#why am i both of them

[itsnotmyfaultsomepeoplecantread]

I am OBSESSED with season 2 Azriphale and Crowley.

That scene where Azriphale melts down because he lied about something…. that hits so hard as an autistic person.

And Crowley just acting like it’s fine.

Every person deserves a partnership like that.

[reineydraws]

saw this quote off a v cute ushiten comic first haha check it out

i just drew them over a screenshot of hitsugibune from the back 'cuz i was lazy lol soz

[heartorbit]

figure skating set right now please. thanks

[lotus-pear]

free will is drawing ur two favorite characters together and making them gay

[showsandstuff]

Squid Game season 2 based for giving us both toxic old man Yaoi AND the gay jerks who only really have each other duo

[lonesomenecromancer]

more isat drawings yay

[starmocha]

OK, fuck it, I'll throw this idea out into the universe. Very, very rough. And I will never complete this story lmao ✌️ I was gonna do bullet points, but I am also incapable of making things easy for myself. 😔

Caleb/MC/Zayne love triangle AU where Caleb and MC had a secret relationship prior to chapter 4 that resulted in a pregnancy that won't be discovered until after The Explosion.

When U Come Back

All it took was one second for her world to disappear.

One moment she was speaking with Caleb outside Grandma Josephine's home, their conversation tensed because of a disagreement, and suddenly before she could even realize what had happened, she found herself crumbled on the floor, hearing flames crackling, the scorching heat like hellfire surrounding her.

There was an explosion. Her mind was in a frenzy as it tried to register the scene before her. Right, an explosion. Her hand was on the door handle. Caleb had gone in first and just as she was about to follow suit, she was blown back and now she lay there, her vision failing.

Caleb...Caleb...!

His necklace lay in front of her on the ground. No. It couldn't be.

Caleb!

She shakily reached for his necklace, grasping tightly as her consciousness slipped away.

When she regained consciousness later, she found herself in a hospital room.

Confused, completely disoriented, she barely registered the tears running down her face until the door opened and Zayne walked in, his eyes widened in concern.

"Doctor...Zayne...?" She still hadn't realized her cheeks were wet with tears, only being able to focus on the heavy pounding in her chest. "I...I had a bad dream...why...why am I here?"

Zayne drew in a breath. He steadied his own breathing, mindful of his tone as he questioned her gently.

"Do you not remember anything that happened earlier?"

A knot formed in her stomach.

"No," she said hesitantly, hoping the scene still vivid in her head was unreal. "I...I don't..."

Zayne understood the situation, knowing she was still in shock so he wasn't going to pressure her. He did know, unfortunately, that she needed to hear the truth.

"I'm sorry," he said, his chest tightening when he saw that flicker of fear in her eyes, "Miss Josephine and Caleb are both...deceased."

She started laughing, nearly crying in hysterics. "That's not a funny joke, Zayne."

He was quiet.

"Caleb and I had an argument earlier," she continued, speaking more to herself. Her words were pouring out frantically as fresh tears rushed down her cheeks. "We had an argument. We were going to make up later. We never go to bed angry at each other. We were..."

"I'm sorry."

There was a knock at the door and a nurse entered, apologizing quietly to the young doctor. She mentioned there were detectives who wished to speak with the patient. Zayne sent her away, saying the patient needed some time to calm down first.

Zayne stayed with her the whole time, feeling his own grief at losing a childhood friend as well.

Some time passed. She returned to work with bags under eyes, looking malnourished. She hadn't had much of an appetite lately, and sleep scared her. She found herself dreaming of that evening over and over again, reliving that moment when she and Caleb were upset at one another.

They were supposed to make up. They always made up. She caressed his necklace in her hand, her thumb brushing over the pendant, tracing the engraved message:

When U come back

Her co-workers chimed in that she should take time off. Captain Jenna herself even said the Hunters Association offered bereavement leave, but the moment she heard that term, she unknowingly shot her superior a look of intense hatred.

There were startled gasps around her, breaking her out of her stupor. She immediately apologized once she realized what she had done. She didn't want to hear that word, or any similar words that would remind her that Caleb was gone.

No one was angry at her. They were all concerned for her, seeing she was wasting away, destroying herself as she grieved.

Tara offered to take her home, helped her as she needed. Captain Jenna also issued this as an order, knowing she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Before she could protest, she suddenly felt dizzy, feeling an intense migraine and a fatigue unlike any she had felt before in her life. As she collapsed, she heard her co-workers crying out her name, and in her hand, she grasped Caleb's necklace tighter, the last thing she heard before blacking out was hearing Caleb’s voice calling her:

Pipsqueak, I’ll always be by your side.

Another hospital room.

She stared at the ceiling, still feeling fatigued. It was bound to happen, she realized, knowing the many sleepless nights had finally caught up with her.

Just as she sat up, the door opened and she immediately locked eyes with Zayne.

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” she said, “I just needed to rest at home. They didn’t need to check me into the hospital—”

Zayne stopped her from getting out of bed. He was holding a clipboard, his expression hardened. “We had to do some tests to rule out any major concerns…”

She sensed something was off about Zayne’s demeanor. “What is it? Do I have an illness or something?”

“Not quite,” he said, realizing there was no tactful way to deliver his news. He continued calmly, “You’re pregnant.”

She stared at him, not believing she had heard him correctly.

A tensed silence settled in the room, neither person able to tear their eyes off the other. Zayne waited patiently for her to register the news, seeing in her eyes the different emotions passing in quick successions. He was startled when she suddenly broke down crying, her hands settled over the flatness of her belly.

“Pregnant?” she asked again, looking up at him with tears down her cheeks.

Zayne breathed in sharply and nodded. He kept his expression neutral, hiding the fact that a mixture of feelings was warring inside him, ranging from anger to heartbreak. He had always thought he would have more time with her, a chance to cross that line of childhood friends, but it seemed all of the recent outings or late nights together were simply just two old friends catching up and nothing more.

He nodded quietly. “If you need help contacting the father—”

“It’s Caleb’s.”

The silence returned, but it was broken just as quickly as it had arrived.

“It’s Caleb’s,” she sobbed again, her arms suddenly wrapped around Zayne’s torso. He stood there rigid, unsure of what to do. There were questions swirling around in his head, but they didn’t seem to matter to him as much. All he could do—wanted to do—was comfort her.

