; sorry !!!!!!!!!!!!! (either for the delay or the fact that I’m posting again depending on how you feel about me)(I’m from mountains, canada and I drove to prairies, canada & at one point completely out of nowhere my friend was like “you could hide a military base out here so easy” I was like 👀)(silas could literally be in flatlands, manitoba we don’t even know)

anyway LOL this is for the anon that asked for more outside pov !! I was actually looking for smth hal ‘cause I have a lot more lighthearted stuff & sort of caretaking healing things from hal’s pov BUT !!! I felt partway through june needed more screen time & I went back and wrote a lot of early stuff from her pov & this is some of that & it is TOO GOOD not to post !! more wren backstory 😏 but nothing good has happened to wren in his life so y’know

tw/cw: sexual violence, rape, noncon, transphobia, misgendering, graphic depictions of violence, serious bodily harm, forced imprisonment, captivity, mentions of kidnapping, sexual slavery, medical torture

outside pov, military whump, mentions of super soldiers

June has been in the unit for about two years — she thinks — when Point comes to escort her from the common room, and it isn’t unusual. Not at first.

She safely assumes it’s for combat or field training, which are two of the only three things she ever gets escorted from the unit for. The third is medical. She’s never seen anything else, she’s never been taken to any other part of the district, and the hair on the back of her neck starts to rise as Point leads her deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, farther and farther from familiarity.

“Sir?” She tries, and he doesn’t even look at her.

He leads her to a door at the end of a long, empty hallway. He stands with his back to it, finally looking at June. Something in his jaw twitches. “Against my better judgment,” he says, and has to stop, to calm himself, closing his eyes, breathing in slowly through his nose. When he opens his eyes again, he looks at her and says, “if I had another choice, you would not be here. You are about to become privy to information only my most trusted men have been entitled to. It is contraband. If, for any reason, my superiors find out, and she is taken from me, I will not be happy. And if I’m not happy, your employment with me will be terminated by means of your life. Do I make myself clear?”

June had never seen any farther into the district than the arenas, even further underground. This is a single, armoured door, at the end of a long, empty hallway, at the junction of more long, empty hallways. “She?” June asks.

“Do I make myself clear?” Point repeats, and June’s body nods with no help from her brain.

“Sir,” she says.

Point clicks his tongue, irritated, before he unlocks and unarms the door.

It opens to the worst thing June has ever seen in her life.

“Fuck!” She says, and she doesn’t mean to, taking a quick step back. She can see Point watching her, blank, from the corner of her eye, but she can’t look at him. She doesn’t want to look anymore but she can’t pull her eyes off the body laid flat on its back on the concrete.

The costume dress is ripped and stained, tulle and gingham soaked through with blood. The body is so emaciated that June can clearly make out every bone in its leg beneath its waxy, bruised skin.

She fixates on the long, white hair. Robin has the same hair.

“Oh my fucking god,” she says.

Robin speaks of him, still, but he hasn’t been the same since this place got to him. None of them are. He isn’t frantic in the same way, but he still talks about him. When Robin talks, it’s most of what he talks about.

When he’d been taken, escorted here, his brother had been with him. The artist. They’d taken him, too. The soldiers all staunchly denied him ever even having a brother with him, so June had always assumed he’d been killed at the scene. Robin had insisted as long as he’d been there — they’d taken his brother, too. He was here somewhere.

He was right.

June feels cold all over.

“I think her pelvis is broken,” Point explains, and she has never experienced the rush of emotion she feels now, wet and hot, like a tide that breaks in her chest.

“You think her —“ she starts, and it almost makes her gag. She has to take a long breath in through her nose. She still can’t look away. “You think his pelvis is broken?”

“No,” Point admits. “Her pelvis is definitely broken.”

“Oh my fucking god,” June says again, and her voice sounds really far away. Robin’s brother has been real this whole time and Point’s been keeping him as a pet. “Oh my fucking god. You raped him to death.”

“She’s still alive,” Point says, and he says it like she’s dumb. He steps closer to nudge him in the side with the toe of his boot and Robin’s brother makes a quiet, wet sound June has only ever heard from dying men.

She reacts without thinking, shoving Point away from him. He moves, but he sneers as he looks down at her. “Stand down, January.”

“Get the fuck away from him!”

One of his eyebrows lifts, menacing. She doesn’t like Point, and she’s never liked Point, but one of the things she’s growing to loathe is his almost cartoonish villany. His mood swings are goofy and violent and it sets her teeth on edge. “I own her,” he says, low and dangerous. He leans in close. June is a big girl — Point is a massive fucking man. She doesn’t want to be intimidated by him but he speaks like a threat and his breath is hot against her face. “I can do whatever I want to her. That’s not why I brought you here.”

June would be shivering if she let herself, which is interesting because she’s actually as hot as if she’s running a fever. The sweat is cold as it trickles down her spine. “Why did you bring me here?”

Point looks down at the blood dried on the concrete, at Robin’s bleeding, broken brother, and says, “I don’t know what to do.” He looks at June slowly and his face is completely void of any emotion that June knows or recognizes.

“What?” She says.

He looks down again, back up, and she still can’t read his face at all. “I don’t want her to die,” he finally admits.

“Oh my fucking god,” June says, and she doesn’t mean to. She doesn’t know what else to say. She knew Point was a mean bastard but she never would’ve thought he would’ve been capable of this. “You should’ve thought about that before you raped him to death.”

“She doesn’t have to die,” he says.

“What do you want me to do?” June cries.

He looks at her like she’s a little stupid, which is just mind blowing, and motions to Robin’s brother with one arm. The other is held at his back, at ease.

Wren.

The name comes to her out of nowhere.

Robin’s brother is Wren.

“You’re also female,” Point explains, and kind of tilts his head, “I think.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” June says. “So?”

He motions at Wren again.

June looks at him, too, and it’s so much more horrible now that he has a name. He’d had family before, loved ones, somebody who was worried about him, and that was bad enough, but now this small, bleeding thing, broken down the middle, has a name.

Wren.

What was their last name? Some other kind of bird, wasn’t it? Was it Heron?

“I don’t know why you think I can help him,” June says.

Point’s eyebrows lift. “I figured you would’ve dealt with your share of female hysteria.”

“Female hysteria?” June repeats. “He was raped to death!”

“She isn’t fuckin’ dead!” Point snaps.

“He’s dying right now!” June cries. “You know that or you wouldn’t have come for help. What the fuck do you expect me to do? Really?”

Rage simmers in Point’s face for only a second. It’s gone just as quickly, replaced by something shier, almost more bashful. “Word is,” he says tightly, “you were a big…female advocate during your time. I thought you might’ve —“ and he cuts himself, exhaling sharply. “I thought you might’ve known somebody who’d been…hurt like her before. I thought you might know what to do.”

“They died,” June says.

“No,” Point says.

“Yes,” June corrects. “I worked around a lot of men like you. They were always civilians, always young, and they always died. Always.”

