#that photo haunts me now lol

[paradoxgavel]

there's one photo on my phone that i took like. one month before the pandemic lockdown kicked off. i took it in february 2020, and now it's like. a straightup flashbulb memory for me. and everytime i see it, i just get this pit in my stomach remembering everything that happened after. like, genuinely, photos taken moments before disaster.

but every once in a while, google photos is like "HEYYY BESTIE, REMEMBER THIS DAY~? <3" and shows me the photo and it's like "YES UNFORTUNATELY I DO THANK YOU"

[meymeyzart]

tatsurinne.........

[glimpsesofeuterpe]

nearly an hour to load barely 500 of them

connor honor would never betray me like this

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 4

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation, attempted rape, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglamela, @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 , @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @mysssticc @babygirl-panda19 @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1

AN: Bit of a late upload for you night owls and a nice surprise for my early risers! Someone tell me to stop making the chapters longer, thank you LOL. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy! This is on AO3 as usual! :D

"So… uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert. "Dog? What dog?" he said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question. "You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

Read Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.5

Xavier drummed his fingers rhythmically on the glass counter, each tap growing more impatient as the seconds stretched on. His eyes darted around the cluttered store, scanning the shelves filled with everything from worn-out sneakers to high-end dress shoes. The store clerk had disappeared into the back room several minutes ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Xavier wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to find here.

He had strolled in with nothing more than a photo of a shoe print—a faint clue at best��but it felt more productive than sitting idly by, doing nothing while the answers to your disappearance slipped further out of reach. At least this was action, however uncertain.

Was this even a tangible way to find you? Was he grasping at straws, wasting precious time on a hopeless lead?

And the most haunting question of all—were you even still alive?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing them tightly enough could block out the flood of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind go there, not now. Pushing the fear and uncertainty away, he tried to focus on the faint glimmer of hope that had brought him here in the first place. Anything was better than surrendering to despair.

"This is all I could find on it. It's certainly a unique pair," the shop clerk continued, offering a slight smile. "I'm not as technologically advanced as most shops around here, so sorry to disappoint. But, may I ask—why come to my little shop instead of one of those fancy places downtown?"

Xavier took the pamphlet, glancing over the information quickly before shifting his gaze back to the clerk. "Well," he began, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I heard you were the kind of guy who could identify a pair of shoes just by its print."

The clerk chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing with the effort. "You've been a great help, actually," Xavier added, sliding the pamphlet into his jacket pocket with a nod of appreciation.

The clerk gave an approving nod, the lines of his face softening in quiet satisfaction before he turned his back again, settling into the familiar rhythm of his work. Xavier headed toward the door, the faint creak of floorboards beneath his boots echoing through the small, dimly lit shop. His hand hovered over the door handle, but just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, a nagging thought rooted him in place. He paused, heart pounding slightly as the question formed in his mind.

He turned back, the weight of uncertainty pulling at his voice. "Say... you wouldn’t happen to know where this shoe was originally made, would you?"

The clerk stopped, mid-motion, his hands faltering over a pile of worn soles. The question seemed to hang in the air, drawing out a moment of silence as the man stared down, his brow furrowing. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it in some time. Xavier felt a flicker of hope, unsure if it would lead him anywhere, but desperately clinging to the possibility.

The clerk finally turned, his face thoughtful, his voice quieter now. "Yeah..." he said slowly, as if pulling the memory from a fog. "Last I saw of that shoe, it came from a company based in the... er, N1—no, wait..." His brow furrowed deeper as he worked to piece it together. "N109 Zone. Yeah, that’s the one."

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight Xavier couldn’t ignore. The clerk’s tone wasn’t just casual recollection—it was tinged with something more, like the memory of that particular shoe stirred something deeper. Xavier felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten.

Xavier felt his breath catch in his throat. N109 Zone. The name alone sent a chill down his spine. He had heard plenty about that place—mostly rumors, but enough to know that it was a dangerous, lawless sector. Few dared to go there unless they had no other choice, and even fewer came back with stories worth telling. It was a no-man’s-land, a forgotten corner of land where control was lost long ago. The kind of place where people disappeared without a trace.

His mind raced, piecing it together. If the shoe had come from there... Did that mean you were there too? His stomach churned at the thought. The faint hope he had clung to started to blur with the creeping dread of what fate could have fallen upon you in the N109 Zone.

"You’re sure about that?" he asked, his voice betraying the slight anxiety creeping in around the edges. The clerk glanced up from his work, noticing the shift in Xavier’s tone.

"Yeah," the clerk said, more firmly this time. "I’m sure. That shoe—rare brand—hard to forget. The company folded years ago, but they used to operate out of the N109 Zone. Only place I’ve ever seen them sold."

Xavier swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. If the shoe came from N109, it could be a clue—a dangerous one, but still the only lead he had. He felt the urgency building inside him, a gnawing sense that time was running out, but also the undeniable question of what he might find if he went there.

Could you really be in a place like that? His mind struggled to fill in the gaps, but there were too many unknowns. Were you okay?

"I...appreciate your help," Xavier muttered, his voice thick with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing.

"You're not actually thinking of going there, are you?" the store clerk asked, his voice edged with disbelief as he raised an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward over the counter, studying Xavier with a mixture of concern and amusement. "No offense, but a pretty fella like you doesn’t exactly look like the type who could survive in a place like that. Not really worth the hassle for a pair of shoes don't you think?"

Xavier paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t turn around immediately, letting the weight of the clerk’s words linger for a moment. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm, almost casual. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice steady, though the tension in his body remained. "I've dealt with much worse."

The clerk blinked, surprised by Xavier's calm demeanor, but said nothing more.

Xavier turned to face the door once again, his hand resting on the handle as he prepared to step out into the cold streets. "Thanks again," he added, his tone carrying a finality that didn’t invite more questions.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the door and walked out, leaving the shop behind. His heart pounded a little harder now, not just from the looming threat of the N109 Zone, but from the resolve building inside him. There was no turning back now.

He had a tangible clue—a real, solid lead to your whereabouts. For the first time in weeks, the haze of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly. But now that he knew you were possibly in one of the most dangerous areas anyone could imagine, time was no longer on his side. Every second that ticked by felt heavier, pulling him deeper into the urgency of the situation. The N109 Zone wasn’t just dangerous; it was a place where people vanished, a place where hope died. He had no time to waste, but rushing in blindly would be suicide. He needed a plan.

Stepping into the cold evening air, Xavier pulled the pamphlet from his jacket pocket, its crinkled edges soft from being handled. His eyes scanned over the contents carefully. Make and model—simple enough, not much help now. A detailed diagram of the shoe—useful for recognition, maybe, but not a lifeline. Then his eyes caught something else—a faint address printed near the top. It was partially worn, barely legible, but there.

His heart skipped a beat. An address? Could this be where the shoe was made? Or where it was sold? Either way, it was another piece of the puzzle, and right now, it was the closest thing to a breadcrumb trail he had. He squinted at the faded letters, trying to make out every detail.

If this address was in the N109 Zone, it could lead him right into the heart of the danger. But it could also lead him to you.

His mind raced. First, he needed to confirm the location. Then he needed a plan—something better than just walking straight into the N109 Zone and hoping for the best.

Pulling out his hunter’s watch, Xavier quickly scanned the address printed on the pamphlet. The small device whirred to life, its holographic screen flickering as it worked to process the faint, worn-out text. A soft ding echoed in the quiet street as it started searching for the location. Xavier watched the screen intently, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

The map on the watch blinked, the dot moving erratically across an unmarked, shadowy area. It drifted back and forth, as though even the advanced technology in his hands was confused, struggling to pin down an exact location. Xavier frowned, watching the dot jitter across the screen. His stomach tightened with frustration. Was the address too old? Was it leading him nowhere?

Just when he thought the device might give up entirely, the dot paused. The holographic screen flickered once more, and with a soft chime, it glowed green in confirmation. The hunter's watch had finally locked on to a spot. Xavier stared at it, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The place it had marked was deep within N109 Zone, tucked away in the heart of the most dangerous, uncharted part of the city.

He exhaled slowly, his mind running through a million possibilities. The watch’s confirmation meant something tangible, something real—but what waited for him there? He couldn’t shake the thought that this could be a trap, a place where the trail might lead to nothing, or worse, to more danger than he could anticipate. But it was also the only clue he had to your whereabouts.

Xavier closed his hand around the watch, feeling its faint warmth through his fingers. He knew what he had to do, but the enormity of it settled on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a simple lead anymore—it was a beacon, calling him into the depths of the N109 Zone. And whatever waited for him there, he would face it.

Because finding you was all that mattered.

As Xavier made his way through the still, empty streets back to his apartment, the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a faint, orange glow across the sky. His mind was already racing, formulating a plan. Gear, weapons,—he’d need everything ready before venturing into the N109 Zone.

But just as he turned the corner, his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning quiet. Xavier stopped, his brow furrowing as he fished the phone out of his pocket. It was a jarring sound—no one should be calling him at this early hour.

He glanced at the screen, squinting in confusion. The number was unknown, unfamiliar. His immediate thought was Captain Jenna—she was the only one who’d be up this early, possibly reaching out with new intel—but this wasn’t her number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Unknown number. His instincts screamed caution. In his line of work, random calls at odd hours rarely led to anything good. The number could belong to anyone—a lead, a warning, or worse, a trap.

But then again, it could be something important—something connected to you. He couldn't ignore the possibility.

Should he answer? The phone rang again, and with each buzz, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach tightened. Whoever it was, they wanted to reach him badly enough to call at this ungodly hour.

With a deep breath, Xavier made a decision and swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" His voice was guarded, careful.

For a moment, all Xavier could hear was silence, a thick void that made his pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the sound of crackling static filled his ears, distorting the line. He frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. The static grew louder, chaotic, until it was abruptly interrupted by a voice—scared, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Xavier? Is that you??"

His heart nearly stopped.

You kept running until your legs gave out, your breath ragged and chest burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. An hour ago, you had been trapped, bound in your captor's suffocating bedroom, that thick invisible leash tightening around your neck with each passing day, stealing your hope, your strength. Every second felt like eternity in that room, but somehow, with some luck of a power outage of all things, you’d broken out of your cage. You’d ran—bolted into the cold night without looking back.

And now, you were almost free.

But “freedom” wasn’t what you had imagined. The streets stretched out before you, bleak and lifeless. It felt wrong. There was no joy in the air, no welcoming breeze to assure you of safety—only the gnawing sense that you had escaped one cage just to enter another. You recalled something Sylus, your captor, had mentioned in passing.

"Its always 'night' here", he'd said with a small smile, and now you truly realized he hadn’t been lying.

Darkness swallowed the entire area, a thick, unnatural veil over everything. Even though your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the eerie, half-flickering streetlights cast only dim pools of sickly yellow across the cracked pavement. The shadows loomed, stretching too far, hiding too much. You shivered, not just from the cold but from the haunting silence that wrapped around you.

The air itself felt thick, as if it was suffocating under the weight of secrets too dark, too dangerous to be spoken aloud. Each alley you passed felt like it was watching you, whispering silent threats from the shadows. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, and you had finally stopped, collapsing onto a broken bench under one of the few flickering streetlights that still worked. The cold metal dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, to steady your thoughts.

Where do you go now? You scanned your surroundings again, looking for anything that could offer direction, but the streets were as desolate as before. The same cracked pavement, the same looming shadows. No signs. No people. Just an eerie quiet.

A fleeting thought entered your mind—maybe there’s a train station nearby? The idea seemed almost laughable. Would it even take you to Linkon? And would you even make it to a station without getting caught?

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for the thought. Hitchhiking was another idea that crossed your mind—no way, you scolded yourself, brushing off the notion as quickly as it came. You probably couldn't trust anyone here. Not in a place like this. Here, trusting a stranger was as reckless as running blind into the dark.

But what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay still for long; resting too much would make you an easy target. With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand again. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you kept moving, hoping—praying—you’d find someone who wasn’t out to harm you. Something that could help guide you out of this nightmare. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of fear pressing harder on your chest.

As your bare feet dragged across the cracked concrete, the desperation gnawed at you more fiercely. You were lost—physically and mentally. Each street looked the same, the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Panic swelled in your throat. How long could you keep going like this? How much longer could you walk before your legs gave out? Before someone found you?

Your breaths came quicker, shallow with fear. You needed a way out, but the deeper you walked into the N109 Zone, the more it felt like the place was swallowing you whole. You were running out of time. Running out of hope.

And then finally, as if the cruel universe had decided to grant you another fleeting moment of mercy, you saw it—a faint glow of lights in the distance. Squinting, you could just make out a corner store, its soft, artificial light spilling onto the cracked sidewalk. A few people were loitering outside, giving the place a rare sense of life. A tired-looking woman clutched her child's hand tightly, and a man stood by, lazily smoking a cigar, his eyes scanning the street in disinterest. A couple of others hovered nearby, exchanging quiet words under the dim streetlight.

You couldn't believe your eyes. A store? Here? In the N109 Zone? It seemed almost surreal, like it had been plucked from another world and dropped into this forgotten wasteland. But it made sense in a grim way. Even in a place like this, people have to eat. Make a living.

With a rush of desperate energy, you hurried toward the store, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The people outside cast looks in your direction, but don't say anything. You stopped just short of the entrance, glancing down at yourself for the first time. You must look insane. A nightgown hung loosely around your body, dirty and torn at the edges. No shoes. No socks. Your hair was tangled and wild from the running. The sight of yourself made you wince in embarrassment, but there was no time to care about that now.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a dimly lit but surprisingly ordinary scene. The inside of the corner store looked like any other—aisles of candy, snacks, cheap knick knacks and toys stacked high. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, shadowy streets just outside. But one sight caught your attention above all: the food.

Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. You hadn’t eaten since the chicken dinner Sylus had provided before your “outburst.” You hadn't been able to finish it, and now the exhaustion from running had made the hunger almost unbearable. Your mouth watered at the thought of eating, but there was one major problem—you had no gold.

Your heart sank as you stared at the rows of candy bars and instant noodles. How were you going to get anything?

Anxiously, you shuffled toward the front counter, your nerves jangling with every step. When you reached it, you hesitated for a moment, staring at the small bell. With trembling fingers, you tapped it.

A disheveled-looking man, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts, glanced up from behind the counter. He had been glued to his phone, and the interruption clearly annoyed him. His eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, he just stared, taking in your disarrayed appearance before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Can I...help you?" he asked, dragging out the words as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but your mind raced with too many conflicting emotions—fear, embarrassment, hunger. What could you even say?

"I've been kidnapped," you blurt out, your voice shaky and desperate. You opened your mouth to explain further, to tell him everything—how you had escaped, how you were on the run, how you needed help—but before you could get another word out, the man snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said dismissively, leaning back on his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Who hasn't been kidnapped at least once around here?"

His casual tone hit you like a slap. The raw urgency in your voice was met with nothing but apathy. Your heart sank. He wasn’t going to take you seriously. You were just another story in a place like this, another desperate face with nowhere to go. You stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend how someone could be so indifferent to your situation.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the frustration welling up inside you. "Please, I'm serious. I just need—"

"Look," the man interrupted, cutting you off again, his eyes barely lifting from his phone. "You want something, buy it. Otherwise, move along. I’m not here for charity cases."

You glanced at the counter, the rows of candy, snacks, and drinks just inches away, knowing you had nothing to pay with. Desperation clawed at your insides. You were exhausted, starving, and running out of options.

"I don't have any gold... do you ha-have a phone?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill. How could someone be so indifferent to the obvious suffering staring him in the face?

"Broken," he said flatly, still not bothering to look up from his phone. His disinterest was like a physical blow. "And… gold? What are you, some Linkcunt citizen?"

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Linkcunt citizen? The insult was harsh, dripping with disdain, and it sent a sudden wave of anger rushing through you.