He let his arms wrapped around her, his heart breaking again as she continued to cry.

“It’s Caleb’s…”

Zayne remained by her side. That won’t ever change, he had decided long ago. For as long as she would allow him, he would stay by her side.

He stayed with her, saving her from herself as she angrily tore herself apart, guilt-ridden that in her grief, she had allowed her baby—Caleb’s baby—to also suffer.

“You didn’t know,” he soothed her, his arms around her in comfort. “It’s still early. You hadn’t done anything wrong.”

He brushed her tears aside with his thumbs, his voice still as gentle as always. “You are allowed to grieve for as long as you need to,” he said, “I know he was important to you.”

He just hadn’t realized the extent of their relationship together. Zayne quelled his jealously before it could ever simmer. This was a deceased man, and also, his own friend. He didn’t want such ugly feelings to fester inside him like this. There were more important matters at hand now anyway.

Zayne stayed. She didn’t push him away, so he stayed.

He stayed and guided her through her first trimester. He made her ginger tea for when the morning sickness came. He advised her to rest as often as she needed since these first months were going to be rough on her body. He also made her meals often, finding the most nutritious recipes for an expectant woman.

One evening, over dinner, she asked, “Are you Doctor Zayne right now or…just Zayne?”

He looked surprised, not understanding her implication.

“It’s just…a doctor wouldn’t care about his patient this much, would he?”

“That is up for debate,” he answered, “many doctors do go above and beyond for their patients.”

“Then I’ll ask again: is this Doctor Zayne…or Zayne?”

He looked into her expectant eyes before his own drifted down to her growing middle. A small bump was forming, a reminder that she was carrying a new life inside her body. Another man’s baby.

Zayne met her gaze again. “Does it matter how I respond?”

“You don’t have to do this…”

“‘Do this?’”

“Take care of me like this,” she answered, that ever-familiar flicker of guilt returning in her eyes. “I can take care of myself. If not, Tara has also been helping me out, too, so you don’t need to—”

“If I say I am Zayne, will it change anything?”

She was silent, so he continued, his tone was soft, but his words were firm.

“If I say, I want to stay with you, will you let me?”

She looked up. “I don’t want you to have the wrong impression—”

“What impression would that be then?”

“That…I am using you.”

“I don’t believe you are. I know you aren’t,” he said, continuing, “But if I say I would let you use me, will that scare you?”

She drew in a sharp breath, feeling her heartbeat quickening. He crossed over to her side, kneeling down next to her.

“If I say, I want to stay by your side, then…will you let me?”

“Zayne…”

She slipped her hand into his, that flash of hesitancy in her eyes unmissed by him, but he was not upset by it. Not in the slightest. He wasn’t demanding anything from her, nor was he expecting anything in return.

He simply wanted to stay by her side.

That night, she slept for the first time in ages, curled into his protective embrace. The weight she had been carrying on her shoulders were lightened by his presence, his soothing words freeing her from her own shackles as she allowed him to break down her wall.

“You can sleep now, I’m here,” Zayne whispered to her as she slept. The deep troubled creases in her expression relaxed, as if in response to his words. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, his words earnest: “I will always be here.”

Gradually, over time, there were many changes happening. Her belly had grown bigger, rounding out distinctively that it suddenly made everything feel so real. She was having a baby. Caleb’s baby. The tumultuous emotions that followed would always send her down a dark path.

The baby was somehow a constant reminder of the man she had lost, but at the same time also a gift he had left for her, his promise staying true. He was still here. He would never leave her.

Just like Zayne had also promised to stay with her.

In the beginning, each passing day felt like Hell, a constant nightmare she wasn’t able to escape from. Time moved so agonizingly slow, it might as well have been frozen, trapping her in that perpetual state of grief and anger.

Then, so subtly, Zayne reached into her depths of despairs and pulled her out. He was patient, empathetic, and careful. He had never overstepped any boundary, never took advantage of her vulnerability, but he still loved her unconditionally.

Hesitantly, she began to allow herself to reciprocate, genuinely touched by all of his thoughtfulness and concerns. Some days, she might even admit that she adored him. She adored the way he interacted with the children in the pediatric ward, she adored the way he enjoyed eating sweets, she adored how he always put others above himself. It made her want to take care of him herself, wanting to return the love she was receiving. She also wanted him to feel as loved and cherished as he made her feel.

The first time she kissed him it took them both by surprise.

She was nearing six months before she finally felt the baby’s first movements. After weeks of carrying this growing anxiety inside her that something could be wrong with the baby or pregnancy, the moment she felt those first few gentle kicks had her laughing in joy for the first time in months.

Zayne had just finished building a crib for the nursery when she rushed into the room in her delicate condition, throwing herself into his embrace.

When she guided his hand to her belly, his look of surprise staying only briefly before a small smile replaced it. Without thinking, she leaned up and kissed him, and instead of feeling shocked, Zayne responded immediately, feeling joy swelled in his own chest.

He had been by her side through all of this. He had taken care of her when she was sick or tired. He had been the one to comfort her through her mood swings. He was there helping her buy maternity clothes or choosing the necessary items the baby would need. In times, he realized, he had also grown to care about the baby she carried—even if it was not his.

Now, he felt a new emotion stirring inside him. She wanted him to be the first to hear the news. She wanted him to feel the movements alongside her. She kissed him. He wanted to be bolder.

He cupped her face in his hands and guided her lips back to his, relishing in the way she responded, her wall coming down completely as she surrendered to her feelings for him.

It was almost like playing make-believe.

Their feelings for one another were genuine, but sometimes they would forget. At least until someone, naively, took off the rose-tinted glasses they wore.

Congratulations. You two must be so thrilled about the baby.

Oh, what a beautiful couple. Their baby will surely be beautiful as well.

Have you picked out a name yet?

They responded to such comments with polite smiles, but once they were alone, the masks fell off.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why are you apologizing?” Zayne asked, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She didn’t do anything wrong, but she still felt like she needed to apologize to him. Zayne had never said anything, never showed her the slightest inkling that he might be affected by such words or speculations, but she felt like she knew Zayne just as well as he knew her.

She knew he never wanted her to see when he was hurting.

“They’re just words,” he said calmly, his hand reaching over to rub lazy circles around her belly. “I will not love him any less just because he’s not my biological child.”

