#please don't go

[luxilonn]

please don't go | bunker au

"can we go outside now" by crewlin.

read it HERE

[thoughts-left-unspoke]

I can feel the ghost of your breath upon my lips,

warm and fleeting, a whisper of fire and longing.

Your hands trace constellations upon my skin,

mapping the valleys, the rises, the quiet echoes of me.

But the thought of us—fragile, aching—

was already halfway to ruin,

a dream dissolving into specter,

a love too tender to bear the weight of waking.

I watch you from across the silence,

your smile deep enough to drown me,

pulling me into the undertow of your laughter,

where I forget the cold and colorless world I once knew.

You make me believe in things I should not—

that love is more than poetry,

that fools who write of devotion

are not just weaving myths for others to live.

Yet here I stand, breathless in surrender,

raising my flag not in passion but in peace.

White, not red—

for I would rather yield to the inevitable

than bleed for what was never mine.

[nyysblog]

again p, we won’t be mad if you take that 6th year.

[dlstmxkakwldrlarchive]

(FANCAM) 160902 SHINee World V in Seoul — Please Don't Go

[admireforever]

Normal People

[eyeofthedrgn]

Please Don't Go

I did a thing! Posted a fic in full. I'll get to my other fics eventually. Some day. Don't hate me.

Anyway, this one is HEAVY and it hurts. Please, please, please read the tags and TW in the notes. Our boys are not having a good time.

Please Don't Go

Inspired by the song of the same name

[pleasedontgopod]

The sins of the past linger, spreading tendrils like smoke, filling your lungs. It is smothering, choking, obscuring the truth.

The Church of Hallowed Silence is here to help.

Pulvis et umbra sumus. We are but dust and shadows. The Church of Hallowed Silence is at first glance a normal, if not unorthodox, congregation deep in the mountain town of Adder's Tongue. They show piety through quiet meditation on the ephemeral and fleeting nature of life, listening to hear the voices of all creatures. Some members have taken a vow of silence while others restrict their speech to only certain hours of the day.

But the silence holds secrets, and those who know how to listen to the whispers of the winds know there is power in words we choose not to speak. We live in shadows and they are among us.

Follow the journey of a lost soul trying to see through the haze of lies and mystery to uncover a way to break the curse that has left their family broken and haunted.

You'll be safe with us. Please, don't go.

[toointojoelmiller]

Hi! So this is in no way meant to pressure you into writing, purely out of curiosity so I can manage my own expectations lol, do you plan on continuing Please Don't Go? Or has the vibe passed?

Secondary question, how do you feel about people binding your fics? I would love to bind it if it is ever completed (again no pressure). Disclaimer, it would be purely for my own personal bookshelf and never sold or profited from in any way.

Thanks 💜

This is a tough thing for me to give an answer to, because I really don't know. I have always planned to finish it - I have an ending that has been in my mind for a while, and I would love nothing more than to get it finally out there.

I don't exactly know why writing has been so elusive for me for so long, but I know parts of it: my substance use bullshit, my difficulty with not getting overwhelmed by stresses at work, and sometimes feeling like if I let my brain go back to the really painful sort of place that I need to be in to write PDG (lol) I will get stuck there more and more. Thinking about parenthood, and thinking about grief, and thinking about dads (lol again) - it all remains something of a Russian roulette game for my sanity :)). There is also the fun input of my psych meds, which I feel made it take me longer and longer to get words out as I titrated up on then. Sometimes I wonder if I am just tricking myself, looking for an out, but sometimes I do really feel like they made it harder for my brain to get creative in the same way.

And tragically, because capitalism, I do have to function. So... the answer is... I open my docs once in a while, with not that much progress to share. I am obviously not ready to let go of this story. I think about it all the time. I'd love if I found my way back to it sooner than later, but I'm famously unreliable.

Thank you for reading. I feel so much guilt at starting it and sharing it before it was done, but I feel so much gratitude for the people who do read it and enjoy it and message me. I am so fucking grateful.

[isamajor]

Whumpril 2024 : days 26 to 30

The last days of @whumpril !

26 . « How could you ? »

Ever since they came upon Boethiah's altar, the Dragonborn had been acting strangely. Falsely. It was almost too late that they realized that the Daedric Prince was speaking to thir soul, leading them to the abyss of betrayal.

