#it's important to protect ourselves and each other

[boatcats]

I saw a post on Facebook that cited a single tweet from a person with seemingly no public health or epidemiology credentials as proof that H5N1 is about to be 1918 flu epidemic, part deux, and made a number of easily disprovable, google-able claims about the mortality rate of the currently spreading strains among humans.

And when someone commented that the tone seemed pretty alarmist and unhelpful. Someone else replied "WELL, IF YOU'RE SCARED IMAGINE HOW SCARED DISABLED PEOPLE ARE."

And. Okay. Well. I am worried. To the extent that disabled people can be considered a monolith, many disabled people are worried.

Please explain to me how spreading misinformation on Facebook helps anyone?

The internet was a mistake.

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run pt 2

By the time the five of you are in the house, you’re soaked through once more, teeth chattering when the cool air of the house hits your skin as Gaz opens the door, holding it open long enough to let the dogs trot in.

“Hey! Shake over there!” He shoos, flinching when Maggie sprays him with her shake off.

“Let’s get you taken care of pretty.” Price murmurs, and you push weakly at his chest, struggling to get down. Your mind is foggy, exhaustion fighting to take over, but there are four strange men now standing in your living room, and that seemed more pressing.

Price grunts, but finally gives in, setting you on your feet, and you put as much distance between yourself and them as you can. “What do you want? What is going on here?” You demand, trying to ignore the shake of your voice.

They glance at each other, having a silent conversation, and you glance towards the stairs. You had an old cell phone, and the service this far out was absolutely shit, but it was a chance-

“We would like a place to stay.” Price’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and your eyes shoot to look at them, and a shocked laugh tumbles past your lips.

“A place to stay? After what just happened? For god’s sake I don’t even know you!” You laugh, slightly hysteric, and Price takes a cautious step towards you, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean to scare you sweetheart, honest. Didn’t think anyone lived here by the looks of it.” His tone is soft, comforting. He approaches you slowly, and you back away until your back hits the wall.

“How did you even know we were in there?” Ghost speaks this time, eyes trained on your face and you try not to crack under his gaze.

“You spooked Sebastian. In the six years I’ve lived here nothing has ever spooked that horse.” You glare, anger flaring when the four of them laugh. “You think scaring my stallion is funny?”

“No little bird, just…” Ghost trails off, chuckling and you can feel your eye twitch ever so slightly.

“It’s cute how protective you are over some animals.” He finishes, and he can tell his words are winding you up, the crinkle around his eyes indicating he finds this amusing. Bastard.

“They might just be animals to you,” You start, your frustration seeping into your words as you straighten your back. “But when I found this place they were starving and on the brink of death. I worked my ass off to make sure they made it. I worked for their trust after some asshole abandoned them here to fucking die. They are my herd, this is my land!” Your shoulders heave, sucking in a deep breath as you try to calm your racing heart.

They stare at you, quiet and you close your eyes, clenching your fist as you struggle to maintain yourself. “You broke into my barn and scared my animals, held my own knife to my throat and invited yourselves into my home. Why is god's name should I let you stay here?” You ask, opening your eyes to stare them down, and for the first time tonight, they seem to crack under your gaze for once.

“Have you… Do you have any way of hearing the news?” Price questions, wincing and you frown. “The radio when I’m cleaning the barn. Why?”

They hesitate, looking between themselves as they shuffle their feet. Your eyes bounce between them, trying to think back to anything of importance that a reporter has broadcasted as of late.

Missing sheep from a town more than four hours north of you, a four way pile up down one of the highways,a break out at the prison, a wheeler transporting 60,000 gallons of wine tipping near the river…

A break out at the prison.

You freeze, all air leaving your lungs as you stare at them, four wanted criminals standing in your living room. You feel your knees buckle.

They notice your realization, hesitation crossing Price’s face when he notices your stiff figure.

“Please. Let us explain ourselves.” He all but begs, and you feel your hands shaking.

“You are wanted criminals!” You hiss, and they cringe, their previous bravado has disappeared.

“We will explain everything to you, we swear. Just… Please give us a chance.” Soap steps forward this time, big wide eyes trained on you. They’re just as soaked as you are, and in the light of the living room you see the bags under their eyes, the tension in their shoulders. They look exhausted, and not just from this night. There’s a haunted look behind their eyes, and you curse yourself when you feel your heart ache ever so slightly.

You make a noise at the back of your throat, turning to head up the stairs.

“Pretty where are you-“

“You’re soaking my floor. You can explain it to me after I’m out of this damn gown.” You mumble, hearing one of them mumble ‘damn shame’.

“I heard that!”

After a few moments you come back, a box of clothes in hand and they all raise a brow. “Thought you said no one else lived here?” Gaz asks suspiciously when they notice it’s a box of men’s clothes. You roll your eyes, shoving it into his hands.

“They’re my ex-husbands, I took it by mistake when I moved my boxes.” You huff, crossing your arms. It’s your turn to raise a brow at their shocked expressions. “What’s with your faces?”

“What kind of eejit divorces such a gorgeous lass?” Soap asks, and you feel insulted, till you realise he’s not joking. They all look you over, and you feel your face warm at the way their eyes darken. Turning away, you clear your throat, pointing up the stairs.

“The guest room is down the hall, it has a bathroom and towels. Leave your clothes in the tub.” You order, making your way towards your bedroom. You feel the stairs shake as they bound up them, and as they pass, Price give’s your hip a little squeeze and you swat at his hand.

“Thank you pretty.”

“I haven’t said yes yet. You were just ruining my hardwood floors.” You sniff, smacking his hand once more when he doesn’t let go.

“You are testing my patience most of all.”

“You haven’t made us leave though.”

“I can change that very quickly.” You snap, pulling his hand off your side and he takes the opportunity to pull you close, leaning down next to your ear.

“But I don’t think you will, will you sweetheart?” He whispers, and you bite your lip, pushing at his chest. “For god's sake, go change you old perv.” You hiss, wiggling in his grasp and he flashes you a grin before letting you go.

You slip into your room, locking the door before pressing your head against it. What have you gotten yourself into?

You quickly take a hot shower, letting the scalding water bring warmth back to your stiff joints. You towel off quickly, slipping into an oversized hoodie and some old pajama pants.

You can still hear the shower running down the hall when you step out, a boom of thunder sounding in the distance. You slip down to the kitchen, grabbing one of your mugs. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

How could you be so foolish as to be letting escaped convicts use your bathroom?! God the feds were probably spread to every point in the world trying to track these men down. You can’t remember much the broadcast had said, just that there were four dangerous men on the run from one of the maximum security prisons a couple of hours away. How on earth did they wind up here?

You’re so lost to your thoughts you don’t hear the stairs creak, staring out into the backyard as you mull things over in your mind.

“‘Ppreciate the clothes lass, loads better!” A cheerful voice spooks you and you jump, dropping your mug to the floor. “Shit!” You curse, a matching ‘ah hell’ leaving Soap.

“Didn’t mean to scare you again bonnie, I’m sorry.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. You’re surprised to find genuine guilt there, and he gives you a sheepish look. “I’ll clean this up for ye.”

“Gone and lost us our chance Soap?” Gaz asks, frowning at the glass on the ground but Soap just waves him off. “Accident, scared the poor lass.”

“We keep doing that, she'll never give us a chance.” Gaz smiles at you, soft and sweet but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the bags under them worse after having cleaned up, and you feel that strange ache in your chest again. You glance at Soap, who is picking up the shards with his bare hands and you frown, swatting his hands away as you kneel beside him.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” You scold, and he gives you a surprised look before smiling, shrugging as he gently stops your hands from piling the remains of the mug. “Could ask the same of you bonnie, hands like these are much too pretty for such sharp things.” He mumbles, scooping up the shards without a care.

The two of them eye you nervously, and you can feel knots in your stomach. Taking a deep breath, you motion towards the living room. “Sit. I’ll make something to drink.” You offer. They raise a brow and you glance at the ground.

“I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“No need to apologize, it’s just…” Gaz starts, trying to find the words and glances at Soap.

“We’re honestly surprised you didn't run for the nearest house possible when you had the chance.” Soap says bluntly, and you wince.

“No one around for miles.” You admit, and their faces fall slightly, shoulders tensing and you clear your throat. “I said I would hear you out. I plan to.” You say firmly, turning to walk into the kitchen, just to bump into a large chest.

“I gotta worry about you keeping your mouth shut little bird?” Ghost asks, arms crossing over his chest as he stares you down.

“I do have a radio that connects me to the closest ranger station. And another for the Police station in the little town 3 hours north.” You admit, and you see his eyes flash, but you hold up your hand before he speaks.

“No. You aren’t taking it.” You snap, and his eyes narrow, exhaling sharply.

“If they don’t hear from me periodically they get worried. It’s a small town, everyone knows one another and I do have to take trips to the store every month or so.” You don’t back down from his dark gaze, but your palms feel clammy.

“They ever check up on you unannounced?” Price is last to arrive, voice stern as he levels the same cold glare as Ghost and you swallow, standing straighter, Gaz and Soap looking between the three of you nervously.

“Not unless I ask them to or I haven’t called in a few weeks. Takes too long to get out here.” Your voice shakes towards the end, slipping between the two looming men.

“You’re all here, you can start talking anytime.” You quip, and Ghost scoffs. “Got a mouth on you don’t-“

“You are asking to stay in my home. Watch it.”

He snaps his mouth shut, glaring at you and you turn your back to him. Price clears his throat, his gaze heavy on your back as you turn on the stove.

“Listen. There has to be some type of trust for this to even begin to work. You haven’t hurt me, and besides that oaf holding a knife to my throat,” You and Simon glare at one another, but he breaks first, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re a feisty little thing.” He laughs, crossing the kitchen to plop down at the kitchen table like he owns it.

“Besides that, you haven’t given me any reason you’re here to harm me or rob me, considering you have no car. You could easily overpower me and keep me locked in one of my own rooms and you haven’t. That’s a good start.” You finish, hands shaking slightly as you start to make your tea, and Price gently takes the kettle from your hands.

“But you’re still scared.” He states, and your shoulders stiffen. “Four men are in my kitchen asking to hide from the police. I’ve only put together who is who with your little code names by listening to you talk to one another. I’m sorry for being a little frightened.” You spit, jumping when you feel his large hand on your hip.

“Oh if you don’t quit that-“

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you pretty.”

“Okay! I think we all need to take a minute, yeah?” Gaz announces, him and Soap staring at the three of you nervously. You pry Price’s hand off your hip, again, pushing him away.

“Start talking, now. Before I let Soap and Gaz stay here and let the two of you rot outside.” You huff, taking a seat at the table and they seem surprised.

“I told you, I put together who is who, and those two,” You point, glaring at Price and Ghost as you speak. “Have been very respectful and kind.”

The two of them perk up, lapping up the small praise like thirsty dogs as their chests puff out.

Price frowns, keeping eye contact with you as he slips into the chair opposite of you. “We’ll behave.” He mutters, cutting a look at Ghost when he makes an offended noise in the back of his throat.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean any of the harm or fear we have caused you, really thought this place was abandoned. The boys and I appreciate you hearing us out when you have absolutely no reason to. And I… apologize.” He clears his throat, casting you a glance over before meeting your eyes once more.

“Haven’t been around such a gorgeous little thing like yourself in a long time. Forgot my manners.” He grins now, causing heat to bloom in your chest and you splutter, narrowing your eyes at him as you fight the heart crawling up your neck.

“Story. Now.”

“Oh come on pretty, am I at least forgiven?” He asks, and you know he’d deny that he’s pouting, but it still makes a small smile tug your lips.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I could sweet talk you some more.”

“Much more interested in why you were in prison.”

Price sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he relaxes in his chair.

“Better settle in. It’s a bit of a tale.” He crosses his arms, settling back.

“I’ve got all night.” You shoot back, resting your chin on your hand as you get comfortable.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[breelandwalker]

A Reminder to my U.S. Witches -

Whether you're a private practitioner or a witchy business owner, it is now more important than ever to KNOW YOUR RIGHTS.

Wicca as a religion is officially protected by Freedom of Religion under the First Amendment. This extends somewhat to other less organized pagan religions as well as the general state of Being A Witch, which is also protected by Freedom of Speech.

But we must remember that this only protects you from PROSECUTION, not PERSECUTION.

You have the legal right to present as a pagan or witch in public spaces and technically you cannot be discriminated against in the workplace for such things. However, we all know how that kind of bigotry disguises itself and the way things are going, resources for reporting and resolving such grievances may soon be in short supply.

You also have the right to own and operate a pagan-oriented or witchcraft-related business, provided that you obey all applicable tax codes and consumer protection laws. (This is why we have to mark so many of our goods and services as "For Entertainment Purposes Only," and I strongly suggest updating your disclaimers to include additional language if need be.)

Again, as we've seen, this doesn't always protect business owners from harassment or help them with seeking reparations if there's trouble. But it's important to know, as more and more "proclamations" roll out from the "new management," that executive orders do not immediately or fundamentally change the law.

This is nowhere near a comprehensive explanation of the constitutional rights and laws applicable to witches and pagans currently living in the United States. I urge everyone to familiarize themselves with all applicable laws in their area which deal with public gatherings, small businesses, consumer protection, public transit, loitering, search & seizure / "stop & frisk," and anything related to being detained by law enforcement for any reason.

Familiarize yourself also with social and legal resources in your area, just in case you or someone you know needs them. Talk to the elders in your local LGBTQ organizations as well - we've been there before.

Most importantly, build links and relationships with trusted people around you, whether it's your neighbors or your colleagues or like-minded people in the community. We all need to be looking out for each other and the more we know, the better we can protect ourselves, our homes, our livelihoods, our communities, and our rights.

(If anyone has any applicable links or information, PLEASE add them in comments and reblogs.)

Stay safe!

[manytoonepoet]

I really do love these kinds of characters: characters who are confident yet insecure, harsh yet kind, genius yet could also be clueless at times, so sure of oneself and one's abilities, yet could also not know how they could contribute to something bigger in this group project called life.

Perhaps it's the mystery that surrounds them. No, not the "tall, dark, and handsome" kind of mystery, but the kind of mystery that billows like smoke whenever you open the packaging to a puzzle, or the heavy fog that guards the gates to a new world, or even a new universe that you're about to step into. The contradiction, the beautifully enigmatic beings that are these characters, the warring sides that long and strive for domination of their bodies presents something thought-provoking that it could invite the most prestigious of scholars to study them.

