#these two have permanent residence in my brain

[sgiandubh]

Wonder if Sam will take his new legal American bride to Italy? He will be married, although unlike Caitriona's it will be a fake marriage, by 31 Dec. He needs the residency.

Dear Married Anon,

Three possibilities on this one: a) you watched 90 Days Fiancé for way too long and with no attention to details; b) you think I am an idiot, with no legal knowledge or experience; c) you are an idiot, with no legal knowledge or experience.

Your question comes with two strong biases, too: a) that you somehow are privy to such nonsense and b) the old & stale fake vs. organic marriage refrain, regarding C (that, by the way, proves that I did hit a nerve).

I am not very sure to whom exactly do you think you are talking, here. But if I do know one thing is that you, honey, are a Mighty Twat. If you wanted to be consistent with the crap the Gay Crowd spreads around, you could have gone for 'he needs a more solid/credible beard than that', instead of the completely inane 'he needs the residency'. What is he, Burmese? Oh, FFS. And by 'Burmese', I mean exactly this: are his life/personal safety in clear and present danger, in his home country, because of his ethnicity and/or political views? The answer is no, and he could still use his right of asylum. Does he need the US residency in order to secure a better paid job for himself? The answer is no: lots of other avenues can be explored and are routinely being used by thousands of foreign actors/performing artists, in order to legally work and reside in the US. I have even mentioned it before:

(Full October 2023 post, here: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/729979831079649280/mordor-says-he-returned-only-for-visa-reasons)

But let's suppose even a nanoshred of what you wrote could technically be correct. When you are an US citizen and you want to bring your significant other to live with you there, you basically are offered two options:

Scenario One: you want to bring your fiancé(e) to the US and get married there. You will need the K-1 visa, as anyone even remotely familiar with that reality show I mentioned knows. That doesn't exactly click with a hastily cobbled 'new American bride' he would marry until December 31 and this is why, according to the US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) own website:

[Source, LOL: https://www.uscis.gov/sites/default/files/document/guides/A2en.pdf]

'You have met each other in person within 2 years before you file this petition'. Who is it, then? The whore? She is French. The chatty influencer? She's 'so over him' (FFS, LOL). Alice 'he's mine and will never be yours'' Panikian? If you think so, you are aff yer heid on cheap gin. Hm? Ashley Hearn? Met her too late and you all know it. A secret lover? ROFLMAO. And psst: Raya girls are just for fun, they don't think homestead. Cross my heart, Anon.

Current and official USCIS average processing time for fiancé petitions at their (logically) California Service Center is:

But it could be as long as 26 months and a half, if he decides to settle for a Vermont beauty (LOOOOOOOL).

You should also know a couple of other things, Anon. First thing is he will not be able to enter the US under the type of visa he currently more than probably holds, in order to do so - that would be a heavily punished immigration fraud:

Mhm. Restrictions on his ability to future immigration benefits/permanent residence, fine and imprisonment. I hope I do not need to further develop, on this one.

Last thing you should have taken into consideration before writing this bullshit is that the fiancé visa would restrict his ability to go back to his own home country during all the waiting time. Why would an actor refuse work opportunities in the UK or in Europe for the sake of a fake marriage, as you called it yourself? Oh, if you only had a brain!

Need I say more about the grueling in-person cross-check interviews ? You should watch a wonderful movie starring Gerard Depardieu (a pig alright, but he is perfect, in there) and Andie MacDowell: it's even called Green Card, LOL. Few things changed since 1990, and if anything, the screw got only tighter. Not to mention the fact he will be unable to work in the US during the waiting process and she will have to prove she can sponsor/provide for him! ROFLMAO.

Scenario Two: you get married abroad and want to bring your spouse to the US, afterwards. You will need to file the Form I-130 (Petition for Alien Relative):

[Source: https://www.uscis.gov/sites/default/files/document/guides/A1en.pdf]

All this does, in reality, is put the spouse in line with thousands of other similar applicants. Residency will be granted only after extensive background checks and this is where I would like to stop for a while, Anon. You are with the Gay Crowd, right? Then how does this logically click with your long established talking point about his 'once very public gay life? Ah: he isn't gay? ROFLMAO. You see, being gay is a bit like being pregnant, Anon: you can't be 'just a little bit pregnant' and you certainly can't be 'just a little bit gay', either. Spare me the drivel 🙄. Kindly note those background checks are dead serious and could result in deportation - thought you should know, before you spew idiocies again.

Onwards with that residency thing:

If S were in Scotland/the UK when the 'legal fake bride' would file in the petition, he would not be allowed to come visit or work in the US: why would an actor be forced to turn down lucrative opportunities in Hollywood or elsewhere in the country, for the sake of bearding or circus only? And while S could technically apply for permanent resident status if he already were in the US at the time of the application for I-130, he would still not be able to work and therefore must be sponsored by the 'legal bride'. ROFLMAO, again.

I mean, this is so ridiculous I could cry. He would be invited to come to the US only after the petition is approved, which does not click with your suggested timeline and the seeming 'emergency situation' ('he NEEDS the residency', your ask shouts at the Entire Universe) . Why the haste? Just because you wanted to somehow shoehorn it in, somewhere before Inauguration Day? I have no words, but my paunch hurts with laughing right now.

Finally let's have a look at processing current times:

But it could go as long as...

I cannot stress enough that permanent residency will be granted only after the processing time is completed.

Why, oh, why would someone so inextricably complicate his entire existence in such an idiotic fashion, Anon? And finally, give me and yourself a break and read the damn political room, here, too. I will not elaborate, but I surely hope you do not live under a rock.

I rest my case, thank you, fuck off.

[circtheeunbroken]

Veilguard comes out tomorrow but I have Hawke/Varric brainrot, 10 years later. (i based a lot of their relationship on morticia and gomez so it was a no-brainer to have them dress up as the iconic duo) closeup below the cut

[hiphopcherrrypop]

ouma gawd...

[taughtdefense-a]

felt feral abt ethrobby yesterday. feeling feral abt ethrobby today. will definitely feel feral abt ethrobby tomorrow.

[followthebluebell]

As a follow up from before, do you ever get cats returned to you? Have you ever had one stay with you permanently? (Thnx for answering my questions!)

Oh yeah, it happens from time to time. Like I had a guy return a 5 month old kitten for being 'too active'--- guy then asked after the 3 month old bengal/savannah kittens I had up for adoption.

And let's see... Phoebe is VERY memorable. I got her during the fires in 2020. I was one of the people sent into the fire zone to look for missing pets and I got two cats out. One of those cats was Phoebe, adopted in 2021.

She came back in early 2023 due to health problems. She was ultimately diagnosed with a sort of brain tumor. We kept her comfortable until it was her time.

Roomba is another returned adoptee who became a resident. Her owners couldn't deal with her separation anxiety (which is completely fair; her separation anxiety is VERY extreme. She was literally spending 8+ hours a day just screaming). Now she lives at work where she's literally never alone.

[turtle--soup]

Okay.

I have not seen ROTTMNT yet, but I've picked up some stuff from just floating around the fandom. Something I've learned, which is discussed in this post here, is that Rise Leo is generally considered - and considers himself the 'Face Man' of the team. (GIFs below are swiped from the linked post by @risestarkiss - I couldn't find them in tumblr's gif search function...)

Anyway. This is interesting to me because I am, for my sins, also a fan of The A-Team.

(I promise this is going somewhere! If you want to find out where I'm going with this, I'll put the rest of the post under a cut because it got a little long...)

For those of you unfamiliar with The A-Team, it's a (very silly) 80s TV series about a group of Vietnam War veterans who are on the run from the government after being convicted of a crime they didn't commit. The four of them spend their lives in hiding, making a living by using their combat skills to help people in need.

Here they are:

Left: Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith, leader of the team, brains of the outfit and most likely to have become an evil mastermind in an alternate timeline.

Right: Sergeant B.A. Baracus. Nicknamed 'Bad Attitude' due to his lack of patience for bullshit, B.A. is the resident tough guy but also an absolute teddy bear of a man, and is always ready to help people, especially children and the elderly.

Left: Captain H.M. 'Howling Mad' Murdock is the team's pilot and can fly just about anything. As his nickname suggests, he's considered a bit eccentric and is a silly kind of guy. (He's also a permanent resident of a psychiatric hospital but let's not get into that right now.)

Right: Lieutenant Templeton Peck. His role in the team is to provide them with whatever they need, whether that be vehicles, weapons, tools or access to places. He usually achieves this using his charm and wit, gaining him the nickname 'Face Man.'

Okay, so bearing these descriptions in mind, look at Leo's dialogue in this GIF:

I'm assuming that Donnie is the brainy guy, Raph is the smashy guy, and Mikey is the 'eats peanut butter with his fingers guy'. And Leo is the Face Man. That's his role.

But these descriptions fit the members of The A-Team too. Hannibal is the brainy guy, B.A. is the smashy guy, Murdock is the guy who absolutely eats peanut butter with his fingers (while maintaining unbroken eye contact throughout). And then there's Face.

How is this in any way relevant?

Well.

It just so happens that someone else is a fan of The A-Team...

Of course the Mirage turtles watched The A-Team! It was a popular show in the mid-80s, and you have to admit - they do have a lot in common, being four guys fighting injustice from the shadows and all... The A-Team even have a friend on the outside who helps them out - Amy Allen.

She's a reporter. Like someone else we know...

But which of the Mirage turtles in the image above is suggesting they should watch The A-Team?

According to this bio card from 1990 that coincides with the 1987 series...

... it might be Leo!

Was this intentional on the part of the Rise writers? I don't know!

Is it relevant? Probably not!

Does this tentative link between these two silly 80s series make me ridiculously happy? Yes!

Was this entire post just leading up to this? Yeah... sorry...

I like to think that the link is intentional. I've heard that Rise makes reference to other iterations of TMNT, as they all do. I would just personally love it if someone on the team wanted to draw parallels between these two series on purpose!

Anyway.

I just noticed that and really needed to get it off my chest! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this longer-than-intended post right to the end! 💙💜❤🧡

[rey-129-fan]

Well, it's been a while since I've posted any fanfic... Let's change that.