"Yes, I’m from Linkon," you correct, the frustration and fear bubbling over into your voice. "What’s with the attitude? What did I do to you? I'm asking for help!"

He finally looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking.

"What did you do? Nothing. That’s the problem. Linkon folk come down here thinking they’re better than everyone, tossing around their fancy gold and expecting the world to hand them everything." He shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt.

"You want help? Then you’d better figure out how things work around here real fast, princess. No one's gonna hand you anything for free."

You felt your fists clench at his words, the anger mixing with a deeper sense of helplessness. You hadn’t asked to be here. You hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, standing in this grimy corner store in the depths of the N109 Zone, it was clear that no one cared about your suffering. Not here. You weren’t in Linkon anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down, swallowing the anger rising in your throat. Getting into a fight with this clerk wouldn’t help you, not now. But the bitterness of his words lingered, and you realized just how alone you truly were in this place.

Silently, you turned your back to the greasy man behind the counter, his words still echoing in your mind as you began to walk up and down the aisles. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of hunger, thirst, and sheer exhaustion pulling at you. Your stomach growled, gnawing at your insides, reminding you just how long it had been since you'd eaten.

But something else gnawed at you too—something that made your skin crawl with discomfort. You hadn't changed your pad for hours, and now the sticky, damp feeling clung uncomfortably between your legs. The sudden realization hit you, a wave of disgust washing over you as you winced.

Swallowing hard, you glanced over toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Rows of necessities lined the shelves—pads, tampons, basic supplies—just out of reach. You stared at them, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't just food you needed now. You couldn’t go on like this.

But you had no credit cards. No way to purchase anything. Nothing.

Your eyes flicked back toward the front of the store, where the disinterested clerk sat, still engrossed in his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He didn’t care. Nobody here did.

You felt a knot tighten in your throat as the harsh reality of the situation settled in. You had to steal. There was no other choice. You hated the thought of it—hated how low it made you feel—but survival wasn’t a matter of pride. Not here. Not now.

Your fingers trembled as you looked back at the shelves. You knew what you had to do.

The clerk still wasn’t paying attention, his face lit by the glow of his phone. His indifference might be your only saving grace. You could do this—quickly, quietly, and then you’d be gone.

With shaky hands you reach for a plastic bag that had fallen on the ground. The bag felt like a shield, something to hide the weight of what you were about to do. You didn’t think twice as you moved toward the feminine hygiene aisle, knowing you couldn’t walk any further in your current state. You reached for a pack of pads, your movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that it felt like the entire store could hear it.

Next, you hurried down the snack aisle, grabbing a few protein bars, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of water, all of which disappeared into the bag as your pulse raced in your ears.

You glanced toward the counter, your body tense with anxiety. The clerk still hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in his phone. The faint, unmistakable sound of pornography drifted from his speakers, making your stomach churn in disgust. You twisted your face, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you, but you couldn’t afford to stop now.

He was utterly oblivious to your frantic movements, his attention locked on the screen, but that didn't ease the gnawing sensation in your gut. Every step felt like you were tiptoeing across a minefield, a ticking clock counting down to disaster. Even though he wasn’t watching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was.

With the bag now heavy in your hands, you made your way toward the exit, each step carefully measured, your breath shallow as you fought to keep calm. The distance between you and the door seemed endless, as if every inch stretched into miles. But finally, your trembling hand closed around the cold metal of the handle.

Your heart raced as you crossed the threshold, bracing yourself for the inevitable—a shrill, deafening alarm that would shatter the silence and expose your crime to the world. You waited for it, your breath caught in your throat, ready to bolt at the first sound.

But nothing came.

No alarm. No piercing siren. The only thing you could hear was the frantic beating of your own heart as the door swung shut behind you with a quiet click.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen in place, not daring to move. The cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you in the eerie quiet. The world outside the store felt impossibly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to register that you had made it out—unseen, unheard.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down as you hurried past the few patrons lingering near the store. Their eyes followed your every step, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you, judging, curious. Did they happen to care, or did you just look that insane?

The woman with the child pulled her daughter closer as you passed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The man smoking his cigar gave you a long, leering stare, as if trying to figure out what your story was. The others whispered quietly among themselves, but you couldn’t make out the words, nor did you want to. You kept walking, willing yourself to be invisible, but the tension in the air made your skin prickle.

Once you were a safe distance away from the store, you ducked down an empty alley, the shadows wrapping around you like a cloak. The world outside was still bleak, the flickering streetlights casting only the faintest glow, but here in the quiet, you finally had a moment to breathe.

You found a relatively clean spot, tucked behind an old dumpster, and set the bag down beside you. Your hands shook as you reached into the bag for the pack of pads. The discomfort and itch between your legs had grown unbearable, and the relief of changing, even in such a grim place, was something you couldn't put off any longer.

Quickly, you adjusted yourself, wincing at the feeling of the old pad peeling away. You worked fast, knowing you couldn’t linger here for long. Once you were done, you felt a small sense of relief—at least one problem had been solved.

Next, you pulled out the snacks. The hunger was still clawing at you, and the sight of the protein bars and chips made your stomach ache even more. Tearing into a protein bar, you ate quickly, barely tasting the food as you devoured it, desperate to fuel your exhausted body. The bottle of water came next, and you drank it down in large, gulping swallows.

For the first time since you had escaped, you felt a flicker of calm. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t last, but here in this dark corner, with food in your stomach and a small bit of comfort, you allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe.

But the quiet didn’t last. You knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. You had to get moving at some point or Sylus would find you. This place was unforgiving, and survival demanded more than just temporary refuge.

Tucking the remaining items back into the bag, you sigh in satisfaction, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. The streets were still empty. For now, you were alone. You had survived one more step in this nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t over yet.

Some time passes and you can slowly feel yourself falling asleep against the dumpster.

As you crouched in the dim alley, trying to fight off exhaustion and gather your thoughts, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Slow, steady, and casual, accompanied by a faint, off-key whistling. You stiffened, instinctively pulling the bag closer to your chest.

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then came the voice—low, cautious, but curious.

"Hey, you okay?"

You glanced up warily, your eyes landing on the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, maybe in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair that fell just above his eyes. His clothes were worn—faded jeans and a jacket that had seen better days—but he didn’t look like the rough types you usually imagined when you thought of the N109 Zone. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you, a flicker of concern—or maybe something else—dancing behind them.

His face was hard to read. He had a slight stubble covering his jaw, giving him a rugged, almost tired appearance. His lips quirked in what might’ve been a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was curious, but also sizing you up. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made you wonder why he’d stopped to talk to you at all.

"Are you... lost?" he asked, stepping forward slowly, the whistling tune dying in the air. His voice was softer now, almost as if he was trying to be gentle, but his presence made the space around you feel even smaller.

"What happened to your arm?"

You swallowed hard, trying your best to keep your gaze on him. You had honestly completely forgotten about the scar on you arm. As much as you wanted to explain, every instinct screamed to stay wary. This wasn’t a place where strangers helped out of kindness, and you knew better than to trust easily. But as exhausted and desperate as you were, you weren’t sure if you could afford to push away help, even from someone who might have their own agenda.

"I—I need help," you stammered, your voice shaky, barely managing to push the words past your tightening throat. Your body trembled, a mix of nerves and exhaustion leaving you on edge. You hugged the bag tighter to your chest, every muscle in your body tense. "But... don't come any closer just yet."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting, though he made no move forward. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, the dim streetlight casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with tension as he watched you.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice calm and even, though the curiosity in his eyes never wavered. He tilted his head, taking in your ragged appearance with a deeper interest. "No problem. I’m not here to scare you. Just trying to figure out what you're doing out here all alone."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. You needed help, but trust was a dangerous thing in a place like this. Still, you were running out of options. Your mind raced as you tried to decide what to say next.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you weighed the risks. Could you trust him? Telling the truth might make you vulnerable, but lying wouldn’t get you far either. You had to say something—anything—to explain why you were here.

"I was kidnapped," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, a tremor of fear running through you as you spoke. "I escaped… I don’t know where I am. I just need to get somewhere safe and rest so I can get home later."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He studied you, eyes narrowing as if trying to assess whether or not you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, making your heart pound faster in your chest.

"You’re serious?" he finally asked, his tone more subdued now, almost disbelieving but not dismissive. He took a small step back, showing that he wasn’t going to invade your space. "You really got away from someone?"

You nodded, the tension in your body still coiled tight, waiting for his reaction. You couldn't tell if he believed you, but you hoped—desperately—that he wouldn’t press too hard or turn you away.

The man stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture softening just slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you're telling the truth... then you’ve got bigger problems than just being lost."

He glanced around, checking the street behind him as if making sure no one else was nearby, then he looked back at you, his face more serious now. "You can’t stay out here. This place— the N109 Zone—it’s not somewhere you want to be wandering around alone, especially if someone’s looking for you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You already knew the N109 Zone was dangerous, but hearing it from him made it feel even more real.

"Look," he continued, his voice softening. "I’m not gonna hurt you. If you need help, I can take you somewhere safer. But you’ve gotta trust me, and you’ve gotta move quick. If they’re after you, it’s only a matter of time before they find you out here."

He waited, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see if you’d accept his offer—or run.

You hesitated for a long moment, scanning the man’s face for any sign of deceit. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, but something about his demeanor made you feel that, for now, you didn’t have much of a choice. If he meant harm, he could’ve acted already. Swallowing hard, you nodded.

��Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded in return, offering nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and motioning for you to follow. "My place isn’t far. You can rest there, maybe clean up a bit. It’ll give you a few hours before you have to figure out what’s next."

You fell in step behind him, your bare feet quiet against the cracked pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of passing cars. You hugged the bag closer to your chest, still tense but too tired to think about running. As you walked through the dim streets, a question lingered in the back of your mind.

"I'm surprised you stopped to help me," you finally said, your voice tentative. "Most people here…they wouldn’t have even looked twice."

He glanced back at you, barely breaking stride, and shrugged. "I’ve seen worse things in this place. Trust me, a girl lost in an alley isn't the strangest thing I’ve come across." His tone was casual, almost detached, as if this was just another day in the chaotic world of the N109 Zone.

His nonchalance unnerved you. Why was he so calm? Your anxiety spiked for a moment, thoughts racing. Maybe you had made the wrong choice. Maybe he had his own agenda, like everyone else in this place. But then again, he hadn’t tried to harm you. If he wanted to, he would've done so. You weighed your options, feeling the tug of paranoia, but exhaustion and desperation had their hold. You pushed the doubt aside. For now, you decided to trust him, even if only for a few hours.

As you walked in silence, the two of you eventually came across something you hadn’t expected to see: an old, grimy phone booth, its glass cracked but still intact, standing at the edge of a corner. A relic from another time, long since forgotten by most.

Your heart skipped a beat. A phone. You might be able to call Xavier.

"Do you have any… uh, quarters?" you asked, your voice tight with desperation. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Linkon City had long left behind the need for such old currency—everything there was digital, clean, modern. But here, in the N109 Zone, where everything felt stuck in time, of course they still used quarters. It made sense in this broken-down world.

He stopped, watching you for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, hang on." He fumbled in his pockets for a few seconds, fishing around with a slight look of annoyance. After a bit of clattering, he pulled out a few quarters, handing them over to you without a word.

Your hands trembled as you took them. This could be your chance—your lifeline. You stepped inside the booth, hoping that the old machine would still work, and stared at the dirty receiver.

You stared at the old rotary dial for a moment, panic rising in your chest. You tried to remember how it worked as you slipped the coins in the slot. It had been so long since you’d read about one of these—everything in Linkon was sleek, touch-based, connected by the web. But here, in this forgotten part of the world, you were holding a piece of the past. The process felt foreign, archaic.

Your mind raced, desperately trying to recall Xavier’s number. What was it? You racked your brain, images of his scribbled phone number from messages, fragments of conversations, all blurred together. The numbers danced in your head as you tried to piece them together.

Your heart pounded louder, matching the beat of the seconds slipping away. You were running out of time. With a trembling hand, you began dialing the numbers, trying to focus on every movement, praying you’d gotten it right.

The dial clicked as it spun back after each number, the mechanical sound unnervingly slow. The receiver crackled in your ear as the phone began to ring.

Please, Xavier... please pick up.

The ringing felt endless, each second a heavier weight pressing on your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the receiver tight. The noise around you seemed to fade into the background as you waited, hoping, praying that on the other end of the line, he’d be there—ready to hear you, ready to help.

The phone rang again... and again.

Your breath caught in your throat, a prayer hanging on the edge of each ring.

"Hello?" A timid, cautious male voice came through the receiver, muffled by the crackling static, but it was unmistakable.

Relief crashed over you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed right there in the grimy phone booth, your knees buckling as the sound of Xavier's voice reached your ears. After everything—you finally had a connection to him. Tears welled up in your eyes, your breath shaky as you clutched the receiver tighter.

"Xavier!! Xavier, thank god!" you cried, your voice raw with desperation. "I don't even know where to start..."

But after your outburst, only silence greeted you. The line crackled, sputtering with age, the static drowning out whatever response might have come. Frustration surged through you as you gripped the receiver, shaking it in a vain attempt to clear the line. You banged the phone against the booth, biting back a sob as the interference persisted. This thing must be older than you thought. How could it fail you now?

Finally, the crackling stopped, leaving only a tense, quiet hum on the other end.

"Xavier? Is that you??" you asked, your voice trembling, barely holding back the panic. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing this fragile connection—this one thin lifeline.

The line crackled for a moment before Xavier’s voice came through, steady and calm, but with a layer of unmistakable relief.

"It’s you…," Xavier said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d been holding onto hope for so long that hearing your voice felt like a lifeline. "I’m so glad you’re alive. Are you okay? Where are you?"

The sound of his voice sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. You sob, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone. He had been looking for you, and now, he was coming.

"Xavier…I was kidnapped," you sobbed, the words finally breaking free, the fear and terror of the last few days pouring out. "I escaped. I’m cold, hurt and scared..."

His response was immediate, his tone both calming and steady, as if he was trying to comfort you even from miles away. "I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? I’m coming for you. I just need a better idea of where you are."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears threatened to spill over. "I don’t know where exactly… all I know is I’m in the N109 Zone. I found a phone booth near a corner store. Everything around here looks abandoned."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Xavier processed the information. "Alright," he said firmly. "Stay there, I'll try and track the location of the phone booth. I’m on my way. Just… hold on a little longer, okay?"

"I—" you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the man who had helped you. "I actually found a really nice man. He’s letting me rest at his place. He hasn’t hurt me at all, so don’t worry. He says his place isn’t far from here. I’ll come back to the phone and give you the details after I see it."

Xavier’s voice tightened slightly, the concern clear. "I don’t like the sound of that. Just… be careful. I’m coming as fast as I can. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? If anything feels wrong, leave. Fight like hell if you need to."

"I will," you whispered, gripping the receiver tightly. "Just hurry, please."

"I promise I’m coming," Xavier said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He paused, just for a second, before continuing. "One more thing though—do you remember who took you? I’ll need a name, in case…in case I don't find you when I arrive. I don’t want to lose you again."

Your heart raced as memories of your captor flashed in your mind. "Yeah! His name is S—"

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for an additional 3 minutes," the automated voice cut in sharply, drowning out your words.

Panic surged through you. The call had abruptly ended, the receiver in your hand now silent except for the monotonous prompt asking for more coins. You frantically searched your pockets, but you had no more quarters.

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for—"

You screamed, the frustration boiling over as you kicked the phone, the clanging metal reverberating through the phone booth. Your hand gripped the receiver so tightly your knuckles lost circulation, and with a final surge of anger, you thrashed against the booth, the tears you’d been holding back now streaming down your face.

