#things have gotten so much worse it's unreal

[lesbiansanemi]

We’ve officially hit the point where I can’t fucking sleep because of this shit and on top of everything the AC went out I literally want to cry I’m so stressed I physically feel like shit like I need to throw up I’m so tired but between my stomach hurting, the stress, and the heat I can’t

[honeyednights]

.

[nohaijiachi]

Why I Think The Fandom Has Been Doing Aziraphale Dirty Ever Since Season 1 And It's Only Gotten Worse With Season 2 And It's Killing Me Inside

Before we get into the subject matter of the title let me preface a couple of things:

1- All that will follow is, big surprise, my opinion and my interpretation of this character. Do I think I am The One And Only Who Gets The Blorbo Right and that my ideas are 100% the way the author(s) intended to convey the character? No.

More likely than not the way I see Aziraphale could be intensely different from the way Authorman sees him, or Actorman sees him, and I don't think that my interpretation is necessarily any more correct than anybody's else.

That said, if I also did not think that I am, in fact, correct on a certain level, I wouldn't have bothered forming such a thought out opinion of Aziraphale in the first place, nor would be sitting here, writing this post that I can already tell is going to be entirely too long and might probably ruffle some feathers.

So I'll be writing the rest of this post with the caveat that I while I do think my interpretation correct, I'm also not trying to change anybody's mind nor to discredit anybody's else interpretation of Aziraphale. We can sit here in the sandpit and hold different opinions and still be able to build sandcastles together, it really isn't that deep at the end of the day; I can assure you, I'm not here to fight nor cause fights with this one.

2- With the above point, comes also the fact that I won't bother continuously saying "In my opinion" for the rest of this post. You already know that. So, if something will come across as a bit caustic, do know that it is very much tongue in cheek and I am poking a bit of fun at general fannish habits that I am also very much quote-unquoute 'guilty' of having partaken into, and will partake into again plenty of times in the future, I'm sure.

So, with that: Here's Why I Think The Fandom Has Been Doing Aziraphale Dirty Ever Since Season 1 And It's Only Gotten Worse With Season 2 And It's Killing Me Inside

A large part of the people comprising this fandom prefers Crowley. There, I said it.

This fandom's preference blatantly skews toward Crowley. Can we admit that openly? Let's admit that openly.

To be clear, this isn't meant to be an accusation or recrimination or any other -ation you can think of, I am merely stating matter-of-factly a phenomena I've observed in the last four years.

It is also not a wrong nor bad thing in any way, shape or form. I adore Crowley myself. I love them both so much it's unreal.

But I started with that because I think it is very much a symptom of the fact that a lot of people don't get Aziraphale.

I remember back with S1 there had been plenty of times when I found myself reading discussions and opinion exchanges about Aziraphale and Crowley, their dynamics, all the things that went unsaid behind the things that were said, and found myself genuinely surprised by seeing how some people interpreted certain moments wildly different from how I personally saw them.

I look back at that and I think "Oh, sweet summer child". Nothing could have prepared me from the onslaught of takes about Aziraphale that make me go "Good lord, what???" in the wake of S2, and the infamous Last Fifteen.

Now because I don't want to be pointing fingers at specific things and risk upsetting somebody more than I already am by being open in admitting that, guys, yes, some of the takes y'all have been sharing make me go "Yikes(tm)", I'll move on the interesting part and what I would actually love to discuss, aka cracking Aziraphale's head open and see what that actual fuck is going on in there.

Another preface: Because this duo is intrinsically linked and woven together it is downright impossible to only focus on Aziraphale without also mentioning Crowley, so... Let me circle back to our fav demon bae for a sec, here.

I think the reason why it seems that a larger part of the fandom favors Crowley is because I feel like Crowley is a much easier character to grasp. He is very open in his thoughts and feelings, at any given moment us, the audience, have a much easier time watching a scene and sort of ruminating in the back of our heads about Crowley's motivations for saying the things he says and doing the things he does.

That isn't to say Crowley is a less complex character than Aziraphale. They are very much equally complex and multifaceted individuals with their strengths and weaknesses, their issues and the way they each cope with them, how differently they approach their existence and so on and so forth.

But whereas Crowley as a character presents itself with a certain dynamism and a far more outward openness about his complexity, Aziraphale does the exact opposite; we can say Aziraphale is downright hermetic about it.

For us, the audience, he presents a challenge that requires a good deal of thought being put into him to see over the facade he presents at a more superficial level; he requires time and effort to fully dismantle him in our minds to try and see what makes him thick (other than his thighs), and thus I think it is entirely natural that more people latch on the far easier to identify-with, and relate-to, Crowley.

And that is the inevitable consequence of everything that makes Aziraphale... Well, Aziraphale.

So, where to start? Let's try and jot down what Aziraphale truly is at his core.

He is a contradiction.

This man-shaped being is a walking contradiction, constantly existing in a state of being coated in three thousand layers of misdirection and obfuscation and double thinking.

Why is that? Well. He's an angel.

Aziraphale loves being an angel. It is a tenet of his entire existence and something he cherishes. He wants, so very much, to be his ideal of what a good angel is: An entity who is kind and loving and understanding and forgiving.

Of course us, the audience, know that is utter bullshit, because we know angels can be individuals just as complex as the humans Aziraphale loves so much, with all their inherent flaws and capability for cruelty. And, on a certain level, Aziraphale knows that too.

So there we have it, one element of contradiction: Aziraphale wants to think that angels are always Good and Righteous and Never Wrong; Aziraphale knows that angels aren't, in fact, always Good and Righteous and, by god, can they make plenty of mistakes, too.

What else? How about Aziraphale sitting there, being in love with a demon, fully knowing that at the end of the day demons really ain't that different from angels, and also desperately hanging onto the concept of Good vs Bad.

And he sits there, existing with these two contrasting idea equally taking space in his mind, neither side ever capable of taking over the other.

What else do we have? Aziraphale loves God and wants so hard to believe in Her love for humanity and Her ineffable plan, and Aziraphale also time and again does things that very blatantly go against Her will, lies to Her face, and Doubts. He Doubts, a lot, and that requires the capital letter because those Doubts are what spur him in going against everything he's ever told to believe in order to do the right thing.

Aziraphale's very existence is a constant push-and-pull of things he wants to believe and things he knows are real; things he's told to do and things he wants to do. That's how we get "My side" and "there's a bit of good in you" and "you are the bad guys".

And nothing he's lived through has managed to break him out of this unhealthy way of existing quite yet; that's why he acts the way we see him act in the Edinburgh flashback in S2, or at the start of S1 when Crowley has to ease Aziraphale into the idea of trying to stop Armageddon with the usual song and dance of "temptation" and "plausible deniability" and "you'd be thwarting me", even though from the start we can tell there's a little part of Aziraphale who is clearly not at ease with the idea of the end of the world, and once he's been given 'permission' by Crowley nudging him, he is all the way in with the whole saving the world business, not take-backsies.

Both the moments I mentioned here are very important for different reasons, but of the two is very much the Edinburgh flashback that gets a lot more flack by the fandom and is blatantly misunderstood, which I think is the inevitable consequence of that minisode immediately following the glorious, beautiful, heartbreaking piece of art that is the "A companion to owls" minisode.

I've seen a lot of people lamenting that Aziraphale acts obnoxiously in the Edinburgh flashback and, yeah. He does. But I feel like the fact that we are seeing this after watching Aziraphale struggle his way through saving Job's children, even being willing to go to Hell for it, is a though act to follow and probably soured Edinburgh-Aziraphale for a lot of people, made them think that the character had regressed instead of progressing.

But, see, the way he acts is wholly congruous with who Aziraphale is and has always been and keeps being up to the very end of S2. Yes, even after what he does for Job's children.

If you get down to it, Aziraphale had been ready to give up and let the children die, in episode 2. For a brief moment, after Crowley told him he 'longed to destroy the blameless children', Aziraphale was walking away, having tried all he thought he could try to do to stop this senseless act. That was until Crowley tested him by making the crows bleat, cuing Aziraphale to the fact that his impression of Crowley wasn't wrong, and the he could count on him to do the right thing.

To be clear, I don't want to undermine Aziraphale's action by only giving the credit to Crowley but... It is, also, only thanks to Crowley cajoling him and giving him the right excuses, that Aziraphale feels safe in doing what he's always wanted to do all along.

He'd wanted to save Job's children, and thought he couldn't until Crowley threw him that hell of a lifesaver. He wanted to save the world and thought he couldn't until Crowley nudged him on the path of plausible deniability.

He wanted to save Elspeth's eternal soul, blinding himself to the hardships she'd have to endure in her not-eternal life, and was smacked right in the face by the reality of human suffering multiple times.

The way Aziraphale acts in that flashback can't be a regression, because there never was a progression in the first place: He'd always walked the line between Heaven's and God's will and his own, personal morality and sense of justice.

By all means, if we look at Uz-Aziraphale and modern-day-Aziraphale at the start of S1, his reticence about the whole saving the world business should, by all means, appear as a regression as well. You mean to tell me that he'd been ready to become a demon for the sake of three mortal children, and then suddenly a handful of thousands years later when faced with the prospect of the whole world going up in flames he'd just be all like "Heaven will triumph over Hell and it will be all rather lovely"? Like, fuck off, Aziraphale, you lying double-thinker, you (/pos)

Aziraphale constantly exist while being at war with himself. Circumstances have allowed him to rebel the will of Heaven and God more or less safely time and again, but he never quite managed to break free entirely. He'd always ended up being reeled back in, being fed the party lines, being made to feel shame for his independent thinking, until it all becomes too much and he is forced to step back from that freedom he'd been inches away from grasping.

Back and forth, back and forth, never stopping.

And all of this, all of what he is, makes it so hard for us, the audience, to truly see him. To truly grasp him. To truly watch any given scene with him and figure out what he might be thinking or feeling.

To understand Aziraphale is to understand what he is not saying when he says something, which is a good deal harder to do than it is to understand and relate to a character like Crowley, who very much revel in saying exactly whatever the heck he thinks whenever he damn well pleases.

All those layers of obfuscation and misdirection and double thinking that Aziraphale coats himself in are as much an armor that makes it harder for the audience to understand him as they are his very own downfall because, good lord, if you exist like that, if you exist forced to keep things hidden from yourself, well... It's inevitable that at some point you are going to stumble into pitfalls of your own making.

And I love him for it.

So, there? I hope I managed to explain something with this post, and that it wasn't just the rambling of someone who spends way too much time thinking about her blorbos. To be clear, I don't think people who haven't spent as much time as me trying to dissect and better understand Aziraphale's character are like, dumber than me or anything. It's just that this pair of angelic-demonic blorbos take too much real estate in my mind, lol.

Feel free to let me know your opinion and if you think I am wildly off mark and my Take Is Bad. I might answer, I might not, it all depends on time and my mood ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

[sl-ut]

ceilings

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

description: ellie and y/n are together when they’re in private, but she’s not sure if she’s ready to be with her in public. A newcomer to jackson might be the shove that she needs to decide whether she really wants her or not.

warnings: UNEDITED!!! slight hint of smut, reader has a bad rep, reader is a lil slutty (in a fun way), mentions of bad parenting, slightly mean!ellie, jealousy

words: 4.8K

date posted: 08/06/23

part two

Early morning patrol was going to kill Ellie someday, that she was sure of. The urge to stay in bed all day only worsened as the wind grew increasingly bitter with the oncoming winter. More often than not, she would be paired with Jesse or Dina, who both took their time apart to use Ellie as their unpaid therapist. At that point, she would almost rather have tense smalltalk with Joel or even suffer through Eugene’s ramblings–at least Eugene almost always brought weed to share between them. Plus, waking up before the sun had even risen halfway into the sky was easily one of her least favourite things to do, and her thighs were always sore after riding all day, no matter how often she was on horseback. 

The only thing that made it even worse in the more recent weeks, was that she found it so hard to drag herself out of bed while knowing who was still tucked into the numerous blankets. 

She made an effort to wake up early every morning, turning over as slowly as she could manage in hopes of not disturbing the slumbering figure behind her, settling onto her side as her fingers itched to reach out and feel the smooth flesh beneath the hem of her shirt. In such close proximity, she was able to feel the warmth of her body, blistering beneath the mountain of blankets. The girl was curled onto her side, shoulders rising and falling with every deep breath that escaped her parted lips. Before noticing her own movement, Ellie’s fingertips stroked against the softness of her warm cheek, stroking the sleep-swollen flesh in admiration with slow, gentle movements until the girl’s long eyelashes began to flutter. 

Y/n blinked a few times as she pushed through the grogginess, a dopey grin crossing her features sleepily as her eyes fell on the figure next to her. She tugged the blankets in closer to her chin as she readjusted her head on the pillow, smacking her lips a few times before mumbling out a warm ‘mornin’’.

“Sorry,” Ellie hurriedly pulled her fingers away, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S okay,” Y/n yawned, “I don’t mind waking up next to you.”

Ellie flushed, chest burning with the desire to snuggle so close to the girl that they became fused together. Her fingers moved down, searching blindly beneath the blankets in search of Y/n’s own hand, and tangling them together tightly.

The night before had felt unreal. Ellie had invited Y/n over, having made sure that they would be uninterrupted, to watch a movie on the shitty little box TV that she had brought out to her garage. In the dim lighting of the battery-operated lantern in the corner and the flickering TV, Ellie had admired Y/n’s features up-close in a way that she yearned to on a much more regular basis. The night had, of course, ended with Ellie tripping over her own feet in excitement as she was leading Y/n to her bed, wandering hands finally finding their purchase beneath the covers. 

Things had been that way for a while now. Ellie had known Y/n from a distance for quite some time before they started seeing each other, but hadn’t truly gotten to know her beyond a few things until Dina and Jesse ditched her at the Tipsy Bison in favour of Jesse’s bed. The two girls had a short conversation that night, and their relationship quickly snowballed from there. Small talk quickly turned into stolen kisses, and kisses turned into experimental touches–though it was always in private.

“I have to go soon,” Ellie whispered to her, “Patrol.”

Y/n let out a quiet groan, “Just skip today, I’ll do the same. Let’s just stay in bed all day.”

A small huff of a laugh escaped Ellie and she rolled her eyes, “Yeah, and risk us both being skinned alive by Maria?”

The girl shrugged lazily, shifting a tad closer to Ellie and nudging at her nose with her own playfully, “I can make it worth your while…”

Ellie’s fingers twitched, a knowing smirk crossing her dry lips, “Yeah? And how’s that?”

“Well, I was thinking…” She lowered her voice, as if they weren’t completely alone in the privacy of Ellie’s renovated garage, “I could get on top of you, and, you know…”

“I’m listening,” Ellie prompted her to continue with a wolfish grin.

“Well, I would get on top of you, get nice and close,” she giggled, “and then we could go back to sleep for a few hours.”

Ellie chuckled, pinching at her side playfully, “I should’ve known you were full of it when you said you would get on top.”

Y/n scoffed, swatting at her as she cackled at her own joke, “Uh, excuse me! I would get on top if you would let me!”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“You wanna bet?” Y/n wasted no time in crawling on top of the brunette, grasping at her wrists and pinning them above her head with as much strength as she could manage, “What do you think of that, huh?”

Ellie’s eyes dropped from Y/n’s own to her lips, then down to the plush of her thighs from beneath the large shirt that she had worn to bed. She could feel the warmth of her centre through the thin fabric of her panties against the firm expanse of her abdomen, and she could make out the shape of her breasts through the worn fabric of her shirt. Her breath caught in her throat at the intimate position, fingers stretching out as she gauged how difficult it would be to break her hold. 

“I think you’re in over your head. You’re nothing but a little pillow princess, aren’t you?”

Y/n pouted, shaking her head in defiance as she bent down further to ghost her lips over Ellie’s before finally dropping them together in a firm kiss. Slowly, she began to rotate her hips against her, mewling against her lips excitedly and easily becoming overwhelmed at the slightest of touches.

Ellie took the opportunity handed to her, wrenching her hands free and manoeuvring herself to be propped up against her pillows while grasping Y/n’s hips in her strong hands while forcing them to continue on with her movements. Y/n shrieked in surprise at the jostling movement, but didn’t fight Ellie’s clear show of dominance and allowed the girl to guide her hips in grinding down against her abs. 

Small gasps fell from her lips as she urged Ellie to let her go faster, their lips moulding together to a series of sloppy kisses.

“See?” Ellie panted as their lips separated for air, “You can be on top all you want, but you’ll never be in control.”

Y/n moaned as the sensation of cotton rubbing against her sensitive bundle of nerves, the contours of Ellie’s abdomen acting as the perfect surface for her pleasure, murmuring out little incoherent sentences under her breath–a result of both the warm feeling that had begun to pool in her belly and the sheer exhaustion that still gnawed at her brain. Ellie whispered little praises to her, watching impatiently as her face scrunched up with every movement of her hips.

Her peak was torn away as a knock sounded on the door, Y/n finding herself falling face-first into the mattress as Ellie pushed her away as if she had burned her, tossing the blankets over Y/n’s body as the door swung open.

Y/n peeled the blankets off of her face, scowling at her unofficial girlfriend for throwing her to the side so haphazardly, though Ellie hadn’t even spared her a glance as she rushed out of bed and towards the door.

“Yo, Ellie!” Jesse marched straight in after knocking only once, “We’re gonna be late if you don’t drag your ass outta–oh.”

His gaze had quickly shifted past his friend’s alarmed expression to the flushed figure in her bed, a knowing look crossing his embarrassed features. 

“Jesse, what the fuck man?”

“Sorry,” He flickered his eyes to Ellie, not wanting to let his gaze linger on the half-dressed girl longer than necessary, “We’ve got patrol, so I guess I’ll just, uh, wait outside.” He paused at the door for a final remark before closing it behind him, “Hi, Y/n.”

Ellie dropped her head in embarrassment, hands on her hips as she shook her head, “Fuck.”

Y/n crawled out of the bed, cringing as her bare feet met the cold floor. Her fingers reached for Ellie’s back, barely ghosting her spine before the brunette ripped herself away, rushing around the room to collect her things.

“Hey,” Y/n called out to her, “I know you’re probably embarrassed over that, but it’s okay. I mean, he didn’t really see anything, but–”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure he’s not dumb enough to not figure out what we were doing,” Ellie remarked as she slid her jeans up over her thighs.

“It’s not the end of the world, now is it? I mean, you know what he’s doing when he and Dina sneak off, right? What’s the difference?”

“Difference is that I know that he and Dina are dating. This isn’t exactly something that I planned on telling people about.”

The blood drained from Y/n’s face, “Oh my God, Ellie. Are you not… I had no idea that you weren’t, you know, out to everyone. I’m so sorry, I would have taken it more seriously if I–”

“What?” Ellie scrunched her face up, “Are you kidding me? I dated Cat, everyone knows that I like girls.”

Y/n paused, the sinking feeling in her stomach returning, only significantly worse than before, “So, you weren’t planning on telling people about me?”

Ellie stood up from lacing up her boots, turning to shrug into her jacket and backpack quickly as she turned back to face Y/n with a sigh. Her shoulders dropped as she took in the wide, teary eyes of the girl she had been quite intimately embracing only moments before, “Jesus, I don’t have time to deal with this right now, ‘kay? We’ll talk when I get back.”

Ellie disappeared out the door without another word or glance, leaving Y/n to collect her things and flee back to her own home. 

* * *

Jackson was not a very big community,meaning that Ellie had come to know who most people were within the first three weeks of her and Joel settling into Jackson for good. Seth was a cranky old asshole, Big Frankie had a bad temper, and Jennifer was cheating on her husband with his brother, only he was too blind to see it. Joel wasn’t exactly one for gossip, so she did her best to follow by example and ignore the kinds of reputations that people held until she could judge for herself. That was until she met Dina.

Dina was the kind of girl who people aimed to please. Generally everyone was instantly drawn to her; pretty, smart, and confident, the kind of girl that everyone wanted to be or wanted to be with. She was the first person that Ellie seemed to actually click with, so of course she was willing to hear and trust her opinion of other Jackson locals. With older people, the general consensus was that they were either nice or absolute dicks with no in between, though things were much more complicated with people closer to their own age. 

There was a clear social hierarchy among the Jackson youths. Dina, of course, was among the top of this status quo, and had very strict opinions of those who she personally did not like. There were a handful of people who Dina wasn’t the biggest fan of, but there was no one else in Jackson that Dina seemed to dislike more than Y/n, though she was never very open about exactly why she didn’t like her, beyond several petty comments or calling her mean names when she passed by with a smile. Jesse had even let it slip one night just before greening out that Dina had once been friends with the girl, but was too out of it to tell her anything else.