Good news! I'm not dead! My brain did try to get me to do things that could unalive myself for a bit, and then I lost nearly an entire side of my family over the span of 3 years, but I'm still here and still kicking! And I have two new puppies who are adorable and so loving.

Now for this story, this is inspired by a few posts I saw on @theglamorousferal, mostly the one about Amity Parkers going to college in Gotham and buying a hotel (I'm making it a co-op student house, but I've never lived in one, so if something's unacceptably wrong, tell me, if not, artistic license), but also the one where our main Trio buy a building to set up shop there, and wind up adopted my Jason (I swear, I saw that post after I wrote the first chapter, but it just fit so well).

***

Honestly, Amity Park was weird long before the Fentons moved there- the original settlers named the nearby lake Eerie, and it wasn’t after the Great Lake.  It’s just that before the Fentons’ machine punched a hole through reality and created a permanent doorway to the land of spirits and ghosts, the weirdness was not as blatant.

Prior to that, Amity Parkers were some of the few that could move to Gotham without suffering a breakdown that was common for new arrivals.  Now there was a slight dip in newcomers for about a decade or two after the Bat made his debut and then the crazies that followed him, but then Amity Parkers got used to the spirits of the dead wandering around following the aforementioned punching through reality.

All this to say that Gotham Universities were a rather common destination for young Amity Park adults seeking higher education.

Now because of this, there were always apartments advertising themselves for people from the small town.  They, after all, tended to not have a breakdown after their fifth rogue attack and just pack up and leave halfway through their lease.  But it got very annoying having to sift through all the advertisements when looking for a place to stay- something Danny Fenton saw his older sister go through when she got in to Gotham City University.  The boy then shared what he was witnessing with his two best friends- Tucker Foley and Sam Manson.  Tucker offered to help filter out the spam, which Danny’s sister Jazz thanked him for but turned down.  Sam… Sam instead got thinking.

Sam had been to Gotham a few times in her life.  She had an idea of the areas closest to the schools and how much those should cost.  And looking at the letters Jazz was getting, the offers were a little too high for a regular college student to afford.  Sam was also familiar with how many hotels were not being used in Gotham- people building them in hopes tourists would come to stay while visiting the East Coast, tourists that could not be convinced to visit due to the high crime rate and the lack of activities or places of interest in the city itself.

She quickly went to work, looking in to these empty hotels.  She was rather upset by their numbers and put together a spreadsheet of them, with details like number of rooms, any amenities they may have, and nearby landmarks.  She then grabbed her two dorks and marched to Casper High’s Community Outreach director.

Now Sam’s presentation raised a few eyebrows, mostly because it was in a completely different state, but Sam shot back that because of the efforts to incorporate the town’s new ghostly residents and provide them with helpful ways to feed their obsessions- efforts led by the Fenton family- Amity Park had very few homeless, and those that were had a huge community safety net to help them get back on their feet.  Additionally, with how many people moved between the city and the town, helping the city could be argued to also be helping the town.

The Outreach Director just sighed and gave Same the green light to at least draft and send out a proposal to the powers that be in Gotham, saying that there wasn’t much that could be done before they got backing and approval.  Sam thanked them before leaving, Danny and Tucker trailing behind.

She was back the next day with a draft of her proposal and a list of who to send it to.

***

Since returning from the dead in the eyes of the public, Jason Todd was often contacted by groups trying to use the Wayne fortune to fund their own personal projects.  They thought Jason would be the easiest to con- sorry, persuade- since he was a former street kid unlike the rest of his family.  Thus surely he would know just how much this new building with low income housing would help the people of Gotham- it even came with a pool and gym!

Yeah, he did know how much the people of Gotham needed housing, but $2K a month was not affordable when you’re barely making $30K a year!  Oh and the pool and gym were only available for those who could shell out an additional $2K a month.  Jason knows, he read the whole document carefully.

God, sometimes it was hard to tell who was worse, the psychos in Blackgate or real estate investors.  And sadly, he couldn’t just pop a bullet in their heads and be done with it because 1) it would raise too many questions and 2) it would make Bruce get all sad and mopey- again.  Jason just did not have the mental energy to put up with that on top of the rest of his life as a crimelord/vigilante/long-lost adoptive second son of a billionaire.

All this to say, he was not impressed when he first glanced over a proposal to convert the unused hotels around the city into housing units- especially since it was from someone that did not live in Gotham.

Manson?  Wasn’t there a family with that name that would attend some of Brucie’s galas?  Oh yeah, their family made its fortune off patenting the machine that wrapped toothpicks in plastic, as well as a couple others.  And they had a daughter around Repla- Tim’s age.  Hopefully this wasn’t her trying to be a kiss-ass like her parents.

Jason finished reading and sat back.  The proposal wasn’t too bad.  Converting hotels into apartment buildings would be easier than office buildings, and the suggestion to use ex-convicts that wanted to turn over a new leaf as building managers certainly wasn’t the worst.  Also creating a fund for those that couldn’t afford rent, as well as community kitchens and gardens were certain plusses, though would need to have the right people in charge to make sure they actually worked as planned, and to keep the Court of Owls from messing with it.

Overall, it was something Jason would consider, after some research and maybe talking with the rest of the Bats and Birds.  And if this was from the Manson kid, maybe get Dickie or one of the others to talk to her next time there was a gala in town.  Or talk to her himself, if the Pit wasn’t too loud.

…Dick was probably the better option to talk with her if it came down to it.

***

There's the first chapter. I'm going to go write the next one. When I have a good log of them, I'll then go and edit them and put them on AO3.

This has no title yet because I suck at naming. Feel free to comment with suggestions for a name, both for the fic/au and for the eventual hotel/co op. As well as any shinanegans and majors/colleges/universities for our liminal young adults.

Part 1/? Next >

[hetacon]

Linktober 2024 Day 11: Music/Dance

The Sidlink height difference gives me life

I love the two of them so much, they have semi-permanent residence in my brain at this point and I’ve been wanting to draw more of them so badly! This is actually part of an animatic I thought of and started doing sketches for a while ago, I’m hoping I’ll be able to actually finish making it at some point!

Also Wild is genderfluid and absolutely no one can change my mind on that!

[ashthewaterghoul]

I'm Still Your Favourite Regret, You're Still My Weapon Of Choosing - A Banana!Verse One Shot

It wasn’t too common for Alpha to stay in Dew’s room after their nights together. It only happened when they were both too worn out. No other reason, it wasn’t like either were particularly cuddly after their usual hate fucks. Yet last night wasn’t the usual hate fuck… Or, Dew and Alpha make an impulsive and rather permanent decision. The morning after, with the sun shining down on what they did, makes the two react in a less-than-healthy way for their now-bound souls.

Words: 3190

Rating: Teen and up (just bc of like a smidgen of sex talk)

Relationships: Alpha/Dewdrop, some background Swiver and Air/Earth.

Tags: Whatever the Ghoul-equivalent of getting impulse married in Vegas is, bc this is that, angst, whump, feels, unhappy ending, Alpha can't deal with his emotions, the morning after, mating bonds.

Inspired by @anotherbananasong 's universe.