"Xavier!?" you yelled into the dead line, your voice cracking with desperation. He had to hear you. He had to. But all that came through was the cold, indifferent tone of the automated voice, endlessly repeating its demand for more quarters, as if mocking your panic.

You slammed the receiver down, the booth suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Every second that ticked by was a second lost, a moment Xavier might not know who had taken you, might not know how to find you.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out of the booth, blinking away the tears.

"Do...you have any more quarters?" you ask, more tears threatening to spill from your face at any moment now.

The man outside the phone booth shifted awkwardly and shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and the dark street. He had watched you from the moment you’d rushed into the booth, but now, as you sobbed, his discomfort was clear. He took a slow step forward, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to do.

"You, uh... you okay?" he asked finally, his voice soft but uneasy. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as if he wasn’t used to being in such an emotional situation.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the tears kept coming. The overwhelming frustration of losing the connection with Xavier left you feeling exposed and helpless. You didn’t know what to say to the man, couldn’t find the words to explain the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

He hesitated, then sighed, taking another step closer. "Look, uh… if it’s about the call, I’m sure your guy’s coming. Sounds like he cares. You just... you know, gotta hang in there. We’ll get to my place soon, and you can rest."

His words, though clumsy, were an attempt at comfort. But even as he tried to reassure you, his uncertainty showed in the way he avoided your gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle someone breaking down in front of him.

You sniffed, nodding slightly, feeling drained from the outburst. "Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine," you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your nightgown, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

The two of you resumed walking, your steps slow and heavy as you sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill. The man walked beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at you now and then with an awkwardness that was hard to miss. He wasn’t saying much, just occasionally looking around as if he wished there was something more he could do, but he seemed completely out of his depth when it came to comforting anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of breaking down.

"You’ll, uh, feel better once we get there," he mumbled, his voice low and sheepish. "It’s not much, but at least you can get some sleep. Maybe eat something."

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought to compose yourself, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you again. The air between you felt thick, filled with unspoken words and awkward tension. He kept glancing at you as if he wanted to say something more, but each time, he swallowed the words, guiding you quietly through the darkened streets.

The city around you was eerily quiet, the desolation of the N109 Zone even more pronounced in the silence. The flickering streetlights barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. You hugged your arms close to your body, your mind still reeling from the failed call, but you focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "I’m… not really good at this kind of thing, you know," he admitted, his tone awkward, almost apologetic. "But you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. His words were clumsy, but there was a strange sincerity in them. Despite his unease, it seemed like he really was trying to help, even if he didn’t quite know how to do it.

As the silence stretched on, the weight of everything hanging between you, you glanced at him through the dim light. His awkwardness, his uncertainty—it was all so clear. But despite everything, he had helped you. He had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. Given you the last of his quarters. You swallowed, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

"I didn’t catch your name, by the way," you said softly, your voice still a little shaky.

He blinked, as if surprised you’d asked. His steps slowed for a moment before he gave a small, awkward shrug. "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t say." He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground as he seemed to search for the right words. "It’s Reese," he finally muttered. "Not much of a name, but it’s mine."

You offered a small, tired smile, your voice soft. "Reese… thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You stopped yourself, the weight of your situation pressing on your chest again.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, well… I’m no hero. Just didn’t seem right to leave you out there. Not in a place like this."

As the two of you walked in silence, Reese cleared his throat, glancing over at you with a bit more confidence than before. "So… what’s your name? Figured if we’re gonna be walking together, I should know who I’m helping."

You hesitated, your heart racing slightly. Trust wasn’t something you could afford so easily, not here, not now. Despite his awkward attempts to help, you weren’t ready to give him your real name. Better to be cautious, you reminded yourself. You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It’s...Mephisto," you said, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could second-guess it. You had vaguely remembered Sylus calling out the name to someone from outside the door, to who you weren't sure. One of his men probably.

Reese nodded, seemingly taking your answer at face value, no suspicion in his expression. "Alright," he said, giving a half-smile. "Nice to meet you Miss Mephisto, despite the strange name."

You nodded back, feeling the weight of the lie settle inside you. It wasn’t much, but it gave you a small layer of protection—just in case. You still didn’t know Reese’s full intentions, and trust here could be a dangerous thing.

"Nice to meet you too, Reese," you replied softly, glancing around the darkened street.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dark, desolate streets of the N109 Zone, you and Reese finally reached his place. The house stood at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between two crumbling, abandoned buildings. It wasn’t much to look at—dingy, with peeling paint and windows that seemed to have long lost their clarity. The front door sagged slightly on its hinges, the wood scuffed and weathered, as if it had seen better days a long time ago.

Reese unlocked the door with a bit of effort, pushing it open with a low creak. Inside, the air was stale but warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The place was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. The furnishings were old, mismatched, and worn—a threadbare couch sat in the corner, covered in a faded blanket. The walls were bare except for a few crooked picture frames, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Still, despite its grimy appearance, there was a strange sense of comfort to the place, like someone had lived here for a long time and had made it home in their own way.

"You can sit over there if you want," Reese said, motioning to the couch. "It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets."

You nodded, stepping inside cautiously. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details—the scuffed coffee table with a few empty bottles on it, the stack of old magazines piled up against one wall. It didn’t scream danger, but you couldn’t shake the wary feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Something about the whole situation made you uneasy. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the smell of old dust, or just the lingering doubt about trusting someone so easily in a place like this.

Still, exhaustion weighed heavily on your body, and the promise of rest—any rest—was too tempting to ignore. You sat down on the couch, the worn cushions sinking under you, and pulled the bag of pads closer to your chest. Reese seemed harmless enough, but you reminded yourself to stay on guard. You weren’t out of danger yet.

Reese busied himself, tossing a few items around to clear space, but the house remained eerily quiet.

As you settled into the couch, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible, a sudden noise from the backyard broke the uneasy silence. It was faint, but distinct—a thud, followed by the faint sound of something shuffling or dragging. Your heart leapt, and you sat up a little straighter, your eyes darting toward the back of the house.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice tense as you turned to look at Reese.

He froze for a split second, the calm, awkward demeanor you’d come to expect from him faltering. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "It’s just… my dog. Yeah, he’s in the shed out back. I forgot to mention him earlier."

You watched him closely, feeling the tension spike in the room. There was something off about the way he said it, the quickness in his tone as if he were scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"Your dog?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of your mind.

"Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "He’s old, doesn’t like people much, so I keep him out there. No big deal."

His words didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing his response, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time, creeping up your spine.

"Right," you muttered, still watching him carefully, but you decided not to push further. Not yet.

"Um... coffee?" Reese blurted out suddenly, his voice still laced with that nervous edge. He offered a forced smile, clearly trying to redirect the tension hanging thick in the air. He rubbed his hands together, glancing toward the small, cluttered kitchen. "I could make us some. Might help, you know, after everything you’ve been through."

You hesitated, still on edge from the strange noise outside and his quick, jittery explanation. Something didn’t feel right, but you weren’t sure if pushing him now would help or only make things worse. You forced a smile of your own, your mind still racing with questions.

"Sure," you said quietly, your voice flat as you tried to calm your nerves. "Coffee sounds good."

Reese nodded, too eagerly, and moved toward the kitchen, fumbling with an old coffee pot. The clattering of cups and the rush of water filled the silence, but your mind was still focused on that noise outside. A dog in the shed? It seemed like a weak excuse, but you didn’t know him well enough to push it.

You leaned back into the couch, the worn fabric sinking beneath you as your eyes drifted toward the back door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Reese wasn’t telling you everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were exhausted, but you couldn't let your guard down.

Reese finished brewing the coffee after a few moments, bringing it over to you in a green, cracked mug. You took it from him with a polite smile, setting it down on the coffee table untouched. The steam curled up from the cup, filling the small room with the faint scent of stale coffee. Reese sat across from you, sipping from his own mug, but you couldn’t help but notice how distracted he seemed.

He kept glancing toward the window, then back at his watch, over and over. Each time, his face tensed a little more, as though he were expecting something—or someone. Your wariness only grew.

What is he looking for?

The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the noise in the backyard wasn’t as innocent as he’d made it sound.

"So…uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert.

"Dog? What dog?" Reese said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

"You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, and then you saw it—realization hit him like a brick. His eyes widened as he turned to look at you, panic flickering across his face.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to race. He’d lied. And now he knew you knew.

"Uh, I mean—" he stammered, his voice shaky, "I meant, uh, Rex. Yeah, his name’s Rex. Sorry, I’m just… distracted." He forced a weak smile, but the panic was still there, clear as day. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

You shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the room thickening with every second that passed after Reese's panicked slip. His eyes kept darting between you and the window, as if something outside demanded his attention. Your pulse quickened as the uneasy feeling deepened. Something wasn’t right, and you knew you had to get out of there.

"I should…go," you said, forcing a smile as you slowly stood up, trying to keep your voice casual. "Y'know... Xavier’s probably found the phone booth by now. I should go back and meet him."

Reese blinked, his expression tightening for a split second. The forced calm he'd been trying to maintain wavered as he set his mug down on the table a little too quickly, the clink of the ceramic against wood echoing in the silence. "Go? Already?" He scratched the back of his neck again, his voice strained. "I mean, it’s cold, and it’s not safe out there… Maybe you should wait a little longer."

You swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. Every instinct told you to get out, but you had to keep your cool. "Thanks for the coffee and everything, but I don’t want Xavier to worry," you replied, taking a step toward the door. "I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse, remember?"

Reese stood up as well, his movements stiff, like he was trying to decide whether to stop you. His gaze flickered toward the window again, and his voice dropped. "Yeah, I get it. But, uh… maybe just a few more minutes. You don’t want to be out there alone, do you?"

You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface now felt like a solid weight pressing down on you. Something was very wrong, and you needed to leave—now.

"No, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything, but I need to go," you said, your voice steady despite the panic bubbling under the surface. You tried to move past Reese, your eyes focused on the door, your heart pounding with the hope of reaching it before things got worse.

But then Reese stepped in front of you, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. "No," he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the awkwardness and sheepishness he’d shown before. His tone was cold, almost emotionless, as he closed the distance between you with startling speed.

Before you could react, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body froze as the unmistakable sensation of a gun pressed hard into your skin.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His earlier nervousness was completely gone, replaced by something dark and dangerous. "Sit back down."

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling for a way out, but all you could feel was the sharp edge of fear coursing through you. You swallowed hard, trying not to move too quickly, knowing that with one wrong step, things could spiral even further out of control.

"Reese… please," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. "You don’t have to do this."

His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation—but his grip on the gun didn’t waver. "Just sit down, and no one has to get hurt."

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but for now, all you could do was comply and hope that Xavier was still coming for you.

"I promised them a girl..." Reese muttered, his voice trembling slightly, though the gun still pressed firmly against your neck as you looked up at him from the couch. He glanced away from you, his guilt briefly flickering in his eyes. "Then you just... happened to be there. Right place, wrong time, I guess. So...this is how it has to be."

His words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I’m sorry," he added, though there was no comfort in his apology—just a hollow attempt at easing his own conscience.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process his words, the full weight of the situation crushing down on you. He wasn’t just some awkward guy helping you out of kindness. He had been waiting for someone—anyone—to fill a promise. And you had walked right into it.

As you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your neck, the door creaked open. Another man stepped into the room. He was taller than Reese, with a thick, rough appearance—his face shadowed by the dim light. His eyes swept the room, landing on you, taking in the situation with a detached indifference.

"Is this the girl you promised?" the man asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he’d been through this kind of scene too many times to be surprised by it. His gaze shifted briefly to Reese, then back to you, narrowing with interest.

You felt a chill run down your spine as his question hung in the air.

Reese didn’t move the gun from your neck, but you could feel the tension in his body shift as he glanced over at the man, clearly nervous about his arrival. "Yeah, this is her," Reese replied, his voice tight. "I just… need a few more minutes to get her to cooperate."

The other man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. His eyes raked over you, cold and calculating. "No time for that," he said flatly. "Get her in the basement. You know how this works, Reese."

Your pulse quickened, fear gripping you tighter as you looked from one man to the other, your mind spinning with panic. What were they planning? You needed to find a way out, and fast, before things escalated even further.

"You’re making a mistake," you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "Someone’s coming for me. If you don’t let me go, it’s going to get a lot worse for both of you."

As the weight of your words hung in the air, you weren’t even sure who you were referring to in that moment—Sylus, the man who had kidnapped you in the first place, or Xavier, the one coming to save you. Both names were tangled up in your desperation, your mind too frantic to distinguish between them. All you could do was hope that the threat would ring true, that it would be enough to make Reese think twice.

The taller man smirked, clearly unimpressed. "We’ll see about that," he muttered, turning his back toward the door to pull up the carpet, leaving you alone with Reese and the gun still pressed to your neck. You watch as a metal trap door with a handle is revealed to have been hidden under the carpet and you gasp.

Instinct kicked in, and without thinking, you twisted suddenly, using the brief distraction in Reese’s hesitation to try and break free. You shoved his arm away with everything you had, knocking the gun off balance. For a moment, you thought you had a chance, adrenaline flooding your body as you fought with all the strength you could muster.

"Let go of me!" you screamed, thrashing and kicking as hard as you could. Your elbow connected with Reese's side, and he let out a sharp grunt, but his grip tightened. His face twisted in a mixture of frustration and fear, and he fought back, grabbing your arm and wrenching you toward him.

"Stop it!" Reese growled, struggling to maintain control, but you weren’t going down without a fight. You kicked at his legs, but his hold on you only grew stronger.

The door to the basement creaked open, and before you could react, the taller man reappeared, grabbing you by the other arm. His grip was like iron, and between the two of them, they overpowered you. Your heart pounded as you screamed and clawed, your feet scraping against the floor, but the force of their combined strength was too much.

"No! Please—" you gasped, trying to twist free, but they dragged you toward the open door.

The tall man grunted with effort as they forced you toward the dark, looming stairwell. "Get her down there already," he growled, his tone sharp and impatient.

You struggled even harder, but your muscles were weakening, the adrenaline starting to fade as fear took over. They shoved you roughly down the narrow staircase, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the damp wall. The dimness of the basement swallowed you whole, the air cold and musty. You could feel the fear wrapping around you, tighter with each step they forced you to take.

The taller man was close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cold, damp basement. You felt his rough hand grab the bottom of your nightgown, his fingers curling into the fabric. Panic surged through you as his cold hand snaked across your belly, the touch sending a shiver of disgust up your spine.

You screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, but his strength overpowered you. The man leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Wouldn't hurt to try her out before the boss gets here..." His voice was thick with lust, and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that turned your stomach.

His hand slid lower, his fingers beginning to snake inside your underwear. You could feel his hard on pressed against your backside. Fear and revulsion took over, and you knew you had to do something—anything—to stop him.

Thinking fast, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, your voice desperate and shaking. "I'm bleeding! I'm on my period!"

The words seemed to stop him in his tracks. His hand paused, the twisted hunger in his eyes faltering for a moment as confusion flickered across his face.

"You’re what?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip loosened just slightly, enough for you to take a sharp breath, your heart still racing.

"I’m on my period," you repeated, your voice trembling. "It’s—it’s bad. You don’t want to do this right now."

For a brief second, his disgusted expression told you that he was weighing his options. The thought of period blood clearly repulsed him, and his hand slowly pulled away from your underwear, his lips curling in frustration.

"You’re lucky," he growled, wiping his hand on his pants, his face twisted with disdain. "But don’t think that saves you."

His hand shot up before you could react, grabbing a fistful of your hair and dragging you across the rough concrete floor toward the makeshift shower installed in the corner of the basement. Your scalp throbbed with each pull, the pain sharpening with every step, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out.

He threw you against the cold, damp wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You barely had time to catch your breath before he twisted the rusty shower handle. Water burst from the nozzle, freezing and unforgiving.