You see, these characters are not just characters; they're journeys that one must experience to understand, but even then, you can't confidently say that you know them 100% because it seems as though each day adds yet another layer of complexity to their character, a new level that one must go through to proceed through the next. And the best part of all this, you are rewarded with something so profound that it coaxes you to look at your own self.

Because, you see, these characters can be so complex that only a few people would willingly try and understand them; these characters can be so complex that only fewer people would willingly try to accept them. These characters can be so complex that they feel more human than the majority of the people in this world of ours.

They don't conform to trends, they don't conform to standards, even if they long to be accepted into something there is always a part of them that recolis whenever they are being placed into a bucket in an effort to "fit in" because some unconscious, maybe subconscious, part of them understand that an adjective or two is simply unable to even begin to describe who they are, what they represent, and what they contribute to this plane of existence.

They have brains, they have hearts, they have souls, they have humanity, even.

That is why I refuse to believe that these characters have no other purpose than fleeting entertainment.

While, yes, there are no such thing as mages or fire-breathing dragons or fairies or mermaids or whatever fantastical creature you can think of. But there are people who are vain, who are selfish, who are ruthless, who are liars, who are murderous, who are evil. And there are people who are humble, who are selfless, who are kind, who are truthful, who are good. However, human as we are, it's impossible for us to be purely good; there are times when we make mistakes, whether intentionally or not for example. And these characters represent that. They embody the nuances of what it's like to be human, to war between desire and longing and desire and longing. They are the soldiers sent to war to kill to protect and bring peace and not even know if they've managed to include the ones so dear to them in that bubble of protection and peace. They are the fathers who fully understand their sons are in the wrong, but even amid a stern lecture, they can't help but worry about whether or not they're harmed. They are the child who had to lie and adjust for a friend, only to ask them if they can drop the act in private later because they know it's wrong.

They are the lessons we understand that we should learn and implement, but we just can't seem to find it in ourselves to empty our cup to leave room for those said lessons because we are too afraid of the unpredictable and different.

That is what makes these characters important. That's what makes these characters human.

That's what makes these characters so difficult to understand. And that's why I love them.

[helpnohafamilygaza]

Now that I have got your attention to something sadder, Urgently and more important🚨

Every day, we wake up to the harsh reality of war, our hearts filled with hope that one day, it will end. Yet, fear clings to us like a shadow, reminding us of our struggles.

We are a family of 17 people, The war has turned our lives upside down, displacing my family and leaving us in desperate need to help.

Now, we find ourselves living in a tent , vulnerable to the elements and lacking basic shelter. The tent offers no protection from the rain or the scorching sun, and each day brings new challenges.

Our lives have become a struggle for survival, with no source of income to sustain us. We are grappling with the rising cost of living, making it difficult to secure food, water, and medicine.🍉

Our situation is dire, and any support you can provide—be it financial assistance or moral encouragement—would make a tremendous difference.

We are calling upon your humanity to share our story and help us raise funds to evacuate to Egypt, where we hope to find safety and rebuild our lives.🍉

From the depths of our hearts, we thank you for any support you can offer. Your kindness and generosity during these dark times will never be forgotten. Together, we can foster hope and pave the way for a better future. 🍉

A simple note, do not forget that a simple donation or contribution such as sharing my blog can contribute to saving the life of an entire family. I wish you safety and security.

OUR CAMPAIGN VERIFIED BY OPERATION OLIVE BRANCH (LINE 78)

SHARED BY :

@90-ghost ( HERE )

My thanks and gratitude to all

@imjustheretotrytohelp @dlxxv-vetted-donations @xinakwans @ender--slime @sketchingdemonss @juney-blues @weirdnoisen @tortuah @milfcutlawquane @carrionsong @transwolvie @knock-off-of-me @pika-blur @pleuvoire @poryphoria-rb @gaysebastianvael @weisscreamcake @devoidaffectu @gorillawithautism @nateneedssleep @mobstrider @autisticsupervillain @trinity-9139 @aubregine-extremelyd @moostashio157 @vampiricvenus @snubbll-blog @cfo-of-antifa @unfiltered-angst @girlinafairytale @onedollopofsourcream @anyonghalimaw @finalgirlabigailhobbs @denn1s-lessing @jo-evo24 @drixelite @karlloss @kokonemo @trooper-924 @sawasawako @jdon @warm-mangoes-with-chai @turtletoria @autisticmudkip @sakurai96 @greetings-fiends @mysharona1987 @chuunisoldier @a-shade-of-blue

[mywhisperingwords]

old habits die screaming | fred g. weasley

summary: you move in with your ex, what could go wrong? word count: 7.9k masterlist

Living with your ex-boyfriend can only be a mistake, right?

It had been almost a year since you and Fred decided to end your relationship. You were better off as you had started—as friends.

It wasn’t easy at first. The wounds were fresh, the silences heavy, and the fights far too frequent. But somehow, you worked through it together.

After plenty of arguments, tears, and a lot of healing, you reached a point where you could be in the same room without feeling the overwhelming urge to run away.

If it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have fought so hard. But this was Fred. Your friendship with him had always been the most important bond in your life, and losing it wasn’t an option.

Looking back, you were glad you’d chosen to fight for that connection. Sitting now in the corner booth of your favorite pub, surrounded by friends and laughter, you couldn’t stop the wide grin spreading across your face as Fred spoke.

You could’ve jumped into his arms at his offer.

A week ago, your life had imploded spectacularly: you’d been kicked out of your flat two days after losing your job. The domino effect of disaster left you crashing on your friends’ couches, hopping from one uncomfortable sofa to another.

And while you loved your friends dearly, the experience was testing your patience, your self-esteem, and your spine.

That’s when Fred, in typical Fred fashion, swooped in with the most ridiculous yet perfect solution.

“You could stay at my place,” he’d said, a casual shrug accompanying the suggestion. “I’ve got an extra room since George moved in with his ball and chain.”

The table erupted in laughter, Angelina rolling her eyes at his choice of words, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was Fred’s familiar grin and the weight of the offer hanging in the air.

“Are you sure?” you asked, the hesitation in your voice giving away the doubts swirling in your head. “It could get… awkward, you know. With us… well, you know…”

Fred didn’t miss a beat. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I think we can do a pretty solid job of keeping our hands to ourselves.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he leaned closer. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me?”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you in that infuriatingly playful way he always did.

You couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing as his old, familiar comfort washed over you.

The conversation quickly shifted, but the decision had been made.

What could possibly go wrong with moving in with your ex?

&

Not long after that night at the pub, you found yourself in George’s old room, surrounded by far too many boxes and not nearly enough energy to deal with them. Each box seemed to mock you with its disorganized contents, and you stood there, hands on your hips, debating whether to start with clothes, books, or the sentimental knick-knacks you didn’t even remember packing.

Before you could decide, Fred’s head popped around the doorframe. “Fancy some dinner?”

You sighed in relief, your indecision instantly forgotten. “Please. Anything to escape this chaos.”

Fred grinned, disappearing down the hall. You followed him into the small kitchen, where he was already busy at the stove, stirring something in a pan that smelled faintly of garlic and herbs. You sank into one of the chairs at the tiny dining table, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him work.

For a moment, the scene felt so familiar it almost hurt. It pulled you back to all those nights when the two of you had cooked together, laughing over burnt toast or spilled sauce, stealing bites from each other’s plates.

But things were different now. There was a distance between you—a carefully constructed wall you’d both built, brick by painful brick, to protect what remained of your friendship.

You could only hope that wall wouldn’t close in on you.

Fred placed two plates on the table with a flourish, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Ta-da. I call it ‘whatever-was-in-the-fridge pasta.’ A Fred Weasley original.”

You laughed, grateful for the lightness he always managed to bring.

Dinner was simple but comforting, the kind of meal that settled warmly in your chest. The two of you slipped into an easy rhythm, trading jokes and stories like old times. You found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks, the stress of everything—your flat, your job, your entire mess of a life—fading away, if only for a little while.

For the first time since it all fell apart, you felt at peace. You glanced at Fred across the table, his familiar lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and thought that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

How wrong you had been.

&

It was on a crisp autumn morning, just a fortnight since you’d moved in, that the thought first crept into your mind:

This was a mistake.

It was a fleeting moment, almost insignificant, but it clung stubbornly to the edges of your thoughts, refusing to be shaken loose.

Since you didn’t have much to do aside from scouring the job listings and managing the mess of boxes still scattered in your room, you had the luxury of sleeping in most mornings.

Fred, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. Running the shop demanded early starts and long hours, which meant you rarely crossed paths until the evenings.

It was working.

Or at least, it had been.

Until this morning.

You shuffled into the sunlit kitchen, still half-asleep, the smell of coffee pulling you forward like a siren’s call. But as you reached the doorway, you froze, your breath catching somewhere in your throat.

Fred stood at the stove, his back to you, clad in nothing but his briefs.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him like this before—you had. Too many times to count. But that was different. Back then, he’d been yours.

Now?

Now, you didn’t know where to look.

Your heart stumbled over itself as your gaze drifted, unbidden, tracing the familiar lines of his body—the broad curve of his shoulders, the strong planes of his back, the way his muscles shifted as he moved.

And then he turned.

A smirk spread across his face, that maddeningly familiar, cocky smirk, as he held up a spatula. “Eggs?” he asked casually, as if nothing about this moment was unusual.

You blinked, feeling rooted to the spot, your mouth suddenly dry.

There was something so mundane about it—Fred cooking breakfast in his kitchen. And yet, something about it reached deep inside you and pulled. Hard.

It was too easy to imagine this being your life again. Waking up late, wandering into the kitchen to find him there, teasing you while he cooked. The scene was almost domestic, dangerously so, and it sent your mind spiraling down a path you didn’t want to take.

Because it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

Your gaze drifted, unwelcome memories forcing their way into your mind. The way his hands now gripping the frying pan had once held your hips, firm and possessive. The way his bare skin had felt against yours in the dim light of his bedroom.

Your breath hitched, and you snapped yourself out of it, gripping the doorframe as if the wood could anchor you to reality.

You had no right to think of him like that anymore.

Clearing your throat, you forced a shaky smile and stepped further into the kitchen. “Don’t you own a shirt?”

Fred grinned, unbothered by your obvious fluster. “Not when I’m cooking,” he quipped, flipping the eggs with a practiced ease. “Adds a bit of danger to the whole process, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, hoping he couldn’t see the way your cheeks burned. “Or maybe it’s just lazy,” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected as you grabbed a mug and poured yourself some coffee.

Fred chuckled, low and warm, and for a second, you let yourself bask in the sound. It had always been your favorite.

But then his voice broke the moment. “What’s got you up so early anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said, sipping your coffee to avoid looking at him.

“Hmm,” he murmured, as if he didn’t entirely believe you, but thankfully, he didn’t press.

The conversation shifted to easier topics, and you tried to focus on his words, on anything other than the fact that he was standing so close, so familiar, and yet so utterly out of reach.

But even after he left for the shop, the image of him standing there, half-dressed and utterly at ease, stayed with you.

And for the rest of the day, that tiny, insignificant moment stuck to the edges of your mind, whispering the truth you didn’t want to admit.

Maybe this wasn’t working.

Maybe this had been a mistake after all.

&

The first snow of the season came unexpectedly.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, distractedly flipping through another edition of the Daily Prophet job listings, when Fred came bursting through the door, his hair dusted with flakes, a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

“It’s snowing!” he announced, shaking the cold off like an overexcited puppy.

You looked up, startled, and frowned at the wet footprints trailing in behind him. “Fred, you’re getting the floor all—”

“Forget the floor! Come outside!”

“Fred, I don’t even have shoes on—”

Before you could protest further, he grabbed your hand and tugged you out of your chair, pulling you toward the door.

“Fred!” you yelped as the cold air hit you, your socks instantly soaked when you stepped out onto the snowy stoop.

But you didn’t have time to be annoyed. Fred was already crouched down, packing a snowball with the expertise of someone who’d been doing it his entire life. He grinned up at you, mischievous and boyish, the sight of it almost enough to steal your breath.

“Oh, no,” you said, holding up your hands. “Don’t even think about—”

Before you could finish, the snowball hit you square in the chest, exploding into a flurry of cold, powdery shards.

“Fred!”

You didn’t even think. Instinct took over, and within seconds you were scooping up your own handful of snow, chasing him as he darted out into the yard.

The next few minutes were filled with laughter and shouted threats, snow flying as the two of you ducked and weaved around the garden like children. The world beyond the snow-covered fence seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the soft crunch of your footsteps.

Eventually, you managed to tackle Fred into a snowbank, both of you collapsing in a heap, breathless and grinning.

“You’re ruthless,” he said, brushing snow out of his hair.

“You started it,” you countered, trying to catch your breath.

Fred tilted his head to look at you, his eyes warm and sparkling with mischief. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you smile like that.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling between you. But before you could overthink it, he reached out and gently brushed a snowflake off your cheek.

For a moment, everything else melted away.

It felt like old times—the way you used to laugh together, the easy intimacy that had always been so uniquely yours.

“God, I missed this,” you murmured without thinking, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred’s smile faltered, just for a moment, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

The warmth of the moment lingered, but then Fred’s hand fell away, his gaze shifting to the snow-covered ground.

“But we both know how it ends,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that made your chest ache.

Reality crashed back in like a cold gust of wind. The fragile bubble of warmth and laughter popped, leaving you both shivering in its absence.

He stood up first, brushing the snow off his trousers, and offered you a hand.

“Come on,” he said, forcing a smile. “You’re going to catch a cold if we stay out here.”

You hesitated, then took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet.

As you walked back toward the house, the distance between you felt heavier than it had in weeks.

&

In early winter, you slipped up for the first time.

It started like any other day, except that another owl swooped through the window with yet another rejection letter. The sight of it sitting on the kitchen counter—crisp, neat, and utterly damning—felt like the final nail in the coffin of your hopes.

You didn’t even have the strength to open it.

By mid-afternoon, you were curled up on the sofa, a blanket draped over your legs, staring blankly out the window. The world beyond seemed vibrant, crisp leaves dancing in the wind, golden light bathing the streets below. But you felt none of it.

The warmth of the blanket couldn’t touch the cold knot in your chest.

Hopeless. That’s what you felt. Like a failure, floundering without direction, your life reduced to waiting for scraps of acknowledgment from people who didn’t even know you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You hadn’t moved from the sofa by the time Fred came home late that night. You heard the familiar creak of the door and the soft shuffle of his boots as he tried not to wake you. But the moment he walked into the room, silhouetted by the dim hallway light, something inside you snapped.

The tears you’d been holding at bay all day broke free.