Title taken from 'Blood Sport' by Sleep Token

~~~

    It wasn’t too common for Alpha to stay in Dew’s room after their nights together. It only happened when they were both too worn out. No other reason, it wasn’t like either were particularly cuddly after their usual hate fucks. Yet last night wasn’t the usual hate fuck.

    You barely had to look at Dew to know how much of a dive his self-esteem had taken since his forced transformation. His hair, his temperature, his very soul had been changed by whatever torture was laid upon him. Alpha had sat with Dew the first time he summoned flames to his hands, and the crushed look on Dew’s face said it all. He was broken.

    Alpha didn’t do emotions. He was the Ministry’s resident asshole. His Fire fuelled his every word and action and no one ever came to him for any of that teary, feely bullshit. He’d burnt those bridges long ago.

    So that’s why it came as a shock when Dew dropped the usual vague message for one of their nights together. Dew hadn’t been with anyone since waking up, so why was he getting that chance?

    Alpha found himself to be nervous for the first time he could remember as he walked up to Dew’s room. And when Dew opened the door so Alpha could duck through, he knew he couldn’t do it, couldn’t give Dew those biting words and harsh treatment he usually did. Dew’s eyes were red and raw from crying, his clothes looked like he hadn’t changed them for days and his entire demeanour was just completely and utterly sad.

    The door locked behind him, and Alpha found his mouth running before his brain.

    “I- I can’t, Dew. Can’t do this when you’re like that.” Since when was he considerate?

    “No! Don’t leave, please.” Dew begged, more tears falling as he threw his arms around Alpha.

    And that’s when Alpha felt it. The familiarity in the flames that coursed through both their veins. Two souls begging to burn together.

    As Alpha woke up, his face dropped at the feeling in his chest. There was something else there. The flames in his soul dancing with Dew’s own in an eternal duet. His hand was throbbing and a bloody strip of fabric laid on the other side of Dew’s nest. When Alpha looked at his palm, he held back a gasp as he looked at Dew.

    For the first time since the Ancients got Dew out of that Satan-forsaken ritual room, the little Ghoul looked peaceful. He must have been having a good dream because even asleep he was smiling like the cat that got the canary. He looked as young as he was meant to, not the haunted gaze he’d taken on recently. Alpha could feel the contentment thrumming in his chest. What was this magic? Why was he so attuned to Dew? What happened last night?

    “Mate with me. Give me your heart.”

Read below the cut or on ao3

“Oh shit.” Alpha said as the memories came back crystal clear. He held one hand in the other, a finger tracing the wound that matched one on Dew’s own outstretched palm.

    The little Fire Ghoul was so broken and Alpha had just gone and broken him even more. No, Dew was too good for this world. He’d been through so much; he didn’t deserve what Alpha always gave him. Careless and cold and cruel. He wasn’t sure how it even started, the dynamic between them. He doesn’t remember Dew asking for it, and he doesn’t remember ever wanting it. He always walked away from their sessions feeling dirty and guilty, even with aftercare and maybe a round of make-up sex. But he wasn’t for all the feelings and emotional intelligence. So, he always snuffed it all out and shoved it into the far corners of his mind.

    He got out of the nest, careful not to disturb Dew, and got his clothes back on as quickly as he could. A quick check in the bathroom to make sure his veil was in place and he beelined for the door.

    Dew rolled over and gave a contented little hum, still fast asleep and oblivious. Alpha surprised himself with the smile that grew across his face at the frankly adorable sight, but it was soon replaced by an unbearable guilt for what he’d done. He silently padded back over to the nest. He brushed Dew’s hair from his face, leant over and said the words he had said the previous night. Words he would never say again out loud when he knew people could hear,

    “You are so loved.”

    He gave Dew’s head a small kiss, then steeled himself for the walk back to the catacombs. Luckily it was still early so no one was out. River had been talking about going to Swiss’ for the night, Omega was probably still asleep, Lake was somewhere and so he just had to worry about not seeing-

    “Morning.”

    “Hey Alpha.”

    Oh great. The fucking lovebirds.

Alpha gave non-committal grunts to Air and Earth.

    “Is Dew okay?” Air asked. While Alpha would always call him a literal airhead, he knew what Dew and Alpha got up to. And it being so soon after Dew woke up, the concern in Air’s face the previous day when Alpha left for the little one’s room was severe.

    However, for Alpha the mention of his mat- the Fire Ghoul had him growling, tears once again welling up in his eyes.

    The rarely seen tears were enough to make both Ghouls freeze. Earth didn’t even have a remark to make about someone growling at his mate.

    Alpha went to his room, slamming the door behind him and falling to the ground against it. His tears were coming more rapidly now and just to boot he could feel Dew. He must be awake now and his own confusion and pain were radiating down the bond they now shared. It twisted Alpha’s heart, and he hated it. His throat burned with the sobs he was slowly failing to hold back so he ripped his veil off and held it to his mouth to muffle his cries.

    His pain and Dew’s swirled around in his chest. He never dealt with his own emotions, now he had to feel someone else’s?! Alpha grabbed at his shirt and balled up the fabric over where the bond was.

    Couldn’t it go away? Just go away! Alpha internally begged, crying and rocking himself until he felt something shift. Dew was getting nearer. Oh fuck no, he was coming down to the catacombs. So, Alpha did what he always did. He took his pesky emotions, locked them down and threw them into the back corner of his mind.

    There was no conceivable reality in which Alpha would ever be a good mate, so he promised himself he wouldn’t even try. Maybe it would push Dew away enough so they could ignore what they did, maybe the little one could find a mate who was truly worthy of him. And maybe Alpha whimpered as he felt it weigh down on the bond.

----

    Dew woke up feeling odd.

    Usually after his sessions with Alpha he was sore, or just tired. But this was different. The Ancient had left before Dew woke up but that was more common than not. Dew couldn’t quite explain why that hurt more than normal though. He shrugged, blaming it on the cut on his ha- Oh shit.

    “You are so loved.” Alpha had said as he held Dew like he was some sort of deity. Every pass of his large hands was nothing less than reverent as was everything he had done with Dew that night.

    Dew didn’t know he could be so genuine and heartfelt and in a rush of his own emotions he said something mad. He expected Alpha to say no, for the dynamic to shift back to what it usually was and all emotion to be lost. But Alpha kissed Dew oh so gently, took the spare veil Dew kept stashed in his room for any of the Ancients, just in case, and said, “Do you think this would work? We don’t have any of the normal ritual bindings in here.”

    The fabric was just a few feet away from Dew, soaked with both their blood and the infernal magic that the rites carried. That wasn’t the only evidence of what they had done last night. Dew could feel Alpha in his soul. His burdening turmoil weighed like a stone in Dew’s heart. It made him whine as he felt every note of pain his mate was in.

    Dew and Alpha may have made a very stupid heat-of-the-moment decision, but he always tried to be a Ghoul of his word. If he had a mate now, he would do his best and be a damned good mate.

    He pulled on his clothes and ran out of his room. Sure, his t-shirt was on backwards and he was completely barefoot, but he didn’t really care. Something in the bond came alive as Dew steadily grew nearer to the other end of it. He almost allowed himself a small smile at the warm fuzzy feeling of it until it was suddenly gone. It felt like a wall had gone up, and he couldn’t feel Alpha anymore. Not in the same intensity at least.

    Dew had to stop halfway down the stairs and grasp at his chest, ironically enough with the hand that bore the wound of their mating. Fuck, it hurt. Mating bonds weren’t supposed to do this. They were meant to be left wide open, conveying nothing more than the Ghouls’ love and commitment to one another. Dew started whining at the stone that had suddenly become a boulder in his chest.

    “Dewdrop?” The familiar voice of Air echoed up the stairs, his footsteps too as he drew nearer, falling to his knees to be closer to eye-level with Dew, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

    Dew, desperate for comfort his own fucking mate didn’t seem to want to give him, fell forwards against Air’s chest, managing to become somewhat acquainted with the pain that showed no sign of letting up.

    “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Dew.” Air soothed, wrapping his arms around the little Ghoul.

    The two stayed there awkwardly on the steps until Dew nodded and pulled away, “I need to speak to Alpha. Is he home?”

    Air’s eyebrows furrowed with concern as he nodded, “In his room.”

    Air led the way even though Dew knew the catacombs like the back of his hand, and Earth was waiting by Alpha’s door.

    “Nothing.” He said, to his mate as they approached. Dew’s own concern grew at Earth, of all Ghouls, being worried for the Fire Ghoul.

    Air knocked on the door, “Alfie? Dew’s here, can he come in?”

    There was silence from the room and Dew could feel the muted panic of the Ghoul inside.

    “Alpha, you’re never like this. We just want to help.” Earth added.

    Still nothing, and Dew could feel the bond being more and more shut away. His wounded hand still over his chest, he did his best not to show the pain all of it was causing him.

    “Satanas, fuck. Alpha! Open the door or I’m breaking it down!” Earth said in a much louder voice and angrier tone.

    “What are you shouting for? It’s too early.” Omega came from his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes and scowling at the Earth Ghoul.

    “No need for breaking anything.” Air said to his mate, before glimmering away into the vents.

----

    Alpha was frozen in fear when he heard Dew’s name. He couldn’t face him, not after what he’d done. If he just ignored it, they would all leave him. He could come out in a few hours with his usual bite and snark and all would be back to normal.

    “What happened to your veil?”

    “Fuck!” Alpha startled, not noticing Air materialising in front of him, “Warn a Ghoul before you sneak into his room.”

    Air gave a small smile, “Maybe you should stop wrecking your veil and you’d notice me.”

    “I don’t know about that. Mattresses are hard to take any real notice of. And I didn’t wreck my-“ But as Alpha looked to the mound of fabric that until moments ago had still been up to his mouth. Not only was it stained from tears and snot, but dozens of fang and claw marks had been slashed through it in his frantic attempt for comfort. It was completely ruined.

    “Oh, fuck. I- I- I didn’t mean to! I promise! I-“

    “Hey, you’re fine. It’s fine.” Air assured, “It’s just cloth. This is why we all have multiple.” Air got up and walked over to Alpha’s wardrobe to get a fresh one.

    Alpha couldn’t rip his eyes away from the wrecked veil. Twice in twelve hours, he had desecrated what the Ancients used to show their faith, their worship, their commitment. His own was a burnt orange to match his Fire. It was a random idea when the Ancients started veiling that they would all have colours that matched to their Elements. Alpha called it dumb but he stuck with it. He couldn’t help that it complimented his eyes! As Alpha stared at it more, he realised it was now a perfect match for the shade of Dew’s eyes.

----

    Earth was anxious as Air disappeared into Alpha’s room. He didn’t like interactions between the two when he was present, let alone with a locked door in the way.

    “Everything okay in there?”

    “Yup, just a veil situation.” Air shouted back.

    Earth visibly relaxed, but Dew tensed. He knew how important the veils were to all the Ancients, especially Alpha. It had taken a while for the older Fire Ghoul to let Dew put his hands or face anywhere near it.

    A few moments later Air slipped out the door and shut it behind him before Dew could so much as smell Alpha within.

    “He, uh, doesn’t want to see anyone right now.” Air said regretfully.

    “Doesn’t want to see anyone? Or doesn’t want to see me?” Dew questioned.

    “He said ‘anyone’.” Air confirmed.

    Dew snarled low in his throat, his Fire prickling away under his skin. Alpha’s own much bigger, angrier flames burned with them.