“So filthy,” he sneered, standing over you as the icy water soaked your clothes, plastering them to your skin. “Maybe this will help?"

The cold bit into your bones, and you hugged yourself, trembling, struggling to stay upright as the water pounded down. He stood there a moment longer, watching with twisted satisfaction, before finally turning away, leaving you shivering on the cold, wet floor of the basement.

Sobbing on the cold, unforgiving basement floor, you shiver, your body pressed against the damp concrete, each breath heavy with despair. The chill seeps into your skin, a numbing cold that echoes the hollow ache inside you. Your tears fall, silent and unnoticed, merging with the grime beneath you as exhaustion pulls you deeper into its grip. In the silence, a desperate wish slips through your mind for someone to save you—anyone, even him.

Though Sylus had stolen you away, his presence now haunts you like a ghost. In this unbearable solitude, even the memory of him feels like a twisted solace. You long for his shadow, for those red, gleaming eyes that once pierced through the darkness, and his stark white hair, a glimmer against the void.

At least he gave you warm baths.

The thought slips through your mind, shame twisting in your chest. How could you even think of Sylus now, when poor Xavier was likely out there, rushing to save you, unaware of the torment you’re enduring? Guilt coils around you, tightening with every heartbeat, yet you can’t shake the cruel comfort of that memory. Sylus, for all the wrong he had done, had never left you to freeze, never left you to shiver and break alone.

Your vision blurs as the weight of everything crushes you, and you can almost see him—an apparition of salvation in your mind. His image flickers, vivid and sharp, as your consciousness begins to fray at the edges. The world slips away, piece by piece, and the cold wraps tighter around you.

The cold water finally stops.

In this fading moment, you cling to that impossible hope, that he, with his red eyes and cold hands, might come for you—if only to save you from a fate worse than death.

[bopero]

sunspots

summary - a collection of hamzah’s lack of self control when it comes to you. warnings - swearing, reader is a kpop stan lol note - hai :3 i have been so obsessed with hamzah lately i had to get it out of my system. this is a side blog as im too embarrassed to post on my main fic blog. enjoy and send ideas!

polycule reveal - out of character #100

The podcast starts like any other. Hamzah and Martin sit in the middle of the couch, with Mandy and you on either side of them. It’s the first episode that has you featured in it, and Hamzah is quick to settle any nerves you have with a soft smile and a squeeze of your shoulder. “So, yeah guys. There’s another member in our polycule now, this is Hamzah’s contribution.” Martin points towards you. Hamzah shakes his head, “Alright, bro…”. “Does that mean I get a share of the YouTube channel? Mandy, have they ever given you money?” Mandy clicks her tongue and continues in her deadpan voice, “Um, no. Basically they keep me in their dungeon until they need more views. I’d run away if I were you, honestly.” You pretend to look nervously between Hamzah and Martin, “Honestly I didn’t wanna say it but the basement Hamzah keeps me in is super gross.” “I don’t like this bit. Viewers, please be advised I do not keep my girlfriend in a basement for views. I don’t know about Martin, though.” “Dang it, first episode and they’re already making us look like idiots, Mandy. We need to try harder.”

becoming bts - out of character #104

The episode is you, Hamzah, and Martin. Hamzah is sat obviously much closer to you (which the comments are quick to mention, laughing at the lack of personal space he gives you.) “Yeah, a lot of the Slushies have been asking me if I’m a kpop stan. My ult bias-” Hamzah throws his hands into the air dramatically as he sees you pull a small photocard out of your wallet. A familiar face makes him groan loudly, “Oh, don’t even get me started on this fool! I am sick and tired of seeing him everywhere!” You proudly show off the photocard to the camera despite Hamzah’s childish complaints. Martin leans over to take a look at the photo in your hands, “Bro, what’s the big deal? Is this like challenging your alphaness?” You laugh loudly and Hamzah smiles, betraying the annoyed facade he’s putting on, “No! He just haunts me. She knows when his birthday is and shit and what he ate for breakfast that day, like bro,” he turns to you, pointing at you accusingly, “You don’t ask what I eat for breakfast.” Martin grabs his shoulder, as if to calm him down, “Bro. You know what this means. You have to defend your woman.” Hamzah turns to Martin and before you can question them, they begin singing together and waving their arms in the air, “Shoot dat boy in da head, shoot dat boy in da head!” The episode ends with you deadpanning at the camera as they chant beside you.

don’t play this game at 3 am (not clickbait!!!)

Martin and Hamzah had listened to their viewers, your first feature on the channel being in a Resident Evil gameplay. The comments are filled with ‘i slushed everywhere when i saw yn in the thumbnail’ and ‘hamzah holding onto yn everytime there’s a jumpscare boyy aren’t u supposed to b da man?’ You sit between the two men who both inadvertently curl into you as the creepy aura permeates outside the game as well. Martin dramatically holds onto his head as you shoot bullets into the grossly looking zombies on the screen, “Oh, god they’re gonna eat us out! Quick, grab more ammo!” “Ok, I don’t think they’re gonna do all that-” They both jump as a loud, sharp groan comes from the speaker. Hamzah in particular lets out his signature high-pitched scream. Martin seems to break character and laughs aloud as Hamzah shakes his head in embarrassment, turning away from the camera so it won’t catch the bright blush on his cheeks when you coo at him. “Aww, did you pee yourself?” Martin tries to speak through laughter, “I think you did, dude there’s a wet spot-” Hamzah quickly denies it, “Ok, stop lying to all the slushies, bro, I did not pee myself. I’m sick of this, turn off this trash ass game-” “It’s ok, babe. I’ll protect you, I’m your Leon.” Martin waves a blushing Hamzah over, “Yeah, come on you big baby. It’s not even that scary-wait don’t go in there-“

vacation

Hamzah had convinced you to create your own channel, due to the growing comments begging him to convince you to do so. You hadn’t expected much, but it’d at least be a nice way to share sweet memories between the two of you. The vlog starts with you sat in front of your vanity, as you complete your routine. You talk animatedly about the vacation you’re on with your boyfriend, mentioning the beautiful sights you’ve seen and the delicious food you’ve had so far. You don’t notice but Hamzah walks into the room, quietly sneaking into view when he notices you’re filming. He’s too sweet to scare you on purpose, so he only places the bag of food in front of you and waves towards the camera, “Hiii, it’s me, Hamzah. Remember me?” You push him out of frame, “Ew, get your big head out of here!” The bottom half of his body remains in frame as you look up at him from the seat, “What?! This is how youtubers act behind the camera guys, leave hate comments below, please.” He leans down to be to your level, staring longingly as you get ready. He imagines this is how it feels to watch art being made. You don’t notice his blatant staring, “Tell them how nice it is here.” He’s pulled out of his thoughts with your voice, “Yeah, it’s pretty sweet. Think we’ll bring our kids here cause kids like beaches. Right?” You both seem to forget the camera is even there as you turn to him, “We should take them to Legoland.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh, “Really? That’s the best you got?” You give him a side eye that makes him laugh harder, “Ok, get out, this is my video.” Hamzah only waves at the camera before giving you a gentle kiss on top of your head and leaving. It’s barely in frame, but it’s enough to show the burning warmth he holds for you.

[bitchlessdino]

I voted for Joshua but, in my heart I chose both him and Jeonghan lol. I've been in a JeongShua drought lately

+ love your writing!!! would you mind to write some smutty jihan x reader? please

Pairing: bf!jeonghan x afab!reader x bf!joshua

Genre: humor, smut

word count: 1.5k

tags: established poly relationship, NO INCEST I cannot emphasize this enough, spanking, spitting, an*l play, double pen., sex toy, mouth fucking, throat bulge, degradation (cumslut, some objectification), unprotected sex

Summary: Just as conniving as your boyfriends, you convince both of them to get the same haircut without the other one knowing. The moment they came home, realizing what you've done, they show you the kind of consequences you've earned yourself by being a little trickster.

author note: so siblings or dating is a little thing where people guess whether a pairing in a picture is either siblings or dating and sometimes it what you least expect. So when I saw these pics separately for the first time I had to think long and hand how these two would work together, I immediately wanted this fic to be silly bc they are so so silly 😃 well enjoy!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han

“Babe what the fuck.”

Your camera flashed bright white, getting them both in the same frame. At this point, you were laughing your ass off as both your boyfriends stared at you unamused. “You guys look great. I have great taste.”

After dating for a year, you’ve had your fair share of pranks, leading up to countless photos and videos that haunt you to this day. Dating one of them was exciting enough, dating two of them became utter chaos. When the opportunity rose for you to get them both back at the same time, you took it.

You let out their collective sighs as you jumped around them with taunting laughter like a child on a sugar high. Their faces didn’t even look the least bit alike but when they got identical haircuts, the more similarities you were starting to see. Joshua was the first to speak up his bemusement while Jeonghan looked almost impressed, holding back a bit of his own laughter.

“It’s not that funny,” Joshua said, deadpanned. 

“No, it’s really that funny,” You insisted.

He trodded off toward your laughing figure before throwing you over his shoulder. His hand came over your ass in harsh spanks, but it did not falter the boisterous notice you were making. “Stop”–spank–“laughing,”–spank.

“Josh,” you responded between giggles, “You and Hannie look so fucking alike right now!”

“Okay. I’m taking you to bed. I know how to shut you up.” 

He brought you to your shared room before throwing you on the bed, Jeonghan following after in his chuckles, while a big and bright smile is still on your face. You felt none of the threat oozing from Joshua’s eyes but Jeonghan knew exactly what was coming and although he wasn’t as bothered by your practical joke like Joshua was, he was looking forward to giving you your just desserts.

“Say it.”

“Josh,” you moaned.

Joshua held your head down on the mattress, cheek pushed into the sheets, as his thick, long fingers plunged in and out of you. “Not that. You know what I want to hear. Jeonghan, remind them.” 

Jeonghan’s raw cock stood mere inches from your face, a sinister smile on his face. He pressed the curve of the head to your lips before he slapped it against them. “You’re gonna play dumb for us, baby? Or are you really just that dumb?”

“Hannie…” you sighed into the sheets, breath hitching as you felt a knuckle curve into your warmth, “Give it to me please…”

His pristine bangs swept over his forehead, reaching his eyes. His gentle voice prodded into you just as much as his cock teased to be inside you. “Then say it. You’re not our little cockslut for anything, so say what we want to hear.”

You mewled in yearning for Jeonghan, gripping the sheets desperately. “I’m…sorry…”

“For?”

Your answer got caught in your throat, muffled moans only escaped as Joshua pushed in a third finger, twisting them inside you as strikes of his free hand handed on your ass already bruised with his clutches. Your arousal slides down his forearms, his thumb pressed against the rim of your puckered entrance and with that, you whine. Your shallow breaths took a slow release, looking back in the eyes of the boyfriend whose cock couldn’t look more edible and perfect to fuck the inside of your throat.

“I’m sorry…for t-tricking you…”

“Good,” Joshua replied, “before I forgive you, I need you to say something else for me.”

“Y-yes…”

He exchanged knowing with his boyfriend, eyes flickering with fire that had the power to burn every inch of your skin, once having let you suffer in the throes of being blue-balled. Edging was the bane of your existence, but their way of life.

“Say how much you need our cocks in you.”

“…I,” You swallowed, “desperately need your cocks me…”

“Are you going to be a good little slut for us?” Jeonghan joined.

“Yes…I’ll be your good slut…”

“Because that’s what you want, right?” Joshua added, “You’re made to be a couple of holes we can fuck in, right?”

“Yes…I’m just a couple of holes to be filled up by your cocks…”

“Who’s cumslut are you?”

“Y-yours, Josh…And y-yours, Hannie.”

“See, it does matter the jokes you pull on us, you’ll never beat us, we own you. You belong to us. You’re our perfect little slut for us to use up. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes…” your voice gave out, your climax coming and going, the clench of your warmth sucking in Joshua’s fingers, “I’m yours to fuck and nobody else’s.”

In that second, Jeonghan rewarded you and his girth stretched the circumference of your mouth. Your eyes, blown open from the adjustment, stared back at Jeonghan, a whimpering mess all over his cock. He let out a groan, and a hand of his ran down your hair. “What a perfect little mouth…”

Meanwhile, Joshua is sucking off the bit of you left on his fingers and his cock aligned at your arousal before he made himself known. You pounded your fist at your side, while the other fisted Jeonghan’s length so you can reach the base. Your tears ran away from your eyes in protest, burning down your cheek as you felt him enter your throat, a bulge taking shape at the column of your neck.

“Fuck, you look so good…” Jeonghan groaned.

He held his hand over the bulge, moving gently down and up to feel it form and disappear. Besides being utterly entertaining, the sensation it shot through him was I compared to anything else. Your throat was like a perfect home, taking every inch of him, molded perfectly to his shape. 

God, did it hurt, but something about him filling you, holding himself inside you, as moisture leaked from your face in a scorching heart was heart-pounding, frightful, but all the more thrilling. Jeonghan pulled out for a moment, letting you take him at your pace—a wet, flustered, sob-stained mess that gasped for beyond oxygen—before abandoning mercy and fucked you to the depth of your throat.

Joshua, on the other hand, split your divide wide for the taking, and his cock doesn’t wait a moment to adjust, just fucking your insides until he could feel you swell around his girth. He threw his head back, your ass jiggling against every thrust like dessert, flawless collapsing around his hips. 

In the midst of this, he has your toy, wrapping it around his lips to moisten it for comfort, and his saliva lubed its silicone exterior. ��All your holes. Remember that.”

He spat at your puckered lip, a shiver ran up your spine, and he lathered it soft, prepping you for entry. As insurance, a translucent ribbon stretched from him and your toy before it finds plugged inside you, Joshua now in control of both your lower ends.

You shook beneath him, mouth full of cock, holes fucked full to the point you could be classified as your common electrical outlet, and you felt dirty. Safe to say it was in the best way.

Jeonghan, who has held himself back the entire time inside you, finally released his proof of sin, pouring it down your throat like a hot, strong faucet, making your body jump in response. In turn, you feel your arousal follow soon after, the buckling of your hips not bothering Joshua in the slightest, and you begin to gently come down from one high to move on to another. 

Joshua, held you by your ass cheek, hand ensuring the toy inside you takes full advantage while tugged against your hole’s resistance, pushing in and out of you between your plush whines. “That’s right, cum…cum around my cock again…good sluts can handle more…” 

Joshua pushed you against the mattress deep until there was nothing but your body and him, your thighs pulsated around him. Your screams were loud and satisfying as you spoke only in his name. His cock shot loads inside you, final thrusts taking their final strikes until he was empty. He pulled, his hot, molten cum oozing right out of you. His knees took a fall, folding his thighs flat against his shins and he’s catching his breath.

Jeonghan pulled out as well, laying himself out on your cheek, twitching on your face in utter fatigue. “Good fucking job, baby.”

“Damn good fucking job,” Joshua repeated before pressing a kiss to your side.

Clean-up wasn’t an option at this point with all the energy drained from all your bodies and at the moment it was fine, it was time to rest. Jeonghan, who usually can’t stand to be without his phone for a few minutes, retrieves it from the bedside table, seeing the screen plastered with notifications. “Y/n, what the fuck? You sent our picture to ‘Siblings or Dating’ on Instagram?”

You slightly chuckled, momentarily forgetting about that. “Oops. That I did.”

“Well, it looks like you have more to learn don’t you,” Joshua said, now fueled by sheer spite, “Good thing your ass is open and ready for us.”

[namelessdumbass]

Rite Here Rite Now

It was amazing and funny. Copia girlies and boys fucking won!

I expected different outcome, tbh. Tobias managed to surprise me and also made me a tiny bit sad (reasons will be explained in the spoilers below).