Ellie decided that anyone who could have caused such hatred in Dina must have been the scum of the earth, and that it was in the best interest of herself and the relationship that she had with Dina to take up similar opinions, though she still couldn’t quite figure out how that kind of dreadful personality could exist within such a cheerful facade. Of course, Ellie was aware of the reputation that she had around town, and she had taken notice of how she seemed to hang around with different guys every few weeks, but did that necessarily mean that she was an awful person? She had also seen the way that she interacted with others around town, and had heard from Maria how sweet she was with the dogs when she worked at the kennels–things just weren’t adding up. 

When she asked Dina, she was quite vague about the actual issue that she had with the girl, instead choosing to explain why Ellie shouldn’t like her. 

“She’s slept with half the guys in Jackson, and tried with the other half. Guess they weren’t desperate enough to stoop to that level.” Dina had scowled, “Plus she’s such an airhead. Like, I figured that people nowadays needed to have some kind of common sense, but jeez.”

To be quite honest, Y/n was one of the first people who she had taken explicit notice of in Jackson, aside from Tommy and Maria, of course. She was the kind of girl that Ellie just couldn’t look away from, and always seemed to have a peaceful and soft aura about her. Whenever they happened to run into each other, she always greeted her with a smile and a soft hello, only to turn beet red and retreat when Dina came sidling up beside her. Whenever they were both at the Tipsy Bison, Ellie’s eyes couldn’t stop themselves from following her movements, internally cringing as she watched guys run their hands over her body and pulling a boisterous laugh out of her. 

“Can’t believe Keith is the guy of the week,” Dina raised her brows at the sound of the obnoxious giggling.

Jesse shrugged, keeping a neutral position that would only prove to piss his girlfriend off even more, “He’s a nice guy. Seems to like her.”

She snorted, “They always seem to like her, until they get what they want. After that, I guess she lets people see the real her.”

Later on that night, Ellie did actually get to know the real her after Dina and Jesse pulled their infamous disappearing act, and she still couldn’t figure out what kind of person could be so awful under such a starkly opposite front. She quickly grew to like Y/n much more than she wanted to–she wanted to be a loyal friend, to hate the same people that Dina did, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to. But what Dina didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?

It hadn’t seemed to be in the best interest of anyone to be open with her relationship with Y/n just yet. Dina would likely have given her the cold shoulder for God-knows how long, as she so often did with people, Jesse would have been forced to ignore her wherever possible, and Y/n would have faced some serious consequences from Dina and, by association, Jesse. 

Y/n had a reputation around Jackson, and it wasn’t as if Ellie was put off by it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she was just the latest obsession and would soon be kicked to the curb. As much as she liked Y/n, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to risk losing Dina and Jesse if what they had was nothing more than a passing fling, so it only made sense that she hadn’t told them yet. Plus, that stupid grin on his face was enough of a reason not to tell them.

“Stop looking at me like that,” She drawled, trotting alongside him on Shimmer, “Seriously, I’ll punch that smug little smile right off your stupid face.”

Ellie was honestly surprised that he had contained it this long so far, waiting until they were a fair distance from Jackson to even prod at the questions he’s been dying to ask. 

“So…” Jesse paused, unsure of how to approach the conversation without being maimed by his best friend, “How long have you guys been… Are you together?”

“No,” She answered sharply, “We’re–I don’t know. A few weeks, I guess.”

“Honestly, I didn’t even think she liked girls. Does…anyone else know?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “No, Jesse, Dina doesn’t know. She would probably kill me, which is why I didn’t tell you, and why you can’t tell her. Don’t bother asking anything else, ‘cause I’m not gonna tell you.”

Jesse grunted in response, nodding in silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat and leaned towards her ever so slightly as he muttered out his question.

“How is it?” He laughed at her incredulous expression, “What? It’s not like you can talk about this with anyone else, can you?”

She shook her head at him, turning her face away to keep her eyes on the path ahead of them, “I don’t–I mean…” Ellie sniffed, deciding to answer now rather than be bothered by him for the rest of patrol, “Yes, it is.”

Jesse howled in amusement, “Holy shit, you like like her, I can see it on your face.”

“I do not, I just–”

“You didn’t even look this smitten with Cat, and you were down bad for her too,” He continued, “So are you gonna ask her out?”

She shrugged in response.

“I don’t see why not. I mean, people talk, but she’s actually really nice, funny, not to mention that she’s like–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Ellie pointed at him accusingly, “And you know why.”

“Because of Dina?” Jesse asked incredulously, “C’mon, don’t let her stop you from being happy. What happened between them, that’s like ancient history now, D will get over it.”

“Will she? I mean, she’s never even told me why she doesn’t like her.”

Jesse paused, almost as if he was unsure of how much he should actually reveal about the situation without betraying his girlfriend’s trust, “Listen, it’s really nothing. Just drama from when we were like thirteen, and you know that Dina can hold a grudge, but I really don’t think that she would be willing to just stop being friends with you because of it.”

Ellie shook her head once more, “Just forget it. This is supposed to be patrol, not therapy.” She chuckled at her own words, nudging at Shimmer to get her to pick up the pace and leaving Jesse in her dust.

***

The morning had progressed very slowly for Y/n. She had been left in quite a state; still frazzled from Ellie’s touches, while also distraught from her words. They hadn’t been very public about their relationship, if you could even call it that, but it hadn’t even occurred to Y/n that there might have been a reason behind the secrecy aside from Ellie’s preference to keep her life a bit more private. She knows that Ellie had been upset this morning, and she likely wouldn’t have said the things that she had otherwise, though that didn’t make it any better considering that she was upset because someone had seen them together.

Y/n knew what kind of reputation she had around Jackson. From a young age, she knew that she had issues with being alone–it terrified her to no end. Her father, while still doing the bare minimum, was not very present in her life beyond making sure that she was still breathing and punishing her for getting in trouble. Aside from that, he would have nothing to do with her, and more often than not, didn’t even spend the night in the same house as her. In truth, it would be more surprising if she hadn’t sought out comfort in others, and it was incredibly easy for her. 

The first boy she ever kissed was Frank Cahill, who was a year older than her and just happened to be there at the right moment. She had been crying to herself silently after a fight with her father, curling into herself on the front step of the empty house. Frank happened to be walking by and said the right words for her to fall so easily into his arms. 

From then on, Y/n fell in love with just about every guy she had ever been with. She needed companionship, and guys were willing to give it to her for the price of her body. The only issue being that not many stuck around afterwards, and some weren’t willing to “work for it” beyond what they deemed necessary, so she truthfully could not deny most of the rumours that had gone around about her. Of course, she wasn’t stupid and knew that many of these guys didn’t really like her, but those who were good enough at acting to trick her into believing their sweet whispers truly took a toll on her.

Which is why she was so caught off guard by Ellie’s treatment. Ellie had criticised the way that she allowed guys to treat her in the past, but made it clear to her that she didn’t think of her any differently because of it. If the embarrassment hadn’t been caused by the fact that she was a girl, it left her with no other reason other than that she was Y/n. Ellie was embarrassed to be seen with her, not because she wasn’t out yet, but because she didn’t want to be seen with Y/n in general. 

Ellie was the first girl that she had ever been with. In fact, she hadn’t even considered the fact that she might like girls until she found herself seeking Ellie out and eventually beginning to fall for her. She was different from the others, seeming to actually be interested in her as a person rather than just another warm body, and even after they had slept together for the first time, she still stuck around. She was the first person to make Y/n feel like she was worth more than what she actually believed, but their interaction during the early hours of the morning made her question whether Ellie was actually as trustworthy as she had believed her to be.

Her eyes were droopy as she brushed through the soft chestnut hair of what felt like the thousandth horse of the day. She hadn’t managed to fall back to sleep after returning to her own house and needed to be at the stables for her shift only a few hours later. She was dreading the fact that Ellie would soon be returning from her morning patrol and would be coming straight there to return Shimmer for the night. 

She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of her name being called, managing a cheerful smile as her eyes fell onto Maria’s figure, then onto the shy expression of the girl behind her. 

“Y/n, this is Erin, she and her brother are new around town. I figured that the stables would be a good place for her to start out, so would you mind giving her a little show around when you’re done here?”

Y/n turned to face the girl, taking in her short brown hair and cocoa skin. She smiled at her kindly, nodding to Maria before offering her a hand to shake. The pair had fallen into an easy conversation, giggling quietly together in the corner of the stables as Erin helped her finish grooming the remaining horses.

Y/n found Erin to be a welcome distraction, not even noticing when Ellie and Jesse returned their horses. 

Jesse glanced over at the two girls, then back to his friend, who’s eyes hadn’t left them since they had first set foot in the stables. 

“Who’s that?” She asked Steven as she handed Shimmer’s reins off to him, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of her belly.

“New girl,” He shrugged, “Weird, though. Could barely get a word out of Y/n all morning before she showed up.”

Ellie sneered as Steven led Shimmer back to her stall, resisting the urge to march over to the pair and stake her claim–but what claim? To the public, Ellie and Y/n barely know one another. They may speak in passing, but there really shouldn’t be any reason for Ellie to feel jealous over Y/n getting along with someone else. This is what she wanted, isn’t it? She had been mortified when Jesse caught them together earlier that morning, so what could have possibly changed enough in the few hours that she was gone in order for her to feel so differently?

The brunette would never admit it, but it had actually felt quite nice to be able to talk about the time that she spent with Y/n to someone–it made it feel much more real, like something real could actually sprout from their late-night talks and stolen kisses. Perhaps Dina could grow to accept Y/n as her partner, though she was certain it would take quite a bit of time for that to happen. 

That dreamy image seemed to shatter as Ellie whipped around, marching out of the stables and leaving the two girls to themselves. 

***

The Tipsy Bison was usually busy on Saturdays, and this one was no different. It had been a full day since Ellie had last spoken to Y/n, unable to get over her own pride and jealousy to approach her while she had Erin at her side, which seemed to be just about all the time now. She was thankful for the opportunity to get to the bar with her friends, to drink until her problems seemed so miniscule that she could almost completely forget about them. 

But then she caught sight of Y/n tucked into a corner booth, sitting suspiciously close to an all-too-obvious Erin. The mixture of annoyance with Dina and Jesse, who seemed to be moments away from sneaking off, the jealousy, and the heat of the hard liquor in her veins had her fuming. 

“Oh my God,” Dina had sneered in judgement, “Looks like she burned through all the guys in Jackson too fast and switched teams. Watch out, Ellie, you might be next.”

Jesse and Ellie shared a knowing look over Dina’s head, his dark eyes silently asking if she was going to do anything about the new girl blatantly flirting with Y/n, while Ellie’s simply betrayed the burning rage inside of her. 

She saw her chance when Y/n got up to approach the bar, leaning her arms on the sticky bar top as she waited for Seth’s attention. Ellie sidled up alongside her, remaining a casual distance away from her as she barked out another drink order for herself. 

“So you and Erin, huh?” She mumbled, glancing at the girl out of the corner of her eye. 

“Sorry, are you talking to me?” Y/n looked around dramatically, hand rising to grasp at her own chest in shock, “Last I heard, you couldn’t be seen with me.”

“You know that’s not…what I meant.”

“No, how could I possibly know what you meant, Ellie? When one person saw us together and you suddenly didn’t want anything to do with me, what else was I supposed to think?”

She shrugged, “I don’t–”

“And Erin’s just a friend, by the way.”

Ellie chuckled humorlessly, “You’ve gotta be stupid to not see how into you she is.”

Y/n shook her head, “You know, that’s the second time you’ve called me dumb in the last two days, Ellie. And so what if she likes me? Honestly, it’s kinda nice to–” she paused, choking on a sudden onset of tears. She shook her head, refusing to allow her own emotions to spill out with Ellie present, “It’s nice to be around someone who’s not embarrassed to be seen with me.”

As if on cue, Seth placed the two drinks down in front of Y/n, allowing her to snatch them away from him and flee before Ellie could even think of a response. 

[monimccoythings]

Alastor x Daughter!Reader: Runaway I (Platonic)

So, what would it happen if Y/N after a lot of time at the hotel, decides to run off and explore the human world? Just like it happened in Helluva Boss I think. This is lighter than the others, but I really wanted to write this one. This could be interpreted as some AU of the Au or even set in the same series after a lot of time has passed.

I know the Grimoire doesn't really look like that and is in the ownership of someone else, but I was thinking that since Lucifer is the King of Hell, he should have at least a copy.

Reminder: Alastor is in hell for a reason.

Tw: Controlling behavior, possessive behavior, Alastor being a very controlling dad.

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog, @kiraisastay

Things have gotten much better for you since you first arrived. It had finally gotten inside your thick skull that this experience was for real. As crazed as Charlie's dream seemed to be, you couldn't help but believe in her and her goals, given her optimism and enthusiasm. You could say this place was safer than anywhere else you had been crashing for the last ninety years.

But the safety of a place didn't always come hand in hand with feeling safe. And there was only one person to blame for that: Alastor.

If he had been overprotective as a human, as a demon he was much worse. He didn't give a fuck about subtlety anymore. He knew the kind of people that were out there; in fact, he was one of them! Time had proved over and over again you wouldn't make it out there without his protection! He just wanted what was best for you and he also casually happened to know what it was! He was that smart, hahahaha!

As a minor, there was little you could do in Hell, you couldn't drink, you couldn't smoke, you couldn't have sex. So that just nuked three of the most popular hobbies there. Not that you cared much, but it just really left you with a feeling that you didn't belong among the guests and staff friend group due to your youth. The emotional age gap was quite something. And there were times where you felt like the tag-along-kid more than a part of the team.

It was really embarrassing to pull yourself up to one of Husk's stools, ask for the strongest he had, and get served some pineapple juice. He may get a few laughs out of your antics, but you just wanted to fit in.

Sometimes you played with Nifty, since she seemed to be the closest to you in age. Unfortunately, Nifty didn't seem to know any game that didn't involve cleaning or roach mutilation. (how was she even able to find a murderous point of view to Parchis???)

Charlie and Vaggie were too busy managing the hotel and attracting new customers, but you got a feeling they still wouldn't manage to fill that void you seemed to have.

Angel was like the big brother you wished you had had back when you were alive. He loved to gossip with you and Cherri; even when you didn't understand half of what they were saying, it felt nice having some kind of normal teenage stuff around. He also liked to nudge you towards some potential boyfriends, saying that you were in 'in the age' *wink* *wink*. Your dad did not appreciate that.

Alastor wouldn't consider himself a boyfriend blocking dad, Heaven's, no! Just a humble boyfriend murdering dad. So whatever idea of dating or just hanging out with other people your age was out of the question. As soon as you started talking to someone that was in the same age range as you, his shadowy form started to appear behind you and his eyes changed into dials, that was enough for anyone to start running in the opposite direction (he had scared away so many pontential guests it was unreal)

You couldn't even own a phone. Your dad insisted that 'his hotel, his rules'. Any technology that surpassed the 50s was out of the question. (they still didn't have a working phone). If he caught you with one in your hands, specially a VOXTECH phone, even if it was not yours, the battery suddenly started to heat to unbearable levels and you just had to drop it before it exploded in green flames.

Where was the fun loving dad you grew up with? The one that at least had the decency to be a bit more discreet? 'Dead at the prospect of raising a teenage girl!' He liked to say with a laugh.

You talked to Rosie about it, hoping she would talk some sense into him, and he had the nerve to act all innocent and oblivious! Like you were the one being unreasonable!

Somehow, this safe haven had started to become like a prison. You found yourself feeling suffocated and alienated from the others. When you were out there on your own you had lived in fear and trauma, which you hated with all what remained of your heart; but now that you were in a relatively safe place, you felt isolated and trapped. There was no common ground. You needed to breath, to live (or unlive), to enjoy life! You were not a little girl anymore! (҉Y҉e҉s҉ ҉y҉o҉u҉ ҉w҉e҉r҉e҉!҉)҉

So, one day, while helping Nifty clean and hiding from the Radio Demon That Sees It All, you casually stumbled into something very interesting at Lucifer's workshop. It looked like an ancient book, unlike those at the library which you had read and reread over and over again (One could read one too many times Mr. Waddles Goes to Church before it started to get old).

Something in that book drew you towards it, you knew you shouldn't look. It was probably full of ancient demonic knowledge, but maybe a teensy weensy peek wouldn't hurt, right?

Your face lighted up when you opened the book, (and not only because the light was coming from it). There were no words to describe what you found inside. You could see everything inside of it, it was like it was filled with everyone's dreams and hopes, you wondered how something as beautiful as that had ended up in Hell.

Without thinking, you touched the pages which felt warm to the touch. In response to your delicate caress, the pages started shining even brighter. You were so mesmerized by it that you didn't notice how the room was starting to fill with small orbs of light that started moving around you at impossible speeds, like a tornado.

Crafting materials, toy ducks and gizmos were sent around the room due to the force of the movement. But you didn't pay them any attention. There was something truly magical about the orbs' dance. It was enrapturing.

The door shot wide open, revealing Lucifer, Charlie and Vaggie with an horrified look in their faces. They were shouting something at you, but you could barely hear them, too lost in the orbs and their hypnotic dance. So distracted that you didn't feel the chilling presence that joined them until he spoke.

"Y/N, my dear? ." You felt a shiver run down your spine and your heart filled with the fear of a child who knows they have been caught doing something they shouldn't. You could perfectly hear his radio filtered voice, clear as a day, quiet as the calm before the storm. "Step away from that book, cherie. You could get hurt, and we don't want that, do we? ." He spoke with the kind of condescending tone one would use with a little kid.

A new sudden emotion emerged within you, something you had never felt before and never had any need for it. Anger. Who was he to stop you? Why did he always treat you like you were one of his puppets? Like you were another toy he could dress up and command as he pleased? Why couldn't he let you live?.

Feeling braver, probably due to the book's influence, you looked at his red eyes defiantly, once again touching the pages. Despite his permanent smile, you could tell he was getting angrier by the second.

"Y҉/҉N҉" His body was morphing, growing, eyes already changing to those red radio dials that gave you the chills. "I҉ ҉F҉O҉R҉B҉I҉D҉ ҉Y҉O҉U҉-҉"

"No!" You found yourself surprised at your own voice."I lost my life for you, I got sent here because I tried to protect you, I wasted my life because of you!" That last part came a bit more demonic sounding than intended. "Now. I WANT TO LIVE."

And with that, you were enveloped in a bright light and dissapeared.

For a couple of seconds, nobody dared to make a move. After what felt like hours, reality seemed to kick in and everyone sprung into action; Lucifer desperately searching through the pages of a suddenly very uncooperative book, just in case you had been sucked in, Vaggie was already establishing a perimeter around the hotel and search parties, and Charlie, poor sweet Charlie was franctically looking through every single room on that floor.

The only one who hadn't moved yet was Alastor. Already shrunk back to normal size, he seemed completely relaxed and chill in what could be considered an extremely catastrophic situation to any parent.

"Ah, must be those teenage hormones kicking in." His voice sounded as cheery and joyful as always. Almost like he didn't care. Lucifer shot him a venomous look, silently urging him to show a little care for his MISSING DAUGHTER. But Alastor had already retreated back into the shadows and returned to his radio tower.

If only they knew.

The truth was that Alastor cared. Way too much. He sunk his claws into the table while he fought against the deeply buried instinct in him to let himself loose and destroy everything in his path. The chains in his neck, glowed menacingly, a bitter reminder that he wasn't at full power.

He had lost you. Again.

He had you there, close enough to reach and you had vanished before he was able to do something. You had run away.

The mere thought made his hands shake with anger, antlers already growing twice their normal size. How could you? After everything he did for your sake, for your safety, y҉o҉u҉ ҉d҉i҉s҉o҉b҉e҉y҉ ҉h҉i҉m҉??? His smile looked more like a grimace and his eyes were pools of red hot rage. Oh, you were so grounded when he got you back.

Now you were out there, who knows where. All on your own. Defenseless, at the mercy of his many enemies without anyone, HIM, to protect you.

He sent his shadows into the city, he would leave no stone unturned no crackden untouched until he found you. He didn't care who he had to kill, maul or destroy. You would be coming back with him. Only HE could keep you safe, whetever you wanted it or not.

His desperation only grew when his shadows came back empty handed, the crazed look in his eyes combined with the slasher smile only made him look like the deranged psychopath he actually was.

You weren't in the Pride ring. He was even starting to doubt you were in Hell at all. What was the last thing you had said?