They have almost sacrificed the trusting Lydia, their thane, their unwavering support since the beginning. She had been narrowly saved and was staring, shocked, at her thane who had betrayed her.

“How could you?” Auri spat. "How could you even think about that? She is one of us!"

Kaidan just slapped them, his eyes filled with anger. The Dragonborn looked away, a tear rolling down their sore cheek. (105)

•

27 . « Please don't go. »

They have their hand on this new Black Book, ready to open it. Lucien grabbed their wrist, his face betraying his concern.

“Please don’t go.”, he begged, his voice sharp with anguish. Lucien stared at the Dragonborn who seemed determined to open it. Lucien's blue eyes grew wet and bright. He added :

"This is a Daedric kingdom and its Prince is a devious being. There is no certainty that you will be able to return intact... Please..."

Lucien knew that, there would be no guarantee that Hermaeus Mora would not lock them away in his world, as he had done to Miraak before. (104)

•

28 . Fight/Flight/Freeze

They saw some webs but they did not expect the monstrous size of the frostbite spider that descended on them. Inigo welcomed the sight of this spider with joy, ready to face the creature head-on. Nebarra's heart raced as he caught sight of the arachnid's menacing form. Under his helmet were hidden his features distorted by terror. His breathing had spontaneously stopped. His legs gave out, causing him to collapse to his knees. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, unable to grab his sword or cast a ward. While the others attacked the threat, he remained frozen, unable to defend himself or even flee. (105)

•

29 . Reluctant Caretaker

It was his turn on duty at Lucifer's bedside. Xelzaz was exhausted and needed to get some sleep. Reluctantly he sat at the injured man's bedside. The wound was badly infected and Lucifer was layig motionless, his breath shallow and labored, a feverish sheen coating his scales. Xelzaz had concocted a medicine for him which everyone hoped would work quickly. The Altmer sighed.

“And I’m the one being asked to babysit you, Lute.”

He placed a cloth soaked in cool water on the Argonian's forehead without much care.

“You better not die under my watch, now.”, he threatened. (100)

•

30 . « We're out of time. »

As the Dragonborn and his companions moved deeper into the Dwemer ruin of Arkngthamz, sinister rumblings were heard. Remiel and Lucien, both fascinated by Dwemer complex mechanisms and architecture, had lingered to examine a particularly intriguing tonal mechanism. The ground trembled beneath their feet, creaks echoed through the halls and walls began to crumble here and there. Both were so absorbed that they had become oblivious of the imminent danger and deaf to the calls of their companions. It was only when they were forcibly taken away by the latter who shouted "We're out of time!", that they realized the danger of their situation. (105)

You can find all the drabbles written for Whumpril 2024 here (in addition to other whump drabbles on Skyrim Custom-voiced Followers written for various challenges).

Remember to leave me a little comment, it’s always nice ;)

[endermach]

When you left you didn't take the sadness with you. It stayed, we, I absorbed it. You're not here to process it, it's left unresolved. I'm here surviving both of our regrets. All the joy we could've had reminiscing over shared memories have turned gray. Now nowhere feels like home.

[tha-wrecka-stow]

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: January 26, 1992

Lyrics:

Please don′t go, please don't go

Please don′t go, please don't go

Please don't go, please don′t go

Please don′t go, please don't go

Babe, I love you so

I, I want you to know

That I′m gonna miss your love

The minute you walk out that door

Please don't go, please don′t go

Please don't go, please don′t go

Please don't go, please don't go

Please don′t go, please don′t go

Please don't go, please don′t go

Please don't go, please don′t go

Please don't go, please don′t go

Babe, I love you so

I want you to know

That I'm gonna miss your love

The minute you walk out that door

Please don't go

Don′t go

Don′t go away

Please don't go

Don′t go

I'm beggin′ you to stay

If you leave at least in my lifetime

I've had one dream come true

I was blessed to be loved

By someone as wonderful as you

Please don′t go

Don't go

Don't go away

Please don′t go

Don′t go

I'm beggin′ you to stay, hey, hey, hey

Please don't go, please don′t go

Please don't go, please don′t go

Please don't go, please don't go

Please don′t go, please don′t go

Please don't go

Babe, I love you so

I, I want you to know

That I′m gonna miss your love

The minute you walk out that door

So, please don't go

Don′t go

Don't go away, hey, hey, hey

I need your love

I′m down on my knees

Baby you please, please, please, don't go

Don't you hear me, baby?