    “Well then, he’s a big grown-up Ghoul. When he’s stopped fucking pouting and sulking like a kit, he can come talk to me like a fucking adult!” Dew raised his voice enough that Alpha absolutely would’ve heard him. He kicked the door, rattling it within its hinges, before turning around to leave the catacombs. He shouted as he left: “And I need another spare veil for my room!”

    Air, Earth and Omega were all left staring dumbfounded at each other and the space Dew had been standing in.

    Dew however, was seeing red and needed to be as far away from Alpha as he could. He stormed back up to his own pack’s dorms and his eyes narrowed when he saw Swiss’ door. He knew River had stayed over, he could hear them giggling as the TV played, and Dew decided No Happy Couples.

    He knocked and River answered, “Dew, you okay?”

    “No, I need Swiss.” Dew said shortly, his chest twisted as River’s face fell at his tone.

    “Oh, okay. I’ll, uh, head down then.” River mumbled, saying a short goodbye to the confused Multi.

    “The fuck, Dew?” Swiss said annoyed, everyone knew how sensitive River is.

    Dew couldn’t hold back anymore and started bawling.

    Swiss’ frustration completely faded as he rushed over and gathered Dew up in his arms. Swiss was no Ancient but he was still taller than Dew and carried him over to his nest. Swiss tried to get Dew to talk but he just shook his head as he cried, carefully keeping his hand balled up and hidden.

    He managed to fall asleep for a while, and when he woke up, there was one glorious moment where Dew thought the larger body wrapped around him was Alpha’s. But reality soon came crashing down on top of the boulder that had remained rigidly in place. He thanked Swiss, apologising for ruining his morning with River, and went back to his own room.

    Dew tried to clean up his room, put it back so it looked just as it did before Alpha had arrived, trying to erase what they did. As he picked up the veil they had used to bind their souls, Dew felt his eyes welling up again. He wanted to burn it so bad. Say a big ‘fuck you’ to Alpha and destroy the fabric that held so much significance to him, with the flames he had taught Dew to use. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

    Instead, Dew raised it to his nose. It smelt so delectably of the two of them. He hid it under a pillow and continued fixing his nest. What he didn’t realise was that as he shoved the fabric away, he shoved the bond away and closed it off, just the same as Alpha had.

    Alpha wanted to be stubborn and play this game? Fine, he could do it. But as Dew was learning to dance with the flames, he was also learning that he could go on too. Dew would pretend that none of this had bothered him, and it would just be more fuel for their hateful dynamic.

    In reality? Dew couldn’t sleep until he was clutching that bloodied veil to his chest, smelling the both of them on it.

    And as for Alpha, he kept the veil he had wrecked that morning too. Because after his nose had pushed past the scent of his own misery, he could smell where Dew had held onto it and begged Alpha to be his, for their souls to be one.

    It was only in the moments in the dead of night, when he was sure Dew was asleep, that Alpha would lift that veil up to his face and wish the little Fire Ghoul himself was there with him, to kiss away his tears just as he did for Dew did on that fateful night.

    The two fell into a game of circling each other, silently trying to goad the other into breaking first. They never spoke about it and refused to acknowledge the bond that tied their souls together forevermore. They didn’t seem to care that by hurting each other they were only hurting themselves.

    Every time Dew tried to get Alpha to just look at him, he was treated like nothing more than a smear of shit on his boot. And Alpha never even tried to get anything from Dew other than to be left alone.

    It landed them in an endless cycle of their flames fully coming out for each other and neither were willing to even try and douse it out. Always yearning for love and comfort, and not realising they could have it in each other if they just let it happen. Forever stuck in an eternal world of shared misery that they isolated themselves in.

a/n: ...…Until Earth says ‘fuck this shit’ and beats Alpha to pulp for being such a dickhead.

One shot master post can be found here!

[that-house]

can you tell us more about dronestrike & the campaign theyre from?

just read thhe post about it & immediately became obsessed

(context: Dronestrike is my warrior cats OC, an american imperialist robot cat the size of a horse and equipped with enough firepower to wipe out the clans if it seems like they're at risk of falling to communism. in the oneshot he accidentally fired a nuke at the city of LA and blamed "every other country" in a phone call with Bidenstar to avoid getting in trouble)

it wasn't a campaign, just an 11-person oneshot in the single most chaotic discord voice call I have ever been in. so i haven't played him since then, nor will i ever play him again

i can provide you a variety of facts about him i came up with after the fact though because he's a funny enough character that i can't stop thinking about him:

his brain is composed of three parts with an equal amount of control over his actions: the soul of a vietnam veteran, an AI replica of a cat, and every single super bowl halftime commercial

he comes armed with combat knives for claws, a machine gun in his mouth, a high caliber sniper rifle built into his spine, a pistol that he somehow uses with cat paws, and a douglas air-2 genie air-to-air unguided nuclear missile

transition could not save him because all trans people are godless communists who bully him on twitter

Dronestrike acknowledges every independence movement if only so that America has more countries to eventually colonize

he has read Marx so he can misuse quotes and flex on any marxists who haven't read theory

his greatest wish is for america to have won 'nam

doesn’t really have any physical possessions because he’s a cat who doesn’t have pockets or a permanent residence. he does however have $8.6 million in Shell oil stock

Dronestrike if he played League of Legends: only plays champs who have america-themed skins, but doesn’t actually own the skins because that would be giving money to a chinese company. plays all of them jungle to poor results. iron 4 two thousand games this season

has no mouth but wishes he did so he could taste the burgers that honest Americans have died to defend

Dronestrike's dream world is world war 3, with the stipulation that there is an american flag superimposed over EVERYONE'S vision instead of just his

if he had 24 hours to live he would start a “second american revolution” by attacking England

he isn't a good kisser: no lips, he's a cat, and also george washington famously said that romantic connections weaken your spiritual link with The State

response to being trapped in a maze of mirrors: breaks through the mirrors without noticing, but also can’t recognize his reflection. Thinks he has to fight these teleporting commie clones of himself to save the United States of America

he's on Santa's naughty list

on Halloween he dresses up as George Washington and “trick or disappears” journalists

Dronestrike hates the reds, the brits, women, and most importantly, himself

prefers fundamentals over schmovement

favorite board game is Monopoly because watching people go bankrupt or be imprisoned is one of his hobbies

his happiest memory is his first glimpse of an amazon packaging facility and the horrible conditions of the workers

favorite season is summer: 4th of July babey!!! the holiday where you're allowed to blow shit upppp!!! he also frequently sets off fireworks in the off season to scare dogs and people with anxiety

doesn’t date but he sends tech billionaires unethically farmed flowers sometimes

doesn’t play video games but he has a simulated CoD lobby’s chat going at all times in his head. they call him slurs whenever he misses a shot

relates strongly to Patrick Bateman

he was in ShadowClan. they picked which clan he would be deployed into by having him take the official "which clan are you" quiz

sometimes he doubts that he has the heart of a true warrior

[a-dragons-journal]

Shared Phantoms

One of the things systemhood has brought - indeed, in hindsight, one of the first signs of Viridian’s presence - is blendy phantom shifts that only happen with certain combinations of fronters. It’s an interesting phenomenon, especially when it’s not something that the fictives experienced before arriving here.

The most dramatic, I believe, is in fact the phantoms that Viridian and I co-fronting produces - which is to say, together we turn into a feathered dragon phantom-wise, something neither of us is on our own. We gain a feathered crest down the back of the skull and spine, similar to my webbed crest but with a different feel to it that’s hard to describe, and smaller, softer “body” feathers on the neck that we mostly notice when she-wei get flustered, embarrassed, or startled and the neck feathers rouse (ruffle and resettle) without our really meaning them to. We can intentionally move them as well.

I think I know why this happens, but it’s only a guess: before Viridian woke up fully, one of the AUs I’d played around with for her and her sourcemates was a dragon AU, in which Viridian is indeed a somewhat feathered dragon. Interestingly, that design doesn’t actually have the smaller body feathers, only the crest - but I suspect that’s what cemented “dragon!Viridian = feathers” in our brain, and thus when Viridian gets affected by my dragonbrain, it produces feathers. But it’s still a weird thing, especially since Viridian never had this in source - her brother-broodmate actually has phantom feathers, courtesy of being an anchiornis therian, but she never did. Caldwells is feathers, I guess. We have no data on whether she would still get these phantoms if she fronted without me, unfortunately, since it’s currently very difficult for me to leave front (and usually as soon as we realize I have I reflexively snap back into it anyway).

Viridian also gets one other phantom, one she actually does have in-source but never talks about - the sensation of retracting her fangs. Most Kindred can retract and extend their fangs at will, but Viridian has a quirk of the Blood (mechanically speaking, the Permanent Fangs Flaw) that prevents her from doing this and keeps her fangs permanently extended. She can try, however, and when she does she experiences a phantom sensation of the fangs retracting even though it doesn’t actually change anything.

…Here’s the funny thing about that. We learned only after she arrived here and off-handedly mentioned this to a sourcemate that that’s not how that works. It doesn’t feel like much of anything to most Kindred, apparently, at least in their universe. And after thinking about it, what we’re fairly sure happened is that shortly after her Embrace, when she was trying so hard to figure out how to make it work, she accidentally trained her brain into a phantom sensation that shouldn’t exist. Which is extremely funny (“if a little embarrassing,” she mutters from the back) in hindsight, but it’s also kind of interesting that it’s stuck around even after realizing this.

Another headmate who gets phantom shifts now even though she didn’t back in source is Loretta, the other resident dragon - though she has significantly more control over her shifts than I do mine, since transformation to and from human comes naturally to her kind of dragon, she usually chooses to let it happen anyway because we kind of enjoy them. Her tail is markedly different from mine - lighter, more flexible, and much more capable of curling upward to facilitate slashing with the single-edged blade her tailtip is equipped with - and occasionally the two fight for space; we can only have one at a time, it seems. Sometimes this leads to it flipping back and forth; usually Loretta’s tail wins out, I think because it’s more expressive and mobile than mine and thus attracts more of the brain’s conscious attention.

And while Loretta and I co-fronting doesn’t produce a unique set of phantom shifts (at least not so far), it does allow each of us to feel the other’s anatomy, which is… interesting sometimes, especially since any amount of focus on my headspace body leads to phantom shifts in the physical of whatever draconic body parts I may have in headspace at the time (it varies). It means that if she runs a hand along my wing in headspace, for example, we both feel both sides of the sensation - running “my” hand along “its” wing; “her” hand running along “my” wing. It’s… almost disorienting, but usually seems to work out okay? We haven’t played with it much, but what we have played with has been fun and interesting. It also means that I can often tell she’s come up closer to front by what feel like cameo shifts of her dragon shape, usually her ears and tail. (Interestingly, she doesn’t seem to pop wings as often as I do, maybe because in-source she can’t actually transform wings yet.)