Zayne meant every word.

The moment the baby was born, after over twenty-six hours of labor, she watched as Zayne cradled the newborn with such tender care. Anyone who would see him hold the baby boy would never suspect that he wasn’t the father.

There were so many bittersweet feelings that lingered, the grip they had on her firm and unyielding. Never once did she dare to relinquish the guilt she carried.

She felt guilty for letting another man into her life again, feeling like she was betraying Caleb, letting the memory of him be overridden. She also felt guilty to Zayne, feeling like he was picking up the broken pieces of her and mending her back again to some semblance of a person but never completely whole. She felt guilty to both men. One for losing her heart to another and the other for never having her full heart as his alone.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

She gasped when the hospital bed shifted with Zayne’s sudden weight. He sat on the edge, the baby tucked in his arms protectively. He reached out and brushed away some of her tears. She hadn’t realized that she had started crying. She was feeling so many things at once all stemming from different origins.

She was exhausted from the long grueling hours of labor. She was emotionally overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last nine months. She knew her hormones were still out of control, heightening everything she felt to an extreme degree.

“I’m just tired,” she fibbed weakly. The exhaustion on her face was clear as day. Zayne could sense she was withholding something from him, but he knew when to not pressure her. In due time, he knew she would open herself up more to him.

For now, he accepted her benign lie.

The baby started to fuss, alerting the both of them. Zayne chuckled and gently passed the newborn over to his mother.

“He must want his mama now,” Zayne said lightheartedly. He was startled when she started to tremble, droplets of her tears falling suddenly. She was trying to hold her emotions back, but something in the way Zayne spoke seemed to have triggered her.

He gathered her into his embrace and he shushed her gently. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head and just cried against him. “I’m sorry… I’m just… I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t force yourself,” he said softly. “You’ve been through a lot. You don’t need to be so harsh on yourself.”

It was tearing him apart inside to see her still so beaten down. He continued in the same soothing tone, “Just breathe.”

Slowly, she managed to compose herself. She stayed in his embrace, her eyes peering down at the sleeping baby in her arms, her breathing nearly stopping now that she fully looked at the newborn she carried.

“He looks like Caleb.”

“He does,” Zayne agreed, and he kissed the top of her head again, his hold on her just a bit tighter.

The baby looked like Caleb and as time passed, the little boy grew up behaving so similarly to the deceased man. She found both joy and heartbreak in this, feeling happy that Caleb continued to live on in this child, but also saddened that it was a reminder of who she had lost.

She supposed she would never let go of these feelings. It would be too heartless if she did.

“Daddy, apple!”

“Alright, alright,” Zayne said with a knowing smile as he carried in his arms the small toddler, the child’s bright demeanor and appearance reminiscent of little cherubs. He set the little boy on the counter as he retrieved an apple and washed it clean. He expertly peeled the skin before he cut the fruit up into small chunks.

“Say ‘ah’,” Zayne spoke as he guided the small chunk into the toddler’s eager mouth. He smiled as the boy clapped his hands together in pure delight at the sweet taste of the fresh fruit. “Is it good?”

The boy nodded excitedly. Once he swallowed, he pointed at his mouth again. “‘nother one, Daddy, pwease?”

Zayne chuckled and leaned down. “Can I have a kiss first?”

Immediately, the toddler pressed a wet kiss to Zayne’s cheek, giggling when Zayne suddenly tickled him. “Da-Daddy!”

Zayne laughed and hugged the child, kissing the top of his head before he composed himself again. “Alright, alright, Daddy won’t tickle you anymore. For now. Say ‘ah’.”

As he fed the toddler little bites, she walked in and stopped, her body leaning against the threshold to the kitchen with a fond smile.

Fatherhood looked good on Zayne. He had taken on the role so seamlessly, never once showing any resentment to the little boy that was not his. If anything, there was so much love and adoration in Zayne’s eyes and the way he cared for the child.

It dawned on her that Zayne had been in her son’s life from the beginning. He had cared for her throughout her pregnancy. He was the one who had spent many sleepless nights with a crying newborn so she could rest. He was there to nurse her son through his first fever.

Zayne was always there, always theirs.

So, when the little boy uttered his first word Dada, it shocked them both. When the child clung to Zayne, falling asleep in his safe embrace, they both realized this life they had come to build together was something beautiful.

They could make this work.

They could be a family of three.

It was going to be beautiful.

It had been several years since she had stepped foot back in Skyhaven, remembering old visits to see Caleb when he was studying here.

Caleb.

She sighed.

It had been a while since she had thought of him, or at the very least, in that way. There were so many things on her mind nowadays. The grief from his death would always stay with her, a throbbing pain that could never be dulled, but as time passed, she learned to live with this heartache. She had a child now—Caleb’s child—and the little boy deserved his mother’s whole attention.

She remade herself whole for her son’s sake, not wanting him to have an empty shell of a person for a mother. She also had Zayne by her side, wanting him to have someone who could love him the way he deserved. There were still so many people in the present needing her, she let herself slipped further away from the ghost of the past.

Around her neck, she still had Caleb’s necklace. It had come to be her comfort object, a charm of sorts to ground her when she was feeling lost in her head or needing some sort of reassurance.

Right now, she needed a lot of reassurances.

The current mission to infiltrate the Farspace Fleet was in jeopardy of being discovered. She had been discreet and blended in well for several weeks now, but one moment of carelessness had now secured her a place in an interrogation room where she was told the new colonel would question her himself.

Nothing, however, could prepare her when the door slid open, and a pair of old, familiar violet eyes stared her down coldly.

Ca-Caleb?

Her heart sped up, pounding against her chest as she stared in disbelief at the man before her.

“Is it really you? Ca—”

“Show some respect to the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel,” he said coldly, the authoritative tone had her frozen in her seat, her thoughts racing as she tried to make sense of this moment. The man before her was completely identical to her Caleb in both looks and voice, but the way he spoke and carried himself was not like her beloved.

Still, she wondered. Hoped, even.

She steadied her breathing before she questioned him hesitantly. “Sir, have we met before? You seem familiar…”

“You’re wrong.”

“…But you look exactly like someone I know!”

“Watch your mouth,” he said, nearly sneering. Then in a lower voice, he said, “There’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room.”

As this man was about to begin his interrogation, he noticed the necklace around her neck. He touched it, eyeing the pendant with an unreadable expression.