Don′t you leave me now

Oh, no, no, don′t go

Songwriter:

Please don't go

I want you to know

That I, I, I love you so

Richard Finch / Harry Wayne Casey

SongFacts:

👉📖

[mary-and-james]

He seems fine most of the time, forcing smiles and neverminds His laugh is a symphony, when the lights go out, it's hard to breathe I pull at every thread, tryna solve the puzzles in his head Live my life scared to death he'll decide to leave instead

Taylor Swift - Forever Winter

[toointojoelmiller]

please don't go: a last of us fic

after David / Silver Lake / post-episode 8

angst, Joel & Ellie bonding, 99% canon compliant

rating: mature - content warnings re: s/a, violence, gore, more

The best found father-daughter duo help each other recover, work through their trauma, stay alive - hopefully a satisfying fill in for things we didn't get to see after winter !

if you're after a long read here's one for you

work in prog! +100k words

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 | ch 9 | ch 10 | ch 11 | ch 12

I'm no longer copying this over to tumblr because it got way too long and it's too much!!!! Read on ao3 for the updated chapters

please don't go: chapter 1

Ellie’s frantic eyes finally seem to focus on him, and he can see her body language shift immediately. The hard adrenaline fuelled tension in her muscles sinks away as her face falls into unsettling blankness – he didn’t think it was possible but she somehow looks even smaller. Her lips start moving but she isn’t saying anything. Only low, halting sounds, whimpers and soft gasps of air that slice into his gut with a hurt nearly as sharp as the sewn up hole in his side. 

“It’s me,” he hears himself repeating. Never feeling more useless in his life, except for - it feels wrong to think of Sarah right now, with Ellie so immediately in need in front of him, but the image of her pink t-shirt soaked in blood swims up in his mind anyway, crystal clear even 20 years later, her heaving and jerking belly so small it’s easily covered by the width of his hands until it suddenly stills. He learned a long time ago that he’s helpless to fight it when this moment flashes back to him. 

This is what is written in the stars for Joel - his girls, too good and too sweet to know better than to trust him until that mistake catches up and they pay with their blood. It’s what he deserves. But - he’d seen it coming with Ellie - he’d known he wasn’t going to be able to keep her safe - Tommy would have never let - why the fuck does he keep existing when he’s so goddamn weak, worthless, worse than - poison, ruining everyone he - 

Ellie moves towards him and presses her face into the crook of his neck with more babbling - a word too this time, “He-” - and the weight of her, the warmth of her cheek against his is the only thing that could possibly bring him back into his body.

He feels his blood pound in his head as he wraps his hand up around the back of her neck – so impossibly small – tangling his fingers through her knotted hair, holds her against him like she’s made of glass. Her whole body is trembling.

“It’s ok, baby girl,” he says in a breath as he shuts his eyes, trying to keep himself upright against a surge of heartache. He hears the words as if someone else has said them, like they didn’t leave his lips – but immediately feels the truth in it. The wall he’s tried to keep up between Ellie and Sarah, the nothing-but-bullshit line he’s drawn to try to somehow separate what they are to him is gone. There’s no more pretending. She’s his to take care of – that’s how she ended up here shaking and bleeding, after all, isn’t it?

His penance for failing Sarah is a life sentence, but Ellie’s still here, in the flesh and breathing (he thanks the god he’s never believed in). She needs him present more than he needs to hate himself. There’s a future full of self-loathing stretching out ahead of him - time for that later. For now he just needs to get her safe.  

“We need to leave, baby,” he says, clearing his throat as it strains from the lack of use. He feels the urgency as the words leave his mouth – they don’t stand much of a chance if more men are coming after them, and though he’d die before he let anything (else) happen to her, who would be left to take care of her then? He pulls back from holding her to look at her face again, eyes tracking over the hollow look in her eyes and the fresh blood splattered on her skin. He’s never seen anyone who needs to be taken care of more.

“Are you hurt? Can you walk?” He waits a moment for an answer that he knows isn’t coming. Ellie’s little fingers twist and pinch on the sleeves of his jacket as she holds onto his arms, but she’s still standing. He sees the moment the shakiness that he felt running through her body moves from invisible to visible, and on instinct he quickly slips off his pack, shrugging off his jacket to wrap around her. She’s swimming in it.