His non beating heart gave a painful twist when your parting words echoed in his mind. The bitterness and resentment in your voice hurt his tainted soul in ways no other person could have. His claws dug even deeper in the wood.

No.

All he wanted was to keep you safe back at the hotel, to ensure no one in this hellish landscape ever laid a finger in your delicate skin. He was just being a good father. You may not understand it, and probably never would. That's irrelevant.

He had found you again after nearly ninety years since that fatidic night when he lost it all, he was not going to allow anybody to take you away from him.

A theory started forming in his twisted mind. You had said that you wanted to live. Alastor was no fool, he knew what the Grimoire could do, in fact he had been dying to take a peek himself. Whatever you had wished, would have probably come true. His grin turned sour.

You had gone where he couldn't follow.

The mortal plane.

Who knew the kind of horrors you were facing up there? The kind of fools that would dare to disrespect the child of one of Hell's most powerful overlords?

He couldn't go there, at least not physically. If he could synchronize his radio frequency with the ones on Earth, he may be able to locate you before some fuckwad up there decided to have their way with you.

"We're on air"

[skelliko]

Kazutora Hanemiya |°- crushing misunderstanding

|°-context: kazutora is crushing on you but he sees you and akkun walking together and assumes that you're both together making kazutora's heart to break not knowing that you and akkun are simply friends - mainly fluff not angst

final time line: 4th Division Captain: Kazutora Hanemiya Vice-captain: Atsushi Sendo (Akkun)

kazutora couldn't help but notice the scene that he had accidentally stumbled upon on, before he was gonna ignore it and think nothing much of it until he double looked and his heart managed to stagger in emotions, akkun walking with his school crush. kazutora's school crush.

despite akkun being Vice-captain of the forth division and them being good friends there's still things that kazutora doesn't mention and one of them being is who his heart flutters to.

his mind went to so many scenarios and reasons as to why, out of everyone it'd be you two who walk together and not only that but also holding little brown bakery bags, as if you both had bought a sweet desert together, and are about to enjoy it in each others company.

'no no no no no... their not though? are they?!' his mind was more than a mess

theres no other explanation other than your both either on a date or dating. or even worse, in an actual relationship. kazutora's mind went to so many lengths as he pondered and stalked you both, hiding behind corners, bushes and bus stops to wherever you both are walking to,

he was desperate to find out what was going on even though he knows he needs to let go and back tf up.

'akkun has never mentioned having a girlfriend though, let alone that he's talking to a girl...' that certainly reassured him a little but only for a few seconds when his overthinking took over again

'but maybe that's cause no one asked or mentioned anything! and here he is with the girl that I like, for fucks sake!'

he tried to get close to the both of you to try and hear what you guys were talking about but while doing so self awareness had hit him, he didn't want to get caught lurking around, if a bystander seen what kazutora was doing then a clear title would be placed on him 'stalker'

he kind of just stood there in the middle of the pathway, watching as the both of you walked ahead having your own little moment. it was like kazutora was a small puppy being cast out and away from it's owners. for a short moment he had grown upset, he accepted that him and you were never gonna be because Akkun has already taken your attention.

when he took half a step backwards to turn around and not invade your privacy any longer, it was then that you had turned around making kazutora to be captivated. it wasn't just your beauty that had made him freeze and his heart to grow wings and flutter but it was you smiling and waving at him... him, kazutora, no one else, your eyes were stuck onto kazutora.

his heart was left uncontrolled and skipped all around his body whilst his main focus was to bite down the corner of the inside of his mouth to stop him from smiling like a little kid and getting all giddy for you just simply noticing him. it felt unreal to him in that moment that he had forgotten to wave back, and he was too busy on not smiling like an idiot that he didn't even smile back at all. well now he feels like a complete fool and should be shut out of society forever.

*inserts image of grieving shinji on a chair* -how kazutora feels right now

a whole week went by after that encounter, and since then in school kazu and you haven't had a full conversation, sure you've exchanged a few small words but then he'd cut it off with an excuse to leave all due to wanting to give respect for you and akkun.

before, the both of you would be talking non stop in the middle of lesson, being the teachers most annoying students that can't shut up and are always an nuisance to deal with. it's gotten to the point where after you both stoped talking even the teacher pointed it out Infront of the whole class, "some argument happened between you two?" like c'mon... why is it always those teachers that think they can get involved and think pointing things out to be funny. they get in-between everything.

it left an empty pit in his stomach not being able to talk to you the way he wants to. all because in this setting he chose to put his friends first before himself.

-- some time later ---

"so akkun, you got any plans with y/n?" asking that question hurt him more than it should have, but he needs to get over it soon enough. only after he gets an understanding at what stage the both of you are at. 3 month mark? secretly wishing.

"don't think so, why'd you ask?"

"nothing nothing, just curious. I'm surprised that she'd be with someone like you" it was supposed to come out as regular boy banter and laugh it off but instead he didn't watch his tone and grew blunt about it as if he'd meant it. in which he did.

it took akkun a few silent seconds to process his response and what kazu had just assumed "be with?" purposely ignoring kazutora's sudden burst of agitation and instead focusing on the question itself. "you think me and her are together... as in dating?"

"well you two seem to be quite close, no?"

"kazutora. no. were friends, full heartedly friends" while motioning his hands out to emphasize how baffling and wrong kazutora's question was.

if crickets were around the city they'd be loud, but instead all there could be heard was the click of kazu's tongue before replying "...Oh. shit"

akkun couldn't help but snort out a laugh, whereas kazutora on the other end was looking back and regretting everything which included ignoring you. but he had a good reason to, right? I mean how exactly was he supposed to know that you two were just friends?

many ways actually, sure, but he put his friends first and that's what had mattered, before at least. now, kazutora is trying to figure out ways on how to approach you without seeming like a douche for abruptly leaving and then coming back.

"wait, you like her??" it only then clicked into akkun's head making him perk up about why you even became a conversation topic.

"I bet she hates me" burrowing his face into his hands and feeling all sulky. didn't fully answer akkun's question but that small sentence answered a lot without meaning to.

"you do! you like-like her!" first time hearing about this and he instantly stood up from his seat, oh he was gonna have fun with this information. he can either tease the hell out of kazutora or help him out. but currently he'll torment him first.

"keep it down! dont need anyone hearing" lifting his head up from his hands and looking around the open area

"who's gonna hear? I'm not name dropping, or unless you're embarrassed" tormenting kazutora by making him think of you.

"of course not... maybe. but that's besides the point" kazu ended up explaining things from how he saw you and akkun but left out some details such as him following them to how things went with you and kazu at school.

"dug yourself a hole there I'll be honest, why didn't you ask me first before assuming?" -akkun

"didn't want to draw much attention on the subject"

"oh right right..." not right actually, don't exactly know what that was supposed to mean but didn't want to press on about it. after a short moment of silence it seemed like something was supposed to be done otherwise dragging the gap between you and kazu any further and it might be too much to fix. though luckily a little plan had settled into akkun's mind, after all he was close enough to you to be considered good friends. "I'll help you, don't worry"

♡----

a/n: I could have written the plan/aftermath n' that but I got lazy

[annabelle--cane]

Oh I envy those who were not there in the trenches for season 5. It was truly deranged. Every week, a deluge of posts explaining how Jonmartin was actually abusive/unhealthy- often alternating who was the supposed abuser. The discourse over Strung Out. And, of course, the ever present 'has the show gotten worse?'

Being around for season 5 was great. It was also awful.

EVERY WEEK. every week these are the posts I would see in the tag:

sooooo fucked up that jonmartin is lichrally abusive and you're all still stanning :/

this is thee worst domain we've had so far, how could jonny ever think it's okay to write horror with social commentary in his horror social commentary show?

haHA, this episode CONFIRMS that the web will have nothing to do with the finale and that the "alternate dimensions" theory is bogus and everyone who thinks otherwise is a dumb idiot

I love anthologies and hate meta plots. this is obviously an objective truth about art and not a personal taste thing. tma was only good for the first 21 episodes.

the characters were sad and mean in this one. doesn't anybody understand that if you write characters in fiction being sad and mean it means you think no one ever deserves to be happy in real life?? what the fuck???

I hate women so much it's unreal

[greyskyflowers]

I want a really specific Luffy/Sanji/Zoro fic where it's focused on how Zoro is probably not able to be numbed or knocked out.

I want to do a post at some point about how Nami, Usopp and Zoro are the humans of the crew. The ones without devilfruits, no genetic stuff, and completely human.

You can absolutely argue that Zoro has whatever the fuck is going on with the demon stuff but until that's clearly discussed I'm going with the human thing.

Back to Luffy/Sanji/Zoro.

I'm really sold on the idea that Zoro burns through numbing and pain medications like it's nothing.

He can be knocked out or made completely numb but it requires a unreal amount of medication, enough that the amount is usually unavailable or risks overdosing him and making him very sick.

So, how many times has Chopper had to dig out shrapnel and bullets while Zoro was completely aware and felt everything?

Or stitched him up while Zoro held the skin together for him?

How many times has Chopper had to rebreak bones that had healed wrong if they were separated for a period of time and Zoro didn't set it right?

How about cauterizing wounds?

Concussions?

Blood loss?

What it he needed surgery because of a wound, and Chopper had to cut into him without being able to numb him at all?

Oooooof

I fully believe Chopper has had to do some of those. However, when Zoro is too out of it, or it hurts to much to not jerk away or fight back... I think Luffy and Sanji would have to hold him down. The only two with enough strength to get him still enough that Chopper can do what needs to be done without worry.

Robin could be added to that, I think. I like to think Zoro and her have a strong friendship and she's seen enough shit to know sometimes things have to be done even though it sucks.

What sounds does someone make in a situation like that? How much can the human body take?

If he was out of it enough, would he plead with Luffy to let him up? He would absolutely call for Luffy when everything hurts and I'll die on that hill.

It would be a blessing if he passed out but how long would he be passed out? Just long enough for everyone to breathe before he was awake again and struggling?

Is it worse when he's quiet? Awake but so exhausted he can't even try to jerk away?

The rest of the crew hearing everything but knowing better than to go try to help.

Having to act like they can't all hear anything and desperately hoping that Zoro passes out soon.

And Zoro is Zoro. No one really talks about it. They're all aware, of course, but Zoro never brings it up or complains.

He's actually really good at holding still, clenching his jaw and curling his lip back in a pained snarl. Every muscle in his body tense and his back in a rigid arch.

This isn't new to him. He's always burned through this stuff quick but it's definitely gotten worse as he's gotten older and stronger.

Luffy and Sanji only have to hold him down for the really bad ones. It's more of a precaution, a comfort of all of them.

They're the only ones to hold him because even blind with pain, Zoro knows them.

Even when his world narrows down to hurthurthurt, he won't fight them the way he would someone else. He trusts them to be strong enough that he can be a little weak if needed. Only a little.

Luffy being cautious and untrusting of anyone other than crew while Zoro recovers and gets his feet back under him.

Possessive and protective in the way all captains are. A extra edge to it because it's Zoro and Zoro is his in a way no one else quite is.

Sanji hovering, always something in his hands because his way of caring is food. The pain usually takes away Zoro's appetite but it's the best way Sanji knows to heal.

Luffy curled around Zoro when he naps on deck or when they go to sleep at night, trying to make sure nothing hurts and reassure them both that Zoro's okay.

Both of them running a critical eyes over Zoro because infection is a whole beast of its own. They want to make sure that if there's even a hint of one, they catch it as soon as possible.

Touching Zoro constantly because if they feel tense muscles they know he's hurting and if he's running a fever they can work on cooling it down.

🌊

The strawhat crew holds a grudge against a few people. Most of them obvious but always at the top is Garp, Blackbeard, Judge, and Mihawk.

Because they don't know exactly what went on while they were all separated for 2 years but they hold Mihawk accountable for Zoro's eye, even if he wasn't the one behind that particular scar.

They know Zoro felt all of it and they weren't there with him. And anyone who is responsible for that kind of pain to one of the crew goes right on the shit list.

[scoops-aboy86]

Last Party of the Summer

Prompt Used: Pool party (@thehairandthebanished) and make-up sex (@steddiesmuttyseptember) | Last Party of the Summer | Rating: E | CW: hurt comfort, weight gain, body image issues, mildly intoxicated sex | Additional Tags: chubby Steve Harrington, miscommunication, breakup to makeup, makeup sex

also on Ao3

It’s hard to keep tabs on someone at a crowded pool party without being obvious about it, especially while working at getting drunk. But Steve, pausing to shotgun another beer, thinks he’s doing pretty good all things considered. He’s not glaring literal holes through Ed— through Munson’s stupid leather jacket, at least, so he can’t be that obvious. Even Tommy hasn’t commented on it, and Tommy isn’t one to notice things and not run his mouth, so there you go. 

He’s not being obvious at all. 

Then, out of nowhere, Eddie emerges from the crowd and uses a firm grip on his upper arm to propel him from the side of the pool back inside the house. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d lost track of the guy among their peers, which only adds to the unreal feeling of being frogmarched up the stairs and into his bedroom, ringed fingers burning like a brand through the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

“Alright,” Eddie snarls after kicking the door shut behind them. “You are the one who ended things, so what’s your fucking problem, Harrington? Mad that the riff raff got in to supply this dumb shindig with party favors?”

Indignance kick-starts Steve into scowling and yanking his arm away, crossing them across his chest. (But also, hearing his last name roll off Eddie’s tongue when just a few weeks ago he’d been ‘Stevie,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sweetheart’ makes something twist painfully in his chest.) “Watch what you’re calling dumb, Munson. You’re the one who snuck in uninvited.”

“It’s called working. It’s what some of us have to do when we don’t have daddy’s money to fall back on!”

The words make Steve take a sharp step back, because Eddie knows his parents throw money at him as though it’ll make up for never being around, never paying much attention to him unless there’s something to scold him for. How he’s gotten checks in the mail after making the winning shot or run or lap in an important match or getting a good grade on a big test, but they’re never there to actually see any of it; how he feels more like an employee or an investment than a son. 

And maybe it’s because he’s toeing the line of drunk, but his eyes sting. A little. 

“That’s a low fucking blow, freak,” Steve sneers, blinking hard. His crossed arms tighten further over his chest like he’s trying to keep something from breaking out, and he doesn’t care about the way Eddie’s face twitches. He doesn’t! “But I guess that’s par for the course with you, isn’t it? Never pull a single fucking punch.”

“I’ve pulled plenty,” Eddie sneers right back. 

Which is. Oh. That’s worse. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, huh?” And Steve can hear his voice going humiliatingly tight, there’s just nothing he can do about it. Fucking beer. “I told you to go, what’s the point in dragging me up here just to rub it in more, huh?”

Almost worse, what if someone had noticed them going up the stairs together? He could’ve withstood that before, when they were still… But now Steve is all alone, painfully unwanted even by the town loser, who must have pulled his punches long enough for the sake of getting laid for a while, just like all the girls who had ever found Steve wanting after a few dates. All he wants is his own sad business to stay pathetically his own, but Eddie just had to be out selling tonight. 

“Maybe I just wanted a little fucking closure, Steve.” Eddie leans back against the closed door, like he’s trying to get as far away as possible without leaving the room, glaring. There’s nothing soft in those eyes now, not anymore, not even as he says Steve’s first name instead of his last. A concession? No, it must just be a lapse. A lingering habit of familiarity, soon to be broken. “You kicked me out without any warning, and now you’re following me around with this look like I’m the one that did something wrong. Rub in what? What the fuck did I even do?”

Steve feels his jaw drop. “What did you do? Are you stupid or something?”

They’d been in Steve’s bed, plaid comforter kicked to the floor in their hurry, too wrapped up in each other to give even half a shit about the chaos of sheets around them. And maybe Steve had been a little self conscious about taking off his shirt that night, because it was between sport seasons and he hadn’t been keeping up with his workouts lately, too wrapped up in Eddie and shared joints that set his mind free from what Eddie called the ‘shackles of conformity.’ He’d still done it, stripped as eagerly as if he’d never noticed the way a few extra pounds had gone to his ass and belly lately. Because surely Eddie wouldn’t care. It was conformity to worry about that kind of shit so much, and Steve was trying to be better. To be someone Eddie could not just like, but respect, too. 

At first it was fine. Eddie pounced on him like he usually did, with a demanding kiss before lavishing attention on the constellations of Steve’s moles that lead from check to neck and further. He latched onto a nipple, teasing at the quickly tightening bud with teeth and tongue until pulling back in satisfaction and diving for the other. Then further down, raking his blunt, black-painted nails down Steve’s sides until he reached his waist, gripping… then, unusually, pausing. And then, then he’d—

“You laughed at me,” Steve spits, and oh god his eyes are really stinging now. That’s all he’s got, that four-word complaint, but it’s anything but little. Humiliation and hurt and shame coiling in his gut and making all the beer he’s downed tonight churn unpleasantly, because he’d been stupid to think that what they’d had wasn’t as superficial as everything else in this stupid town that Eddie wants to ditch the second he graduates. Everyone knows what the Freak of Hawkins High thinks about jocks. Probably sits around snickering to himself in his free time about how Steve’s let himself go—

“When the hell did I laugh at you?” Eddie is still pissed, still scowling at him, but there’s an undercurrent of bewilderment in his voice. (Steve recognizes it from the time he’d tried to explain the rules of baseball.) “Before or after you shoved me off, bare ass fucking naked, and told me to get my shit and get lost?”

“Before!” Steve can’t believe this. What is Eddie trying to do here, pretending he doesn’t know? “Right before that! When you… felt my stomach.”

Face burning at the admission, Steve is looking anywhere but Eddie and doesn’t know what to make of the sputtering noise at first. Until the lack of response gets to him and he glances, then focuses, then frowns, the tight cross of his arms loosening infinitesimally in distraction. 

Eddie is just… standing there, pointer finger held aloft in a ‘hold on a second’ gesture, his other hand pressed hard against his mouth and his eyes downcast in deep thought. 

It’s the same thing he does when he has a light bulb moment about a new plot point in a campaign and is trying to sort out in his head how all the threads of it mesh with what’s already there. The recognition makes Steve’s heart ache, regardless of how baffled he is to see it in this context. 

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters after a second, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing heavily, a hint of frustrated growl to it. “Well… fuck, okay.” 

He presses both hands together, tapping both pointer fingers against his lips and breathing out heavily through his nose, and finally looks up to make eye contact. 

“Okay, I just heard it how you must have heard it, and that’s—” A grimace passes across Eddie’s expressive face. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Steve. Pretty insulted that you’d just assume I even would, but that’s… that’s not the point.”

Steve blinks and keeps blinking, hard, not sure how the argument has turned into… this. He’s still mad, hurt, everything he was a minute ago, but now he’s confused too. And kind of indignant, a little unsure, half ready to tell Eddie to just get out again. “What? Dude, I heard you!”

“Not a laugh!” the metalhead insists. “This is so—For fuck’s sake, Steve, I liked it. I was excited, and I… I fucking giggled, alright?”

And… what?

“Giggled?” Steve repeats. 

“Yeah,” Eddie bites back, embarrassment coloring high on his cheeks. “Like a goddamn schoolgirl. I wanted to bite you there, you asshole,” he adds, but it lacks heat. His voice has gone tired, the fight draining out of him as he realizes—and as it occurs to Steve, if he’s telling the truth—that what they’d both been hissing mad about was a complete and tragic misunderstanding. 

“But… I don’t get it,” Steve says numbly. Maybe it’s the beer catching up to him, but his conviction is wobbling now and he feels off kilter. He shuffles a few more steps backwards until he runs up against the bed and sits so fast it feels like falling. “I’ve let myself go and you… I thought you…”

He’d been so sure. That laugh has been ringing through his head ever since he’d heard it, but suddenly it sounds like a caricature, like something out of a cartoon. 

Not how Eddie sounds at all.

“It’s not ‘letting yourself go’ to not be skin and bones, man,” Eddie says, shoving both hands in his pockets and looking down at the toes of his own sneakers. “Some padding never hurt anyone. I like it, alright?” Defensive, defiant, but… a little subdued now. 

Sad, Steve thinks, and then suddenly that’s all he can feel. It hits him that he’d pushed Eddie away, ended things between them… for no reason? 

His shoulders are already hitching up before he even registers that he's crying, wetness trickling straight down to dampen the hair at his temples. It’s been weeks. Weeks of being angry—he’s so tired of it, but the only alternative was to feel horribly lonely so he held onto it anyway, a rope burn on his soul to distract from the pain of his heart cracked in two. 