The film consists of like 95% of concert footage and 5% of off stage/plot stuff. The quality of sound and editing is just 🤌 I expected the live of Twenties to be good and gosh Ghost delivered. And Mummy Dust...Tobias let Mary Goore out! But i honestly prefer Terzo's version (CaD) better. Sorry not sorry haha. Ghouls/Ghoulettes footage. Everyone who loves them will be very veeeery well fed!

Dance Macabre live...i was'nt wrong when i called it a satanic gay party 😁

The movie is worth watching and i do hope Ghost releases it as soon as possible for all those who were not able to go.

The spoiler free review ends here. Don't read further if you don't want to spoil it for yourself. And please, don't copy them and paste it everywhere for the sake of ruining other people's fun! Seriously, don't fucking do that!

If you accidently clicked here, don't worry! spoilers will be below and you still have a chance to avoid them :)

Alriiiiight:

Movie starts with Saltarian who tells fans to record for the first 2 minutes, to show how happy they are etc and posted a qr code for fans to upload those recordings. I guess it will be put up on RHRN website. We'll see. There were also photos of fans who attended LA ritual. I fucking loved the person who showed up in a giant Plushia suit. I LOLed! Then fans were asked to put down the phones and enjoy the movie. The beginning was narrated Star Wars kinda style (a little bit) with the small recap of the chapters and about Copia's worries that he might die. And yes, it literally began in space lol. The movie is basically is like what we saw in small snippets Ghost posted earlier. Plot mixed with a really good show.

And the plot: -Short footage of Copia and Ghouls arriving. ALmost the whole set was the same as any other concert from Re-Imperatour + a few awesome exceptions. -Dews does that annoying thing with guitar, Rain stops him, takes his pick and throws it into the crowd and Dew...he freaking showed him YouSuck sticker on the backside of his guitar. Peak Dew moment! -Copia asked the right question about the Clery. He also does not quite understand what it does, why and where it goes. I suppose Tobias decided to thicken the Ghost lore a bit and will have more clarity in the nearest future. -Remember when Copia jumped at the end of the Watcher in the Sky? He ended up in one of those stage boxes (for equipment or something) and is taken to the stage B. While he's carried to it by Kevin he has a chat with Nihil's ghost. Nihil says he recorded not 2, but 3 songs. That probably means that we'll hear a new one. (UPD: the new song we heard during the credits, "The Future is a Foreign Land" is Nihil's 3rd song! Confirmed by Tobias himself in a new interview). He also tells Copia to breath in deep and then farts. -On the Stage B Copia sings "If You Have Ghosts". 3 Ghoulettes played piano and violins and the 4th one did the haunting ghost-like opera vocals. It was beatiful. Copia kissed her hand. -He then wore boxing robe and went next to crowd. Almost the whole scene was shown in the trailer. -Btw, remember that silly moment when Nihil's eyes were crossing? Well, Kevin was also included in that staring contest. -Twenties live. The skeletons, the performance and one of those skeletons who crawled between Dew's legs...that's hot. -Nihil calls Copia "son". Copia calls Nihil "Dad". Cardi will insult him later, don't worry. -Nihil/Seestor cartoon during MOAC. Yes, that's when Sis hit him with the car. Basically it's what happens after "Kiss the Go Goat" mv. Sister leaves and Nihil runs after her. "I'll never let you go". They end up kissing in a coffin on a graveyard , later Nihil wakes up naked in a bed in a motel and we see Sister leave. -There was a moment in a movie when we see Ashley (stage crew) bring Copia a new pair of shoes and put the on on his feet. Tobias, goddammit what the hell was that? :D -Seestor was a in wheelchair all the time -She and Nihil encouraged Copia throughout the whole movie and gave him a piece of advice. -About the baloon from the poster. Copia flies on it after finishing the set...or he imagined that because a few moments later after Nihil/Seestor flashbacks he ends up on the floor and watches Seestor die. All of the Ghouls and Ghoulettes also stood right next to her. -Copia has a twin brother -Copia didn't die and became the head the Clergy (Father Imperator or something like this). He found out about his new position from a letter Seestor left for him. -New song during credits (credits show dictators, assassinations, wars and the use of nuclear war). Years 1984 and 2024 mentioned. The song is not heavy. -Ghouls/Ghoulettes real names mentioned in the credits -Funny post credit scene with Copia. He had no piant on and had a new cool drip (with black jacket and red and black cross). Seestor is also a Ghost now. Tobia's children cameo. They're also Ghosts. -Papa V is teased the same way Copia was teased in a chapter 1. They even used the same music (Pro Memoria). No face reveal. Either he will be revealed in new Chapters or at some point during the new tour???

-aaaand my biggest disappointment: no footage of Primo, Secondo and Terzo. Literally ZERO.

I mean, Nihil is a Ghost, Seestor also became a Ghost, even Tobias' children made a cameo as Ghosts, but nothing for previous Papas? Really?! The same could have been done for them, but i guess Tobias doesn't care about them anymore :( And it hurts. I know that's my fault that i had so many expectations and hopes, but holy shit :( As a newbie who never saw previous Papas, i'm so sad i'll never get a chance to see them and there won't be any new footage of them. Being Terzo widow is so hard. Guess that's why i'm a bit salty Copia lives (sorry, guys, i like him, but i also hate him haha)

And yes, as it turned out the twins theory from Square Hammer was true...but not for Terzo 😭

I enjoyed the movie nevertheless. It's fun and kinda gives you an opportunity to see the band "live" if you've never been to a ritual before. And yes, the movies was'nt just about Papa IV and his fate, i believe it was also Tobias' message for us to enjoy the life rite here rite now! As i said, Copia's girlies and boys truly fucking won. Congrats, lads, your Papa lives and will live! I bet that feels amazing. Thanks for reading! P.S. since you know the plot, don't spoil it for the others please.

[withleeknow]

letters i didn't send to you.

pairing: ot8 x reader (ot8 in the sense that there's no name mentioned so you can imagine whoever you want. imagine the whole kpop industry if you want lol) genre/warnings: established relationship, long distance relationship au?, angst, fluff if you squint. unedited bc i am insane word count: 0.7k note: trying something new here! dunno how people are gonna like it but i don't feel terrible about it 🤷‍♀️ a product of my emo hours and i needed an outlet and i thought oh hey why not just project this into a fic lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

3:29am, i've been dreaming about you for years. stars and moons and cotton candy clouds on fire at sundown. the whole universe resides in your eyes, it's almost unfair. sleepless nights because you're not here; restless days because i can't wait for you to be back. the clock stops ticking when you're not with me. the magnetic pull gets stronger during the witching hour somehow. i've always been drawn to you, even before i knew who you were. you're the only home i'd leave all my haunts for. it's summer solstice in most parts of the world but not in our bedroom, not when the only way i can have you is through a phone screen on your pillow. your voice is trying to lull me to sleep. it doesn't come close to replicating one tenth of your warmth. to love is to endure.

-

i'm halfway through the day, and you must be dreaming of where you belong, by my side on a bed that's far too big when i'm the only occupant. or at least, i hope you're dreaming of me too. 1:19pm, i'm six hours ahead but days and weeks and months and years behind, still stuck in that airport where you left me for the first time. some days, my eyes get misty at lunch when i think about your alarm going off and your irritated groan as you roll over to make your phone stop screaming. other days, i don't have an appetite at all, not with you on my mind and the reminder that there's still oceans between us. when are you coming home? i know when you're coming home, and yet i ask anyway, as if it'll shorten the distance and make the time pass more quickly. to love is to wait.

-

saturday morning, but i can't stay in bed past 7:12am. missing you a lot tonight, was what you had sent while i was asleep. that's a little cruel for a good morning text, don't you think? it's not your fault. i blame it on the oceans, on the time, on the distance. the coffee is still brewing, just enough for one steaming mug but it would've been nice if i got to make two. can we go back to new york? we always say we would, but can we do it now? i'll meet you halfway if you let me. there's nothing that ties me to this place. you're always on the move. my home is always on the move. we were happy on that trip, right? my fondest memories of you. skylines and the high line. to love is to risk it all, and i would risk it all for you. take me home, will you? let's go back to new york.

-

the clock reads 8:18am, but the date is all wrong. you should be landing any minute now, but not for another two days. two more days until you're home, ten days that i get to be in your arms. and yet, all i can think about is your departure, about coming back to an empty apartment after you're gone again. i think about you leaving before you even return. the drive back after i've sent you off, it never hurts less no matter how many times we go through it. i can already picture the scene, it's almost routine at this point. your sparkling eyes when they find me in the crowded airport, your relieved sigh when i run to you, your hands clutching me so tightly like you don't want to let go either. it's always this damn airport. we should stop meeting like this. when the buzzing of my phone snaps me out of it, i know who's on the other end of the notification. a photo of your new polaroid camera, then a promise to make more memories to keep with us when you come back to me.

to love is to willingly weather this with you a million times and more. even if it hurts. maybe especially if it hurts. you're the reason i keep going. you're the reason why the sun rises in the morning. let's talk about new york when you're here.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 02.07.2024]

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 10 | stanley pines x f!reader 

Summary: pictures paint a thousand words, and it’s time you take some of your own

warnings (TW): swearing, discussions of death, grief, familial-loss 

tags: mutual-pining, character background, familial bonds

notes: HELLO ALL! I am doing much better and settled into my new apartment :) ive had a rather hectic couple of weeks and it may take me a couple more to really transition into my new space and job so there may be some breaths between updates for now!! Does this chapter reflect some of my own experiences? Of course, it does. Was I always gonna write this chapter? YES- this chapter is a reflective/background for our beautiful reader/doc’! The formulative next chapter is BIG BIG BIG (unless i think something is missing in which it will be thrown into said plot between this ch and the next “formed” one) but okay! I missed u all! Apologies for the lack of actual… well STAN in this ch lol

word count: 4.5k 

| masterlist | 

Her childhood home’s walls’ were scattered with differing picture frames. If you were to ask her what she remembers most distinctly about her abandoned corn-field house she would recount the countless pictures her grandmother collected and stretched across every inch of the hallways between closed doorways. She’d recount most distinct the presence of her mother, only ever in picture form, and the bearing weight of her grandmother's ire. 

Not to say the older woman hated her. No, she constantly breathed everlasting love at her. But when she tilted her head in certain lights her grandmother would remember that she was not actually her daughter. She had existed in the shadow of a dead woman for a long time, in that home. Her grandmother didn't have a waning memory though, only a waning heart. Forget herself in between her blame and love for the young child she was to take care of. 

As she grew with age she began to sympathize with her grandmother more and more. To lose a daughter so young, to have to raise the thing that tore her apart. It made her grandmother sick at times, and she didn’t have the heart to fault the woman for open palms and harsh words.

Her grandfather was quite a pillar in her memories though, a lasting good memory of the house and her childhood. He’d come home with dirty hands from fields and fold her into his arms every day, anyway. Some of her favorite memories are shucking corn on the porch with him, the sun cresting over the skyline, and crickets chirping between. She’d talk, and he’d listen. He was a quiet man, a content one, but he also carried a certain grief in his eyes when he’d look at her at times. Something she blamed herself for entirely. 

Reasonably she could compartmentalize that the death of her mother was not her fault, even without a therapist. Her mother was young when she fell pregnant with her, still in high school, had just gotten her driver's license. She knew, could reason, that she held no fault in this. In the entire situation. Besides her looks, she blamed herself plenty for that, she blamed herself for not doing more to distance herself from those picture frames. 

It’s why her grandmother forgot at times, why her grandfather looked most grieved when the sun set just right over the dinner table. She looked remarkably like her mother, a perfect picture replica in just the right shadows, just the right cadences. 

It’s why her grandmother didn’t take down the pictures, truly. Pictures of her mother in her prom dress, of her first and last Christmas under the tree. Of her mother in the backseat of her grandfather's old Buick, of her mother in the golden-crested corn fields just outside their back door. Because there was no point in forgetting because she haunted them every day. Her face was proof enough of that. 

She didn’t have any pictures of her own, any hung up anyways. She had the official ones done, of course, the yearbook photos and the prom pictures her friends’ mother took for them. But that’s where it stopped and ended. It was her own secret grief, but wasn’t comparable to the glint in her grandparents' eyes. So it stayed that, a secret. 

She dreamed of a simpler life at times. That she was her mother. That the pictures were her own, that her (grand)mother kissed her goodnight, and that her (grand)father didn’t hesitate when he hugged her. Dreamt of a life with her very own lover, dreamt of a life filled with children and apple pie and Christmases at her (grand)parents' house. She dreamed about that fantastical American dream, of wrap-around porches and pastures full of fireflies. But this too stayed a secret, until her junior year of high school. 

School came easy to her, and it usually served as a much-needed reprieve from her mirrored hallways. Come five years old she most looked forward to early mornings and car rides with her grandfather. Her caregivers were always drowsy in the morning and forgot themselves in the darkness of early September. Her grandmother would kiss her goodbye, and fold a packed sack lunch into her small hands. Her grandfather would lean in closer, and read blurry newspaper headlines off to her, like she cared to be known and be seen. Soon though, these mornings disappeared, with age. 

From the ages of fourteen to almost eighteen years old she did everything and anything to impress them, to distress them, and to upset them. She wanted them to capture her achievements in scrapbooks, and laugh over misadventures she would get into, much like they did with her mother's memory. She figured that’s how one lived, in shadows and stories. 

She joined every school club, then quickly quit them. She excelled in writing and sciences alike, and then quickly failed them. She earned enough money to buy her first beat-up car, then quickly veered it into the nearest ditch. She snuck off, broke locks on doors and off windows, ran through fields, and came home late with mayhem in her wake. Prayed that the back porch light would be on, that her grandfather would be back there, on the porch, smoking his cigars. That he’d have that awful look on his brow, that he’d look at her different, speak to her like she wasn’t a shadow, carry a cadence in remembering her name in his anger. She hated when he didn’t remember her the most, even if the memory wasn’t a good one. 

For the longest time, her grandfather was her favorite person, even if he stumbled over his words, and misspoke her name at times. It almost didn’t matter as much to her, because he had a predisposition to always apologize, unlike her grandmother. 

She could always count on him being on the back porch, during the fall and summer and spring months. He had a favorite wooden chair, no cushion in site. Most would have called him a rather stiff man. Stiff in his gait, stiff in his politics, and he usually had a stiff drink on him. But he was a warmth that she didn’t wish to forget, she was his only granddaughter, the last line of his family. 

Her grandfather, while quiet, was an amazing listener, and had a plethora of solid advice to usually dish out most nights. But he was only open for certain hours and seasons, only ever when he was outside and only ever when the sun hung low in the sky. 

Most of her actual problems she never had the guts to voice to the stoic man, she mostly spoke of school, of subjects and passing friends and any gossip she could get her hands on. Her grandfather was a nosey man, funnily enough, and enjoyed listening to whatever she could sparse from the school halls that day.                                                                                 

Their topic that night, though, had her grandfather sitting in a longer silence than she was comfortable with, a stiff drink balanced in his left hand. Her grandmother had scolded her during dinner, for not having looked into colleges to attend as of yet. She was in her eleventh year and hadn’t even considered truly attending. She knew a handful of other female students who didn’t even plan to go, she figured she fell into that category also. Figured she’d wind up much like her grandmother was now, doing the dishes while her husband lounged. Something her grandmother claimed she didn’t mind but something she was still having a hard time wrapping her head around. 

Truly she did not know what she wanted to do after graduation. It still felt like she had so much time, but in all honestly that illusion was fading. She knew something for sure though, that she didn’t have a desire to go to college. She wouldn’t even know what for, and she wanted to be close to home. Closer to the shadow she lived in and in suffocating hallways. She didn’t know anything else. 

Perhaps that’s what her grandmother meant, that she didn’t mind, because she had no mind in it at all. She didn’t know anything else, anything other than this house and her husband and the child that had torn her own apart. It wasn’t a comfort it just was. 