She spoke up, explaining, “…It belonged to someone from my childhood. He died in an explosion. Like the one in the Cascade District. I… I miss him.”

The colonel shifted his gaze to her, but his expression remained icy.

She continued, asking him, “Sir, can you tell me something? If that person hadn’t died, would he support me even now?”

He didn’t answer her directly, and instead redirected the conversation to the current interrogation. After placing a mood tracker on her, he began grilling her with a barrage of questions, his tone firm and unyielding.

Eventually, she managed to pass, the light in the interrogation room brightening and the colonel stepped forward from the shadow.

“You passed,” he said with a satisfied smile.

She felt irate. “You…”

“Surprised?” he asked, his tone much more lighthearted than it was a few minutes ago. He continued with that same teasing tone, “Sure, it’s been a while, but you already forgot about me?

She felt tears in her eyes, her chest tightening with pain. Her voice was shaky, in complete disbelief, as she questioned him hesitantly. “You… it’s you, right? Caleb.”

“Is there another me in the world?” he teased before his expression changed, looking worried. “Did I scare you?”

She immediately leapt to her feet, rushing to him. “It is you!” she cried out, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek, pausing at the last second as if she was afraid that if she tried to touch him, she would feel nothing, breaking whatever illusion she was seeing right now. “Caleb… I must be dreaming.”

He grabbed her hand before she could pull away, guiding it to his cheek as he smiled softly back to her. “It’s me…” he said, adding reassuringly, “It’s okay. I’m back.”

She started sobbing, falling into his arms, feeling his own hold on her tightening. It felt so warm and familiar, like home.

Like Caleb.

Suddenly, all of her heartaches and anguish disappeared.

He was alive. He was here, holding her again just like how he had always done. When he looked down, his gloved hand touched her chin, cradling it gently before he leaned forward, his lips pressing over hers in such a natural way as he had always done.

And she paused, remembering back home in Linkon, another man she had come to love was waiting for her, taking care of her child while she was away and fulfilling the role of father to her son, giving the boy a life he deserved.

She shouldn’t be doing this, but she couldn’t pull herself away. There were so many voices in her head competing for dominance to be heard. Some admonished her relentlessly, tearing her to shreds with cruel, heartless words while others encouraged her to stay, to linger and give in to the temptation of her desires and yearning.

She felt a trickle of tears on her cheek as she hesitantly kissed Caleb back, her heart still bleeding for him, still remembering that he was hers just like he had always been.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the tears. He brushed them away, his smile soft. “It’s okay, pipsqueak, I know this is a lot to take in and I will explain everything to you.”

She stayed in his warm embrace, cheek pressed close to his chest, and she listened. His heart was beating in his chest. He was standing here, holding her, his words warm and comforting.

Everything was still so surreal, feeling like she had stepped into an alternate reality, her mind still unable to comprehend this moment in time.

If this was just a dream, she wished to stay asleep for just a while longer. For one selfish instance, she wanted to disappear from the world, returning to Caleb and the secret paradise only they would ever know.

But it would never be like before.

In the farthest depths of her heart and mind, she knew it would never be like before.

Without thinking, she blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Caleb looked down at her confused. “Why are you apologizing?”

She looked embarrassed. Quickly, she fibbed, “We had a fight before. I…we never made up.”

It took a while before Caleb remembered, nodding in understanding. “That was a long time ago,” he said, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

She said nothing as he pulled her back into his orbit, his hold firm and secured, but in her mind, she apologized again. Whatever was brewing in the future was going to affect three childhood friends, and the ominous unknown scared her, knowing no matter how things played out, someone was going to get hurt and none of them would come out unscathed.

I’m sorry, Zayne.

Like a forbidden fruit, she greedily coveted Caleb’s kisses again, tasting sin on her lips as she began to tread down the path to damnation, willfully blinding herself to the destruction that awaited in her future.

[captain-astors]

Soft.

[bloodyfries]

Man, svsss is actually terrifying if you take away the humor and actually acknowledge what's actually happening

Like tbh I understand why sy was scared that lbh would still get revenge even after he was nice. All the other major plot lines had been happening. There were things he couldn't change, who was to say that lbh's revenge wasn't one of them

Also I don't think I'd be able to think straight if a god if some sorts played with my life, making me run around like a mouse in a maze to live. That actually terrifying. Then what happened when he failed a mission. Like, what. I'd be terrified. Sure, death was always a threat but actually experiencey arm getting ripped off??? I'd be scared out of my mind to fail missions.

Don't even get me started on the occ point reductions. Imagine being ever so slightly pushed to death because you smiled at a kid.

Sqq was either not fully registering what was going on or was not all mental alright to be as calm as he was. I'd have broken so quickly under that. Sqq deserves to be a bit insane

Edit: reread the system punishment bit and Shen Qingqiu also got his leg ripped off right before the system took him out

[zivazivc]

“Floyd, could you sing to me?”

The big brother looked up from where he was tucking the blanket under Branch’s feet. “Sure thing,” he said with a light smile.  “What would you like to hear? A lullaby?”

“I don’t know,” Branch mumbled as he nestled his head into the pillow. “You choose.”

Floyd could still see a crease of worry between his baby brother’s brows. He softly brushed a thumb over it in a silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay before he turned around to reach for their dad’s old guitar.

I think Floyd would often sing to Branch to get him to fall asleep, usually the songs and lullabies their parents sang when the older four were still little.

I know in the movie it seemed like they all left right after their fight, but I like to imagine that they just stormed off to cool off and that they actually left in the following days. And that this was the last song Floyd sang for Branch that night. :')

Both Sides Now (specifically this cover by Voncken) Rows and flows of angel hair And ice cream castles in the air And feather canyons everywhere I've looked at clouds that way But now they only block the sun They snow and rain on everyone So many things I would've done But clouds got in the way I've looked at clouds from both sides now From up and down, and still somehow It's clouds’ illusions, I recall I really don't know clouds at all Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels The dizzy dancin' way you feel When every fairy tale comes real I've looked at love that way But now it's just another show You leave 'em laughin' as you go And if you care, don't let them know Don't give yourself away I've looked at love from both sides now From give and take, and still somehow It's love's illusions, I recall I really don't know love at all Tears and fears and feeling proud To say "I love you" right out loud Dreams and schemes and circus crowds I've looked at life that way But now my friends, they’re acting strange They shake their heads, and say I've changed Well, something's lost, but something's gained In living life each day I've looked at life from both sides now From up and down And give and take And win and lose, and still somehow It's life's illusions, I recall I really don't know life... I really don't know life at all

[itsmespicaa]

The way I literally lost my mind when I saw them in the movie omg...after 40 years, my beloved twins are finally back together 😭🫶💖

(I spent like a good chunk of rewatches just trying to spot every single appearances of them HAHAHA- OTL i hope we DO get a sequel and when we do, hopefully the twins will be there too :"D)

[secriden]

This line. God, this line! It has been eating me up inside for 2 days now, because let's not forget, this line isn't about love, it's about trust. And that has implications that make me want to scream.