And he’d known as he watched Eddie earlier tonight that his gaze bordered on more pathetic than mad. Not quite cooled off enough to realize on his own that he’d made a mistake, but enough to recognize it now that reality (and Eddie) stares him in the face. 

It’s over for no reason. Eddie hates him now and if it was just a dumb misunderstanding then, then Steve absolutely deserves it—

The bed dips at his side. Not close enough that they’re touching, but that it happens at all is a surprise. And then Eddie murmurs “Stevie?” so hesitant it makes Steve choke. 

It’s the barest hint of an olive branch, and he’s absolutely going to blame the beer for how it makes the tears drip faster. He hasn’t felt this pathetic since the car ride home after one of the few basketball games his dad had ever bothered to attend, where Steve had missed not one but two easy free throw shots. 

“I’m so s-stupid,” he gasps wetly, and immediately feels even more pathetic for saying it out loud, as if it’s not obvious. He turns away, away from Eddie, trying to hide—his face, his body, everything. This is the worst pool party ever and he’s never drinking again. 

“You're not stupid, you dumbass. Hey.” Eddie touches his shoulder, keeps his hand light but there when Steve tries to shrug it off. He sighs heavily, almost a huff. “It’s not stupid to react to me pressing a button I didn’t know was there. Look—Would actually saying something instead of jumping right to kicking me out been better? Absolutely. That really fucking hurt, man.”

“Sorry,” Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “And sorry I called you a freak. You’re not, I don’t… I don’t really think that.”

There’s a pause, and then Eddie squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, man. I’m, uh… sorry for the crack about your dad and calling you an asshole.”

“I am an asshole.” Steve’s eyes are already shut; he squeezes them tighter until colors start to bloom across the inside of his eyelids. “Fucking ruined everything over some stupid thing that was only ever in my head, so I… I deserve this. But you didn’t and I’m sorry, I hope you—” and here his throat tightens up, because he wants to say I hope you can forgive me, but that would be even more pathetic than he’s already being. “I hope you find s-someone who treats you better.”

This pause stretches out for a lot longer, so long that Steve would think Eddie had left if not for the remaining dip in the mattress and the hand-shaped brand on his shoulder. He’s just waiting for the agreement and for Eddie to finally leave for good, holding in a wordless, futile scream for when he’s alone. Fuck the party downstairs, he’ll call the cops himself if he has to just to clear them all out, and suck up whatever punishment he gets if the Hawkins PD decides to notify his parents. 

Finally, after a thousand fucking years of that scream burning a hole in Steve’s throat, Eddie says quietly, “Or, you could just… not do that again. Think you could do that for me, Stevie?”

Absolute fucking whiplash. 

Steve is so shocked he actually turns back to look, and all it takes is the sight of the other boy’s big brown eyes and the softness there, the tender flaming hope in them. “Yeah,” he croaks, doesn’t even think he sounds like himself anymore but at least he gets the word out. “Yes, Eds, please—”

And then Eddie is on him with a bruising kiss, scrambling to kick his shoes off while Steve scrambles at the black leather jacket, pulling it off to grab desperately where Eddie’s bare sides show through the intentionally ripped shirt beneath it. Ripped denim rasping against swim trunk fabric as Eddie straddles him, grinds down hard, refusing to let either of them up for air. Steve is just as hungry for it, just as desperate. 

It’s different. They’ve still got their residual hurts, he can taste it in the way Eddie bites at his lips, bites all the way down to his neck and sucks a dark claim on the side that Steve can’t help arching into with a moan. A breach of their unspoken rule not to mark each other because they can’t be out, not in this town and definitely not while they’re still only going into their junior and senior years, respectively—but Steve is in just the right mood not to give a shit about that right now. Although…

“Door,” he gasps, trailing off with a whine when Eddie rolls his hips down into his again. “Did you lock it?” 

Eddie pulls back fluidly with a curse under his breath, which Steve takes as a no. “Get these off while I’m gone,” he says, voice rough, and tugs at the waistband of Steve’s swimsuit. A second later he’s on his feet, backing away with a smoldering stare until Steve gets the hint. 

With a jolt, Steve shoves the trunks down, bracing his heels on the bed to tug them over his ass. His cock bobs free, and his breath catches at the way Eddie keeps watching until he backs into the door. 

“Good boy,” Eddie breathes, turning the lock behind his back. “Scoot back on the bed. After tonight, I’m going to make sure you’ll never think I’d laugh at you ever again.”

Steve does as he’s told, partly because he’s still shivering from the good boy (what is it about Eddie taking charge and calling him that, gets him every time) and partly because Eddie turns away to his tape player. Downstairs, it sounds like the party has seeped into the house; the living room speakers are thundering out don't you want me baby? at a volume that will probably spur the neighbors into action—morons. But all the better that the door is locked, if the party is going to ramp up unchecked; it’s only a matter of time before couples start breaking off to find any free privacy they can get. 

Eddie puts in a mix tape, one of the ones he’d gifted months ago for what he’d called Steve’s ‘auditory re-education,’ and moves the smaller player close to drown it out.

In that cocoon of some of the metal songs that Steve actually likes, Eddie comes back to bed stripped out of his jeans and shirt. He crawls up between Steve’s legs until he’s hovering over him face to face. Then he gathers up Steve’s wrists, moving them to cross against the headboard above his head, and Steve lets it happen because it makes breathing pick up, makes his pulse throb faster between his legs. 

“Keep these here,” Eddie says, and then kisses him so gently that Steve is shaking with the need to pull him closer, to have more. But the second he reaches to do so, Eddie catches him again. “Stevie…”

“I missed you so much,” Steve groans. Pouts, too, but lets Eddie replace his wrists above his head, not sure if he’s fully forgiven yet—doesn’t m is if this is penance or a reunion, or to what degrees it’s both. “Eds, please—”

He’s interrupted with another kiss, just as gentle and slow, but so unchaste it makes him feel like he’s melting. And then Eddie murmurs against his lips, “Missed you too. Let me show you, sweetheart.”

Before Steve has a chance to answer, Eddie wraps a hand (when had one of them left his wrists?) around his cock and drags a slow thumb over the head. 

“Just keep your hands up here for me and be good.”

With a shuddering breath, Steve tries. He keeps his hands in place while Eddie nuzzles down the front of his shirt to the soft swell of his stomach, no less noticeable than their last night together. (Watching what he eats is hard, okay? He’s a teenage boy, he gets hungry. And maybe he’s still a little bloated from the beer even though he can’t really feel the alcohol slowing him down anymore.) There’s a faint red line, visible when his shirt is lifted, where it’d pushed slightly over his waistband all night; Eddie presses a gentle kiss to it and sighs.

A good sigh, like this is exactly what he’s been waiting for. Steve’s heard it before when taking the other boy in his hand, in his mouth—and even if his mind is inclined to overthink it, his body is hardwired to respond. Precome dribbles onto Eddie’s fingers, easing the glide as he slowly, slowly starts to stroke. Makes Steve shiver with dueling sensations of shame and pleasure because Eddie is still kissing the little pooch of his tummy, free hand kneading gently over the softness at his side, starting to tip the scales with how good the combined attention feels. 

“That’s it baby,” Eddie tells him breathily, almost crooning. “That’s it…”

And slowly, slowly Steve starts to relax into it. He does try to look away a few times, overwhelmed, but Eddie answers each attempt by turning his face gently back and staring him down while kissing him more, tummy and soft sides and chest. Leaving love bites here and there. The sounds Eddie makes, pleased hums and low moans and quiet praise and Steve’s name, over and over. 

It feels like coming home. 

The next morning, Steve wakes up to Eddie kicking the door shut behind him as he comes back into the room. 

“Everyone’s cleared out, but you do not want to look out there,” Eddie announces, setting a tray piled high with easy breakfast foods (scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast, jam, poptarts, fruit), two mugs of coffee, and a jug of orange juice on the bed with a flourish before crawling back into it himself. “At least not before noon.”

Steve doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care, because Eddie is here. Eddie is here. With a breakfast that perfectly suits his level of hungover—not bad, but not great. 

“Eds,” he starts, another apology ready to spill out, but Eddie pops a piece of toast into his open mouth and settles at his side. 

“We’re good,” the other boy says simply. “It was a dumb misunderstanding that made you feel hurt and sad and made me feel hurt and pissed off, but it’s untangled now. Just never try to dump me like that again and we’ll be fine, alright?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve agrees quickly through a full mouth. He’s struggling to chew the big bite that had been shoved in, reaching for Eddie’s hand. Eddie loops an arm around Steve before letting him take it and twine their fingers together. As soon as he swallows, he adds, “I don’t want to dump you.” Not ever again, he hopes, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to say so. Not right now, not something so big that it’ll sound like a grand empty promise right after making up. 

But Steve is pretty sure the fact that it hurt so much to push Eddie away means he’s capital L in love with him. 

“Good.” Eddie kisses him, a hint of sweetness on his lips that suggests he sampled some of the jam while cooking. “Now, eat up sweetheart. That makeup sex wiped me out, and we’ve got a lot more celebratory banging on the schedule for today. Gotta keep that strength up.”

And, he has a point. Steve feels the grumbling of his empty stomach, along with the easy throb of all the little marks Eddie had left on his body the night before as a form of… of worship or something. Reminders that maybe letting go isn’t such a big deal. Because if he skimps on breakfast when it’s what his body wants (needs), sooner or later he’ll get restless and cranky and risk ruining everything all over again. “Yeah, keep my strength up,” Steve agrees, feeling his face heat a little. But Eddie beams at him, starts fussing around with the pillows so they can recline comfortably while they eat—while offering Steve forkfuls of scrambled eggs and bites of this or that, really—and slowly, slowly relaxes into feeling like everything’s going to be okay.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[schizosupport]

this is going to be very long and rambly, i apologize. you can answer any, all, or no parts of it, i guess i just really need to blurt it all out to *someone*

for the past 3 or 4 years, ive been having mild (?) transient stress related psychotic symptoms. i suspect i have a cluster b pd which could possibly cover that

at first it was mostly paranoia i think ? usually the standard "theyre out to get me" type thoughts, both with people i knew and nebulous entities i couldnt define. it doesnt happen too frequently, but it seems to have gotten worse with time. this past fall / winter was especially bad bc i was already doing poorly mental health wise and was very isolated. a lot of the thoughts are still paranoia based, but some lean more towards delusions now (e.g. being afraid of the music i left to play from my phone speakers bc i felt it was hunting me down) as well as some that are fully bizarre (e.g. believing that ive been an angel stuck inside a human body my whole life, thinking theres a force field around my apartment thats keeping me stuck inside). for a while there was also this... pervasive sense of unreality almost ? like i would get frustrated that things werent operating on dream logic, or have difficulty differentiating dreams and reality in general. for the past couple months since then, ive had pretty much no issues

i always retain Some grasp on reality, whether its full on double booking or a vague sense of "something is wrong with me right now", which is enough for me to hide away from people and try to calm myself down and ground myself back to reality (... can you even do that with "real" delusions ? talk yourself out of them ?). the symptoms only last a few hours "at their peak", though the unsteady / unreality feeling may stick around for days or weeks surrounding that. im still able to be mostly functional for that part though. as such, nobody knows about any of this.

i just. i dont know. i dont have a therapist (i need one). im too afraid telling my friends will change their views on me irreparably even though they too struggle with (other) deeply stigmatized mental health issues. ive spent a lot of my childhood being called insane and incapable and i dont want it to happen again after ive finally found people that respect me. im worried ill have a full on psychotic break at some point (what the hell counts as "a break" ? can i call what ive been through "episodes" ?), or lose my ability to double book, or display symptoms in front of people i know. i just dont know what to do so im. spilling it out all here. so someone at all besides me knows

-- elias

Hey there,

Sorry it took me a while to get back to you.

It definitely sounds to me like you are experiencing some level of psychotic symtoms, and it sounds like it's causing you significant distress. You asked whether you can "talk yourself out of" a "real delusion" - and well, not as such, until the delusion passes, but they can be more or less long-lived and come with more or less insight.

The types of episode that only last a couple hours at full intensity are sometimes referred to as micropsychoses. When people talk about "a psychotic episode" it usually refers to a prolonged loss of reality that may last days, weeks or even months. But plenty of people on the schizo- and psychosis spectrum don't experience full-blown psychotic episodes. That doesn't make their psychosis un-serious, and it also isn't a given that these people will go on to develop worse psychotic symptoms.

I think one of the reasons the diagnosis of schizotypal exists, is because we needed to acknowledge that not every person's endpoint on the schizo-spectrum is schizophrenia, but that doesn't mean that their experience doesn't come with distress or disability.

I think you could try to do a vibe check with your friends to see how they react to the concept of psychosis and psychotic disorders. If they seem cool, then you could try to bring up your own experiences. It might be nice to be able to talk about those things, and get to experience that it doesn't have to be the end of the world, and not everyone will judge you for it.

I hope you all the best, anon!!

[add-v-bae]

Hi. I'm sure that nobody expected me to come back, and I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting to. I'm just so disgusted with recent events that I want to post my thoughts in a location where anybody will understand what I'm talking about, as nobody in my day to day life even really tolerates kpop

As everybody knows, a lot has happened recently. And yeah, I've got a lot of emotions. I'm devastated to find out how much of a disgusting human Taeil is, and just in general, the wave of disgusting misogyny that's been going on in South Korea is absolutely horrifying.

However, I'm here to talk about my disgust in the state of kpop fans and the abysmal behavior some show. Mind you, i know very well that its very much not everyone. I've spent enough time in the community to know that there are plenty of people who are capable of being normal about their relationship with the idols, even while being a stan who cares about nothing but them. I have a history of parasocial relationships and I firmly believe that you can absolutely obsess over celebrities without being a psychopath. That being said, it's also a very fine line and I've seen some absolutely disgusting shit here.

None of these men belong to you. None of these men owe you a fucking thing. They are there to make you music, give you dances that you can enjoy, and serve you looks, depending on your style per era. They don't owe you abstinence and this is frankly something I've hated even while I was frequenting this site. I know full well that i personally have gotten a little too deep into shipping and crushing on idols. Do you know what happened during the two time an idol that i obsessed over/shipped with people referred to being in a relationship while being an idol? I felt a pang of disappointment and then I decided that as long as they're happy, I'm happy. Do you know what happened to them? One of them could only talk about it after leaving the industry, and the other lost their contract at their company. There's absolutely zero reason why an idol can't live their life alongside being an idol. They're not dolls, they're human beings with human lives.

Now, I left the community years ago. I still listen to the songs I used to listen to, but that's about the extent of where my kpop Fandom journey is anymore. I've also technically started rewriting some of the story ideas I had while excluding the kpop aspects, but that's an entirely different thing.

However, I do still like the occasional kpop post on Twitter, and today, my page was full of learning of a man named Seunghan from a band Riize. I've never heard of him, nor have I heard of this band prior to this controversy. However, the shit that's going on with this is unreal. You're telling me that this 21 year old got bullied into going on hiatus because he smoked a cigarette and dated someone? And then as soon as he came back, people sent funeral wreaths to SM over it? That's abhorrent. The girlfriend thing I've already touched on, he doesn't owe you anything, let alone abstinence from a time before he was famous. The cigarette, sure that's not good. Death threats are so much worse?? Most people have done something bad at some point in their life that doesn't at all reflect who they are now, and frankly, even if he still smokes, what the fuck are you helping with this behavior? Show concern, don't act like he's your fucking doll who's not acting how you want.

I'll be honest, I don't think the people that have or currently follow me are the kinds of people to do this thing. However, if somehow one of the people who engaged in this see this (especially those girls dancing in front of the wreaths uggggh), in complete, 100% seriousness, get some fucking help. You're entering into a parasocial state that is far beyond the acceptable state and has passed into psychotic behavior, and you need to find how to work that out because you've already emotionally hurt people and you're well on your way to physically hurting people, if you haven't already.

And if you haven't been one of the people who have been doing this but you don't see a problem with it, you get some help too. You might feel that you're not doing anything to anybody but as far as I'm concerned, you're just as part of the fucking problem. You might not have engaged in this action, but you very well could to other idols in the future, or God forbid people in your life. This kind of obsession can very easily translate over to behaviors and entitlement to partners, friends, family, none of which are people you're entitled to either. I couldn't fathom looking at this and feeling like this is at all okay.

I can't say if I'm gonna uninstall Tumblr and go back to staying my nose out of things or if I'm going to pop in once and a while as a casual, especially since I'm sure my page has been dead long enough that nobody cares if I come back but I got so heated over this that I needed to put all my thoughts out there, even if nobody sees it

[wishitweresummer]

Sensitive (Dream x GeorgeNotFound)

Word count: 2730

Warning: This is a love story! It’s completely PG and SFW, but there is kissing. DNF babyyyy.

     Strangely enough, the domino that set off the two revealing their feelings for each other was Dream discovering George was ticklish.

The feelings themselves were already known. Basically. Dream and George are two smart and accomplished men. They simply put the facts together and came to the same conclusion. There wasn’t really any wonder or question. That wasn't the problem. The problem was the trajectory of acknowledgment. The fear in change. They might have leaned into the feeling of inevitability too much. While they had an awareness of endgame, it still needed a start. But, they didn't know how. They danced around each other, too afraid to touch.

Touches were kept platonic and friendly. Luckily, Dream got to practice that with Sapnap before George moved in. So many elbow jabs into ribs. Playful shoving. It was probably a month in when it was just second nature to grab the younger in a headlock and mess with his hair until he was red faced and shouting.

Physical touch. Dream couldn't get enough. Years locked away will do that to you. That first hug with each of his best friends had him burning with love and overflowing with tears. As he got to meet each and every one of his friends he had only gotten to be close to over a screen, he crushed them to his chest with all the love in the world.

     And now; George. This impossibly adorable angel of a man. Eyes like two little voids that lock on relentlessly to Dream’s and take him apart without even trying. Pretty lips that stretch into mischievous grins and precious little pouts that give Dream a run for his money every time. Cheeks that bloom with dark embarrassment at just the barest of teasing. So addictive to pull reactions from. A sharp tongue and endless charm. George was unreal. Perfect, in Dream’s eyes.

     It was hard for Dream to pick his favorite thing about George, but gun to his head? His laugh. George had many and Dream loved every single one. The mean one that shook out of him when he was tearing into his friends with roasts and jabs. The pleased giggles when he gets away with something no one else would have. Those high pitched shrieks of laughter and fear that tear out of him when he's running from his friends in video games. Those uncontrollable cackles when something is just too funny for him to handle.

     Dream discovered a new one and he just couldn't get enough.

     When Sapnap was being too much of a brat for Dream’s patience levels, but still too lovable to actually make him mad, he had found the perfect way to deal with him months ago.

"I'm sorry! Dream I'm sorry!", he would plead through raspy laughter. The apologies always so quick to come when the Tickle Monster came out to play. Play fights brought teasing pokes and grabs. Startling squeaks out of each other was fun. Tickling came easy into Dream and Sapnap’s causal interactions.

     It was really only a matter of time before the other two learned how much of a weakness it was for George.

     The very first time had basically been an accident. Kind of. Dream meant to squeeze George’s side and tug him in close while they were cuddling on the couch watching a movie. It was playful. At most, he expected a little puff of air and some cute blushing. Instead, the squeal that startled out of the boy made the other two jump. Well, he succeeded at making him blush, that’s for sure.

     George met Dream’s amused smirk with the meanest glare he could, whole face burning and only getting worse by the second.

"What happened over there?", Sapnap asked from the loveseat.

"Yeah, what happened there?", Dream pressed. George could only sputter dumbly.

     Then, Dream crossed that threshold. Before then, there was an air of politeness he had held for touches shared between him and George. A purposeful amount of platonic awareness for the closeness and length of every touch and hold.

     Dream threw it all out the window as he dragged the squirming boy into his lap, held him close, and tickled his sides until he let out that insane screech he loved so much. George was hysterical in seconds.

"Georgie, you're so ticklish!". The boy grabbed at Dream’s hands and flipped around in complete and utter ticklish agony. His desperate cackling nearly deafened Dream.

"Holy shit!", Sapnap added from across the room.

     The ticklish attack only lasted about thirty seconds, but when the mean fingers relented against George’s sides he was panting and had tears in his eyes.