“You just let them die?” Point says, like he’s horrified by that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” June says. “He needs a doctor. Have Medic —“

“No.” When he’s not speaking with too much emotion, Point doesn’t speak with a lot. Still, this is the flattest June’s ever heard his voice.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I know what to do and that’s what I know. If those girls in the field had been allowed access to a doctor they might not have died. They would’ve had a fucking chance, at least. What do you think is —“

“No,” he says.

“You’re really just gonna let him die here?” She protests.

“She’s contraband,” Point says, flat. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“So?”

Point looks her up and down once, lip curling disdainfully. “On paper,” he says, “she was terminated on site.”

Something shivers in June’s chest and makes her breath rattle. “Oh my god.”

“She is an unsanctioned pet,” Point says, “and —“

“Oh my fucking god,” she says. She takes a step away from him and she isn’t sure when she had gotten so deep into this room. She doesn’t like it, but she’s standing between Point and Wren and she can’t bring herself to stand anywhere else.

He kind of rolls his eyes at her. “And —“

“So he was always going to die here!” June cries, and the spike of hysteria in her voice surprises even her but this is fucking unbelievable. This is unreal. This place was a hellscape when these men were just working guard detail at a fucked up mad science program making super soldiers.

She should’ve known better. She was in the military, and she knew what those men were like. Point was right, kind of; she didn’t really work as an advocate, she just got a nickname. She used to fight, physically fight stationed doctors to try and get them to help the girls the soldiers always left behind. But they were always locals, civilians; the military’s doctors weren’t authorized to help them.

She should’ve known they’d never just be working guard detail.

She just never would’ve thought they’d be keeping a fucking sex slave in the basement.

What the fuck?

“What the fuck!”

Point exhales through his nose. “Yes,” he agrees.

June puts a hand to her chest and her heartbeat is like gunfire. Robin had been so hysterical about his brother when he’d gotten here, but he’d been going through withdrawals. June had never doubted that he was real, like Hal had, but she really thought they’d killed him, and that Robin had probably just blocked it out. That he’d completely forgotten it after the lobotomy, or whatever the hell they did to him.

He’d been real this whole time and Point had been keeping him as a pet.

“Oh my fucking god.”

“I don’t want her to die,” Point admits again, and June can feel it under her hand, the way that makes her chest constrict.

“At this point it’s probably the least you can do,” she spits, and her head is spinning.

“No,” Point says, and she hates that she agrees with him, but he’s right.

She can’t let him die down here. Not like this. “He needs a doctor,” she says.

“No.”

“That’s all you can do!” she protests. “There’s no other way to help him! You broke his fucking pelvis. He probably needed a doctor six months ago but if he doesn’t get one now he’s going to die. If you don’t want him to, tell Medic.”

“They’ll take her from me,” Point says.

June throws her arms up. “Then he’ll just be dead!”

Point looks down at her for a long time and she looks right back. She thinks he’s probably trying to intimidate some hidden medical prowess out of her, but she’s serious, and at some point he sees it in her face. His lip curls back from his teeth and he leaves. Without a word, he leaves, and he locks the armoured door behind him.

“Fuck,” June says out loud, and she doesn’t mean to. Her voice breaks.

But they’re alone. At least they’re alone.

Slowly, she turns to Wren, and slowly, she sits beside him. “Hi, Wren,” she whispers. He doesn’t respond and she doesn’t really expect him to. Slowly, she reaches out to him, brushing bits of crusted hair out of his face. He looks like he’s probably really beautiful, and he looks young. He looks so young that it makes June nauseous and she has to do everything in her power to keep her voice soft and calm and sweet. She wants to scream for him. She wants to cry.

She starts to push his hair out of his face and his eyes don’t open but he flinches with his whole body. “It’s okay,” June whispers. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. My name’s June. I’m a friend of your brother.”

It stirs something in him. His head turns slowly against the concrete and his hair is so white the parts dried with blood look like they’re rusting. Blinking open his eyes, he looks up at her, and he has eyes so much darker than June was expecting. He has really, really dark, really wide eyes, bloodshot and bruised underneath, and he looks up at June from beneath wet eyelashes and it makes him look even younger and she cries with him, then. She can’t help herself.

“Robin?” He asks, but just barely. His voice is really small, but when June strains to hear it, she can hear Robin’s accent, softer and sweeter. “He’s alive?”

“Yeah,” June agrees, smiling wetly, “and he’s clean. He’s all big now, looks like a real cowboy. They fixed his teeth, too. He’s got a great smile.”

He chokes out a wet sound that June only realizes is a sob when a tear clears a track in the grime on his face.

“I know,” she agrees softly. “Really seems like you got the shitty end of the deal here.”

He makes another choked sound and June likes to imagine that in another life, he got to laugh towards the end. “I’m gonna die,” he says, and June can hear it in how thin, how wet his voice is, that yeah, he probably is, “aren’t I?”

“I think so,” June whispers. “I hope not.”

He chokes out another sound, another sob. “I think I want to,” he whispers, and his brittle voice breaks. “I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

“I know,” she agrees. “I think I would, too.” He moves his head, tips his face up towards the ceiling, and strips of flesh have been peeled from the side of his throat. She takes his hand so carefully, and she doesn’t look at the bruising around his wrist or every one of his broken fingernails. “I don’t think I’d want to be alone,” she explains.

He makes a choked sort of sound. “I’m never alone.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Do you want to be alone now?” His fingers tighten around June’s, almost frantic, and she says, “it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” She squeezes his fingers as much as she’s comfortable, which is just barely. “Couldn’t get very far if I wanted to.”

She’s crying, but that feels rude. What does she have to cry about? She tries to wipe her eyes with the back of her other hand and says, “I’m really sorry this happened to you.”

He doesn’t say anything but his fingers are still shaking so June knows he’s still alive. He’s so cold she thinks it would be hard to tell, otherwise. She doesn’t think she’d let go of his hand either way.

They sit there for such a long time that June thinks that Point’s left them both to die. She holds Wren’s hand and cries for him when he isn’t conscious to hear it. When the door is finally opened again, she jumps so hard it feels like it throws something out in her back.

Jumping to her feet, she keeps Wren safely behind her as Point filters back in, face blank. Close at his back is Medic and June sobs out loud.

She would go as far as to say she likes Medic. A trauma surgeon, Medic is a good doctor and he’s kind to them. He’s a prisoner, too. He doesn’t want to be there, either. Him and the entire rest of his team are fitted with collars, flickering at all times with dangerous red light. Insubordination will lead to electrocution which will lead to death.

Medic is a prisoner and he’s one of if not the only person down here with any sort of humanity left. He reacts to Wren like any normal person would — with horror.

He recoils so hard it makes him take a step back, and he bumps into June. Neither of them acknowledge it. “What the fuck?”

Point opens his arms, dismissive. “Fix her.”

“Who is this?”

“Who cares?” Point says. “Can you fix her?”