She liked routine, despised change, and preferred her adventures in corn and soybean fields. Preferred late nights with friends with windows rolled all the way down in convertible cars, and preferred stiff drinks with her grandfather on the shaded porch. So she would stay. She said as such at the dinner table too, something her grandmother didn’t take too kindly to. Having her (grand)daughter speak back to her. 

She didn’t break the quiet tension between them that night on the porch. She’d love to forget what happened over the dinner table entirely. The heat in her grandmother's eyes, the ire behind her twisted words. That she would leave, would seek better for herself out there in the world. Educate herself and move on from this home, from suffocating walls, and from them. That's what she figured her grandmother really meant, that in some twisted way, she wished to be rid of her. Hated living with a mirror of her daughter around every corner. The old woman could take down sun-stained pictures and be rid of the image of her forever, rest peacefully knowing she’s finally pushed her so far away. Fold what was left of her mother into boxes and ship it all away for once. 

It made her bitter, at the time. She resented the older woman on and off for years. When she was younger she didn’t understand it all, couldn’t quantify her grandmother's grief, tucked herself into corners, and disappeared into nooks of fields and sheds to distance herself from heated looks. At seventeen it had transformed into an equal distaste. Nothing she did seemed to shape up to the image her caregiver had of her, and she grew tired of attempting to evoke even the slightest of positive emotions from the woman now. The only time she was ever at ease is when she forgets who she even truly is. How was she to pretend to be someone she didn’t even know? She couldn’t even compartmentalize the depth of her own self. She was still a little girl in her mind, still six and begging her grandmother to hang their family portrait that she had drawn on the fridge. She didn’t have it in her to beg anymore and didn’t have it in her to even define who she was. 

Looking back at it all, she realized she was never supposed to know. People change all the time, she had changed. It all just depended on who you surrounded yourself with. In that home, in those fields, and on those gravel roads she had no one. No one but a fading grandmother and a tired grandfather, and perhaps it wasn’t even fair to continuously implore that she stay. She wouldn’t be who she is now, wouldn’t recognize herself even now if she hadn’t left. And if her grandfather hadn’t convinced her of such. 

Her grandfather broke that tension between them that night. She remembers distinctly his words that he spoke between them that night. 

“You can live here sure, but could you die here?” He spoke abruptly, nursing his cup along the wooden edge of his chair. 

She scoffed, shaking her head, fixing her eyes to the fields beyond. “Now that’s just dramatic as hell.” 

“I’m being serious.” He sips his drink, humming along the rim of his cup. “You can see yourself living here because you do now, but can you see yourself dying here? Would you be happy to die here?” 

“What are you even talking about? Happy? To die?” She shifts her eyes back to him, his own eyes glassy. 

“Your mother never made it out of here. Never so much as had a life beyond this plot of land. I dreamed of her being free of it one day.” He sighs like it choked his throat and was too heavy on his chest to admit. They didn’t speak of her often, at least not when he was as sober as he was now. “ Happy, out there somewhere.” 

“Was mama not happy, grandpa?” She implores, figuring he may be being the most honest he’s ever been in this moment

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Your mother was the brightest thing in the room. But people grow up, get older, and sometimes those bright things die. I wanted her to get out, explore new bright things, things to push off the dying parts of you.” 

“So you think I should go?” 

“I think one day, when they put people to rest, that the dirt matters. I think you should find new dirt, kiddo.” 

She shakes her head, burying it in her palms. She can feel the pent-up tears, feel the shake of her shoulders before it makes its way from her stomach to her lungs. “I’m scared though, pa’.” 

“Good.” He hums, a comfort to his deep voice. “Humans are scared of things they don’t yet know. Soon, new dirt won’t be so scary.” 

She leaves that discussion on the back porch, and her grandfather does not discuss it again in her presence. He really only needed one conversation to sway her, make her consider. She kept it to herself though, felt too private to consider out loud across dinner tables and porches. She was afraid to admit that it… scared her. The thought of leaving the only thing she’d ever known, leave behind the firefly fields and the four corners of her bedroom. Perhaps she’d even miss the four corners of the picture frames, and the call of her name from the room over. 

Her grandfather's health waned that last year of high school. He soon forgot where simple things were. Forgot where the utensils drawer was in the kitchen, and wondered where the lamp in the corner of the living room was when he turned his back. She learned that memories fade in waves and that there are acts and paragraphs and distances between forgetfulness. That when he’d turn and forget to take his shoes off when he got home from the fields it would evolve into him forgetting where their gravel driveway was. That’d he’d forget numbers and words to describe things. That he’d forget soon, how to spell his name, and how to properly hold a pen. That soon he’d forget how to climb the stairs, and then forget how to put one foot in front of the other. 

Forgetting who people were always seemed to come last because categorically it was the most painful to forget. She suffered through being called by her mother’s name for months, she never had the strength to correct her wilting grandfather. But watching the man forget his own daughter was different, and she grieved differently for her and her own mother that last month of his life. 

After he forgot for good and faded from this plane into the next, it upset her, even more, to watch her grandmother do much of nothing about it. She waited in anticipation, for the rage and denial that came with death. She recounted the stages of them in her head for weeks, but never witnessed her grandmother falter in all that time. It angered her beyond anything she knew up until then. It exploded in her face one day when she came home to her grandmother folding away picture frames into boxes in the living room. 

It took her only a moment to find it was exclusively her grandfather’s pictures she’d plucked bare from the walls. Holes were left empty along the living room, nails protruding from the blank white walls behind the many portraits. How could she fold him away into boxes, remove him from walls and from corners of the house, like he wasn’t still here, in every room they passed through? 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Her grandmother turned, her usual quirk in her brow and downturned look in her eyes. “Language, girl.” 

“No.” She stomped forward, ripping the frame from her caregiver's grasp. “Why the fuck are you putting him away.” 

“Enough.” She scoffed. “I’m not putting him away.” She waves her hands around the living room, to his recliner chair and the lamp he would turn on each night to read his newspaper. Points to his books of sudoku on the coffee table and his empty T.V. dinner tray he’d set his late-night hot coco on. “He’s still here. He’s right here.” 

“No.” She pushed back and away from her grandmother. “Why would you put his portraits away? Why would you take them down?” 

Her grandmother shakes her head, hands on her hips, a weird look of defeat on her face for once. “I won’t be interrogated about my interior design skills.” She moves around her, back through the open doorway into the kitchen light. 

She runs after her, picture gripped in her left hand, her right continuously running over her chest, self-soothing. “No!” 

“Yes!” Came her grandmother's reply from her position bent over the kitchen sink, going back to washing sudsy dishes that she left to soak. 

“Why?” She begged, stepping closer to her grandmother's back. “Why the pictures? Why the fucking pictures, ma’?” 

Her grandmother doesn’t wilt, twisting her head to look back at the girl she had raised, the girl she had raised twice now. “What?” 

“You know what I’m talking about ma’ don’t play dumb!” She never would have ever called her matriarch that in her right mind, but the disrespect felt inconsequential in the visage of her anger. “Why the pictures?” She held up the portrait in her left hand, facing it towards her grandmother. 

Only then did she melt in front of her, suddenly looking younger than she’d ever remembered her grandmother. Eyes teary and hands soaked from the kitchen sink she reached for the frame, holding it in weathered hands, tracing the portrait with slight fingers. 

It struck her, that she could not drum up a memory of her grandmother ever crying in front of her. Her caregiver had always been headstrong, stubborn at her worst, and mellow yet firm at her best. But never a wavered figure. She remembers now, the woman’s age. 

It has her moving forward, has her reaching for her grandmother's shoulders for the first time in forever, shuffling the smaller woman to the dinner table. Pulling the chair out and allowing her grandmother to compose herself while sitting at the unset table. 

It’s her grandmother that breaks that hanging tension, breathing out around her tears and stuffed nose. Chuckling at the image now held in her hands. 

“It rained right after this picture.” She couldn’t stop laughing now, bent over, and holding the image between them. “He took me out for a picnic, set up the stand for the photograph and everything. Then boom, ten minutes later we were caught in a thunderstorm! We were a good mile away from his car.” 

It was unlike her meticulous grandfather to not have checked the weather. Something she questioned out loud to her grandmother. 

She sighed, a tilt of her head that still spoke of her love for the man that haunted them both now. “He was so nervous that day, he forgot to check. He was going to propose that day, he told me later. Had it all planned out, but then forgot to check the weather.” The first thing he’d ever truly forgotten.

They both laughed, staring back at the framed photo of her grandfather and grandmother sprawled out on a checkered picnic blanket. 

She looked back at her grandmother, finding the older woman was already staring back at her. Her frail hand reached out, tucking frazzled hair behind her ear. Moving her hand back over her cheek to her chin, tilted her head up to face the older woman's head on. 

“I’m sorry.” A break in her grandmother's voice. “I kept them up because I thought it best. I thought you would want to know her.” To know her mother. “But it was selfish of me. To keep her up on all these walls.” Her thumb was firm on her chin now, tears leaking down her own face now, too. “I didn’t make any room, for you here.” 

“I’m not her, ma’.” 

She sighs a smile on her face suddenly. “You aren’t my daughter.” Moved her hand back, to cup her cheek again, palm warm against her. “But you are not nothing to me.” 

“I know, ma’.” Her grandmother moved, wiping tears from her cheeks. 

“But you need your own space now.” 

She nods, understanding what her grandmother finally meant. She needed her own walls and space and dirt. She needed to leave, and find her own four corners and hang her own pictures, and she knew her grandmother would help her get there too. 

“Do you want it?” 

“Huh?” She startles, turning her gaze to Stanley beside her. The camera in front of her was brand new, and a stupid turquoise blue. Turquoise like her mother's bike, in that one picture, hung along the wall right before her grandparents' room. Turquoise still, that bike was, rusty around the chains, when she found it stuffed in the back of one of the many sheds on her grandparents' farm one summer when she was but thirteen. Turquoise, which she loved to hate but secretly adored. Perhaps it was her favorite color, her mother's, that is. 

He’s waiting beside her, his arms full of odds and ends he found in the thrift store. Things he would tear apart and resew into new things- weird attractions to entice customers into their homes to pay the bills. 

She laughs, struck by his ridiculous tactic of not grabbing a shopping basket in favor of stuffing his broad arms full of odds and ends. Easier to steal, he claimed, when you don’t have a shopping basket. 

“Nah.” She lies. “Color just reminded me of something.” 

He shrugs, goofily dropping something from his arms. He bends over to pick it up, narrating out loud to get a smile back on her face. Anything but that deep contemplative look on her face and that scrunch in her brow. 

“I’m bending over now. Definitely didn’t just spot something on the bottom shelf that I want… definitely didn’t just get that also.” He stands again, shuffling things around in his arms. “That thing may or may not still be on the bottom shelf.” 

She laughs, taking some things from his arms and heading up. “Come on, you don’t need much else here. Let's get some dinner already.” Already thinking of the order she’d get at Greasy’s. 

They check out without a hitch, mainly because the teen at the register barely looks up from their magazine to take their money. Stan jokes about the potential to have just left the shop with their arms full without having paid a dime.

“They didn’t even look up! We could have just booked it, hun!” 

“No, we couldn’t have!” She laughs. “Plus I don’t wanna get some poor kid fired, Stan.” 

He huffs, pulling her door open, then putting their bags in the back seat of the car. He doesn’t make another comment until he gets to his own side, sighing slightly in the front seat while pulling something out of his inner coat pocket. 

“Now-” 

“Stan don’t tell me you took that dumb salt shaker from the bottom shelf for real.” 

“No, hun.” He laughs, handing over a flash of turquoise. “Just this.” 

She smiles unconsciously, holding the ugly camera in both her hands. Bringing it up to her eye to see out the camera, checking the back of it for the film. She can’t help but tear up, about something as stupid as the potential to finally take her own pictures. Something she forgot about even wanting between everything else. Next, she’d have to get out of the car and roll around this new dirt she found herself on. 

His doc’ was a terrible liar. He knew she wanted that camera as soon as she stopped in front of it. She kept passing it in the store, kept wandering back in front of it, but never reached out for it. Just… stared. He didn’t wanna figure on the significance of her fascination (unless she supplied it readily), only wanted to figure how she’d brighten up the room if she had it. So he took it. 

It was the best thing he’d ever stolen her. Between her snatched spoons and stolen diner crayons, this felt more significant. More purposeful, more solid between them. He knew she wanted it, so he got it for her. It felt significant, and it made her heart ache for the young girl surrounded by all those pictures that acted as twisted mirrors. He didn’t even know, what it meant to her. 

“Thank you, Stanley.” She smiles at him, all bright like he predicted. The edge of a tear along her eye, so he reaches and folds her into his broad shoulder. He grazes his lips along her hairline, humming close to her ear like he knows she enjoyed. Perhaps it was like that thing she did, soothing her hand over her heart and chest. Maybe the warmth of him and the vibration reminded her of four corners and hallways and home. At least he hoped, stupidly. 

He brings her back out, reaching over her and buckling her in as she smiles stupidly at him and then back at the camera back in her lap. 

“To dinner!” He exclaims, turning the cars’ keys to begin their journey to Greasy’s for their yearly anniversary dinner. 

She’d have to get some picture frames, for them.

[yawujin]

various sdr2 cast x reader | halloween edition 🎃

type | halloween , they/you pronouns used , reader insert , light hearted , fun , comfort (kinda)

summary 👻 𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ reader's friends take them to a haunted house on halloween, and they're feeling a little bit too afraid to go in...ㅤㅤ

fuyuhiko kuzuryu ♡

"come on don't be a wimp!" he jokes

he retracts his words when you tell him you're actually scared

so he takes it upon himself to go on ahead, holding his hand out behind him so you can take it

he tries to stay calm and collected while the two of you walk through the attraction

it's all good until, at the very end, a scare actor pops out from behind you two and fuyuhiko screams and cusses at the top of his lungs

you and fuyuhiko exit the haunted house and he insists he was definitely not scared. not at all.

kazuichi souda ♡

"you're scared , i'm scared , let's be scared together!" he has a rather positive attitude before going in, but that changes almost immediately

the animatronics scare him, the fake cobwebs disorient him, the scare actors almost gave him a heart attack

his constant clinging onto you caused you to feel less scared

he holds onto your arm and you pat his hand all the way through the haunted house

and by the end, you feel happy you went with him because it made it wayyy easier to navigate through the dark and narrow hallway

teruteru hanamura ♡

"if you can get through this whole thing without screaming , i'll give you a reward" now you do want to scream (jk sorry teruteru lovers)

he walks with them side by side, jumping everytime a scare actor appears in front of them

teruteru doesn't really mind the animatronics so much, but he knows the loud noises can scare them so he leads them through it a little faster

everytime you look especially scared, he'll ask a random question like: "do ghostface masks turn you on?" (trust me it can help to take your mind off of being scared 😭✋🏽)

the closer the exit gets, the faster he hurries to get out lol

ibuki mioda ♡

"nawww don't be afraid! ibuki's here to be your guide" she holds their hand extra tight before quickly heading into the haunted house, dragging them behind her

she screams really loud but has fun with it. "that wasn't soo bad!" she says after letting out the most bloodcurdling scream you have ever heard

she does this thing where she screams but then it turns into singing

she sings because she's anxious too, but it's really funny to them so they go along with it

she's really content after the two of you exit the haunted house because of all that stress relief (aka screaming)

"see? there was nothing to be afraid of!" she exclaims

mahiru koizumi ♡

"sure, i'll go in with you. i go to these with hiyoko every halloween!" she walks in with you casually

"when did these animatronics get so gory!?" she comments on a bloodied skeleton animatronic laying in a corner

she honestly would have loved to take a photo of you and her but flash photography isn't allowed :((

checks on them/holds their hand everytime they scream or jump at a scare actor

gives them a hug after they exit the haunted house. "did you have fun?" she asks them earnestly

akane owari ♡

"c'mon let's gooo. time's wasting" she wants to go in and out of this haunted house as fast as possible so she can go hit up the food vendors

she's ready to punch a scare actor everytime one pops out but restrains herself

she stops and peeks behind a corner before continuing through, urging you go to in front if she sees something especially scary to her.

she'll cower behind you for a moment, then taking the lead again

once she sees the exit, she takes your hand and books it

"i hope you still have your appetite after that!" she beams

༊࿐ ͎. ｡ ⊹ ˚ i'll be writing the rest of the cast soon! <3 | my ao3 👻

[adiluv-moved]

❥ PHOTOGRAPHER + GENERAL HCS. ˚⊹꒷

⚜️୧・꒰word count꒱ 1129.