"Don't do that...", he said weakly. He tore his gaze away from Dream’s over and over again as the younger tried to meet it. "Yes yes I get it, I'm really ticklish whatever oh my god shut up you're so annoying.", he huffed and scrambled from the other’s lap. Dream practically buzzed with interest. Every single second of George’s reaction left Dream crawling with desire for more. That familiar addiction. George had a way of being exactly what Dream craved. "Shut. Up.", he gritted out. George was flushed under Dream and Sapnap’s amused gazes.

"No one even said anything!", Sapnap laughed.

And just like that, things were different.

Touches were easier. As they all cooked breakfast together in the morning, well George and Sapnap floated around the kitchen while Dream made them breakfast, it was easy to bump elbows and laugh. Sapnap splashed George with sink water while cleaning up dishes and he cowered behind Dream, only to get his ribs jabbed. The squeal he let out made the other two flinch.

"You're like, so sensitive.", Sapnap informed him with a smirk. George glared back at him with newly pinkened cheeks and rubbed at the spot Dream had poked.

Things were casual like that for awhile. Just a small new addition to the routine of teasing the boys had. George had even found himself brave enough to get his own licks in. Grabbing and poking at unsuspecting sides and tummies when they dared to get too close.

     The first time George and Sapnap tested their strength against each other had George pressed down to the floor, absolutely screeching with apologies and regret.

     After a few weeks, the two had worked out the full extent of George’s sensitivity. The sharp-tongue Brit could be reduced to a blubbering mess by either of them in under a minute. After years of dealing with George’s stubbornness through screens, it was incredibly endearing how some simple touches could get seemingly anything out of him.

     "I'm going to make you say you love me.", Dream threatened. George whined through his hysterical giggling as they increased in speed and pitch as he fought the hands teasingly playing at his hip bones.

"Don't! Ah fuck!!", he cried. A scream tore from him as Dream leaned over him with a smirk, his hands having found their way onto trembling thighs. Those lovely frantic cackles filled the room.

     This was the same man who would mercilessly tear him apart in front of thousands? Killing his friends in games with no hint of guilt? Dream had once watched him pick out every single one of Sapnap’s insecurities without a thought to his feelings until the younger actually smacked the shit out of him. Who was this? It was incredible how different he seemed like this. The way he squirmed and squealed with no hope of escape once he fell weak to any ticklish touch. So impossibly adorable. Dream was finding himself becoming obsessed.

With Sapnap and Dream, there were different levels of reactions. A soft touch could get them jumpy and giggly. The tickles that were meant for a playful attention grab or to ease out a smile when another thought it was needed. George was different. The two couldn't find a way of tickling him that didn't throw him into hysterics instantly. It's exactly why the act of tickling him had become a bit of an addiction. Especially to Dream.

     Dream found himself testing his sensitivity to a lighter touch one day on top of the couch that he had first learned about the older’s weakness. The TV kept on with some long-forgotten show as George fell into pieces under Dream’s curious hands.

"Seriously? I'm barely touching you.". The smaller boy squirmed wildly as crazed giggles bubbled out of him. His wrists were locked together above his head to the couch with just one of Dream’s hands.

"Please!!!", he squeaked out. All he was doing was trailing his fingertips around underneath his shirt. Every graze against the jumpy stomach had him shaking with helpless giggles. Loud squeals broke through when the light touch teased at his hypersensitive sides.  A cute flush grew on his cheeks the longer he struggled.

     As Dream’s torturously gentle touch explored George’s body, the air became lighter with all the pretty giggling. A dangerous vibe.

     Dream found another threshold to cross. A startled shriek sliced through the room when a quick raspberry was pressed into the pale flesh that had been exposed through a ridden-up shirt.

"Nononono.", the begging fell from George’s lips quickly when playful green eyes met his with a curious head tilt. The hands trapped up above his head were quickly brought down and pressed down to the couch cushion by his sides and Dream started to nudge the shirt up further with his nose. George shrieked in fear. Hysterical giggling wracked his body with anticipation. "No Dream please don't!!!".

A loud scream flew from the squirmy boy’s lips before he fell back into wailing laughter. Soon, there were playful nibbles across his tummy and unpredictable raspberries to his sides. George was a goner.

Dream studied how George couldn't handle any playful touches. He only got bolder as the weeks went on.

When George stood with his head tilted back staring at the pantry of snacks for a minute straight, Dream couldn't resist a gentle bite near the back of his neck. George nearly collapsed after letting out a startled cry.

When he learned the McDonald's had run out of George’s favorite cookies in the drive-thru, Dream attempted to comfort the other with a firm squeeze of his thigh. Of course, George only thrashed in place with a squeal loud enough to startle Dream and the worker at the other side of the box.

Even just the barest resemblance of the threat of tickling always sent him into ticklish paranoia. George and Sapnap were curled up on the floor playing round after round of chess one day when suddenly Sapnap was over it. The younger flopped dramatically down onto the floor, innocently. The quick movement towards George sent him into a giggly panic; squeezing his eyes shut and wrapping his arms around himself in protection. Dream watched in amusement as Sapnap popped up in confusion at the other’s reaction, just to quickly twist him down to the floor and tickle him exactly how he feared.

The first time they used the pool together was delayed with Dream and George’s antics. The older had asked the other to apply his sunscreen, just to melt into a giggling puddle from the cold lotion.

"It doesn't tickle!!", he cried through his high-pitched giggles. Sapnap and Dream could only smile in confused amusement as the frantic squirming consumed the boy anyway.

It fell easily into their routine. This was just a part of their near-daily interactions for the three best friends. Friends.

Feelings between Dream and George had always been there and not really any kind of secret, but the actual relationship had not changed from anything more than best friends. Until one fateful night in early May while Sapnap was away filming something for NRG.

Dream had the next season of the series him and George were watching all booted up in the living room. He was just waiting for George to finish up whatever he was doing in his room.

The younger had no qualms about whining like a puppy behind the older. He complained and kicked the back of his computer chair until he was sure that George was just fucking with him at this point.

"You have about thirty seconds before I go ahead and bring you to the couch myself.". The other scoffed at the threat.

"You're an idiot.". Dream’s mouth dropped open before the timer in his mind could go off.

"That's it!", he huffed before scooping George up and throwing him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. The lack of fight before being bent over it led Dream to believe this was exactly what the smaller was hoping for. George shrieked and pounded against his back as he headed towards the living room. Dream only chuckled at the tiny ineffective fists. He tossed the squirmy body to the couch and plopped down.

Now, none of this was all that out of the ordinary for them so far. Everything flipped into a new realm when George scrambled over to Dream and took residency in his lap, giggling breathlessly. Dream froze and his eyes went wide as George got comfy facing him with his thighs on either side of his lap. Before he could react, small hands attacked his rib cage and a bark of laughter flew from his lips.

"George!".

Soon, the two were laughing as they tickled each other, but neither moved to leave the new position. It was like their bodies were built to slip into a position like this together. George the perfect comfortable weight on top of Dream’s lap. Sides and thighs so easy on each other to squeeze. Hyperticklish George fell into an easy defeat in no time, though. His hands tugged on Dream’s wrists and he pressed his forehead to his shoulder with a whimper.

"I can't take it...", he murmured weakly. But, that pale slender neck was far too tempting. Dream grabbed a hold of the perfect waist perched on top of him and dug his teeth into sensitive flesh. The nibbles forced George to crumple against him with squeaky giggles. The boy squirmed in his lap, but not off. He stayed put. He clung to the younger man desperately.

The reactions were impossibly intoxicating. Dream let his playful nibbles travel up his neck and tease across his jaw. George only flinched and jerked around as the pretty giggles flew free with two fistfuls of the front of Dream’s shirt.

Dream heard how breathless the giggles were getting and slowed down. Soon, he bumped his nose against George’s.

"Are you okay?", he whispered. They were close. They had never been this close before. George dropped his head down with a whine and it forced Dream’s lips against his forehead without meaning to. An accidental forehead kiss.

Another threshold. Dream really couldn't get enough this time. Large hands grabbed George shoulders and Dream peppered his blushing face with more little kisses. George could only blush harder as he fought the smile from the affection.

"Dream...", he said softly, meaninglessly. Meaning-everything-ly. A confession. A plead. A question.

"George.", just as soft.

Who made the first move? Who knows.

Lips that were always destined.

A future revealing itself. Fate complete. A forever, found. Inevitable together.

Slow nervous lips slid together. Gentle giggles falling between them easily as any hesitation melted away. Strong hands around a narrow waist tugged the bodies impossibly closer. George squeaked in surprise and Dream was all too happy to invade deeper. New addicting noises earned with every bold movement. Playful hands even teased at sensitive sides to bring more squirming to the loving kiss.

Dream’s lips traveled back down to that tempting neck again. George clung to his shirt as he tried as hard as he could to let the younger explore as he pleased. Soft cries from the overwhelming sensitivity filled the air around them.

"I love you.", George whimpered. Dream froze at the words he had tried to pry from the boy for years. He pulled back to try and meet his gaze.

"Yeah? You do? What was that?", he asked with a goofy grin. George looked away fast.

"Nothing.".

"Say it again!!", he demanded, playfully. Happier than ever.

More squeals of laughter erupted from George as Dream chased getting to hear those lovely words again. And again and again…

[nczennie]

hungry eyes.

Part Two of She's Like The Wind

Pairing: Reader x Stray Kid’s Lee Know AU: Summer love, based on the film Dirty Dancing Genre: Angst, Fluff (this part) Preview: “I’m doing this for you, you know! I could’ve refused and you would have been stuck without that job, but I’m doing the best I can to learn this stupid dance and help you, so stop being such an asshole!” You huff out angrily, you can feel the redness in your face clearly showing your emotion. Words: 9.2k *Warnings under cut

Warnings: Some curse words, some making out and like groping, drug use, talk against drug use, bad side effects of drug use,

It was only three days later that you found yourself sweating profusely in a small dance studio. As you stand trying to catch your breath you’re unsure how you even let Jeongin and Momo convince you to agree to this. This morning, bright and early before Minho’s shift started, you got ready in the most athletic-like clothing you packed, gently reminding yourself that you were doing this to help the girl out everytime you yawned on the walk over.

But now as you breathe heavily and wipe the sweat from your brow while Minho stares unimpressed and annoyed, you find yourself thinking, why do you owe this girl anything?

“I knew this wasn’t going to work,” the boy grumbles as he grabs a small towel to hand you, “We haven’t even gotten a fraction into the damn song and you can’t remember a single step.” Though his words are harsh, you know they were true. You’ve never done any ballroom dancing to this extent and you don’t think you were that great of a dancer to begin with. But Minho and his teaching wasn't helping you learn anything, in fact you find it to make everything much worse. 

"You're the dance teacher you know, isn't that your job?" You glare back at him as you wipe the sweat from you, cursing the summer humidity. "If I'm not learning anything then maybe it's your fault".

Minho scoffs at you, shaking his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes, "Unreal", he mumbles, "This whole thing is stupid, I can't believe I bet my job on someone like you".

“Then help me!” You let out frustratingly. “I know I’m not a dancer, and I’m not as talented as Momo or any other partner you’ve had. But if you actually slowed down and tried to teach me as a beginner then it would be easier for both of us! It’s like you’ve given up on me before you’ve even given me a chance.”

You know Minho was the most against you stepping in for Momo for the performance, but you figured he would at least give you a chance seeing as his second job is on the line.

At your outburst Minho says nothing, but at least it has stopped his grumbling. You swallow at the tense atmosphere, his large eyes slowly blinking at you, unchanging. Finally, he makes his way to a small table in the room, grabbing a couple of water bottles. The boy makes his way back to you and hands you one, “Drink up well, we have a lot to do, baby.” He turns back around to drink his own water and you can’t help the small smile that reaches your lips as you open the bottle, perhaps your words have gotten to him after all.

Just a week into being Minho’s pupil, you realize this could become a problem. Yet it wasn’t the tough footwork or the even tougher instructor, but the passionate routine and perhaps even your underlying attraction to the dancer.

After your confrontation, things seemed to progress much better for you both. Though he is tough with his instructions and expectations, Minho turns out to be a great teacher and that is crystal clear seeing as he was able to get you to memorize even the smallest things. You’re both already a good portion into the song and everything is on track for the performance in two short weeks. 

That being said, you never thought about the amount of passion the dance included. You saw with your own eyes how much passion Minho and Momo individually had when they danced, but now being a partner, it became clear the passion would be presented to you as well. You’ve shared a dance with Minho before, a very intimate one at that, but even that night when you basically had your pelvis’ pressed against each other (to put it politely), for some reason you still don’t find it to be as heart fluttering as what you’re learning now. 

The intense eye contact and slow dragging of his fingers across your body hitches your breath every time and you’re glad you can still blame the shortness of breath on being out of shape.

Of course you found Minho attractive from the very first moment you saw him. It's his dancing that draws you in, but it’s his large eyes, sharp cheekbones, and pouty lip that keep you staring. There’s something beautiful and stunning about Minho’s physical appearance. His features are both sharp and delicate at the same time, and his aura automatically draws the attention of everyone in the room he’s in. He’s the type of beauty you believe would be hard for anyone to deny. 

And though you noticed Minho’s beauty from the beginning, there was something about the boy now that had begun to become almost conscious of yourself. You wanted to learn the dance and perform well for his and Momo’s sake, but you also wanted to impress him personally. You wanted him to tell you how well you were doing, you didn’t want his passionate looks to stop as soon as the music did, you wanted to make his heart flutter the same way he made yours. 

That would be the reason why the effort you put into your appearance before practice grew, but you hope it wasn’t too obvious. Your comfort wear slowly started to change to pieces that were practical but what you found to accentuate the best parts of you. You sneakily stole one of Daisy's lip glosses and you're always sure to apply it right before you enter the room to make sure it’s fresh. If Minho notices any of your changes he doesn’t let on, so for now you make sure to focus on perfecting the dance.

Sometimes, if her schedule allowed, Momo would make her way into the practice room as well. Since it was also her routine you would be doing she tried her best to come and teach you, from her perspective, just how you needed to portray the moves. 

It was a lot of help learning from the one who actually did the moves you did and spending time with Momo for the first time showed you a side of her you hadn’t seen before. 

The girl was quite energetic and fun, she helped you in an entertaining and less strict way. Having her at practices was very helpful, you and Minho performing for her so she could see and correct from an outsiders point of view. 

You were glad to have her help and getting to know her better made you glad you chose to help her out.

Though your relationship with Minho did improve in the time you did work together, there were still moments you felt like you were going backwards. There were times where the tension between you both grew; whether it was him being frustrated with you not being able to get a move down, or you frustrated with him being frustrated with you. You figured it came with being around each other for long amounts of time, but that did little to ease your emotions.

Such as today.

It had been a stormy, gloomy day from the moment you woke up. Even now it was pouring hard as you were alone with Minho in an old garage that wasn’t being used. The dance studio you usually used together was in use for a class, so Minho found this garage on the outskirts of the resort property. There was no air conditioning so he opted to leave the large doors open, the sound of the storm loud and clear for you both to hear and see. The humidity that the weather brought seemed unbearable causing you both to sweat more than usual. 

On top of that, you’ve recently started to wear heels to practice to help you get used to them since you would have to wear them for the actual performance. You were just getting used to them on the dance floor but now trying to dance with them on top of this dirt, you were a mess. 

To put it lightly, you have been crap at the entire routine today, you of course blaming it on the weather and new location, but nonetheless, Minho became frustrated. 

He felt as though all the progress you both had made had gone down the drain and it wasn’t long before he became more snappy and demanding with his instructions. 

The mood quickly became sour; matching the downpour outside and it was on a matter of time before one of you was to finally snap. 

“1, 2, 3, and 4,” Minho calls out and you wind your arm up, like he taught you on the count. But unlike what was supposed to be the routine, your hand makes contact with the middle of his face with a loud smack. “Ow, fuck!” You gasp in surprise, your own hands coming up to cover your mouth as you turn around to look at him. “Are you trying to kill me?! What is wrong with you?!” The boy yells dramatically. 

You quickly lose the sympathy you felt, hands dropping to your hips, “Oh, yes. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.” The boy sends you a glare, fingers still gripping on his nose. “I don’t know why you’re so pissed! I’m sorry okay, it was an accident!” You flare your arms up, not sure what else you could do. “If you did the fucking move like I taught you this wouldn’t have happened.” He retorts back, calmly yet full of venom. 

“I’m doing this for you, you know! I could’ve refused and you would have been stuck without that job, but I’m doing the best I can to learn this stupid dance and help you, so stop being such an asshole!” You huff out angrily, you can feel the redness in your face clearly showing your emotion.

Minho closes his eyes, taking a few moments to breathe in and out, perhaps to calm himself. When he finally opens them again, he glances out at the hard rain, “Let’s get out of here.” You keep your gaze on him, clearly confused at his words, “What?”

He goes to grab his leather jacket from the table along with his car keys, “We both clearly need a break from this, so let’s go, baby".

You ended up shielded from the rain in his car and you don’t question him about where he’s going, taking the time of the drive to try to cool down and listen to the radio. Watching the scenery out the window, you notice he drives further away from the resort. 

"Why do you keep calling me that?" You mumble to him once you feel you've calmed down enough. "What?" he asks keeping his attention on the windshield has the rain begins to slow. "Baby," you speak, "You keep saying baby". Minho merely shrugs, "It fits".

It was only a few minutes before the car came to a stop and he moved the gear into park. The rain finally seemed to stop completely and there is a small glimmer of sunlight bursting from beyond the clouds. “Follow me” he says, pushing his jacket off and making his way out of the car and into the trees in the distance. You do as he says, following his lead, only half joking in your head about how you hope he doesn’t plan to murder you after you smacked him in the face.

The sounds of your shoes against the leaves and dirt seems to echo in the large empty woods and you follow the boy silently for another five minutes from the car. A few steps in front of you, Minho finally comes to a stop and as you catch up to him you see you’ve come to a small cliff of sorts. Looking down you see a small stream, full of water from the rain but not running quickly. The drop isn’t terribly far, but it is further than the next piece of land across the way. In fact, the other side has been connected by a large fallen tree. The brown wood lays on either side of the land, acting as a bridge above the water below. 

“I think the most important thing about ballroom dancing, well all dancing really,” Minho starts to talk and you look slightly confused at him as he leans down to start taking off his shoes and socks. “Is balance.” He finishes with a small smile. Your gaze never leaves the boy as you watch him walk over to the log placed above the water. 

“Minho!” You gasp out as he places one of his feet on the so-called bridge. Though you knew the fall wasn’t critically high, it was still high enough to cause serious damage if he were to lose his footing. But he ignores your call, clearly less worried than you seem to be. You move closer, ready to help though you don’t know exactly what you would do if he needed it. 

Your heart races as he continues to walk carefully along the log, arms spread out to help him balance as he works his way to the middle, directly above the water. Finally making it to a place that pleased him, he turns around to face you with a smile, “Ta-da!” You can only frown at him, “Please be careful.” 

He chuckles at you, looking down towards his feet, “Don’t worry, baby, I have amazing balance.” He does a little jump, coming completely off the log before landing again. And though he lands perfectly you can’t help the little scream that comes naturally out of your mouth. The boy smirks at you and reaches his arm out to motion towards you, “Come on, your turn.” Rapidly you shake your head, "No way”. He raises his eyebrows and calls out your name, “You’ll be fine, I promise. This is technically part of your training, so you have to do it.” He walks closer to your side of the long. Though you give him an unamused glare, you move down to remove your shoes just as he did his. And before you know it you were taking your first, shaky, step on the log. 

“There you go.” Minho praises you as you start to walk shakily towards him, you breath shaking just as much as your feet. You don’t dare glance away from your footing, not wanting to take a single misstep. “Look at me, don’t look down.” 

“Minho, I can’t” you whine, eyes still not leaving the log. He reaches over to grab your hand in his, “I’ve got you, now come on look at me.” 

You shut your eyes completely, taking a deep breath to try to calm your pounding heart. You finally raise your head away from the ground (or lack of) and count to three in your head before opening your eyes. 

As you do, you make eye contact with the boy and he smiles excitedly, “Good. Now keep your eyes on me, don’t look down.” He takes a step backwards and you have no choice but to take a step forward in order to keep your hands together. 

You both keep stepping like that, slowly on foot at a time and soon Minho starts to hum a little toon, obviously one he seemed fit for the rythemed stepping you both were doing. You can’t help the small laugh that leaves your throat at his silly song and he glances at you with a smirk. He starts to walk towards you causing you to walk backwards this time and you surprise yourself with how calm you keep at the new direction, now more focused on keeping on the beat that Minho continues to make. 