“What the fuck?” Medic repeats, ragged. “What did you do to her? Who is this?”

“Robin’s brother,” June says, and Medic looks at her with eyes blown wide with horror.

They blow even wider with realization. He looks at Point slowly. “What the fuck?”

“You’re wasting time,” Point says. “She’s dying.”

“His pelvis is broken,” June tells him quietly, and Medic sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Fuck me,” he says. He rubs his face slowly, but if there’s one thing June likes best about Medic, it’s that she respects him. When he lowers his hands, he looks at Point. He says, “get the fuck out. Take June back to the unit, and stay the fuck away. If you try to see him at any point while he’s in my care, I will fucking kill you. You understand?”

Point’s lip curls back from his teeth. “You’re in no position to tell me what to do, doc.”

“Then maybe we’ll have Weaver come down here and take a look at him instead,” Medic says.

Point snarls, actually snarls, like some kind of fucked up beast, and the way the sound reverberates through the room is deeply unsettling. But he takes June by the arm, and he turns.

June turns to look over her shoulder, but Medic closes the door between them. As she turns back around, she sees it’s because Point tried to look back, too.

She doesn’t say anything to Robin. Maybe that’s the wrong choice, she isn’t sure. What would the right choice be? Would she wanna know, if it was her? What if she’d been lobotomized?

She doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t see Medic for months. When she does she’s sitting in a bed in the medical bay, trying to peer around for any sign of him. The medical bay, unfortunately, was designed for privacy; the size of a large airplane hanger, there are enough beds for a small army but spaced out far enough that June can’t peer end to end.

When the door is pushed open and Medic lifts the corner of his mouth at her, she has a bullet in her arm but she forgets that it hurts and blurts, “is he okay?”

Medic smiles a little more properly and the relief that crests in June’s chest almost makes her start crying out of nowhere. “No,” he says, “but he’s getting there. He’s alive.”

“Oh my fucking god,” she says, and he laughs. “Can I see him?”

“Let’s get this bullet out of you,” he says, “and we’ll see.”

A few months after that, somebody new is introduced to their unit. Like every other time, they don’t know until the guards show up with them. The new guy, this time, has long white hair, the same colour as Robin’s.

June cries pretty uncontrollably.

Robin doesn’t cry — can’t, maybe? — but June cries enough for him, too.

[wordstome]

Shrike pt. 3 - who we are

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, she/her pronouns, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander, absolute tooth rotting fluff, corny as hell towards the end

2.8k words

tw: physical and emotional abuse, violence (chokehold, stabbing, throat slitting)

Hello to everyone reading this from my main blog! In case you haven't seen the pinned post on bucca2, this is my new writing blog. Everything I publish will be here on wordstome now. Please feel free to unfollow bucca2 and follow me here!

also PARIS PALOMA TEASED HER NEW SONG "DRYWALL" JUST FOR SHRIKE CHAPTER 3 SPREAD THE WORD

[PART 1] [PART 2 (PREV)] [MASTERLIST]

What I had left here I just held it tight So someone with your eyes Might come in time To hold me like water Or Christ, hold me like a knife

When you’re in total darkness, your eyes adjust. You can see everything around you, but it’s all devoid of color. Then when the light turns on, it blinds you, but it’s better to be blinded momentarily than to live in the dark forever.

That’s how it feels as you prepare to travel home. To escape. You’re antsy, excited and petrified at the same time. Before, it felt like the days flew past in a murky haze. Now, even the seconds crawl.

It feels like moving in a dream, like you’ll wake up any day now and it will all be taken away from you. Your hope, your new dreams for the future, your König.

A shiver runs through you. Where did “your König” come from?

When you’re not occupied with the anxiety of keeping such a huge secret from your husband, all you think about is König. You’ve spent the past few weeks in a haze, like he’s put some sort of spell on you. You do get a kick out of imagining him as a witch with a hat and cauldron.

But you know it’s something simpler than that. All the feelings you used to have for him have returned.  It’s different than the heady rush you used to get with your husband. It feels sweeter, like you really are a teenage girl with a crush all over again.

It feels naïve, but you also don’t care. You feel safe despite the situation you’re still in, for the first time in a long time. You never would have expected to see König again—even less so for him to become your saving grace.

It seems silly in hindsight that you had been so frightened of him. Sure, the mask was a lot. But it had been something about his energy. It was different than you had ever felt from him, before or after your reunion. If he was that way on the battlefield, then no wonder he had earned the nickname König. You’re not sure if it scares or awes you.

You’re about to find out.

An anxiety attack is the worst feeling in the world.

You dry heave. Your chest feels like a roiling ball of angry carrion birds hollowing you out. You shake like a leaf in the wind. You fall down a long, dark pit of despair as your stomach seizes with nausea.

The train’s delayed. There’s been an issue with the tracks leading out of the city. No trains will be leaving for 12 hours.

You should have just sat in the terminal and waited, or tried to contact König, but you’re not thinking straight. All of your thoughts are focused on your husband, and what he’ll do if he comes home and finds you gone. You decide, somehow, that it would be wiser to throw yourself back into the lion’s den and pretend everything’s alright instead of waiting for him to come raging into the train station and pull you out by the hair. The thought of that is the only thing that gets you up off the wall you were hyperventilating against and back towards home.

The plan is to get home before he does and hide your suitcases. He’s usually not home by this time, anyway. You chalk the rising sense of dread in the pit of your stomach up to your anxiety and turn the handle to go in.

Fuck.

He’s standing in the kitchen.

The years have not been kind to him. He’s far from the charming young man you married. He’s wretched, unkempt, angry. It’s clear he’s been drinking, maybe even before he left work. The shadows etch themselves into the lines of his face as his expression twists into something awful, inhuman. You stand, frozen, as he approaches you.

“Planning a trip without me?” he asks with an awful grin.

You can still salvage this. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but I just received word. My mother’s not doing well. I have to go see her.”

“You lie like a whore,” he snarls. “Don’t think I haven’t been paying attention. You’re different nowadays. Not the nice obedient woman I married.”

Your fear turns to anger in an instant. Years and years of this horseshit, waiting on him hand and foot, placing his smallest whims before your own needs and wants—it rushes up through you like hot steam. His nice obedient woman. And the worst thing is, you hate that he’s not wrong. That is what you’ve become.

“Yesterday I came home and you hadn’t even started dinner. Where were you, huh? Running around on me behind my back?” It’s difficult to describe, but his smile is oily: sleazy, untrustworthy, dangerous. “With that big fuck in a hood that came here with the mercenaries, perhaps?”

Your blood runs cold at that. Has he seen you with König? When? Why hasn’t he said anything? It feels like you’re stepping into a trap, but you must move forward if you want to get out.

“He’s going to get what’s coming to him, alright. My manager has a direct line to his boss. One word from him will get that fucker deployed to the middle of nowhere on a suicide mission.”