Fred froze, the exhaustion on his face melting into concern. “Hey,” he murmured, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t even find the words to answer. You only shook your head, a sob catching in your throat, as he sat down beside you. His arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, resting his chin lightly on the top of your head. “Let it out.”

And you did.

You sobbed into him, every frustration and doubt from the past few weeks pouring out in hot, silent tears. His hand moved gently against your back, soothing without a word, while his other arm stayed securely around your shoulders, grounding you.

For the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel alone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whimpered finally, your voice small and raw.

Fred’s grip tightened, his lips brushing your temple in an almost unconscious gesture of comfort. “Yes, you can,” he said softly. His voice was steady, unwavering, the kind of certainty you couldn’t find in yourself right now.

You shook your head, your hands gripping the front of his jumper like it was the only thing keeping you tethered.

He didn’t argue further, just held you tighter, letting the weight of his presence speak louder than words.

Eventually, the tears stopped, but the ache in your chest didn’t. You stayed like that for what felt like hours, curled into him, your breathing slowly matching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When you finally pulled away, he caught your hand before you could retreat too far. “Come on,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You blinked at him, confused. “Where?”

“My bed,” he said simply. “You need a good night’s sleep, and I’m not letting you spend another second crying on that damn sofa.”

You wanted to argue that he did not have to do that, that you had your own bed across the hallway, but you didn’t have the energy. And maybe, deep down, you didn’t want to.

So, for the first time since you’d moved in, you found yourself in Fred’s bed.

It shouldn’t have felt as natural as it did. The way he curled around you, his arm slung protectively across your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your back—it was too easy to sink into it, to let yourself believe, for one fleeting moment, that nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You told yourself this would be the last time.

You should’ve known how dangerous it was to live with your ex. There was a line you weren’t supposed to cross, and you’d already been skirting too close to it for weeks.

Now, you’d crossed it entirely.

And yet, as you drifted off to sleep in the safety of his arms, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Not yet.

&

One cold winter morning, Fred was running late for work.

The flat was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace, and you sat curled up on the sofa, cradling a steaming mug of tea in your hands. Meanwhile, Fred was tearing through the living room like a tornado, muttering to himself as he hunted for the various pieces of his wardrobe that were inexplicably scattered across the room.

“If only you knew what a closet is,” you murmured, hiding a smile behind your mug as he dropped to his knees, peering under the chair.

Fred shot you a mock glare, his brows furrowing in exaggerated offense. “No need. There’s order in chaos, love,” he replied, triumphantly holding up a lone sock as if it were a Quidditch trophy.

You snorted, setting your tea on the coffee table and reaching for the Daily Prophet. “Your chaos is just chaos, Fred.”

“Pff,” he scoffed, tugging on the sock and hopping on one foot as he tried to pull on his boot. “I don’t have time to argue with you—” He paused, glancing at his watch. His eyes widened in alarm. “Merlin’s beard, the shop was supposed to open—forty minutes ago!”

You raised an eyebrow, watching him stumble around the room with his hair sticking up in every direction and his jumper only halfway over his head. He looked utterly ridiculous, yet there was something about the scene that made your stomach flip. Maybe it was the way the morning light caught the freckles on his nose, or maybe it was the way his laughter used to sound against your ear—

No. You stopped that thought dead in its tracks.

But your mind betrayed you anyway, pulling you into memories of soft skin beneath your fingertips, rough hands tugging at the small of your back, and whispered words that once felt like promises.

The invisible lines you’d so carefully drawn between you had been blurred too many times now to count, and no amount of scolding yourself could erase the heat creeping up your neck.

“You’d better hurry, then,” you said, your voice raspier than intended. You cleared your throat, praying he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks burned as you avoided his gaze.

“Right,” he muttered distractedly, grabbing his scarf from the armchair. His movements were quick, thoughtless, like second nature. But then—

He leaned down and kissed you.

It was brief, instinctive, and utterly devastating. The soft press of his lips against yours lasted no longer than a heartbeat, a fleeting goodbye born of muscle memory.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you sat frozen, staring at the empty space he had stood in just seconds before.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. It was as if the world had tilted off its axis, throwing everything you thought you understood into question.

It had felt strangely right—so natural it almost didn’t register at first. But the more the moment replayed in your mind, the more you felt the weight of it.

Because it was wrong. So, so wrong.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Which was exactly what you told Alicia as you sat in the old, familiar pub.

The words spilled out in a rush—disjointed and jumbled—until you finally reached the part where Fred kissed you that morning. You hesitated then, your hands twisting in your lap, afraid to meet her gaze.

You already knew what you’d see there. That look of hers, the one that was a mixture of concern and pity, like she could already see you running headfirst into a brick wall.

The last thing you wanted was to hear her confirm what you were already screaming at yourself: that this was a mistake.

So instead of looking at her, you let your gaze wander across the pub, drawn like a magnet to the figure at the bar. Fred.

It was always him.

He hadn’t seen you yet, and for a moment, you let yourself watch him, trying to process the pull you felt every time he was near. That same pull that had existed when you were together and hadn’t let up since. If anything, it had grown stronger, tighter, like a thread wrapped around your ribcage, making it difficult to breathe.

You hadn’t spoken to him since this morning. The weight of the moment between you still hung in the air, unresolved and suffocating. You were too afraid to ask him about it, too afraid of what excuse he’d offer to explain it away.

Because talking about it would make it real. And you hated real.

Fred leaned casually against the bar, chatting with the bartender when a woman approached him—a woman with wide eyes and an even wider smile. She laughed at something he said, the kind of laugh that was too loud, too eager, and she placed her hand on his arm as if she’d known him forever.

Your stomach dropped.

It was as if the room tilted, the walls closing in on you as a bitter thought crept into your mind: Maybe this has already become too real.

You tightened your grip on your glass, trying to focus on Alicia’s voice, but her words faded into background noise. Your eyes were glued to the woman at the bar, to Fred’s easy grin, to the casual charm he wielded so effortlessly.

And for a brief, searing moment, you wanted to march over there and pull them apart. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because no matter how much it hurt, you had no claim on him.

You downed your drink in one go, the burn in your throat dulling the ache in your chest just slightly. Turning back to Alicia, you tried to force yourself to listen, to focus, but your gaze betrayed you. It kept drifting back to Fred, your thoughts spiraling further into chaos.

Later that night, you walked into the flat right behind Fred.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of coats as you hung yours on the rack. You wanted to let it go, to shove your feelings aside and leave the night behind you. But you couldn’t stop yourself.

���So,” you began, your voice sharper than intended, “you seemed to have had fun tonight.”

Fred froze for a fraction of a second, his back to you. Then he turned, his expression guarded but not unkind. He opened his mouth, almost as if to apologize, but you didn’t let him.

“Don’t worry,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could say something that would make it worse. “I wouldn’t get in your way.”

Fred’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You folded your arms, leaning back against the wall as if the nonchalant stance would keep you from unraveling. “If you wanted to bring someone home,” you said, each word tasting like poison, “I wouldn’t get in your way.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes then—something raw and vulnerable—but it disappeared almost instantly, buried beneath a mask of indifference.

“Right,” he said slowly, his voice unusually flat. “I’m guessing that goes for you too, correct?”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, all you wanted was to scream No, it doesn’t. It never will. There’s no one else I want but you.

But you couldn’t say that.

Because you were friends.

And friends didn’t feel this way.

“Yeah,” you muttered instead, the lie twisting like a knife in your chest.

Fred held your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, turning on his heel. “Then it’s settled,” he said quietly, walking toward his room.

He paused at the door, his back still to you. “Good night.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone with the suffocating weight of everything left unsaid.

It was only until later that night, when the mess of your mind was keeping you up that you realized neither one of you had addressed the kiss.

&

The conversation clung to the edges of your mind, never quite letting go.

You hated that about Fred—you could never completely shut him out, even when you desperately wanted to.

Still, you tried to forget about it, preferably with some liquor and a good time with your friends. But fate had other plans.

It was a Friday night when Alicia called you to announce, in dramatic detail, that her food poisoning was “worse than a dragon pox outbreak,” and Angelina owled that she was stuck at work late.

That meant you had the flat to yourself. Just you and your thoughts. Merlin, you hated it.

After pacing the living room for a while and deciding that drinking alone wasn’t a good look, you grabbed a book and sank onto the sofa.

Reading was supposed to be a distraction, but the words blurred right in front of your eyes. Your mind kept wandering—to Fred. Specifically, to Fred tonight before he left.

His stupidly tight shirt. The way it clung to his arms, leaving very little to the imagination. His hair, just the right amount of messy, like he had spent hours perfecting that careless look. And his cologne—that intoxicating mix of spice and citrus that lingered in the air long after he was gone.

You cursed yourself.

You were halfway through debating whether to make tea or wallow in self-pity when you heard it—the sound of a key in the lock.

Your heart sank.

Why was Fred home already?

And then you heard her voice.

A woman’s voice.

Your pulse quickened as you bolted upright, looking around in a panic. You needed to escape. Now.

But before you could make it to your room, the door swung open, and you were trapped. The only viable hiding spot was the narrow space behind the sofa. It wasn’t your proudest moment, but you dove behind it anyway, crouching low and praying Fred wouldn’t notice you.

The woman sauntered into the living room, plopping onto the sofa with a cheerful sigh. Meanwhile, Fred’s footsteps padded toward the kitchen.

This was the worst night of your life.

You crouched there, frozen, as the woman began talking about something you couldn’t quite make out. Probably complimenting his laugh or his eyes or his stupidly perfect shoulders.

And Fred? Fred was doing exactly what you told him he could do—move on. See other people. Be happy.

So why did it feel like your lungs were caving in?

He returned a moment later, a drink in hand, and you peeked around the edge of the sofa. He sat down beside her, too close for your liking, and started talking about some prank he used to pull at Hogwarts.

“Oh, back in school, George and I used to—”

You rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself. His story wasn’t even that funny. Or maybe it was, but you were too busy hating every second of this.

The woman’s laugh, high-pitched and syrupy, pierced the air. “You’re hilarious,” she giggled, leaning toward him.

Fred gave her a grin—the kind that made your heart ache.

You clenched your fists. This was fine. Completely fine. Totally normal behavior for two adults living together who happened to have a romantic history.

And then she said it: “Why don’t we take this party someplace else?”

Her voice was laced with suggestion, and you saw Fred freeze for a fraction of a second, his grin faltering.

Before you could stop yourself, you shot up like a Whomping Willow branch.

“Wait!”

The woman shrieked, nearly spilling her drink, and Fred whipped his head around, his expression morphing from shock to confusion.

“I, um…” You scrambled for an excuse, heat rushing to your face. “I think I lost my wand. Somewhere… in the sofa cushions.” You pointed vaguely at the seat beside her.

Fred’s brow furrowed. “You… lost your wand in the sofa?”

“Yes. Definitely. It, uh, slipped out of my pocket earlier.”

The woman stared at you like you were a particularly odd blast-ended skrewt, and Fred just blinked, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a laugh.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you said, desperate to fill the awkward silence. “Help me look!”

Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he obliged, leaning over to pat the cushions while the woman scooted a little farther away, clearly uncomfortable.

“This is… awkward,” she muttered, gathering her purse.

You couldn’t agree more.

“Well, I think I’ll just… leave you to it,” she added, standing up and smoothing her skirt.

Fred straightened, looking vaguely annoyed. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she cut him off, already halfway to the door. “Maybe another time.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with Fred in the now painfully quiet living room.

Fred turned to you slowly, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but definitely not pleased.

“So,” he drawled, voice thick with sarcasm. “Your wand, huh? Convenient timing, don’t you think?”

You clenched your jaw, heat rising to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, no, of course not,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his voice sharp. “Why would you mean to scare off the first person I’ve gone out with in over a year?”

“I didn’t scare her off!” you shot back, folding your arms defensively.

Fred arched an eyebrow, his tone cutting. “Really? Because hiding behind the sofa and then jumping out like a deranged jack-in-the-box wasn’t at all intimidating.”

You winced but refused to back down. “Maybe if you weren’t so quick to bring random women home, I wouldn’t have been caught off guard!”

Fred let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Right. That’s rich coming from you. You’re the one who said this—” He gestured between the two of you. “—was supposed to be fine. You’re the one who told me to meet other people. So excuse me for trying to have a life outside of… whatever the hell this is.”

Your chest tightened at his words, anger bubbling under your skin. “I’m not the one bringing strangers into our home like it’s some—some bachelor pad!”

Fred’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into something lower, more dangerous. “Our home? That’s funny, because it feels a hell of a lot like my home, and you’re just squatting here until you figure out what to do with your life.”

The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“How dare you,” you hissed, stepping closer until you were nearly toe-to-toe with him.

Fred didn’t back away, his jaw tight and his eyes stormy. “Well, if the shoe fits…”

“I’m not some charity case, Fred!” you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. “You think I wanted to be here, living with you, watching you move on while I’m stuck—”

You stopped yourself, but it was too late. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Fred’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second, and then his expression hardened again. “Stuck on what? Me?” he demanded, his voice rising.

You didn’t answer, but the silence spoke volumes.

Fred let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you’re unbelievable. You don’t want me to move on, but you don’t want me either. What the hell do you want, then?”

“I don’t know!” you shouted, the admission tearing from your throat. “I don’t know, Fred, okay? All I know is that seeing you with her—hearing her laugh, watching her touch you—it made me want to scream.”

Fred stared at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to be jealous. Not after you ended it.”

Your heart pounded, your body thrumming with anger and something else you didn’t want to name. “It took two, didn’t it?”

The tension between you was suffocating, the air thick with everything you’d been avoiding for weeks.

Fred’s gaze flickered to your lips, and for one reckless moment, you thought he might kiss you.

And then he did.

It wasn’t gentle or sweet—it was angry, desperate, a clash of teeth and lips and frustration. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, your hands tangling in his hair as he backed you against the wall, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t get close enough.

“This is a mistake,” you whispered against his lips, even as your hands tugged at his shirt.

“Probably,” Fred muttered, his voice rough, before pulling you back into another bruising kiss.

His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, and you clung to him, giving in to the storm you’d both been holding back for far too long.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this wouldn’t fix anything, as he lifted you up and carried you into his room. It wouldn’t erase the pain or the heartbreak or the mess of your situation.

But for now, you let yourself fall back into old habits, into him, and pretended for just a little while longer that this wasn’t the worst idea you’d ever had.

&

The next morning, for a fleeting moment, you woke up feeling weightless, the kind of lightness you hadn’t felt in months. The sun spilled through the curtains, warm and golden, and Fred’s steady breathing next to you was a sound you hadn’t realized you missed so much.

And then reality hit like a cold slap to the face.