After a couple of moments he lets go of your hand, “Now get low,” He starts his beat again and you throw your head back in laughter as he moves in a funny manner, legs bending in order to get closer to the log. You’ve never seen the boy dance in an unserious manner and laughter only grows in your stomach as he urges you to do it along with him. 

Not being able to help it, you dance along with him as he starts to whistle the toon. Before long you both laugh loudly, the sound echoing in the woods as you start to walk backwards on your own, clearly not worried about the fall and your balance as good as ever.

With a pleasant smile still plastered to your face you return to the solid ground taking a seat on the cool grass, watching Minho take his own on the log- legs dangling over the edge. 

Realizing this is the first time you've been with Minho outside of dancing, you become curious. Never once having talked to him about anything other than the performance. You enjoy the silence for a moment, basking in the sound of the running water and tweeting birds before you speak again, “How long have you been dancing?”

He turns his gaze to you, taking a second to collect his thoughts, “Since I can remember,” he hums “It was offered as an afternoon activity so I took it up so I didn’t have to be home as much.” You nod even though he’s removed his eyes to look at the log. 

“Have you always been as good as you are now?” Questioning with a smile you keep it as the boy looks up at you, an amused smile on his own lips. He shakes his head playfully, “Well I did plan to follow it into college.” 

Letting your gaze travel across his face, you lick your lips before asking yet another question, “Why didn’t you? Go to college for it, I mean.” Your voice is softer towards the end as you realize it might not be something he would want to converse about.

He starts picking at the wood beneath him and answers you steadily, “I’ve just never had the money for it. It was only ever me and my mom, so money was always tight.” Minho meets your gaze again, sending you a smile that could barely fully raise the corners of his mouth. You immediately regret bringing it up, knowing by now finances is not something you want to ever want to talk about again seeing as the conversations about it in the past weren’t the most delightful.

You swallow harshly, readying to apologize to him but he asks you a question before you can, “What about you? You’re going to a university in the fall, what are you majoring in?” You assume Jeongin must have told him something.

His intense eyes stay on you as you consider his question, already red in the face with having to admit your lack of plan- feeling almost ashamed. 

“Oh, I don’t- I don’t know what I’m majoring in. I don’t know what I want to do.” 

He stares longer and you’re surprised with how well you can keep the eye contact, finally he licks his lips and raises to his feet, “Don’t worry, you have a lot of time to figure it out.” 

Minho comes closer, reaching out to pull you from your sitting position, “C’mon, I’ll show you the lake.” 

The lake down the hill is much larger than that of the one nearest the resort. It is also much quieter, no one other than you both within the whole space. 

Minho has already dove in, keeping both his pants and his shirt on- the black material now soaking and sticking to his body. 

“Well come on, it’s cool but it feels nice.” He runs his fingers through his wet hair and you try to look too long at the sight before you. 

You take a breath and dive in yourself next to Minho, clothes and all. Returning from under the water you push your hair out of your face and gasp right away, “This water is freezing! What were you saying?!” You look up to the boy beside you whose eyes glimmer as he sports a devious smirk.

“Minho,” you whine “It’s cold and we don’t even have spare clothes.” He hums in response moving to float on his back, “Just keep moving, you’ll be fine, baby I might have some towels in the car.” He closes his eyes to relax in the water.

You huff, ignoring the drop of your stomach at the pet name he insists on using. Looking around you not really sure what to do. There's a sudden movement from beside you as the boy suddenly sits up, “Want to try something cool?” He smirks at you and you can’t help but to glare back, having no idea what he could be up to now.

“Let’s try a lift.” He says plainly standing up straight. 

“A lift?” You question.

“Yes,” he drags on, “A lift, you know like I do with Mo.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, “You said we weren’t adding the lift to the routine.” He hums, nodding and moving closer, “Not for the routine, just for fun. In the water is the best place to do it anyways. C’mon,” he closes the space between you to grasp your hips in his hands and you can’t help but a chill to run down your spin, “It’s cold,” you mumble but he merely grunts.

“Okay, when I count to three, you’re going to jump. I’ll lift you and you keep your arms straight out as if you’re Superman, okay?” You can’t help but smile at his explanation and nod. 

Strengthening his grip, he starts to count, “1,...2,...3!” 

You jump as hard as you could in the water and squeal when you feel Minho lifting you completely out of water and over his head. Keeping your arms straight you try to do as your told, but not even a second in the air, you feel yourself falling forward. You scream a little just before falling into the water and nearly on top of the boy. 

You come back up and you’re almost scared to see Minho but what you hear from behind you is a surprise. Turning to make sure you’re not crazy, Minho stands messing with his wet hair, laughing like you’ve never heard him laugh before. 

The laugh is almost cute in a way and you would’ve never pictured it belongs to Minho; in fact, you don’t think you pictured him laughing at all.

But here he was, eyes closed and smile wide as the laugh shakes his whole body. It’s contagious and you can’t help but join in.

Finally recovering, he moves towards you again, “See? Wasn’t it fun?” You keep your smile nodding up at him. “Here, this time try keeping your legs out straight just like your arms.” He reaches for your hips again and you giggle.

You don’t even know how long you both go like that, lifting and falling and laughing and splashing but it’s until your stomach is sore and your mouth hurts but in a most delightful way.

You reckon it’s the most fun you’ve had all summer and it feels like the Minho you’ve just spent time with is a completely different person.

Standing trying to regain your breath and ring out the water from your hair, Minho quickly moves towards you before you realize and he’s right in front of you.

He crouches so he’s in front of your face and you can feel his heavy breath crashing against your mouth. You stare at him in shock by his sudden actions but he doesn’t move. You follow his eyes when they move from your own to look down at your lips.

Your heart starts to pound as his large eyes look back up to yours and then down to your lips again. His hand comes forward to move a piece of your wet hair away from your face. And suddenly your breath stops because he place his lips on yours.

Blinking a few times before closing your eyes, you stay as still as him neither of you attempting to move. His lips are warm against yours despite the coldness around you and you can feel a drop of water from his hair fall to your cheek. There's a stillness in the air before Minho moves again, kissing you again but rather than the previous peck, he's slotting his lips between yours. At the feeling you push your lips back into his, eager to meet his slow kisses.

His hand slips beneath the water to lightly grip your hip so you take the chance to move your own hand to his back, gripping his soaking shirt. Standing in the lake kissing Minho slowly, the only sound coming from your lips and some bird in the distance, neither one of you moving for more, content with the slow kisses. But then a raindrop hits your head, only one but seconds later a steady drizzle has already started breaking you both from your trance.

He pulls away from you before a smile breaks out on his lips, he bites it as if to retain and you’re surprised someone so intense could look so cute.

Minho stands straight again, reaching for your hand, “C’mon, let’s get dry.”

You’re pleasantly surprised that despite the kiss you shared, your relationship with Minho seems to grow into a friendship of sorts after the endeavor at the lake. It’s as though you were able to break through whatever front he was putting up at first, or maybe you were able to prove something to him. Whatever it may be, you had no intention of asking him. Not when it could ruin what you had finally gotten to. 

“Hey, are you busy tonight?” Minho asks one afternoon after one of your practices. He doesn’t look at you when he asks, choosing to focus on fidgeting with the record player. You swallow, taking a moment to look at his back as you dab the sweat from your forehead with a towel. “After dinner with my family I believe I'm free.” You speak and furrow your eyebrows, silently contemplating if it was weird your plans were only ever with your parents. 

The boy finally turns around to look at you, “There’s a get together with some of the workers tonight. I thought you might like to come. Jeongin will be there.” He awkwardly scratches his neck and you wish he had left the music playing to fill the room with something other than the awkward tension. “Like the one I went to before, with the dancing?” Asking a question, you try to get more information. “Sort of,” He says “Smaller though. And it’s at one of the rooming houses so there won’t be that much room for dancing. It’ll probably be more of a hang out.” 

You purse your lips, not really sure why you’re contemplating. It’s not like you have anywhere else to go, and you would usually not want to invite yourself somewhere you’re not welcomed, but Minho asked you himself. “Yeah, sure. I’d like to come.”

And merely hours later you find yourself in a cramped employee house, squished on a chair that wasn’t made for two people. Yet you consider yourself lucky it was Jeongin you’re smushed against. Though you enjoy Jeongin’s company on a regular basis, you let your eyes wander the room as he drags on about a pair of college girls he got to help out all day to some fellow workers sitting across from you. 

Maybe it was a bit foolish of you to expect Minho to actually hang out with you at the get together with many of his friends, but he was the one that invited you here. Since you both shared a kiss in the lake the other day he has yet to mention it. Sure you were thankful for his growing friendship but how were you supposed to kiss him like that and pretend it never happened, especially after you spent a better half of your time ogling over him. It's not like you were expected a date tonight, although you did steal one of your sisters skirts and perfume, but at least something from the boy would be nice. Yet, since you arrived with Jeongin you’ve only seen glimpses of him from across the room. 

You don’t know how much time you sit there, pressed almost uncomfortably against the boy as he talks with the people around him. Though he is a gentleman of sorts, frequently asking if you’re okay, needing anything, or just bringing you into the conversation. 

The music was blaring from the speakers, the tunes sounded much like the ones that were played the night you first danced with Minho, and the room had gotten more hazy since you first arrived. 

“Hey,” you hear from your right and you straighten up with a start from where you were leaning against your propped elbow. You can’t help the smile that grazes your lips as you see the familiar dancer pulling up a stool to sit next to you. “Hey,” you reply back, happy to finally get to see him here. He returns your smile before moving his attention to a couple of boys across from you that Jeongin was talking to before, quickly falling into conversation with them. 

As more time passes you notice Minho moves closer to you as the drink in his cup slowly grows emptier. Since Minho has joined, you joined the group conversation more actively, laughing and joking with everyone like they were your long-time friends.

It wasn't long before you watched the boy sitting across from you lean back in order to pull something out of his front pocket. His hand emerges with a tiny plastic bag which seemed to be filled with a white powder of sorts. He leans forward to the coffee table placed in the middle of the small group of people, pushing some empty bottles around in order to clear some space. “Oh, c’mon guys, seriously?” You turn to look at Minho who speaks up as the boy empties the contents onto the table. He rolls his eyes bringing his cup to his mouth to finish the last of his drink. 

The boys don’t seem to notice, or care for that matter, at Minho’s words. The pair of them scooting closer to the table in order to separate the powder into neat lines with the help of a piece of paper. 

You’re not that naive, you knew the drug even though you had never seen it in person and it still surprises you that no one else in the room is as shocked as you are at their actions. One of the boys leans down to snort the line, using the help of a short rolled up piece of paper. Your eyebrows furrow watching in pure curiosity, never have you seen any drugs, let alone seen someone do any drugs. 

He comes up with a smile wiping his nose on the back of his hand, automatically making eye contact with you across from him. “Wanna take a hit?” He asks in such a friendly manner you almost forget what he was offering. You turn to look at Jeongin; he merely purses his lips and shrugs his shoulders, clearly not wanting to be in charge of any decisions you’re going to make tonight. 

You take another look at the boy making the offer; he looked fine, nothing about him looked like any of the warnings that taught you in school. Even at the moment he didn’t even look like he was experiencing any side effects and maybe that’s why you hesitate a moment before slowly leaning forward, reaching your hand out to grab the paper. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You snap your head in surprise at the outburst next to you, Minho standing up from his seat in order to yell, but you’re surprised he wasn’t looking at you but at the boy. “You guys can fuck around and fuck up your life all you want but don’t bring anyone else into it. Don’t ever offer her anything again, you got it?” before turning to you, "Don't be fucking stupid". His face is bright red when he finishes his sentence throwing his cup to the ground and kicking over the stool he once sat on. “Fucking assholes,” he mumbles before making his way out of the small house with a slam of the door, never once sparking you a glance. 

The rest of the group merely chuckles, obviously not phased by Minho or his words. You feel Jeongin grasp your arm lightly next to you, “Let’s go,” He whispers in your ear and you gladly get up off the chair and follow him out the door leaving the loud music and crowded space behind. 

Jeongin slowly walks with you back to your room and you bask in the silence, overthinking about how embarrassed you are. Embarrassed you almost made a dumb decision and Minho of all people had to be the one to stop you, and he made it very clear that was something he was not happy about. 

“I’m really sorry, Jeongin” you finally speak up as you get closer to where your room is located, “I really wasn’t thinking, I have no idea what I was doing.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I don’t think taking one hit ever would do something to you, honestly. But Minho has a bad history with shit like that so he freaked out easily. He was trying to protect you, I don’t really think he was angry at you. Plus he had a lot to drink tonight.” The boy trails off. 

You can’t help but wonder about the history Minho has but you figure it’s none of your business and if you really wanted to know you should ask him and not get the information unknowingly from his cousin. 

You finally reach your door and you turn to Jeongin, “Thanks for walking me back. I’m sorry for ruining tonight.” He only chuckles at you, “Stop worrying about it so much, go on and sleep it off. Just forget about the whole thing!” He sends a friendly smile your way and you try to send one back, “Thank you, Jeongin. Well anyways, if you see Minho tell him I’m sorry.” You pause, “And tell him thank you.” You reach for your doorknob as Jeongin brings his hand to his forehead in order to salute your requests. 

You laugh at his actions before finally entering your room ready to sleep and forget all about the incident.

The next couple days go smoothly, you’re happy not to mention anything about the party when you’re with Minho and you’re even happier that Minho doesn‘t utter a word about it either. 

The two of you merely focused on putting the final touches on the routine, trying to perfect it to a point where you would look just as good as Momo would be dancing. 

And before you know it, it’s the day of the performance. The butterflies and nerves have been present in your body since the moment you woke up. You find yourself running over the routine again and again in your head throughout the day, over breakfast with your family, lounging by the lake with your mom, lunch with your dad, and now a quick volleyball game with your sister and Chan. 

You felt bad for being so distracted but you needed to have this dance down. Though you were confident at your last practice last night, now your nerves were so high you’re afraid that would be the thing to mess everything up. You couldn’t ruin it for Minho and Momo.

“I thought you liked volleyball?” Daisy calls out to you as she runs up to you, the game coming to an end. You pout slightly, “I do. I’m sorry, I’m just really distracted I guess.” You turn to look at Chan who had gone to say goodbye to the coworkers that were a part of the game. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?” You turn to look at your sister. 

“Oh Chan and I are going to dinner and a drive-in movie in the next town over. He’s working the lunch and dinner shifts the next couple of days so we wanted to do something fun.” She smiles, eyes wandering over to the shirtless boy across the sand.

You swallow hard, “Daisy, can you do me a favor?” Her eyebrows furrow as she turns to look at you, you continue, “Can you please pretty please tell mom and daddy that I’m going with you tonight?” 

She automatically looks taken aback, never having heard you ask something of the sort, “Why? What are you doing?” 

You sigh, “I just want to hang out with a friend. They don’t know him but I really don’t want them to push me to hang out with Neil again.” It’s not completely a lie so you don’t feel as bad as you should for asking your sister for a cover. “You mean the cute little baggage boy? Alright well, I’ll tell them. And Chan too I guess. Just don’t do anything bad, alright?” 

Pulling her in for a hug, you smile brightly not even correctly for her for thinking you would be with Jeongin. “Thanks so much, I owe you! Stay safe!” You dramatically place a kiss to her cheek, turning to wave at Chan as he walks over, and finally beginning to jog out of the sand to make it to your next location.

“Keep my elbows tight, shoulders locked, don’t look down.” You stand looking in the mirror moving your arms as subtly as you can, trying to practice even as Momo works around you on your dress.

She had been slightly tailoring one of her old performance dresses to fit you better and now just hours before the performance, you’re in her room as she helps you get ready. 

She would be doing your makeup, as it would be heavier than any makeup you’ve ever worn, and making sure your hair was in an appropriate updo. 

You let out a deep sigh staring at yourself in the beautiful dress, Momo chuckles at you, “There’s no need to stress. You know the routine, you’ve worked so hard. You’re going to nail it.” She runs her hand over the skirt trying to straighten a wrinkle.

Pursing your lips you let your worries tumble out of your mouth, “I know, I just” you shrug, “I don’t want to mess this up for your guys. You both really need this and I don’t want to ruin it because I’m not a proper dancer or because I get too nervous.” 

You look down at Momo and you’re shocked to find her eyes watering, you start to panic. “Oh! No! I’m sorry, I’n sure I won’t mess it up, I’m just nervous is all!” You step down from the small stool to put your arms around her shoulder but she quickly shakes her head, “No, no! It’s not that. It’s just you’re being so nice.” She sniffles, “You’re being so nice and you’ve been so nice from the beginning and I’ve been nothing but a bitch!” You’re surprised as she starts to sob, going to sit on her bed. 

“Hey, hey,” you follow to sit next to her, “Don’t cry, Momo” you reach to grab a tissue from the table beside her bed to hand to her, “I know you’re not really that way. You had every right to act that way to me in the beginning, I was a stranger and I saw you in a very vulnerable situation.” 

She starts to wipe her nose, “I was so mean and you still decided to help me! You gave me the money and you stepped in for me for tonight. I don’t deserve it!” Her crying continues and you sigh.

“I’m in a position to be able to help you, Momo. It doesn’t matter how you acted then, okay? I’ve seen your true self and I’m more than happy to help.” You nod, smiling at her and her crying finally starts to calm. “I hope you know how grateful I am.” She blows her nose and you give her a bigger smile. “Of course.” “And I really owe you one.” She adds and you chuckle, “Just make sure my makeup looks stage worthy tonight please.” She finally laughs and gets up to continue to get your ready before Minho come to get you.

"Perfect," She lets out as she places the final touches of lipstick on, a deep red you're not not used to and find yourself staring at the mirror in shock. "Do I look alright?" You ask, feeling uncertain under the dark makeup.

"You look beautiful!" She answers, throwing her makeup back in her bag. Swallowing hard, you decide if you could be subtle or not, "Does Minho usually like makeup like this?"

Momo's movements freeze as she glances at you, "Minho?" You feel your face flush as you try to shake it off, "Nevermind, I just-" She cuts you off, "You like him don't you?"

You study her face for a moment, trying to tell if the truth was the best answer. "I-yes I do. I like him, I'm sorry". She lets out a chuckle, "Why are you apologizing?" she moves to sit next to you as you speak again, "I don't know. I feel like I shouldn't like him, that it's wrong".

Momo only frowns at you, "Why would it be wrong?" You ponder the question yourself, why does it feel wrong? Because it feels one sided? Because you thought he hated you until not long ago? Because he kissed you but hasn't mentioned anything since?

You shrug instead, "He kissed me". She looks at you as if you were lying to her, "He kissed you?" You want to lick your lips but you remind yourself of the makeup, "Yeah, when we were at the lake".

The girl beside you hums, moving to fix a strand of hair she had worked for an hour on, her silence only making you more nervous. Maybe you shouldn't have confessed, that the kiss you both shared was meant to stay a secret.

A knock on the door interrupts you two, Minho peaking in before either of you could answer, "All ready?"

"Yep!" Momo stands, going to greet him, you stand on your own as he gives her a kiss on her cheek, finally moving to look at you. You look for something on his face that might tell how he thinks you look, that might make you feel slightly less ridiculous in the heavy makeup you weren't used to, but there's nothing. Minho only nods before turning to Momo again, "Well, we'll be off. Have a good meeting tonight".

Your stomach drops but you bring a smile to your face as Momo looks to you, "I'm so nervous". She smiles shyly but Minho squeezes her shoulder, "It's okay, it'll be worth it". She nods at him before turning to you, "Thank you again, for everything."

Nodding your head, you clear your throat, "I'm happy to help".

"Okay," she breathes out, moving to open her door for you and Minho, "Good luck".

You’re still on an adrenaline high as you walk back to Minho's car after the performance. Your heart is pounding and your palms still clammy but most of all you feel relieved.

You did it! You actually performed a full routine, with minimal mistakes, but you made it nonetheless. 

It was late at night now, only you and Minho walking outside to the staff parking, still hearing the lively show going on inside. You still feel giddy after everything as you both make your way through the gravel of the parking lot, so much so that when your heel gets caught and you slip out of your shoe you merely laugh.

Minho looks at you worriedly, moving to pick up your shoe. But a smile breaks on his face as he notices your good mood, leaning down to help you put your shoe back on. You gulp when he grasps your hand when we stands back up, both of you walk the rest of the way to his car. Rather than get inside, Minho stops in front of you, your back pressed against the black vehicle, his hand still grasping yours.

"Thank you," He speaks softly, "For everything you've done for us. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner". A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head, "There's no need, I'm happy to help".