It’s an absurd threat, and you know it. This drunken idiot has no idea what he’s talking about—as if some middle-management bureaucrat could persuade a PMC to dispose of a soldier like König. But it’s the audacity that irks you. You’ve lived your life serving this man for too long, and now he thinks the world will bend to his whims. There’s absolutely no way he can touch König, but an old and familiar anger rises in you.

A long overdue revelation dawns on you now. He’s a bully. The same as Andreas: little boys with petty insults and empty threats. Pushing people around because their own lives are empty and unsatisfying.

An eerie calm breaks through you like the sky cutting through a storm. The man before you is just a feral animal, snarling and snapping in desperation. You’re not afraid of him anymore.

You reach behind you and slowly roll open the knife drawer, grabbing the first one your fingers land on.

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving this house, this country, and this marriage,” you say, gripping the knife in a defensive position. Your father taught you how to hold a knife like this: backwards, with the blade along your arm, sharp edge facing outwards.

“This way, it’s much more difficult for someone to turn the blade against you,” he had told you, demonstrating the motion by moving your arm towards your chest. The memory makes you smile. At the time, you’d been indulging your old man—he had always said that violence was a last resort, but that the world was unkind and one day you may have to defend yourself. He was right, just as he was when he told you he had reservations about your marriage.

You’re going home. You’re going to see your father again. And you’ll never have to tolerate the loathsome toad before you again.

The beast laughs. “What do you think you’re going to do with that? Stab me?” He’s up against you before you can react, the breath leaving your lungs in a gasp as he pins you against a wall by the throat.

“You. Are. Mine. You will never raise a hand against me because I own you,” he hisses, his alcohol-laced breath foul against your face. “And it’s high time you remembered that.” His grip tightens like an iron vice around your throat, but you’re not afraid. Even as your vision begins to blur and blacken, you stare directly into his eyes. They’re like red-hot coals of fury, but you see what’s behind them now. The fear. The cowardice of a desperate man who has no recourse but to lay his hands on someone who can’t fight back.

“You’re pathetic,” you rasp, lips tugging into a smile. The coals burn brighter. The hand squeezes tighter. The adrenaline surges through you like a tide—and your body acts to protect itself, in a way that you haven’t allowed it to in a long time. A feeling as sweet and familiar as an old friend.

The knife makes its home right between his ribs.

He staggers away from you, as if you had slightly winded him instead of stabbed him in the heart. Your hands instantly go to your throat as you cough and sputter, lightheaded and dizzy but alive, so alive. You’ve never felt so alive as you do right now, watching the demon of your own personal hell look down at the blade sticking out of him.

“You stupid little bitch—” He makes as if to lunge at you, but time slows. Your eyes widen as the shadows behind him melt and solidify into a figure. Tall and hooded. No knight in shining armor, but an assassin of deepest night.

König slashes through your husband’s throat in one deadly, beautiful motion.

Your husband falls to the ground like dead weight, gasping and choking on his own blood. Your eyes are fixed on him, a strange sensation bubbling through you. You’re making some kind of noise, loud and cacophonous, as König steps over the dying animal who has controlled you your whole adult life.

His arms find their way around you as you slowly sink to the ground, howling and wailing. He’s so patient, you think numbly with some corner of your mind that remains untouched by the mania seizing the rest of you. The two of you sit there, his body warm and solid against yours, as your body slowly exits fight or flight mode.

“Alex?” you say hoarsely once you’re in your right mind again.

“I’m here,” he rumbles.

You turn to look at him as he pulls the hood off his head. There he is, your Alexander, all grown up. He’s rugged, with nasty-looking white scars streaked across his face, but so, so handsome. His eyes are still the same as he looks at you with something akin to rapturous adoration. Your green-eyed boy.

“You’re back, rosethorn,” he says with a wide grin. There’s a touch of madness to it, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Was I…” Exhaustion sets in, seeping through your whole body. “Was I crying or laughing just now?”

He shifts you onto his lap, cradling you like a baby as you look up at him.

“I think you were laughing.”

The police release you after just over half an hour of questioning.

You aren’t going anywhere, of course. They’re leaving you, exiting your hospital room with murmurs of well-wishes for your health. They’ve hardly left the room when König comes striding in, instantly moving to your bedside and holding your hand in his.

He looks tired too, his eyes soft as he takes in your small smile. You’re sure he was being interrogated for much longer than you, but it looks like he passed muster as well. Not as if you had anything to worry about—what could the local police have done to the commander of the mercenaries taking down their local terrorist cell anyway?

“Are you alright? Did they clear you?” His expression hardens as he glances at your neck. You nod weakly. Your throat is going to be bruised for a while, but your attacker hadn’t done any lasting damage.

Attacker. Husband. Corpse. All of these words describe the same thing now.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” he says mournfully. “He shouldn’t have had the chance to attack you like that.”

You shake your head at him. He didn’t know that you weren’t on the train heading home, after all. The room is quiet for a few moments, save for the distant beeping of a heart monitor.

“Why…” you manage to ask. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“Why was I there?” He glances around to make sure nobody’s listening, and leans in to whisper in your ear.

“I was there to kill him, of course.”

You shudder a little. He admits it so casually, that he was in your house because he was there to commit a murder. You should be afraid of him, but you feel around in your brain and come up empty-handed.

Instead, you find yourself worried. For him. “What if you had gotten in trouble?”

He snorts. “You underestimate me, rosethorn. I would have just framed it as a robbery.”

You nod. Oh God…does that mean he had planned this? Why doesn’t that horrify or disgust you? You’re just going to have to dissect that later. Right now, you only feel a warm affection towards the man stroking his thumb along your hand in a soothing motion.

“So…what comes next?”

“You’re asking me? We can do whatever you like. I can take you home.”

Home. Where is that, now? It’s certainly not in the house you’ve left behind, where the ghost of the man you were married to settles in every nook and cranny. It doesn’t feel like your childhood home where your parents are, either.

It’s such a corny saying, “home is where the heart is”. But home feels like it’s already here, sitting next to your hospital bed with the fondest look in his eyes.

“I’d like to travel,” you whisper. The with you goes unspoken.

“I have plenty of leave time saved up.”

You flip your hand so you can hold his. It’s huge next to yours. This is the hand that slit your husband’s throat, a hand that has killed countless people.

You’re not sentimental enough to pretend that’s not an issue. You’re not entirely sure this is happily ever after: that all of your problems are solved because you’ve replaced one violent man with another. But another part of you yearns to be the one who gets protected. You’ll take care of König, and you know he’ll take care of you. In his own way.

You can ask the questions later. Right now, you have lost time to make up for.

“Are you sure you should be wearing that scarf?”

The air is cold, but the wind is soft instead of feeling like tiny blades against your face. You tug said scarf down from your face and take in a lungful of crisp, icy air.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure König as he hauls himself up the last ridge to where you’re standing. “It’s loose enough. And it’s chilly.”