The events of the last few months flooded back into your mind—the breakup, the awkward dinners, the unspoken tension, and now this. You and Fred, tangled up in sheets and old habits, pretending for one reckless night that things hadn’t fallen apart.

Your stomach twisted painfully.

This wasn’t sustainable.

You needed to move out.

The thought settled heavily in your chest as you forced yourself out of bed. You dressed quickly, careful not to make too much noise, and retreated to the kitchen.

By the time Fred padded in, his hair still tousled from sleep, you were already seated at the table with your hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Fred looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, and you swore you saw a flicker of hope in his eyes—hope that made what you were about to say so much harder.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to look at him. “We can’t keep doing this,” you began, your voice quiet but firm. “It’s not fair to either of us.”

Fred froze, his hand still on the kettle. Slowly, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “What are you saying?”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the table like it might steady you. “I’m saying I need to move out, Fred. This—living here, being around you all the time—it’s not working. We’re just falling into old habits.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he just nodded slowly, his gaze fixed somewhere just past you.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he said, his voice bitter, almost mocking.

You flinched at his tone. “Fred—”

“No, really,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours now, sharp and accusing. “It’s like déjà vu. You decide it’s not working, and you leave. I don’t even get a say in it, do I?”

Your heart ached at the crack in his voice, but you couldn’t let yourself falter. “This isn’t about blame, Fred. It’s about what’s best for both of us.”

“Right,” he said, laughing humorlessly. “And you’ve decided that for us, just like last time.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Fred, please—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “Don’t try to make this sound noble or selfless or whatever it is you’re telling yourself to make it easier.”

You stared at him, speechless, as the anger in his eyes softened into something far more painful. “You said we were better off as friends. And I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I thought you’d come back. That we’d figure it out. But you didn’t, did you?”

Your throat felt tight, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how.”

This wasn’t fair. You might’ve been the one back then who initiated the breakup, but he didn’t argue, not really.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “And now you’re running again. But sure, let’s call it what’s ‘best for both of us.’”

You stood abruptly, unable to sit still under his gaze any longer. “This isn’t easy for me either, Fred.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath.

You ignored the sting of his words and moved toward your room, determined to pack before you lost your resolve. Fred didn’t follow you.

By the time you’d stuffed a bag with enough essentials to last a few days at Alicia’s, the silence in the flat was deafening.

Fred was standing by the door when you emerged, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable once again. He didn’t say a word as you moved toward the door, your bag slung over your shoulder.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, turning to look at him. You wanted him to say something—anything. To stop you, to fight for you, to give you a reason to stay.

But Fred just stared at you, his face a mask of indifference. “Take care of yourself.”

So you opened the door, stepping out into the chilly winter air.

The second time wasn’t easier than the first. If anything, it was worse.

Because this time, you weren’t just walking away from Fred. You were walking away from the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could’ve been different.

And Fred didn’t stop you.

&

When Alicia opened the door, she didn’t even need to ask.

One look at you—bag slung over your shoulder, eyes red from holding back tears—and she simply stepped aside to let you in.

“You know where the spare room is,” she said softly, shutting the door behind you. “I’ll make tea.”

For the next few days, Alicia didn’t push. She let you sit quietly on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around you, lost in your thoughts. She gave you space to unpack—or not unpack, as you hadn’t even opened your bag yet. She simply existed around you, chatting about work or gossip or Quidditch, letting you be quiet but never alone.

But Alicia wasn’t a particularly patient person, and by the third day, her concern boiled over.

“Alright,” she said, setting down two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table and sitting across from you. “Out with it. What happened?”

You stared at the tea, your fingers curling around the mug for warmth. “I moved out,” you said finally, your voice hoarse from disuse.

Alicia blinked, clearly trying to process this. “You what?”

“I moved out,” you repeated, your grip tightening on the mug. “I told Fred it wasn’t working. That I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Alicia leaned back, crossing her arms. “Why?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Why do you think? Because we’re a disaster waiting to happen. Because the first time we tried this, it ended in flames, and now we’re just… ignoring all of it, hoping it’ll magically work this time. Spoiler: it won’t.”

Alicia’s brow furrowed. “Ignoring it? Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, for someone who’s ‘ignoring it,’ you two seem to have a bloody hard time staying away from each other.”

You frowned, thrown off by her point.

“Think about it,” she pressed. “You’ve been living together, falling back into each other’s lives. Sure, maybe you weren’t talking about it, but you were doing something. You were letting yourself be close to him again.”

“That’s not the same thing as trying to fix it,” you countered, your voice shaky.

“No, it’s not,” Alicia admitted. “But it’s not nothing, either. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything being with him again. And don’t even think about lying to me, because I know you.”

You looked away, your chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. It’s still going to end the same way. We’re just… Fred and I, we’re not meant to be.”

Alicia snorted. “Says who? You? Because from what I’ve seen, Fred seems pretty bloody convinced otherwise.”

Your jaw clenched, and you stared at the floor.

“Look,” Alicia continued, softening her tone. “I get it. You’re scared. You’re terrified of putting yourself out there again, of having it all fall apart a second time. That’s normal. But running away from it? That’s just—sorry, mate—stupid.”

You bristled, finally meeting her eyes. “It’s not stupid. It’s self-preservation. Do you know how much it hurt the first time? How much it broke me to lose him? I can’t do that again.”

“And what if you don’t lose him?” Alicia asked, leaning forward. “What if it actually works this time? You’ll never know if you keep running away.”

You opened your mouth to argue but hesitated.

Alicia sighed, her expression softening further. “Look, I know you think you’re saving yourself from the pain, but you’re also cutting yourself off from the happiness you could have with him. You’re assuming it’s going to end badly, but what if it doesn’t? What if this time, it’s different?”

“I just… I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice cracking.

“Then find out,” Alicia said gently. “You can’t keep running from something just because it’s scary. That’s not how love works. You have to fight for it, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

Her words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. But as you sat there, sipping your tea and staring into the middle distance, a small, stubborn thought crept into your mind.

What if Alicia was right?

What if you owed it to yourself—and to Fred—to find out?

&

The hallway felt colder than you remembered. Or maybe it was the nerves pooling in your stomach, twisting tighter with every passing second.

You stood outside Fred’s flat, your hand hovering over the door as you debated knocking for the fifth time.

This is a mistake, your mind whispered. But Alicia’s voice was louder, pushing you forward. You’ll never know if you don’t try.

The peeling paint on the frame, the faint scuff marks on the floor where he always kicked his shoes off—it was all achingly familiar. And still, it felt like you didn’t belong here anymore.

But you were here. That had to count for something.

Your hand hovered over the door for what felt like forever before you finally forced yourself to knock.

The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and for a moment, you considered running. The urge to flee was strong—you’d done it before. But then you heard shuffling from the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakable creak of the hinges.

Fred stood there, barefoot and in an old t-shirt that had seen better days, his hair sticking up in every direction like he’d been running his hands through it all morning. His face was unreadable, his mouth set in a hard line, but his eyes—those damn eyes—told you everything. They were wide and raw, flickering between surprise, confusion, and something you didn’t dare name.

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, staring at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like a heavy fog.

“I—” you started, your voice cracking.

But before you could say another word, Fred closed the space between you in one swift motion.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you to him as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was urgent and messy, filled with all the words you hadn’t said and all the feelings you couldn’t quite explain.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, clutching at him as if he might disappear, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was no fear, no doubt, no past mistakes—just Fred.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together as he refused to let you go.

“Fred,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his voice rough. His hands tightened on your waist, grounding both of you. “Don’t say it unless you mean it. I can’t—” His voice broke, and he shook his head like he was trying to push the words away.

“I’m not leaving,” you interrupted, your voice gaining strength. “I’m not running this time. I promise.”

Fred’s breath hitched, and his eyes searched yours, like he didn’t quite believe you yet. “You came back,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I was scared. I still am. But—” You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t. I want to try, Fred. Really try this time.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his brow furrowed like he was trying to make sense of what you’d said. Then, slowly, a soft, disbelieving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Took you long enough.”

You laughed, a wet, shaky sound that was half relief, half exasperation. “You’re not exactly easy to figure out, you know.”

“And you’re impossible,” he shot back, his grin widening.

His words were teasing, but the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made your heart ache.

“Fred, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softening. “For leaving. For hurting you. I thought I was protecting myself, but I was just being a coward.”

Fred let out a shaky breath, his hands moving to cup your face. “I know,” he said quietly. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

The weight of his words settled over you, warm and comforting, and for the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again.

You stood there for a moment, letting the silence stretch between you, until a thought popped into your head and escaped before you could stop it.

“Can I move back in?”

Fred blinked, and then his laughter filled the hallway, rich and familiar and so very Fred. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re not getting your old room back,” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Oh?” you said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin softening. “You’re stuck with mine now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Guess I can live with that.”

Fred’s smile turned tender, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that felt like a promise.

Home wasn’t a place. It was Fred.

[treasureyourfire]

~ Where is my Soulmate? ~

Welcome Souls~

I am sending my new pick a pile reading for you.~

We often have to travel a long way to find our eternal, romantic soulmate/divine partner. The road leads through struggles, wounds, lessons and healing. We think about where they are, what they do, what their life is like, when we finally find eachother...

I think, "when" is malleable. The decisions we make, how we shape our lives and ourselves can influence it, and perhaps that's more important where we go with our own growth until we meet them. That's why I didn't get into that in the readings.

Choose the image(s) that attracts you the most. Accept from the messages what you can identify with, and let go of the rest~

Illustrations belongs to Jumo.Art (Facebook, Instagram, Etsy)

Reminder:

* These are not gender-specific readings, I use They/Them pronouns. * These are collective, timeless readings for entertaintment. * I am not a professional reader and readings that I do are a part of my learning process. * The tarot can provide guidance, but you manage your own life according to your free will. Feel free to keep what resonates, and let go of what doesn’t.~ * (English is not my mother language, sorry for the mistakes.)

To what extent are You ready to receive your soulmate? Four of Pentacles, Page of Wands, Sun, Four of Cups, Hierophant

Dear Soul! In this period of your life, you are/have been striving for security, balance, and stability. You plan for the long term, for durability. You focus on building your foundations: it can be your home, your financial situation or your physical body, your health. You are an honest, straightforward person, but cautious. In the past period, you may have closed yourself off a bit to protect everything that is important to you and that you fought for. Maybe you just settled somewhere. You cling to a secure foundation both on the earthly and spiritual planes. At first, under the surface, which may seem stoic and serious, lives a dreamy, enthusiastic, artistic soul with a rich world of emotions. You are ready to use your creativity to develop and enrich yourself with new experiences. Recently, you are starting to open up to the world and come out of your shell. You want to shine like the Sun, enjoy life obliviously, fulfill yourself in it, get the most out of yourself. I feel that your circumstances give you the opportunity to do so. Despite this, you still have moments of skepticism when you feel uncertain. Sometimes you still think about things that didn't go according to your plans. Your experiences and relationships so far have not satisfied your desires and needs, and you cannot really believe that something better than what you experienced in the past can awaits you. However, something that is pure, a sincere gift may appear to you, you just have to break down the barriers built around you and learn to trust again, to believe that the universe -or what you believe in- supports you and encourages you to look at the bigger picture. You are dedicated, you strive to create lasting values in your relationships as well. You would like to share your long-term goals and desires with the right partner to whom you would commit yourself for life. You are looking for a spiritual unity/bond that is solid, where you receive emotional security, mutual trust, intimacy, in which you support and inspire each other, and you can develop together, solving difficulties together.

To what extent are They ready to receive you? Ten of Cups, Eight of Pentacles

Fully! I smile and it fills me with joy when I look at your soulmate’s cards. They are full of love and enthusiasm, they long for a family, a happy home full of laughter and abundance, with you. They think of you as a team, in which they would support you in everything as an equal partner. Maybe lately they have been a little more immersed in their work or other personal projects, but if you find each other, they'll be just as dedicated to your relationship. Maybe they will feel that they have to work for your trust, but they don't mind. They have persistent, hardworking personality. Thoughtful, patient, humble, attentive to details, not intrusive. They will pay attention to you, your signals and what you need. Maybe they will shower you with gifts (if this is what you want), if they see that you like this way of expressing their emotions to you. Maybe they also have an artistic vein, like to create with their hands, and will surprise you with they self-made works. I sense that your soulmate is eager to welcome you into their life, but at the same time they are trying to wait patiently until you are ready to come to them of your own free will.

What symbols and signs will indicate to you that your soulmate is nearby? Knight of Cups

Helmet - It may sounds funny, but I mean a kind of Gallic helmet what the characters wearing in the Asterix stories. Wings (can even be a car emblem) Horse - winged pegasus or earth horse, may be in color white Silver and Blue colors could also dominate. Fish (including goldfish, koi), scales, scaly pattern, wave pattern, Japanese-style waves, which can often be seen in tattoos

When I saw the card, I felt as if my lungs were filled with fresh air. A clean, soothing feeling. I was relieved. Or as if a sip of cool, fresh, clean water had washed my throat. Maybe you will experience similar feelings when you meet them.

Where and under what circumstances will you meet? King of Swords, Tower, Three of Pentacles, Page of Swords

A situation where you need knowledge, wisdom, good judgment, clarity, rationality, good communication skills, clear communication, maybe leadership or organizational skills (you two don't necessarily have to be in a leadership role, but a person of this role can be present). Perhaps in circumstance where there is a sudden change, an unexpected task arises. It maybe include a light tower, but this is a bit special, of course this cannot apply to everyone, the image just flashed in front of me. Planning, re-planning/building (because of the Tower card), learning, discussion, consultation, teamwork, team building. Maybe, possible misunderstandings and doubts should be clarified, the fog should be dispelled with an objective view. Honest, open communication will be required.

Advice: What to focus your energy on in other areas of your life until you meet: Moon, Ace of Cups

Let yourself sink into the depths. The Moon gently asks you to examine your fears in the darkness surrounding you. It invites you to turn inward, do introspection and self-research. All feelings, traumas, ideas, picked-up or learned patterns that intimidate, unsettle and hold you back are hidden in this subconscious depth. Examine what is preventing you from welcoming love (back) into your life, be it romantic or of any kind. By uncovering these barriers in yourself, renewal and healing can begin, and you can open up again to the love that awaits you from both yourself, from the outside world, from your future soulmate. In the quiet retreat, you can prepare yourself for development, for moving on, rebuild your faith in a better future and fill your own cup before coming to the surface again.

