#when previously i thought it was the first one

[amorchai]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 1,186 notes.

pairing(s): steve harrington x shy!reader

words: 1705

warnings/tags: best friends to lovers, mentions of food, shy!reader.

“stevie?” you ask into the empty air, tearing your eyes away from the view in steve’s passenger seat as you previously pondered silently. “mhm?” is all he mumbles back, to show he’s listening while scooping another spoonful of the chocolate ice cream from his tub.

you weren’t sure why you were having ice cream on a cold winter’s night, but steve had suggested it and you never tend to question steve’s random motives as such. your half-eaten raspberry tub rests on your lap, slightly melted from neglect during the reverie you coaxed yourself into. parked atop a hill overlooking the town below the moonlight.

you don’t continue at first, looking down to your knee which now bounces anxiously. and with the extra space of silence, steve looks up from his ice cream, eyes peeking beneath the strands of hair that poke his face.

sitting the tub into one cup holder, steve moves back against his seat, one hand beginning to drum the steering wheel aimlessly while he watches your body language. “you don’t like it? thought it was one of your favourites?” steve continues worriedly, and nods towards the dessert in your hands.

you shake your head, ushering it into the cup holder beside his with a very small, “no, no. i do… i’ll have it in a second.”

“okay.”

the car falls silent again, steve watches as you slump against your seat and lose yourself in the view again. however, steve can tell it isn’t the landscape you’re thinking of, but if only he could pinpoint exactly what you were thinking.

penny for your thoughts, steve thinks and hesitates upon saying. in the end leaving you be at first, instead reaching a hand over to your restless knee and it suddenly stops moving. steve squeezes it affectionately, a small message that he’s still listening as he turns down the radio ever so slightly.

“what was your first kiss like?” you splutter all of a sudden, voice quiet and a deep nervous inhale following. steve wasn’t expecting it, eyes blinking and eyebrows raising as he processes the question. he taps your knee once more before moving his hand back to his lap, and you immediately miss the warmth.

“eighth grade with vanessa johnson. i freaked out so bad i bit her lip and she never spoke to me again.”

with steve’s statement you giggle. of course he did just that. “you bit her?” you repeat, hand covering your mouth as more laughter falls from your lips, and steve joins you with an amused nod, “sure did.”

your hand falls from your mouth while you lean your head back to face the car roof, laughter slowly falling back down and steve can only watch you with the fondest smile. “do you bite every girl you kiss?”

“no. funnily enough it was an accident and she hated my guts for it,” steve responds to your teasing with another chuckle emitting his throat. your head tilts to the side, cheek pressed to your shoulder as you look over at him, his gaze intoxicating as he smiles so warmly towards you.

“i got much better, y’know?” steve smirks, ego boosting himself. “i know,” you reply without thinking and steve pulls a face, confusion and amusement packed into one before nudging your arm gently, “what do you mean you know?”

you laugh again, embarrassed and quietly when you reply, “high school girls locker room. steve harrington was the topic of conversation most days before gym class for the popular girls.” steve grimaces, unamused and worried about the fact that you had heard those conversations about steve’s kissing techniques.

“god, high school. don’t miss it a bit.”

you don’t reply. looking out the passenger door window and to the couple of cars upon that side, distractedly staring as you sigh sadly. and steve’s not an idiot. he’s your best friend and also someone who’s been infatuated with you for years, he can tell what you’re thinking this time.

“it’ll happen, you just need to find the right person.”

your first kiss. still in your twenties without having ever kissed someone, while others around you were now in serious relationships.

you close your eyes and sigh at steve’s words. that’s the problem; you have always had the right person but you’re too terrified to make the first move. the unbearable fear that steve wouldn’t like you back was excruciating while he dated several girls during your friendship that you hoped he would be brave enough to do something instead.

maybe he just wasn’t interested in you that way. since he had no problem asking all those other girls out, as far as you can tell.

“i have an idea.”

steve’s quiet and patient to match your timid voice, you can usually get more shy in conversations you’re scared of and he’s willing to hear you out. but when is he never. “yeah?” is all he asks, practically a whisper.

your words get lodged in your throat, how are you supposed to ask your best friend to kiss you? that’s not easy. what if he hates you after? what if he thinks you’re impatient? or what if it ruins your friendship?

you wave yourself off, cringing on yourself and about to change the subject completely while leaning a hand down for your tub of ice cream but steve grips your hand and bends his head down to meet your gaze.

“hey, hey, hey. you can tell me your idea. i won’t judge you.”

“i don’t know, steve, i—” steve turns, his body facing yours while he grips your other free hand and you follow his movements to face him more clearer. the car light was on while you previously ate and it illuminated the tanned skin upon his face, showing off the sweet dark freckles spotted across his cheek and neck. 

“i know who i want to be my first kiss.”

your forehead falls into you and steve’s held hands, embarrassed while a small ‘o’ shape forms on steve’s mouth as he thinks. “oh,” is all steve says, a pang of hurt sprawling across his chest rapidly at the realisation of... someone. someone.

before you can lift your head to ramble an apology about how stupid it is, steve beats you to it by holding onto his pride and storing away his sadness. “any guy would be so lucky to have you, yeah? so lucky, baby. and if you know who you want to be your first kiss, i say go for it.”

steve’s ready to continue, busy trying to seem like he’s okay with this idea and not noticing that you lift your head back up to look at him properly. he doesn’t notice the way you squeeze his gripping hands or giggle at his rushed voice, he doesn’t notice anything until you say, “steve.”

it’s quiet. your voice barely audible but steve thanks his good hearing because he immediately cuts himself off to listen to you. your faces are close, his pupils rapidly moving when they scan over your features as if he’s figuring out what you’re trying to say.

“what, baby?”

“steve.” you say again, tone knowing and desperate and almost a hint of feeling shameful and steve’s eyes widen when yours fleet to his lips for the shortest second. this can’t be real, steve thinks. there’s no way.

you huff when he still sits still, hands keep holding yours tightly, “don’t make me say it,” you whine and steve chuckles. he tilts his head down, forehead pressed against yours as he replies, “oh, but i want you to say it. please say it.”

you can feel the warmth spread to your face as another shy whine threatens to break your throat, but just as you move your head in an attempt to tuck it into his neck, steve’s hands are shuffling from yours so he’s cupping your face.

“it’s okay, baby. it’s okay. i can do it, i’ll gladly do it. if you want me to?” his thumbs swipe your skin so delicately and his eyes are gazing with such a genuine stare that you feel you might crumble. with a nod, there’s a strangled sentence you let out, “y-yes. i do, stevie.”

he chuckles once more, a mixture of how cute he thinks you are but also in disbelief that he’s about to kiss you.

steve’s so slow, head tilting as he leans forward so his nose runs across your skin and you can feel the ghost of his lips closer and closer. in a warm daze, you whisper into the cold car when steve’s lips touch the corner of yours, “don’t bite me.”

you feel the curve of his smile while his nose drags down your face so he’s tucked under your jaw, both of your chests heaving with laughter. your hands reach up so they are holding onto his wrists, and he looks back up at your cupped face, “no promises, you’ll probably taste of raspberry ice cream.”

this time steve’s patience isn’t as strong, leaning forward to crash his lips against yours in what you believe will be most breath-taking kiss you could ever receive. corners of both your lips threaten to smile as you feel the sparks within your chest and squeeze the skin of his wrists.

he tastes of chocolate from his ice cream and the coffee he had earlier on and you go light-headed at the thought, never wanting to pull away. he’s so sweet and slow, lips guiding yours against his so tenderly that you pray to god it won’t be the last steve harrington kiss you receive.

you both reluctantly pull away, lungs begging to be filled with air but steve only pulls away for a moment before pecking your lips again. your mind feels foggy from the gesture that you almost don’t notice the nip to your bottom lip as steve pulls away.

you gasp mockingly, opening your eyes with steve’s smug smirk, turning his palms from your face so he can hold yours again, resting them against your lap. “i was right,” steve says, leaning forward when you dip your head to contain your happiness.

“you taste like raspberries,” steve murmurs just as happily against your lips.

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[zennjiwrlds]

“ FRIENDS. ” | lee myung-gi/player 333 x reader | sg drabbles

synopsis. no way he'd meet you, again — his "friend" since childhood. was he simply aware? no he fucking wasn't. he knew you weren't the type of person to be in debt either, unless he's just mistaken. though, why did you still managed to get in the games?

⠀⠀❕⠀⠀ warnings. spoilers???

⠀⠀❕⠀⠀ subj. i tried to make the reader's gender genderless. so if u see an issue in the process, pls tell me right away!! also pretend reader is REALLY good at gonggi. and erm, reader is indeed anxious and likes to fidget, a LOT.

a/n. can u acc tell im testing how ill write my aesthetics..... like erm hehennensjsjbajq im so indecisive im gonna explode into madness and rage 🔥🔥 also it's been quite a while since I've written.... idk weeks? months? who knows?? however, no beta so we explode young lolz erm... enjoy ig

⠀⠀ IT WAS MOMENTARILY baffling him, really. he thought he'd go on about his day whilst he played the games thoroughly without any issue being visible. but when he saw your distraught figure in red light, green light? his mind were a naught but dozens of clouded thoughts. he spoke to himself that it was just him hallucinating or perchance a dream yet a nightmare.

⠀⠀hell, he even thought you looked good.

⠀⠀ the way your free hand swept and dragged people's hair — moreover if they pissed you off. it reminded him how you'd also drag his hair when you were children, your laughter and serene aura gave him modest comfort. yet you disappeared without a trace. he was worried sick; where had you been?

⠀⠀ nonetheless, what irked him is you didn't give him a single glance, not even physical contact like you used to do. did you forget about him? it irritated him yet it made his demeanor worrisome. you made him feel abandoned. he wanted you to at least linger your gaze at him, even if it means the last time.

⠀⠀ did you still consider him as a friend, at this point? or did he become another stranger to you?

⠀⠀ although, his expectations were slightly different from what he previously had thought hence the second game was announced. momentarily, you were paired up with him. he hoped you would interact him, even if it means very little.

⠀⠀ “hi, " were the compact words that left your lips. oh, how he felt dreamy when he heard your voice for the first time. he wanted to have a full confab with you right now, he did. however, he acknowledged to himself that right now wasn't the time hence this event was a life or death occurrence. he knew to himself that he had to focus. though, his mind was currently filled with you. it was always you.

⠀⠀ people were seen struggling whilst doing the five minigames, though his team only struggled slightly. but you? he observed how you were merely nervous doing the gonggi. yet no issues came in your way. the way your fingers motioned every move of the stone—throwing the stones each one freely and efficiently—eyes chiefly focused on the tiny solid plastics one by one. the tension amidst the air erupting as you flip the stones with ease, the silence was loud yet there was enough murmurs for you to hear—one hand opening itself as the five stones were visible upon one's sight—the guard making an 'O' shape afterwards.

⠀⠀ your team was the first one to yell, a loud yet beamed yell. your heart simultaneously pounded on your chest as it rang clear on your ears, the relief washing over your occupied thoughts as you exhaled deeply, own pair of eyelids closed shut. yet myung-gi had his eyes placed on you, it was always you.

⠀⠀ by that means, you and your team had to go back to the lobby. though, he slightly notices how your walk were sloppy. like a turtle attempting to get back to the shore.

⠀⠀ REST, that's what you want to do. sleeping—closing your eyes whilst you sat down on your bunk, hoping that you'd do this for eternity. although, pair of shoes were perceived as the direction was going towards you, what's their problem now?

⠀⠀ opening your exhausted lids, you looked up forward, only to take sight of your friend from childhood—both hands in pocket the moment he looked at you. at the current occurrence, he looked like his mind was throbbing to speak to you, to talk with you. your gesture, but, leisure as you invited him to sit next to you silently, shrugging off your shoulders. your eyes looking at the opposite direction as his—a soft yet small smile tugged his lips.

⠀⠀ "y—you look uh, good," realizing his form of speech, he bit his lip rigidly, enough for it to slightly bleed, "...ah— i mean, you did good— out there, yeah.” now his breathing pattern were shivering. gee, did he also mention how hot it is?

⠀⠀ dull as ever, you nodded awkwardly, "thank you." he glanced at you to see your features again—nonchalance could be seen on your face. but did he see you just smile for a second?

⠀⠀ awkward silence occupied the tension, both friends sitting next to each other on the opposite ends of the bunk, myung-gi was hoping for a motion to appear from you but failed to avail.

⠀⠀ "why are you here?" he questioned you—fingers fidgeting was visible on your lap—few gazes that and there from him. "i could ask you the same question, " you responded swiftly, "...I'm here to start off a new life— to get money for future needs." breaths hitched, your anatomy rocking back and forth a little—which to others are you sitting still, yet for myung-gi? he acknowledged to himself that you were anxious, though from what?

⠀⠀"you're here because you're in debt, are you?" you added, his jaw tightened from the question— "crypto market? people bought your coin, right?" oh, so you were aware of the incident.