“If you say so.” He tugs his neck gaiter further up his nose. “What a view, hm?”

You’re standing on Mont Blanc, blanketed by serene white snow just as the name promised. Further below you, the skiing slopes are crawling with tourists, but here in this little outcropping, the only sound is the occasional rush of wind and your voices.

“I think I can see Salzburg from here,” you say, pointing off into gorgeous landscape spread out before you.

“That is most certainly still Switzerland,” König says, amused. You turn to look at him instead and are rewarded with his shining green eyes looking right back at you.

“Whatever!” You let out a dissatisfied hmph, which draws a hearty laugh from him.

“You came all the way to Chamonix just so you could look at Austria again?”

“It’s a very tall mountain,” you argue.

“It’s one of many very tall mountains. We could have just gone to Großglockner.”

“That’s boring. I’ve always wanted to visit France.”

“You wanted to visit a very expensive ski chalet.”

“Bite me.”

“I just might!” You giggle and squeal as he grabs you, chasing your face with his as you squirm around.

“It is beautiful,” he concedes as he holds a hand above his eyes to keep off the sun. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

“I should push you off this peak right now.”

“You couldn’t move me an inch.” He grabs you by the waist and holds you tight to emphasize his point. You can’t even shift his arms off you, no matter how hard you push.

“Ok, fine, you win.” You pout at him, but he doesn’t let you go.

The dynamic the two of you share is so easygoing and relaxed, it’s like you had a rhythm all along that both of you just fell back into. But of course, there are some things you’ve never done together. Like travel together.

Or kiss.

“Are you going to do it this time?” you ask him, smiling.

His nose wrinkles up, uncharacteristically cute for someone like him. “Well, I was going to, but then you had to open your mouth.”

You cackle. “Go on then.”

“Can I?”

“I just said yes!”

“I forgot how much you like to talk,” he complains. Before you can say another word, he captures your lips in his.

The sky is vivid and blue as the whole world stretches out before you.

#RIPBOZO

Here we are! We're at the end of this little story I started writing on a whim. Honestly, this means a lot to me personally: I wrote a lot when I was younger, but high school and university were very difficult times for me, and I stopped writing fanfiction. I tried to get back into it during the pandemic, but I was never able to finish anything beyond a long-ish drabble. I'm quite proud of this.

Even still, I feel like there are a lot of stories that I still want to tell about this couple. There's quite a lot that I decided to cut from these main 3 chapters for the sake of pacing and time. There's a little bit of dissatisfaction at not having crammed in every little detail that I wanted, but if there's one thing that writing university papers has taught me, it's that perfectionism will keep you from getting anything done. So you will be getting more from Alex and Thorn in the future!

I know a lot of you were anticipating what delicious revenge König was going to exact on Thorn's husband, so I hope you weren't too disappointed ;; While I personally would have loved to have König strap him to a chair in the basement and do some morbid things with a knife, I think it was important for Thorn's character that she's involved in it. While of course the main focus of this story is König, Shrike is also about his beloved Thorn. I hope to explore König and the darker (and pervier) aspects of his character more in subsequent stories. But for now, they're getting a well-deserved happy ending.

One last thing before I go: Chamonix is a resort town in central/southeast France, not far from Lyon. (Sorry, I don't know whether Lyon is south enough to be considered southern France lol). Mont Blanc is Chamonix's main peak of the Alps, and is known for how pretty it is and being at the border of France, Switzerland, and Italy. As König said, if you wanted to visit a mountain as an Austrian, there are several of them at home you could visit, but since I visited it a few years ago, Chamonix has a special place in my heart. I just had to cram it in!

As usual, I'm excited to see your comments and feedback. I've read every single thing everybody has commented about this fic, even if I couldn't respond to you all, and I appreciate it so deeply. Whenever I get feedback I literally feel like kicking my feet and giggling. And if you want to ask questions or request specific scenarios with Thorn and Alex, please do send me an ask!

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @kneelingshadowsalome @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @fireballoveraltanta

psst. to my tag list people while I have you here: naturally I will continue tagging you in other Shrike stories, but I'll also be using this same tag list for every other König fic I write. If you'd like to opt out of that, let me know. (No hard feelings, of course :3)

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave {{because tumblr.}}

When Beth first found him confused, alone, and hunted the only real thought in her head was to offer him sanctuary so that he might collect himself. Take a metaphorical breath and have the space and safety to process his circumstances. To figure out what it was he wanted to do with himself. She'd had no ulterior motives beyond the desire to help a friend. Beth knows all too well what it's like being out of touch with the world around you. She knows what it feels like to be alone and uncertain, and she knows what it is to need something that cannot be easily explained if it can even be acknowledged. At first even the smallest offers met with a hesitant sort of resistance. She took no offense to that ambivalence because it's only natural. She continued to be supportive. It is in her nature to nurture others. To offer the little kindnesses that are often overlooked or taken for granted by those who have them in excess and yet mean the world to those who are deprived. Slowly but surely he began to regain his new interpretation of himself, both in terms of his humanity and his willingness to interact with her. That was the start of their deepening friendship and trust in one another. They talk until they are hoarse, something that might be presumed to be an affectation on his part though if she were to be honest, she doesn't at all understand the way his body works, including the modulations of his voice. And sometimes, she feels almost giddy about that. The white noise of the organic form doesn't distract her and for once, it feels like everything is normal in so far as other people are with one another.

He does not wince at the chill of her hands and feet. If anything he does his level best to provide her with the warm her extremities lack and sometimes makes a quip about her having more in common with her poikilotherm relatives. She could tease back and mention she has blood in her veins, but in his own way, he does too. She ensures that her fingertips and palms carry enough of her vitality that he need not worry about compensating. The task is aided by just how fast her heart is starting to beat. She's never hidden the fact that she lacks experience with certain kinds of physical intimacy. Silly as it might seem, she'd often look away when a programme or film they might be watching when such acts would occur, and if discussion was had, she'd speak of it in clinical terms as often as possible. She doesn't believe he missed the physiological signs of embarrassment she experienced then, before she became more comfortable with him. When they spoke of her own sense of attraction or lack thereof, her often blatant disinterest in the act itself more often than not, and what it might mean for him. She'd been careful not to pry at the brittle edges of memory, not willing to push him to any sort of conclusion. If wasn't that she was so stupidly jealous of the life he had before but that she wasn't so sure that he was that sentient being, that man that he'd been before and therefore she had no right to push him toward something similar if anything had changed. Existential debate that far outreaches her ability to really participate, at least in her estimation. But things change, as they must. That is the nature of the world, of life itself. People, and she always was quick to reassure him that he was, in fact, a person regardless of his material components, grow. And so too do their thoughts and feelings, and she finds herself stricken with a humble heart that they've grown toward each other. She's determined now to cherish every moment they share without an eye on a shadowy future when he must, inevitably, grow beyond her. Beth allows herself to love him, to fall in love with him, without her typical temerity. Without the questions she never has answers for, nor the ones she can't word properly. These are the steps that lead them here. His hand light against the small of her back, synthetic skin warm to the touch and she can almost feel his pulse within that tender press. He watches her eyes and she does the same perhaps out of habit ~he has none of the micro-expressions that most people do, sometimes making it more difficult for her to find context in their conversations, though though these few simple questions exchanged between them are relatively easy to follow. They glow a gentle blue, but their pattern is breath-taking, like lightning across stormy firmament. She swears she can hear the way his skin brushes against her own even if it doesn't make a sound. Neither do his lips when they impart the softest of kisses. She's both pleased and reassured by those two words, and some of the tension drains from her narrow frame. "Good."