📕୧・꒰warnings꒱ none!

👑୧・꒰adi moment꒱ unfortunately i am writing for french 'people' now… how sad… /j lol—to be real, though, i’ve actually started playing identity v again and ended up sparking some interest for joseph ꒰netass gave me tranquility, as a treat꒱, so here we are! feel free to send in requests, whether it be for him or other characters! hope you enjoy! ꒰ㅅ´ ˘ `꒱

꒰⚔️꒱・A closed-off aristocrat with a slight tendency for egotism, Joseph is certainly one of the more tedious residents to woo. Congratulations for ꒰somehow꒱ managing to do so! Beneath his haughty and withdrawn persona, he’s an incredibly observant, caring, and loyal individual—and he does his best to make sure that you feel loved whenever he’s by your side.

꒰⚔️꒱・Although I consider him to be far from optimistic, considering everything that’s happened within his pre-manor days, I do still imagine him to be a sort of hopeless romantic. This is a sentiment you’ll become well aware of through the many dates that he plans for the both of you—whether they be candlelit dinners, strolls in the garden, or something else. These dates do occasionally go astray due to the ever growing amount of inhabitants sharing the space, though he does his best to keep/get things back on track. Please reassure him if things get a bit too hectic—he’s very much prone to panicking.

꒰⚔️꒱・As a man of the arts, you’re quick to become his new muse. He loves taking photos of you at any and every moment he can, regardless of how mundane it is. Depending on your own sentiments of the matter, this could potentially be a root of disagreements—especially considering that the camera seems to follow him every time you’re together. Similarly, he’s a big fan of painting you, originally using the photos he took of you as references, though he quickly abandons them once he gets the hang of things—he’s a fast learner when it comes to you.

꒰⚔️꒱・Of course, though, he values your happiness far more than his desire to preserve you, and he’ll try to stop taking so many photos of you if you ever express discomfort. ꒰Of course, the keyword here is ‘try’.꒱ He slips up on occasion, so please try to be patient with him—it’s his way of showing love, and he tends to get a little over dramatic at times.

꒰⚔️꒱・Joseph is also a rather clingy type of lover, and jealousy is ever quick to sink its fangs into him. The fear of losing you, whether it be physically or emotionally, is relentless in haunting him once you start dating. Even so, it isn’t something he vocalizes often, due to his fears of being considered as weak. Whether it be him hovering close to you whenever you’re too close to another survivor, or the way that he subtly begs you not to leave his side, it is something that you come to notice.

꒰⚔️꒱・Ignore his signs of jealousy, and you might just find that other survivor being targeted during matches—but he’ll ꒰reluctantly꒱ catch himself if you call him out on it. Afterwards, he’ll just resort to being a pouty mess around you, though some extra affection is quick to restore his good mood. You might even catch the Joseph Desaulniers apologizing to the other survivor afterwards—though you’d best bet that he’s swearing them to secrecy. It’s embarrassing, truly! You know nobles like him are meant to be composed at all times..!

꒰⚔️꒱・When it comes to facing you in matches, well… It really does depend. His most common strategies include going friendly for your entire team ꒰and spending the time by your side꒱ or simply avoiding you until everybody else has been chaired and he can give you dungeon. However, there are times that he’ll have to go full swing on you—he fears that the baron might punish the both of you, otherwise. He tries to be gentle on you when this happens, grazing you ever so lightly with his rapier, but he’ll always come running to Emily’s infirmary once the match is over… just to make sure.

꒰⚔️꒱・Assuming that you haven’t been hurt by him in a match, though, it does take some time for him to catch back up with you. Joseph is a massive cleanfreak, and absolutely despises the idea of being dirty—something caused both by his social status and the illness that took Claude away from him. He tends to make a beeline to his shower whenever he returns from matches, a habit that you’ve gradually come to pick up due to his hesitancy to cuddle with you when you haven’t. All things considered, it is a good habit, so you don’t mind it all that much.

꒰⚔️꒱・When it comes to things like PDA, I do imagine Joseph falling more on the conservative side ꒰once again due to his upbringing꒱. He’d really only engage in it when he’s feeling jealous, and for the most part prefers to keep all amorous gestures private… though he won’t complain nor attempt to stop you if you give him a quick kiss on the cheek, or something similar. He does, however, use a lot of French nicknames and terms of endearment for you—both in private and public. Mary enjoys teasing him for it, and offers to translate them for you if you don’t know French.

꒰⚔️꒱・Circling back to his fixation on cleanliness, the worst thing for him is falling sick. He’s quick to become upset if he notices himself falling under the weather, and he’ll quickly try to find something to blame for it. While this can grate on the nerves of whoever’s caring for him, being angry distracts him from his fear—though he’ll try to tone things down if he notices that he’s riling you up. Regardless, he’s grateful that you’re putting in the effort to care for him, even if he initially tries to shoo you off for the fear of getting you sick, too.

꒰⚔️꒱・If you’re the one sick, however, things tend to go much differently. He’s a mix of worried and distant whenever it happens, constantly obsessing over your condition and endlessly pestering Emily—begging her to make sure that you’re alright. At the same time, however, you won’t catch a single sight of him while you’re still ill—the thought of seeing you in such a state causing his stomach to churn. He’s quick to apologize once you’re better, pressing kisses on every part of skin that he can reach… Though expect a slight scolding to accompany his tenderness.

꒰⚔️꒱・Ending this with a cuddling headcanon..! Joseph absolutely adores having you close to him. Whether it be you sitting in his lap while he reads a book or him having an arm wrapped around you as he rants about bad matches and annoying survivors, cuddling is a necessity for him. He’s not against the idea of falling asleep while holding you, either, but be warned that his grip gets shockingly tight once he drifts off. While attempts at escape don’t fully wake him, he’ll try to convince you to stay with half-asleep murmurs of ‘don’t leave, mon ange…’ or ‘stay a little, mon amour…’. Unfortunately for you, they’re rather effective.

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[sorrowsofsilence]

memento mori • n.s

pairing: noah sebastian x gn!reader

words: 1.6k

warnings: ANGST, grief, loss, death, mourning (this is kinda heavy, please do not feel like you need to read im getting out feelings)

summary: "if you're watching this, im dead."

note: i think i was feeling some kinda way because i don't really know where this came from lol, but here's a quick little blurb if you enjoy angst <3

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING A REAL PERSON IN A FICTIONAL SCENARIO! I AM NOT IMPLYING THEY WOULD ACT THIS WAY OR DO THE THINGS IN MY FANFICTION- IT IS FOR FUN, AND IT IS SIMPLY FICTION! <3

I sat in front of my computer screen, shell-shocked as the haunting words of his last video echoed in my ears.

"If you're watching this, I'm dead."

My heart clenched at his words, chest tightening as my breath caught in my throat. My room around me felt cold, too large and too empty, even with the myriad of knick-knacks and photos that adorned every available surface.

With trembling hand I reached out a to replay the video, but hesitated before I could do it. His face was frozen on the screen, eyes full of sorrow and resignation. A face I had fallen in love with; a stranger’s face that had brought so much unanticipated joy into my life.

His voice echoed through the silence again, the words heavy with grief and regret.

For what? For whom?

Refreshing the page, I watched his face light up the screen- his brown eyes warm and laughing, a stark contrast to the somber look from the end of the video. I watched as he talked about his day, his love for music, his appreciation of movies and games. It was all so normal, so Noah. It was easy to forget, just for a moment, what the end of the video would bring.

Then came the shift, where his bright demeanour began to fall away, replaced by a solemnity that felt unnatural on his usually vibrant face.

"I have some news," he began, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his words. Even though I’d already heard him say it, part of me still hoped the next words out of his mouth would be different.

"But before I tell you," he said with a long pause, staring directly into the camera as if he knew I was watching, “I want you to remember the fun we had. I want you to remember the laughter, the joy...how I always kicked ass at super smash," His voice wavered with a stiff laugh, vulnerable and raw.

"I want you to remember me as I was, not as I will be."

My vision blurred with tears as his gaze bore into mine through the screen. Pulling my knees to my chest in an attempt at comfort while sitting at my desk, I choked back the tears that threatened to spill.

His words, even though for thousands, felt painfully intimate; like we were alone in an empty world, sharing a private moment of heart-wrenched farewell.

The long-haired brunette continued, "If you're watching this, I'm dead."

The harsh reality of his words hit me again like a physical blow, the tears falling as saliva grew in my mouth, lips quickening.

I watched his face crumple with sorrow before he collected himself, taking a deep breath. An inked hand came up to rub his face, as though he was struggling with words.

"There's no easy way to say it," he said, voice trembling with held-back tears, "I've been sick for a while... I didn't want anyone to worry. So, I kept it to myself."

Taking my sleeve, I rubbed my eyes as he continued.

"But now..." His voice wavered, "Now, I'm gone."

I watched in helpless agony as he tried to smile through his tears, a raw attempt to offer comfort, that he may have needed more.

The image of Noah, smiling despite everything, was a painful reminder of just how much I had lost; what the people in his life had lost.

“And I’m sorry.”

And here he was, apologizing to us for dying.

His brave facade crumbled then, and he broke down, weeping openly on screen. Noah’s sobs echoed through the quiet room, filling the spaces between my cries. I wanted to reach out to comfort him, but he was no longer there…only his digital ghost remained, memorialized within the code.

"I don't want you to mourn me," he said, his voice merely a whisper. "I want you to celebrate me for the life I've lived, and not the life I've lost."

His words knotted in my chest, a cruel irony in the face of the anguish that strung me. How was I to celebrate him? When every fibre of my being felt shredded by grief?

"You’ve been my friends," he continued softly, “and in a weird way, my family. You’ve joined streams with me through my best and worst times. I read every comment, every message; you didn’t know it but you gave me strength and laughter when I needed it most.”

Tears welled anew in my eyes. The impact of his sincere words left my heart racing, and limbs warming in misery.

"I need you to promise me something," he choked out after a moment, his gaze unwavering from the camera.

I sniffed, wiping my eyes again, his plea holding an intensity that made it impossible for me to look away

"Promise me you won't let my story end with my death," he said, sharing a small smile.

His voice tremored, yet it was filled with a surprising steeliness. "Promise me that you'll remember the joy, the laughter... the love."

His eyes held a fervour that pierced my heart; a vow exchanged under the silent witness of testimonial sorrow.

"I want you to take whatever you’ve found in my videos. Every smile, every piece of advice- every Mortal Kombat combo,” He paused, swallowing harshly with a dismissed laugh. "I want you... I want you to live."

The weight of his words hung in the air like a solemn promise. Live. He wanted me to live, us - fully and completely

"Love generously," he whispered, "Don’t take being here for granted.”

Noah smiled, nodding towards me, “You are worthy, and you are cherished. You make an impact on this earth, whether you believe so or not. You have a purpose.”

I continued to sob as his words flowed out of the speakers, dancing through the room in a mournful ballad.

His brown eyes bore into mine from the screen as he tucked a strand of brunette hair behind his ears.

"But most of all," he added, his voice barely more than a whisper now, "I want you to know that even though I'm not physically here anymore, I'll always be with you."

His words wrapped around my body in a comforting hug, and I squeezed my knees closer to my chest. As I rested my chin upon them, letting the tears stain my jeans I shared a bitter smile with the man I appreciated more than life itself.

The finality of Noah’s message was there – stark and painful – yet beneath it was an underlying message of hope and resilience.

"Thank you," he smiled after a pause, wiping away his cheeks with the sleeve of his black hoodie, "Thank you for being a part of my journey."

The screen blanked as the video ended, leaving me alone in the silence.

A sense of loss washed over me, raw and broken, desolate and despondent.

I sat there for a while longer, holding my body as his words echoed in my mind.

'Love generously. You are worthy. You have a purpose.’

The sentiment clung to the edges of my consciousness, like a mantra slowly seeping into my being.

My steps felt heavy and slow when I found the strength to leave my room, each one an effort to move forward.

Grief was insidious like that, invading every thought and action with its hollow grasp, embellishing its roots deep beneath the skin of heartache.

Yet, was I allowed to mourn someone who was ultimately in the end, a stranger?

But when I crawled back up the stairs, into the safety of my room, I crawled into bed and let myself open his channel once again.

Unwanted tears welled up again as I glanced at the screen, scrolling through the various streams and uploads. For so long, it had been my window to Noah - his thoughts, his creations, his heart-warming smiles.

Now, it was merely a screen- the end of the illusion that I had been a part of his life, even though we were strangers separated by thousands of miles.

The digital veil was a beautiful thing; allowing us to feel a brief sense of connection- until it’s pulled away.

And although we were strangers, he reached out to us in his most vulnerable moment.

He had shared his pain, his fear, and ultimately his hope for those of us left behind.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I hovered my thumb over another video title - 'Noah's Adventures: Ocean with the Boys’.

When I hit play, there he was. Alive. Vibrant.

His infectious smile tugged at my heartstrings as he pointed excitedly at the stunning sunset around him, knocking into his best friends. The brunette’s laughter filled my room, dispelling the stifling silence that had taken hold of my heart.

With every passing second of the video, I cried, my chest aching as my throat tightened with grief and pain- yet nostalgia and laughter as I smiled with him.

"Ya boy Noah here," he said with that familiar twinkle in his eyes, "Me and the gang thought a picnic would be a good idea,”

He then held up a container of sacramental bread, his bizarre favourite snack.

“I got jesus bones, Nick’s got the vodka.”

The chorus of laughter that erupted as Noah smiled cheekily into the camera left my heart aching at the sight of his friends- his family.

I mourned for them, too.

This was the Noah he wanted us to remember: full of life.

As the video drew to an end, the screen filled the brilliant hues of orange and purple splashed across the sky, as if painted by an ardent artist.

Noah looked at the camera with a serene smile.

"Life is a masterpiece," he said, out of breath as he stood upon the hill, capturing the water behind him, "Each day is a new brush stroke adding to its beauty.”

The video ended with a shot of the sky, Noah's laughter dancing into the twilight.

His last phrase lingered into the silence:

"Remember to appreciate it."

memento mori.

tags:

@thefallennightmare @xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical

@sitkowski @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @thatchickwiththecamera @reyadawn @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers

@anything-more-than-human @blacksoul-27 @sweetwombatpizza

[resident-idiot-simp]

Inspired by this

Ft: @steriotypicaloutlaw & @existentialgaybirdnerd

I like to imagine Simon just randomly shows up places to do things for fun since he's legally dead. A random marathon here. A random convention there. Maybe there's a thread on 4chan or something wondering who the hell this guy is

Bird- "I swear I saw this guy before, he won (extremely specific race)" and there's a whole board about him

He just shows up around the world randomly and does incredible feats and then disappears again

Bird- "This guy shows up, kicks everyone ass at ANYTHING, then disappears without a trace. He's gotta be a superhero of SOME SORT"

Someone catches him in the wild one time holding the hand of this dude with a mohawk.

StO- Imagine Gaz having followed said board, also never saw Ghost without the mask or balaclava, and then he sees him there and he's just like, "I get to see him live!" And then Price reacts the way he does and Gaz is just like, "Wait! I know mystery Batman guy?!?"