⠀⠀ "look, I—"

⠀⠀ "yap later, I'm too tired for that." you groaned, your eyebrows scrunching—lips thin as you sighed briefly. unfortunately, you were unable to meet his gaze, again. your hand waving thoroughly at his direction while you still refrained yourself from looking at him. he blinked till he chuckled lightly, gazing at your aggravated figure. "still like your old self, huh?"

⠀⠀ you breathed through your nose, your heart fluttering at his full, but, jaunty laughter. he still had that youth in him, you just know it. nevertheless, before you knew it, his own hand made contact with yours—gravity seems to slow down—the friction was dense yet observable. his smile was hesitant thus apparent, his face increasing in temperature as he still had the cheeky smile plastered on his facial features.

⠀⠀ you made no move whatsoever, you, in fact, did not know how to respond to physical contact that well so you were slightly distant compared to the previous times. you sat there, mind's blank and black. you both are friends, aren't you? he had always been this affectionate since you two were juveniles, then there's no issue evident for that, right?

⠀⠀ "we are friends, myung-gi." you stated.

⠀⠀"you mean more to me than that, [n]." he further alleges.

[punisheddonjuan]

(I Will Soon Be Offering) Private Guitar Lessons

A few months ago one of my followers inquired if I had ever given thought to offering guitar lessons online via webcam. I replied that it was indeed something I had thought about but that I would need to give it more thought as to how I would approach teaching online, whether or not I had the proper equipment and software to provide a professional experience, how many students I could take on, and what exactly I could offer as a teacher. I also noted that I would have to create a suitable space in my apartment for hosting students, this part took care of itself when my roommate moved out, my girlfriend moved in and we converted his old bedroom into an office. As for the rest? Well I gave it some thought and I've hacked together reasonable solutions for most of those other issues, so I would like to announce that beginning later this winter/this spring I will be offering private one-on-one guitar lessons via webcam.

My Qualifications:

While I graduated with a degree in Classics and attended graduate school in that field, I was initially accepted into university as a music major on the basis of my guitar playing. It was only after a few years that I switched majors into Classics. In the end I still managed enough credits to claim a minor in music.

Before attending university I spent a year studying jazz theory/jazz improvisation at college.

Both prior to and concurrent with my college/university music education I studied classical guitar privately with my former guitar teacher for a little over a decade; through him I can claim teaching lineage back to Francisco Tárrega.

I have played in a few little garage bands that never really went anywhere, performed with friends at house parties, jammed around as much as I could, and performed live as a solo guitarist.

I previously taught guitar privately during university; this is not my first rodeo.

All things accounted, I have been playing guitar for near to twenty-five years.

What I Can Offer:

If you're an absolute beginner, I would be happy to guide your playing to a level where you would feel comfortable learning songs on your own, and we would start with learning basic chords, basic technique, and putting it all together into learning a few songs.

If you're past the beginner stage, I can take your playing to a level where you would be able to convincingly improvise a solo over a song, play more advanced songs, and sit in with a jam session.

If learning to read sheet music is a goal of yours' I am able to assist with that.

If you're interested in beginner classical guitar I would feel comfortable teaching repertoire and technique to the level of what is asked for by the Royal Conservatory of Music Grade Five examinations. Grade Five repertoire is generally the minimum requirement for auditioning to a university level music program in Canada. I have several guitar methods at my disposal for teaching technique, and access to a wide array of repertoire sheet music.

I am also able to teach theory as it pertains to playing the guitar and point you towards texts that from beginner levels up to basic harmonic analysis. I can teach you how chords are constructed, how they fit together into a progression, and the basic grammar of music.

What I Can't Teach:

I can't teach you to shred. Shredding has never really been my thing. Can I show you how to sweep pick? Sure. Can I teach you to play some arpeggios? Sure. Can I drill you in accurate and fast alternate picking? Absolutely. Can I show you a few weird and exotic scales? Yes. But I'm not a shred player.

I can't bring you to a level where you could effortlessly solo over the changes to "Giant Steps" or play in a Steely Dan cover band. But, I can teach you some jazz chords, I can teach you how to comp with chords and how to use guide tones, and I can teach you the basics of soloing over chord changes and what scales to use with what chords. That said, I'm not an expert jazz player, but we can still jam on some modal stuff.

Lessons, Pricing, What to Expect, What a Prospective Student Will Require:

The typical going rate for private music lessons is around $35-$40 and ranges up to well over $100 for some in demand teachers. My fee operates on a sliding scale with a floor of $20USD/$25CAD per hour lesson. If you are comfortable with paying the typical going rate, wonderful, if you are unable to afford more than $20/$25, then that's what you will pay, no questions asked. Payment can be sent through PayPal or Interac e-transfer.

Due to the nature of my chronic illness it would be extremely difficult to take on more than five students a week. They needn't necessarily be the same five students every week; if a bi-weekly lesson schedule works better for a number of people, they can alternate. In the rare event that there is more demand than I am able to fulfill mutuals and longtime followers will have priority.

What you need as a student: A guitar (reminder that these lessons, excepting students interested in the classical guitar, are geared towards the electric guitar); a webcam (I will need a way to see you, your hands, and what your hands are doing); a microphone; a way of letting me hear your playing (whether this will be through positioning your microphone in such a way that it picks up your amplifier or utilizing a direct input method); headphones would be a good idea too.

If you commit to more than one lesson the first will be free of charge. Your first lesson with me will look something like this: we'll talk about your goals and intentions i.e. what it is you hope to get out of taking guitar lessons and how far you want to take your playing. As we chat about that we can chart out a course to get you there, and then we'll just generally see where you're at. The rest of the lesson will be taken up with some pointers on properly caring for and tuning your instrument, and then we'll put some thought towards the way our bodies are posed, how we have the guitar positioned in relation to our bodies, exercising good hand ergonomics, and finding a playing position that is both comfortable and which allows for optimal freedom of movement.

I live in Toronto which is located in the Eastern Standard Timezone (UTC -5) keep this in mind if you're interested in taking lessons and are located elsewhere.

I intend to do my best at being a trooper and toughing it out, and I will aim to not cancel lessons without fair warning, but the nature of my illness virtually guarantees that I may need to resort to this occasionally. You will need to be alright with this.

If you're interested, you can contact me here or at brendanpalangio@gmail.com. Hopefully I can get enough people interested that I can go about figuring out everyone's availability and drawing up a schedule.

[taldigi]

how do you feel about yu’s parents?? What do you think they’re like?

I think they're really interesting to explore- believe it or not. I've seen a lot of different interpretations of his parents, ranging from straight up negligent, to being abusive-- or just simply too busy. I've even seen interpretations where they're perfectly fine parents, and that the year abroad is an unusual circumstance.

The game itself, which is what I would consider primary canon (sequels being secondary and manga and anime being tertiary) never touches on it more than it needs to to justify Yu's presence in Inaba/being new. I think Yu's mother is briefly mentioned once or twice and they are said to have called Dojima once.

I made the observation (previously when theorizing about Ren's parents) that it's completely possible that during the downtime that you don't get to see between transition stages (where, theoretically, the main protagonists would do homework or take a shower or tend to other daily needs) it's totally possible that they call or interact with their parents.

All interpretations are possible, but I know Souji Seta's (the protagonist from the Manga) parents are always moving around- and lot of folks have taken this to heart- and yeah, I can see it and I too like this idea- even though it's worth considering the fact that the manga is mostly secondary to the games (and even the anime!) and it's not definite canon.

That being said, I definitely like the idea that they are a sort of echo of the conflict between Nanako and Dojima. Both suggest career oriented people that probably shouldn't have had a kid in the first place who prioritize their work over their family.. and that, in turn, leading to neglect- with Yu and Nanako both being self sufficient. mature for their ages, and complacent.

Behaviors Yu exhibits- like his ability to cook meals beyond what is expected of a teenage boy, becoming incredibly attached to Nanako (he is one wrong dialog choice away from killing someone over her!) and Inaba, the insatiable need to people please, his initial desire to push people away or ignore others, and his otherworldly emotional control and ability to not express himself.. -is stuff like that echos of a kid who's had to grow up way too fast and not cause any trouble and keep to himself.

So personally, I subscribe to that concept: Yu's a kid who's been raised to be seen, not heard- developing complexes and anxieties over being praised for being responsible and mature even though he's only barely meeting that expectation by the skin of his teeth. Nothing less that being perfect for the Narukamis, after all- there's no time to make friends or have many interests when time is better spent on studying.

So... the Narukamis are parents who fufill those concepts. Parents who withhold attention and praise because those are things reserved for truly impressive successes.. and when exemplary is the expected baseline, such rewards are never actually acted upon.

Yu does have a taste in cooking, though- and a selection of music he likes. He doodles in his notes and reads magazines- I feel it expresses that while his parents don't police his interests, it also means that they really care much about their son's interests... as long as they don't interfere with work (and, by extension- Yu's grades or behavior, as he can be considered an asset in said jobs)

Jobs that leave them busy more often than not, leaving Yu alone.. but he's mature for his age, so it's okay. He prolly does a fried egg and toast and then goes and sits in front of the TV to do his homework. Yu seeing this in Nanako... is a lot, and makes their relationship that much more sweet and aajhksdkjasf

His parent's cruelty is best decided on a story by story basis. The level of willfulness in their work (genuinely needed often vs choosing work over family for example) or the level of regret they express upon leaving-- informing many interesting stories.

so yeah thats my thoughts on that.

side tangent, thats why souyo's so nice tbh. Yu always has to be the inconquerable senpai, the perfect big brother, noble leader, and everyone's rock- only to have Yosuke waltz up , hang off of him like a drunk girlfriend, and go "yeah he's amazing, but he's also the world's weirdest man and he's my best friend about it."

[slasherflicks999]

new oc/sona yaaaaaay!

oh how i wish i had all those piercings (bridge come back to me💔)

can we guess where his name came from gang (suspiciously username shaped name)

i actually really enjoy his character design and i literally color picked his color pallet from a diagram(?) that shows how a bruise heals and it worked out LMAOO sooo new character design life hack

more info and lots of general yapping about him after the break if you care to read :3 and i yap a LOT i have lots to say about him bc its been a while since i genuinely developed an oc LMAO

cw for LOTS and LOTS of talk of death if you do decide to read! just in case :3

first of all you may be thinking “5’6? short king!” and i will have you know i actually made him taller than i am irl by a few inches LMAOOO whoops t boy swag will do that to ya

anyways the thing about his color pallet being based off of that of a literal bruise IS actually relevant because he is literally immortal and is CONSTANTLY getting injured like all the time. i think conveying info about characters via their color pallets is fun and i wanna do more of it so hehe. plus green and red and purple are a nice combo and it worked out very well :3 also another little note about his design: he’s a very creative and artistic person and i wanted to show that through his clothes being somehow modified and i think i did that well too. trying to properly get back into making actually decent and thoughtful character designs so im proud of myself :3

that being said his immortality causes him a SHIT load of problems. i feel like being immortal would really suck LMAO but more-so i feel like i dont see people do much with the idea of immortality in terms of horror or at least not from what i’ve seen. like im still figuring out his lore but the basics are: he has no clue who his dad is and found out he was immortal at a somewhat young age but literally his entire life he’s been viewed as just kind of off?? like he looks human and for the most part acts it but he just has certain traits that humans…. do not have. his eyes glow in pics like a nocturnal animal’s would and his teeth are suspiciously sharp and he gets weird cravings for raw meat which he can somehow digest perfectly fine with absolutely no issue but he���s not like OVERTLY some otherworldly creature he’s just a little weird. a tad strange even. possibly even kind of unsettling depending on who you ask.

and i like to imagine these are a lot of things that were present in his childhood too, like his mother would wake up to the sound of rummaging in the kitchen and find him at the ripe old age of five just gnawing at a whole raw steak in the dark. he’s just sort of always been like that and didn’t realize it was weird until he was older. (is a lot of this used as metaphors for undiagnosed neurodiversity/mental illness? …..iii dont knowwww :3 (yes) (although not every aspect of him is a total reflection of myself, he is still his own character in many respects lolol))

but in general this ends up causing him all sorts of issues in all sorts of millions of ways. for one he has sort of a fragile sense of self because he doesn’t even know what he is?? he knows he can’t just be a regular old human because of all the previously mentioned reasons and a few more, but that aside he has no idea what he is. he also doesn’t know pretty much anything about how his immortality works beyond what he’s experienced and what the others have told him during the times when he’s “dead,” he has no idea how his aging is affected by it because he seems to be aging relatively normally so far, he has no clue if he will EVER die for good/if there’s any way to kill him, he has no idea how his body seems to heal the most insane fatal injuries as if nothing happened, and much more quickly than a normal human would, he kinda doesn’t know jack shit about himself and it pisses him off a little bit!