It's a direct reference to this moment earlier in the episode:

At the start of this discussion, Style and Fadel still have a kind of playful air about their conversation:

Style: Oh? Not even me? Fadel: You're at 80% at best. I feel like you're hiding something from me in the 20%.

In this exchange, though, there's a sense that Fadel is issuing a challenge, like there's something specific which Style can do to gain Fadel's full trust. And while Style knows there are things he cannot (yet) reveal to Fadel, I think a part of him is determined to be as honest as he can be, which is why he issues a challenge of his own by asking for more specificity:

Style: What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?

Part of this question is a simultaneously inquisitive and deflective - What (and why) do you think I'm hiding (something) from you? - but there's also a moment after Style finishes speaking where he stills and goes quiet that feels... genuine, weighty. Or, as @airenyah has pointed out in her meta on Style in episode 4, the "grounded[ness]" in Style's demeanour is a signal that Style means what he's saying in the moment. Maybe about his own desire to be worthy of Fadel's trust, maybe about how he genuinely does want this relationship to be real in whatever way that matters to Fadel.

I think Fadel sensed that too, because the moment looses all the lightheartedness it had before. Fadel pauses, and then gets a look on his face that just... breaks my heart. There's a sombreness there, like he knows he's going to have to say something that makes him sad. Fadel looks away, and then down, before he seems to steel himself and says:

Fadel: It'll never happen. No matter how much you love someone, I just don't believe that you can completely lay yourself bare in front of them.

Fadel says this like it's fact. Like what he's expressing is something foundational and true and irrefutable. It's not even about his doubt in Style's honesty, because this statement has no qualifiers or conditions put on it to connect it to Style. Rather this is what Fadel fundamentally believes about relationships and trust: he finds the very concept of being fully known and still accepted an impossibility.

Sure, maybe this is because of the falling out (or betrayal or disappearance) associated with the former lover; but I also think it might be because Fadel is acutely aware not only that he's hiding a rather big and dark secret (not to mince words, but: actual literal premeditated murder), but also about what it implies about Fadel. Because being able to kill another human, coldly and clinically and without remorse, takes a certain type of person. Because, yes, Fadel has lived through an absolutely harrowing and traumatising event (his parents' murder), but it's also undeniable that it changed him. Because there's something about Fadel that twisted dark and which he never quite got back. There's an anger, a hurt that colours every moment of his life; that enables him to look a man in the eyes, smile politely, and pull a trigger.

And at this point in their relationship, Fadel's understanding of Style is that he's... well, kind of innocent. Especially in comparison to Fadel and Bison, and even Kant.

Style, who easily reveals facts about his life which Fadel already knows (winning a car tuning competition), making Fadel doubt his own instincts about Style hiding secrets. Style, who also reveals the things Fadel doesn't know, like the tender and secret pain of a mother lost to cancer (which, now that I think about it, Fadel may also know) and his worries about a father who "lost his bearings for a bit" (which he probably doesn't). Style, who tries to comfort Fadel in his own loss by offering a safe space and a sympathetic ear.

Style, who doesn't just see Fadel for his tragedy, but is asking to be given the chance to accept all of Fadel as a person. Style, who not only wants but has the capacity, to be the only person Fadel needs to rely on. Style who, despite the sea of differences between them, understands Fadel on a level that is so very foundational.

I'm going to slightly segue and mention something that may not resonate with everyone, but really hit me in the gut this episode: because I lost my father when I was 16 after he battled cancer for 2 painful years. And this revelation about Style has totally shifted and coloured everything Style has done in a new light for me. Because not only does this totally explain Style's sometimes almost stubbornly childish demeanour (it's common in adults who've had to 'grow up' too early), but also why Style shows seemingly random flashes of insight and maturity when they are most crucial. Notably, Style has this almost instinctive sense of when he needs to back off a sore point with Fadel that I couldn't quite put my finger on until this episode.

I've seen a few jokes about Style's awkward subject change, but I've actually got a friend who I hold very dear to my heart who was one of the only people to give me a sense of normalcy and comfort when my dad was on his last few days and then at his funeral. And part of that was the instinctive way she would know when I needed to just. Not be a grieving daughter for a few minutes. To get a small respite from the overwhelming hopelessness and sense of impending loss. To get a moment to breathe and gather my strength, because knowing I was never going to see my dad again, or hear his voice, or hold his hand was tearing me apart back then. Sometimes she'd talk to me about college drama, sometimes she'd introduce a new kpop video to me, sometimes she'd just ask me what I wanted to eat and take me to go have a meal with her. And sometimes there really just isn't anything else to say other than "I'm sorry." Nothing you say - nothing you can say - is going to ever, ever make this grief go away, and in most cases, it was better when people (especially those who couldn't really understand) didn't try.

And I think if you look at Fadel very closely, there's a moment of genuine surprise (Fadel wasn't expecting the subject change at all) and then... something that looks like fondness mixed with exhausted relief. Because I don't think Fadel was ready to talk about his parents yet. This was honesty he wasn't ready to give Style, mostly prompted because Style himself had willingly been so vulnerable that a part of Fadel wanted to reciprocate. But further down that path lies not only his darkest memories, but also the connection to the part of his life he is not willing to share with Style yet. So this subject change is a relief, it's a blessing, but it's also Style knowing when he shouldn't push any further with Fadel's fragile heart.

Which brings me back to how well the episode's theme of trust (both deserved and undeserved) was woven in this episode. This is true on multiple levels and characters but I'm not even going to attempt to touch Kant in this post because... Lord, that is beyond me at the moment. Someone else needs to do that, pretty please, so I can reblog it and scream.