To what extent are You ready to receive your soulmate? Reversed Six of Swords, Seven of Cups, Two of Swords, Temperance, The Fool

Dear Soul! You had to get yourself out of a difficult situation. You had a strong resistance to moving on. You may have been haunted by excessive caution, overburden, mistrust (even paranoia) in the past period. You lived in fear, and this internal struggle hindered your progress and development. There was confusion in you and around you. You were unsure of your possibilities, you couldn't determine what your true calling was, what would take you forward, what you could trust, and what was false or (self-)delusional. Maybe it only applies to a small percentage of you who chose the second picture, but maybe someone clouded your clarity with illusions and took away your confidence, maybe gaslighted you. You were confused and waiting for someone or something to rescue you from your hopelessness. You had to make a difficult decision. You needed to exclude all kinds of illusions and external influences, to silence the chaos and your fears in your thoughts in order to find your inner voice. You wanted to finally see clearly and continue your life more consciously. Over time, you overcame your difficulties, the hoped-for enlightenment arrived, you managed to make the decision and move on. The Sun is rising on the horizon for you, an ascension is coming in your life. You are relieved, you are on the road to recovery. Your outer and inner worlds are beginning to harmonize. After a thorough self-examination, you now see yourself more objectively and manage your emotions more consciously. In your bundle you carry your experiences and lessons with you, but you have left the past behind you, you do not let it continue to chain you down. The most important thing is that you are finally free. I wish that the new beginning fills your heart with hope and confidence, and that the knowledge of that you were able to overcome the difficulties gives you the strength to embark on the next, much happier phase of your life that awaits you.

To what extent are They ready to receive you? Four of Swords, Queen of Wands

It seems that your divine partner is resting after a difficult period too, consider things while they are healing (or just recently the healing phase is coming to an end for them). For them, the primary goal during this period is to regenerate and recharge their batteries. They must regain their strength and their love of life. First, they must warm up their own soul, so later, when your paths cross they can invigorate you with their pleasurable personality, and after that, as your relationship deepens, they can embrace you with their caring, devoted warmth. They need to gather courage and fix their self-confidence so that they can see the future more optimistically. It is necessary for them to turn inward now, they must process and understand their own emotions and what happened to them, so that later they can trust their intuition again, which will lead them to you.

What symbols and signs will indicate to you that your soulmate is nearby? King of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles

Sword, dagger Butterfly Crown Frog Flying bird(s) Pentagram, star a Ring (jewelry) what you maybe find in an unusual place or one that has one of the listed symbols on it Crescent moon Reaping hook Bunch of grapes Flowers for decoration/ornament/sticker, bouquet the color Blue can play a role

Where and under what circumstances will you meet? Ace of Cups

It seems like a place close to nature, near water, maybe next to a lake, where water lilies float on the water, or in a park, maybe by a fountain (perhaps with coins in it), in company of birds, where you can feed them. A sound of a small bell. I don't know where the jingle came from, but it has a nice, cheerful sound. Maybe you'll hear a similar sound when you meet eachother. You will meet at a time when you are both ready to accept new emotions, a new relationship, when you have reached the appropriate phase of self-care, practicing self-love, when you can give because you have taken care of filling your own cups.

Advice: What to focus your energy on in other areas of your life until you meet: Nine of Cups, Ace of Swords, Reversed Six of Cups, Strength

Take care of yourself, celebrate! Enjoy what you have achieved, reward yourself! Take advantage of the clearing of your thoughts. Let the new ideas and inspirations take you away. You can start to opening up to new communications, new acquaintances and opportunities. Sometimes you may even be filled with nostalgic feelings, which make you play with the idea: "Everything was good in the beginning." "Everything could be like that again." Please don't turn back! Avoid people with energy/vibe that reminds you of the old ones. Stay aware, leave the past in the past, don't nurture old things, ideas, relationships that you have already outgrown for your own benefit, that no longer serve you, they only drain your energy from your present and your future. Try to transform your experience into your strength. Nurture the inner strength to move forward, turn to yourself and your shadows with patience and understanding. Maybe you need to heal your inner child/teen, give yourself the care and love you need and desire. You have endless opportunities to grow and develop, you have the resources you need for further healing, and to tame and silence those shadow creatures that would encourage you to repeat old patterns. Hang in there for yourself, for your recovery.

To what extent are you ready to receive your soulmate? Queen of Wands, Reversed Hierophant, Ten of Cups, Reversed Eight of Wands, Reversed Moon

Dear Soul!

You are full of fire and passion. Confident, creative, intense, emotional, warm-hearted, devoted. You are aware of your values ​​and you are looking for the king/queen in whom you can find an equal partner, who is strong enough to walk beside you, with whom you can create your own empire, like proud lions.

You long to experience all forms and heights of happiness, as well as the feeling of completeness and fulfillment, with a true, supportive partner.

You want this in such a form that you can keep your personal freedom and independence. You don't necessarily desire the bond of marriage in order to meet expected traditions and/or social expectations on paper. Perhaps you have already had a bad experience in the past, disappointment, breakup, divorce, a relationship that did not satisfy you spiritually and emotionally, where your soul could not soar.

Yet you would give your whole heart if you could find your soulmate, the ally with whom you could finally establish a home and live your life in abundance and overflowing love.

Yet there is something that holds you back, paralyzes you. There is an inner tension in you because you want to move forward, but you can't. Things around you are not going the way you want them to. Something always gets in the way, breaks your momentum, your sense of purpose. Whether there are obstacles in the physical world or internal obstacles that do not allow you to continue on the path to your soulmate, they also prevent you from fully opening up and becoming receptive to this attachment.

The voices of anxiety, fear, and uncertainty suppress your own inner voice, which would show you the way to your truer life. To unlock and release this inner barrier, you must turn inward, dive into the darkness, find the source of your fears, and examine it to see clearly. Just observe them in silence, if you let go of the struggle against them, accept their presence, the light of enlightenment may even reach you sooner. Maybe you need a quiet, meditative retreat to find your inner compass, the light of the Moon that illuminates the path you can follow.

To what extent are They ready to receive you? Eight of Cups, Reversed King of Wands, Reversed Three of Wands, Reversed Nine of Pentacles

Meanwhile, your soulmate also tries to move on with difficult feelings and to leave their past, everything that no longer serves them. A period ended for them, and they set out on a new path towards the unknown. There are several challenges ahead of them that they must overcome to reach the top of the mountain, but despite their doubts, a small inner flame drives them on.

For me, the Reversed King of Wands usually does not reveal excessive aggression, but rather a lack of self-confidence, battered confidence. I sense a restless energy from them, like from you.

They obsessively wants to accomplish, or stubbornly sticks to an idea, maybe that’s why they don't listen to their intuition. Maybe that's why it's hard for them to adapt to their changed circumstances.

A new world opened up to them, but they not very optimistic about it. They doubt and hesitate, even though they have all the potential to take control of their life, they just need to rediscover that ability and determination within themself. They really need commitment now to start over. They need to examine their options with foresight, carefully plan their journey and prepare for it before making further decisions. They should not make decisions out of haste or thoughtlessness, and they maybe unwilling, but have to accept the intentions of others to help.

They strives for financial independence and longs for abundance so that they can give the best to their loved ones. They want a stable life where they don't depend on anyone and can enjoy the fruits of their hard work.

What symbols and signs will indicate to you that your soulmate is nearby? Page of Pentacles, Reversed Four of Cups

Pentagram, star

A specific Coin or Jewelry (maybe with one of the listed symbols on it)

Object of longing/admiration - what you get for yourself, or you find something you've been looking for, something you wanted to deal with, something you wanted to know more about, something you admire

Palm tree – (Eggsecutor jumped in my mind, maybe you or them are in the Pokemon fandom but not necessarily)

Unexpected gift/opportunity - You will find a new opportunity/offer that will shake you out of your dullness

Where and under what circumstances will you meet? Reversed Eight of Pentacles

I feel like there is a forced break in this situation. Restrictive circumstances or financial difficulties may play a role in work or study.

Like:

Job interview, job searching, go to employment office, work break, any kind of break in education, forced leave, slow administration/work, long line, long waiting, enrolling in a course, suspended/cancelled/missed/postponed event/course/workshop, unfinished business.

Advice: What to focus your energy on in other areas of your life until you meet: Knight of Wands, Reversed Five of Wands, Reversed Queen of Pentacles

You probably would not like to hear this, but; Patience, dear Soul. You really want this person who can make a difference in your life. You are bubbling with action, you are thirsty for new, exciting experiences, but in order to move away from the dead end, you need to channel your energies into a healthy channel. "Great excitement can also result in a stressful situation that prevents a well-considered decision and correct action." If you get carried away by the intensity, you can get involved in conflicts that don't move you forward, they just eat up your vitality. You need patience, persistence and sanity. It's worth avoiding or not taking stressful situations too seriously, rather use the power of your inner fire to overcome your own internal battles to get closer to what you really want to create. During this period, it is important to sort out restless energies to avoid burnout. Ground yourself, let the flames subside, rest for a while, seek stability. It’s important to take care of your health. Take care of yourself, you need the right physical and mental nourishment to find your center. Think about what foods and nutrients you take in, pay attention to your body's signals. Try meditative activities/techniques that you like, seek contact with nature, be it a walk in the park or time spent with animals, do creative activities, anything what you feel that helps you to relax.

The reading is permeated by the energy of the number 888. A phase of both of your lives is coming to an end so that something much better can begin for you. Abundance and harmony is headed your way, just keep going. You have to prepare and go through some trials, but if you are committed and open to transformation, you will definitely get closer and closer to your desired goals and to each other.

[talafamily]

My name is Doaa, and I carry the weight of a family trapped in the crucible of war in Gaza. With me are my husband, Wissam, and our three beloved children: 9-year-old Tala, 7-year-old Sajid, and our youngest, 18-month-old Sanad. Our tale is one of endurance, displacement, and the relentless pursuit of safety amidst the chaos of conflict.

The Prelude to War:

Before the storm of October 7th, our lives in Gaza were a tenuous balance between hope and despair. But with the outbreak of war, our world crumbled beneath the onslaught of bombs and gunfire. For 220 days, we lived in constant fear as the violence engulfed our city, leaving behind a trail of destruction and death.

A Perilous Journey:

Our journey began In the heart of Gaza City, where we fled our home In search of safety. Seeking refuge, we found ourselves at Al-Rantisi Hospital, where the threat of attack loomed large. When the hospital became a target, we fled once more, seeking shelter in another hospital, where fear and illness afflicted our bodies and those of our children.

The Trek to Khan Yunis:

With nowhere left to turn, we embarked on a treacherous journey on foot to Khan Yunis. With bombs raining down around us and no food, water, or medicine to sustain us, each step felt like a gamble with our lives. The 7-kilometer trek was a test of endurance, as we braved the dangers of the road in search of sanctuary.

Displacement and Desperation:

Upon reaching Khan Yunis, we found ourselves thrust into a new nightmare. The danger intensified, driving us to flee once more, this time to Rafah. Here, amidst the biting cold, we found shelter in a tent, our only protection from the elements. But even here, the threat of war looms large, casting a shadow over our fragile existence.

A Daughter's Struggle

Adding to our burdens, my daughter Tala has been suffering from hypothyroidism since birth. Her condition weighs heavily on my heart, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the need for urgent medical care.

The Price of Freedom:

In Rafah, the specter of war still haunts us, threatening to unravel the fragile threads of hope we cling to. The cost of leaving Gaza through the Egyptian Rafah crossing stands at $5,000 per person, an insurmountable barrier to our journey to safety.

A Cry for Help:

We are a family on the brink, teetering between despair and hope as we navigate the tumult of war. We plead for assistance, for a chance to break free from the cycle of violence and rebuild our lives in peace. With your support, we can overcome the trials that have befallen us and emerge stronger on the other side.

Conclusion:

Our journey is far from over, and the road ahead is fraught with uncertainty. But with your compassion and generosity, we can rewrite the ending of our story. Together, we can pave a path to safety and stability for Tala, Sajid, Sanad, Wissam, and me, ensuring that the horrors of war remain nothing more than a distant memory.

@buttercuparry @appsa @schoolhater @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @brokenbackmountain @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl

@queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2

@skatezophrenic

@awetistic-things @camgirlsurvivalguide

@baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sunfortune

@junglejim4322 @heritageposts @heritageposts

@palipunk @dlxxv-vetted-donations

@illuminated-runas

#free palestine #palestine #free gaza

#gaza strip #donations #gazaunderattack

#gofundme #important #...

[brattysx]

some... fwb x seongjae, angst (boss specialty) fluff smut???? pls i love your blog sm 🤭 i hope u receive requests 😭🙃

🧸-

“Friends?”

Geum Seongjae x reader | Weak Hero Universe | +18 mdni!

Tags: fluff and angst, smut, jealousy, friends with benefits, fwb to lovers, mutual pining, possessive behavior, emotional sex, slow burn, sexual tension, drunk confession, protective male lead, toxic…

They said we were just friends.

So did we.

With one difference: we lied better.

It all started as a joke — an inside joke between two people who pretended to annoy each other out of sheer spite, but deep down used the arguments as an excuse to keep in constant contact. There were barbs, sure, but there were also silences far too long to be merely awkward, looks that lingered past the limits of friendship, and touches that started off casual but ended thick with unspoken tension. There wasn’t a specific moment when we crossed the line, because the line had always been blurred — fragile, volatile. It was a slow process, like a rope stretched until it snapped, and by the time we noticed, we had already fallen — not into love, not yet — but into something intimate, dangerous, and wildly addictive. We weren’t dating. We never dated. That would’ve required courage, honesty, and the willingness to face feelings head-on. Neither of us was ready for that. We lied so well we almost believed it ourselves.

Seongjae was the kind of guy who looked like he had it all under control. Calm face, calculated words, that unshakeable posture. People admired him — some even feared him — because he never showed all of himself. He was a walking mystery. And yet, with me, he let pieces slip — anger, desire, confusion — fragments of himself he tried to smother before they could become real. He was arrogant with others, but with me… it was different. Sometimes it felt like he was fighting something inside himself. Like he was at war — between what he felt and what he thought he should feel. And that was never clearer than when we said — loudly, always — that we couldn’t stand each other. That we were oil and water. But it only took one bitter remark, one sharp exchange, for the anger to spark fire — and for that fire to consume us until there was nothing left but our bodies, tangled together, searching for relief from a pain we hadn’t yet learned how to name.

It was a cycle. Vicious. Almost toxic. A quiet game where we both knew the rules but insisted on pretending we didn’t. A kind of delicious hell, because every fight ended in trembling hands and desperate kisses, and the addiction to being near each other always outweighed the clarity to walk away.

Nobody knew.