it also has just caused him lots of trauma as you can probably imagine. lots of dissociation everywhere he looks

moving on to how his immortality actually works: like i said there’s only so much he knows about it but this is all the info he knows so far. he CAN “die” but all of his deaths are temporary. that is to say that his body will eventually heal and regenerate itself and he will come back. it’s not like deadpool where he can get stabbed in the head and go about the rest of his day like nothing happened, he might be able to keep himself up for a while to fight back or run away but it wont be long before he drops dead for a few days or so. during said time his body outwardly does seem very dead. he’s unresponsive and still and isn’t blinking or nothing and his pupils are blown (which he already has huge pupils but yk), like if you were to just show him to someone they’d be like “yeah that’s absolutely a corpse and also why would you show this to me.” but his body is still alive in a sense, it’s just sort of… yknow when you put a computer into sleep mode?? upon first glance it’s gonna look like it’s off but inwardly things are still going on. his body is still working to regenerate itself the whole time, even if whatever he sustained that “killed” him would very much not be healable or survivable by any normal person. in his POV, he just sort of gets knocked out for a while and then wakes up exhausted and sore and absolutely FAMISHED. like he could easily eat a horse without any exaggeration the boy can eat.

he’s also always been interested in horror and the supernatural and crime and shit and is largely desensitized to that sort of stuff from that + experiencing a lot of different deaths himself bc of the whole immortality thing paired with him being generally reckless when he was younger because what’s it gonna do? kill him? (“what’re you gonna do, jeff the kill me?” -him at jeff moments before being stabbed, probably) he says he doesn’t care but it actually effects him deeply in ways he doesn’t understand for a while. as he gets older he becomes less reckless and doesn’t throw himself into dangerous situations as often.

all that being said he’s not necessarily all that dangerous himself?? he carries his dagger around with him for protection or cutting up meat and apples or woodcarving more than anything and as a proxy he works a lot more as just an… observer. despite his name he’s not really all for the killing people stuff if he can help it unlike many of the others, if anything his name more so refers to the fact that HE’S usually the one getting slashed up. (it’s actually just bc of my username but shhhhhh) but generally he much prefers to be in the background keeping watch or scoping things out or just sort of… stalking people basically. dont ask me how he manages to be stealthy in THAT outfit… he manages somehow i swear 😔

but yknow overall he’s not an incredible threat to most people, the “creepy” part of him being a creepypasta comes a lot more just from how much it would suck to be in his shoes as just a guy who happens to be immortal but still able to experience the pain of death over and over again. he isn’t the creepy thing as much as his entire life experience is LOL. usually he’s just unsettling and disturbing at most.

he also has a VERY complex relationship with BEN in my AU specifically (WHICH RANDOM DISCLAIMER TIME: NOT THE LITTLE 12 YEAR OLD VERSION NOOOOO EW my au’s BEN is like a combo of “fanon” him and behavioral event network he is not 12 years old and i dont want him being shipped with anything NEAR that version of him, ONLY my AU’s version who is 19. im not a freak. 💔 they’re not a couple anyway (BEN🤝slasher -> being aro) but i did wanna preface that just in case bc im not trying to get misinterpreted like that) might write more about that sometime… bc their relationship has a lot of symbolism and complexity bc BEN is my fav character ever period and yes i am gonna write him and my self insert oc as being incredibly deeply intertwined bc i love him and cringe culture can kick rocks and therapy is difficult to get :3 oc x canon shippers platonic or romantic yall will always be safe on my blog frfr

im gonna post more about BEN soon too…. literally working on actually making a proper design for him rn which is mostly just difficult bc i cannot for the life of me think of what to give this freak to wear. i need them to serve cunt but like….. how do i do that 💔💔 that one BEN design i reblogged that gave him the adorable little heels….. absolutely genius………. u know who u are :3

more random rapid fire fun facts about him bc why not: he loves piercings and tattoos and body mods bc they heal so easily for him, he has his tongue split! (NEEEED to do one day actually my dream body mod), his immortality doesn’t seem to effect his ability to get sick which he HATES but when he does get sick it only lasts for a day or so and he’s a total drama queen the whole time, he loves to sew (though only by hand, he’s genuinely afraid of sewing machines) and will patch up or modify clothes for his friends or other proxies if they ask, his favorite kind of raw meat is boar, and his favorite cooked meat is a tie between pork (boar or domestic pig) and chicken, he wears his headphones most of the time bc he loves music and sounds can sometimes overstimulate him, and BEN can talk to him through them because of course he can, he loves animals and actually has way more empathy for them than for humans, and he absolutely LOVES medical dramas and does not care that a lot of the actual medical parts are inaccurate he will eat them up. he WILL be caught staying up until 6am watching chicago med and he will not apologize.

ANYWAY i think that’s about it actually. if anyone actually read all my ramblings…. i love u /p u mean very much to me /p

i WILL be yapping more soon (except probably about the actual “canon” pastas hehe) :3

[anincompletelist]

2025 wips!

hi all! :D

very low pressure tag to everyone (open tag as well!) to share what you're working on in 2025! I've hit a bit of a wall and need to get organized, and even though most of my fics are impromptu 4am ramblings, I figured I'd hold myself accountable here and make it into a game of sorts for anyone who might be inclined to do the same.

I hope you've all had a lovely new year so far! x

*obligatory slightly nsfw warning*

ex-marine henry

after being dishonorably discharged from his position in the royal marines that he never truly wanted in the first place, henry finds himself adrift, hoping to start anew in the states. he meets alex, a younger, freshly divorced lawyer with whom it appears at first he has nothing in common with, but soon finds much more than he bargained for as they embark on an at times tumultuous but ultimately fulfilling fifteen-year relationship, navigating the threads of vulnerability, grief, friendship, and love.

rejected soulmates support group

the world has begun to move past the singular thinking that one is incomplete without their soulmate. henry knows that many people live long, fulfilling lives on their own or with a partner that might not have been fate's first choice for them. but at heart he's always been a hopeless romantic, and when fate decides to take his soulmate's life before they've even met one another yet on the tail end of the still-raw grief of losing his father, it feels as if the world is against him. lonely and lost, henry reluctantly seeks out support in the form of a small group that meets once a week, each member bringing their own perspective of loss to the circle. he'd thought he'd decided on staying alone for the rest of his life, but alex, a kind, curious empath with plenty of baggage of his own, might be the fresh perspective he needs to give love another try.

the simple life au

as part of their damage control tour, alex and henry are forced to take part in a reboot of the show 'The Simple Life' with a twist -- they'll spend five episodes between texas and washington and five in the uk, taking turns learning what each other's day-to-day looks like. between the press junkets and lazy rivers in the states and the ballrooms and etiquette training in london, both of them find themselves with more empathy for the other than they'd anticipated. the cameras capture not only their fast friendship but the beginning of a burgeoning, unexpected romance as well, defying their initial objective and sparking tentative optimism for a previously impossible future. they're still far from free, though, as both countries have their best interests in mind and full control over what narrative is aired to the world. it's going to take a leap of faith to make it work, but alex is more than ready to show henry how to jump.

speak easy

alex, a computer science major, has never met a number he didn't like. until he starts failing the poetry section of his mandatory english course. encouraged to seek out a tutor, his professor points him toward henry, a known writer and fellow student that always seems to evade alex's attempts to get to know him more deeply. henry leads him through his own self-proclaimed five step program to becoming a 'poet', strengthening his voice and ultimately helping him pass the course. but finding his voice means visiting parts of himself that alex had previously kept locked up tight or hadn't even known were there in the first place, and sharing his realizations with henry forms a bond between them that not even the journals-full of prose passed back and forth can scratch the surface of. that won't stop him from trying, though.

+

detroit become human inspired au

henry and pez run a safe haven for those who were once machines, deemed faulty for having developed genuine humanity and facing imminent decommission if found out. the next evaluation is in less than 24 hours, and alex's humanity is at 94%. luckily, he makes it to henry just in time.

midnight cowboy

alex, the lead singer of the widely known and highly acclaimed band midnight cowboy, is henry's biggest guilty pleasure—which is saying quite a lot. as a professional escort for the rich and elite, almost none of his pleasure is guilty these days. it feels like a fever dream when he gets the request from alex himself asking to spend a night together. he's long since being anyone's experiment, but with alex, unfortunately, henry finds he enjoys the idea of being some kind of first. (is 'only' too much to ask for?)

gynecologist henry

alex has done the college thing. the dream job thing. the casual, short term relationship thing. on paper, he has everything he ever said he wanted. it'd just be nice if he had someone to share it with sometimes. it'd be even nicer if his sister would stop trying to set him up with her gynecologist, who evidently finds himself in the same position.

+1 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry attends therapy in brooklyn once alex has moved in and things have slowed down a bit. it's predictably difficult but for the better, until they begin to cover the topic of his past relationships -- more specifically, sex. facing realizations that can no longer be shoved away, henry confides in alex and they reevaluate what intimacy might look like for them in the wake of healing from trauma.

+2 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry has to switch antidepressants and worries that his decreased libido will cause issues with his and alex's active sex life.

+3 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry arrives home early one night to find alex touching himself, which prompts a conversation about alex's past partners, misplaced shame, and self-pleasure within intimate relationships.

chauffeur alex

alex is the personal driver for henry, secret writer and infamous royal who'd abdicated and come to the states in his 20's to live freely and to marry his husband. now in his near-forties, the glamour and novelty of his story having long since worn off alongside his failing marriage, henry finds that alex is the only one he can confide in without fear -- and who is convinced that henry deserves so much more than he's getting. the last thing either of them need is to get feelings involved, but neither can say they tried as hard as they should've to have stopped them.

+

texan slang +1's

henry's been learning spanish already for the last few years in an effort to connect more with alex and his family. he did not, however, prepare for the myriad of texan-ism's that he encounters once they're back in austin, which is beginning to seem like a language all its own.

aftercare (+4 for the let's talk about sex! series)

neither alex nor henry have been in a serious relationship before and are unfamiliar with aftercare since it isn’t something they had with their previous partners. after a particularly intimate and intense round of lovemaking, they find themselves both feeling a little lost and restless, leading to a conversation about how they can best be there for each other after sex going forward. 

bottoming 101 (+5 for the let's talk about sex! series)

alex wants to bottom for the first time post-canon. henry walks him through the process—even the not-so-glamorous parts—and alex experiences a newfound appreciation for the previously unknown efforts that they go to to express their love.

dom bottom alex

self explanatory, really.

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plus probably a lot of random ideas and/or add-on's to current series!

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.

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tags (no pressure!):

@kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @everwitch-magiks @run-for-chamo-miles @firenati0n

@zwiazdziarka @miharaikko @littlemisskittentoes @judasofsuburbia @anchoredarchangel

@suseagull5914 @porcelainmortal @nocoastposts @clockwrkpendrxgon @sophie1973

@iboatedhere @getmehighonmagic @smc-27 @cha-melodius @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@caterpills @eusuntgratie @inexplicablymine @happiness-of-the-pursuit @sparklepocalypse

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @wordsofhoneydew @cricketnationrise @whimsymanaged @myheartalivewrites

@junebugclaremontdiaz @hypnostheory @blueeyedgrlwrites @futureseaempress @ninzied

@tinyarmedtrex @dizzymisslizzie @clottedcreamfudge @kj-bee @largepeachicedtea

@miss-minnelli @bananzie @starrypiscesao3 @fairflowered @4rthurfox

+ OPEN TAG please feel free to join in, and also if you're an artist feel free to modify it to include what art you're excited to make in 2025!

see you all soon! x

[the-artist-grimm]

What does Anthea do about spies/dissenters in the cult? Sorry if you answered before!

I've gotten an ask about dissenters previously, but not one about spies before!

Though all in all Anthea handles them almost the same as dissenters-they just get sent to Nona and usually either A, get so fed up with being bossed around by the old lady that they leave early or B, are forced to actually look at the cult as a community of people with names, personalities, and lives rather than just 'heretics' they can hand-wave off. Usually its the latter that happens since Anthea prefers trying to see the best in people first, especially since a lot of the bishops' followings are built on fear. Like for many they were born into the Old Faith and think the behaviors there are normal.

You catch more flies with honey, and when you're used to a leader whom would kill you without a second thought and fellow cultists who'd slit your throat to get ahead, spies suddenly finding themselves in an actual community where everyone tries to help each other can be a bit of a reality check.

Though that's not to say that Anthea takes no precautions. Dissenters are annoying but are typically quicker to subdue/are usually just angry over their pride being hurt or unused to community life. Spies however have a mission with an expectation of reward in the end. Their job is to gather information such as Anthea's movements, cult numbers, plans, weak points, ect.-things that can be used to launch an attack or hinder Anthea's crusades.

The first spy appeared not long after Barbatos' defeat, meaning the cult had 3 of Chaos' disciples in its ranks. Amdusias, Valefar, and Barbatos. (which unrelated sidenote why did I think that all the mini-bosses were witnesses??? I've been calling them all witnesses this whole time, gonna have to go edit some texts it seems now KEKW. Anyway...) As the rest of the cult was unable to fight due to either inexperience or physical injuries, Anthea decided to create a new role within the cult-one where former high-ranking generals or disciples of the Bishops, once proven trustworthy, are permitted to act at their discretion IF a threat arises when Anthea's not present. They know how to fight and how to get around outside the cult grounds without dying, and thus if a spy turns violent are allowed to physically defend, or if the spy flees they are permitted to follow and intercept. Later on as Witnesses are added they too are given the same permission, though as they trend far older (likely centuries even with many having been beside their Bishops for a long, long time), Anthea usually has them work in more scholarly areas instead.