It starts, somewhat unexpectedly, with Fadel asking for entrance into the intimate spaces of Style's life.

So, this episode was not about Fadel's fear of his own feelings, desires, or even affection for Style - that appears to be fully addressed in episode 4. I think that's why we see Fadel be so physically affectionate and indulgent of Style in this episode. He's come to terms with his lust for Style's body (hence his comfort in initiating sex), he's accepted Style as his boyfriend and so can enjoy Style's playful teasing (still reluctantly, but Fadel is still an introvert even if he's mostly enjoying Style's rambunctious nature), and give into Style's (and Bison's and Kant's) cajoling with relatively little fuss.

He's even comfortable toying with the edges of revealing his darker and more sinister side by reminding Style implicitly about how violent Fadel has the potential to be. Recall that Fadel knows Style knows some of his capacity for violence; he just doesn't know how very thoroughly Style is aware of the full scale of this truth. It does help that Style evidences no actual fear and, in fact, looks positively euphoric. Like, buddy, pal, dearest one... please control yourself.

And yet something very, very telling is the way the show makes it a point to depict Fadel very deliberately getting drunk during the double date. Even before the date has started, Fadel looks to be about half a beer in and we see him constantly drinking, drinking, drinking during the whole date. From the conversation about trust he has with Style while Kant and Bison are being off key and adorable about it, to after Kant leaves and Bison gets worried. And we've seen Fadel cope with emotional and mental distress with alcohol before, so we know that Fadel is internally fighting some kind of very intense battle even as he is also very clearly enjoying moments with Style on this date (most notably when they're dancing by the bowling lanes and when Style asks him to go home with him).

So here's my take: rather than being about love, this is about Fadel fighting to hold onto his own philosophy on relationships and trust. Because as much as I do believe Fadel believes he's telling the truth when he tells Style that 100% trust is "impossible", I think it's clear that's not what he wants.

What he wants is to finish this last job so that the only thing he can't be honest about with Style will finally stop being a factor in his life. What he wants is to fully and completely reciprocate the openness Style seems to be giving Fadel. What he wants is to switch off his brain and let his heart lead for once, to stop fighting a battle he has no desire to win anymore, only he can't. Trust (not love) is Fadel's final frontier, and one which he can't quite give up in spite of himself.

Which is why I think Fadel intentionally gets himself drunk here. Because he wants to let his guard down around Style. He wants to open himself fully, he wants to "lay himself bare" for Style, he wants Style to know the full truth and accept him anyway - and he gets so close, but can't quite get there - because he doesn't know that Style already has.

When Style says this, Fadel thinks it's empty words, not knowing that Style has long passed the bar Fadel thinks is insurmountable. And just like Style was able to offer safety and reassurance to the vulnerability Fadel was showing in episode 4, Style instinctively gets to the core of Fadel's darkest fears again:

Style: One day, I'll be your 100%.

This isn't (just) a promise that Style will wear Fadel's stubbornness down, or that Style will be worthy of Fadel's 100% (which, already, has me in tears, ngl). Beyond that, this is Style promising Fadel isn't ruined for this; that it isn't too late, that whatever hurts and wounds Fadel has can be made whole again. That the kind of honest and all-encompassing and unconditional trust which Fadel says is impossible can, in fact, be his. That Fadel still has the capacity to trust and be trusted the way he so desperately, painfully longs for.

I know a lot of people have said Style in this episode is writing cheques he has no ability to honour, but I think it's more layered than that. Because in a very significant and profound way, Style is wholly deserving of Fadel's trust. Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. Style is a man who would stare into Fadel’s darkness and reach out first. Strip away the complication of Kant being blackmailed and dragging Style into his mission, and Style is literally perfect for Fadel. He is exactly what Fadel wants (and possibly has wanted for a very long time). He is, in fact, exactly what Fadel needs to ever experience anything beyond the shadow of a life he's had so far.

But oh, the cruel narrative means that Style is also, simultaneously, painfully undeserving of Fadel's trust; and this is something Style is very much aware of. I think that's why he's trying so very hard to be worthy in all the other ways he can be. Style's awareness of what Fadel is hiding enables Style to (counterintuitively) be completely honest about his feelings for and about Fadel even as he cannot reveal his motivations. So he gives Fadel as much honesty as he can: offers the vulnerability of his own pain and hurts; the comfort of his true understanding and acceptance.

And just as Fadel's vulnerability in the abandoned factory was met with Style choosing a form of physical connection that prioritised Fadel's pleasure (it's made very clear that Style is jerking Fadel off and that all his focus in that moment was on Fadel, not his own pleasure), so too is this moment met with Style very intentionally choosing to worship Fadel's body with all the tenderness and genuine emotional weight that Style wanted Fadel to have in their first time in the storeroom.

Because, crucially, this was Style giving Fadel the chance to lay himself at least physically bare. This is the closest either of them can get to full honesty with the secrets they both are keeping. It's why Style tries so very hard to show the care and adoration and genuine feelings he has for Fadel. Why he makes sure that the vulnerability of Fadel getting himself as drunk and as relaxed and as trusting as Fadel can allow himself to be is tied only to gentleness and tenderness and pleasure.

Because Style actually knows that Fadel can't (and shouldn't) trust him in the way Fadel truly wishes to.

And as much as I believe that Style genuinely means this from the bottom of his heart, the horrifying full truth is that it is Style that has the metaphorical knife hovering over Fadel's chest. He is the one with the capacity to actually give Fadel a new scar that would truly matter. He is, in fact, the only one Fadel wants to fully trust -- and this, along with Style's compromised heart, makes it so that the circumstances will doom them both.

[morteisshipping]

3 AM epiphany:

Han Yoohyun: loves Yoojin so much that he hates and doesn't want to exist in the world without Yoojin in it.

Sung Hyunjae: loves Yoojin so much he learns to love the world that Yoojin loves and the life he shares with Yoojin.

This is especially more special if you add the fact that both hunters find the world boring and uninteresting. Especially shj, after universe-hopping so much, he finds living to be incredibly dull that he literally longs for death that he literally cannot achieve. But meeting hyj has turn shj from passively suicidal into loving life, loving the world he's in, all bcs he meets someone who cares for him like a human being.

