#I also promised myself to never ever study memory

[blood-orange-juice]

The joys of being the only mathematically inclined person in a team of psychologists/neuroscientists: everyone hopes to dump signal processing on you.

(all neuroscience is essentially signal processing)

Look, I switched to psychology *specifically* to avoid signal processing.

I'll do statistics for you. Let me do statistics for you.

[sourappl3s]

heyy I was wondering if you'd be okay with sharing about how ur life feels finally after manifesting your dream life and a bit of your journey. Like what all did you manifest? How do ur days look like rn? Do you feel like an absolute God? Like go into detail as much as possible, if u can cz I loveeee hearing ppl talk about living their dream life. Also, I RLLY love your blog❤ thankyou.

long post ahead!!!

my life NOW, feels like a fever dream, its fun, exciting, full of happiness and enjoyment, like i finally found myself not surviving and i’m just living my once desired life. i used to suffer with ed, being the friend that was never picked, not seen as attractive, my family was torn apart, low self-esteem and so much more but i won’t get into since thats not the internets business. i manifested my desired face because i didn’t wanna just look like one person, so now i’m completely unrecognizable, my dream body, dream life, dream everything. i’m always going on like fun trips and my school life is entirely romanticized, i love studying now (even though i don’t have to since i make straight A’s now). my life is similar to a j-drama (no i don’t see japan as a glorious country) and sounds like the song Roses by Chainsmokers and Midnight city by M83. i’ve been to countries i thought i would’ve never been before, so now i get to take those aesthetic pictures, im seriously photogenic/videogenic like i look good in any angle no matter how far i am or how close i am, you can use the silliest filters on me and i’ll still look drop dead, head turning, and extremely beautiful. i’m getting scholarships left to right, AS A FRESHMAN IN HIGH SCHOOL (its never too early to apply for colleges) i’m everyone’s comfort person and i have no problem with being that, love confessions left and right, rich, like RICHHHHH. got rid of my hyperpigmentation, literally everyones type and i don’t feel guilty for it, like i respect preferences but this is my reality so im GOING to make myself your type. straight teeth, natural fresh bakery scent. my family is not even torn apart anymore like everyone just made up and now theres fun days with my family every single day. my wardrobe is literally like barbies wardrobe..its HUGE. a huge friend group.

like i’ve fell in love with my life and thats not even half of what i manifested, like i can still sob from when the time i first induced the void state and immediately affirmed for what i wanted and i woke up with it all. that memory sticks with me for absolutely ever, i don’t wanna say i feel like god, not because im a religious person but since thats what i’ve grown to know and understand thats who i am in soul.. then i can say it feels absolutely amazing. my days are always sunny and bright, i guess i can say it also sounds like good days by SZA. theres so much more i could tell you but i’m currently busy as of now and found some time to type this all out, you can be just like me i promise. make that decision.

make that decision now.

[prlssprfctn]

I had a thought and since i am absolutely in love with your drabbles ('cause holy shit your takes are incredible), i wanted to share it with you :>

When i was thirteen i had wrote a letter to eighteen year old me and it had both serious and cringy questions i wanted to ask to myself of that time. I started it with "If you're reading this, you're still here!" So, what if, jason had a letter like this to his eighteen year old version?? (Could also be a diary entry but you get the idea) Maybe like a homework from school or maybe he just wanted to do it bc he'd probably be very into writing. But he never got to read it on time, supposedly his eighteenth birthday.

The first time he visits the manor, he scoops through his old books and a paper slips out of it. The letter from thirteen years old jaybin himself, to jason.

And just for a second as he reads it, from the corner of his blurry vision, he thinks he can see that thirteen years old boy staring at him with a huge sadness on his face. Jaybin doesn't want answers for his questions anymore.

I imagine Jason searching for something through his old stuff (maybe, he promised Damian to give his old annotations of the book he studies at school right now), when he finds it. It slips out of his Pale Fire copy, and his first instinct is to throw the random paper away, until the curiosity takes the best of him.

He opens the old paper that got yellowish with a time, and the memory slowly returns by itself - a memory of one of the homeworks their literature teacher asked them to do, a time capsule, in a way; a letter to the future themselves. Jason remembered everyone being excited about it - they wrote it right in class, and promised to their teacher to bring these letters back, on their graduating ceremony. Just to laugh about it. It wasn't serious, when Jason wrote it, but right now, as he gripped in with his trembling fingers, it meant everything.

His eyes are already half-blurry, when he goes through the first line.

"If you are reading this, then you are the luckiest bastard ever, the future me, and it means that we actually made it to the graduation! Which is like, woah... Super-duper, I guess."

Expect, they didn't. Not really, at least.

Jason tries reading the rest of the neatly written paper, but the moment he stumbles on the question asking if Bruce kept his promise and sneaked them to the Pulitzer Prize ceremony that is instantly is followed by the question about his relationship with Dick, he loses it.

He presses the letter to his chest, and weeps.

In his mind - or maybe it is the ghost of a kid everyone was crazy about, finally hunting him down as well - he imagines his younger-self staring at him, lost. Confused, and then finally, accepting. Jason cannot offer him answers. And they both know why.

And deep inside? Deep inside, they always knew it was going to happen.

[midnightquips]

What We Never Were

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N needs a fake boyfriend for her sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, her childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth. She thinks he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for her to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

💫 What We Never Were Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Author's Note: Honestly hate to be doing this slow-burn to y'all but I SWEAR there'll be some development in the next chapters/parts!

Chapter 2

Part IV - Too Close to Pretend

It’s only the third morning of being home but it already feels like you're stuck in a time loop. Your mom is the constant final boss every day. You should’ve known something was up the moment she brought out her clipboard.

“I’ve reworked the sleeping arrangements,” she says, holding the thing like it was the Constitution. “So we’ll have everyone under one roof. Isn’t that lovely?”

You blink, still holding a forkful of scrambled eggs. “What happened to the hotel rooms?”

“Oh, the hotel messed up your brother’s reservation,” she replies, like that answered everything. “Apparently there was some mix-up with a convention. Comic something?”

“Comic-Con?” Jake offers, sipping his coffee.

“That’s the one! Anyway, no rooms left. So I told Benedict and Laura to take your old room, sweetheart.”

Your mouth falls open. “Then where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Oh, you and Jake can share the guest room.”

Your fork pauses mid-air.

“I—what?”

Your mother looks over her glasses like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re dating. Couples share rooms. Unless there’s something you two need to tell us?”

Jake, ever the helpful one, leans back in his chair and smiles with all the confidence of a man who wasn’t currently watching your entire nervous system short-circuit.

“Nope,” he quips cheerfully. “No objections here.”

You kick him under the table.

He coughs before crossing his arms and leaning forward. “I mean—unless Y/N isn’t comfortable?”

Every eye at the table turns to you.

You smile tightly and say through gritted teeth, “Of course, darling, I’m comfortable.”

Jake raises his mug in a mock toast. “Look at that. Domestic bliss.”

The guest room used to be your dad’s study, but somewhere between Celine’s wedding and Benedict moving out, it got converted into an all-purpose guest suite. Unfortunately, “all-purpose” meant a single queen-sized bed and a dresser older than both of you combined.

You throw your duffel bag onto the bed with a groan.

Jake follows, clearly enjoying himself far too much. It takes all your willpower not to smack him immediately.

“This is cozy,” he says, flopping back onto the mattress with a dramatic sigh. “You, me, one bed. Just like old times.”

You scowl, “We were 6 the last time we shared a bed.”

“Technically, we kinda shared a bed a few years ago when I was in New York and we both passed out from a night out.”

The memory creeps in. Jake flew in to surprise you for your birthday. You were both too happy to see each other which also led to too much alcohol. He took a snapshot of you drunk eating a pizza while twirling to prove you were not drunk, only to stumble in his arms. Then you both passed out on your bed at some point when you got to your apartment.

Seeing Jake’s wistful face, you knew he was referring to the same memory.

“I promise to keep my hands to myself when I’m awake.” He wiggled his fingers

You shot him a look. “Don’t make me sleep in the bathtub.”

He laughs and pats the mattress beside him. “Come on, Y/L/N. Let’s just agree to some ground rules.”

You sighed, reluctantly toeing off your shoes. “Fine.”

Jake held up his fingers as if ticking items off a list. “No spooning. No wandering limbs. No sleep-talking about Rooster.”

“I do not talk in my sleep.”

He grinned. “You talk so much. One time in high school, I heard you have a whole conversation about cupcakes with your pillow.”

You threw a sock at him this time.

It was the most exhausting 3 hours of your life. Family members had flown in causing a min-reunion over dinner and it seemed you spent the entirety of answering how you convinced Jake to be in a relationship. It felt like your eyes were going to pop out from the amount of times you kept rolling it. 

At some point, Jake had grounded you by entwining his hand with yours, before directly addressing your nosy Auntie Theresa and emphasizing that it was him who made the love ‘declaration’ first. A round of ‘awws’ and ‘ooohs’ happened. It took you to point out that everyone’s focus should be on Celine and Henry, which effectively worked in getting the attention of you two.

In the guest bathroom, you changed into your pajamas—an oversized T-shirt and bike shorts—and came back to find Jake already in bed, shirtless, with a book in hand. Was it the first time you’ve seen him shirtless? No. But it’s the first time you feel this nervous and you absolutely hate yourself for it. 