[beomiracles]

reader is a coroner / pathologist and taehyun or yeonjun is a dead body they have autopsy but they come back alive and they fuck idk

ouuu this one's fun hehehe

tw, does this count as necrophilia? I mean he comes back to life but he's physically a corpse still, hm. penetrative sex, masturbation, reader thinks she's hallucinating (which quite frankly she might be)

working late hours, deep into the night; enveloped in complete and utter silence as you embalm the dead. ― lack of sleep was not uncommon, and it was not the first time you'd caught a glimpse of something through the corner of your eye.

tonight was a slow night, the only thing keeping you at ease being the knowledge that this was the last body of the night. he was young, probably his early twenties. your fingers brush over his hard and toned chest as you prepare to make an incison.

your gaze flickers to his his unmoving face, twisting it to the side as you study his sharp jaw, his long and dark lashes resting by the top of his cheeks. ― a shame, he was very handsome. you glance toward the identification band around his ankle. peering down at it as you read his name; Kang Taehyun.

turning around to fetch a scalpel, your attention diverts from the corpse momentarily. but when you spin back, your heart drops to the same level as his. ― for what you find is not a lifeless body, but what must've been a figment of your wildest imagination.

he's staring right back at you, dulled and bleak eyes, zeroed down on you solely. you think you might be seeing things, that this time your sleepless hallucinations ad finally caught up to you. but it only gets worse when he suddenly props himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing as he studies your unmoving frame.

the corpse, no, the man chuckles, a low and breathy laugh, rumbling deep within his chest. then he moves to fully sit up, his muscles flexing as he pushes himself off the stretcher. ― "you're pretty", he exhales, his voice raspy.

the scalpel has fallen from your grasp, hitting the floor with a screeching sound, echoing off the mortuary walls. ― this wasn't happening, you had drank one coffee too little and now you were paying the consequences.

his fingers are icy cold as they grab a firm hold of your wrist, yanking you forward. you barely register the hard crash against his firm and naked chest. the towel that previously covered him had fell to the floor and you didn't dare look down as you swallowed a gulp.

imagination surely was good. there was no way he was actually alive, and there was no way you were actually straddling his lap now. perhaps you had dozed off by the supply table. then this dream was bound to be a good one..

perhaps you could just play along with whatever fabricated images your mind conjured, even if they felt scarily real.

the corpse man, you remind yourself, looks to you with dark and gleaming eyes. a smug smirk stretches across his pale lips and before you know it, he's leaned in to kiss you. his body is freezing against your flaming hot one, but you don't pull back.

in fact, you find your hand mindlessly wander between your bodies, slipping past your white robe and inside your pants. ― the low moan you emit as your fingers dip within the fabric of your panties echoes off the sterile walls.

this was wrong. yet you can't seem to stop. your other hand grips onto his shoulder, nails digging into his bare skin, easily bruising the pale hues. ― you feel him smirk into the kiss, his hard cock nudging against your thigh as you helplessly grind onto your hand.

"more", your soft whine takes you by surprise, the demanding rolling off your tongue without as much as a second thought. ― he hums, cold hands gripping at your waist as he urges you closer. you oblige by hastily unbuttoning your robe, letting it fall from your body and pool on the cold and hard stone floor.

his fingers twist the zipper of your pants, impatiently tugging them down as your bare skin is exposed to the cool air. ― "warm", he hums when he aligns his cold but hard cock against your soaked cunt. you whimper as you tremble above him, hastily nodding as you beg for him to do more.

the man just flashes you the same smirk he had been since he awakened, burying his lifeless self inside of you with one quick thrust.

[highlady-of-prythian]

Enchanted by Starlight ── ( prologue )

SUMMARY - In a world rules by the hierarchy of Alpha's and Beta's, Avaryce is on the run - and run she does, right into the Night Court where a certain pack is in need of an Omega.

Warnings: This is my first ever story on Tumblr. Mentions of runaways and abuse, and this story includes A/B/O. Not gonna be good, so brace yourselves.

Pairings: Inner Circle x OC

---

With each step I took away from my old life, the weight of expectation and abuse suffered at the hands of those who were supposed to be my "pack" fell away, leaving only uncertainty and adrenaline in its wake. The stars blinked down on me like old companions, and I couldn't help but let out a small exhale. I was free.

I had been on the run, I suppose you could say, for the past few days. The journey long and perilous. In truth I had no idea where I was going, only that I needed to get as far away as possible from my old pack, or what was supposed to be a pack.

I sigh, slinging down my backpack ducking behind a tree. If anything this would be a good place to rest for the night. The forest had become a part of me now. It enveloped me like a mother would her child. It felt comfortable, right, in a way that was inexplainable.

I found a rock next to the stump of tree I decided to rest behind and took a seat. I grabbed the bag digging through what little bit I had. I started off with a few protein bars and water, only to now end up with half a bottle of water, and maybe a crumb or two of protein bars that would make a mouse scoff in distaste.

Seems I need to head to a town, tommorow. The thought alone made shivers run up my spine. I had been careful thus far not to run into anyone. After all, I was an Omega. One that was now packless, and alone. There's likely two things Alpha's or Beta's would do to me if spotted: take me back to my original pack, or try to mark me as their own. And we'll, neither option is viable in my opinion, especially if they're as brutal as my previous pack was to Omega's.

Since the beginning of well...forever, Alpha's were known to take an Omega and mark them as territory in packs. And since the pack I was in previously was strictly familial, I wasn't yet marked by any bonded packs as theirs. Which means I am now practically free game to any pack that wants me . . .Yay. Not.

I didn't even know which court I was near anymore. I didn't have a map or a sense of direction. I simply booked it in the middle of the night three days ago. The thought alone makes me groan in annoyance. I should have planned this better, but after a particular beating, I realized I couldn't take it anymore, that I sshouldn't.

I was not some animal to be treated so unfairly. I wouldn't sit and be caged and look pretty only to be sold off to a cruel pack to sit and bare faelings, or pups. And I wouldn't. If there was a pack that could look past me being an Omega and see me for me then I would finally think about a life settling down. But until then, I would remain packless, and alone.

My thoughts are interrupted by the growling of my stomach. "Shit." I mumbled, tiredly. I hadn't realized when I shut my eyes, or when the stars fading into nothingness above me.

---

The next morning I set back off on my journey. The winds bristled past me whipping through my strawberry blonde hair. The void in my stomach only grew, and grew. I would need to eat something soon before Ipassed out. I gulped. That's the last thing I need.

I set a faster pace forward, keeping the negative thoughts down. There wasn't time for that. It wasn't until I caught a wiff of a delectable pumpkin pie that I finally paused. The aroma of the dish made my mouth water, and oh? The scent of whipped cream filled my senses.

I was nearing a clearing, and when I finally pulled back the last bit of brush in my way, I saw it. The Night Court. Or, well, Velaris: the City of Starlight. By legs didn't care as they led me down a steep hill towards that magnificent city. Its been years since they opened the border to outsiders. It won't be a suprise to see a new face, luckily.

I saw people walking, and talking with each other, the people seemed, peaceful. Much unlike what I saw growing up. The city felt alive and refreshing. As I walked past many streets and shops, onlookers seemed to pause and look at me. Not surprising: I probably look like a mad woman looking for this pie. But I couldn't care.

Not as the scent grew nearer and nearer, until there it was. A pie, sitting on the edge of a window sill. Steam wafted off of the pastry, and my mouthed opened slightly at the sight. In front of me was a building to a art studio where I could hear the laughter and voices of children inside. No one would notice a tiny bite being gone, right? I got closer to the pie, already tasting the deliciousness when the door to the studio opens.

My eyes widen as I run to the side of the building which just so happens to be an alleyway. Praying that no one had seen me. My scent was blocked off with scentblockers, so they couldn't tell that an Omega was near. "Huh, I swear I could have heard something." A sweet melodic voice mumbles.

"Probably a stray squirrel, Fey, nothing to fear. " A soft, sweet, voice says. "Oh! I almost forgot! The pie!" I ducked further into the alley before the voice drew to close. "Can't have the kids getting to hungry, right?"

"They'll love it, Elain." The voice, "Fey" states.

"You think?" The Elain girl questions.

"I know it!" Fey exclaims. "It's so sweet that you baked it for them, they must be starving." The sympathy in her voice makes me wanna gag at the thought that I was going to eat these kids' pie. "Come on."

When the door shuts, I lean on the building with a sigh. I need to be more careful. With scentblockers I will be fine for a while, but running up to the studio and acting like a deranged female was not a part of the plan.

And now the pie is gone.

A rack of guilt flowed through me. A pie that was meant for children. A gnawed on my fist and sighed. It didn't matter. I didn't get it, anyway. No harm done, right? Wrong. Suddenly, something sharp pointed at my ribs, and I stiffen. Oh, no. I'd been caught. And now I was going back to my old pack. My face paled. I can't go back. "Turn around." A sturdy male voice said. The voice sent shivers down my spine.

He voice was like a symphony of shadows. Dark and controlled. Alluring and hypnotizing. Deep and tempting. I mentally curse. Now isn't the time to get hormonal. I obliged the mystery man, taking my time to face the man with the blade. And when I do - when I see those delectable dark eyes, and the shadows that erupted from every which way from around him, it is only then that I realize how much shit I'm in. Maybe even more so than I was before I left in the first place.

[ravetillyoucry]

THE OVERTURE

hiiiii this is the writing I promised. LMK if you would like a continuation of their Thing because now that they’re Established they are very open to Situations and whatnot. No set story just a sandbox of Scenarios type characters. 😛 the Logic of the shrinking is inspired by The Shrinking Man by Richard Matheson- maybe they’re in the same universe idk we’ll find out later

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The thing that stood out the most about that night wasn't what had actually occurred, despite how impossible and surreal it was on paper, but just how hot the whiskey tasted before Cassidy came stumbling out of that bar and into the rickety old gas station on the other side of the street- that's what he always remembered when he thought back on it. It still burnt the back of his throat as he half-hazardously drove the block back home, almost enough to mask the taste of his stomachs contents as they churned their way up into his mouth, pooling and waiting until he swallowed back down with a shudder. He would've just walked it if he hadn't found what he did- or, found who he did. Drunk driving was one of the few crimes he was adamantly against, not just because of the needless risk it imposed onto the people of the hick town he hated, but because he cared far too much about the Chevrolet C/10 Cheyenne he'd spent a year and a half fixing up after his father died and left it to him. It was far too cold to walk a block home whilst drunk for who he had found, however, so he'd just have to take the risk and pray to God his truck would make it back without a scratch on it.

Cassidy didn't actually know who it was that laid, all shaky and damp like a newly born fawn, on his right thigh as he drove- but what he did know was that if he would have left him out on the pavement, bathing in the fluorescence of the gas station's neon 'OPEN' sign, he would be dead. To put it bluntly, the person Cassidy had found didn't seem to be human at all. He looked like a human, sure- with straggly brown, almost black hair that stuck in strands to his face with sweat, pale sickly olive skin splattered with freckles you'd have to squint to make out properly, arms, legs, eyebrows and eyelashes, an absence of any kind of beard, a nose, both eyes, a mouth and teeth too. Undoubtedly, he looked the part of a human man- or maybe a teenaged boy- but there was one, minute detail that threw Cassidy off entirely: he was no taller, maybe even a little shorter, than his very own pointer finger. The same finger in which he'd used to hold up the little man's head, that way it didn't nearly get taken off as he'd wrapped the rest of his hand around the man's form and taken him into his truck for the ride home. Cassidy had previously been against kidnapping too, but tonight, it seemed paramount to the little freak of nature's survival.

He shivered and he shook like the leaves he was similar in size to that surrounded his little body on the corner of the pavement, but the sight was comforting to the drunken Cassidy that took him home- if he was shivering, he was alive, and that's all he wanted to preserve in his fleeting act of heroism. It wasn't a long drive at all, and if it wasn't for the little man trembling like a wind up toy using every cog and mechanical part in its equally little body just to do as small of an action as take a step, or in his case, the rise and fall of the chest as he took in what shallow breaths he could, Cassidy probably would've found himself nose first into someone's letterbox. By some miracle, he'd ended up back at his house parked as perfectly as he could on the pavement, just fifteen feet from the front door of the little bungalow he'd bought five years back with what little money scraped together after the divorce. Cassidy may not have had his children, or his dog, or even the goddamn goldfish- but he'd say he had done a mighty fine job with the place, with or without them. Despite this, as he laid the tiny man down on a throw pillow of which he couldn't remember the origin of, Cassidy found himself doing a little tidying up whilst rifling through the kitchen for the hot water bottle.