You see him swallow before his eyes move down to glance at your lips. At that moment you decided you've waited long enough for another chance to kiss him, so with adrenaline coursing through your veins you make the first move. Leaning up slightly and moving your free hand to place on his neck, you press your lips against his.

There's a split second where your nervous he'll reject your advances, but it doesn't last long as Minho immediately returns your kiss, hand that isn't grasping yours moving to hold onto your hip. You kiss him urgently, desperate to feel like you did back at the lake, for his warmth to take over your mind. He pushed his body closer to yours, trapping you between him and the car and you attempt to bring him closer if at all possible.

Feeling daring, you tentatively poke your tongue to swipe at his bottom lip, but he pulls away. Breathing deeply as he takes you in before letting out a chuckle, he moves to check around the parking lot making sure you're alone. He moves to open the back seat of his car, raising his eyebrows before he waits for you to climb in.

It's cramped as he climbs in after you, but you would do anything to be close to him. As he situates himself back on the seat, he beckons for you to climb atop his lap. You rearrange your stage dress to help you sit comfortably on him, huffing at how difficult it was to move. At your frustration Minho looks at you with a smirk, hand coming up to move some hair that had fallen loose from your updo. "You look beautiful," he confesses and you swallow hard, had you ever heard a compliment from him before?

"You don't think I look silly with all this on my face?" You ask, think before hand he hadn't been impressed with the look. He shakes his head, "You look amazing. Now and even when you're sweating like crazy when you were learning the routine".

You bring a hand up to cup his face, not being able to believe what he was saying. Had he really felt this way all this time? But you don't want to think now, you only want to feel, to feel him and to feel the feelings you weren't sure you should be having. You move to kiss him again, much softer than before but he moves to meet you nonetheless, hands encircling your waist.

The kisses you share grow deeper and his tongue finds its way to meet yours. Both of them moving together almost desperately, leaving the sound of them echoing in the cramped car. Unable to help himself, Minho moves one of his hands up your torso slowly, tracing over the pattern of your dress before he meets your chest. He stills for a moment before moving to grope you over the fabric, the sounds you make spilling into his mouth.

A sudden burst of laughter causes you both to break with a start, you hitting your head on the roof of the car as you jolt. The noisy group next to you gets into their own car and drives away leaving you both breathing heavily at the interruption.

Minho chuckles, moving to rub your head where it had hit, "I guess we should be getting back". You nod, chuckling as you move to wipe the smeared lipstick that has made its way from your lips to his.

Whereas Minho makes his way to the front to start driving, you’ve opted to stay into the backseat to change out of your performance dress and into regular clothes so you could go straight to your room once you arrived. 

It was a slow process trying to get your dress off in a moving car but you tried to get yourself as steady as possible.

“You did great today, you know.” Minho speaks up over the soft hum of the radio. You chuckle starting to slip the sleeves off your shoulders, “I missed a step about 5 times, it’s a miracle I didn’t step on your foot.” You did make minor mistakes, as would be expected from your first ever performance and only learning for a couple weeks, but they were so minor the audience didn’t even notice.

“No, no. You did amazing.” He reassures you. Your dress is finally off and you grab your shirt to throw on, turning to look at Minho to thank him. But as you do, you make eye contact with the boy in the rearview mirror, his head snapping away once you catch him. You don’t say a word, silently slipping your shirt on. When you look at his ears you see they’ve become red as they peek through his hair at being caught looking at you changing. You climb back over the seat to return to your spot in the passenger's seat, biting your lip to contain a laugh that threatens to slip at how fidgety Minho has become. 

Ever since the performance ended, it seems as though a huge weight was lifted off both of your shoulders. The air between the two of you feels much different than before. You find yourself hoping things would be different now, from the kiss at the lake to the backseat of his car, surely they were enough for you both to have something, you couldn't be alone in your feelings.

You turn to look at the window as you get closer to the resort. You don’t know what Minho is thinking or feeling and it drives you crazy, but what you do know is you don’t want to separate from the boy tonight.

Minho drives his car up near the staff housing, finding his usual spot before putting it in park. You stay seated and he gets out himself and makes his way around the car to open your door for you. You give him a sweet smile as you join him outside the car, not moving much except to allow him to shut the door. 

It seems he’s in no rush to leave either as he stays planted in front of you. 

The moon is the only light provided outside at this time of night but even so, it was bright enough for you to see Minho’s beautiful eyes. His eyes that were only glued on you. 

You watch silently as they move across your face, though you don’t feel a bit self conscious, your heart still races being under his gaze. 

You feel the warm tips of his fingers brush against yours, merely feeling the pressure of them together before he fully laces them together. 

You’ve held Minho’s hand in yours countless amounts of times over the weeks of dancing, yet nothing could even prepare you for the feeling of sharing his touch tonight. 

You lift your head up more in order to observe the boy just as he observes you, smiling even more as he moves his thumb to graze over your hand. 

It’s all very peaceful, the cool summer night quiet, nothing but some bugs chirping in the grass. 

But a noise breaks through the peacefulness, you both turn to look at the sound of the gravel crunching next to you. You squint at the person making their way over and as he comes closer you realize it’s Jeongin.

“Minho!” He yells out of breath as he runs to get the boys attention. 

“Hurry, come quick,” he pants “It’s Momo!”

You enter Momo's room after the boys and immediately gasp at the sight. Momo is laid on her bed in the middle of the room, sweat evident on her whole body and he twists and turns, obviously uncomfortable with the groans leaving her mouth.

There’s another girl by her side, pressing a washcloth to her forehead. “What the hell happened?!” Minho yells, moving over as quickly as he came to Momo's side. “It-it was her boyfriend!” Jeongin stumbles out. Minho looks at his cousin confused, “I thought he came to take her to the program?”

The girl beside her speaks up, “He insisted on taking one last hit before they left, you know how she can’t refuse him. But once he saw how she reacted he left!” Jeongin chims in, “He took the fucking money and was gone without a word! His shit must have been laced with something” His anger and worries making him red in the face. 

“Fuck,” the dancer reaches to move Momo’s hair out if her face trying to gain her attention, “It’s much worse than before because she’s been clean these past weeks leading up to the program.”

You stand near the entrance feeling helpless. There was only one way you could think to help her. It was a risk but if it meant helping Momo you would do it. You quickly turn and run out the door.

Your dad follows you in a rush, doctor bag in hand, as you lead him to Momo’s room.

You don’t give him any details other than one of your friends urgently needed his help. He comes without question.

You open the door for him but choose to stay outside while he does his work. And moments later Jeongin and Minho join you on the porch, only the girl staying in order to not crowd Momo. 

Out of the three of you, no one utters a word the whole time. Only worried tension fills the air as you all pace the area and wait to hear any news about her.

It’s sometime later that your dad finally comes out of her room. Wiping his hand on a handkerchief, he speaks to no one in general, “She should be fine now. The medicine I gave her has helped but she’ll be pretty tired for the next 12 or so hours.” He puts the wipe back in his pocket, “She needs to get help soon though, proper help that is.” He nods his head back towards her door, “I gave her the information for a rehab in the city, if you care about your friend you’ll make sure she’ll check it out.”

Minho lets out a relieved sigh and more toward your father with his hand outstretched wanting to meet his, “Thank you, really, sir. I can’t thank you enough.” But your father merely glances down at the boy's hand before moving towards the steps, obviously having no intention to shake it, “Make sure she drinks a lot of water and eats something, preferably bread.” He makes his way on the steps and calls out your name, “Lets go. And take that stuff off of your face before your mother sees you.” He calls referring to your stage makeup. 

You swallow hard, glancing back at Jeongin and Minho who are just as surprised as you are at your father's actions. 

You reluctantly turn to follow the man before you can cause any more trouble.

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[apples-r-rubbish]

Small Town (11th Doctor x Reader) - Part 2

Summary: It snows in October, an Amberpoint tradition. On this peculiar snow day you find things aren't just cold outside. Count: 2.3k Warnings: unreality, self gaslighting, mentions of death, long gaps between updates A/N: I didn't mean for this to take literally 8 months, but I have a degree now! it is what it is, sorry, I can't promise I will ever update consistently because that's not my style. However, Thank you for all the support of my fics even though I went M.I.A -L <3

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | PART TWO (you are here !)

You were wandering around the TARDIS arm outstretched out gently touching the walls with your fingertips. The ship hummed gently appreciating your company. It had been an overwhelming 36 hours. 

The asylum was cold, wet and frightening. You prided yourself on generally being quite brave, but that place, that cold, dark, wet, place, sucked the energy right out of your soul. A dalek with a heart was not an easy sight, and as the doctor explained it you felt instantly floored.  The horrors you’d seen remained in your mind. At some point you slipped your way down the wall and allowed a few silent tears to slip from your eyes, and a figure came and sat next you and you slowly began to-

No. This wasn’t right. They don’t exist. You made them up. This isn’t real. That didn’t happen. The dream stopped almost as quickly as it had come to you. It was replaced by an intense feeling of loss you couldn’t quite place.

You stirred from your sleep in waves. Slowly, slowly, you rose from your bed. The world was cold. You read the clock. It was 9 am, 27th October. You searched for warmth through the covers and it was ultimately unsuccessful. John must’ve gotten up early. You curled yourself up in bed for a moment longer, bracing yourself for the chill of air that would eventually come. 

You wandered down the stairs now fully dressed. You frowned at your pyjamas, you couldn’t remember getting them. They were a gift, probably. John stood by the landline mumbling something into the phone. There didn’t seem to be a response coming through, but the conversation continued. He seemed to unstiffen when he saw you and mumbled ‘Work’ while scribbling a barely legible chicken scratch-esque note on paper before waving it at you. 

‘Breakfast - in the Kitchen.’ It was something of an Amberpoint oddity, snow days in October. For as long as you’d lived there had always been at least one. It was something of a ritual at this point, John’s work would call, tell him they’d cancel his appointments and you guys would have a day inside with not much else to do. So you took solace and started camping. Kettle on, brain off. 

You looked out the window halfheartedly, snow braced the horizon, usually it was worse - maybe it was the fact that last time - no year - had left you frozen in for two days with nothing but John’s rambling and intermittent radio signals. At first it was awful snow in October was never right in your mind especially in wherever you’re from again. But now however many years you had lived here, it had become somewhat embraced by you and your husband. 

You heard the phone gently placed back on the receiver as John entered the room, a content sigh fell from him. 

“So Amberpoint tradition, checklist. No work, tick.  Haven’t bothered to check the radio yet, so 50/50 and judging by the snow. No people for give or take but roughly 24 hours,” he wrapped his arms around you and placed a quiet but appreciative kiss on your forehead. And almost as soon as he had said it a knock disrupted the quiet day you had built for yourself. Laughter. 

Bee and Gus stood in the entryway shivering in a way akin to leaves, or something else that shivers. You welcomed them in, seemingly producing mugs of tea from nowhere. They graciously accepted taking up space on your sofa, heat clearly being appreciated. 

“Sorry we had nowhere else to turn, we aren’t used to the weather you see.” Bee rambled between sips “I thought, ah yes, number 11 will know what to do and Gus said we shouldn’t bother you, but I knew you’d be able to help.” Smile sitting there. Saccharine. You agreed seemingly involuntarily, like you felt the force through your body move your head before you’d even registered the question. Unequivocally, you would’ve said yes always. Helping people is what you do. Maybe it showed on your face. Something wasn’t right. 

“Y/N are you quite alright?” Gus asked seemingly as if he’d caught you out on a joke you had no idea of.

The words came to you suddenly, like divine intervention or a script cue you’d suddenly remembered. “Ah yes of course. Doors are always open for you, well at least I’d hope not or all the snow would get in,” your own laughter punctuated the sentence. That wasn’t your laughter. You’d heard it thousands of times. Even John frowned at the noise. No, this was it, what are you talking about? The look melted away, but the snow wouldn’t.

At some point through the snow day you’d resorted to games as the snow piled higher and higher. Charades was the game you’d decided would work. Simple, easy, no hosting, no fuss. Bee stood up, hands wildly gesturing, John and Gus throwing their answers in by the handful, which only caused Bee to keep forming the shapes with her hands but somehow more manically, a joking frustration forming on her face. A film title slipped from your mouth, the words tumbled out your felt your mouth form the sound almost involuntarily. It was garbled to your eardrums, it was like the sound was there and then it seemingly wasn’t. Static on the radio. Scratch on a record. A glitch on the screen.The world seemed to freeze in a way. You’d dragged the Doctor, John, to see that film, virtually begging him. He begrudgingly came along sort of, he sat in the cinema mumbling about how this character was an alien- no that one definitely was, the space travel was inaccurate or that historical thing actually didn’t happen like that and I would know because- the memory was cut short, the cold glare of Gus replacing it staring deep within your soul- something was wrong. He mumbled something, you couldn’t quite make out from the weird static that filled your ears.

The room swung back into you, head lightly slamming forward against the force of something, eyes shooting open. Laughter ensued, everything is fine, isn’t it? Another answer fell from your mouth - The correct one - with a smile, the same one Bee always seemed to give, it was met with a roar of a cheer from Bee excited she finally got to sit down, rather than manically gesturing in hopes that someone would guess something it was clear no-one was going to understand anyway. 

It was well into the evening by now, a small hearty dinner simmering away on the stove, you and Bee sat on the kitchen floor, backs against the kitchen cabinets, discussing old memories.

“I literally bumped into John, that's how I met him,” You giggled between sips of wine, like a child on a sugar rush “He was running to somewhere off doing something stupid, and he ran into me, he literally knocked me off my feet and  he pulled me up, said the thing he was doing was so important, so I’d have to come with him so he could ask me out later. I didn’t believe him, obviously, who would- But no he was right, had to save someone’s life, he is a Doctor after all, it’s what he does. But God, he dragged me around for a whole day, my feet were aching by the end of it, just so much running,”

Bee responded with a small, twinkling smile. It was different from the staged one, it felt like a brave act, giggling like a schoolgirl sitting on the kitchen floor in a snowstorm. But for once it felt real, as though there was no question of whether you should be here or not, it just was and that was right,

“Ah well, mine’s nowhere near that fun. We met in the office, worked together for years, he wouldn’t look at me twice, and then one day he just did and something just clicked in him. And he marched up to me and the rest is history,” Fiddling with her ring as she spoke, “It seems like centuries sometimes, and like days others,” At some point she’d stopped laughing and just drifted. Drifted through the sentence. Like silence on the other end of a telephone. It was then you took her in, nothing poised or staged or performed, just her. She was young, younger than you by the looks of things, but the stories she recounted should have made her older, or at least more well travelled. You gently nudged her, light returned almost as quickly as it had gone. 

Soup was distributed amongst the four of you, sitting at the table not too unlike the other day, Was it the other day? The calendar said 1963. No, they're still new to the neighbourhood. They didn’t know about the snow. And that was a common frustration among the neighbours. I’m sure it doesn’t matter. “This is good, darling thank you for making it,” John commented, he must have noticed your inattentiveness, a small look of concern, thoroughly masked under layers and layers of social etiquette. You nodded, mumbled a brief thank you, and squeezed his hand something reserved for gut feelings, it came as almost normally as breathing, this secondary language you’d formed between the two of you.

The meal had finished, plates, everything washed and away. You’d finally dared to crack open the door a fraction as they’d calmed down thoroughly enough to go home. Snow was piled waist height, unmoving. Door slammed shut, try again tomorrow. Gus seemed to freeze at this,then the anger came “This wasn’t what-” He froze again, hyper aware of his actions, he corrected himself, his stance, his demeanour, breakneck speed back to the usual, “This wasn’t what, we expected,” a meak laugh thrown on at the end for good measure. John frowned at this, he’d caught it and his eyes flicked with something unlike him. Something cold, calculating. He saw you and nodded, an indication: Keep calm, keep it together, it said wordlessly.

Sitting at the balcony over your back garden, you both had a moment alone to talk. 

“He’s weird,” You stated, sipping your drink slowly, almost to cover what you’d said.

John stared at you for a moment, almost incredulously, as if he couldn’t actually believe what you’d said, a pit of guilt forming in your stomach.

“He just makes me uneasy, like a tiger, or a bear, or- or a killer whale, or something else weird,” You said wildly gesturing, arms getting flakes of snow on them, as they stretched over the drop. He laughed at you, breaking character just for a moment, “I mean I get it, but we are getting to know them, darling. You’re married to an alien, I highly doubt we’re normal to them,” He chuckled, wrapping his arms protectively around you and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. Married to what? 

“Huh, what did you just say? I must’ve drifted off in that last sentence,” You said, rubbing your eyes like a small child, desperate to stay up past their bedtime, as the sleep hit you like a sudden wave. He took your face in his hands, “I said to a Doctor,” He followed his statement with a loving frown. “How did I get so lucky with you? Feels like someone planned all this in the best way,” He squeezed your body in a tight hug “Get some sleep darling.” 

The dreams didn’t come that night, at least not one felt like a memory. 

You awoke somewhere unfamiliar, a cyan and purple sky flashed above you in a storm, dirt and gravel were uneven underneath your back, and didn’t help you at all when you tried to stand. Wobbling to your feet, you observed around you, John- No, the doctor ran towards you and grabbed your hand, and pulled you with force. Ash was falling as you ran, making it harder to run, burning heat filling your lungs.

“We have to leave now, it isn’t safe.” He pleaded, “Come on! Run!” The sympathies faded quickly and were replaced with rushed panic. You nodded a silent acceptance, knowing you had to leave. This memory is not yours, you know it. You can feel it in your brain it’s wrong, like the pieces of two puzzles have been mixed up together all wrong. The Doctor pulls you along, you reach something resembling a vessel, at least what of it your brain allows you to see, the rest promptly replaced by static, the same static blocking out words in your brain. Where are you? You ask your thoughts, the static response is the same constant buzzing you feel in the back of your mind, wordless, uncaring, uneventful. You stand in what looks like a control room, fighting back tears, and wretches, as the doctor spins around you readying for flight “Y/N, come on! We have to leave. They’re gone- The sentence starts again, scene resetting down to the sparks flying. She's gone, we have to go, now,” He virtually screamed at you, something he never did and always refused to do. You nodded, gulping between tears, before hurrying forwards to press buttons, and help. The last thing you felt was a bumpy take off, desperately clinging to both the railings and your memories. Where am I? . You awoke, gasping for air, a tear fresh on your cheek. 

Bee and Gus left promptly the next day, thousands of thank yous between farewells. The snow had melted mostly, some occasional flakes, falling like the ash in your dream. The static hummed low and slow in your mind. It stopped for a second, a split second, when Bee hugged you. You felt your body run cold, your question had received an answer. You shut the door after they left and made excuses to John as you retreated into your bedroom and sat quietly. The word rolling around your mind like a marble. 

Dead. 

[coraniaid]

98 + Fuffy

This one ended up being a bit longer than I was aiming for, sorry. A few years post-canon (but mostly canon compliant, except that I ignore the comics and that perhaps some people who die in Chosen or the final season of Angel are still alive here). Buffy POV.

Years later, she still has nightmares.

Bad ones: the kind that ... well, she's sat through enough college psychology classes in her life to recognize one of the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.  And she was an active Slayer for almost eight years, after all.  She fought ancient demons and gods and monsters; she risked her life pretty much every night.  She saw friends die. Died twice herself.  No wonder she’s still a little messed up.  

But knowing why they’re happening doesn't ever seem to help.  She still wakes up in the middle of the night, and for a minute -- or five minutes, or an hour -- she's just a scared little kid again, too afraid of the things that go bump in the dark to lie down and go back to sleep.  Terrified by the weight of everything the world wants her to do.  By the thought of having to be the Chosen One again.  

Dawn's always telling her she should talk to somebody about them.  An expert, she means.  A specialist. 

But -- even if it wasn't ever real -- her false memory of that time in a clinic when she was younger is too strong.  She doesn't want to go back there.  Not ever.  Or to go anywhere even a little bit like it. She doesn't want to be a freak in somebody's lab -- poked and prodded and tested and restrained.  She just wants to be herself.  She just wants to be Buffy.

So she still has nightmares.  Sometimes she dies: drowning alone in the dark, unable to move or cry for help; tumbling from a tower in the sky; not strong enough to drag herself out of the grave before the dead soil fills her lungs and she suffocates below the ground.  And sometimes she doesn't die.  Sometimes the dreams are much worse than that.

The thing is, they never seem to happen when she expects.  Never when it feels like they should.  Significant milestones come and go without even a bad dream -- she’d slept right through the anniversary of that last, desperate fight under Sunnydale, not even waking up once -- and then other times, without warning, she'll spend a whole week unable to sleep at all, or waking up shaking and sweating every time she tries.