It’s time to deflect, something your mind has terribly mastered recently.

“A book?” you raise an eyebrow. “What happened to your Playboys and Red Bulls?”

He looked up at you with a mock-wounded expression. “I’m mature now. Sophisticated. I moisturize.”

You laughed and crawled into the bed, keeping to your designated half.

The pillow barrier between you was laughable. One small, flat cushion that wouldn’t stop anything if either of you rolled over.

You stared at the ceiling, arms tucked close to your body. You shuffle your feet, trying to get comfortable. Jake can sense the unease but remains quiet. He knows to give you space.

“This is weird,” you finally whisper.

Jake shifts slightly beside you. “Doesn’t have to be.”

You turn to your side, facing him. “You ever think we’re too good at pretending?”

He’s quiet for a moment before looking at you directly, “I don’t really have to try too hard with you.”

Your heart stutters.

“Jake,” you began.

He reaches out and gently brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. The touch is featherlight. Careful. Your heart skips a beat from the intimacy. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You weren’t aware that his recent revelations in the past few days were common knowledge, but you okay. You just nod to signal him to go on.

“The first year or two in the Navy, when things got difficult, you were the first person I’ve always wanted to call. I think the reality of not having you within an arm's reach weighed heavily on me.”

You look at him, questioning, “You rarely called though.”

“I didn’t know how to call without saying I missed you.”

You unconsciously move your hands until your fingers brush Jake’s under the sheets.

He doesn’t move away.

“I thought… You were fine. That you were doing what you’re supposed to.” you admit. 

Jake’s eyes search yours. “I was. But also part of me also thought I should let you go. You know?”

You hum before the silence between you take over. The gravity of years you both had tiptoed around was heavy in the air. The fear of what would happen if you really looked at each other.

Finally, you whisper, “We should sleep.”

Jake nods once. “Yeah. Okay.”

But his fingers stay tangled with yours that night. Calming. Assuring things unspoken.

You wake to the feeling of warmth against your back. It takes a second to realize that Jake was wrapped around you. You figured that at some point in the night, you’d both moved. The pillow barrier is gone, probably kicked to the floor. His breath is warm against the back of your neck, and his body is pressed along yours from shoulder to hip.

Your entire body flushed hot. You don’t move and truthfully, a part of you didn’t want to.

You feel Jake’s arms tighten around your waist as he sleepily nuzzles into your neck. Your hands automatically soothes him. It felt oddly comfortable and domestic, which you decide is a feeling probably best not entertained.

After a few long minutes, you decide to gently peel his arm away and slip out of bed, careful not to wake him.

You need air.

You find yourself on the back porch, hoodie pulled tight around you, mug of tea in hand. You stare out into the dark yard, your mind racing. This whole pretense was getting out of control. Every second you spent with him blurred the lines you had spent years drawing.

Jake had always been an anchor—safe, comfortable, submerged.

But now, he’s being hoisted back in your life and you were realizing that he was also the storm.

The one person who could ruin you with a single confession.

“You alright?” Speak of the devil.

You turn to find him standing in the doorway, hair a mess, dressed in a white shirt and barefoot. A coffee mug in his hand.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say, voice hoarse

He steps outside and sits beside you. “You didn’t.”

You both sit in silence, sipping your drinks, the tension thick and unspoken. Jake keeps stealing glances at you. Legs crossed and hair softly framing your face as you blew on your tea to be able to sip. It’s not like this was the first time he’s ever seen you like this. It had been countless, but perhaps it’s never been in this situation, where both of you are particularly vulnerable from the pretense you are both keeping up. 

A part of him is scared that you are both opening this box that seemed to have been kept behind the veil of your friendship, but he is also basking in the relief of slowly releasing the hold on the lid.

“Feels like a dream.” he says suddenly. 

“What is?”

“This. Us. Together like this. Quiet mornings, coffee, you in one of those stupid hoodies.”

You stare at him, goosebumps forming on your arms beneath your sweater. The revelations in the past days slowly build a pile of confusion. Hell, what was one more right?

“Why are you suddenly saying all of this?” you ask, voice barely audible.

Jake doesn’t look at you. “Just feels like the only chance I’ll get.”

Your heart cracks open a little more. For a moment, you almost believe that you and Jake feel the same way. Have the same reason for always holding distance despite the facade of closeness.

You don’t respond. You couldn’t.

Instead, you lean your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t move–just sits there, still, solid and warm. It briefly allows you to pretend your fake dating story was real.

That it hadn’t been made up in a truck to avoid awkward questions.

That the boy you loved had always loved you back—and that he’d finally said it out loud.

But morning would come, along with it the truth that you are nothing but friends. And all you’ll have are happy lies you’ll keep telling so no one would notice your heart was breaking.

Because you're Y/N Y/L/N.

And Jake Seresin?

He's your best friend.

Nothing more.

And definitely nothing less.

Taglist: @kvmitchell @mrsevans90 @natureartisian @purplefluffycows @eolsens @lunatygerqueen @deadlybeauty16 @ronniesreverie @anony1080 @vicky199625 @teacupsandtopgun @dizzybee03 @stillinracooncity @7dreambaby

[moriartyluver]

FALSE LOVERS: WILLIAM’S LETTER

╔═.✾.═══════════════════╗

To my beloved (name),

I do not know if you will ever read this letter, considering the hurtful things I said to you. Nothing I can say on this measly piece of paper will ever get you to forgive me, nor do I expect that you will. I've instructed Sherlock to give you this letter, but if he somehow never receives the instructions to do so, I've also asked Instructor Jack to do the same.

I apologise for everything I have ever done to both you and those around you. I'm sorry for telling you I do not love you, that was a lie. Possibly the biggest lie I have ever told you or anyone else for that matter. I adore you with every inch of my being. I could never even imagine another universe where I do not love you. I don't remember when I had come to this conclusion, but I believe it may have been a gradual thing although my heart burned for you all the while.

From the moment we first met, I felt we were one in the same. We were the only two students who were both sixteen years of age in that library, although I doubt you'd remember such an encounter. I told you I wasn't very fond of the tempest, which you were reading, but each time since then that I encountered the play, it would remind me of you. Our entire university experience together remains my most fondest memory, each study session was a safe haven, allowing me to forget how truly terrible this world is and how I am even worse.

I have hurt you and although I can explain my actions, they can never be excused. I was selfish and I should have been honest with you. If I am to regret anything I have done, it would be making you cry the last time I saw you. The last time I would ever see you.

I more than anyone knows what you are capable of. Anything you put your mind to, you receive. It is common knowledge considering how many extraordinary things you have done. I had known you would attempt to convince me to stay and perhaps go as far as to follow me to my well deserved death. Pushing you away through hurting you was effective, but never right.

I wish that I could go along with your plan, go to (home country) with you, my brothers, our friends and be there for you as you have our child, take care of you and forever remain in your loving arms. I would embrace you and be affectionate with you as much as you'd like. I'd be by your side. I'd be able to love you freely

That isn't possible though.

I would like for you to move on and love someone who will be able to love you how I never will be able to. Selfish though I am, I do want you to be happy, even if it is not with me. Perhaps you will find a good man who can cherish you and our child.

I have declared my love for you multiple times in this letter, but that is all meaningless when there is so much I must apologise for.

I'm sorry for insulting you and making you cry, which is possibly my worst sin. I'm sorry for not being able to be present in our future child's life. I'm sorry for forcing you to live a new life that you weren't prepared for. I'm sorry for not informing you thoroughly of my plans, even though I promised to. I'm sorry for breaking that promise.

Most of all, I'm sorry for ever meeting you, you didn't deserve that at all. You deserved a good and happy life. Had I not met you, you would've been much happier, marrying a man who would be able to love you how I never will be able to. You would have been able to return to (home country) like you planned and you would've been able to live to your greatest potential as the best duchess the world would have ever known.

For a significant portion of my existence, I dedicated myself to protecting my heart. I took such great care that I could easily pretend not to possess one. Even till my death, it remains a worn-out, infested, and blemished entity, yet it belongs to you, only you. My entire being is yours and forever will be. It aches for you, for your love and graciousness, even to be merely held by your soft hands. I adore you, with every inch of my being, and it is my greatest sin, not that I had killed so many, but that I was unable to give you what you deserved, the marriage you wanted, with love and respect rather than the one I gave you, with it's lies and deceit. I fear I may have used you for my own purposes, from the moment I had pleaded with you to join me and become my wife to when we had conceived the child I wish I could have met.

I love you, and I will think of you constantly in my last hour. Even after I take my final breath, after my heart gives its final beat and I cease to exist as both the Lord Of Crime and your husband.

With regret and love,

Your husband, William or rather _____.

╚═══════════════════.✾.═╝

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 7 ]

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Alright, buckle up loves! This one is a rollercoaster…. I’m pretty sure there’s smut (yay, we have returned to my roots). Also, thanks for all the feedback on the story. It gave me insight into a few things and what tropes to leave out of my next series (which is coming soon).

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT SMUT ] + [ ANGST ] + [ CHILDBIRTH…description?… I mean not really that much… ] + [ MENTIONS OF CANNIBALISM ]

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Within the hour of Alastors shadows leaving, Roise and Angelique came rushing into your home.

Their coats were thrown to the floor at the door, and both women bound up the steps, calling you and Alastors' names in evident concern.