Since the birth of his daughter, Cassidy had taken a vow to never handle a person as delicate as a newborn baby was ever again. He barely trusted himself to hold any of his children, at least for the first month or so, but he was better a man than to let his wife do all the dirty work after child labour. Now here he was, swearing to himself under his breath as he- drunkenly, with one finger at a time- went to cradle the little man in his hand, the most reasonable form of transportation in order to move him onto a newfound warmth. Cassidy hoped that in soon enough time, he would stop the shivering all together and wake up, just as he was when he found him. If he hadn't have been letting out such sounds of pure terror and pain, Cassidy probably wouldn't have found him lying there. He wondered desperately who he was, if a person at all- maybe an alien or some supernatural entity with fairy powers. Being a person seemed to be the most reasonable title for the man, but that left the question of how one person could be so small lingering along with it. It couldn't be true, Cassidy would rather believe in folk tales and conspiracy theories than what he saw in front of him: that a man sort of similar to himself in some capacity could be so incredibly small.

A part of him really, really wished it was all a hallucination- that he was completely wasted and imagining as ridiculous a thing as a thumb sized man fighting for his life atop of a hot water bottle big enough to fit two or three more of him by his side- but there was nothing more real than the dampened skin and hair that tickled against the grooves of his fingerprints, than all the components that made the unreal man so inherently humanoid. Even the laws of physics couldn't deny it- there was a tiny person in his house, and Cassidy had brought him there off of his own volition, his own deep rooted need to be the hero, even for just one night. It was safe to say he didn't plan on spending any sleepless nights with his ass planted on a barstool, neck-deep into a beer bottle, anytime soon.

-

There was nowhere in the world Adam hated more than Hutchinson. Nothing good came out of it, nothing good came into it. There was nothing good about the place at all, and when there was, it'd run away faster than he could catch it. He had decided on the night of his nineteenth birthday, he would run away too. He could chase after the good things, as fleetingly as they came, and be free of the chains that kept him forged to the shit-hole of a town he had lived in his whole life. As a child, he recalled hiding under the blankets and praying to God to make him an adult, to make him twenty-five and living in some place like New York or Toronto, in an apartment with his best friend doing a job he loved, surrounded by people that didn't know or care about who he was or where he came from. That was the plan, even after his nineteenth birthday had passed, and is twentieth, and even his twenty first.

Adam had vowed to himself that he wouldn't get to twenty two if he still lived in Hutchinson, even if it meant leaving his mother to fend for herself against her new, and yet identical to the last couple of hundred, boyfriend. He was sick of taking punches for other people, it was about time he took a few for himself, as long as it meant getting the fuck away from the place he was supposed to call home. So he did. All he needed was a backpack to hold every one of his worldly possessions, and then he was gone.

Three days, that's how long he'd been hitchhiking before something had gone terribly wrong. He'd gotten only two rides in that time, the first leaving him at some motel in Abilene, and the next... Adam wasn't an idiot, that he was sure of, but he'd fallen asleep by accident essentially seconds after fastening his seatbelt and settling into the backseat of the sleek white car. A 1989 Rover 800, he was told- Adam never really cared much for cars, but he could appreciate a nice one when he saw it, especially given how new it was. Surely, a guy driving a car this fresh off the market wouldn't risk getting blood and brain stuck between the leather of the seats just to rid the world of one more sleazy queer hitching a ride for no longer than an hour or two, so Adam felt it safe enough to rest his eyes, even if just for a moment.

If he was half dead and half naked on the side of the street, he'd probably be far less panicked than he was right now. At least then he'd be able to sort of decipher what happened to him, where he was and how he could recover from it- but as he lay, fully clothed yet freezing cold on some sort of endless plain of concrete- he realised he had no idea what could have lead to his current predicament. Adam had no recollection of how he could have ended up here- he couldn't even recall how much time had passed from when he must have fallen asleep in the back of that strangers car to that very moment- but that didn't really matter, not then, at least. No, there were far, far bigger things for him to worry about.

If he was drugged, he didn't remember it, although he assumed he must have been given the sight he saw right in front of his eyes. Out of it wasn't the right descriptor for how Adam felt- he was aware, more so than usual, and he could perceive the depth of the world around him as acutely as he could whilst sober. It was impossible to see what he was seeing, but there was no other explanation- not only were there leaves and cigarette stubs as long as he felt tall at either of his sides, but there was a boot big enough to snub him out just as effortlessly, attached to a leg taller than he could comprehend, attached to a man taller than life itself. Adam couldn't hear for how hard his heart was beating, but he could tell from the dry rawness of his throat after the fact that he was screaming. Who wouldn't have been? He'd never felt such sheer terror in his life- even when faced with boys he once knew from high-school and their newly earned gun licenses, paired with their father's rifles in the back of their pickup trucks- Adam had never been so fearful for his life, until now.

Before he could see much else of the man the leg and the boot branched up to be, Adam had fainted with fear. He was eight years old again, the only thing visible through the patchwork sheet he'd had on his bed since he was a baby being the warm orange glow of the overhead light that he wasn't supposed to have turned on after he was put to bed. Maybe this was it, maybe Adam had woken up to be twenty five, and maybe the corner he had awoken upon was right outside of his city apartment. Maybe he'd fallen down the stairs and hit his head, blacking out for no longer than thirty seconds, having no worse than a concussion, being able to return to the life he'd always dreamed of.

It was apparent that none of the above was his reality when Adam awoke for a second time. At least it wasn't so cold, and at least the surface he laid across wasn't quite as uncaring as the concrete pavement, though not much less. The weight of his body sank into the silicone, forming an indent that did no good for his back, but was comfortable enough to not want to sit up from regardless. He made sure to wait a moment before opening his eyes, to listen to his surrounding, to gauge whereabouts he could possibly be just from every other sense but sight that he possessed. Unfortunately, by the end of his hardly thorough investigation, Adam had concluded that he still knew absolutely nothing about where or when in the world he was, and he'd just have to look and see for himself if he wanted to know any better.

His visual surroundings didn't clue him in much more than he'd already gathered, although they made one thing more apparent than ever: he was small. Not just small, in fact, he was tiny. Smaller than the half empty glass of water beside him, smaller than whatever it was he was laid upon, smaller than the handkerchief draped around him like a blanket, but most importantly- far, far smaller than the man sat in front of him. Screaming was no longer an option, he'd lost his voice by this point, but he could certainly stare up with his mouth agape and his pupils shrunken just as his whole body had become. The man didn't say much at first- for a minute or so, he didn't say anything at all. He just stared with equally as wide eyes as Adam's own, mirroring his expression, except with far more wonder and curiosity than the fear captured upon Adam's fingerprint sized face.

A million different questions flurried through his head- where was he, what was the date and time, was he just really small or was the man from some unknown, mythological giant realm? Now wasn't the time for questions, however. Adam couldn't think straight, let alone see clearly, or speak a word of English. Maybe he hadn't just shrank, no, it could be far worse than that. With how stiff and rigid his body felt, the most logical answer to Adam's new form was that he must be some sort of ornament or action figure. The thought was almost a nice one- that someone would want to keep him up on a mantle piece, pretty enough to be looked at, but too pretty to be touched in case he shattered into a thousand, even smaller glass pieces across the hardwood floor. That must be it- it had to be.

If he was going to be a display piece for the rest of his inanimate life, Adam thought he might as well get to know the house he'd be living in, and who would come and dust him off every now and again when said house called for some spring cleaning. The face of the man in front of him was one Adam recognised. He didn't know him personally, God no, he was certain he was far enough away from Hutchinson to see anyone who knew him as well as he knew them- but he knew what kind of man stood, or, more accurately crouched and bent down, before him. Your average small-town, mid-western, middle aged, pick-up truck owning hick with half of his brain located in his mullet and matching dickies cap- or, alternatively, cowboy hat.

Whilst the man didn't quite have the haircut, or matching sideburns and handlebar looking moustache the kinds of men Adam knew from his hometown sported, he certainly carried himself like a Hutchinson guy. A forever furrowed brow hiding behind strands of unwashed, uncut and uncombed brown-grey hair, a dirty button-up with the sleeves rolled past his elbows, calloused, hairy hands and equally as hairy arms. The type of men that would run him out of bars and off the road if they knew a man like Adam even so much as glanced in their direction for a second too long. Either way, none of what he had left behind in Hutchinson mattered anymore, and the topic soon left his mind when said giant man began to speak.

-

Cassidy thought it'd be best to let the little guy get whatever he had on his chest right off of it in the form of panicked yells and cries of confusion, but the longer he stared with vacant, glossy eyes- as if he were not in this world entirely, completely absent with just his physical form left behind- he decided it'd probably be best to give him some sort of explanation to what exactly he was doing here and who had brought him to this point. He was owed that much. He opened his mouth to speak, but in all honestly, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. What could he say? 'Hi, sorry I kidnapped you, you're in my house and I'm willing to help you return back to whatever fairy door you crawled out of once you're back to health'? No matter what Cassidy said, he knew it probably wouldn't be the best, or even the right thing to come out with given just how bizarre the circumstances were. Instead of mulling it over in his head for any longer, he decided he was better off just getting on with it and praying he didn't offend the small man and end up with a cursed bloodline for generations to come.

"Look," He started with a sigh, instinctively moving to shield his face with a thumb driving between his brows. "You're scared, you're in some unknown place with a... Well, fuck. With a fucking- giant you don't know," God. This would've been much easier if he weren't also drunk. "But, listen, I'm not gonna-hurt-cha. Okay? I wouldn't have fuckin'.. Destroyed my kitchen looking for that hot water bottle you're all cozied up on for'ya. If you understand what I'm 'tryna tell 'ya, nod your head."

And by some miracle, after a brief moment, the little man nodded his head. Not only was he a real, living breathing person, but he could understand Cassidy. They could communicate. For the first time in a long time, a rush of some unfamiliar relief and excitement crashed against his body like an incoming wave. It was something worth celebrating.

"So you understand me." Cassidy smiled wide, the small gesture of a nod from the little man bringing as much joy as hearing his own children utter their first words. Now he was sort of grateful he was at least a little sloshed- the highs were way higher this way. "That's great, that's really, really good. You don't know how relieving that is, Jesus Christ, alright. I get it if you're.. too frightened to talk or, if you can't talk at all- that's alright by me- just,"

His head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic pounding causing his stomach to churn and his eyes to water. Cassidy had almost forgotten why he ever decided to get sober.

"I'm gonna go... to the bathroom. Stay there, you've probably caught a cold at the very least with how I found you. Just, don't move. Rest up. It's late enough." By this point, his speech was slurred and his head was reeling. If he didn't take some ibuprofen in the next sixty seconds, Cassidy was sure he'd drop dead right there.

Weirdly, as he rushed off to his own bathroom and locked the door behind him, he felt the same kind of fast bumping in his chest as he did when he was feeling particularly nervous. He had no reason to be nervous at all- he was in his own home, having brought the little man in by his own volition- but nevertheless, here he was hiding out and washing his face by the sink like a teenaged girl on her first date. It would've been more humiliating hadn't he noticed just how dirty his hands were in that moment, the underneath of his fingernails being black with grit and grime he'd picked up throughout the day. Oh God, he'd held the man in these hands, he'd probably dirtied his little clothes and skin with his lack of basic hygiene.

Dampened hands scrubbed at the aged face they belonged to, no wrinkle and scowl line going untouched as Cassidy pulled and squeezed his skin, hoping to sober himself up at least a slight bit before going back out to address the elephant in the room. He didn't notice the droplets of water from his beard as they fell into the sink, he stared back at himself through the clouded, de-silvered glass of the mirror for far longer than he had intended to. This couldn't be a lucid dream, the reflection in front of him was far too accurate, too familiar to be mustered up by his unconscious subconscious mind. Cassidy took a deep breath through his nose, which proved to be a mistake once the water dripping down his face blocked his airways as he keeled over with a splutter, desperately pinching at his nostrils in an unnecessary state of panic. What he really wanted was to pass out on his bed, shoes on and all, but he couldn't. Pushing the stray strands that stuck to his forehead back, Cassidy hoped to God that the little guy did as he was told and stayed put.

Cassidy stumbled down the hallway with newfound clarity- he wasn't sure what specifically he would do in regards to the scientific anomaly sitting in his living room, but he was absolutely certain things would work out just fine. With time, he could learn where the man is from and take him back home to his family, or- in the case of which he didn't have a family at all- he could turn him in to a group of doctors or scientist that would foam at the mouth upon being given the opportunity to study such an impossibly small individual. The latter wasn't Cassidy's favourite option, but he was entirely certain that they would do a far better job at caring for the man than he would ever be able to do, so that gave him some peace of mind when mulling it over.

There would be bumps along the road, Cassidy was fully aware of that, but what he hadn't predicted was that they would come so soon after the journey had just began. Turning the corner at the end of the hallway, one small and yet remarkably alarming detail instantly caught his eye- there was no little man atop of the hot water bottle. He wasn't standing around on the coffee table, or lounging on the throw pillow Cassidy had laid out for him previously- of course he wasn't, the jump from the table to the couch was far too wide for a man of his size- and from what he could see, he wasn't on the floor nearby his feet either.