Bird- "Mystery Batman guy is my SUPERIOR OFFICER? "

But they can trace Soap they know who this guy is. Imagine like a million people from 4chan just dog pile him in every social media platform wondering who the hell the man is. Soap knows about this I also bet you money ghost haunts the thread he knows everything he does this stuff on purpose at this rate.

And he made soap promise never to say a word. So soap gas lights like he's never gaslit before. I don't know who you're talking about that is not me you're delusional. 'It is you though'. No I was never there with a person ever in my life.

Bird- "Idk who tf you think that is, but I'm way more handsome than that"

Of course they can't fool Gaz but they do recruit him into the game. Laswell also knows about this

Bird- Laswell had been on the board since it started lol

At first it was just to make sure his identity didn't get leaked and now it's just for fun

Bird- She gives them vague hints in the wrong direction, photo shopping specific events that didn't happen to make it seem like he gets out more than he does.

Bro one time the catch Ghost in Cancun just surfing. No one knows where he went after they tried to follow It didn't work.

Bird- This man has fans all around the world but they can never get a picture of him without his permission.

What really gets people is he can be found across the world in very short periods of time. People assume he must be like one of those hidden billionaires.

Bird- That's why he's Batman to them

One time they got a picture of him super injured though and now they are convinced he's a superhero

Bird- There's a whole folder of circumstantial evidence of him being hurt and everyone going "evidence he's a superhero"

He is most often found is not in ridiculous events in Scotland and that is more evidence that he's connected to John MacTavish even though MacTavish denies everything. People are unsure if MacTavish is like his sidekick or butler or secret boyfriend/husband.

Ghost convinces him to do weird events as well and dominate them just to confuse the forum.

Bird- They're both superheros in their own right just a few months later according to the forum

One time the are spotted together at a log throwing competition. Then MacTavish at an art exhibit (Ghost is barely visible in the background). Next week in Cuba doing an eating competition.

Three days later San Diego Comic-Con. No one understands anything that's going on.

Bird- Ghost and Soap have a fun time reading through all the shit. They're in full cosplay too, they're only recognized because of Soap's Instagram story the day after and then everyone explodes because they SAW them but didn't recognize them until them. Ghost as scream and Soap as Jason.

Imagine one time they just show up on TV or the news in the background

Bird- There's a parade going on in the background and they show up as performers or part of the audience. The news reporters don't catch them as they wave enthusiastically to the camera.

They come to the conclusion that they know about the forums and then it becomes trying to dig out the rat.

Bird- They try to sus out the account that could be one of them, little do they know Ghost is one of the longest running ones there so his account isn't suspected at all times.

I imagine a random selfie gets uploaded to the forum as well.

Bird- He posts a selfie from a "found" social media that just HAPPENS to be "deleted" before anyone else can access it.

The people on the forum are extremely happy though that this random probably superhero is playing along.

He shows up in the Winter Olympics next. And he crushes the biathlon by a scary margin. After he gets the gold he proposes to Soap

Soap's bio gets updated to John MacTavish Riley. Soap continues to gaslight. That has always been my full name YOU'RE all delusional.

I imagine they only get their answers possibly after they all retire

Bird- Simon gets unkilled by law and is allowed to retire with Soap. They make a video explaining how they were fucking with people for entertainment and post it to the forum and everyone loses it lol.

[shadesoflsk]

Number 71 with re2r Leon could be so silly *twirls hair and blushes*

hiiiii anon😼 That idea is so cute please I'm melting. For this one, I immediately thought about an amusement park date (is that the correct name ? lol), and that led to a photo booth kiss! And you're sooo right this idea with re2r Leon is so silly he's just ike that! I hope you like it, take care. !!

71. “Kiss me, quick!” summary: re2r leon kennedy x gn reader, just straight up tooth rotting fluff wc: 1.0k

After accepting a job as a cop in Raccoon City, he knew that time wouldn’t be enough to be with you. That’s why, every time he has days off, he does his best to make it up for you.

Leon had decided to surprise you this time. The only clue he gave you was “wear something comfortable” and while it was an ambiguous sentence, you obliged. You took one last glance at the mirror, making sure you looked the part when Leon whistled.

“Ready to go?”

It hadn’t been a long drive, at least you thought so until Leon stopped the car in the middle of the road. Confused, you turned your head as you observed Leon rummaging through his pockets. Eventually, he found what he was searching for.

“A blindfold?” Your voice carried a sense of curiosity in it.

“Do you trust me?”

“Hell no.”

“Darling…please.” He whined, his lips forming a pout as exasperation filled his speech. It was funny to tease your boyfriend every chance you get, but now you spare him the embarrassment. 

“Ok, no need to cry.” You took the blindfold and Leon made sure to check that you couldn’t see anything.

“How many fingers do I have?” He said as he lifted his hand, forming a three.

“Four. Now drive.” You couldn’t hide the silly smile that was forming on your face.

And with that, Leon’s hand gripped the steering wheel again.

When you finally arrive, Leon helps you get out of the car and the first thing you notice —besides the chill air— is kids screaming and giggles filling the atmosphere. At first, you thought Leon had brought you to a concert. But then again, kids wouldn’t be at a concert at this time of the night even if it is still early.

“Can I take it off?”

“Yes, let me help you.”

Leon gets in front of you and takes off the blindfold that prevented you from seeing anything. The previous darkness that blurred your vision is now disappearing as your eyes adjust to the neon lights that the scenario before you offers.

“Ta-da!” Leon’s lips curve into a cheerful smile as he extends his arms, showing you his greatest idea. He has been planning this date for days. Ever since he read this new fair was coming to town, he just knew he had to take you there.

He is the epitome of a good boyfriend, dates are always a must when he has free time. And even when he couldn’t be with you, he would leave surprises. A sticky note telling you how much he loves you? Done. Having flowers delivered to your front door? Of course.

“Leon I...” You let out a breathy laugh. Your eyes dart back from the scenario of countless games and rides lying in front of you, to Leon's eyes which look at you with a devotion and love that just makes your heart weak. “Thank you…”

And, as a way to show your gratitude, you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him, letting the warmth of your bodies embrace both of you. He places a kiss on your forehead and motions you to follow him.

You don’t know who was more excited, you or Leon. But with the way he kept tugging your hand each time he saw a ride he wanted to try, you may as well say him. He kept his vice grip on you all the way from the roller coaster, to the ferris wheel and to finally the haunted house.

After scaring the shit out of both of you, you decide to sit down for a while, catching your breaths as adrenaline still pumps through your veins. Your eyes, eventually, fall on a photo booth a few meters away from where you’re sitting.

Now it was Leon’s turn to be dragged around.

You both laugh in unison as you waste no time in getting into the booth, almost forgetting to insert the five dollar bill that the machine needed to work. Leon closes the red curtain and instantly pulls you closer.

You sit down, struggling to fit into the narrow and tight space the photo booth provided. Leon and you try fixing each other’s hair amidst the giggling fit you were in. The countdown for the photos starts.

“Leon! Stop laughing.” You mutter as you try to maintain a sweet smile for the picture. Leon, on the other hand, moved at the very exact moment when the machine snapped a photo. “For God’s sake Leon…” And as much as you feign annoyance, you are grateful for this little memory you are creating with him.

For the second picture, you both show a beaming and pearly white smile to the camera, pressing your cheeks to one another. However, as the first photo is probably blurry due to Leon’s inability to stay still, you decide to have the perfect picture just for yourself.

“Kiss me, quick!”

He almost didn’t hear you when your words left your lips. However, your instructions are followed to the letter, and Leon in a swift motion grabs your face. You smile between the kiss as you hear the camera making a click sound. 

You don’t pull away right away, letting the romantic display of affection linger for a few seconds before the machine decides to break the sweet and tender moment.

“Thank you. You can now leave the photo booth. Please don’t forget to collect your pictures.”

“Don’t pay attention—”

“Thank you. You can now leave the photo booth. Please don’t forget to collect your pictures.”

“Jesus… I get it” Leon mutters as he reluctantly pulls away from the kiss. A dumb smile is plastered on his face as you admire his expression. You both walk out of the photo booth with your fingers interlaced, ready to see the results.

Needlessly to say, Leon stole that picture from you just to brag about what a pretty partner he has whenever he gets asked if he has a special one or not.

[mecachrome]

Hi k! If you feel like it, do you have any favourite Oscar facial quirks?

omgggg anon this is only my favorite topic ever!!! (kidding but also not really 🧡)

i'm a lot like oscar tbh in that i have something of a deadpan stare and usually speak in a monotone but when i DO properly react to something i am veryyy uncontrollably expressive lolol, which i feel like is the same with him and the one million things constantly going on in his face!!! 😭 he definitely has a lot of little quirks / "tics" i guess for lack of better word that i adore so much...

^ first off one of the best ones is the way he always moves his mouth to the side (see also), but i'd say my favorite overall is just his full nose + face scrunch ! as shown in MMMM DEBATABLE and the blind rankings one that i drew earlier t__t and also the 1st gif of this gifset!!! i'm guilty of constantly bunnycoding ojp and that expression is trewwlyyy on top... as well as another quirk that's quite bunnycoded which is whenever he sort of awkwardly grimaces and shows off his teeth idk if you know what i'm talking about 😭

of course another fav has to be his eyebrow raising and just overall eyebrow Mobility, it's so fun because they're very straight and slope downward when his face is resting but they ARCH perfectly when he raises them and he can also do the like 🤨 seth everman look which is iconic 2 me. tbh i like how much he enjoys Squinting at things in general LOL

i've also spoken about how the buzzfeed uk video has such a wealth of oscar facial expressions and imo part of this is the informal and relaxed setting on top of the fact that he was being forced to overthink and react to an inherently silly concept so we get the ultimate combo of CASUALLY EXPRESSIVE OSCAR!!! prema challenges have a similar vibe but imo this is still different because it's fairly removed from a motorsport setting so he's kind of just vibing... another v endearing quirk from this video is his eye twitching / blinking that you can see in a LOT of oscar content, i feel like it's a once you notice you never stop noticing it thing because he does it all the time and i find it really cute because it kind of makes him squinch his cheek too... miss cutieful....... SIMILARLY but also from the buzzfeed video this is one of my favorite examples of how much he (involuntarily imo) WIDENS his eyes (2) when talking or listening to something, here's another moment of him doing it back in f4 so you can see it's a long-ingrained habit.

sorry i'm literally giving you the most random ass deep cuts alkdfshaldsfh but i also remember watching ted's race notebook from miami and noticing oscar talking to a few mclaren employees during the team photo and something i find so endearing about him is when people call his name / try to get his attention and he does the >whips head around and widens his eyes with a polite little smile< thing like AGHHH... qt TT___TT ok i'm going off-topic now but the surprised smile he gave lando during the miami post-race debrief will haunt my memories forever because it was so Open !!!

anyway re: the grimacing he also kind of has a neck tic he does where he stretches his neck out... and i've noticed that he's also just kind of sensitive/particular with his neck in general and is always adjusting his collar where it sits on his skin, which again is off-topic but i find really cute because i can relate (sensitive to textures) hsdafhk.

let me stop talking but last but not least i'm obsessedddd with the way he pouts in the post-quali vid from canada this yr <3 and also his tendency to lick/bite his lips which always does great legwork in terms of the heart eyes piastri narrative and his apparent thirst for lando HKLFDSHLH which while i endorse wholeheartedly is definitely mostly just an unconscious habit of his... but i think rpf is fun so who cares!!! LOL i hope this makes sense idk if i described anything properly 😭🧡

[sergle]

People are failing to realize that clothing, and cameras for that matter, can be fairly deceptive. I don't wanna say deceptive because it carries a certain connotation, but I hope you'll know what I mean. I look fairly "thin/avg" with a shirt on, but without it it's rolls and folds lol

Furthermore, it's wild to assume someone who's pretty passionate about accurate plus-size rep would be stick thin. Maybe their metric of "average" is skewed or something, but it's still weird to just show up in a strangers Asks and assume things about them and their bodies.

sorry for answering an ask about this like 4 days later but I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS... this person is talking about these asks btw.

FIRST OF ALL, thank you so much for the ask, it really is good to know that other ppl are aware of the Covering Of Fat With Clothing. Like. hi. my body is obscured. people are just noticing my torso for the first time bc there isn't 5lbs of breast tissue hanging off of it. SECOND OF ALL. This is still making me insane. I am still thinking about it so I'm gonna completely just do a brick of text to talk about it. Like, there's the first part of this, right? The fact that, all of these people who were sending asks like these, are the same people who came to my account because they liked the body positivity stuff or they related to the proportions of the girls I draw, right? And yet somehow managed to miss that ALL OF MY ART IS ME. So you're relating to MY body, AGREEING that this is plus sized art, then turning towards moi and saying, okay but you're skinny though. HUH? HMM??? I literally made a 12-part series of self portraits that have been like, my most seen, most stolen, reposted, enjoyed, stolen again, pieces. And I've been so crystal clear that these are literally me. Once again, I'm pointing at the aforementioned MATERIAL.

Pictured above: a thin, skinny woman who just happens to have large breasts, ig! And outside of those, which are *literal* self portraits, I've spoken lots of times before about how I make girls of a certain size and shape because I'm modeling them off myself. Or as close as I can get, depending on how good/bad I feel and if I took a photo to ref or not. It really couldn't be clearer that this is obviously me being self-serving, I do it when I feel like I need to see it. So the thing being implied here, or flat out accused in a handful of messages, is that I'm drawing fat girls forrr clout? AWESOME. I didn't want to dignify every message but that did seem to be the rough consensus. BUT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT ONE TOO. WHEN would it become a bad thing for a skinny person to draw body positive art? In a positive light? Even if it was for clout? Am I going insane? That would be Good. It honestly might be even more meaningful than what I'm doing now. If I was actually 115 pounds soaking wet, if I looked like that one girl from ANTM with the like 14 inch waist, and I was out here making the exact same art, would that make the art LESS meaningful to other fat girls? That someone who doesn't have this body type or relate to it at all found it beautiful enough to draw it so many times, treating the subject with respect? Fat people being the subject of art again? The cycling of a trend that's been gone too long? That is, I thought, what we've literally been begging to see. I have been thinking about this. And finally, the last part of it that's been vexing and haunting me:

Is it supposed to be my responsibility that someone gets dysmorphic LOOKING AT ME. HUHHHH. On the art account where I draw a lot of Me. HUH. I was meant to anticipate this? Looking at pictures of me. And that makes you feel dysmorphic. and that is my fault. I'm just double checking. On the account where I draw bodies that I relate to, that you followed because you relate to. And then seeing me. Makes you dysmorphic. Whew. Got it.

I'm putting a bow on my insane winding ramble about this. Or at least trying to, now. It is wild to have my body commented on so much. This year, bc of the breast reduction, comments on my body have increased a hundredfold. Positive, negative, passive aggressive, predatory, all of the ways it can go. There was a really obvious way to rebuff these particular comments, which would be to post a picture of myself where my body ISN'T mostly obscured. But hey, those aren't free. The art will have to do for now. I wouldn't be that surprised if half the messages were jokes meant to see if I'd post pics "proving" that I look how I look. I also thought briefly about like, what if my body did change that drastically? Would some ppl's immediate reaction be betrayal, disgust, anger? I've been sick in my life before and lost weight at alarming speeds. But I've still been fat all my life. I've gotten sick and gained weight at alarming speeds. Does my presence as a "body positive artist" mean that my body gets to be put on trial anytime it changes? Does the switch flip from "your fat art means so much to me" to "you're not in the club anymore, since you got rid of your breasts, you look different"

Anyway I thought it would be funny to draw a thin girl "drawing" a scrap sketch I already have on hand. And imagining someone's response being fully negative, bc a thin person drawing fat ppl would be somehow dishonest lmao. Look how evil this bitch is. Her body doesn't match her art.