"Al! Y/n?!" Rosie shouted as she rounded the staircase plateau, reaching the room first, and his mother followed swiftly.

"Al! Baby, what happened?' Angelique came right to his side as he lifted his head from looking down at your sweat and blood-covered face.

Rosie gasped, seeing the state you were in, the blood pooling on the sheets, your body's weak tremors worrying both women and Alastor’s disheveled demeanor, only adding to the heart-wrenching scene.

Angelique placed a hand on your forehead, feeling for a temperature, as Alastor croaked out a phrase she had never heard him utter: "Help her ma…please…."

". She's burning up," Angelique muttered in slight shock, sparing her son a solemn glance as she caressed your cheek soothingly.

He clearly was withholding his panic, reverting back to the mild-mannered nervous ticks he had as a boy to cope with stress.

His eyes twitched rapidly, watering a bit as she conversed with Rosie on the best ways to go about helping you and the babies.

"They're gonna be okay, baby. Hey, look at me, stay strong, you hear me? Keep your head on straight. They need you more than ever…" his mother reassured him with an encouraging smile, tilting his chin up as an added gesture.

"Now is not the time to be weak like your father…"

Alastor paled at her words, unconsciously steadying his mentality to avoid breaking down any longer, "I'm nothing like that pompous and demented drunk-"

"Then go clean yourself up. Straighten out that mess in the basement. And let us do what needs to be done to save Y/n and your children…"

Angelique made no effort to put her instructions gently, already rushing about the room to ready herself for the task ahead.

Rosie merely stared at him expectantly, already tending to your wounded head after wiping the visible scum from your face with a warm wet washcloth.

"Go, Al. We will take care of this."

He froze for a moment, hesitant to leave you in such a state, gazing down at your distressed form one last time before deciding to trust them with your fate.

"I'm counting on you both," he mumbled wearily, planting a sorrowful kiss on your head while peeling off the bed's edge.

"Everything going to be alright, sweetheart. I promise.."

You sobbed lowly at his words, too weak to speak and even less apt to stop him from leaving your side.

The last sight you had of Alastor that night was him lingering at your bedroom door with a somber smile that conveyed the sadness in his eyes, and then he was gone.

A memory you couldn't recall as hours of labor set in. You spent what little strength was left in your body to birth a son and a daughter.

Your screams could practically be heard throughout the whole Garden District.

Alastors' shadows shook violently upon hearing each one, but he restrained himself from racing into the room.

Instead, he busied himself as his mother instructed: cleaning the basement, locking it up before pocketing the key for better safekeeping, and resigning himself to his studies.

Hours of listening to your muffled cries mixing with the crackling of his radio filled the atmosphere with unease.

His shadows swirled in anticipation near the bedroom door, not daring to peek in until your voice was drowned out by the soft cries of two newborns.

Alastor had been on his third cigarette and fourth whiskey by then, in the middle of drowning his stress with vices he'd sworn never to take up, but they seemed appealing for the longest night of his life.

He was rather thankful when a spectator spawned beside his chair, whispering good news in his ear and clearly elated to relay it.

They've arrived—a healthy boy and girl, and she is stable as well. A job well done, monsieur…

A tender smile crept onto his lips at the information, shrill cries of life carrying through the house proving his spectator's observation true." I shouldn't keep my children waiting then," Alastor mused half-heartedly while standing upright.

His glass of whiskey was half full on his desk, his cigarette snuffed out on an ashtray next to it, and his radio left on a low volume of static as he left the room.

———— ————— —————

"Oh, Al, come look! They're just the sweetest little lambs you'll ever see!"

Rosie ushered him in the room with a genuine grin on her face, strands of her blonde hair in disarray, her dress sleeves rolled up, and a bit of sweat on her neck from the work she'd just finished.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, assuming she was exaggerating to lift his spirits.

"Is that so?"

Rosie nodded excitedly, gliding back over to the bed where you lay, and his mother sat facing you.

"Come on. Come look at em'…" the blonde whispered while peering into Angelique's arms.

Alastor hesitated, somewhat afraid to come face to face with his offspring, but then he heard them babble quietly.

A gentle, enlightening sound he never imagined liking, but it drew him like a magnet.

The tired smile you gave him as he neared the bed helped quite a lot.

You were alive, in need of rest, but still breathing.

His mind calmed as your eyes met for a split second, a fleeting exchange of gratefulness, but it broke as two tiny giggles filled the room.

Alastor averted his attention towards them, leaving you to watch as he took them in.

Angelique shifted slightly, adjusting her expert hold on the swaddled newborns who fixated on their looming father as he stepped closer.

"Oh my…hello there, little ones. What a pleasure it is to meet you…"

Alastor fawned over them, kneeling to get a better look, and to his delight, they both smiled at his approach.

The sudden change in expression swayed him, and he had a genuine grin on his face as he took their features in.

"What wonderful gifts you are," he muttered in amazement.

His mother chuckled, amused by her son's reaction to his children, but relieved he'd composed himself again.

"Would you like to hold them, Al?" she voiced the offer gently, watching his sharp eyes soften behind the around-framed spectacle.

"I'd love to ….." he mumbled wistfully, never taking his eyes off the newborn twins.

Rosie squealed quietly in excitement as Angelique nodded, carefully handing the boy over to Alastor first.

He gently took him in his arms, admiring their similarities, "My eyes, hair, and nose. You've stolen them all…"

He paused, stuck on what to call then, but you whispered both names through a tired smile:

"Adonis Naveen Hartifelt & Antoinette Marie Hartofelt… just as we decided, yes?"

Alastor held your gaze momentarily, sensing something was off but disregarding the underlying tension to enjoy the quaint moment.

"Yes, ma chere. Very suitable names…"

You flashed a somber smile, watching as he walked about the room with Adonis before switching to hold Antoinette.

He clearly favored your daughter a bit more, smiling the longest with her near his chest and only puttering her down when she began to fuss—which took quite a while.

Angelique took her from Alastor's grasp, letting him admire her again before he left the room with Rosie and leaving you to feed them with his mother's help.

His absence left you to wonder…

It baffled you how he could be picture-perfect at times like this.

The very image of a good and gracious man.

Nothing like the monster you imagined could systematically tear apart a body the way you witnessed in the basement.

Nothing like a man who'd lie to his wife.

Nothing like the man who'd caused you so much pain in what was supposed to be your happiest time together.

————— ————— —————-

As the days rolled on, winter winds ravaged New Orleans through the holidays, but the frivolous change of season seemed a distant notion outside of the Hartifelt house.

You were first confined to bed rest by Angelique, then by a doctor's official recommendation the next day, and with their orders came directions.

No overexcerting yourself.

No stress.

A fulfilled and healthy diet couldn't be avoided.

And at least six hours of sleep per day.

The last two stipulations were hard to follow because they felt impossible, and you couldn't bring yourself to relax until Alastor made an effort to explain himself…

To explain the body in the basement and why he'd ever see the need to butcher someone in such a gruesome way.

You'd long figured out what he'd been using it for, piecing together what you witnessed with what had been conspiring in your home for months…

The mutilations on the body were precise, as if he had been harvesting certain parts, but you didn't recall seeing any limbs or organs lying around the basement.

There was no rotting flesh smell either, nothing to indicate he was keeping them as personal trophies, but the victim had clearly not been his first from the looks of their wounds.

You'd never seen him dispose of anything, never heard any clamoring noises from the basement when he was down there, and couldn't recall seeing blood on his hands besides the one time you visited his mother.

All your guesses and observations led you to one conclusion: a notion that made your stomach churn, but the only plausible answer to the question of what Alastor had been doing with…or instead using the body for.

Meat.

He had to be harvesting it.

Feeding body parts to himself and me as if it were regular livestock.

It made sense now why he'd neglected to buy meat on grocery store runs and insisted his hunts would bear better fruit than packaged goods, and the more you thought about the connection, the stupider you felt.

All this time, he'd been feeding you…feeding your children human flesh?

How could be so blind to it, so caught up in his charm, and fail to notice what he'd do behind your back.

You threw up every time the thought crossed your mind…

The season's cold chill mirrored the steady rage building in you as days turned into weeks.

Reaching its height by the time Christmas Eve rolled around.

Rosie and Angelique had decided to stay and help you and the twins until your health became stable again.

One woman was always at your side to help, allowing you to nurse Adonis and Antoinette in peace when needed.

In the first few days of your recovery, you didn't remember much of anything, falling in and out of sleep rapidly, but when you could stay awake for most of the day, you refused to have either child out of your sight for more than a second.

Alastor had tried once after their birth to hold them again in your presence, but you forbade Rosie from letting him in the room.

The evident hurt in his eyes when you viciously glared at him that day tore your heart to pieces, but you just couldn't bear to see him pretend everything was bright and dandy.

Like there wasn't a rotting body in the basement…

Angelique tried to soothe you both in one way or another, convincing Alastor to give you space and time, suggesting that he focus on his radio show rather than holing up in his study or going on impractical 'hunts' to cope with your anger towards him.

He took her advice well, putting on a mask for weeks on end as he carried on being New Orleans's most prominent radio star, and though the frequency of his hunts slowed, the few he did venture on were extremely bloody.

You weren't as easily swayed by her attempts to heal the rift between you and Alastor.