“I’ve got you, honey, let’s go,” he says as he shifts to her side, wrapping his arm around her as he begins moving through the snow. Walking again makes the ache in his side throb angrily and he clenches his teeth to keep from groaning out loud.

Ellie starts shuffling along next to him, thank fuck – he’s sure he couldn’t carry her now – but she’s unsteady. After a few steps she falls against his side, leaning her weight against him like she can’t stand on her own. He hates that he’s so weak he feels his body start to do the same. His brain conjures up an image of the skyline as they left the Boston QZ so long ago – two crumbling buildings fallen inward, holding each other in place.

Ellie stumbles and he tightens his arm around her to keep her upright. She makes a noise, half choking and half swallowing, sounding like the air is being pushed out of her lungs. 

“It’s ok, I’ve got you,” he keeps saying. It’s all he can offer. “I’m here.” It’s not enough.

---

Going back along the road towards the suburbs seemed like a death sentence – they're moving so slowly, and clearly the area was within the boundaries of where the group they’re running from was willing to go. If anyone was coming after them it would be the first place they’d look. But the longer they push forward with nothing in sight the more he’s convinced he's made a mistake that will kill them.

It's near silent in the aftermath of the snowstorm, and it’s rough going along the edge of the woods with patches of snowdrifts occasionally blown so high they nearly have to climb their way over. They’ve both sunk down half way up their shins more than a few times and their wet jeans are freezing against their skin.

He doesn’t know how they’re still going. They’ve been moving for hours.

The only noise is the occasional whistle of the wind, and it’s not enough to cover up their heavy breathing and slow, shuffling steps crunching through the snow. It makes it obvious when Ellie starts to flag, the cadence of her steps shifting as her feet start to shuffle and drag more than stepping, and he tries to swallow down swelling, suffocating dread as he scans around them for somewhere to rest. Time is running out – the sun, he’s horrified to acknowledge, has started to dip behind the tree line. He’s hurting more intensely the longer they walk, and he’s sure Ellie is too. Her breath is coming in pants and whines – she sounds so young he aches.

When snow starts to fall again around them, softly first and then steadily picking up, he fights back the urge to start screaming.

They’re fucking doomed – their bodies are running on empty. They’ll stumble soon and find they can’t get up, and he won’t be able to do anything at all other than pull Ellie close to him as they wait to freeze to death. No sooner has the thought crossed his mind than Ellie crumples at the knees and his mind goes empty with terror. He tries to squeeze in the arm around her when he realizes she’s sinking but he’s too slow. She thumps down hard onto her knees on the ground and is only spared from ending up face first in the snow by the way her upper body slams sideways into Joel’s legs.

“M’ sorry,” she’s mumbling, he realizes in horror as he drops down with her and grabs her shoulders to stop her from collapsing. His wound is fucking ripping as he kneels. He tries to soothe her as she keeps trying to get words out.

“Sorry, I ca- I –” seems to be all she can manage before she falls back into silence. Her teeth are chattering and she’s weakly grabbing onto his pants as if to pull herself up, even as her lower body remains motionless. She’s too weak, too tired. She’s done. 

Joel takes a breath, and then another, and another. His vision is tunnelling as he drowns in the fear. This can’t be it.

“Gotta get up, baby, we can’t stop here, gotta get you somewhere warm,” he’s saying, knowing damn well that no such place is around. Ellie closes her eyes and leans her head into him like she’s falling asleep. An angry sob catches in his throat. 

He closes his eyes and leans his face down into the top of her head, breathing her in and out, sliding his numb fingers into her hair to hold her tight against him again, and looks around asking a miracle.

And finds one.

From the slightly lower vantage point, he can see just a few feet further into the trees, below the bottom branches of a cluster of pine trees, and there it is, undeniably - wood. Pressure treated. It looks like the edge of – a porch?

He shifts sideways to see more and really tests the limits of the stitches in his side – fuck, fuck, fuck – and he’s flooded with relief. It’s not a porch – just a couple wooden steps, leading up to what has to be the bottom of a door. A cabin? It can’t be more than 50 feet away.

“Ellie, look,” he croaks out, and she doesn’t move. He points. “Look, there’s a building – we just gotta get there and we can rest, ok?”