She offers him that self-same kiss when he touches her face in return. The fullness of her mouth, always generous in proportion, slides its way from fingertip to palm before she returns her cheek to it. Remarkably, he's given thoughts to the lines and seems that criss-cross the surface, the texture is perfection.

"And you, you're the song of the tides in me." She thinks of pulling his hand to settle it against her sternum so he can feel the truth of it, but it is a matter of faith. The sea is sacred to her and he knows that to be true. She doesn't make such comparisons lightly. Though her breath might be shallow in draft, its sweet as she exhales and that too seems intent on caressing his face though now in their proximity to one another, her gaze diffuses. Becomes that half-lidded closing he has become familiar with. But for all the closeness between them they might still be thousands of miles apart. She is intent on savouring this. There is no need to rush and perhaps regret missing a single moment. Her chest presses against his, and below his shoulders her collarbones find space to nestle, causing her chin to tilt upwards as he traces her face. Her fingers curl so that her knuckles can skim his jaw before lowering and wrapping themselves around the back of his neck. Her other hand is far more rational and seeks to anchor itself at his hip. Her thumb makes lazy designs there without any purpose other than to enjoy the sensation. So close. He can likely feel her mouth move to form an answer. "Mmh?" A need for focus that isn't easy to achieve. "..ʻAe…yes. I t'ink it's…well, is really good." Of her own accord, she leans in that negligible distance. At first the press of her lips to his is achingly slow, little more than the idea of a kiss, and off-kilter so that it's mostly at the corner of his mouth. It is purposeful, neither miscalculation nor mistake. What a tender test-bite might be in equation. Chaste in acclimation. Those fingers at his hip tell a wildly different story though, telegraphing as the tighten and pull him closer still, a torrid sort of tale regarding her desire. She pulls back by millimetres and then returns to him after she's tilted her head slightly. This time she captures his lower lip between hers and exhales with a soft sort of sound. It becomes discernible then that she's trying to coax him into responding. That she wants him as delirious to taste her as she is in chasing a deeper sort of kiss, all the while making certain that he knows he has agency in it, and if this is enough for him, she'll stop if he wants her to, but not a second before.

[starzct]

☆ . 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 [𝗡𝗘𝗪!]

( 💎 )  ⸻ #𝗤𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗭 𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧. ( TW ... misogyny & mistreatment ) BY 99KITSCH, on NOVEMBER 4, 2024.

OLIVE,  AIQING,  EMI  and  RAON  took  to  social  media  in  a  joint  statement  this  morning  to  announce  their  departure  from  their  group,  SEVENTEEN.  the four female members making up the group's subunit, QUARTZ, have  spent  the  last  SIX (6) MONTHS  on  hiatus due to arising conflict  between  their  companies.  their  last  schedule  as  SEVENTEEN  members  was  the  final  day  of  the  FOLLOW  TOUR  on  MAY  26,  2024,  in  YOKOHAMA,  JAPAN.  their  fanbase,  CARATS,  started to get concerned with the lack of transparency when QUARTZ missed SEVENTEEN'S performance at LOLLAPALOOZA BERLIN.

❛❛  Hello.  This  is  OLIVE,  AIQING,  EMI  and  RAON.  After  long  discussions  with  our  teams  currently  at  both  our  companies,  we  have  mutually  made  the  decision  to  terminate  our  exclusive  artist  contract.  We  would  like  to  express  our  gratitude  to  CARATS  who  have  loved  and  supported  QUARTZ  and  SEVENTEEN  over  the  years.  We  also  hope  you  continue  to  cheer  on  us  as  we  prepare  a  COOL,  NEW  IMAGE  through  a  collaboration  with  Netflix  on  November  17.  Until  now  this  has  been  QUARTZ. ❜❜

QUARTZ  first  made  their  way  onto  the  stage  in  various  pre-debut  videos  KNOWN  AS  THE  GREEN  ROOM  from  early  2013 - 2015.  it  was  not  long  before  the  group  stole everyone's  hearts  with  their  unique  talents upon debuting as individual members of SEVENTEEN.  while  everything  was  total  bliss  at  the  beginning,  it  did  not  take  long  for  the  fans  to  ark  up  about  unfair  treatment  between  the  female  and  male  members  of  SEVENTEEN.  QUARTZ  UNIT was made  to debut  to  appease  the  fans  with  the  repetitive  discussion  of  MISMANAGEMENT  compounded by their ongoing demand by the general public. every  so  often when SEVENTEEN or THEIR COMPANY would be in HOT WATERS, QUARTZ  coincidentally  would  be  given  another  comeback.  well  that  is  atleast  what  user @/17211182026 on twitter has theorised relentlessly.

a  REPRESENTATIVE  from  QUARTZ'S COMPANY, STARGIRL  announced,  " QUARTZ  is  currently  going  through  a  re-brand  as  they  enter  a  new  era  at  JUPITER  RECORDS. "  this  was  followed  up  with JUPITER  RECORDS  releasing  new  official  company  profiles  for  the  group,  with  Y2K-stylised  pictures  heavily  inspired  by  the  trend's  unexpected  return.  QUARTZ  were  previously  known  for  their  REFRESHING  BLEND  of  GENRES  and  CONCEPT  but  this  new  move  signifies  an  ever  fresher  start  for  the  girls as they chose to sign with JUPITER RECORD'S subsidiary, STARGIRL once again.  JUPITER  RECORDS  are  yet  to  comment  on  whether  the  members  will  be  adopting  the  QUARTZ  name. however,  KNETS  sleuths  noticed  the  company  applied  for  several  trademarks,  suggesting  this  move  has  been  on  JUPITER'S  mind  all  year  long.

but  that  wasn't  the  only  surprising  thing  this  morning.  OLIVE  reposted  a  very  iconic  meme  to  her  INSTAGRAM  story  with  the  caption,  'Monday  Mood'.  this  image  of  NICOLE  KIDMAN  after  finalising  her  divorce  has  done  its  rounds,  and  NETIZENS  are  lapping  it  up,  but  it  appears  CARATS  are  speculating  the  reasoning  behind  this  post.  this  comes  after  a  parents  of  one  of  the  members  revealed,  "There  has  been  tension  going  on  between  companies  for  quite  a  while  and  I  think  in  the  end  it  really  impacted  the  relationships  the  girls  built  with  the  other  members.  Just  from  talking  to  my  daughter  this past  week,  I  know  she  will  be  much  happier  away  from  that  awful  company.  Good  riddance!". we are looking forward to what OLIVE, AIQING, EMI and RAON reveal in their very first documentary as a group, "DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER!".