Barely eating or sleeping for quite a while, afraid to close your eyes and replay the bloody memory he'd caused, and overtly protective of the twins as a result.

However, eating and neglecting rest didn't last only a short time.

Both factors affected your productivity as a new mother and healing stage.

You eventually took Amgelique's advice, eating your meals in total, resting more, and enjoying your children's presence.

They were quite the duo.

They were generally quiet babies but incredibly active when not asleep.

You took pride in nursing them, fleeting Rosie holding one while you fed the other, both of you cooing at their gentle mannerisms.

Your mood improved drastically by Christmas Eve, the strength to walk around the house without helpfully given back to you, and the pain in your head significantly lessened.

Jovial as ever, you took slow and sure steps to leave the stuffy room, bathe and dress yourself, and be drawn out by the smell of delicious food being made downstairs.

You could hear Rosie playing with the twins, her soft laughter wafting through the house as two other voices lingered under it.

You nearly turned back to the room, recognizing Alastors voice, grimacing as he laughed at something his mother had said, but after a few calming self-reflective breaths, you continued down the winding staircase.

Rosie was the first to spot you, dressed in a simple red and green evening gown, ready to celebrate the night.

You almost envied her vitality, opting for a simple white and red dress and a large red bow to hold your hair up in an elegant pin style.

She gasped softly as you descended the last few steps, halting her hand that tenderly swayed your children's bassinet.

"You're up! Oh, how wonderful…you look lovely, my dear!"

She rushed to hug you, careful not to squeeze you too tight, as a small giggle left you:

"I'm still finding my bearings, but thanks to you and Angelique, I feel much better."

Rosie took hold of your hands in both silk-gloved ones, leading you into the warmly lit parlor.

She left you to admire how beautifully decorated it was as she sat you down next to her on the sofa.

A pine tree was tucked in the corner, standing massively next to the front bay windows, decorated with fairy lights and traditional ornaments.

Garlands were hung in the same fashion, and other festive adornments covered your home's interior as far as you could see, and your heart fluttered a bit at the sight.

You usually took on decorating for the holidays. Alastor would help, of course, but you enjoyed doing it more than he did.

You expected nothing to be set out since you'd been unwell for so long…

"How'd you manage all this, Rosie?" You glanced around in awe one last time, focusing on the babbling newborns comfortably loaded in their business before you.

They reached for your hand as it lazily slid into the bassinet, warm little palms encircling your fingers, bringing comfort to you.

Rosie watched the loving exchange like a proud sister before answering your question.

"We did nothing, dear. This was all Alastors doing…"

You stiffened, glancing at her in disbelief, "All of this? By himself?"

She nodded slowly, reaching for her glass of white wine sitting on a side table.

"Mhm. I'm sure he knew how important the holiday season is to you…"

It was true.

Alastor did know how much you cared about this time of year.

It reminded you of your mother; your few memories of her were from this season, fond quips of true joy you tried to preserve by upholding her enthusiasm for all that Christmas brings.

"A cherishable, loving, pure spirit ready to start a new. Many forget that the only gift that truly matters to another person is one of understanding. Remember that, my love…never let it go.."

Her words rang in your head as your heart twisted, flashes of your memories with Alastor plaguing you.

"How is he?" you asked tentatively, not looking away from the twins as Rosie sighed, "Not well. He wants to speak to you, dear. See the children for more than a second, too. Won't you give him a chance?.."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression softening as you blinked back tears.

"Rosie…I…I want to, but if he spills another lie from his mouth, I'm afraid I might lose myself to rage…"

A beat of silence hung in the air, a single tear running down your cheek as the thought of facing Alastor made you dizzy with anxiety.

"I'm grateful for your help, for his love, but you've all left me in the dark, and now that I've grown wise to it all, I can't help but wanna hate him…"

"Y/n…we- he was just trying to protect you…"

You stifled a sob, crying quietly as you nodded, "I know… Rosie. I know god damn well what Al was trying to do, but if he'd told me from the beginning, I wouldn't drive myself mad in the first place. All that talk of being devoted to me, and he turns around and lies."

You scowled at the carpeted floor, swiftly wiping your face clean before standing from thorofare with a newfound determination:

"I won't stand for it any longer, er, and thinking about it sours my mood. If you'll excuse me, I need a stiff drink…"

—————- ——————- ——————

Angelique paused in her task as you slipped into the kitchen, not saying a word to her son.

You passed her with a small smile directed only at her and her.

She returned it, picking up a stack of dishes to place on the dining room table before silently gliding out of the room.

You frowned at the loss of her company, aware she'd left hoping that you and Alastor would talk earnestly, but you had no intention of even looking his way.

Your husband felt you whisk past him to the wine cabinet, halting his focus on the pot of gumbo he was preparing to turn your way.

"Y/n," he uttered your name, a low call that made your head spin and your chest tight.

You refused to respond, pouring yourself a moderate glass of wine before taking a long sip, and as the bittersweet alcohol dissipated on your tongue, you turned to leave the area.

Alastor tried again to gain your attention, his face stoic as he reached for you.

With a bit of force, he successfully pulled you into his side. You scowled, instinctively tugging your waist from his iron grasp, but he didn't relent his hold—not once.

"Leave me be," you spat quietly, grip hardening on your wine glass and your bright eyes darkening with unbridled rage as his hazel eyes softened on you.

"I will when you let me explain myself…"

Both of his hands found your waist, shifting your reluctant body to press up against his.

You stiffened at the familiar contact, missing his embrace momentarily and slightly distracted by the warmth he emitted.

Weeks without physical touch from him felt tortuous, and you intended to endure it for a while longer, but feeling him so close if only for a moment- made your resolve less than weak.

Alastor pressed his weight against the counter, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he inhaled the scent of your perfume.

A crisp, sweet smell he missed dearly.

It was one of the many traits about you that calmed him, kept him tethered to sanity, and going weeks without breathing you in affected him nearly the same as the lack of his touch did to you.

You twisted and squirmed in his hold, growing angrier by the second as he held you still, "Alastor Hartifelt, let me go this instant-!"

You grit your teeth, hand poised to fling the wine in your glass onto him as a well-deserved deterrent, but he's quick to hold it still.

He tugs the glass from your hand, disregarding the slight spill it causes, and you gasp softly from the use of sudden strength in a simple motion.

Alastor sets the crystal glass down, taking another deep breath before speaking to you in a tone you could only describe as hollow.

"You've seen it, haven't you, darling? What takes up my time in the basement, yes? I know it must terrify you, dear. I know, but you must realize I never meant…to hurt you. Believe me when I say I kept my deeds hidden to protect you…"

Not an ounce of regret was in his words; you hadn't expected any.

Alastor was never the type to act upon something he'd despise later.

You knew him well enough to see an act of utter violence like this made sense to him in some way.

It was never the thought of him being dangerous, the thought of him being murderous, or prone to aggression that had angered you.

He hid it like you hadn't stood by his side through the worst times.

The secret he kept wasn't horrific for its brutality but disgraceful in its relevance to your love for him.

"Protect me?.." you grimaced, looking into his eyes with burning rage, "What about trusting me. To hell with why you kill. It's a matter of you hiding such a secret from me in the first place. I am your wife, your equal, and yet you lied to me as if I were a mere child! A pet you could put in a cage and show off but never bond with…"

The anger slowly left your tone, gaze softening on his amber eyes, "I understand you don't care much for the term 'love' but whatever we have can’t exist without us fully trusting in one another. That is why I am angry with you. That is why I've distanced myself, Alastor. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You lowered your head, feeling a tad dramatic but glad to have said what was on your mind.

Alastor pursed his lips in deep thought for a moment, but soon, his deep laughter resonated around the room.

Your head snapped up at the sound, one brow lifted in pure confusion as he chuckled heartily, "And what's so funny now?" You tutted in frustration, prepared to drench him in wine again, but you thought better of it as his laughter died.

"It's just that…" he paused, staring into your curious eyes as they took in his lazy smile, "I seem to have forgotten why I fell for you in the first place, sweetheart."

Alastor's grin grew as your expression hardened, "What does that have to do with this conversation-"you began to become livid again until his large hands cupped your rounded cheeks gently.

You froze as the gentle contact warmed your skin, focus paper thin as he leaned in close enough for your noses to touch, "My darling doe, you have never betrayed me once. In all our time together, your faith in me has never wavered. I've killed for you more times than I can count, but that could never amount to the love you hold for me. Even after discovering my darkest sin, you look upon me gracefully… my wife, my angel, you are truly curious to a man."

His sentiments muddled your thoughts, every sweet word true, holding an edge of obsession.

Your heart fluttered hearing them, the sharpness in his eyes reinforcing their weight.

You gulped gently as he brushed his lips over your parted ones, teasing a kiss you weren't ready to give.

"I must've been mistaken when I belittled my love for you in the sense of devotion…."

His eyes drifted half closed as you hummed in delight, feeling his heavy breaths fan your mouth.

Whiskey and twinge of sweetness rolled off his tongue, an inviting mixture you didn't dare to forget, "Then correct yourself," you muttered in response in hopes of reliving your craving for him.

Alastor struggled to surpass his smirk as you raised your hands to rest over his, gingerly pressing your nails into his skin and shivering at the familiar roughness it had.

"How do you suggest I do that, dear. I've caused you quite a lot of trouble, and there's only so much a man can do."