[turtleblogatlast]

Been thinking about how Donnie and Leo’s insecurities juxtapose each other.

Donnie is insecure about his place in the family, but confident in who he is outside of it.

Leo is secure about being a part of the family, but thinks he’s nothing outside of it.

I think it’s a very interesting comparison that reflects their respective personalities, Donnie’s “Will all I have to offer be enough?” versus Leo’s “Do I even have anything else to offer?”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 124

Bruce crouched next to the small child that had been bounding around for the last few months healing people, watching idly as they scribbled on a paper with quiet chirps. Spirit, the rest of Gotham had named them, Spirit and their Sister. 

“Hi Mr. Bat!” The child beamed from behind the mask when they finally looked up, burn scar stretching slightly. 

He ignored the gibbering man in the corner, at least for now, seeing as he’d just arrived. “Is your sister around?” The other, well he wouldn’t call them vigilantes seeing as the kids (He’d be surprised if Sister was an adult) focused more on evacuation or healing, but it was the closest word. 

“Nope!” the child put their crayons away in one of the many pockets inside the almost victorian-styled coat, one of the reasons they’d gotten their name. “Uncle Kerian is watchin’ me tonight, ‘cause Sister is busy.” 

“Uncle?” 

“Uncle!” 

Bruce could be forgiven for the startled wheeze when the literal shadows twisted and ripped, a pair of Lazarus-green eyes- or whatever they were- gleaming from the darkness, dark hair twisting as sharp teeth similar to the siblings’ were bared in very open warning. As if the giant flaming sword wasn’t enough of a warning already. 

Ah. That’s who had traumatized the several would-be kidnappers then. 

[s0fter-sin]

ghost who was chemically castrated by roba and soap who wants to help him to regain his sexual autonomy

nsfw, angst, roba, unnegotiated unsafe but consensual gun play, hopeful ending

💀🧼

ghost walks like it hangs low.

there’s a tilt to his hips and a spread in his thighs and johnny’s never been able to stop staring.

and ghost’s never asked him to.

he knows he’s seen him; he’s not exactly discreet. he swears he’s even seen him cock his hips out before to give him a better view. but he always pulls back just as they toe the line; verbal cold water on the tentative heat they almost can’t help but spark when they’re together.

it’s never a no; johnny’s not so selfish of a cunt that he’d push when he knows he isn’t welcome. it’s always a reluctance; an “i wish i could,” never in so many words. an open ended “but…” as ghost circles the reason without ever actually saying it. johnny knows it’s something personal, something more than a difference in rank could ever excuse.

so he backs off when ghost does, jokes instead of flirts and holds his breath through the agonising wait until ghost lets him in close again. waits to know if he’ll let him close again.

it’s almost anticlimactic, the end of their dance; his delicate steps and looping logic to work out why bulldozed as ghost comes out and says one random night, “i can’t fuck.”

it’s not bitter. it doesn’t grate coming out of his throat; he doesn’t spit it like it’s something to be ashamed, not twisted with insecurity as if it’s an accusation by an ex.

it’s a statement of fact.

“you can’t fuck,” johnny echoes anyway because even if it is the reason, the big why… it still doesn’t really answer anything.

“i can’t get it up,” he elaborates, this horrid blankness in his eyes like he’s reading from a script. “whatever you’re looking for, whatever you want- i can’t give it to you.”

johnny just looks at him, the chill air prickling his skin. “right,” he nods calmly. “because my interest in you starts and ends with your dick.”

that blank calm shatters. “johnny…” he warns.

“do you really think i’m that shallow?” he cuts in, curing himself for the way his voice breaks but he never thought ghost would think so low of him; that this whole time, ghost’s thought that’s the only thing he wants from him. “like i’d take you for a ride ‘n just drop you?”

“there’s a difference between not gettin’ it for one night and never gettin’ it at all,” ghost growls, turning his back on him to lean against the edge of the roof. his shoulders heave and the anger seeps from him in one long breath. “it’s not a hitch, johnny. not a performance issue or ptsd or whatever the fuck you’re thinkin’. it’s permanent. irreversible.”

irreversible.

johnny stops, cold creeping up his limbs and dousing his defensive anger. ghost is many things and when it comes to his words, chief amongst them all is deliberate. he didn’t say it’s unfixable. incurable.

irreversible.

johnny buries his selfish hurt and scuffs his boots, an unobtrusive warning of movement, and comes up beside him; just enough distance between them to catch their breaths. he leans back against the ledge and looks over the opposite side of the roof at the dark sky.

“mexico,” he murmurs. not an accusation. not even really a question but ghost collapses in on himself anyway; sinking into his crossed arms digging into the ledge.

“mexico,” he agrees just as quietly. “‘pparently, roba found it more entertaining to let me keep it but- cut the cords. more demeaning that way; cock’s gone, at least you don’t feel the urge. don’t have to look at the fuckin’ thing hang there when nothin’ fuckin’ works.

“it’s not ‘bout how i see you, johnny,” ghost promises and it’s almost apologetic. “but you like sex. eventually, you’ll want it. and i can’t give it to you. easier to just… not let it get to that point.”

johnny’s jaw flexes. everything in him wants to reject it, wants to protest that something as trivial as an orgasm is more important to him than ghost.

but he also knows words are useless here.

they stand there looking out into the gathering dark, tense silence hanging between them, and the only thing johnny knows is if he isn’t careful, he could lose the one person he cares about most.

💀🧼

ghost’s been uneasy since his abrupt confession.

he knows it was sudden, borderline cruel to dump his shit on johnny with no warning but he just couldn’t take it anymore; couldn’t take the back and forth when he knew it would never go anywhere, couldn’t take johnny’s hope when he knew he’d have to watch it twist into disgust and pity.

into disappointment.

he figures that’s the end of it; there’ll be no more flirting now, no more staring or heated looks, no more teasing him by spreading his knees out just to see the flash of hunger in his eyes. the control he felt playing with johnny knowing it was welcome, just because he could- he’ll never feel that again. not now that johnny knows the truth.

then he steps into his room to find johnny laying naked on his bed.

he’s not spread out like an offering, not throwing him some cheap sultry glance as he plays with himself. he’s not even hard; his cock limp over the cradle of his balls, his legs bent loosely together, arms under his head as if he’s settling down for the night.

ghost sighs and shuts the door behind him. “johnny…”

“i know,” johnny says and it’s gentle; not cutting him off, just getting his attention. “just… hear me out?”

there’s nothing else to say. there’s nothing johnny can say or do to fix his violated body. but ghost still crosses his arms and leans back against the door like he can anyway.

johnny pushes himself up and off the bed, closing the distance between them but still giving him enough space to breathe; to open the door behind him, to escape.