This couldn't be good, none of this could be good. Cassidy went to call out the little man's name, but he soon realised he didn't know what it was to do so. Panicking wouldn't do anyone any good, the man had probably run off due to being so scared in the first place, ranting and raving and raising his voice would only worsen their predicament. Before making any rash decisions, Cassidy let out a slew of curses under his breath, freshly slicked back hair forming into clumps in his hands as he racked through a series of options he had. He could freak out and scare the poor thing to death, or he could calmly go about finding him across the- what he previously thought to be a relatively small- expansive bungalow floors. The absurdly little legs of the man couldn't have carried him off too far, surely.

-

At first, Adam was going to comply completely with whatever he was told. His body was far from the appropriate state to cause a scene or go into any kind of frenzy, despite how badly he wanted to do either of those things, and it wasn't like he stood a chance against the giant either- he wouldn't have even if he was at his full height and in peak physical condition. Adam wasn't exactly sure what specifically made him change his mind, but the moment the sink started to run in the next few doors over, well, he got up and ran too.

Where he would go from here wasn't something he had thought about, his body overtaken with the fatal combination of fear and adrenaline, causing him to jump straight down from the coffee table and onto the rug below. Falling from an equivalent height at his normal size would've left him with a pair of broken legs at the very least, but as Adam's shrunken figure bounced about a dozen equally shrunken feet across the carpeted floor, he realised he couldn't feel even the slightest bit of pain- at least, not anything he hadn't already felt after waking up. Without wasting a second, he pushed himself up off of his stomach, slightly winded but ultimately unharmed, and began walking towards a goal he wasn't certain of just yet. The fibres of the rug reached about half way up his calf, with each step through the meadow of multicoloured threads being just as painfully difficult as the last. It was like trying to walk directly through a hedge- the microscopic branches, leaves and thorns clinging to the fabric of his tattered pants, creating a clinging static that tried to pull him back down onto his knees every time he tried to move forward.

Adam would always be far more stubborn than sorry, he'd come to realise that by the time his treacherous, tedious journey through the rug had concluded. Having stable grounds to stand on was not something he originally pictured himself being grateful for when planning his getaway from Hutchinson, but by God did he want to kiss the hard wood panelling beneath him the moment his socked feet landed flat against the floor. A moment of bliss, pure unfiltered and unbridled joy. Adam could stand still and straight in this giant world, albeit fleetingly. As short lived as it was, he wouldn't forget how happy he'd felt, even as the ground began to tremble with soft, yet steadily incoming footsteps. So, the giant was the owner of the boots Adam had taken notice of before after all. There was no time to sit and stare at the craftsmanship heading towards him, Adam didn't want to be yelled at- or worse, but mostly he feared being yelled at, at least in the moment- for directly going against the giant's wishes, so he did the only thing he could think of doing in the split second he had to take a thought process into account with his decisions.

The couch was elevated about three inches off the ground, meaning Adam barely had to lower his head in order to run straight under it. He knew all too well of how disgusting the underneath of sofas could get, but he hadn't expected it to hit him so hard at such a size. Dust and grime flew up into the air like sand in a desert as he skidded to a halt on his heel- if he wasn't being looked for in the moment, he wouldn't have tried to hard to hold back the coughs and splutters that sat in his chest.

"Hey, where'd you go?" The voice wasn't nearly as gruff as it was before, and the delivery of each word was surprisingly coherent, even through the layers of cushions and fabric it had to break through to get to Adam's tiny ears.

With eyes shut tight, Adam held his breath, one hand over his mouth, the other rubbing his irritated eyes as they threatened to spill over with tears. Even if it was just due to the dust, crying would be giving in. Adam hadn't cried in years, and he wasn't about to let a little completely illogical supernatural interference change that.

"You're already in bad shape, and I can't imagine wherever you've run off to will do you any favours." Loud creaking in the floorboards followed by brief yet powerful thuds not too far away suggested he was kneeled down now, clearly searching for him. Another thud- a hand, resting right beside the couch. Big enough to encase Adam entirely, yet not too big to slide under and into his hiding spot.

He regretted his choice before, but now- Adam was certain it was the last decision he'd ever get to make. The giant won't have any sympathy for him after such a blatant display of disobedience, surely not.

A grumble. Low and chesty, congested enough to sound almost like a growl to paranoid ears. "I'm trying to help you here. Please. Let me help you, will 'ya? That's all I'm trying to do."

Adam fully expected his words to come out all frustrated and angry, but instead, the giant sounded sort of hurt. He was pleading.

It was around now Adam had forgotten he'd been holding his breath entirely, his body desperately gasping the filthy air of the sofa's underside. He choked on his own breath, a tear rolling down his face, dripping off the tip of his nose as he bent over into a tiny, crumpled pile on the ground. If the giant was speaking, Adam wasn't listening, far too focused on the scratching of his dry throat as he gasped for some sort of clean air. Things were probably better working out this way- it was either get caught now or go forward with the nonexistent escape plan, and the latter of the two seemed so illogical and impossible that Adam would have ended up having died trying. What could he do anyway-? Open the front door and walk out? Scale fifty feet up the wall and drop down from the same height out the window? He was fully aware of his own stupidity, skating through his years in education by just barely clinging on to passing grades by the skin of his fingers, but he thought himself to have at least some amount of common sense somewhere within him.

No matter how badly Adam wanted to crawl out from his hiding place and accept whatever soft comfort or lashings that awaited him, the magnet that was the core of the earth kept him completely still- paralysed and grounded in place with fear of what was to come. What if it was all just an act, a rouse to get him to trust the giant, that way it hurts far more when the real intentions behind Adam's presence here came to light-? He couldn't think about it, especially not when the dust had already sent tears streaming down his cheeks, because now he couldn't tell if he was actually crying or not. It didn't really matter, he supposed, since it all looked the same anyway.

-

There were very rare times in Cassidy's life in which he'd felt so desperately helpless. He didn't like to think of them, he didn't associate with the person he once was, with the person that once felt that way. It was funny in a sick sense, that he was the one on his knees, calling out in a barely disguised frenzy for a man barely taller than his thumb. Holding him may have been frightening, a daunting task that quite literally put his life in Cassidy's hands, but the thought that he might be doing something good here made it worth the nerves. He cursed to himself. Of course, he was shit out of luck when it came to opportunities that proved to even just himself that he could be good. He'd been a terrible host, he ran off from the man about three sentences in and didn't even offer him anything to drink. No wonder he ran off too. Cassidy would've given himself a well deserved punch in the face if his fists weren't occupied, stuck to the ground with the weight of all the pressure he put into balling them up, hoping it'd stabilise every other part of himself by extension.

He'd almost given up entirely- having chalked the man up to being a figment of his drunken imagination after all- when he heard it. Just barely. To his left, a sound no louder than a squeak. It was him. Without wasting a second, Cassidy acted before he could think of the best course of action. He sat up from his knees, lifting the raggedy old couch with a single arm.

"What are you doing under there?" Cassidy didn't mean for it to come out so hushed and whiny, but it did just that.

Now that he could see the little man with the overhead light beaming on him- his own nerves not making him look everywhere but at his face this time around- Cassidy realised how sick he really was. Big wet eyes with even bigger circles beneath them, red nose and cheeks that had become damp with tears, his tiny body wracking with either fear or the cold, Cassidy wasn't sure which it was though.

He let out a low tut, his mouth turning to a line. "If you hadn't gotten sick before, you definitely will have now. I don't remember the last time I hoovered under there, come on out now."

Thank God there wasn't a language barrier between the two, they'd figured that part out already. After a brief moment of silent staring, the tiny man fulfilled Cassidy's request, tumbling out from under the couch with a slight limp. Had he hurt himself? Now wasn't the best time to play doctor, not after Cassidy had been hidden away from once before, not to mention how clumsy he got after drinks. It'd have to wait until the morning. Either way, any injury the man might have sustained didn't seem to slow him, and before his arms had started to ache, Cassidy was able to lower the couch back to its original position.

There it was again. Another sound that could've very easily been missed hadn't Cassidy been listening. He spoke, his little voice clearly strained, but one word: "Sorry."

If he were sober, Cassidy wouldn't have found the word quite so entertaining, so satisfying, just so pleasant as he did. The fact the word was an apology didn't matter- Cassidy wasn't mad, he wasn't even annoyed. The only thing left was the satisfaction of hearing his voice, of seeing him- for the most part- safe and sound, still in the house, where Cassidy knew he would end up alright in the end.

"So, you talk." If he were sober, Cassidy would've also felt like an idiot as he manoeuvred from his knees to lying on his stomach in his own home, on his own floor. Even if his face was small, Cassidy could still see the blank look of confusion plastered across it. He supposed he should elaborate on what he'd actually just been told rather than focusing on the obvious.

"You don't have to be sorry. I just don't want y'getting hurt, that's why I picked you up off the side of the street." Cassidy really wanted to reach out in that moment- to give a reassuring pat or something of the sort- but he didn't have the guts. He was far too afraid of his own strength.

Instead, Cassidy watched as the cogs turned in the little man's head. A tiny furrowed brow and open mouth as he processed the words that had just been spoken to him. "Side of the street..? What- what street? Where in the world?"

Cassidy frowned. The poor guy didn't know where he was or how he got there at all, did he? "Uh, Ottawa..?"

The tiny man wasted no time to interject, "Canada??" he asked, wide eyed and, weirdly enough, smiling. So, he was from this world after all. Geographical knowledge was a good sign, Cassidy supposed.

"No, Kansas." Cassidy almost felt bad telling him the truth as he watched the tiny face drop with disappointment. "Canada is a long way away, did you come from there?"

It was certainly a long ride to get there, but he'd feel bad for not offering to take the man home, especially when he was in such a state. It was the least Cassidy could really do for him, after all.

With a sigh and a hand to brush back the hair that stuck to his forehead with sweat, the little man shook his head. "No. I was hitchhiking for a couple of days before, but I came from Hutchinson."

"Oh, that's a relief. I can take you back tomorrow-"

"Please- Don't take me back." The already strained voice sounded so desperate. Cassidy had almost began to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into when it continued, "I don't know how I got like this, or if I'm gonna be like this forever- but, even if I was.. well, how I used to be, I wouldn't be able to go back. Don't make me, I'm- I'm pleading with you."

"Jesus, okay, you can calm down, I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go." Cassidy raised his hands to surrender. There was no way he'd bring the man back to a place that clearly caused him so much panic- he might as well have just left him on the pavement if he would do that- but there were a lot of things to consider before making any set plans. "You weren't always so.. small, then?"

"No." He said it so matter-of-factly, in a way that made Cassidy feel like a bit of an idiot for asking. "I don't remember shit. I got a ride off the side of the road in Abilene from this dude in a white car- a Rover, a new one. I thought, you know, you don't kill people in cars that shiny and new, so I let myself fall asleep for a while."

"And then you were on the side of the street."

"No, actually. I woke up a couple of times, but, like, briefly. We were in the middle of nowhere, just road and.. I don't know- nature I guess, and I stuck my head out of the window for a bit." He bit his lip briefly, looking around as if there were anyone else to hear what he was about to say.

Cassidy assumed he was on drugs, that he was about to be told the man had seen a UFO or something of the sort fly overhead, and that would be when he awoke. He supposed it wasn't too far fetched, especially when looking down at the man in all of his miniature glory.

"If I tell you what happened, can you not think I'm crazy?" he finally asked, quite literally trembling as he had began to pace around the floor. He looked like a little toy solider, going back and forth in his mechanically decided patterns after being wound up and set off.

Cassidy imagined himself from an aerial point of view, hunched down on the floor speaking to a man of such impossible size. It would've been funny hadn't it been his reality. "I promise, I don't think I could perceive you as any crazier than I feel right now."

"Okay." He swallowed. The man was surprisingly audible despite the difference in scale, which made Cassidy think he was probably a very good public speaker before, well, this. He didn't even know his name, but he still allowed himself to smile at the bundle of nerves and personality in front of him. Even in one of the most frightening times of his life, the little guy could project.

"There was a massive cloud out. The skies were clear, other than the one cloud- that's why I remember it. I was probably just delirious after just waking up, but.. I don't know. It- it glittered. When we passed it, I felt my whole body react. It was like one of those itchy sweaters, but it was everywhere- even on the inside, I felt it."

Cassidy didn't really have an answer. He wasn't sure if he believed it to be possible, but it wasn't like there were any other possibilities to buy into. What the hell, sure. A magical cloud made the unnamed man tiny.

"Right." He didn't mean to sound like he didn't believe the story, but.. "I know y'can't stay here forever, but there's no way I'm letting you out on your own whilst you're like this."

Of course, Cassidy didn't realise it at the time, but his words would come back to bite him in the ass a little later down the line.

The part the tiny man seemed the most perplexed about was the part Cassidy assumed to be the obvious, asking with a pitiful level of uncertainty in his voice: "You're really gonna let me stay?"