For a moment he thinks she’s still not responding, and she doesn’t turn to look where he’s pointing, but he feels a small nod as she moves her head, and she mumbles a quiet “’Kay” into his shirt.

He’s breathless with pride – she’s so goddamn tough, the strongest person he’s ever met – and the fresh surge of adrenaline is enough for him to stand and tug her up on wobbly legs, to tuck her back into his side and move them forward, foot by shaky foot, moving away from their almost-grave in the snow.

-----

working on transferring from ao3 to here but here's the ao3 link if you want more now - updates regularly on ao3 (36 ch so far!)

[coffeeangelinabox]

Whumpril #27: Please Don't Go

She is the outsider amongst the crew. Not because she is the newest, nor the youngest, though that does exclude her from the years of in-jokes and history they share, not to mention the fact that even the worst of the spacer’s bars on the most questionable of asteroids raise an eyebrow at her, isolating her from the recreation the other crew share.

It’s not any of that. 

It’s not even - exactly - that they are family and she is…not. They are stand-offish, brusque, untrusting; as are the many other rebels she has met during her scant fifteen years. They would welcome her, she could be one of them: a place bought for her with her family name and the fact that Darrow, at least, had a history with uncle Romulus. It’s that she has a family and, alone as she may be now, she is not looking to replace them. 

Academically, she knows they are dead, knows they bought her life with theirs. She has nightmares of them in cells, gaunt and bleeding and grey with exhaustion and pain, memories long buried from her barely-more-than-infancy of her mother, slashed open throat to groin by a stazer whip, hot iron blood pouring over Rosie, the shock that had locked horrified screams behind baby teeth and kept her wide eyed and blankly staring. The last protection her mother had given her. Her mother’s face and blood and howl of agony replaced by uncle Romulus�� and uncle Cyrus’ and her dad’s in turn until she barely sleeps at all, wanders the ship like the restless ghost she imagines them to be.

She knows those visions are likely true. Or, more likely, not true. Her mother’s death was too quick, too painless for what they will do to her dad.

But her heart does not believe it and, though she recognises the brittle loneliness in Nico and Casey, the willingness to welcome and accept her in David and Gene, the cautious and flattering trust extended by Darrow, she can’t make herself take the final step and accept them. She has a family who died for her, and to accept others into her heart seems the worst way to replay them. She, of everyone aboard the Valjean, except perhaps Lee, has never wanted for love or acceptance. She has never known the fear that those closest to her could turn on her at any moment. Rosie has always known deep in her guts and bones and soul that everyone she loves would give themselves up to any fate to protect her from so much as a bruise. She doesn’t know how to love without that assurance, with the caution that Jemma and Jay learned in slave camps and delta grade work parties and Darrow learned from his military superiors and David from his own children who’d reported him to the inquisition. 

Then she falls ill. It’s inevitable. She is barely sleeping, rarely eating and a lifetime dirt-side has left her immune system ill prepared for the recycled air and water shipboard.  

She lies in her cabin, shaking with chills and burning with fever and knowing that she’s going to live through it and still still still won’t get to see her family, her real family, again. Ever again. 

David tends her, reassures her it’s spacer’s flu and they’ve all had it, coaxes her to eat and drugs her to rest and she hates him for not being the retired veterinarian who was the only medical professional her dad had trusted with her. She resents Jemma for stroking her hair and mopping her brow and helping her to change and stripping her sheets. She’s heard enough whispers by now to know that Jemma would love a child but fears to bring one into the world she inhabits. She’s no one's daughter. Not anymore. 

Nico and Casey sit with her, keep her company and she hates herself for how uncomfortable they make her, but she’d grown up in a secluded parochial community. She’s never seen a non-human before. She doesn’t know which of their many eyes to look at, nor how to ask without sounding like a fool and a dirt rat. She pretends to sleep because she can keep her eyes shut. 

Gene coddles the environmental systems in her room so she can change the temperature by the tiniest of increments by voice control. She can alter the gravity, relieving her sore muscles of her weight. And it’s not fair that he can do such a thing when uncle Cyrus would have faithfully promised he was going to and then broken something crucial trying because he was a shit engineer. 

She can barely look at either Darrow or Lee because they still have each other and it’s not fair. Because if she can’t have her dad, even when she’s ill and alone and the pain in her heart is worse than the pounding behind her eyes, then why does Lee still get to have his? She had long since grown out of believing that her dad hung the moon.