☆ . 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 !

( +342, -56 ) this is like when zayn left one direction all over again. ( +294, -187 ) OLIVE will always be THAT GIRL !! ( +256, -101 ) OH I know that company is up in flames rn. aww so sad !! ( +243, -112 ) i hope the girls are healing & happy !! ( +215, -76 ) makes me so so sad to think abt how my babygirls will only been known for their male counterparts </3

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[melomelomuskmelon]

Whinnies.

general info under cut !! also yes. i'm lyman-garfiel. tumblr drank all my pepsi and called me a bitch and i got terminated.

🪲Hi hello welcome =)!! i am lymantria, [lyman, tria, ly, mantria, mister mantria or lyme 4 short] i have a secret real name. you have to reach clown level 50 to unlock it 🪲My identity is.. all over the place but my pronouns are he/it and i use masc terms until i don't. if i'm close with you feel free to use a femme term for me evrey now and then like you're giving your beloved leopard gecko a nice fat juicy hornworm you bought as a treat.

🪲 I'm a genderfluid and abrosexual little freak of nature, neurodivergant in the direction of "healthcare system is too ableist and classist to actually give me a screening for anything" but likley autism/adhd as well as npd with a bpd comobidity 🪲 please be 16+ if you're gonna follow me, i don't post nsfw on my blog but i do jokingly hornypost quite often, i will be changing my age gate to 18+ when i turn 21 so,,,also keep that in mind

🪲 My interests include, beastars, valve games.. portal is my special interest . don't get me started on my cube game, the furry fandom as a whole, rockafire explosion animatronics, parasitic wasps, parasites in general, christain borle, mlp, rtvs, falsettos, christain borle.. and a certain one of my besties has gotten me back into danganronpa. god dammit.. and i am,,, sighs.. a phannie 🪲 i do vent on this blog! i have a LOT of personal issues going on in my daily life, serious topics will have a tw and be placed under a cut, nobody's obligated to comfort me, i just like using this website to scream into the void about my problems, i'm coping the best i can behind the scenes and am recieving help, i just,,,, have a brain and a home life that sucks asses and need to yeel about it. 💎🦎💎

💎DNI💎

🦎 general dni material applies, i don't tolerate racism/homophobia/transphobia/zionism/ableism and all the isms that make people feel like shit for their identities .

🦎 with that being said, i support 'leboys' and 'mspec lesbians' and whatever new identity anti-inclus people are trying to police. as long as you aren't attracted to something that is rightfully illegal to diddle. i don't give a shit and neither should you. queer discourse is stupid and i HATE you. 🦎 if images of bugs/parasites disturb you, not because i hate you.. but because i really like insects and will reblog pictures of them quite often and don't tag them, just for your own saftey i'm a bug boy <3 🦎 Another general one but like.. if you support romantisizing dynamics like incest and grooming/pedophilia in fiction please dni, i understand protraying these things respectfully, but if you're going to make traumatic shit seem desireable i don't feel comfortable being around you 🦎 "narc abuse" mfers. i'm a narcissist and i can assure you the only bitch i'm abusing is myself. 🦎 If you hate on melon's twink death. more of his titties for me. FUCK you for not getting the body horror/dysphoria arc you can write with this element of his charecter.. and if you think he's sexier as that maul-nourished twig I, as a maul-nourished twig am squinting at you

🦎 Arturo giles, you can LIKE. arturo giles and be my mutual, you can even REBLOG. art of him, but arturo giles HIMSELF. dni and get the fuck away from me. HISSSSSSSSSSSS

🍈💜SELFSHIP INFORMATION!!💜🍈

🍈MELON <33🍈

🍈i... love this guy, i'm sure you've noticed by now i post about himm... a lot, his psychology interests me and i need to poke around that lil' fatass forehead of his

🍈 that being said. i may be his wife and boyfriend but i don't concider myself an apologist for his actions, being traumatized as a child does not justify killing people to fuel your own hedonism. he FRUSTRATES me in that regard, so again.. as his wife, i have a right to point and laugh at him

🍈 STRICTLY. nonsharing with this shitlit. i'm always open to shootin tha shit and having a fun little convo about about this.. VERY interesting motherfucker. but the relationship i have with him is also a coping mechanism due to having similar trauma i don't wanna interact with other selfshippers/people who make romantic comments towards him. you will be blocked. i have other f/o's notably scarab from fionna and cake but my sharing status on em is open and they aren't as consuming as melon is.

🍈🦎Love's failures🦎🍈

Love's failures is my little brain-baby beastars au fanfic, surrounding the entirley self indulgent question of "what if melon,,,, had boyfrin..and it was me". Love's failures follows both melon and Lymantria as they experince an agonizing codepandancy towards eachother as a newly-escaped convict melon is forced to work alongside with his once abandoned ex friend as they attempt to rebuild the once booming back alley market, both for their own selfish reasons Love's failures touches on topics of drug abuse, the impacts of emotional and physical incest, codepandancy, abuse, self harm, suicidal ideation, gore/murder [its melon guys..], sexual abuse, child abuse, ptsd. and.. a bunch of other shit that will be tagged in the actual chapters, but that is my..general trigger warning for the shit that will go on in there, i WILL state theres an eventual happy ending, the toxicity won't be for nothing i prommy

all content regarding the au is tagged as eather #melyme or #love's failures au, and i'll likley have chapter entries in a separate tag when the chapters get written !

will lyman be able to get over the parasitic affection he feels for fuckshit muskmelon?, will melon learn how to be a normal fucking person as his past sins finally get rubbed in his face in a way that finally hurt him?, can these idiots actually figure out how to better themselves when constantly egging on eachothers self destriction?

find out..

💎Enjoy my blog. please💎

[criminal-sen]

Ranting about terminally online queers below the cut (tw misgendering and um. Idk I guess transmisandry? Is the word? Or maybe just misandry idfk but there's some terfy man hating is all I'm trying to convey here)

Hsvsgshshwh so my partner, who for the purpose of this post I will admit looks like a big, imposing cis male (they are very much nonbinary and fucking HATE being he/him'd, but it's relevant to point this out) keeps getting into these fucking.. pickles??? with the local queers, specifically those of the transmasc variety? (Well okay that's not quite true, as one was a cis woman whose variety of queerness I can't fn remember rn, and she's undoubtedly, by FAR, caused the most harm in this whole debacle, to the point where i dont even feel comfortable discussing it, and wont, but I digress) and it's varied from person to person, but the constant is that they basically meet my partner on whatever fuckin dating platform, IMMEDIATELY mark them as 'dangerous and potentially predatory man', yet this marking is seemingly *just* far back enough in their subconscious that they engage in anything from.. flirty/sexual msging with them, all the way to actual physical hookups

and then, in HINDSIGHT, long after the fact, decide that their consent has been breached in some nebulous way and they've been harmed??? And this would be one thing if they were going to my partner and saying this, but no they're going around saying it everywhere else!