“i can never know what was taken from you,” he starts and ghost’s fingers dig into his arms. “i can never know what it means to you. and i can never get it back.”

he doesn’t break eye contact and slowly lowers himself to his knees. “but i can give you something else.”

“you?” ghost guesses flatly and as much as it warms his blood, as much as he’s imagined having johnny look up at him just like this… it’s still not enough to offset the sickening swoop in his gut when his cock doesn’t so much as twitch.

“i’m a nice bonus,” johnny purrs but his smile remains gentle. “but i’m not the main event.”

he lifts a hand and ghost readies to smack it away when he reaches for his thigh holster instead of his belt. he flicks the closing strap open and pulls his handgun, his favourite, free.

“you told me you can’t fuck,” he murmurs, popping out the clip. he taps it against the side and loads it back in with a practiced hit with the butt of his palm. “but fucking isn’t all there is.”

“johnny, what…” ghost starts just to cut himself off as johnny thumbs off the safety and loads a round into the chamber.

“you trust me?” johnny asks and it’s as loaded as the gun in his hand.

good then, that ghost knows the answer. “always have.”

johnny’s smile blooms with warmth, with pride, and it chases away any reluctance he could possibly feel. he lets him take his hands in his, wrapping them around the gun with his finger on the trigger guard. he brings the barrel up beside his temple, holding it steady before his hands fall away.

until it’s only ghost between him and a bullet.

johnny’s hands go to his belt, his movements slow enough for ghost to stop him long before he reaches his cock, forever hanging limp in his pants. but he just rubs the muzzle along his temple, almost nuzzling him with the gun as he pulls down his jeans and boxers.

he waits for johnny to take him in hand, maybe try and pantomime a handy, and his hips almost recoil at the thought.

but he doesn’t try to touch him.

instead, he takes his wrist and guides the gun to sit in front of his cock; angling it to follow the same slight curve he has then holds his hands behind his back like he’s standing at attention. he splays his knees wide, sinking deeper and ghost sucks in a harsh breath as johnny ducks under the gun; his eyes locked on his as he curls his tongue under the barrel and brings it into his mouth.

it takes every ounce of will he has to not let his hand shake around the gun as johnny gives it the slowest, messiest blowjob he’s ever seen; slowly rising higher on his knees, guiding the gun up with him as if it’s his cock hardening. his cheeks hollow as he sucks, tongue laving up the barrel and flicking out to play with the muzzle like a cockhead, moaning with every bob of his head until saliva drips off the metal and makes a mess of his chin.

ghost’s never felt so powerful as he does watching johnny hang off the end of his gun; watching his cock harden and drool between his legs without a single touch, knowing he could pull the trigger at any time and johnny would not only let him but he’d thank him.

the thought breaks him from his paralysis, drawing the gun from his lips and johnny immediately stills; rolling his wide eyes up like he’s trying to check on him. ghost pushes every ounce of heat into his gaze and cocks the gun to the side, slowly pushing it back in until johnny’s lips meet the trigger guard.

johnny whines as he fucks his mouth, thrusting his hips along with each long drag like the gun is an extension of his body; almost too rough as tears prick his eyes and his lips redden and bruise but he never asks him to stop; his cock leaking a puddle on the floor beneath him.

“you gonna cum for me, johnny?” ghost croons, holding back a groan when just his voice is enough to make him shiver. “gonna cum with my fucking gun down your throat?”

he gives a broken whimper, as close to an agreement as he can make, and ghost crowds in close. he grips the base of his mohawk, wrenching his head back until his throat is flush to the front of his thigh. johnny lets out a choked cry, eyes rolling back and he doesn’t hold back as he brutally fucks his face; feeling the bulge of his gun in his throat against his leg.

“come on, johnny; you wanna be my good little holster?” he growls and makes sure he’s watching as his finger moves from the guard to the trigger. “then take my fucking load.”

he forces the gun as deep as he can and johnny gags, his shaking body locking up as he cums untouched; painting the floor and ghost’s boot, cock twitching and pulsing hard enough to bump against his belly and leave a string of cum threading from it to his cock.

ghost watches him spasm and moan, his throat convulsing around the gun and a heated knot of satisfaction tightens in his gut; so close to the memory of an orgasm, he’s almost dizzy with it.

johnny slumps forward, his hands slipping from behind his back, and ghost quickly flicks the safety back on and drops to his knees. he slides the gun away and pulls johnny forward to collapse into his chest, taking his weight off his knees; his whole body trembling with aftershocks.

“you’re crazy, johnny,” ghost whispers, awed, and feels him smile against his chest.

“aye,” he agrees, voice raspy from his gun scraping up his throat. “how else am i supposed to prove that i mean it?”

ghost tries not to tense up; tries not to let hope sink its cruel roots into his chest. “mean it?”

johnny pulls back, his cheeks still flushed and sticky with spilled tears. “i’m yours, ghost; in any and every way you’ll have me,” he promises. “sex or no sex. this can never happen again and i’ll still never stop wanting you. it doesn’t matter to me as much as you do. you’re everythin’ to me, ghost. not your body; not what you can give me. just you.”

a knot crowds in his throat. “and you needed to deep throat my pistol to prove that?” he deflects.

and just like always, johnny lets him. “worked, didn’t it?” he winks. “you fucked my brains out.”

ghost rolls his eyes to hide the softness he knows is flooding them and helps johnny up and gets him into his shower; cleaning him of the sweat and cum and spit covering his body.

that ghost covered his body in.

his chest hitches at the reminder as he strips himself down to a single layer and all but falls into bed, tugging johnny in after him when he hesitates just slightly at the edge of the bed; splaying his still naked body over him, sated and loose.

“i really do mean it,” johnny whispers into the crook of his neck sometime later; when their breaths have settled and synced.

ghost sweeps his fingers up and down the length of his spine, skin he’s never seen. skin he now knows every inch of. “i know you do,” he whispers back.

and for once, he thinks it might be enough.