His teasing stirred heat in your core, a sensation you hadn't felt in weeks and thoroughly missed.

"First, you'll swear to never…never lie to me again. No matter the circumstances."

He hummed lowly, eyeing the low-hanging ruffle sleeves of your dress as they inched downward the more you pressed into him.

"You have my word, ma chere."

The response was automatic on his part, driven by the soft whine you let out as one of his hands shifted to knead your hip.

The gesture brought your lower half closer to his, leaving no space between you, but as distracting as it was, you continued on with your demands.

"You won't ever feed me or our children human meat again…without my explicit permission."

Alastor frowned for a moment but agreed nonetheless, "Alright."

You nodded, inhaling sharply shortly after as his hand gently tugged your dress skirt.

It would be right to swat him away and restrict his touch from you a bit longer, but the instant his fingertips brushed the skin of your thigh, you couldn't help but blush and bit back a whine.

"A-and you'll never put yourself, this family, our life together…in harm's way. Promise me, you'll continue to be discreet Alastor…"

The urge to moan gripped you entirely as his touch burned your bare skin, only silenced by the immediate kiss he allowed you before muttering sincerely, "You have my word, darling…"

You shuddered at his oath, knowing he meant every word, pouring his intent to keep it through the exchange of heated kisses that ensued after.

You held onto him tight, trying to remain as quiet as possible as his tongue found yours, forcing it to obey his lead and his hands roaming your body for the same sign of submission.

You gave in effortlessly, head tilting back as he marked your neck, gently pricking your skin with his teeth, gliding his tongue over the most minor bruises he left.

A wave of shivers captured you, disorienting and intensifying with Alastor's every move.

Your hands gripped his broad shoulders, bracing yourself for him to inevitably lift you onto his waist, but the action never occurred.

The sound of Rosie's quick footsteps approaching and her distinct singing song calling of your names made you both separate.

Alastor yanked your dress down quickly, clearing his throat with a cheeky grin while you hid your face in his chest out of slight embarrassment as the blonde glided into the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hartifelt wants to know if the gumbo is ready, Al. How's it coming along, hm?" She chirped cheerfully, pretending not to notice your bright red, blushing face hidden in his embrace.

"Oh, it's just about done, my dear. Just had to give it another taste test, right chere?"

You stared up at him in awe as he brought a hand to your left cheek, gliding his thumb over your heated skin, lovingly and intently staring back at you.

"Isn't that right, chere," Alastor asked once more, enjoying the nervousness in your gaze as you nodded in jaded agreement, "That's right, Rosie.." you muttered dreamily, too focused on your husband to catch her knowing smirk before she hummed in understanding while sashaying back into the parlor.

"Mrs. Hartifelt, Al says it's coming along well!" Rosie shouts in delight as she leaves you both alone, accentuating the phrase's double meaning to the older lady tending to her new grandchildren in the warmly lit parlor room.

Both women's smirks grew wildly, hearing you giggle amid Alastor's flirtatious teasing moments later.

"Seems it is," Angelique mumbled assuredly as Rosie sat beside her, admiring the tiny humans smiling in their sleep.

Christmas Eve wouldn't be so dim after all…

xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whew…..you all okay after this? No? Too bad it gets better then way worse… A real Shakespearean tragedy/romance. IM TAKING MY ASS TO BED NOW GOOD NIGHT 😴

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette @gasiacos @marvelgirl123 @dinosaur-crime-scene

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Did you fall more in love with him seeing this? I certainly did…Credit to creator ❤️

[sublimecatgalaxy]

heyy didnt know if you were down for requests but i js though elliot or dom teaching you how to play the guitar would be rlly cute and shit 😭

(also i love ur fics sm like pls marry me)

Okay well this is literally the cutest request ever!

Also you're the cutest, I accept your proposal! Thank you so much for the love and support, I adore you- reach out any time bestie <3

"You should take a break from school, ya know, give your boyfriend some attention while he's here in your vicinity." Elliot whines from the bed, sprawling out across the comforter as he groans, rubbing his tired eyes as I look over at the clock, not expecting it to be well after midnight. Guilt suddenly swarms around me, realizing he's been sitting here for hours, waiting for me to give him attention while I completely and utterly focus on school.

"Finals are coming up soon and I am completely and utterly unprepared." I trail off, the pit in my stomach only growing as I think of my upcoming tests in three different classes, knowing that I'm totally unprepared for all of them combined.

It's been a rough year, don't judge me.

"Well who's fault is that, you decided to wait until the last minute to even start-"

"Don't finish that sentence." I point a finger at him and he laughs, his bright smile making me feel a little bit better as I swing around in my chair, looking back and forth between him and the flashcards in front of me.

"Well, if you wanna take a break and come over here, I promise to help you with your flashcards." I ponder his offer for a minute, not expecting him to offer his help, especially when he hates everything that has to do with school, especially all the science classes that I'm in.

"Really?" I bite at my lip and give him a look, a look that he can tell that I feel bad that he would have to help me but I could never decline the help, especially given how desperate I am.

"Really." He nods firmly and I pause, smiling softly at him as I pull my hair down from it's bun, itching at my scalp with a groan.

"Okay." I launch myself out of my chair, flopping onto the bed beside him as he immediately wraps me in his arms, tightly squeezing me as I let out a brief sigh of relief, not realizing how much I missed his arms around me. It feels like I've been gone a century. "Only like twenty minutes and then I have to get back to studying or else I'm seriously going to fail this exam."

"Sounds good." He sighs, sitting up on the bed as he reaches down beside the bed to grab his guitar, strumming quietly as I settle down beside him, watching him with a fond, loving look.

"How did you learn that?" I ask simply, pulling his gaze away from the instrument but he continues to play, shocking me even more.

"The guitar?" I nod. "It's muscle memory. I can teach you."

"I'll probably be ass at it. I'm not the most musically inclined." I laugh and his eyes widen with a knowing glance and I reach out to smack his arm with a loud, offended laugh.

"Trust me, I know- I hear you singing in the shower." Elliot teases and I gasp, sitting up and giving him the most incredulous look, shocked that he hears me and noting to myself to be quieter with my concerts.

"Rude." I mumble.

"It's a good thing you're cute." He presses his finger to the tip of my nose and it scrunches under his touch, my head tilting playfully at him. "Here, you can strum and I'll show you the fingering of it."

"Fingering." I snort and his jaw drops at my innuendo, pinching my side.

"Shut up." He continues to move his fingers around the strings as I strum softly, my gaze stuck on the way his fingers move without the need for him to even watch what he's doing. "See it's not that bad?"

"Don't your fingers get tired?" I ask, feeling the tips of my fingers burn as if there's carpet burn on the tips of each of them and he gives me a shrug, taking my fingers in his grasp to press a kiss to each individual finger.

"Never, I have fingers of steel."

"Trust me, I know." I mock him and his head tips back in laughter, red dusting his cheeks at my taunting.

"Shut up."

[purplesoulcollection]

Otherworld Fans

Do you even question your existence in world?

Yeah, i was the one asking that. This is not the first time I'm being this serious, but this one is the urgent question.

I realized that I was the only one who felt that this world was not my real world.

This place doesn’t feel particularly strange, yet my dark eyes seem to express a reality that feels out of place, as if it’s my eyes that are the odd ones.

It’s a world that mirrors my own, filled with modern conveniences like technology, smartphones, and Wi-Fi that connects everyone through the internet. Yet, it’s also a world plagued by air pollution that makes breathing difficult, and the sun’s heat can feel like it’s cooking people alive, just like in my previous existence.

Still, deep down, I know I don’t belong here. The world I truly belong to is the one where I spent my entire life, a place that wouldn’t change over a single lifetime.

Even if I have to die, my memories would reset, allowing me to experience life anew, as if for the very first time, in an endless loop.

But who knows which monarch that made the blunder of allowing me to be reborn with the memories of my past life intact, robbing me of the joy of living without the weight of knowing I’ve lived before, only to face death once more?

Ops, I let my bad thoughts wander for some reason. My rational and gloomy thought is always ruin for the fun. Sorry for the moody rant. But I have my reason too!

Do you think you will happy if you have to restart your life and study the fact that you already know in the world that mirrors yours?

Yeah, I'm glad at first, but now my gladness dropped 70%, not completely happy again. Why? Why I'm not completely happy, you asked?

Because you know...?

This realm is now the world of solo leveling ragnarok. Not the world of Solo Leveling instead.

It’s no longer the place where Sung Jinwoo was the main character, starting from the very bottom and rising to greatness through a mission system that sought to exploit him. Even though I want to see the live action even if it has to be in secret stalking.

I’ve lost the chance to witness the iconic moments from his legendary comics and novels. I can't even glance at the majestic event that i already memorized the order if sometime i being reincarnated into this world...

I’ll never get the chance to be the person that Sung Jinwoo secretly admires or like since we don’t even exist in the same time period.

Tears streamed down my face when I encountered Sung Jinwoo, now married with children. I can't stop it.

Literally, I cried the first time I saw him alongside Cha Hae-in when my father let me see him—those countless fanfictions I had devoured about Sung Jinwoo x reader shattered before me, leaving only the harsh truth. He can't be mine...

I can only see his worried face when i cried in front of him, he tried to persuade me to stop the tears by by promising to buy me snacks or make friends with his child.