So… yeah. I don’t really have a conclusion here, just making a set of notes.

[hanibalistic]

#8A1725 | NISHIMURA RIKI.

genre | angsty romance

word count | 2339

warning | mention of domestic abuse, suicide attempt (jumping off building) / blood, injuries, violent acts / scissors ​

note | niki (riki?) is the only person i can think of who fits this character. / hi, i love choco puffs!  

niki's quick and loud footsteps echoed across the quiet blocks, but they were not enough to wake their residents permanently.

racing the wind has always been a thrilling experience. there was nothing like the tender suffocation of cold air filling his nostrils, traveling to his brain and his lungs, while his legs begged to give under pressure. there was no such thrill this time around. he was suffocating, still; he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t. but it didn’t come from the wind; it came from the cryptic text you sent him half an hour ago that wrote, ‘help me.’

he responded with a journey of messages that began with amusement and tease, to increasing worry and annoyance, and finally, only a minute before he ransacked his clean laundry basket for a jacket and the messy drawer for a pair of rusty scissors, fear and desperation. you revealed your home life to him shortly after he pieced the puzzle together. he knew your father’s anguish disposition and the violent ways he enjoys showing it. your call for help and the fact that you didn’t read any of his replies for half an hour made him assume the worst.

the biological inability of humans to safely hold their breaths for more than two minutes was the only thing reminding him to do so. when you opened the door to the bathroom where you locked yourself in, he inhaled deeply once again and held onto it. it wasn’t time to let his guard down. closing the door behind him and locking it aggressively to make sure you heard it, he reached up for your face and began to examine you in quick succession. you let him, your brows furrowing as he pressed his fingers against your scalp and brushed through your hair.

“niki, i'm–“ you paused your sentence to let out a low whine when he pinched both sides of your face and pulled them toward opposite sides–“i’m okay.”

“why didn’t you read my messages?” he demanded. 

“dad took my phone,” you replied with a muffled voice. “can you let go of my face now?”

oxygen gained permission to enter his body once he established that you weren’t severely injured. he stared down at you, his eyes barely visible behind his sweaty hair, and then he scoffed and let go of your face. it was a conscious decision to smooth your sore skin over with his thumb, the back of his fingers running down your chin as his hands removed themselves from your face, but niki didn’t know if it was an attempt to savor the touch or an unneeded apology for pinching your cheeks.

you watched as he sat down across from you on the bathroom floor. you’ve only known him for two years; he has always been tall. even with you curling your legs to your chest, there wasn’t enough space to accommodate the length of his legs. you measured them with your naked eyes, then up at his face where he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his palm. he must have run like hell to get to you, all over a text you didn’t think much about. You had no idea he would do that at all.

“move over,” you muttered as you released your knees from your chest.

he listened and scooted closer to the door, an unconscious precaution taken. you crawled over his legs to plop down next to him. you didn’t have to curl yourself into a ball if you were sitting next to him, and he couldn’t have you blocking half the floor space on which he could rest his feet. niki extended his legs more, heaving a relieved sigh, and then he chuckled after peeking at you.

“you're sitting next to the toilet,” he said.

you shrugged, arm brushing against his. “it won’t be my first time.” 

“that’s true,” he said, shifting so his arm pressed against yours. “he really didn’t hit you?”

“he did,” you nodded, “but not enough to bleed this time.”

pursing his lips to let the curse die on his tongue, he leaned his head back on the edge of the bathtub. the ceiling light was blinding, almost as if he was staring at the sun, and he couldn’t stare at it without squinting through the pain. marks of illusional symbols began to float behind his lids, and he felt his eyes burn with tears—niki held on; he wondered if this was enough to taste your pain, or perhaps he needed to ask your father to break his nose before he could adequately fit his feet in your shoes. he wondered if his futile protectiveness had developed into an obsession, or perhaps it was normal for a boy to suffer with his lover.

“where is your mom?” he asked curiously, tapping his index finger against his knee. “where is she in all of this?”

“she’s afraid, niki,” you replied. “i don’t blame her.”

“well, i do,” he sneered. “she should divorce him and get you out of here. she should have done that years ago.”

“it’s not that easy,” you mused at his naivety. “besides, she loves him.”

he snorted, rolling his eyes and glancing at the silver doorknob. “what love? this is punishment.”

“when is one not the other?” you muttered offhandedly, not expecting a real answer from him. 

it wasn’t that niki couldn’t articulate ideas of that calibre; he was just a very straightforward person. if he liked you, he would show it. if he didn’t, he would let you know. if there’s an issue, fix it. there was no such thing as cutting corners or walking on eggshells around a taboo topic. his answer to your question wouldn’t be nuanced because it shouldn’t have to be—love is never a punishment. if it feels like it, then it couldn���t be love.

besides, he never liked these kinds of questions in general.

“i came here for nothing then,” he said, not bothering to answer you. 

you shook your head with an amused smirk. “i wouldn’t say for nothing. you’re keeping me company.” 

“that’s not what i want,” he muttered to himself and turned to you. he found it difficult to say you worried him to death, so he didn’t. Instead, he pulled the pair of scissors from his pocket and showed it to you. “i should have been here earlier. i even brought a weapon.” 

“no way,” you chuckled. “what were you going to do with it? stab my dad?”

niki played with the sharp object in his hand, his silence a sign of contemplation. his thoughts couldn’t replay themselves far enough for him to remember exactly why he grabbed the scissors in the first place, but he knew that during his frantic sprint to your apartment estate, he made up his mind. he saw blood frothing at his mouth as a potential aftermath of the decision, and he made up his mind that perhaps an act of violence and an act of love were two indistinguishable things.

lowering the weapon to his thigh, he turned to you. you two sat close, the origin of the proximity an unknown, subconscious story, and his eyes were as soft as his voice.

“i was ready to kill him for you.”

in that moment, as your neck soured as if you pulled a nerve, you wished your father had killed you. 

“don’t be ridiculous,” you said as you tore your eyes away from his. “you’ll get–“ the words got caught in your throat for a second–“you’ll get in trouble.”

but he already knew that. 

he may be hot-headed and immature, but you wouldn’t put it past him to understand the full scope of a murder’s consequences. you didn’t want to verbalize it for your sake, handing yourself the notion that he knew what would happen and still chose that path to keep you safe. neither were the lines printed between his actions and decisions lost on you; the fact that he belonged to you in ways no person should ever belong to another, all on his volition.

niki was the first boy who’s ever confessed an undone murder to you. he was the first boy who’s ever confessed his love for you. 

he kept his eyes on you. you have your father’s features; every time you look into the mirror, you see a mixture of him and yourself, and you are reminded the very man you resemble doesn’t love you.

an act of violence and an act of love were two indistinguishable things. you wished he confessed to you differently, in the language you understood, the language of the damned. he also knew that, so the second time he confessed to you, it was through a split-second decision made in a hapless situation.

falling off a building has the same feeling as racing against the wind, except the end goal was death rather than suffocation, and he has no control over his legs. he wasn’t thinking about that, though. when he found himself hopping off the school roof after you, his fingers clutching the hem of your uniform to shelter you against his chest, he wasn’t thinking about how clear the air in mid-air was or how fast a human body could actually fall to the ground. he was thinking about something else, something morbid.

he thought about dying. perhaps with you in his arms, or the fall would break you out of his embrace. either way, he was content. amid the thought of a splattered brain and leaked blood, he was content.

niki was already awake and sitting by the infirmary bed when you opened your eyes. your head hammered the same as when you hit the ground, but you found it in yourself to take a peek at him. he looked exhausted, and his hair messier than ever. he caught your eyes and subtly sat straighter, his phone sliding off his knees to the floor.

“the tree growing in the backyard cushioned the fall,” he clarified as he leaned down to pick his phone up. “if you’re wondering how we didn’t die.”

“you jumped after me." it was all you could muster. your curiosity about his thought process was overwhelming.

he pursed his lips, his movement slowing a fraction when you reminded him of what he did. “yeah.”

trailing your eyes down, you saw that his arms were both bandaged, and his knuckles were red with afterimages of dry blood stains. if the tree—you suspected it was the one close to growing inside the school building—really tanked the fall, then the rough branches must have caught his skin a few heavy wounds. as for his knuckles—you looked down at your hands to recall what happened—it could have been him shielding the side of your head from hitting the floor, but you couldn’t be sure.

slowly sitting up to lean against the pillow, you eyed him with dissatisfaction. “was it worth it?”

“what was?” he questioned, mildly upset at your expression.

"trying to save me,” you said before gesturing toward his injuries to make a point.

“i wasn’t trying to save you,” he said after a pause, raising his brows as if you should have known that all along. 

between the uncertainty of life and death, where he couldn’t be sure if you could live through this tragedy, niki figured it was better if he, too, ceased to exist. he wasn’t willing to bet his life on a miracle, nor was he willing to live in a world with untraceable leads of you hidden in every corner.

or, perhaps he wanted to die because you also wanted to die, like your brains were linked and you were two halves of one being. you could be the sword that kills the both of you—you have to be the sword that kills the both of you. once you plunge into him, he’d be glad that he got to feel your blood in his half of the body because that would finally render him whole.

“i was trying to die with you.”

the flicker in your eyes mimicked the thundering of an epiphany, and he knew that his confession was received well this time. you turned away to look out the window. the tree that saved you wasn't there, but it wasn't as if you planned to express gratitude anyway. you only looked away to avoid seeing the boy you've fundamentally changed from the first time you opened the door of your bathroom to his knocks, revealing to him a black eye and a bleeding nose.

"you really like me that much, niki," you said, but the sentence could be considered a question. any affection thrown towards you could be regarded with confusion.

"i do," he muttered.

you turned your head back to meet his eyes. "would you give me your heart?"

he never liked these kinds of questions.

"i'll feed it to you," he said, and he would.

he would chew his own heart into small pieces, carefully gather them on a spoon, and feed them to you.

you laughed lowly. "that's going to hurt a lot."

it would, as did his arms when the tree branches caught his falling weight, his back when he hit the ground with you close to his chest, and his legs when he ran across blocks to your home. everything about loving you would hurt him; his devotion to you would mirror your father's hands without him realizing it.

"it will," he joked while pulling the chair closer to the bed. "i bet my heart tastes like shit, but you're gonna have to eat it."

you laughed with him, and he suddenly remembered, when he was laying on the ground, his knuckles bloodied from shielding your head, your question about love and punishment, about how to decipher when one becomes the other.

when does love become a punishment?—

you trailed a finger across his bandage, your bottom lip jutting out without a promise that it wouldn't happen again.

—when it's real.