It all started after she decided to step back from the Slayer Organization she'd helped set up.  Half a year in charge of that was enough, she'd told herself.  Living out in some remote castle in Scotland, cut off from the normal world ... that wasn't who she wanted to be anymore. That wasn’t what she’d been hoping for when she said goodbye to Sunnydale.  She wasn't the one and only Chosen One any more, after all.  Maybe it was time to stop pretending.  Maybe it was time to grow up.

So they'd held a vote on who would replace her, made it all official. And then, when it was over – and after she'd congratulated Kennedy as sincerely as she could manage -- she'd packed her things up and moved back to California.  Northern California though, this time.  San Francisco.  SoCal still had a few too many unpleasant memories (the bits of it that weren’t literally underground these days).  

Once she’d arrived, she'd settled into that normal life she'd always told herself she wanted.  Went back to college.  Signed up to be an English major. Bought a house, with some of the old Watcher’s Council money that GIles had passed on to her.  She'd even gotten married, a couple of months ago, just a little while after graduating, however unreal that still feels.  Willow's been telling her she should look into grad school, but she’s not sure whether she wants to follow in her younger sister’s footsteps quite so soon.

So, yeah, everything's been going really well.

Except that, after a few months, the nightmares had started. 

That's why at 3 AM she finds herself downstairs in the kitchen, pretending to read a book, wondering if it would be a bad idea to go out for a run.  This is a pretty safe neighborhood, but still, she might get lucky.  Something supernatural out there might be too stupid to stay away. 

If she’d thought it would help, she’d be out there already.  But would it?  She doesn't really know. She doesn't know what to do.

And while she’s deliberating, a creaking floorboard reminds her that she's not alone.

"Hey, B," a familiar voice says sleepily.  "What's up?"

Buffy had never asked Faith to come with her when she left Scotland.  Actually, she'd kind of assumed she was leaving the Slayer Organization in Faith’s more than capable hands: the girls all still loved her, after all, all idolized her in a way they'd never quite seemed to treat Buffy herself.  (The same way she remembers Dawn treating her, the first few months after Faith arrived in Sunnydale, even if intellectually she knows that that’s not what really happened.)  She'd assumed it would be Faith, not Kennedy, who would be replacing her as leader.  Right up until the point she told Faith about her plan to go back to the States, and the other Slayer had just nodded and asked her when they were leaving and whether she’d already booked a flight.  Like it wasn't even a question whether she'd be coming with her.

She'd stuck with Buffy for four years since.  Not always sharing the same house, but always close by.  She’d listened to her complain about her course load, or bad professors, or unfairly difficult exams, or let her rave and enthuse about analysis of poems or novels which she isn't sure Faith has ever read.  It’s been good – really good, better than Buffy had expected – to have a familiar face around.  To not be doing this all by herself.  It’s been good for her to have Faith.

(The two of them are still going patrolling together most nights too, however retired they might be officially.  She thinks that that's an itch that never really goes away for anyone.  Though there weren’t many active vamps in the Bay Area even when she’d first arrived, and these days there are barely any.)

Faith’s stuck by Buffy for almost as long as anyone.  And now she's here with Buffy in the middle of the night, wearing a pair of Buffy's old pajamas and a concerned look on her face, and Buffy can't even bring herself to face her.

"Glory again?" Faith guesses.

Buffy shakes her head, wordlessly.  Keeps her eyes glued to the book she isn’t reading.

It's true that those are some of the worst of the recurring nightmares.  Everything about that year is painful, and worse in the dreams.  Dropping out of college, or being found out as a total academic fraud, as somebody who shouldn't even have been let into college in the first place.  Losing her Mom, again and again, for different reasons every time.   Not being able to save Dawn, or not being able to want to save Dawn.  Watching her fall, or forgetting her entirely: stumbling across her broken body lying on the ground and only seeing a stranger.  Thinking that she'd always been an only child and always would be.  Sometimes, in those dreams, it's almost comforting when the world drifts inexorably into hell.  

But those aren't the dreams she's been having lately.  That's not what's keeping her from sleeping.  It’s Faith.  That’s who she’s been dreaming about.  That’s why she can’t sleep.

"I killed you," she mumbles, putting the book down but still not quite able to make eye contact.

It all feels so real, even now. Even with Faith – the real Faith, not a dream – sitting only a couple of feet away from her, patiently waiting for her to explain.

"We were fighting, just like we ... before," she goes on. "Just before graduation.  I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop.  And when I ... at the end, you didn't fall.  I stabbed you, and you bled to death in my arms.  I killed you."

The other woman shakes her head.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm tougher than I look," Faith says.  "Haven't even died once, unlike some Slayers I could mention.  And lucky for me, all the cool chicks dig scars."

She pulls her pajama top up slightly to demonstrate.  There’s still a pale scar there, yes, even after all this time.  Proof of what Buffy had done: not just in a dream, but in real life.  Something she’ll never be able to undo.  She reaches out, just for a second, as if she was going to touch it.  To trace the faint mark she’d left across her fellow Slayer’s skin.

"Did ... does it hurt?"

It's not the first time she's asked the question.  Guesses that it won't be the last.

"Sometimes," Faith admits.  "A little."

She used to pretend that it didn't, Buffy remembers.  But they’re more honest with each other these days.  They’ve had to be.

"You shouldn't be beating yourself about this, B," Faith says carefully, sitting down next to her.  "It was a long time ago, and you did what you had to do.  Like you said back then, I'd have done the same if I had the chance.  Hell, I did a lot worse.  I think we both know that I’m the one who should be apologizing"

Buffy remembers.  How powerless she’d felt, how violated, how justified she’d felt in her rage afterwards.  But she’d thrown the first stone, hadn’t she?  She’d crossed the invisible line first.  And in truth, when she thinks about things she’s sorry for doing to Faith, the scar is only the start of it.

"It's not just the fight," Buffy admits.  "It's … it’s everything about that year.  I could have ... I should have done so much more for you.  But I never knew how scared you were.  I never realized that you were so alone.  I think … I think I didn’t want to see it."

Faith frowns.  Gets that look in her eyes that Buffy knows means she’s fighting down the urge to say something impulsive.  

"I was scared," the other Slayer admits, slowly.  "You’re right.  And angry. All the time. And a little bit crazy too, I think, at least towards the end.  But I don't think you could've talked me out of it.  Not you, not anyone. None of it was ever your fault.  I think I had to figure that stuff out on my own.  Had to be honest with myself about what I felt, and what I could do about it."

"I should have tried harder," Buffy says stubbornly, not wanting to let this go. Because arguing with Faith, fighting with her – that’s always been easier, hasn’t it?  That’s always been something she could do.

She’d had a whole life of her own, back then.  A mom, and a sister, and a big house.  She could have tried to share it with her.  That would have been better, wouldn’t it?  But she hadn’t wanted to share.  She’d refused.  That was what she’d told her Mom, the very first night Faith came for dinner.  That Faith trying to spend time with her was creepy.

(That was one of the only nights that Faith had ever come for dinner, she realizes now.)

"You did try, Buffy," Faith says firmly.  "You were the only one who ever did.  You were the first person in my life who ever tried to look out for me, even after everything I did.  I'm not ever going to forget that, and you shouldn’t either."

Part of Buffy wants to believe that.  She does.  And she knows her friends would all agree.  Vocally, some of them.  But it’s too easy though, isn’t it?  Too convenient.  To make excuses, to find reasons why you didn’t have to help.  To make yourself seem better than you ever really were.

“You came to Sunnydale looking for me,” Buffy says, putting her hand on the table, brushing against Faith’s.  “You wanted to be with me.  And I tried to murder you.”

They’d never talked about it at the time, not openly.  But looking back, she must have seen it, mustn’t she?  How much time Faith wanted to spend with her, how little she cared about anyone or anything else.  How pleased she’d been when Scott Hope dumped her, how furious she’d been when she found out about Angel later.  How could Buffy not have seen what was right in front of her, unless she was trying to ignore it?

"You did what you had to do," Faith tells her again, more firmly this time. She rests her other hand on Buffy’s.  Squeezes it lightly, just for a second.

Buffy sighs.

"You always say that," she says, trying not to sound like she’s complaining. 

"Always will," Faith nods equably.  "Because it's the truth."

Buffy shakes her head.

"God, Faith, you were just a kid.  If I--"

"So were you, B,” Faith says.  “We all were."

She pauses, looks a little uncomfortable.

“Look, Buffy,” she says, “I dunno if it helps at all, but when I was in prison, the shrink we had at group sessions used to tell us that an apology had to convince two people.  The person you’d wronged, and the person you wanted to become.  So, uh.”

Buffy listens.  Tries to be patient.  Willow had pulled some tricks after Sunnydale – a bit of magic, a little old-fashioned hacking – and these days nobody seemed to remember that Faith was supposed to be behind bars.  But Faith remembers, she knows that, and she knows how hard it is for her to talk about that part of her life.  

“He used to have us write them down,” Faith adds.  “I guess there are a lot of unsent letters to you back in the big house that I forgot to take with me when I split. None of them were ever good enough anyway.  We were meant to write them down, and then try to imagine how the people we were going to write to might reply.  Try to put ourselves in their shoes, I mean.”

Faith fidgets a little in her chair, as though she’s having second thoughts about this speech.  Or maybe because putting herself in Buffy’s shoes was a large part of why she’d ended up in prison in the first place.

“The point is … maybe that’s stupid.  Maybe it was only ever a way to get some of us to shut up for a few minutes.   But I thought maybe we could try it.  Only, instead of you having to imagine how I’d respond, you could just listen to me.  Maybe copy what I said.  Say it yourself.”

Buffy nods slowly.  Faith was right: it does sound a little stupid.  But at the same time, she guesses it can’t hurt.  She manages a weak smile.  Nods her approval.  Waits for Faith to tell her when to start.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you more, when we were both kids, Faith,” she says, when the other Slayer gives her the signal.  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you into more of my life.  I’m sorry I stabbed you.”

“I hear you, B,” Faith says seriously, brown eyes focused on her.  Gestures for her to repeat it, to keep echoing her as she continues.  “I get what you’re saying.  And I forgive you.  I know you helped me as much as you could.  More than anyone else.  Way more.  And for what it’s worth, I don’t think I could have been happy back then unless I was the only person in your life, the way you were for me.  Unless you gave up on your mom and your Watcher and all your other friends.  And that wasn’t ever fair to ask of you.  That wouldn’t have been healthy, for either of us.”

Faith pauses, face serious, waiting for her to finish repeating that all back to her.  Leans in a little closer, like she’s sharing a secret.

“Plus,” she says, waggling her eyebrows, “You kind of looked amazing when you stabbed me.  Total smokeshow.”

“Faith!” Buffy protests, feeling herself starting to blush the way she had when she was younger.  “I am not repeating that.”

Faith smirks, and Buffy lets herself think.  it still seems kind of stupid, even without that last part.. She’s not naive enough to think it will fix everything. But at the same time, she thinks that maybe it was useful.  A little bit, anyway.  

“Thank you,” she says.  “That helped.”

For a minute neither of them says anything.  The only sound in the house is the ticking of the clock over the kitchen table.  Faith still hasn’t let go of her hand.

"Still … if I could go back and change things, I would," Buffy admits. "Back to the beginning, I mean. I wish that I--"

She doesn't finish the sentence.  You don't spend years of your life in touch with Anya, on-again  and off-again vengeance demon, without realizing it might not be a good idea to make open-ended world-changing wishes out loud in the middle of the night.  (She thinks Anya’s mostly human these days, but it’s hard to keep track.  Maybe she should write more.)

"It … uh.  It hasn't been all bad, has it Buffy?" Faith asks her, suddenly sounding almost nervous. "There's some things you wouldn't change, right?"

She’s looking at one of the rings she’s wearing, Buffy sees, on the hand that’s resting on top of her own.  A silver one. 

Faith's always loved wearing rings.  Has done ever since Buffy met her.  She’s got a whole collection of them.  This one is a little different though.  Brand new, something Faith’s been wearing all the time for weeks now.  This one Buffy helped pick out herself; a perfect match to the ring she's wearing on her own hand.  It turned out Faith was a bit of a traditionalist that way.

"You wouldn't change this, would you, B?" Faith repeats softly, staring down at the ring on her left hand.

"You know I wouldn't," Buffy says firmly.  "That goes without saying."

She pauses.  Faith’s looking at her expectantly.  Waiting for her to take the lead.

"But you want me to say it anyway, huh," Buffy realizes.

Well, she can do that.  She guesses it’s her turn to be the one doing the reassuring anyway.  Buffy steps up, leans in, wraps her arms around the other Slayer and kisses her softly on the forehead the way she knows she likes.  Feels Faith shiver slightly under her touch, leaning into it the way she always does. Remembers suddenly just how thin those pajamas are; how little Faith is wearing underneath. 

"I've made a lot of decisions in my life that I regret," Buffy says softly, "But you, Mrs. Summers, are not one of them."

Faith was a bit of an unexpected traditionalist about that as well.  Buffy had been all for both of them keeping their names, or hyphenating them,  sharing them, but the other Slayer had insisted.  Had, finally, admitted that she just didn't like her old last name at all, that there was a reason she'd never used back in Sunnydale, why it had taken Buffy so long to even learn what it was.  "Faith Summers, though,” the other woman had said quietly, "I think that's a name I could be proud of.  That's someone I'd like to be."

The ceremony itself, back in June, had been a pretty small affair.

They’d only allowed themselves a handful of guests each.  Willow and Kennedy; Xander and Andrew; Dawn and Amanda.  Faith had spent weeks threatening to invite Angel to play the part of her best man – especially once she realized just how mortifying Buffy found the prospect – but in the end she'd opted to be merciful and just invited Gunn and Fred and Wesley up from LA, plus Robin from wherever he called home these days.  Buffy has a feeling neither Angel or Spike minded missing out on this experience.  

And Giles had been there too, flying out of England for the first time in almost two years.  She'd been so pleased he could make it.  It was a little bit like ... well.  He was family, wasn’t he?

"Your mother would have been very proud of you today," he'd told her at the airport, when she’d rushed up to meet him and totally embarrassed him with a hug.  "Proud of you both.  As am I.  But then, I hope you already knew that."

And then – because of course nothing could go smoothly for long – they'd had to reschedule the whole thing almost at the last minute; pushing everything back by a week so they could all make an emergency trip to Cleveland.  

Even though she and Faith were pretty much retired now -- and even though Kennedy was too, as of last year, along with Amanda and Rona and most of the other former Sunnydale Potentials -- they still got called up for the main events.  For the real apocalypses, when the Organization needed its biggest guns.  This time it had been the Sisterhood of Jhe again, Buffy thinks.  Trying to open another Hellmouth, almost ten years after the first attempt.  Their timing had sucked, but at least she'd been able to take her frustrations out on a few big demons.  She's sure Faith had been a lot more vicious than usual in her Slaying too.  Between them, they hadn't really left much of anyone to interrogate afterwards.  Maybe it was a good thing that that wasn’t something either of them had to worry about anymore.

(Buffy had met Kennedy's replacement as head of the Organization briefly in Cleveland, while they were being briefed before the mission.  She was a nice kid called Satsu, who had been gratifyingly starstruck at meeting both of the original Slayers, but who had still kept her head enough to give them their orders just like everyone else.  It was good to know that the other Slayers -- the new ones, the ones young enough not to have retired yet -- were in competent hands.  And Buffy knows that they have been, all along, whether that means Kennedy or Satsu or whoever will come after her.  That's part of why Buffy doesn't regret her decision to step back from that side of things.  Not for a minute. Even if it has meant a few more sleepless nights.  Nobody can carry that much weight for long.)

And a week after Cleveland, that was it: Faith and Buffy, married. Not because of a wish, or one of Willow’s spells gone wrong, but for real.  Forever.  Legally binding, recognized by the State of California and everything (although a lot of awful people seemed awfully unhappy about that).  When Buffy had been younger, she could never have imagined any of this.  She'd thought that being a Slayer meant that anything like this was impossible.  That this was something only normal girls got to have.  And she'd never thought that she’d want it quite so much: her own parents’ marriage hadn’t exactly endeared her to the institution as a whole. Even a couple of years ago, she’d never have admitted to anyone quite how happy it would make her.  

And she is, Buffy realizes.  Even with the odd nightmares.  She’s sitting in her kitchen with the love of her life, waiting for the sun to come up and a new day to begin, and she’s never been happier.  She thinks her younger self would be delighted to know that, somehow, everything had worked out okay.

Maybe she's been looking at things the wrong way all this time.  It's not that the  nightmares started when she moved out here. It's that the waking nightmares – the real world nightmares, the kind with teeth and names and minds of their own – had become rare enough she finally started noticing the other kind.

"Look, B, I've got to get back to bed or I won't be any use for anything at work tomorrow," Faith says, fighting back a yawn, shooting an apologetic look at the clock on the wall.  “Guess I’m not as young as I used to be. Good thing I’m still wicked hot.”

Buffy nods absently.  She's still not sure what she's going to do next.  Whether she's heading off for that late night run, or ...

"I'll see you in the morning before I head out for work," Faith promises.  "Unless, uh."

Buffy makes a decision.  Stands up.

"Well," she says slowly, "I guess it wouldn't be very chivalrous of me to leave my wife alone all night, would it?"

Faith grins at her wolfishly. Just the way she had when they'd first met. Like a co-conspirator; a partner in crime. As if the two of them still had a secret that nobody else could share.  And for a second, it's like no time has passed at all.  Like they could still be dancing together back in the Bronze, just the two of them, or out on patrol looking for vampires in some forgotten Sunnydale cemetery that's long since been buried deep in a hole in the desert.  When it seemed like high school was going to last forever.  When they'd both only been able to focus on the present; on the immediate demands of the here and now.  Finding the next vamp, dusting it, and moving on to the one after that.

Buffy puts her arm around Faith's waist, fingers resting carefully just below her scar, walks with her towards the stairs.  Maybe they weren't so wrong, back then.  Maybe this is what matters.  Maybe this is all that ever did.  Just the two of them, just the present moment.  And when the other Slayer looks up at her, when she leans her head to rest on her shoulder, something in her eyes makes Buffy sure they're both thinking the same thing.

"There's my girl," she breathes.

[blubberquark]

The Age Of Modding

I am not a fan of the "Modding" scene, and I haven't been for years. I don't particularly enjoy playing modded games, and I usually don't like seeing my own games modded.

There are some exceptions: Some games from the late 90s and 2000s are too new and complex to be played in an emulator, and too old to run unmodified on a modern system. They need user-written aftermarket patches to run at all, and players often recommend quality-of-life mods that add UI comforts that modern players have come to expect. In between those two types of mods are patches that are not strictly needed to make the game playable, but are also not exactly quality-of-life fixes: Mods and patches that unlock the frame rate and allow a game to played at a HD resolution.

But by and large, I don't enjoy mods that just add a bunch of stuff to a game, or mods that completely change core game mechanics, or mods that change one little thing. Those mods often take a carefully balanced game and add something that the original developers deliberately left out. The mods that add a bunch of stuff to a game often completely destroy the balance and feel of the original game. (I recently explained how the amount of stuff in a game influences balance)

Some mods like Multiverse for FTL manage to avoid this by completely overhauling everything and replacing all the content, both gameplay content and story content, with their internally consistent replacements. Instead of disrupting the balance, that mod creates a new game based on FTL. Even Multiverse is not without flaws. There is so much Multiverse, it feels overwhelming. Some mechanics are hard to discover. It doesn't feel as accessible as the base game.

I also don't like mods that add another campaign to continue the story, but I like level packs. Adding stuff to the lore of a game, or continuing the story of a game after the main story arc has concluded, feels as narratively derailing as adding overpowered items feels mechanically.

But I really used to like mods. Not any more. Have mods, apart from the occasional Multiverse, just gotten worse? Did I just get older?

What I think has happened is this: Game engines used to be expensive (Unreal Engine), hard to get started in (GPL Quake engine), not very powerful (3D Game Maker, Klik'N'Play), or open source projects without proper support, either commercial or community support. Modding used to be the creative outlet of choice. Interesting experiences were made as Half-Life mods, or custom WarCraft III maps. Then they were made in Flash, GameMaker, and Unity.

Today, modding instead of making your own stand-alone game is a very different choice, and that means that past a certain quality or complexity threshold, mods are far more likely become their own games. Multiverse beat the odds. The golden age of modding is not coming back.