Seeing no change in me, he urgently ask my father for the clue of my cries that my father also having no clue at all.

Sung Jinwoo is undeniably so handsome even when he already married and is already middle aged man … but sadly, he’s not someone I can ever reach; Even after I met him through my unrealistic second life…

then I felt someone's hand wiping my tears. The hand that made me look away from Sung Jinwoo's face and turn my gaze towards the hand that cleaned my face from my tears.

And I saw it. the next protagonist in this world. Sung Suho.

He was the one who wiped my tears with his innocent face. His little hand, which was slightly smaller than mine, still tried to wipe my tears innocently.

Seeing his face and recognizing Suho's face which had similarities in the eyes and nose to his mother made my nose clogged with snot and I ran out of Sung Jinwoo's house which I visited with my father.

I dashed away, tears streaming down my face, feeling embarrassed about my snotty nose. Why should I humiliate myself in front of someone I look up to?

My eyes stung, making everything around me seem hazy, but I was relieved to find the playground deserted, free from other kids.

I plopped down on the swing, staring at the ground, feeling exhausted and sad. At least if I looked down, no one would notice a little girl crying all alone in this empty playground.

Why am I even crying? He’s not a character meant to be with me.

I admire him from afar, and while he’s my idol, that’s all he is—just an idol. Sure, he’s incredibly cool, handsome, and exactly my type, but I have to accept that he’s out of reach if fate doesn’t align with my dreams.

and because I looked down I didn't see someone chasing me coming to see me sitting on the swing. he was panting after me who was emotional.

But seeing me sitting and not realizing that he was chasing me finally made him sit on the swing next to me.

the sound of the swing being shaken made me aware of someone's presence, I wiped my tears and wiped my snot with my hand, trying to appear fine even if I knew it would be useless if my eyes were red from crying.

When I saw the person next to me, I wasn't too surprised to see Suho chasing me. My father knew that I was a smart child to be able to come back to Jinwoo's house when I was done crying and whining, and both Cha Hae-in and Jinwoo were two people who could detect me in their own way, they're strong for the reason.

Only Suho was the one who bothered to chase me here alone.

He didn't look at me when I saw him, but I knew that he was aware that I was watching him.

"Why are you chasing me?" My voice was nasal from crying, not the sweet voice of a girl who can ask for anything sweetly and have her parents grant it.

Hearing me finally want to talk to him made him turn around and asked, "Why are you crying anyway?"

His probing eyes made me shy away from being angry with him. He thinks I want to cry in front of his father? NO!! I want to be the best daughter figure for him, but i can't control my reaction.

"I don't know why, so don't ask!"

I barked at him, still very frustrated with my current situation.

it's better for him to just leave until I manage to calm myself down. That would be better for both of us. I don't want to mad at him, he's innocent and know nothing about me.

But he's being the one who couldn't read the situation and didn't leave even after I barked at him. he just looked back at the sky and swung his swing.

Why doesn't he leave too? Is he insensitive?

We both fell silent, allowing the wind to blow and the warm sunlight to fill the quiet, which was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

Since I was starting to sweat from the heat, I finally stood up and suggested we head home together.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, trailing behind me as I walked away, he walking slower than me. Maybe that's why he couldn't immediately chase after me who ran away to the playground.

I scrunched my face, knowing I couldn't be completely truthful with him. "I don't know, maybe it's because your dad is just too handsome… and that makes me a bit jealous of your mom?"

His reaction was one of surprise; he lowered his arms from behind his head, clearly taken aback. "Do you like my dad?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch.

I didn't appreciate his response, which felt like it was prying into my embarrassment. "No, don’t joke about that! I’m just intrigued by him, not in love! I just hope to find a guy as good-looking as he is someday."

What I said was partly true but also a bit of a stretch. Where else could I find someone who matched my standards? Imagining someone perfect was my only option.

"Since you seem to like my dad so much, why not extend that to me?"

His question left me speechless, making me reconsider his character.

Wow, is Suho really the kind of person who can be this unpredictable? Shouldn't my mere glance at the comic be enough?

"Why do you keep making jokes? How can I like you when I don’t even know your name?"

Technically, I still didn’t know his name; we hadn’t introduced ourselves yet. Dad had only introduced me to Suho's parents before I ended up in tears.

"You can like my dad right away, so why can’t I?" He still insisted, he raised his hand while making a fist. Looks very serious in his opinion.

"You just can’t!" I shook my head firmly, dismissing Suho's illogical suggestion.

He fell quiet, awkwardly tracing his finger along his cheek before finally saying, "If you don’t know my name, I’ll tell you, but you have to share yours too!" He looked embarrassed and turned his gaze away.

Why is he looking away so awkwardly? Is he trying to be my friend but feels shy because our first interaction was a bit rocky?

feeling guilty because this was my fault I stretched out my hand to Suho, "Okay, my name is Name, satisfied now right?"

He looked at the outstretched hand in front of him, clearly taken aback. When I noticed he wasn't moving to take it, I thought about pulling my hand back.

But as if sensing my doing, he quickly grasped both of my hands. "I'm Suho, nice to meet you, Name!" he exclaimed loudly, causing me to jump a little from the unexpected volume.

"Why do you have to yell like that? You really startled me!" I loudly tell him. He only can shrunk because he knew he was doing something wrong.

"Well, you can't expect me to just stand here waiting for you to say something." he answered in a nervous voice. afraid of making me angry again.

"You took your sweet time, didn't you? Let's get home before my dad gets mad!"

He nodded, and we started walking home, completely unaware that we were still holding hands.

The End

[mr-celestial-writings]

Over & Over

Song:

Summary: How many times have you been screwed over by their empty promises? How many times did you believe them? You're tired of being taken for a fool.

OUTLAW READER MASTERLIST

================================================

Over and over, I fuck myself over.

You stared at your alarm clock. In bright red numbers it read '3:30 am.'

You groaned, sitting up in bed. You ran a hand over you tired face. You sighed, considering giving up on sleep all together.

And Under and Under, I do it again.

Of course tonight of all nights you'd be kept up. It was less than a week out from your birthday. And the traitorous thoughts of your family seeped in.

Of course they had to seep in, keeping you even more awake and angry.

Morning and Evening, I felt I was grieving,

Your earliest memory of the Wayne Brood was after the incident. The DNA test results had come back, your mother wasn't even cold in her grave when you were moved in.

There was nobody there to greet you. It was Alfred who showed you to your room. You two had passed by Bruce's study, where you saw your father hunched over his desk, grieving somebody you didn't know.

It wasn't until a week later you actually met any other members of your family.

Dick had stopped by, mainly to argue with Bruce about something else. Their relationship was still bad when you came around.

He saw you at the counter with Alfred, watching the older butler cook.

He asked Alfred who you are, resulting in Alfred informing him of your situation.

Well, Now Dick really had a reason to be pissed at Bruce.

He promised you he'd take you out to see the sights. What a Load of Horse shit that was.

Until I said Fuck You and Never again.

It was month into your stay when Bruce finally came around to meet you. It was at dinner time when he finally saw you.

He sat at the head of the table, and you were across from him. You were quiet, responding in short sentences to his questions.

Bruce promised you something too, to spend time with you when he had the time.

Yeah, right. That never happened.

Daytime or Night time, I feel like I'm on my time,

You remember when Tim arrived. His Dad had just been buried. You felt a connection to him, having also lost your mom.

You decided to greet him, like nobody ever did for you. You tried to be there for him, but he closed you out. Just like everybody else.

You weren't surprised, not really. You had grown used to being alone.

You always heard him playing video games or going out with his friends though.

but my time is fickle, just like a friend.

Barbara was a surprise. You never expected you'd get to meet her. Not with how distant you were from Dick.

She was nice, but once again, there was no real relationship there for you.

You gave her space, she gave you space.

I feel I am sinking and Failing to swim.

Cass was... a shock to your system to say the least. She scared you, always coming out of nowhere,

He silence was also creepy. You avoided her happily. But it didn't make the numbness any better.

Over and over and over and over.

You were so excited to meet Steph. You thought she was a good Robin, she had great potential. How Bruce treated her just made the chasm between you two even larger.

Sure, she wasn't the best towards you at first, and things were still tense between you two at times.

But right now, you had a good friend in her.

Over and over and over and over.

Damian, how to describe Damian.

To be blunt, you don't care for the demon. He was aggressive, and arrogant, and rude.

He always believed himself to be better than not just you, but everyone.

He was cruel, especially to you. You just never had the energy to fight back and feed his cruelity.

You two spent time together. If you count being hunted for sport.

Over and over and over and over.

Jason was always a legend to you. You heard about him through passing, when he was already gone. Despite having never met him, he was a hero to you. Never a soldier.

So when you two finally met, albeit when he thought you were replacing him, it was strange to find out he was nothing like the stories you were told.

Despite that, and once all misunderstandings were cleared up, Jason really stepped up for you.

He knew what it was like to be invisible, after all.

He really gave you something to fight for, and you finally had hope. Sure, he had his fair share of broken promises, but he always tried his hardest to make up for that.

Over and over and over and over.

You sighed, flopping back down on your bed. You stared at your ceiling. There were too many forgotten birthdays and broken promises.

Even know, it still hurt.

You didn't know if it would ever stop hurting.

================================================

a/n: sorry, I wrote this mainly for me. I feel a certain way about my birthday. Not because it means I'm getting older, but because of how I was treated growing up.