[chemicallywrit]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! I heard so many good shows this week, let’s goooooo

🥃 I started listening to @breakerwhiskey this week, and I’m on episode 21 (which is nothing, it’s microfic), and it is so compelling. Lauren Shippen said in episode zero that she misses the improvisational feel of early audio dramas and that really comes through in this show—the wandering of the story reflects the wandering of Whiskey herself. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

🎵I am not alone in my reaction to the new season of @hellofromthehallowoods, which I think goes something like, “Wh—who—but—Arnold?????” (Seriously, Arnold???) but I love a mystery, and I love how linear this season is starting out. I’m sure that it’ll all get more complicated soon.

💔 Have you all heard Josie’s Lonely Hearts Club? It’s a call-in advice show from a fictional radio station and it is HILARIOUS. Until this last episode, which got SAD. It's a partially improvised show, so the whole thing feels so incredibly human and it always hits. Please listen, more fictional advice shows all around.

🐺 The Midnight Burger/The Amelia Project crossover was exactly as delightful as I expected. We got two shows that love historical figures and putting people in the deep freeze. What could go wrong! Absolutely nothing. With a crossover episode I always wonder if there will be enough character interaction to slake my insatiable character dynamic thirst and for this one I definitely think there was.

🍺 Inn Between dropped an episode of Dragon’s Rest on their feed this week, and I'm here to say that we did that because it's frikkin hilarious. This last episode was so good, especially with Shax trying to talk to a bartender and the bartender getting mad that Shax was complaining about her friends and not having a professional business conversation. I love you, southern-sounding bartender, and I love you Shax.

🩸Hemophobia continues to scare the heck out of me. This series, Camp Havenside, ended exactly how I expected it to, with the extra twist of that horrible half-possessed state Sam is in. Lordt. Listen to this show. Mind the content warnings. Then like, message me about it, it has taken permanent residence in my brain.

�� Oh Malevolent, you never disappoint me. I adore the twists the season finale took, and the real danger Arthur and John were in had me on the edge of my seat. How are we gonna get outta this one boys! Frikkin Kayne.

💎 As it ever is, @kingmakerpod was a blessing visited upon my podcatcher. Oh man though, Lucas Lando, what a scuzbag. Like maybe the worst villain yet in this series for me, and I'm including the psychic child. Lando's just unsavory. The action scenes in this episode were excellent, and I love the use of Pocket Cinnamon. For a minute when they were looking for things in the barn that don't conduct electricity, I was very worried for the cows. Honestly now a little surprised they didn't explode a cow. Hey guys, why didn't you explode a cow?

🌈 I've been listening to this actual play, @ourstoriedinsight, and it's about all the typical actual play stuff--a party of misfit adventurers, thrown together by circumstance, trying to stop the end of the world. What stands out about this one is its wonderful sound design and its tone--it's so introspective and kind. The characters are great too. I would die for Vishakapar. If you like an actual play and you don't want to wait for it to get really good, please check out Our Storied Insight.

As for personal news, boy oh boy am I working hard on the Dead! Pray for our recording schedule these next couple weeks. As for Inn Between, we'll be putting up an episode this week that is a true banger, I hope you like it.

That's it for me this week! If you like what I do, send me a tip!

[slxsherwriter]

The Big Wheel Groans

Fandom: Joy Ride

Pairing: None, hints of future Rusty x female reader

Word count: 3, 127

Warnings: Mentioned of parental death

Author's note: Rusty has taken a permanent residence in my brain. Waffled back and forth a few times on how innocent the reader would actually be. I think Rusty would do well with this polite, naive little thing. Bonus points to anyone who gets the title reference. May explain how I'm viewing these two.

Cigarettes, stale coffee, and greasy bacon. The scent was an immediate assault as soon as the door opened. Most would find it off-putting, but to you? To you, it brought up fond childhood memories of getting to tail along with your father; early morning drives out into the beautiful countryside, interspersed with stops like this. He always let you get some pancakes with whipped cream. The nostalgia washed over you like a crashing wave, and for just a moment, your chest tightened. As good as those memories were, the pain felt just as fresh as it had been two months ago.

Giving a polite smile to the woman that came and greeted you, it was easy to pick your way through the tables as she found a space against the wall on the opposite side of the tiny truck stop diner to set you.

"Passing through, honey?" You settled down and kept up with the kind smile. You damn well knew that she didn't always get the respect she deserved. Just the nature of the job and the location. Truckers? They could carry their own and knew well enough to be mindful. At least the generation that your father belonged to did. Yours? Not so much.

"Yes, ma'am." She seemed surprised to hear the response. "Not in any hurry, though. I'll take a coffee when you get a moment, please." You could see someone, definitely not one to frequent stops like this, was trying to get her attention.

"Well, ain't you a polite young thing," she offered with a soft laugh. "I'll bring your coffee right up." She headed off with an almost lazy step to her gait, clearly not in any sort of rush to take care of the demanding customer. The action was enough to force you to stifle a laugh behind your hand. Eyes had fallen on you when you had first entered and now? They had mostly returned to their own doings and business. That could have stemmed from the fact that you dressed sort of like you fit in amongst all the workers who spent their hours on the road. The beat-up Carhartt around your shoulders had belonged to your father. It had seen far better days, but it was the one thing you hadn't been able to give up.

Your father had been your rock, your steady shore, the one who had been there. He had raised you alone, did everything right. As much as he could. Older now, you realized the man had his flaws, but he cared for you very much and had done a hell of a job on his own. When your grandmother came into the picture when you were fifteen, upheaval and chaos reigned. She had managed to petition the courts to gain custody. That was what happened when one side had money and the other hadn't. A single father on the road for work versus the woman whose name meant something and had connections. It was a losing battle.

Playing in that world, high society, had always felt wrong. You had longed for the simple days in the rural home you had spent your childhood in. Money hadn't meant shit. Social events and gatherings were torturous at best, painful proceedings that you were forced through over and over again. All because you carried a name? Or well, supposedly did. A name you has forsaken as soon as the old woman passed away.

Sure, she had left everything to you, and it would be a hell of an easy life. But that wasn't what you had wanted. Selling her house, all the shit in it that you didn't need, you had found a beater car and headed right back to see your father.

It was only a few years later that he fell ill. All the money in the world couldn't beat out the consequences of smoking two packs a day and a life spent in a rig. Now, you were working on spreading his ashes cross country in the spots you visited as a kid. At least the money was being used for something.

In the blink of an eye, your meal, pancakes with whipped cream of course, and coffee were all done. All in all, it was a meal under 15 bucks. As discreetly as you could, you wrote out a note before shoving several large bills in the little folder. Enough to leave a healthy tip for the kind waitress and pay for the meals of the six other people occupying the bar space. Standing up, you stopped the waitress on your way out.

"Keep the change." It was all you offered before you stepped outside. You didn't need to see the results of your small act. You didn't do it for recognition. Hell, once you were done with this, you were retreating from the world to your fathers house and not leaving for a few weeks at minimum.

Sitting in your car, you were studying the map. GPS was good, and while you used it, it was always good to have the route planned out. Technology could shit the bed easily. At least reading and following the map was a sure thing. Mostly. Roads occasionally changed but not enough to end up lost with no knowledge of how to unstick yourself. A tap on the window caused you to jump, pressing the paper downwards for a moment.

A man stood outside your window, tall enough that you couldn't see his face right away, having to shift closer with him leaning his head down. Even so, his hat obscured his eyes. Scruff lined his chin, slightly peppered. This man was definitely a trucker. Quickly, you rolled down the window.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"That was an awful kind thing you did there," he spoke softly, his hand jerking back in the direction of the diner. You blinked, processing the words but reacting far slower than it should have been. That voice. Deep with that drawl. You could listen to it for hours. "Things like that don't happen too often." Was he looking for an explanation?

"Oh, it wasn't much, really." His eyes were running over the car. You knew how it looked. First impressions wouldn't scream that you had money. Which, maybe to a degree, it was a good thing. "What good is an inheritance if you can't put a little good out into the world? Would it be safe to assume that one of those rigs is yours?" You motioned towards the line of trucks not far from where you were parked.

"S'pose you could."

"My father was a trucker. The job isn't easy, and I respect what you do. The least I could do was pay for food and coffee. A good meal and some caffeine are important. My attempt to make up for all the bad that you have to deal with, at least in a small way." He seemed to mull the words over for a moment, almost as if it wasn't what he expected you to say. Then, a soft chuckle, a deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine, came from the man. His fingers drummed against the hood of your car for just a moment before he stepped back.

"Well, it's appreciated."

"It's really no problem at all. Happy to do something so small. Stay safe out there."

"You do the same, sweetheart."

****

The meeting stuck in your head, leaving a little smile on your face as you drove the long, mostly desolate stretches of highway for the next two days. There was one final special stop that you had to make, where the remainder of the ashes would be spread. It was off the beaten path, near an abandoned warehouse. The same little isolated lake that you and your father had always spent your birthdays. A little fishing, some deer watching, and the sort of peace and calm that didn't come from anything but a lack of interaction with the outside world. A place just for the two of you, away from the outside world and distractions. There was no work, there was no school, no one to bother and no one to interrupt.

The spreading of his ashes had been both painful and cathartic. A final goodbye that in a lot of ways you had not been ready for. But, there was no other option. Reality was what it was, and you couldn't hold on to him out of selfish reasons. Being back in that place brought back nothing but fond memories, some that you hadn't thought about in years, and some that you had forgotten.

You hadn't driven more than a couple miles off the road that led to the abandoned warehouse when steam started coming from your engine. Pulling the truck to the side of the road, you killed the engine and let out a small huff. Out in the middle of nowhere, there wasn't a chance for cell service, and nothing was within walking distance to be able to find a tow truck. Hopefully, it was something you'd be able to fix on your own, but you wouldn't know until you got out of the car and popped the hood. The heat coming from the engine was uncomfortable, and you had to pull your hand back twice before being able to lift the hood at all. Waving smoke out of your face, you waited for just a moment longer for things to clear before appearing into the engine to see if you could determine what was causing the problem. At the same time, you tried to keep a careful ear out for any cars that might be passing by. There wasn't a lot of traffic on the road, so you could only get one chance at flagging a car down if you were lucky. You didn't know all that much about engines, just the basics that your father had taught you when you were young. You hadn't had a chance to learn much more, unfortunately. Now would have been a great time to have that knowledge.