Well, nobody knew. But they felt it. That thick tension in the air whenever we were in the same room. The way he looked at me when he thought no one was watching, or how I went quiet just to listen to his laugh, hiding my smile like it was nothing. Even our friends started to comment.

“Don’t you think there’s something going on between them?” I heard someone whisper at the end of class once, while I pretended to look for something in my bag.

“No way. They hate each other.”

“Exactly. That’s why. There’s too much tension for it to be just bickering.”

I swallowed hard. Pretended not to hear. But it stung — because it was true. There was something. Something suppressed, something we fought to deny with everything we had. But it was there. And it was growing. With every touch, every late night together, every time we pretended it was just one more night and not what it had always been underneath: the desperate need to be close, even if we didn’t know what to do with it.

And I was getting tired.

Tired of pretending, of hiding, of feeling small when all I wanted was to be seen. Not just in the dark of his room. Not just in the silence of our secret nights. I wanted to be acknowledged. Spoken aloud. Named. I wanted to exist fully in his life — not just in the in-between moments he didn’t deem important.

The first time I brought it up was after a particularly long night. We were lying across the mattress, breathless, sweaty, the sheets half on the floor. I turned to him, waiting for a touch, a look, something. But he was just there, staring at the ceiling like I wasn’t even in the room. Like nothing had happened. Like I was invisible — even after I’d given him everything. Again.

“You never wanted this,” he said with that fake calm that drove me insane.

“Wanted what?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Anything serious. You always said you hated commitment.”

“I said that a year ago, Seongjae. People change.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked away — like he couldn’t bear to meet my eyes and see the reflection of his own cowardice. And that was the moment I knew. He was lying. Again. It wasn’t about me. It never had been. It was about him. About his fear. About the scars he carried that made him choose the safety of a nameless arrangement over the risk of loving me for real.

But I couldn’t keep living off scraps.

I wanted everything. And all he ever gave me was almost.

Almost love.

Almost courage.

Almost truth.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could survive in that “almost” without completely falling apart.

I had asked again. For the third time. But this time, it wasn’t a reckless impulse driven by loneliness or anger. It was different. I had to gather every last inch of courage I had left in me, pick up the pieces he’d been leaving behind bit by bit, and put on the table what had been eating me alive. He knew. He’d always known. The problem was, he never wanted to admit it — not to me, not even to himself.

“Answer me, Seongjae… Why don’t we try something real?” I asked, straight to the point, my voice steady even though I was falling apart inside.

He didn’t reply right away. He blinked slowly, like he was trying to delay the question, postpone the inevitable. He looked down and licked his lips — a nervous tic I’d come to recognize in moments where he felt cornered. The silence between us stretched too long.

“Now’s not the right time,” he muttered at last, with no real conviction. “There’s too much going on. My parents… the union… you know how tense everything is.”

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” I shot back, not bothering to hide the hurt already seeping into my voice. “There’s always some new excuse. A fresh reason. A convenient distraction.”

He drew a deep breath. His posture was the kind of strong that’s built on the edge of collapse. But he would never show it — not to me. Not fully. His eyes avoided mine, as if every time I looked straight at him, he might give in to the truth he tried so hard to silence.

“I don’t want to drag you into my mess,” he said softly, like he thought he was doing me a favor.

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?” I asked, pulling away slightly, swallowing down the ache that now pulsed in my chest. “You use me as a pressure valve, like a sedative for a pain you won’t even share. You want me close when it’s dark, but you shut me out when I want to be in your daylight. That’s not care. That’s cowardice.”

He stayed quiet. Silent the way he always got when I said too many truths. And that silence was deafening. Cruel. Worse than shouting. Because it meant that, once again, he was choosing fear over me. Safety over the risk of something real.

The second time came weeks later. Another night. Another dark room. Another set of sheets that bore witness to our exhaustion disguised as desire. We were lying side by side, not touching, like the bed had turned into neutral ground on a war zone. I looked at him. The profile of his face was lit faintly by the streetlight outside. He looked tired. But it was more than that. There was weight there. Pain. Something ready to snap.

“You’re amazing. You deserve someone who’ll actually claim you,” he said suddenly, as if it were a compliment — a distorted way to protect me.

“And that someone can’t be you?” I asked, without hesitation.

He hesitated. Swallowed hard. His voice came out low, a little broken.

“No… I ruin everything I touch. I always have. I don’t want to hurt you.”

That was his specialty: sounding noble while running away. He’d put himself in the martyr’s seat, like he was doing me a favor by keeping me away, when really he was just hurting me in the slowest, quietest way. And still… I couldn’t hate him for it. Because there was truth in that fear. I saw it in his eyes. He was already in love with me — in his own way. Twisted, silent, terrified. He loved me without knowing how, without knowing what to do with it — so he ran. And hurt. And came up with excuses he could barely keep straight.

But the third time… that’s when it really broke me. The worst one. The one that shattered something in me that would never fit back quite the same.

“You know that if we end up together, it’ll just fall apart. And I don’t want to lose you,” he said, with that sharp honesty of someone who’d rather rip the wound open than try to heal it.

“You’d rather have me halfway than risk losing me for real?” I asked, my voice trembling, my heart screaming on the inside. “Is that what you prefer? This miserable version of presence?”

“I’d rather this than not have you at all,” he said, and this time his eyes locked on mine. And what I saw there wrecked me more than any words: fear. Real, raw, paralyzing fear.

In that moment, I knew he wasn’t going to change. Not now. Maybe not ever. And so, without yelling, without some dramatic scene, I chose to walk away. It was me who chose — because he never made the hard decisions. He just let time and silence make them for him. He just watched as I left. Didn’t try to stop me. Didn’t ask me to stay. Just… let it happen.

“We went our separate ways.” That’s what we said when people asked. Neat words. Convenient. Detached. “It was for the best,” we’d add. Like it had been mature. Like it was mutual. Like I hadn’t cried for days, and he hadn’t locked himself deeper into that shell of his.

But nothing moved on. Nothing continued. The truth was, everything stopped. I felt hollow. Like I’d been ripped out of myself.

And him? He vanished. Disappeared like a ghost, leaving behind only scattered traces. He pretended to be busy with union matters, buried in new conflicts and responsibilities. He acted like he was dealing with bigger things, more important things — when in truth, he was using external chaos to avoid the storm inside him.

And just when I thought the dust was settling, when I thought my feelings might finally fade, he showed up.

Not Seongjae.

Someone else.

Someone new. Someone who spoke to me like he actually saw me. Who listened. Who complimented my smile without needing me to earn it. And even though I didn’t truly want him, I let him get close. Because pretending a new beginning was easier than facing the end of something that had never been said out loud.

He was just a classmate. At first.

Someone nice. Present. Conveniently attentive. The kind who smiled too much, complimented out loud, and made sure to show how much he cared — even when no one asked him to. He started slow, like someone trying to build something solid, but his steps felt too calculated to be innocent. First came the late-night messages — random questions at 2 a.m., like a “are you still up?” was just curiosity, not a poorly disguised excuse to create intimacy. Then the coffees, always just the way I liked them, left on my desk before class with my name scribbled on the lid, like we’d been close for years. And then the invitations — persistent ones: snacks after class, movies, “just friends” walks. I didn’t encourage it, but I didn’t turn it down either. Not because I wanted something with him, but because, in a way, the whole act gave me this petty sense of revenge. Pretending I liked him was a childish — maybe even cruel — way of punishing someone who probably didn’t even know he was being punished.

Or maybe he did.

Seongjae had changed. Quieter. Sharper. More distant, even when he was right there. He didn’t look at me the same way — or pretended not to. If before he made a point of teasing, now he just walked past. If before his sarcastic remarks led to thick tension, now he didn’t speak at all. And when we were in the same group, I could feel his gaze on me — tense, dark, sharp — but the moment I turned to look, he was already pretending to scroll on his phone or stare blankly at the floor, like I was just another shadow in the room.

But it wasn’t indifference. It was held-back rage. Jealousy chewed down until it turned to poison.

His jaw would clench every time the other guy got too close to me, and he gripped his hands so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He never said a word, but his silence screamed. Every time he saw me smiling at the other boy, he’d avert his gaze like it physically hurt. And still — he did nothing. No attempts to talk. No effort to come closer. No confrontation. Seongjae chose to back away. He avoided me everywhere he could: school hallways, union meetings, even the usual spots where we’d always bumped into each other like fate. I started to notice how he’d change directions when he saw me from afar. How he’d switch study rooms. Leave early if I walked in.

And then came the comments.

Mutual friends — unaware of anything — started talking to him about me and me about him, clueless about the weight each word carried. One of them, laughing, said: “Seongjae, did you see your ex-bestie’s all smiles these days? That Minho guy’s glued to her. They’re always together.” Another was more direct: “Honestly thought you’d care. Guess it really doesn’t matter to you, huh?”

He wouldn’t reply. Just frowned slightly and kept doing whatever he was doing. But after that, I’d catch him running his fingers along the side of his neck, like he was trying to soothe something burning from the inside out. That restlessness of his didn’t go unnoticed. And that’s what hurt the most: he refused to get involved. Refused to stop me. Refused to fight.

And I kept pretending I was happy. I smiled in pictures. Laughed at my new admirer’s jokes. Let myself be touched on the shoulder, hugged from behind. I let it happen because I knew Seongjae saw. Even if he didn’t say a word. Even if he avoided me. Even if he acted like I no longer existed — he saw. And it was eating him alive. I could feel it.

Until one night, at a party, things nearly slipped out of control.

We were in a small hall — dim lights, loud music. Just another school event, nothing special. But everyone was there — including Seongjae. He saw me with the other guy the second he walked in. I saw the way his eyes hardened like stone, his whole expression shutting down into something cold and unreadable. He didn’t come talk to me. Didn’t say a word. He stayed across the room, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like part of the decor — but his eyes didn’t leave me for a second. The way he stared made me dizzy.

The guy — the new one — was full of energy. And clingy. He pulled me to dance, wrapped his hands around my waist, whispered something in my ear that made me laugh nervously. I could feel Seongjae’s eyes burning into me, even without looking. He was on fire, and it was almost tangible.

And then, the inevitable: the guy tried to kiss me.

He didn’t hide it. He was direct. Probably thought he’d timed it perfectly. And I, on instinct, turned my face away. Not out of loyalty to Seongjae, not because I was scared of feeling something — but because, in that moment, it just felt wrong. Dirty. Forced. Pointless.

Before I could fully pull back, I turned my head.

And Seongjae’s stare hit me like a blade straight to the chest.

It wasn’t just anger.

It was something darker. Deeper. Desperate.

But he didn’t do anything. He just turned his back and walked out through the side door like the room was on fire and he had to escape.

He left me there — in the middle of loud music and hands I didn’t want to hold.

And for the first time, I wondered if maybe we weren’t just stuck in a game where we had both already lost — but neither of us had the guts to admit it.

Three days later, on a random Friday, he showed up at my door.

No warning. No message. No excuse.

Just him. And the weight of everything we never said.

The scent of alcohol got there before he did. Not strong, but just enough to give him away. His hair was messy, his expression unguarded, his eyes red — and not just from exhaustion. He looked lost, like he’d been drifting ever since the last time we saw each other. And only now had he gathered just enough courage to face the wreckage.

“Are you going out with him?” he asked right away — no hello, no hesitation.

“And what if I am?” I shot back, arms crossed, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart was pounding.

Seongjae let out a dry, bitter laugh, like the question itself was a personal offense.

“That asshole Minho can’t even hold a conversation without sounding like a lovesick teenager. Imagine dating someone like you.” He took a slightly off-balance step forward, swaying a little, but his eyes never left mine. “He doesn’t know you hate clingy people. Doesn’t know you can’t stand when someone talks only about themselves, or that you can’t fall asleep unless the fan’s on — even in the middle of winter.”

“And you do?” I challenged, trying not to flinch.

“I know everything. I know you like your coffee bitter, that you can’t keep quiet when you’re mad, and that you cover up how you feel by joking around. And I know you only let that idiot hang around to get back at me.”

He was visibly shaken. And even with his pride in pieces, what came through was a pain more honest than any half-assed excuse he’d ever given me.

“You’re drunk, Seongjae.”

“Maybe. But I’m not stupid.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m drunk off the thought of you with him. That idiot with the tight-ass pants who thinks making you laugh means he gets you. He doesn’t even know you talk in your sleep. I do. I’ve heard you say my name, by the way.” He nodded toward the inside of the house, like every room in it was burned into his memory.

“You only came here because you’re like this,” I said, trying — and failing — to keep my distance.

He smiled, but it was crooked, sad, full of rage.

“I came because I can’t watch that jerk put his hands on you like he has the right. I came because seeing you with someone else felt like someone ripped the air out of my lungs. I came because…” He took a deep breath, his voice dropping, “…because I can’t stand the idea of anyone else knowing you the way I do.”

We stood there in silence for a moment. A silence that hung heavy, trembling between us. He was closer now. I could smell the alcohol mixed with that scent of his I knew too well. And even then, I didn’t step back.

“You got mad, so you came here?” I asked, eyes locked on his.

“Mad? Mad doesn’t cover it.” He lowered his head, laughed again. “You talk about Minho like he’s some kind of prize. Like I didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You were punishing me, weren’t you?” He looked up again, calmer now, but still burning. “Admit it. You knew I’d see it. And you knew I couldn’t take it.”

I stayed silent. My heart pounding like a drum. Because he was right.

He stepped closer. So close I could feel the heat of his body on my skin.

“Tell me you don’t want him,” he said, in a low, husky voice, soaked in jealousy, desire, and pain. “Tell me you still want us.”

“You pushed me away, Seongjae.”

“And now I’m here. I’ll get on my knees if I have to. Just say it. Just tell me it’s still me.”

I didn’t say a word. Just looked at him. And in the next second, he pulled me in. His hands firm on my waist, his breath hot against my skin, his eyes locked on mine — and he kissed me. No asking. No thinking. No permission for pride.

The kiss was rushed, messy at first, fueled by anger, urgency, and all the pain we’d been carrying. But it was real. Alive. Intense. He held me like he needed proof I hadn’t vanished. And I kissed him back like I was tired of pretending I didn’t feel anything anymore.

When we finally pulled apart, he kept his forehead pressed against mine, breathing deep, eyes closed.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I just… I can’t pretend I’m okay watching you with someone else. I can’t.”

And for the first time, he said what he’d always kept buried.

And for the first time… I didn’t want to run.