[traumacatholic]

Hello, I am too ashamed to write to you off anon. I have this really important exam at the end of June and although I have been studying for months, I haven't studying as much as I should have (not exaggerating, I've procrastinated a lot and haven't done as much as I could). If I pass this exam, I will have a job and will be able to help my loved ones economically and my partner, but still I keep procrastinating, keep thinking about useless stuff, keep being on my phone.

I pray to God to help me focus, help me finally be free of this exam so I can be with Him full time instead of relegating him to my night and morning prayers, I even promise him every Sunday that this week will be better and I will study because I trust that he will help me but I never study. I am in my late 20s and it seems like I don't owe to my word. I promised many people that I'd pass, and God.

Can you pray for me? And do you have any prayer that might help me focus and forget about my phone's existence?

I pray for you.

A popular prayer before study is that of Thomas Aquinas:

Come, Holy Spirit, Divine Creator, the true source of light and fountain of wisdom. Pour forth your brilliance upon my intellect, dissipate the darkness which covers me, that of sin and of ignorance. Grant me a penetrating mind to understand, a retentive memory, method and ease in learning, the lucidity to comprehend, and abundant grace in expressing myself. Guide the beginning of my work, direct its progress, and bring it to successful completion. This I ask through Jesus Christ, true God and true man, living and reigning with You and the Father, forever and ever. Amen.

This prayer also should be helpful for you:

O God, whom I have displeased by squandering away, on worldly cares and idle vanities, so many, many hours of that existence which was given to me for the performance of good works, for my own sanctification, and for the edification of my neighbors; keep me, Lord, from all such waste of time. May your grace teach me to remember that I shall have to give an account of the manner in which I shall have spent every hour; and may this remembrance prompt me to employ the rest of my life in working out my salvation. Teach me to remember that, on this very day, and on every day of my life, it is my first duty to glorify you, my God; to imitate you, my Jesus; to resist temptations; to overcome my passions; to make the most of my time; to think on eternity and to pay attention to those who matter most in my life. These are my first calls: teach me to remember them—enable me to fulfill them; and never let me idle away one single hour in vanities or in worldly matters that may hinder me from performing those duties which you have entrusted to me. Amen.

When it comes to studying itself, you might find techniques like the Pomodoro method helpful for concentration. Other people like to lock their phone away in a drawer until a certain time has passed. Figure out a method that works for you.

When I was a child, I used to make promises to God of "Oh God, I promise I'll believe in you if you do X". The thing about promises, is that there is a lot outside of our control and while there are things in our control, we do not know what our temperament will be like in the future. I don't think I was ever deliberately lying as a child when I made these promises to God, but I failed these promises constantly. Because I didn't have the resolve to carry them through and also there was so much outside of my control. So I don't think the situation is that you are deliberately not a man of your word, but that you don't always recognise the things that are outwith your control and the things that you lack the capacity to carry through. You could make the promise to study for 3 hours every day for two weeks, and for the first week you carry it out, and then the second week you get struck down with an illness so severe you can't open a book.

I think in future, instead of making promises, you should say "I will try to do X" and use these moments as lessons in fostering humility. That we are not in control of everything, and that while we might have the idea of wanting to do something, we lack the discipline required to carry it out. You could very well pass this exam, and then when it comes to Sunday, you find that you have spent the day watching TV or playing video games. And I think what would then happen is you feel guilty, and instead of letting that guilt foster something positive, you end up beating yourself up and letting it have a negative impact on your life.

Good luck with your exam though, and I do pray that it goes well for you. Trust in God's plan for your life, and not the plan that you are trying to present to God

Lord, I know not what to ask of Thee. Thou alone knowest my true needs. Thou lovest me more than I myself know how to love. Help me to see my needs that are concealed from me. I dare not ask for a cross nor consolation; wherefore I only wait upon Thee. My heart is open unto Thee. Visit and help me, according to Thy great mercy. Strike me down and heal me; cast me down and raise me up. In silence I worship Thy holy will and Thine unsearchable ways. I offer myself as a sacrifice unto Thee. I have no other desire than to fulfill Thy holy will. Teach me to pray, and pray Thou Thyself in me. Amen.

[imsogonesposts]

Composed a Hundred Ways to Tell You-

|| ao3 || loosely based on "i told you things" by gracie abrams || an: my first fic in a minute 😭 and my first time posting any of my fics on Tumblr!! woo!!

summary: You write a letter to Steve, telling him how you miss him. (wc: 703)

warnings: angst, some self loathing (maybe), mention of character death

Dear Steve, 

I’m sorry that I haven’t written in so long. You’d be amazed by how busy college keeps you. I really wish you could visit me soon, I found a coffee shop with some muffins that I think you would love if you tried them. Sometimes I catch myself talking to you as if you were here. Sometimes it’s in the library when I’m trying to study, other times when I’m laying in bed, trying to sleep and there you are, on my ceiling. I really miss you. 

But, how’s Hawkins been? Are the girls trying to get dates with you now that I’m not there anymore? Do you say yes? Would you have said yes?  How’s Robin? I’m planning on writing my next letter to her. At least she replies when I write to her. Is Max feeling any better? Are the rest of the kids okay? Tell your mom I say hi!

Before I forget, guess what happened yesterday. I saw someone who looked just like you at the bookstore and went to go up to him to chat. I asked him to stay, stay with me, and he was really confused. Fun fact, he also likes Fast Times. I still can’t believe I let you play that movie so often, but I must have really loved you. 

Every now and then I call your mom to check up on her. I know, I know, you wouldn’t want me doing that, but I can’t help it. She told me it’s been a year, and I need to throw away my fantasies now that I’m in college. Fantasies that you’re still here, that you’re still okay. I still don’t think she likes me all that much. It’s so strange how it’s been a year, time is odd in that way. A few minutes can feel like hours when you don’t want to do something, and a year can zoom by when you’re trying to forget. I realized I don’t want to forget, though. You’re hard to forget.

Sometimes, I find myself recalling our last conversation. You were telling me everything would be okay, to trust you, because you wouldn’t try to play hero. For me. I guess you weren’t good at keeping promises, cause you jumped off that boat and ended up getting attacked by the demobats. I’m sorry, I can’t blame you, you must have felt so much pain. But, Steve, I do too. I really miss you, I’m still wearing that stupid yellow sweater of yours cause I can’t bear the thought of you being gone forever. Of you being nothing more than a memory. The sweater lost your smell a while back, and I had to buy that expensive ass cologne that you used to wear to try to keep the smell there. The sweater’s not even yellow anymore, it’s a weird green cause it mixed with some blues in the washer. I really miss you. So much. Robin came to visit me a few weeks ago and said the color was gone from my face. She probably thinks I’m going insane. 

I feel so guilty for letting you get on that stupid boat, I should have made you stay with me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I miss you, I’m so sorry. 

The good thing about moving for college is that I get to meet new people, see new things, and try new things. It’s all so very fun and exciting. I wish you were here to see it, you’d love it up here. It’s also good to get away from the memory of you. To escape the pain every now and then. I’m sorry, I don’t mean that. I’d never want to get away from your memory. I realized some of the things I’ve told you, were things I never said to anyone else. I’m hoping you’re keeping my secrets safe back home. I trust you though. I always have, and always will. 

Okay, I’m running out of things to say, so that’s it for this letter. Write back soon, I love you so much. To the moon and back. Forever and ever and ever.  I love you I’m sorry!!

♡ with all my love

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

[jeanystillbeany]

BillFord Fic

I haven’t gotten invited to ao3 yet so I’ll just post it here anyway. It doesn’t have a name so I’ll just post a teaser or whatever. Idfk. It’s a billford fic ig. As soon as I get ao3 I’ll post it on there. I do have more written. I’m just taking the first part for a test drive. Let me know ur thoughts! (Literally anything- name suggestions scene suggestions, if i should post it on ao3, explanations etc.)

Entry 167: Series 6

  Out of all the curiosities I’ve studied in my travels, this has to be one of the most shocking enigmas yet.  This timeline had the bottom story of the shack left with two gaping holes at the top.  In fact, it’s as though the shack grew legs and walked away.  Which is completely bizarre- even for a weirdness magnet such as Gravity Falls, Oregon.  The countless timelines I’ve visited so far were nowhere near this level of insanity.  This level of… intrigument.  The state of the timeline has this enrapturing effect on me.  

  Recently the timelines I’ve been traveling through have had a different variable.  Two in fact.  As it turns out, me and my brother have a great-grandniece and nephew.  Dipper and Mabel.  While I’ve been careful to not interact with any timelines I’ve found myself caught up in (especially after that incident with the Time Police), I still somehow find myself growing attached to the two.  For the past few months I’ve been observing them through the different timelines I’ve traveled to.  There has also been the reoccurring pattern of their other ‘Gruncle’ re-emerging from the same portal I find myself appearing from every few days.  I’ve been waiting… counting down the days til it’s my turn.  And yet, I still don’t understand why I continue to keep that false hope in my pocket.  The multiverse is infinite.  The chances of me ever finding my home universe is nearly pointless.  While I could always take the place of another Stanford… The Time Police would be on my case in a second.  I also understand that the multiverse I was sent to wasn’t the same one as the other Stanfords.  While I’m dealing with infinites of my brother, they were dealing with beasts beyond basic human comprehension… and yet I’d much rather that than to be cursed knowing I’d never get home.  To see Dipper and Mabel fail… over and over… with myself unable to assist… sometimes I thought it was driving me mad.  