The rumble of a semi filled your ears as you cursed and pulled back from the engine. From what you could tell, it was possible that the head gasket blew. Which meant that there was not much you could do with the car. You would have to have it towed and fixed by a mechanic. Stranded. You are absolutely stranded if this truck didn't stop for you. Before you even had the chance to stand up and pull back fully from the car and stick a thumb out, the sound of the brakes being hit filled the empty area around you. The trucker was coming to a stop before you would even ask for help. Hopefully, that was a good thing.

It took a second from the time the truck stopped for the door to open. In that time, you watched curiously, perhaps a little too relaxed, but it was in your nature. The few friends you had always said that you always thought of people as too good. But it hadn't caused problems yet, so what did they know?

"Ya broke down?" The distinct voice was familiar, even after only encountering it once. He was leaning over from the driver side, peering out through the open passenger door.

"I'm not the best with engines, but I think the head gasket went. So, it might be a lost cause." You wiped your hands against your pants for a moment, trying to clean them up a bit.

"Judging from the smoke, don't think you are going anywhere, any time soon. Why don't you hop in and I can give ya a lift to the next town." You glanced at the car for a moment before moving to grab your bag.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna inconvenience you. Or your run. I know things can be time sensitive." You glanced at the trailer that his rig was hauling, almost instantly feeling bad that he had stopped. You could remember your father complaining about eighteen, twenty hour shifts at a time to cover the necessary ground, when he thought that you couldn't hear that was.

"It isn't out of the way. Come on, get in." Any more hesitating would be time wasting. One step up, and you had to grab the bars to take the next step and keep your balance before swinging yourself into the passenger seat. Quickly, you closed the door.

"Thank you, really. I thought I was going to be there awhile." Your eyes bounced around the rig, unable to help it as you took in the inside of the cab or the way that a smile came without warning. "I haven't been inside a truck like this in forever. She really is gorgeous. Peterbilt, right?" He was already getting the truck moving again.

"Gotta say I'm impressed. Ain't too many that don't drive and know their stuff. 359, 1986."

"My mechanic skills may not be the greatest, but I like to think I know my trucks." It was a light tease, any and all pride lacking from the words. In the look around, you have spotted a few places you could leave him some cash for the ride. It was the least that could be done. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've been terribly rude." You had never introduced yourself, which you quickly remedied.

"You can call me Rusty." Probably part of a CB handle, but it hardly mattered. You had a moment where you struggled to decipher if he preferred quiet or if he wanted to chat. Talking wasn't something that you would push. If he wanted to, sure he would initiate, and if not, you didn't mind being silent.

It went on for a little longer, the silence and atmosphere of the cab comfortable. Miles seemed to pass under the large wheels within the blink of an eye.

"What are you doing out here, all on your own?" The question was bound to come eventually. You paused for just a moment before glancing away from the road finally and towards the man.

"Spreading my Daddy's ashes." His eyes tore from the road the same way yours had, this time as if trying to judge if you were being honest. "Stopping at all the places that we had visited when I was little. He raised me. First couple years of my life, I practically lived in his rig with him. A couple miles back? Off Whitey close to that abandoned warehouse, about a mile off there is a little secluded lake. We would spend birthdays there. Fishing, wildlife watching, me playing hooky from school. It was the last stop." Your voice softened as you neared the end of the explanation. A pang in your chest. One that wasn't as strong as it had been the last few months.

"I'm sorry to hear he passed." The words had been repeated by a few people, that sort of unsure what to say but needed to offer something for condolences. It was an awkward situation to try to maneuver around. But you appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. "Ya mind me asking how ya came into all that money then? Can't say I got a stash laying around like that." The question brought a slightly bitter sound from your throat before you could stop it.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to do that. It's just…not the best of memories. My maternal grandmother. Never knew my mama, not entirely sure what happened to her. But when the older woman found out, she petitioned the court for custody. The usual foul rhetoric spewed about my father and his occupation. Not being suitable for children and such. Helped that she had money and connections." You paused as the rush of memories washed over you. Hands unconsciously tightened against your bag before you let out a shuddering breath. "She was one of those folks who always looked down their noses at everyone who didn't come from the so-called elite. Better than everyone else. Couldn't stand to be around her and that life. People like that? They ain't any good. Aren't honest, don't know a day of hard work in their life." You could hear the slight crink of leather, likely from the steering wheel but paid little mind.

"I didn't want anything to do with her or that life. She passed right before I turned eighteen, thinking she had gotten what she wanted with me being molded into her image. Left everything. I couldn't sell the house and business off fast enough. Got my name changed back, legally. Went straight back to the small country home I had grown up in. Never wanted the money and don't have too much of a need for it. It's a silly idea, but I try to counter all the negative, nasty things that she did by giving it away where I can." You had always been an open book to everyone. Oversharing had never gotten you in trouble yet. A habit that your grandmother had tried to break you of but had never been successful. Ever.

"Ain't all that silly, sweetheart." There was a different note to his voice. Something soft, something that made you feel a swell of some unknown emotion in your chest. Your cheeks felt a little hot. At least someone didn't think it was silly. Your friends indulged you, of course, but you knew occasionally they spoke about it behind your back. "World would be a better place with more people who thought like that."

Again, a few minutes of silence passed, as if the exchange was being digested and determinations were being made. Well, you were more content to just enjoy the rumble of the truck and the passing landscape.

"You look like you could use some sleep. Why don't you get some shut eye. Next town is still about sixty miles out."

"Are you sure?" You couldn't deny that the rhythmic rumble was lulling you into that relaxed peaceful state. But you didn't want to be rude either.

"Hun'red percent. Ain't gonna bother me none. I'll wake you when we are getting close, okay?"

Was it smart to fall asleep in the rig of a man you didn't know? Hardly. You weren't that naive. But, at the same time, you didn't feel a single sense of danger from the man. Shifting a little and pulled the jacket around you to act more like a blanket, you settled your head against the window.

"Thank you, Rusty." Eyes closed, it didn't take long for sleep to take a hold, leaving you unaware of the eyes that had turned to take you in, or the shift in intent in the truck.

[lively-potter]

— nepenthe ; jjk ; part two

— genre ; age gap, angst, fluff, smut, sheltered oc, ceo jungkook, mafia/gang vibes ( kinda/sorta )

— warnings ; please note that in the beginning, the oc is in an abusive home — and if this triggers you please do not read. the oc is of age but nothing smutty will be happening for a while — but there WILL be smut. A small bit of SA is in this chapter and if it tiggers you, don’t read.

— intro, part one

— 2024 © @LivelyPotter

— find me on Wattpad ; LivelyPotter

— taglist ; @ahgasegotarmy116 @jk97bam

— word count ; 2.2k

***

SOLARIS January 20th, 2024 Charleston, SC

THE NAME SENT TREMBLES OF FEAR DOWN MY SPINE.

"Chairman Jeon?" my words cut off in a whimper at the reminder of the man everyone was frightened of. It was no secret to everyone how influential Chairman or Mister Jeon was and how much power he held by being the Chairman and owner of most of the multi-billion dollar companies in the United States and South Korea; the country he was originally from.

He even owned a Gentlemen's club here, called Ataraxia, in Charleston that Father visits more often than he ought — when the Chairman allows other people in the private club one another month.

I bit down on my lip as more thoughts raced through my brain.

Chairman Jeon wasn't a man even the most courageous of people wanted to cross, and those who did were either found dead...or just disappeared into thin air. He was the kind of man parents threatened their children with when they wanted them to behave. He was the same man Father threatened me with when I wouldn't stop crying after Mama died. Chairman Jeon was the most powerful sort of man Charleston had ever seen. It was also rumored that he had strong ties to the Mafia.

A cold chill passed through me at the thought.

Most of the people who lived here were grateful he barely made appearances, since ninety-five percent of the population of Charleston worked for him.

It had been months since Chairman Jeon had been here – I reckoned he spent most of his time in Korea, where his permanent residence was.

"Go to your room, girl, and remember –" he cut himself off to glare heatedly at me, "this house had better be spotless. I won't have my friends visit a pig stye."

I jerkily nodded and without wasting a moment, I raced away from him and shot to my bedroom. The first thing I did was wrap myself in my blanket and huddle in the corner – it was something I did when I wanted to think clearly.

Picking at the skin on my lip, I hesitantly glanced out the window and sighed. This would be a nerve-wracking week.

A stuffed purple bunny sat on the edge of my bed – a stuffed animal five-year-old me lovingly named; Mr. Carrots – caused me to smile. I shivered slightly underneath my blanket, thanking god I was finally warming up – and snatched the bunny from my bed and snuggled close to its neck.

Mr. Carrots had been with me the majority of my life and he was one of the only pieces of Mama I had left.

He brought me peace and comfort when Mama couldn't. I was anxious for what the next few days would bring but I didn't have any other choice but to just let them play out the way God intended.

*** SOLARIS January 21st, 2024 Charleston, SC

THE NEXT DAY WAS MUCH BRIGHTER THAN THE LAST.

Father had left before I woke up, sniffling with the first signs of a cold. I wrapped myself in one of Father's old sweaters to keep myself warm.

Wrapping my arms around my tummy with a flinch, I knew I better pay attention when it came time for Father to come home. The last thing I needed was for him to catch me wearing his old clothes to keep me warm.

The only thing I had to do before I started taking overthink down and cleaning was to place a new bandaid on the gash on my wrist.

Doing that, quickly, stomach grumbling in hunger, I entered the kitchen with a longing glance out of the tiny window above the kitchen sink.

I had lost count of how many years it had been since I was allowed to go outside the house and explore. I reckoned it had been years. I hardly remembered what kind of places were outside but I did remember how much I loved walking through the woods with Mama, collecting pretty leaves and tiny pincones. I smiled and started to twist the ends of my hip-length hair. I still had those leaves tucked inside the old pages of one of my old storybooks that Mama used to read to me. The little pinecones were stashed inside my little trinket box, along with the little acorns – we only found those when we were lucky.

I carefully grabbed a knife from the drawer, and cut a small apple in half, and nibbled on it as I pulled long hair out of my face with a ribbon and prepared to start cleaning.

I hummed happily under my breath as I picked up the glass, scrapped knees aching but I paid it no mind.

Hours passed by in a blur and I thankfully got the entire house cleaned and dinner and snacks already presented on the table before I declared myself done.

A grin beamed across my lips as I trotted to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. My bare feet padded on the carpet as I neared the small window a foot from the floor and knelt in front of it. My hands cupped my jawline, eyes watching the sun set with a heavy heart. Tears pricked my eyes and I closed them and clasped my hands together in front of my heart and began to speak.