Cassidy smiled. He hadn't had someone so grateful to be in his company for a long while, if ever really. It was sort of cute, but he wouldn't say that out-loud. "If you tell me your name, sure."

"Oh, right- it's Adam." He didn't look or sound so frightened anymore, that was a good sign.

"Adam." Cassidy tested his name on the tongue. There was something so great about it, so fitting. The first man on earth, the beginning of everything. Cassidy only really started to take ideas of God into great consideration when it was late and he'd had enough to drink, in times like this one now- when he was still trying to swallow down the hot taste of whiskey that struggled to settle in his stomach.

It churned as he looked at the little man- at Adam. A gut feeling that they'd be in each other's lives for a very, very long time. "I- Well," Cassidy cleared his throat, his mind elsewhere when enough time had passed for him to return the gesture of sharing his name. "I'm Cassidy."

Saying his own name aloud always felt so strange. Introductions on the whole had always been awkward, now that he thought about it- especially when said person you're introducing yourself to is all but a couple of inches tall. He went in for a handshake before really considering the impossibility of it, leaving his open hand lingering around in Adam's vicinity, frozen as his brain short circuited on how to approach him. Cassidy closed his hand into a fist with a hiss of embarrassment, discreetly placing it back down beside Adam in an attempt to come back from such a miscalculation.

"I'll set you up a more comfortable place to sleep. Who knows, maybe you'll grow back overnight or.. Something."

Cassidy didn't really believe such kinds of miraculous miracles could occur, and he wasn't at all surprised the next morning when Adam was laid there exactly where and how he'd left him. He could say he didn't expect each of them to play such significant roles in each other's lives from that point onward, but that would be a lie. Adam couldn't stay forever, but God would he make a good go of it.

[live-laugh-lenney]

Could we maybe have a part two of this > https://www.tumblr.com/live-laugh-lenney/753590143297912832/id-honestly-love-a-little-something-where-like-yn

Fuzzy confessions and stuff perhaps?

| part one |

months had passed.

and arthur hated how he never acted on what had happened; he wanted to speak to the boys as soon as it happened, as soon as he had them away from yn so he could get their help on what he needed to do, but he chose to keep quiet. he chose to keep what happened a secret between himself and yn... which yn understood.

a change in the dynamic of their friendship group was something she didn't want to happen and she didn't want george nor chris nor arthur hill to view her differently because she'd drunkenly slept with arthur... with no regrets on either side... definitely not.

but he couldn't stand not being able to call her his.

hearing stories about how she'd gone on different dates with men that she had been set up with through becky or shannon because they were fed up with her moping around and being unhappy. deep down, she wanted arthur and not the strangers she was being set up with... but she wasn't going to force any feelings if he didn't truly feel sparks.

how wrong she was.

"this guy just straight up belched in my face and never apologised for it. he drank half the bottle of prosecco before i'd even finished my first glass, he mansplained everything he spoke about, never asked me about myself or my interests or anything and," she huffs as she fell to the sofa behind her, completely flopping down into the empty space beside george, kicking her feet up on his lap, "he was so rude to the waiting staff who were looking after us, too."

"looked like a prick when he came to pick you up so," george shrugs his shoulders, "where did you meet this one?"

"hinge, surprisingly. thought i'd give it a go after you said about it," a scoff left george's mouth and she rolls her eyes, his fingers undoing the heels buckled around her ankles and pulling them from her feet, "i thought he was going to be really nice. maybe i should just stay single? maybe, just maybe, i'm not cut out for a relationship."

"that's rubbish and you know it," george tuts at her and she pouts her lips, "maybe we should double date? i can scope your dates out and you can do the same for me. we can be each others' wingman."

a door opening catches yn offguard and she looks in the direction of where the sound of the creaking hinge came from, making eye contact with arthur as he steps foot out of the bathroom, a soft smile on his lips.

"you don't look like someone who's just had a good date," he says cautiously, walking into the living room and taking a seat in the seat he'd been sat in previously, "what happened this time?"

"terrible table manners, a major narcissist and rude to those around him," yn grumbles and sits up, folding her arms across her chest as she let her eyes wander to the television, "i wasted so much of my time picking out this outfit, buying new shoes, doing my make-up and making my hair look nice. someone really has it out for me at the moment, i swear."

arthur gives her a sympathetic smile before he diverts his attention to his phone.

all he could think about was how she'd never be treated so badly if he just said something, if he put his fears and worries aside, and finally acted on the feelings he was feeling deep inside.

because he found himself thinking back to that one night they shared together on holiday. when he woke up with her beside him, with their clothes in heaps around the room so there was no point in lying to one another about what had happened, with a feeling of happiness that it had happened. a memory that he found hard to shake off. and everytime he was reminded of that night, he found himself falling a little more in love with her.

"want a cup of tea?"

"that sounds so good right now," she looks at george and he stands to his feet, sliding his phone into his pocket and striding across the living room and in the direction of the kitchenette, "can i stay here tonight?"

"you're always welcome here," george says.

and with that, he disappeared around the corner to make her, and himself, a cup of tea because the idea sounding really warming and he could feel a chill in the air. the silence swallowed arthur and yn as they sat comfortably in each other's presence... but he felt his tongue burning from wanting to say something to her. he just didn't know what.

"i don't know why i bother anymore, you know?"

"hmm?"

arthur looks over at her and she frowns in his direction, her eyebrows pinching together on her browline and there's a sudden flush in her cheeks that was something other than the wind-bitten skin that she would have endured on her walk to george's flat.

"why couldn't you just ask me out, doofus?"

"again, hmm?"

arthur's confused and his heart was racing in his chest, beating quick and hard and he was surprised she couldn't hear how worked up he was feeling at her question.

"we slept together, we had such a good holiday, but we get back to england and you forget all that happened? we go back to being best friends and act like we never did anything?" she questions him and he shakes his head erratically, "then why didn't you do anything?"

"why should i? why couldn't you make the first move?"

she scowls at him when she sees the smirk toying at his lips, his phone being slipped into his picket so she had his full attention, his body shifting in his seat so he could look at her.

"i wanted to ask you out. really, i did," he starts, gulping back a thick lump in his throat before he continued, "i didn't want it to ruin what we had though. that night was amazing, from what i remember, and i didn't think we could go anywhere because i didn't know how i felt at the time. i didn't want it to change the group because we became a couple. i didn't know how to approach it, i guess."

"you've seen me go through hell on these dates and you didn't step in," she grumbles and he stands up, taking long steps in her direction and kneeling down in front of her, "be my knight in shining armour, idiot. save me so i don't have to do this anymore."

he takes her hands in his and squeezes them tight, running his thumbs across her knuckles with soft movements, eyes trained on her face as she looks at her lap.

"stay at mine tonight?" he asks her gently and lifts her head, "don't stay here. come back with me. and i'll take you home tomorrow and you can get all dressed up again, you can spend hours on your make-up and your hair, and i'll take you out in the evening and show you a proper date."

"i'm bored of dinners now. i've had too many bad ones to count," she informs him, "surprise me? but it has to be fun. not boring or generic. it has to be exciting."

"deal," he grins widely, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "consider yourself surprised." x

[funnypages]

In 2025, Tintin is entering the public domain in the US

The character of Tintin, of The Adventures of Tintin, one of my favorite comics from when I was a kid, is entering the public domain in 2025 (in the US) so I'm rereading the series and thought I'd give some history on the comic, as I dont know how well known he is among younger Americans

Who is Tintin?

Tintin, created 1929 by Belgian cartoonist Hergé (real name Georges Prosper Remi), is an ambiguously young investigative reporter and amateur detective who travels the world investigating criminal networks, hunting for treasure, exploring far away places, and solving mysteries. His enemies include crime bosses, foreign dictators, drug smugglers, human traffickers, and sorcerers. Hergé wrote 23 Tintin Adventures (as well as a partially finished 24th story published a few years after his death) from 1929-1976.

Tintin's allies and recurring cast include (L-R in bottom image): Professor Cuthbert Calculus (Tryphon Tournesol in OG French) a hard of hearing but brilliant scientist, Captain Haddock a foul mouthed alchololic ships captain (and Tintin's closest friend), Snowy (Milou) his smarter than normal dog, Detectives Thomson and Thompson (Dupont et Dupond) bumbling identical twin detectives, and Bianca Castafiore an Italian opera singer who Tintin often bumps into on his travels

Tintin and Spielberg

I would say most Americans, particularly younger ones, if they have heard of Tintin, it is from the 2011 CGI Spielberg movie

The story goes that Spielberg, after the first Indiana Jones movie came out, was on vacation in Europe and was confused about why so many European reviews (positively) compared Indiana Jones to "Tintin." He then read some of the comics, fell in love with them, and go in contact with Hergé, who he discovered was a big fan of his work. This led to an agreement that Spielberg would be the one to adapt his comics into a movie.

Tintin and Racism

Where should I start? So we need to address the elephant in the room about Tintin. Several of the early stories are quit racist, although I will give some more context about them

The most infamous Tintin story is the 2nd one, Tintin in the Congo, involves Tintin going to the 1930s Belgian Congo and encountering indigenous people there. It is just as bad as you would expect (although I have seen some articles from Congolese people, that it is so bad it wraps around to being hilarious, but of course YMMV). In addition the series as a whole does have some problematic portrayals of POC, I would say the worst being Indigenous Americans and Arab/Middle Easterners

That being said, I will give Hergé credit and say that you do see his views evolve over the 60 years he was writing these stories, and he does make a significant shift early on. The 5th Tintin story The Blue Lotus, involves Tintin going to 1930s Shanghai. Hergé knew basically nothing about China and had previously had some very steyoticpal Asian characters in earlier stories, but on the advice of a friend, he decided to get in contact with several Chinese students studying at universities in Brussels. There he met sculptor Zhang Chongren, who became a life long friend of Hergé and educated him on issues of imperialism in China. The end result is The Blue Lotus is (for 1936) a surprisingly nuanced and sympathetic portrayal of China and its people, with the main villains being Japanese and European imperialists, and Zhang even inspiring a character Chang Chong-Chen, who is a recurring character across the whole series.

After this point I would make an argument that you see a much better shift in Hergé's depictions of POC. They are still often of their time, but if you compare them to his earlier stories they are significantly more nuanced and sympathetic. Two examples of this are

The Seven Crystal Balls/Prisoners of the Sun - stories 13-14, that call out and criticize Western archeologists looting Indigenous American artifacts

The Castafiore Emerald - story 21, that has a significant subplot involving a local Roma community, with the characters being disgusted at how they are treated by local people and cops and how they are scapegoated for the central crime of the story. Its honestly a portrayal that would be considered pretty progressive for 2025 Belgium, let alone 1961.

What would I like to see in new Tintin stories?

So it's worth noting that A) Tintin is only in the public domain in the US and B) only characters that appear in the original 1929 comic (i.e. Tintin and Snowy) are entering PD; Haddock, Calculus, and the others wouldn't enter till later.

However here are a few ideas for future Tintin stories I would like to see

Remake the first 2 stories - The first two Tintin stories - Tintin in the Land of the Soviets and Tintin in the Congo - are not good. Not just story wise but they lack the art style and tone of the series as a whole. I would like to see the two stories remade with better sensibilities and tone constant to the rest of the series.

Who Dun Its and Ghost Stories - Go full Agatha Cristie/Scooby Doo and have Tintin solving mysteries and debunking stuff.

Adventure Archeologist - There is a reason why people have made the Indiana Jones/Tintin connection. Some of the best Tintin stories involve him going on treasure hunts and honestly all 5 of the IJ movies could be Tintin stories with some tweaks. Have Tintin go on adventures to find Atlantis, El Dorado, Noah's Ark, and Excalibur.

Lovecraftian Horror - Artist Murray Groat did some great covers years back of Tintin/Lovecraft stories and yeah, I want this. You could easily make At the Mountains of Madness a Tintin story.

[humbledragon669]

S2E3 - I Know Where I'm Going Write Up P2 - Edinburgh (1827)

I have a sneaky feeling that this might be a short one - if I try and do the first Edinburgh section as well as the next “present day” section, this is probably going to come out way too long, but let’s see.

There’s something missing for this introductory Edinburgh scene - have you noticed? This is the first time we’re introduced to a new time period without a banner on the screen to announce when and where the action is set. We do of course have Aziraphale’s voiceover to provide us with that information, so it’s not like there’s any confusion caused by the lack of a banner, I just find the absence of one interesting, particularly if you consider that the opening for the scene from 1862, likely the next time they meet after 1827 (not counting the alleged meeting Crowley calls in 1859 according to the Script Book), also differed from its flashback counterparts in Hard Times (it was the only banner to be incorporated into the scene - appearing below the surface of the water in St. James Park).