His breathing was still shaky when his lips pulled away from mine, but his eyes — those eyes that were always so guarded — were now wide open, overflowing with feeling. You could see everything there: the jealousy, the longing, the desire, the fear, and a kind of desperate love that looked like it was choking him from the inside. He was still holding me in his arms, like letting go might actually make me disappear. Like if he dropped me now, I’d vanish for good.

“You drove me crazy,” he murmured, brushing his lips across my cheek, down to the corner of my jaw. “You and that idiot… smiling like you were fine. Do you know how many nights I tortured myself, imagining him touching you? How many times I almost went after you and stopped halfway, thinking I didn’t deserve you anymore?”

His voice was low, hoarse, almost shaking. I could feel the tension in his muscles as he carried me to the bedroom, every step driven by something that wasn’t just anger — it was need. But not the blind rage of someone who wants to punish. It was the frustration of someone who wants to love right and never learned how.

He laid me down on the bed like he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers — even though I wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. He hovered above me, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. His hands were trembling, but even so, they moved with purpose — down my arms, my waist, my thighs. And every touch left a trail of heat, like he was drawing into my skin all the things he never had the courage to say out loud.

“You’re mine. And not because I’m saying it. Because you’ve always been. Since the beginning. Since that first fight. Since the first touch in the hallway.”

With each word, he lowered himself over me, our bodies aligning like he wanted to melt into me. His hands weren’t rushed — they were slow, deliberate, exploring me with a kind of wild reverence. He knew where to touch. He knew how to take my breath away with just the right pressure of his fingers. And he did it on purpose.

His kisses traced down my neck, hotter now, wetter, more possessive. He bit gently, whispered things in my ear, and I arched under him like my body had memorized this kind of surrender. And he talked. He wouldn’t stop talking.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice rougher now, deeper. I opened my eyes and met his gaze — wide, breathless, holding a truth that hurt to look at. “I want to see you while I have you back.”

Then our bodies began to move together — slow, heavy, like every motion carried months of silence. It wasn’t just sex. It was anger, guilt, confession. But it was also love — raw, urgent, wrecked. He touched me like he was somewhere between worship and collapse. The kisses turned hungrier, the grip of his hands tighter, and the sounds escaping between us were so intimate they felt like the only things that existed.

“I love you,” he whispered again, this time with his lips against my chest, as his body moved against mine. “Do you get it now? I love you so much it hurts. It tears me apart. And still… you’re the only thing that makes it worth breathing.”

I didn’t have words. I just wrapped my legs around him and pulled him closer, deeper — as if I needed to say “I love you too” with everything except my mouth.

And in that bed, with the room dark, the sheets tangled, and the weight of everything we’d held back between us — we finally made love. But not the soft, cinematic kind. It was real love. Messy. Intense. Full of pain, full of longing, full of return. The kind of love that comes from people who broke it, came back, and still don’t know how to fix it — but won’t walk away again.

Because by now, it was too late to deny.

And far too early to stop.

The light slipping through the cracks in the curtain made it clear the day had already begun, but inside the room, everything still tasted like the middle of the night. The sheets were a mess, clothes scattered in random spots on the floor, pillows tossed far from where they belonged — the whole scene looked like it had been painted by some kind of private storm made just for us.

I opened my eyes first. The silence was calm, and Seongjae was still sleeping, lying on his side, his face turned toward me, breathing deeply — almost childlike. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and one arm was draped lazily across his waist like he was still making sure I hadn’t disappeared. He looked… at peace. For the first time in a long time. And even with his face smudged with sleep and a tiny bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, he somehow still managed to be annoyingly handsome.

Suddenly, he groaned.

“My head’s killing me…,” he mumbled, eyes still shut, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

“Well, good morning to you too,” I said with a soft laugh, propping myself up on my elbow to get a better look at him.

“Let’s sleep a little more…” he whispered, reaching out to pull me back in like I was his favorite pillow. “My head’s gonna fall off if I get up right now.”

“You were such a baby last night. And now you’re even cuter — all clingy like this.”

He opened one eye slowly, face scrunched into a fake scowl.

“If I’m the baby, then you’re the blanket. And I’m not leaving you anymore.”

I laughed — couldn’t help it — and tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Get up, Seongjae. We have school.”

“Ugh… real life ruins everything,” he groaned, pulling the sheet over his face. Still, after a few more minutes of stalling, he finally got up, and we got ready together — with quiet laughs and slow, playful touches as we bumped into each other on purpose.

We left the house together, fingers laced, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. Maybe it had always been. We had just taken too long to admit it.

At school, we didn’t bother hiding it. We walked side by side through the main hallway, and it was almost funny to watch people turn their heads, one by one, like they hadn’t seen it coming — even though everyone had always kind of known.

We sat next to each other, same row. He didn’t let go of my hand. From time to time, his fingers brushed against mine, or he’d rest his hand on my thigh — and whenever someone stared, he’d flash that smug little smile of his, the one that now worked in my favor.

But of course��� Minho showed up.

I saw him approaching with that overconfident walk, eyes going straight to our joined hands. He froze for just a second, like his brain was still processing what he was seeing — our hands, the smudge of lipstick, the faint purplish mark on my neck. But he held his posture.

“You disappeared last night…” he said, stopping beside us. “Left the party early. You’ve been kinda forgetful lately.”

“Wasn’t feeling too well,” I replied calmly, glancing at Seongjae — whose expression clearly said he wasn’t thrilled to see Minho.

“Oh, right… Must’ve been the dizziness from being around someone who lies to everyone and then vanishes,” he added, slicing his gaze between the two of us. Seongjae had already let go of my hand and straightened up in his seat, jaw clenched tight.

“Minho…” he said in a low voice, with a forced sigh — like he had to find an extra level of patience just because we were in public. Though, it wasn’t about the people around us — it was about me.

“Anyway,” Minho continued, ignoring the warning in Seongjae’s tone, “wanna hang out after class? Just the two of us? There’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a while.”

He already knew.

And Seongjae knew exactly what that kind of line meant coming from a guy — and he wasn’t having it.

Before I could say a thing, Seongjae stood up. Slowly. His eyes locked on Minho’s. His smile was polite — but his gaze? Pure warning.

“She’s not going. Because she already has a boyfriend. That would be me. We’re perfectly fine on our own, so keep your eyes off her before I mess up your face.”

Minho scoffed. Tried to laugh it off like it was some kind of joke.

“Boyfriend?” he repeated with a scoff. “Maybe clarify that — seeing how she wanted me before you ever put a ring on her finger.”

“Yeah. Boyfriend. Official. Holding hands in the hallway, good morning kisses, all the things you’re never gonna get. Oh, and that? That was during our dark phase. We got back together. So don’t ever come near her again,” Seongjae said, his tone harder than before.

Silence fell over the hallway instantly.

Minho said nothing.

He hesitated for a few seconds — then turned and walked away without another word.

Seongjae, on the other hand, sat back down beside me, arms crossed, and shot me a sidelong glance with that familiar, satisfied little smirk.

“Now that’s peace,” he muttered.

“Oh, please… Don’t give me that evil look. You look like a scary baby,” I teased, pouting your lips and kiss him. He chuckled.

I smiled quietly, turned my face toward him, and rested my head on his shoulder. For the first time — no fear. No pretending.

And for the first time… he wasn’t pretending either.

a/n: hii, tyy honey, for you message, i hope you enjoy it. i took a while to reply but here it is, happy reading! 💋🤭

yes, i’m taking requests! anyone who wants to can send them through the ask box, 24/7. see you and bye bye!😸🙃

[genderqueerdykes]

i love you so much i love the way u talk abt trans men and our struggles i makes me feel so seen especially bc youre older than me, i want to be understood , keep posting please

THANK YOU !!

i appreciate that. i feel like nobody (aside from some very cool bloggers on here) is advocating for trans men anymore. like unless its a trans man talking about these issues, it just doesn't happen. nobody advocates on our behalf for the most part. everyone just leaves us to the weeds. we have to help each other because most people just don't even understand what trans men and mascs want. like it's absolutely positively insanity inducing

when i was in college, at my pride group, there were just. no conversations about trans men. at all. in fact. at the time i was beginning to realize i was a trans man but i couldn't find support or acknowledgement of transmasculinity anywhere. whenever i would participate in the conferences, and large group meetings for LGBTQ communities in our part of the country... I was forced into queer women's groups. i did not identify as a woman or bigender at that time. i asked them where a female-to-male genderqueer person should go, and they put me in every queer women's group. i was not being considered trans. i was being viewed as a cis butch lesbian.

i was fucking pissed.

i learned the word transgender and what it meant and the example that was given was male to female, which was informative. i heard a lot of things about feminine transition, drag queens, cis gay male culture, bisexuality, pansexuality, and even asexuality. i want you to know that my college's pride group in 2011 - 2012 was more accepting of asexual people than trans men, which is insane for that time frame. i was actually allowed to help with a presentation on asexuality

i had to go online and research trans men, though. there were none to be found in the group that were at least out and able to talk to each other. we were all very stealth and nervous. my long term friends there ended up being gay men, lesbians, and a transfem agender person. i never met a single trans man there. it was heartbreaking.

i am tired of participating in transmasculine silence. i will not participate in self-erasure. trans men are trans. we're men. we're mascs. we NEED support, community, and care. we need to learn how to access transition resources, to comfort each other, to laugh with each other, to help each other find what clothes make us feel like ourselves, to say each other's names and pronouns, to see one's self in the other.

we need people who will protect us from misgendering. we need to be able to talk about our unique issues. we need to be able to talk about how yes, we experience misogyny, but also that transandrophobia is literally a thing. we need people who will stand up for femme trans men and gay trans men. we need people who understand that it's not okay to call every single trans man a confused butch lesbian and assume that they're a queer cis woman. trans men can be butch lesbians and that's okay. but you can't rip away a trans man's manhood for the sake of being a catty asshole. it's misgendering. it's transphobia. care about being transphobic. transphobia hurts all trans people no matter where it's directed. we all lose when you opt to deny trans men and mascs the right to community.

i am transmasculine. i am a trans man. i love being a trans man. i'm not ashamed. i'm not going back in the closet. i love my transmasculine brothers and siblings. i will not silence them. silencing them is a disservice to us all. i refuse to do that to us.

thank you for sending this ask. stay safe, take care of yourself, you're an important part of the LGBTQ community, don't let anyone take that from you.

[hellyeahscarleteen]

Staying Safe While Homeless

A SAFETY GUIDE FOR YOUTH EXPERIENCING ANY KIND OF HOMELESSNESS

When you are experiencing homelessness, it can be difficult to feel safe. In some cases, being homeless as a young adult might feel safer physically and/or emotionally than where we came from, or you might find you don’t feel safe anywhere. In survival mode, the idea of true safety can sometimes feel unobtainable. Safety can feel like a privilege that you can’t access at all, or can only have in parts. Safety can also take a variety of forms. When talking about safety, we want to think about physical safety, as well as mental or emotional safety. Safety, most broadly, can also include security of our resources, like personal belongings that we need to take care of ourselves. Ultimately, what feels safe or as though it is a reasonable risk to one person might feel incredibly unsafe to someone else. Here are some tips for thinking about safety if you’re experiencing any form of homelessness:

Staying aware

The key to trying to keep yourself safe is going to be focused on being aware of your surroundings and their unique qualities, and being aware of who is near you. Risks and safety are going to look different in each situation.

If you are taking any medications, utilizing any substances like alcohol, or are otherwise in a state where your reaction times, or your ability to process information, are or might be impacted, try to keep the company of people who you trust and who can make safety assessments for both of you while your judgment or responsiveness is altered.

Staying safe while couch-surfing

When couch-surfing, many homeless youth feel like they can let their guard down a little when it comes to safety. If you are staying with trustworthy adults⁠ who you know well, this might be the case, and can be a much-needed respite from feeling like you are in constant crisis.

However, couch-surfing can sometimes involve staying with people you don’t know well, or don’t know at all. These people might be well-intentioned, or could have their own motivations for why they are offering help. When couch-surfing, be aware of where your belongings are, and keep your most important documents (identification, important paperwork etc.) with you at all times. This way, if you have to leave quickly, the chance is low of you being separated from the things that you need most. Be aware of any kind of unwanted advances (emotional or sexual⁠) that make you feel uncomfortable. You do not owe anyone intimacy in exchange for them letting you stay with them. As a homeless youth it’s so important to trust your gut. If something feels off, it probably is. If your gut is sending you signals that you aren’t safe trust yourself and get out⁠ of that situation as quickly as possible. Tell someone you trust that you aren’t feeling safe wherever you are, or if you are alone, but have a cell phone, text or call someone you trust and let them know where you are and what’s going on. Get yourself somewhere where you feel safer, or at minimum where there are other people around.

Staying safe while on the streets

While it’s a challenge to keep from getting stopped/harassed by police or private security, as much as possible try to stay in well-lit populated areas. Stay with other homeless youth as much as possible. Try not to be alone: there is safety in numbers. Homeless youth sleeping together on the streets are less likely to be targets of exploitation or violence. While sleeping, hold your belongings, including your shoes, while you sleep to protect them from getting stolen.

Staying safe in shelters

If you know that you are going to need to stay in a shelter, and you live in a city with options, talk with your homeless friends about their experiences in different shelters. Other homeless youth may have had experiences at shelters that will help you determine which facility or program is going to be safe for you. Anytime a lot of youth are together, be it high school or a homeless shelter, there can also be cliques and drama. Be aware of what is going on around you, but thoughtful about how and when you do or don’t engage. Getting involved in shelter drama or politics could jeopardize your housing or safety if conflicts escalate, which could lead to unsafe situations. If you are staying in a shelter, you’ll also want to keep your belongings on your body or locked up to keep them secure from theft.

Trust your gut!

If you don’t feel safe in a situation, even if you aren’t exactly sure why, trust your internal sense of what does or doesn’t feel safe. Part of being a homeless teenager means sometimes needing to keep yourself safe when nobody else is willing or able to do so. If you don’t feel safe, make it your priority to do whatever you can or need to do to get yourself into a situation where you feel safer.

Trust your gut feelings. If you feel unsafe in a situation, try to leave it.

Read the full version by Sassafras Patterdale below

[pleaseinsertwittyurl]

There are always 2 sides.

The discourse around Louis and Lestat being a victim and abuser and nothing more drives me insane.

Something i don't think enough people remember is that the very same reason the fight began in 1×05 (lestat grabbing claudia by the throat when she tries to "take louis away") we see Louis himself do to her in 1×07 when she tries to get Louis to burn Lestat.

They BOTH would harm her rather than live in a world without the other. They are both guilty of abusing her and each other.