And let me be perfectly fucking clear: consent and boundaries are very important things! And to feel like those have been encroached upon feels shitty! But when you're talking about shit so fucking TEPID and IN YOUR HEAD as 'we were having a discussion via text about BDSM and after we were done, I felt icky, so I'm going to tell ppl I was harmed' then guess what! The only harm that's being done here is to my partner, by spreading around your stupid, EXTREMELY online understanding of what these terms are and why they exist in the first place

Like I know my partner pretty well at this point. And I know they're 1) always sober, at least from substances like booze that might cause one to be overly flirty and miss cues. Like they literally jist smoke weed avshsbdv and 2) extremely read-up on current language/discussion around How To Behave within the queer community, and yes this includes COPIOUS checking of the other person's mental state and whether they're still into whatever is being done

Like the only thing they're 'doing wrong' in the eyes of the ppl saying this shit is looking like a spooky scary cis man. Which they're not. But they can't fucking help how they look, especially when they're over 6 ft tall and fucking bald:/

And like. All of this is super frustrating to hear about, like it just keeps HAPPENING. And the part of me that's salty about the polyamorous nature of our relationship (not from a jealousy standpoint per say its just. a whole can of very insecure worms) wants to tell them, with all my heart, that maybe they should stop fucking around with Sensitive Queers they've barely (if at all) even met. And jist keep it in their fuckin pants for fucks sake, at least until they know the person on even the barest level. Because some of these ppl are fucking tar pits, I'm sorry. And the t4t hookup scene in this city reeks of terminally online AND small town bullshit, and they're already getting a very quiet but definitely non-zero Reputation. Like I can't even tell my transmasc group (who I finally met in person the other day btw) who I'm dating bc they're the ones doing this shit like oh my fucking god how Exhausting

But that's not a suggestion that can come from my mouth without sounding um. very shitty. so I make a post about it instead:)

[blukiar]

"The Play Factory" AU [Part 1-General edition]

Edit: I now have a name for it! :)

welp now that I have more of a reason to draw Poppy Playtime content, I can finally share some of my cringy HCs I have for the characters so let's hop in. (Sorry for the long read)

ALSO- TW for mentioned cannibalism (again sorry)

First and foremost! In my AU, much like the game, the toys are experiments created by humans, HOWEVER, they were NOT created from kids/human bodies. Although they still need human elements to be made (like DNA/blood samples) they do not inherit the consciousness of the source of those samples. In other words, they are all sentient toys with their own personalities, traits and mindsets.

Their role is their job: Each toy is assigned a role to play for the kids' enjoyment and comfort by the workers of PT.co. This role is to be fulfilled everyday for 12hrs. Some toys have shifts like Catnap working at night while Dogday works only in the mornings. Those who have to work the full 12hrs do get breaks so they don't get overworked

The toys are basically paid actors: Despite their assigned roles, the toys aren't exactly what PT.co portray them as to the kids and outsiders after working hours. For example, Huggy isn't a jolly, want-to-hug-em-all type of guy outside of work, he's more of a tired uncle who's the voice of reasoning among the big toys. Regardless, the PT.co workers would leave them be as long as they stay out of trouble and do their job correctly

Toys cannot reproduce: Kind of self-explanatory, helps to keep the toy population in check and avoid numerous problems that would come with it. (howeverthisdoesn'tmeantheycan'thave"playtime"thothisrarelyhappens)

Dysfunctional toys are executed: Before the toys are brought to the kids, each are tested and tried to ensure they are kid friendly and safe to be around. If a toy fails to meet the requirements during this process, they are taken to the deeper parts of the facility to be terminated and have their remains recycled to create a better version of them. Worst case, they would be executed and their remains would be fed to the bigger toys whenever they misbehave.

Troublemakers will be punished: Despite meeting the safety requirements, toys still tend to misbehave from time to time, and thus they are sent to the containment room for timeouts. Mommy Long Legs and Boxy Boo, are the two big toys that misbehave the most due to their aggressive nature, both play their roles perfectly yet - Mommy isn't quite friendly to the adults (both Human and toys alike) and Boxy, although obedient, can be unpredictable at times (thankfully he hasn't hurt a child) In addition to the previous HC, both have had their fair share of "dysfunctional snacks" after 2 days of starvation (sometimes Boxy would eat them alive)

Toys are not allowed to roam and leave their work posts: Toys aren't allowed to roam the facility without staff supervision and like their roles, toys are assigned a working area that they cannot leave until working hours are over. This rule ONLY applies to the big toys (Huggy, Kissy, Mommy, Boxy, Daddy, The Delight sisters and smiling critters) the little toys can roam freely with only a few restrictions.

And that's all I can think of for the general stuff, I'm gonna do one for ships and characters separately, in the meantime, feel free to ask questions. and thanks for reading :3

[on-camera]

[You expect a message, but instead, you're met with an uncomfortable silence—save for the static coming from the few (seemingly) broken screens, of course. But somehow, in this dark room... you know a presence welcomes you.]

❝Hm. Welcome.❞

[Okay. Nevermind.]

An independent portrayal of CCTV (he/they/its) from S-[01]-VER BULLET.

RULES and TAGS below. This blog will explore triggering topics and themes; viewer discretion is advised.

[INQUIRY: ADDITIONAL INFORMATION AND RULES]

ABOUT THE MOD: Mod uses they/them pronouns. Unlocking my name requires completing many trials... they won't be easy dear employee...

RULES: There will be no NSFW content or shipping available on this blog. Flirting is allowed, just remember that CCTV will think you're gross and an idiot

Messing around, shenanigans, jokes, anon magic and the like are all encouraged! Remember to mind the above rules.

Anybody can interact; this includes OCs, AUs, etc! You can also have a chat with me outside of character too!

Recurring anons may also claim an emoji if they'd like! They will be logged in this post

If you're looking to roleplay with me, just send an rp starter my way or you can ask for one aha. That being said—I try to mirror length! But really, don't be afraid to interact in and out of character! I don't judge, all of us are here roleplaying on Tumblr. It's supposed to be fun!

Responses may be slow. You are welcome to get my attention if I haven't responded in a while, but I WILL get to everyone as long as you don't break the rules above. Please be patient with me!

[INQUIRY: TAGS]

If there is a triggering topic in a post or thread, it will be tagged as #tw [trigger name] and there will be a warning in bold beforehand.

#[SEARCH: IN CHARACTER POSTS] #[SEARCH: ASKS] #[SEARCH: THREADS]

More tags may be added.

[CONNECTION TERMINATED.] [Incoming Message: time to play?]