"Dear heavenly Father," I started off, eyes closed and head tilted towards the sky, "I thank for letting me wake up and experience another day on this earth. I thank you for keeping me safe today, and being by my side when no one else is. I ask that you please watch over Mama and let her know that I love her and can't wait to be reunited with her one day." a lone tear dripped down my cheek, "Please, dear Lord, bless me and keep me safe and continue to hold me within your arms. I know that you have a plan for me," I continued, knees shifting.

"God always has a plan, my little Solaris." Mama's voice rang inside my head. "No matter how rough life gets at times, just know that God will always be there for you and after those hard times are over...the rewards are immense and glorious."

"But please, I just want to not be afraid anymore." I sniffled, "I want the pain to stop." the tear slid down my head and dripped onto my clasped hands. "I thank you for hearing my prayer and I hope you'll answer me soon." a small smile crept upon my lips. "I guess that's all for now – oh! And could you please keep me safe tonight and when Chairman Jeon comes back, please? I'm sorry to ask so much of you, but you're the only one besides Mama that loves me and I know that you hear me when I pray...um, Thank you again! In Jesus' name I pray, Amen."

My soul lightened and my heart rate relaxed and then sped up when the noises of the front door opening. A little gasp escaped my lips and I smothered.

Don't be seen or heard, Solaris.

The voices of Father's terrifying friends had me balking in place, arms wrapping around myself to ground my trembling.

With shaky fingers, I peeled Father's sweater off my body and stuffed it underneath my bed — I'd have to sneak inside his room and put it back when he left.

I sat in the corner of my bedroom, knees pulled to my chest, and listened closely to what was happening in the living room.

The house was old and nearly falling apart, which meant the walls were thin. Pressing an ear to the wall, my eyes fluttered closed to focus. But I didn't have to listen long.

"Girl!"

Father's boom made me stand at full attention. I held my hands together to shield the shakiness from them and scurried from the room.

Soon enough, I was standing in front of Father and his friends. Two older men who gave me the creeps.

James and Stevie.

They eyed me like I was a piece of meat when they plopped down on the sofa and stroked along their bulging beer bellies.

My lips trembled, remembering their slimy touches along my legs and biceps the last time they came here.

"Get us beer."

I stood ramrod straight and nodded.

I left the living room without another word and withdrew three bottles of Modelo and opened them. Shockingly being able to juggle them in my arms, I hunched my shoulders and walked slowly back to the living room — heart thundering inside my chest.

When I returned, Father was gone and only James and Stevie were there. Their eyes latched onto me in a second and they exchanged looks.

My eyes glossed over when Stevie ran a hand through his greasy hair and mustache while licking his nearly invisible lips.

"W-Where's Father?" I asked, even hearing the unaltered fear in my croaking voice. I took hesitant steps near them and slowly handed them the beers in my hand.

It was James who answered.

"Bathroom, sweetcheeks."

I only nodded in return, internally cringing at the terrible name.

Slowly sighing in relief, I turned and placed Father's Modelo on the coffee table and stilled when I felt a hand land on my lower back.

Disgust welled in my gut as another hand landed on the exposed skin on the back of my knee and caressed my skin.

"Don't." I stiffened, terror locking my limbs. "Please." I shook my head, turning to face the men. Their faces were held in a lecherous glare as their unfocused eyes glazed over.

Stevie's hand tightened around my knee and tugged as James' hand fell from my lower back.

"Why don' you take a seat?" James asked, fingering a yellow patch on his skin, running a hand on his swollen face — probably due to high cholesterol.

"No thank you." I shook my head and mentally begged Father to come back. I felt black spots dance across my vision in a slow, swift motion.

I felt so faint.

Their touches on my body made me feel disgusted. Dirty.

Even though I hated showers because of my experience with them, all I wanted to do in this moment was go under the scalding spray and wash my skin raw in hopes I'd never remember the feeling of their hands on me. I was so scared.

"I'm tired." I tried to refuse, tugging myself further away from them.

Stevie's eyes sharpened at my blatant disregard of his desires and he locked his limbs, preparing to jump up from his seat.

A tear left my eye in relief as Father stomped into the room, loudly complaining of the PowerPoint slide they had to finish before Chairman Jeon came back.

Tomorrow.

"I swear," Father grunted, plopping down in his recliner and snatching the beer from the table. "Every time that damned man comes back — everyone freaks out."

I slowly started in his direction, body positioning behind his chair. I felt my body relax the tiniest bit being away from those two men.

Stevie took a glance at me before looking at Father, "No shit." He agreed with an eye roll.

"I just don't know what Chairman Jeon just don't stay the fuck in Korea. Where he and that gang of his belongs."

My head was hung towards the ground as I listened closely to them bashing the Chairman. Speaking of how he basically took over Charleston with little to no work.

I didn't know how much of that was true — but I also thought they were just jealous of his success. I was scared of the Chairman, but I can also give credit when credit is due.

"Go to your room, girl, and leave us." Father ordered without looking at me.

I stood at attention and jerkily nodded.

I scurried to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

In just a few moments, I allowed myself to fall down onto the floor and claw at my skin in hopes that I would scratch away the memories.

Would tomorrow be a better day?

I prayed that it would be.

author's note ; ✨

if you want to be apart of my taglist, just let me know! thank you so much for reading! I appricate every single one of you <3

[mixtapedoh]

actually you can go with seungmo + winter falls too. i think he's more of a winter falls girlie than lino. actually anything with winter falls 😭🙏

you knew what you were doing when you paired seungmo with my favorite skz ballad,,,,,,, your support and your mind will never go underappreciated in this house ♡♡♡♡♡

ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡ ꜰᴀʟʟꜱ (ᴡᴇ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ)

☄. *. ⋆

pairing: kim seungmin x reader (not endgame) genre: angst, reminiscing word count: ~1k warnings: heartbreak, mentions of blood (metaphor and imagery), all thoughts no plot (sometimes fanfiction is about VIBES and VERSE, not cohesive story telling), gratuitous sneaking in and bastardization of song lyrics

olive's notes: you know know i had to go full tumblr for the title of this fic. song lyric titles (with something in parenthesis) how i love you, how i have missed you, how you changed the very synaptic pathways in my brain ♡. nothing will ever be as influential as you ♡.

consider my mini writing event ?

It wasn't the weather that made you think of him.

No, because that would be all too cliche — tidy and neat — something easy to anticipate and, perhaps, simple to avoid.

In a way, you could blame it on the snow: the soft, fluffy flakes too carefree to be cold, spinning on the barely there wind, a graceful pirouette to a gentle, almost forgotten landing. It was beautiful — the first snowfall of the year — and because it's arrival was so benign (unexpected and mild, creeping into the edges of the day until it's whispered chill tickled your skin and it's gossamer flakes were delicately kissing your head), you had no warning against the flood of memory it would bring in it's wake.

It was the couple on the end of the street that reminded you, though, if we're to be fair to the elements and truthful in the story we tell.

Two figures at the furthest distance from your current standing, hand in hand, startled as they walked out of a shop and into sudden snowfall. The leftmost of the two, seemingly more ecstatic than their loving counterpart, stuck out their tongue, angling their head skyward, and after a moment, laughed in delight, or some approximation of it. They turned to their partner, kissed them on either cheek, and then took off their jacket to place around the other's shoulders. Perhaps there was an exchange of half-hearted argument, but the moment ended with the two of them walking off, one double-braced against the building cold, the other habitually turning their palms to the clemency of snow — as though the moment was pure and this weather something to be held.

Snowflakes fell of your cheeks. If you were to be asked, they were to be blamed for any wetness, there.

Memories come in waves, and they are a vengeful and needy sea: demanding to be realized, sure in the devastation they bear. But how long is it before an experience crystalizes into memory? What is the minimum amount of time that needs to occur before that passage is significant and longing for someone can turn into missing them?

You weren't quite sure if it could be called missing him: this gnawing, guilty feeling accompanying your thoughts of Seungmin.

Once, the two of you had been friends so close, no one could talk about either of you without mentioning the other. His footsteps always following yours, your voice a necessary addition to any of his statements. So close your names spilled into the other, so present there was a space carved in the both of you for the other to reside in. Side by side or in tandem, there were always two.

And there were two, that night, when your warmth was carbonated with a fizz of intimacy and bubbles of desperation. You confessed to the secret of loving him and he worshiped that attachment with his lips. Again and again, a mantra that intensified to the fervency of song.

I love you, love you, love you.

And how many times did you say that before the sentiment set to rot, and the permanence of that phrase became something of the past?

I loved you, loved you, loved you.

Again, snow fell on your cheeks, pulling you just far enough out of your mired thoughts, to remind you to finish your walk to that lonesome, quiet destination called home.

You had Seungmin for longer than you held him, and the feeling of his voice in your mind was more resonant that the touch of his lips on yours. Evocative, cohesive, tenacious — something you couldn't yet unstick from the crevices of your thoughts.

Seungmin beside you, Seungmin whispering into the shell of your ear, Seungmin placing his love in the spot where your neck met your shoulders, the crook of your grin, the place above your heart.

But the wind blew, the novelty faded, the movie ended and you were stuck in the credits where words became meaningless and effort was forgotten in the aftermath of spectacle.

The ease corroded, the bitterness spilled, past tense slipped into the habit of your speech until all the tenderness between you was finished and gone by.

I loved you, and it wasn't his words or yours, but something set on the table for the both of you to consume. A sentiment on which you both engorged and drank dry.

Everything had changed, and yet you were somehow still the same. Seungmin had been so clearly and undoubtedly part of you — you carved out his place inside you alongside him! You hollowed out a space for him, and he for you — and yet with the absence of him, should there not have been something desperate and bloody for you to fix? You had searched and pleaded and clawed at the edges of you to find that void so you might set it to rights, but it evaded you, still.

I loved you.

Perhaps it had already healed over.

Perhaps it had never been.

But still, that unfound cavity ached in you. It was filled with the sound of his voice, and the phrases in his diary he'd let you read and you held to committed memory — it was shaped like the palm of his hand when it cradled you, and it contorted to the essence of his grin.

Would it have been different, had you never said anything all that time ago, and instead chose to keep those feelings in a bottle, only to be uncorked should Seungmin, himself, had fallen first and told you so? Maybe you could have kept that bottle of spirits in the most hidden parts of you, and, on nights when your yearning sharpened to the point of a knife, drank from them — an alcohol of illusion — just enough to get by? Maybe he would have found the bottle, and smashed it to ruin, or maybe he would have loosen it and get the both of you drunk off your own delight.

You would have liked it, perhaps, had he been the one to fall.

Maybe then he would stare at the innocence of snowfall and mix the feeling of it's melt with salty tears.

(ʇɹɐdɐ llɐɟ ǝʍ) sllɐɟ ʍous ǝɥʇ 'uıɐɓ∀

☄. *. ⋆

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