Moving on to this delightfully teenage-girl side of Aziraphale that we get to see with him writing in his diary. First thing’s first - the voiceover tells us this is volume 603 of his diaries. My first thoughts about this were along the lines of “where the hell are the other 602 and what do they contain” and “how many more were there after this one”, but the significance of the specific number used here is likely to be much simpler, and a Good Omens favourite - Strong’s Concordance. According to my research, the number 603 in the Greek version of the Concordance translates to “eager expectation, earnest longing”, which seems very fitting for a chronicle of Aziraphale’s adventures with Crowley. But wait! There’s more…

So Aziraphale is writing in his diary about the journey to Edinburgh on the 10th November (he goes on to add the year as 1827 but you can’t make out the beginning of the date very well once it’s been added). I found myself wondering if there was anything special about this date, and honestly what I found blew my mind a little bit. I cannot believe that this is a coincidence, and once more my hat is well and truly tipped to whoever discovered this gem and found a way to work it in. Because on the 10th November 1827, there was an article published in The Lancet about the lack of available anatomical subjects to work on for medical research. The article even references the high prices paid by “the resurrection men”. Don’t believe me? Here’s the link. Very sadly I could not attribute a name to the author, but I kind of don’t care. Fucking chapeau of the highest order for this little treat, honestly. As to the diary entry previous to this, I was unable to decipher it myself but I was able to figure out enough of it to Google some of the phrases. Turns out the content has already been confirmed to us by the author:

This sounds like a very exciting adventure for Aziraphale to have undertaken on his own! I love the insinuation that an attempt has been made to seduce him previously, which he rigorously objected to using a line that sounds similar in subtext to the one he utters upon Shadwell’s accusation that he’s running some sort of brothel in his book shop.

Whilst I appreciate the statue of Gabriel will be used later in the episode to provide a link between the past and present-day scenes in Edinburgh, I struggle to find any narrative purpose for it. In fact, I just end up with a long list of questions about its presence, for instance:

What is its purpose?

Why has it been built in this particular graveyard in this particular city?

Who built it?

Is Gabriel aware of its existence?

Assuming that Gabriel is aware of its existence, what is his interest in it? Did he commission it, or was it commissioned for him?

See what I mean? So many questions for an object that doesn’t really have any purpose whatsoever. I know we’ll hear Aziraphale refer to it later in the episode, but even then I don’t really see a reason for him to return to the statue when there are far bigger fish to fry in his Clue hunting. Perhaps its only real purpose is to find a reason for them being in the graveyard in the first place, though that feels pretty weak: building an entire statue as a prop for it to be used in less than 30 seconds of film just as a way to justify their existence in a particular place. There is one thing that it might be good for though:

What’s that look from Aziraphale when Crowley mentions the word “beauty” in a sentence about Gabriel? It looks a little like jealousy to me. Silly angel! I have no doubt that Crowley is just using words he believes Gabriel would associate with himself but I can understand how the angel might perceive it differently, especially given that both he and Crowley lack the ability to understand the other’s subtext when they’re not in immediate danger. I really don’t think he has anything to worry about.

I love how amused Crowley is that Elspeth shows such disgust towards Aziraphale’s clear Englishman status:

Here we have another opportunity for him to get really mischievous, and I’m not just talking about Crowley. Speaking as a fellow Celt (of the Welsh variety), I can genuinely say there’s something very satisfying about English people being shown disdain. I think it’s an ingrained, from-birth thing, because I’ve never really had to work on it, it just comes naturally. With that in mind, I’m sure David must have had a lot of fun indulging his Scottish nature in both accent and attitude towards the English. Which is all pretty ironic considering how public-school-boy Crowley sounds when he’s not speaking with a Scottish accent. I find it interesting that Crowley adopts the accent so early on in this scene - it’s immediately after he hears Elspeth speak. I suspect he does it because he understands that there’s a lot of bad blood directed towards the English from the Scottish natives, which demonstrates how much further on he is in his journey towards understanding human nature than Aziraphale is.

I also find it interesting that the angel makes no attempt to stop Crowley assisting Elspeth, instead trying to reason with her directly about the perceived “wrongness” of her actions. Presumably he knows that an argument with Crowley is doomed to failure, not least because he technically still has to file reports with Hell about his Earthly achievements. What’s also notable about Aziraphale’s attempts to stop Elspeth’s bodysnatching is that he shows absolutely no understanding of the trials that real-life people face.

ELSPETH: It’s not an easy job. If the Watch catch you, you’ll swing for it. AZIRAPHALE: Well it’s not the danger of what you’re doing. Don’t you know that it’s wrong?

Of the two reasons for not doing a spot of gravedigging, personally I’d prioritise getting caught and killed over and above it being “wrong”. Not so Aziraphale; he prioritises morals over life itself, which I suppose might come from his being immortal. And when you consider the lessons he learned in Uz shown to us in the previous episode, you might think he would have some understanding for extenuating circumstances when it comes to the lives of humans. However, there is an important difference between the actions he campaigns against here, and the ones from Uz, and that’s the originator of the actions. See, in Uz he rebelled against actions he perceived to be unjust and unfair taken by Heaven. Here he asserts the moral high ground against actions he judges to be morally wrong taken by a human. I will likely do a post specifically about the minisodes when I have completed the write ups for the three episodes containing them, but for now I’ll just say this. I think these minisodes, and perhaps the entire season (I have some more work to do there), are keyed towards showing us crucially important moments, specific to Aziraphale. Epiphany creating moments you might say. In Uz he learned that the actions of Heaven cannot be said to be Good simply because Heaven is the originator. He will come to learn in this episode that actions taken by humans cannot be categorically defined as either good or bad. In 1941… well, let’s do that one when we get there, and leave this topic for a separate blog specifically geared towards the subject, because I think I could wax lyrical about it quite a bit.

Anyway, back to the theme that things don’t have to be explicitly good or bad, but can in fact be both:

Beautifully put, and subtly done. Even this poor creature Morag can understand that you can be described as something bad whilst also having good intentions and a good nature, it’s really all about the context. Unfortunately Aziraphale will need to have the point made to him in all the more explicit terms later on in the episode before it sinks in with him, despite the fact that he specifically states he sides with Morag on her view of the situation. Some foreshadowing there perhaps.

Little side note, and this one because I haven’t mentioned anything about the sound in this part so far. If you listen beneath the dialogue in this scene, you can hear a woman coughing, pretty badly, in the background. This is another one of those little elements I so love about this show. That coughing has no relevance to the immediate narrative, most people won’t even hear it, but its presence reiterates how awful the living conditions are in the “piss-drenched patch” that Elspeth and Morag call home. The scene would be poorer without it, but you’d never know why - it’s so subtle, yet so effective. And knowing that someone out there, a sound editor and an actor at the very least, had to proactively do something for it to be included makes me feel very appreciative that we have such a committed cast and crew for this show.

Here we have an explicitly stated outline of Aziraphale’s (somewhat oversimplified, IMHO) view. To sum up:

Heaven = (unconditionally) Good.

Hell = (unconditionally) evil.

Humans = can only be considered Good if they actively choose not to be evil.

Note particularly that last point - his view doesn’t extend so far as to say that humans could be considered Good if they themselves chose to be good. No, there must be an active shunning of evil for them to fit the criteria. Pretty one sided, don’t you think? Though I’m sure none of us are surprised by this.  In applying this condition though, he has automatically applied the label of “wicked” to Elspeth, purely based on her choice to do something he considers to be wicked. I think Crowley’s facial expression speaks for us all in his reaction to this exclamation:

And his counter argument to Aziraphale is rather good, isn’t it? So much more biassed towards the nuances of humanity, showing us, yet again, how much further along in his journey towards his own humanity he is when compared to Aziraphale.

I’m so glad that Crowley tries to call this out with Aziraphale, because the idea that poor people have more opportunities because of their poverty is one of the most aristocratic and arrogant things I’ve ever heard. Honestly, I’m a little ashamed to hear those words come from the angel, but playing devil’s advocate (no pun intended) I can see how these views help us as an audience appreciate how much of a change this episode causes in him. And let’s just take a quick look at his use of the term “ineffable” here. To be clear, the definition of the word I refer comes from the Oxford dictionary:

What exactly about Aziraphale’s pompous ramblings would fit with this definition exactly? It’s my belief that he knows exactly how weak his argument is at this point, and his use of this word in particular is used simply as a way of bringing a close to the argument with the (false) assertion that he’s in the right. Sort of an “agree to disagree” statement with an extra pinch of righteousness.

And so we come to the end of this section. Told you it would be a short(er) one, didn’t I? In fairness, when I started out most of the sections were around this length, and there were less of them per episode, so either I’m getting better at this, or I’m getting more pedantic/more waffly. I’m sure it’s probably one of those latter, so I am incredibly grateful for those of you that actually take time out of your day to read my ramblings. Honestly, I don’t deserve you (though I hope that Lancet Easter egg has made this one worth your while!). As always, questions, comments, discussion, always welcome. See you for the next one!

[isolatednights]

those words are enough for a shudder to make its way through his frame - an unspoken promise that despite this bump in the road, she will be right there with him - with them. "make it nice and safe for you and the kids," he murmurs in answer. in another life, maybe they'd have somewhere with access to outside - to the sun, a fresh garden and plenty of room to run around. and if he couldn't give them that, he'd find the next best thing.

he wants to say yes - that he does know - but the man finds himself torn. greedy to hear the words spoken aloud because there is no guarantee of tomorrow, let alone the next hour these days - but also terrified because he's never uttered such words to anyone but his kid sister. saying them would make this so much more real ; and it wasn't that he was unwilling to do so... just terrified. smoothing a thumb along her cheek bone, asher eventually finds himself nodding. "in our home," he agrees.

she slips away to sleep much quicker than he does - entirely distracted by her closeness. he spends the spare time observing her up close - how her lashes fall against her cheeks and the way she curls against him as if they'd always been one. but eventually, the exhaustion of the day wears away at him, and he drifts off.

hours pass, and it's only slight movement upon the mattress that drives his eyes open once more - immediately searching for a threat, only for relax upon spotting the two children curled behind eden. hiding a snort at the sight, asher eases back down. an oddity, given the man is typically the first up and moving among them - getting everyone ready for the day before they're forced to push on. the man stills completely when the children speak amongst themselves and he finds himself grateful that eden at least responds. they've become guardians to the two children certainly, but he'd never thought they'd consider him as a father. swallowing around the lump in his throat, the hand previously settled at eden's waist raises to smooth down the hair of both children. "you know how sometimes you get tired and i gotta carry you, right?" he asks, continuing once two small heads nod the affirmative at him, "your mom was just having one of those days. tired 's all. we're gonna take the day to rest up and'll move again tomorrow."

it was clear enough that eden was made to grow old somewhere where she could've woken to birds chirping, where sunlight streamed in and fresh air wafted the curtains. a home with soft features, family portraits, memories in the furniture and at the heart of it, she would be. somewhere she could live slowly, easily. that wasn't going to be her life but it should have been and though it might never have happened, she'd have still wanted him there. she knew that he thought she wouldn't like him in the world before, but she wondered if he'd have even looked at her twice. there were so many women that would've thrown themselves at him, that must she could imagine vividly and what would she have been anywhere? a girl at the other side of the counter with a silly crush on a man she'd serve baked goods and coffee too? maybe she'd have been brave enough to write her mobile number on a receipt one day. maybe he'd have seen that she'd have found a way to adore him in any life.

some nights it upset her, to know that they were such good kids and deserved everything the world would've offered them, and that it might never be right again. it might remain like this with a disbanded system, stragglers just surviving. it'd always be... surviving. she eased in to the kiss, the way he peppered her skin so affectionately. for a few moments she felt normal again, not a weak version of herself, not a girl at the end of the world but eden o'connor, crushing on a man that'd done nothing but care for her.

"we''ll find a home.." she whispered, forehead against his, heat flooding her cheeks beneath the way his hand brushed across her, he'd probably feel the heat of her blush. her nose was resting aginst the tip of his, whilst her body felt heavy she didn't feel stiff, she just seemed.. comfortable, at ease, finally. "you know, right?" her voice a barely audible whisper. "i hope you know, deep down, and one day i'll say it, in our home."

it was about ten minutes later that she stopped fighting that natural wariness in her bones, her body giving in to the sleep and rest it needed but she was still close, her body warm and flush with his but her breath was a gentle lull, she was peaceful and eden rarely slept quite that peacefully, no mumbles of a brother lost, no names from a distant world that'd long gone.. sleeping in asher's arms was by far, the most at ease she ever slept.

come morning they were both awoken by the children, they were bringing their blankets, laying beside their mom and waiting to see her eyes blink over. "mommy's awake- mommy are you okay?" the girl fretted. "daddy said she'd be okay." the boy continued. it didn't click at first, but they called her mom and they called asher dad and.. it was the first time they'd really referred to them as parents like that. she rolled, raising an arm and both of them moved to cuddle into her side. they'd worried for their mom. "i'm alright.." she shushed, a hand running up and down the girls back, swapping between the two after a moment.

[fluentisonus]

working in a factory has you thinking so much about the insane chain of labor & transport that goes into making literally anything

[yaaboi-jay]

Having the same dream that brings up old, long forgotten memories that make you realize "Hey wtf I had the same dream again???"