There is an implication that a good deal of time passed between Louis and Lestat meeting and the church. Louis expresses that he shares himself with Lestat in a way he only had with Paul. I would assume that goes both ways, to a degree. We know Louis knows at least enough about Nicki to discourage Claudia poking that wound. He also clearly knows that the threat of leaving is his most powerful weapon against Lestat.

Mental abuse is abuse. And Louis abused Lestat mentally for years. Shaming him, ridiculing him, shutting him out, manipulating him into making Claudia (a traumatic moment for him, whether Louis understands the depths of it or not) by promising to give him what he's being denying him, promising to never put him through what he fears the most.

Louis admits to purposely making Lestat suffer. He admits he was warned that Claudia would suffer and he wanted her anyway because he needed to feel redeemed. He is not innocent. He is not a trapped, weak victim. He made choices to hurt both Lestat and Claudia time and time again.

Does this justify Lestat's actions in 1×05? Obviously not. But we now know Louis was not willing to stop the fight. He taunted Lestat the same way he taunted the Alderman. He was unleashing years of frustrations just as Lestat was. His priority was not to protect Claudia, it was to hurt Lestat, consequences be damned.

I hate the drop scene as much as the next person and Lestat has admitted he will never earn forgiveness for what he did. But if you view Louis as some squeaky clean victim who was manipulated, trapped, and abused by Lestat you are missing so much of what this show is conveying.

We will always tend to paint ourselves as the hero of our own story. It is hard to accept your faults or that you hurt people you love. It is much easier to shift that blame on to someone else, to frame them as the villian. But life is not usually that black and white. Claudia had harsh words for them both in her diary, even before they got to Europe, for a reason. They both made hurtful mistakes with her, both treated her like a pawn in their relationship instead of a person, both harmed her, took away her choice, never prioritized her.

That is the great tragedy. That she never had a choice and was not allowed to be her own person. And in the end, they both are responsible for her misery and her death. That's what makes the reunion scene so important. They have been grieving her and carrying that guilt alone, all the while longing for the comfort of the other for 70+ years. Louis has found clarity in his memories, he has accepted his role in their suffering, he has seen Lestat's perspective more fully. Lestat is broken, totally consumed with that guilt and grief. Both know that although they cannot change what they've done, they can forgive the other, even if they can't forgive themselves. They can love each other despite everything they've done to one another because they cannot stop loving each other. But now they can try to rebuild that love from the rubble.

[jungkoode]

IMPORTANT PSA.

Hi, my loves.

I don’t know if anyone really noticed, but I’ve been a little quiet these past few days, taking a moment to breathe and reset after a pretty heavy wave of hostility and willful misinterpretations hit Kiki Nation.

I’ll admit it—I tried to explain myself, to clarify, to fix it. But all I really did was give more attention to people who were never here in good faith to begin with. And that’s on me. I won’t be doing that again.

So, moving forward, I won’t be overexplaining or oversharing anymore. The post about how the goal system works has been removed, and from now on, goals and updates are explained briefly in my FAQ. That’s where you can find the info anytime you need it.

I also want to take this chance to make something very clear, louder than ever:

Anyone who engages in cruelty, mocking, pettiness, manipulation, harassment, ableism, or bullying behavior has never been part of Kiki Nation, and they never will be.

Let’s remind ourselves—there was never ‘leaving’ this space for them, because they were never part of it in the first place.

Kiki Nation has never stood for that kind of behavior, and it never will. We are built on kindness, respect, and showing up for each other with love—not drama. Not control. Not cruelty.

And that’s why I’m trusting the real Kiki Nation right now.

I want to briefly address something that’s still lingering—the engagement on FMU Chapter 21 in Wattpad specifically.

As you might have noticed, there was a pretty obvious wave of petty mass unvoting on that chapter after the backlash. It dropped below its original goal, and now it looks like Chapter 22 was posted without ever reaching the milestone we all celebrated together. And it’s sadly misleading a lot of readers.

That’s not what Kiki Nation is about.

We’ve never been the kind of space that lets a few bad-faith players rewrite the narrative or take away from what we built together.

So, I’m asking—if you’re here, if you care, if you still stand with this space—go back to Chapter 21 on Wattpad and re-vote to restore what we actually achieved together.

Why? Because it protects the visibility of the story.

Because it keeps Kiki Nation’s credibility clean.

Because it clarifies Chapter 22 was posted because Chapter 21 did reach 200 votes (under 48h I should say), and it’s at 130 because 70 people unvoted AFTER the new chapter was posted.

And mostly—because it shows that we decide what this space stands for—not the ones who tried to tear it down.

I’ve taken a step back these past few days and had some time to reflect. And honestly? While I’m still disappointed, I also know this was never a loss. It was a cleansing. They were never really part of this space, and now they’re gone. That’s something I’m learning to see as a positive, not a setback.

I also want to admit that I blurred the line a little too much between author and readers, and in doing that, I might have given certain people the wrong idea—that they had the right to lash out, to push expectations, or to control what happens here. That stops now. This space has always been built on mutual respect and appreciation, and that’s exactly how it’s going to stay.

As always, I’ll be updating at my own pace—after goals are met and support is steady across the story. That’s how it’s always worked, and it’s exactly how Kikizens have appreciated it. I’m not changing it to accommodate the few trolls who were never part of Kiki Nation to begin with and are only here in bad faith. FMU 23 will be posted when FMU 21’s goals are restored and FMU 22 reaches its own. (Holding myself back from over explaining/justifying myself here again, so I won’t. That’s all there is to it.)

To protect my mental health, I’ll also be slowing down a bit more until the end of the year. I need to take care of myself and prioritize my life offline, and I trust you’ll understand that pace.

Thank you again, truly, for being here. For sticking around. For showing me what the real Kiki Nation is made of.

We move.

—Kiki

Edit: I have received a bunch of loving anons after this announcement. Just know I have read every single one of them and would love to reply in private but the option is not available, so I’m keeping them in my heart. I’m closing this chapter with a warm fuzzy feeling. Thank you.🩷

[yowyowyaoi]

*Madara goes into Hashirama’s bedroom*

Madara: Okay, Hashi … *sits at the edge of the bed* Unfortunately I’m not in the mood to mind-read today, so you’re just going to have to tell me what’s wrong.

Hashirama, face buried in pillow: N-nothing!

Madara: Hashirama. You just barely made it through that meeting before you ran out of the building and all the way back here. I had to lie to the others and tell them that you have a stomachache. But seriously, what’s wrong?

Hashirama: It’s just … Madara it’s just …

Madara: Was it what those guys from the Cloud said, about increasing the taxes on goods that they send to us? Because I keep telling you, if we just negotiate a little longer, then —

Hashirama, lifting his tear-stained face from his pillow: It’s not the damn taxes, Madara! It was Izuna!

Madara, surprised:  Izuna? What in the world did my little brother do?? He was perfectly behaved and respectful today, wasn’t he? 

Hashirama: Y-yes, but he … Madara, he …

Madara: Yes?

Hashirama, holding back a sob: His face, he had stubble on his cheeks and upper lip!

Madara: … Seriously? That’s what’s got you so upset? *scoffs* I didn’t realize that grooming habits were so important to the Senju.

Hashirama: That’s not it at all. It’s, well … don’t you get it? Izuna is growing up!

Madara: … Yes? And?

Hashirama: He’s the same age as MY little brother, so that means Tobirama is growing up, too! God, when did this happen? When did they stop being little kids that we could shelter and protect??

Madara: Ah, Hashi … *leans down and puts his arms around Hashirama* I get what you’re saying, I really do. But me and you, we practically raised our brothers, ourselves. And I think we did a damn good job of it. They both turned into strong, respectable men. Shouldn’t we be proud of that, instead of focusing on the negatives?

Hashirama: I guess. It’s just —

Madara: It’s just that you still worry about Tobirama, right? Shit, I know, I sometimes stay up all night just thinking about Izuna, and what the future might hold for him. But at some point, we’ve got to let all of that go, and just be grateful for the time we have with them, you know?

Hashirama: *heaves a long, shuddering sigh and kisses Madara’s cheek* You’re right, I know you’re right. Thank you, Madara.

Madara: You don’t have to thank me, love. And besides, we don’t really have to worry about our brothers. I’m fairly sure they’re going to end up together, and take care of each other.

Hashirama: Wait … what? Are we talking about the same two people? Because from what I’ve seen, those two despise each other. So what —

*in the distance*

Izuna, panting: Ha! I’ve done it again! Even in sparring, I’ve proved that I’m better than you, Senju scum!!

Tobirama: Better than me? Are you serious? You barely came out of our session unscathed! You’re pathetic!

Izuna: Pathetic? Who’s the one who fell to his knees crying and begging for me to lift my gengetsu??

Tobirama: Because you kept showing me images of me and you kissing!

Izuna: *steps up and wraps his arms around Tobirama’s waist* And? Do you object to that?

Tobirama: … Actually, no. *leans in and starts kissing down Izuna’s neck* Please, continue.

Madara, to Hashirama: See? Our baby brothers are doing just fine, Hashi!

Hashirama: …

[ivysos2001]

I’ve seen a few posts on here criticizing sotr’s take on propaganda and basically saying who cares that the gamemakers removed all the stuff that they did, the final showing showed everyone the gist of it and honestly I couldn’t disagree more- the way I see it they took out all the most important parts, they stripped the 50th hunger games of all of its heart. And that’s why all that stuff matters

Because the way the Capitol sees it- the hunger games are supposed to show the evils of humanity, that even the most innocent can turn into violent killers under the right circumstances. Among other things, the hunger games were supposed to prove and remind everyone how evil and animalistic humans are (particularly those from the districts).

But we’ve all seen for ourselves (even in just these four games we’ve read about) that that’s not actually true. Bc yeah we’ve seen tributes kill each other, of course we have., but we’ve also seen them love each other and make friends with each other. We’ve seen them take care of each other and protect each other and sacrifice for each other and then we’ve seen them mourn each other and cry for each other when their newfound friends die in front of them. I can’t even list all of the examples bc this post would turn into a novel but that’s what the tributes really do in the arena. These games that are supposed to bring out the absolute worst in these kids actually ends up bringing them together in all sorts of ways because that’s what people do, we come together and we collaborate and we care about each other. And it’s all of that stuff - the heart of the games - that the gamemakers prune out for their final shows.

We saw it through haymitch’s eyes- we saw them remove any and all traces of the unity and collaboration and friendship that the newcomers represented in turning a pack of 48 individual tributes into a 48 kids who all joined together into teams (both careers and newcomers). We saw them remove any of the tributes caring for each other

The gamemakers take the games (that are already unimaginably horrific and violent) and remove any semblance of heart and humanity from them, and then they show them off to everyone to prove how awful we all are. Bc yeah, if you take out all the heart, anything is going to seem soulless and evil (shoutout to Suzanne’s little dig at ai). And that’s what these people spend *73 years* doing, until the 74th games turn into a love story so compelling that they forget their cardinal rule and allow the heart to shine through for the first time in 74 years. All of the sudden the sun starts to rise for the first time in so many years and once it does they’re powerless to stop it

That’s why katniss and peeta’s love story was different from all the other games, and why it was successful in finally moving people. It’s what katniss realizes when she and peeta are sitting on their victors throne watching the story of their games play out and finds that they’ve turned it (for the first time ever) into a love story. Bc its not that there’s never been any love or care or compassion between the tributes, it’s that this time katniss and peeta’s love for each other is so undeniable and such an unavoidable part of these games that it’s impossible to hide or ignore or deny

[drdemonprince]

Is "safe sex" even real? Never done it so idk but you mentioned risk profiles once. I feel like demographically I've got a higher risk profile and the anxiety about that really prevents me from going and trying anything. Do you think that's overly anxious in a negative way?

"safe sex" is a really misleading and binary term. There is never any guarantee of safety in anything we do. Every choice we make comes with risks. Hell, choosing not to connect with other people sexually (if you have any desire to) does ITSELF come with its own risks and costs over time.

The chase after perfect, guranteed safety will only lead to us feeling powerless and afraid, because it is an impossibility. All that we can do is inform ourselves of the risks, mitigate the risks we are the most concerned about and that affect others, and then knowingly accept what risks we still face as the cost of leading a full, enjoyable life.

When we inform ourselves about risk mitigation, we learn there are certain steps that we should probably take to protect ourselves and others if we are engaging in behavior that carries risk. If you're having sex with a complete stranger, it's probably smart to use a condom. If you have sex regularly you might want an HPV vaccine or to be on PreP to prevent HIV transmission. When you meet up with people you should get tested for COVID. You should get vaccinated against COVID. If you want to get suspended in rope from the ceiling don't use a hardware store $3 carabeener, get the good shit from the rock-climbing supply store. Things like that.

But even if you use a condom, you might get herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. Even if you never have sex, you might already have herpes or HPV or crabs or a yeast infection. I've had several of those things, including some of the "scarier" sounding ones, and they're really not that big a deal. They're just a thing that happens in life. Most people have them. You pop a Valtrex when you have symptoms, you shove a suppostiory up your vulva when it itches, you sleep without underwear on, you communicate with partners, you move on with your life.

Sure, I do what I can to avoid the risks I am most concerned about. I take PreP right now because not getting HIV would be preferable to me. But I could still live if I got it. I am informed about the realities of living with HIV today, which makes that fear more manageable. It is easier for me to make carefully considered and yet realistic decisions surrounding my risk profile because I can confront the realities that scare me and learn more about them.

The body is not separable form its environment. We are connected to our surroundings and the people around us, and our bodies get sick, catch viruses, grow old, get messy, and die inevitably and return to the earth. With our one life, we each have to choose what is most important to us and what potential costs we can stand. But with each year that passes, a cost to our bodies is already incurred, and there's nothing we can do to prevent aging and death from coming our way.

So what would you like to do while you are around? Would you like to have sex with condoms? Go on PreP? Get the HPV vaccine? Take random loads in a glory hole? Make out and dry hump with a cutie at a party and catch her cold sore? Cross the street in the dark after looking both ways? Go out dancing so late that your sleep is disrupted for the whole week? Get your heart broken? Have a great all-consuming love? Have children? Endure a torn labia while giving birth? Try psychedelics? Go on a swinger's cruise? Get a UTI from spermicide? Roleplay online instead of meeting in person? Fuck people with a strap-on?

The choice is yours. And no choice you make will be perfect or come without risk. No life is safe. Accepting loss is one of the necessary tasks of leading a life. But you can educate yourself, reflect on what you most want out of life and what you fear, and then take steps to demystefy your worst fears and mitigate the risks that loom largest to you and the people you care about.

Whatever you decide, I hope you have some fun.