My daddy can do anything, she had once told a teacher and never been allowed to forget it.

But at a push, if necessary, he would have caught her if she’d fallen off the edge of the world. So where is he? She knows that answer and it’s her fault, just as her mother’s death had been. Weapon in hand, but unable to bring it to bare with a squirming three year old in her arms, she hadn’t even died on her feet, on her knees hunched over Rosie, making a shield of blood and flesh and bone and she’d let uncle Cyrus and uncle Romulus and dad do the same. As though she’s worth four lives. 

And as though the crew of the Valjean can ever be that to her.

Which is when Jay comes to see her. He looks careworn at the corners of his eyes. She has a vague idea he’d been off ship, searching out information from someone and about something, but her tired, aching head can’t grasp the details. 

“Spacer’s flu, huh?”

She wants to scream. Another person to be kind and sympathetic and treat her like a child and do it wrong. She would sell her very soul to be called Rosie-Posie by uncle Romulus and offered a cup of lime icy that he always forgets is dad’s favourite, not hers. 

Jay settles in the chair by her bed and regards her. 

“You gunna tell me everyone gets it?” she rasps out and is proud of how steady her voice is. 

A smile tugs the corner of his mouth. “Nah. You know that. I’m the last in and Gene loves to state the obvious.”

That almost makes her smile. “You gunna read to me?”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You want me to?”

No one has asked. They’ve all just treated her like their child and she isn’t. “Uncle Cyrus used to read to me if I was sick.” It both is and isn’t an answer. 

Jay nods and doesn’t reach for his tablet. “You miss them.”

She has to swallow twice to answer like a crew member, not like a little girl. “Gene’s not the only one who states the obvious.”

Once again the near smile tugs at his mouth. “Stupid thing to say.” There’s a silence, long and considering and eventually Jay offers, “I still miss mine.”

“You’re not going to tell me it gets easier?”

This answer comes quick and certain. “It doesn’t.”

Rosie forces herself to sputter a laugh instead of tears. “You are not a comforting man.”

“It gets familiar if that helps. But my-” and to Rosie’s surprise there are tears glimmering at the corner of his eyes. For the first time, such easy trust offered to her doesn’t enrage her. Jay gives her this because their loss is the same, not because he’s claiming her in a way only her family have a right to. “My parents were killed for hiding me.”

“Hiding you?”

“I was born on Adroit. There are strict population controls. I was my parents' fourth child. They hid me until I was almost 6, then my older brother told his best friend and her parents reported mine. My whole family was put to death. I was allowed to live.” Another silence. “I’ve never been sure if that was their punishment or mine.”

Voice tight, Rosie offers, “We were hidden, by the time our proximity alarms went off we were surrounded. Uncle Romulus sent out a message to his contacts, Darrow was the only one near enough to answer. They…they…pushed me into our only capsule, then they made a production of surrendering. The famous Porter family,” her voice turns bitter. “Every ship in the whole quadrant was focused on them humiliating themselves. No one picked up a single capsule.”

Jay nods. Rosie’s not wrong. He was on the bridge. Darrow had been foaming at the mouth, desperate to charge in and help, unable to peel himself away from the vid-screen. It had been Nico and Casey who picked up the weak, encoded transponder, Lee and Jay who reeled the capsule aboard. Darrow had been watching the Porters, looking for a moment to drop a charge on them. If death in fire and explosion was the last mercy he could have given Romulus he would have done it. 

Rosie realises she’s crying. It’s the first time she’s wept in front of any of them. 

Jay does not reach out in an overly familiar way. Does not wipe her tears away with the blade of his thumb as he dad had done; does not sling an arm around her shoulders and pull her into the warmth and shelter of his body as uncle Cyrus used to; does not hold her hand and tease her hair and call her infantile nicknames like uncle Romulus.

He doesn’t touch her at all. 

He offers her a scrap of mostly clean fabric and busies himself looking away from her face by refilling her water glass.

“Do you want me to go?” No one else aboard would have thought to ask that, would have seen a crying child that they should comfort and help and protect. 

“No.” Rosie surprises herself by answering. “No…don’t…please don’t go.”

[djevilninja]

Nayobe - Please Don't Go (12″ Version)