  I’ve certainly spent more time reciting the last few entries than I should’ve.  So I shall continue with the present.  The shambles of my lab have made for an adequate shelter.  (Save for the 2 overgrown hairless mole rats I’ve needed to fight off for my rations).  The sky appears to be a blood red, many of the familiar surrounding trees were reduced to brambles, probably by some larger species I’d like to take the time to investigate at a later hour.  This area has been intensely modified compared to the other Gravity Falls I’ve been in.  I have a hunch this is due to the large vortex that ripped through the dimension.  (That was in fact sarcasm my dear reader).  So far I’ve studied and dissected one of those overgrown Eye-Bats that can turn a person to stone just by looking at them.  From memory; I will promise they were much smaller and could not turn one to stone in my own timeline.  Why would anyone feel the need to weirdify these anomalies?  Some sort of apocalypse has settled over this world.  Whether or not it was always like this is unknown.  I’m leaning towards the latter though.  I shortly ran out of things to do after examining my last two specimens and I itched for more information on these preternatural creatures. 

Ford sat in what was left of his desk chair and kicked his feet up.  He would kill for a mug of coffee right now.  

Ford ran a hand through his hair.  Since the portal incident, he’s grown it out. He’s grateful he didn’t cut it when he could.  It more than likely would’ve exaggerated the up and coming gray hair.  Though… he shouldn’t exactly care how he looks because he’s not supposed to be seen in other timelines according to the Time Police.  In the end, he still does get a fond satisfaction of knowing he’s at least well kept.  And mistakes happen.  He continues to have the same clothing pattern of turtle necks- though he only ever wears them underneath his long coat.  It proved to be very useful when traveling timelines.  The amount of pockets he had to keep so many samples in almost seemed like cheating.  He also always had his bag with him.  Most of his pockets aren’t big enough for his journal, and he’s filled up a couple while he was traveling timelines.  His love of pockets also extended to his lower half making sure to have maximum pockets on his cargo pants.  He even bothered with a hidden one in his shoe for an emergency lock pick.  If that wasn’t enough, his obsession with Sci-Fi led to him wanting to live it to its full extent, so naturally he put knives in both heels of his boots as well.  

  Normally he’d care that there were some contaminated combat boots being rubbed all over his desk.  But now?  He thought he might as well embrace the end of the world.  He loved his family to death, but if any of them saw him in a timeline other than his origin the whole universe would collapse in on itself, and they would be the ones dead.  Ford could always scramble back to his portal and go to the next timeline.  According to the Time Police that is.   Though there have been many instances where he has intervened in his earlier days with no consequence.  

  The man mindlessly fiddled with his gun on the inside pocket of his coat.  He wanted to study more.  Maybe the giant gash in the sky was the root of his greatest mystery!  He unhooked his heels from the edge of his desk and swung them around towards the bunker hatch.  He pushed himself off from the armrests of the chair.  Stanford climbed up the ladder and popped his head out of the bunker.  He supposed the first step would be to find a lookout point.  If he was lucky he might be able to stay in one place long enough to do a quick sketch of this timeline’s situation.  The first place Stanford’s mind drifted was his abandoned UFO- though it was identified and no longer flying, so he dubbed it the alien spacecraftt.  It gave a perfect view of the entire town and was rather close to his current position.  Ford gave a once over of everything in his satchel.  He plucked out his journal in order to sift through the small bit of food, water and any other trinkets he had before neatly replacing it and went on his way.  

  As Ford traveled he kept a hand on his gun.  Aside from the terrors the scientist was getting antsy to encounter, he was the only other sound he heard.  His boots trudged along the ground -making distinct squishing sounds- as though he were walking in his own wet socks.  The ground beneath him was unnaturally wet causing the uncomfortable feeling.  There was the occasional shuffle as he adjusted his jacket to the odd temperatures.  Ford made a mental note to journal about the seemingly miniature air masses that drastically changed the temperatures in as little as every few feet he walked.  The long coat was currently adjusted to be draped over his shoulders, as Ford found this to be a happy medium and made a constant grip on his gun easier.  

  A rumble struck the ground just as Ford’s own foot hit the earth.  The man felt a jitter course through him, crawling up his spine.  

  “Another weirdness wave!”  The man exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than anyone else trapped in this hell bubble ever would.  He licked the first two of his fingers and raised them up in the air, turning them at different angles until he found the direction that gave his moistened fingers the most chill.  After finding the wind direction he quickly hid behind a tree and scrambled through his bag.  His six-fingered hand reemerged with a sort of hand made device.  It was made from old lab parts created during his first few days in this timeline.  It allowed him to calculate the intensity of the weirdness wave and further study its properties.  He carefully placed the machine away from the cover of the tree and braced himself for things to get weird.  

  The wave passed over Stanford relatively easily and he observed no mutations to himself.  Stanford went to pick up his wave reader when- 

  “Oh.  How peculiar… Shit.”  The man’s handmade invention had grown to compete with the surrounding forest’s pine trees.  For a moment the Author thought that he would be unable to run.  For a moment the Author believed he was frozen in time.  For a moment he saw himself as a child.  For a moment he saw his brother.  For a moment he saw the twins.  

  Stanford found the right gears that made the joints in his legs move.  This was no longer his invention.  It had grown six legs of its own.  The calculator screen that was once used as a makeshift reader display was its mouth and the antenna was its tongue.  Ford was tempted to take a picture, though he doubted such would be worth his life.  He raced through the forest.  It was almost as if its size grew due to this oddity apocalypse.  The scientist didn’t have a chance.  Every time he heaved himself over a log, the creature could bash itself right through it after him.  He needed to think of something… he’d kill to meet his niece and nephew.  

  The Author took out his loaded gun as he ran through the brambles.  He took a sharp turn, causing the monster to slide in an effort to regain its balance.  Ford began to aim as the creature was tipped onto its side.  It landed with a loud thump, causing multiple mutated birds to fly away startled.  Stanford lowered his gun and stood stunned in front of his creation, as its legs flailed about, damaging the surrounding shrubbery.  

  “Intriguing!”  Ford quickly snapped a picture.  As much as he’d like to inspect the helpless thing more, he deemed it safer to continue with his original task.  He would’ve stayed longer if one of the monster’s legs didn’t reach out and claw at his coat, tearing it down its side.  A bit closer and the scientist would’ve been seriously injured.   He jumped back and continued with his task of sketching this new timeline.  He also made a mental note to log his encounter in the journal when he was in the clear.  

~

  He finally made it to the spacecraft.  Ford would definitely consider using this as a hideout in this world.  Contrary to Ford’s belief, the state of this timeline was only in Gravity Falls.  He remembers studying the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism as a younger man, but he never believed it could affect anything to this extent.  Ford sat down atop the spacecraft.  He snapped a picture of the surrounding scene.  

Entry 167 B. Series 6

  There seemed to be a large barrier encasing Gravity Falls.  More than likely the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism.  I’ve studied the topic before and have come up with a simple equation to break it.  The scene before me is both exhilarating and dread ensuing.  To even think about the situations my brother and the kids have gone through haunts me.  I want nothing more than to be able to talk with them.  Even if it’s not my universe.  I want to hear their stories and watch them grow up… I wish for my own universe.  I’ve traveled the timelines for much too long.  I’ve watched them.  But I want to see them.  To meet my Mabel, my Dipper, my Stanley.  I want to meet my family.  But where would I even start?  The time police?

  I looked off to the sunless horizon and noticed a large pink orb sitting dead center of the train tracks with Mabel’s zodiac on it.  My breathing sputtered.  Just what were these kids into this timeline?  I decided it’d be best to head back to the lab.  I’d like to be there when the portal reopens.  

   Maybe… maybe I can try one more time.  My sentence is already high enough as it is with the Time Police… I want to help my niece and nephew… no matter what universe they’re in.  There has to be a reason the Time Police aren’t on my tail by now… especially after that monster was created.  I’ll spend the night at the lab again and work on relocating to the spacecraft tomorrow.  Then I’ll find my brother.  

  Ford replaced his bookmark into his journal and brushed himself off.  He stood up on the roof of the dead spaceship and gave one last glance at the world he found himself in before beginning the few hour trek to where the Mystery Shack once stood.  Stanford was nearly to his hideout. About where he left the wave reading monster.  There was one problem that had unnerved the Author for more than one reason.  A question that bubbled out of his mouth as soon as he seen the large clearing in the trees where the monster had been discarded.  

  “Where is it?” His question was shortly answered as a screech was heard not too far behind him.  

  “Fuck!  Are you Serious?!”  The scientist grumbled and quickened his pace.  It was following him.  Either it had extremely sensitive hearing or it was tracking him by scent.  Whatever the case was, his hands itched to jot it down in his journal.  He didn’t have much time for that as he found himself being chased by the beast once again.  Ford continued to race to the lab and attempted to slide into the underground space.  The mechanical creature’s claw lurched out and nicked his back, sending him flying forward and creating another large hole in the roof.  He landed ungraciously on the floor of his lab with a groan.  As a last resort Ford turned over on his back and began shooting wildly through the crack.  The mechanical anomaly screeched as it was shot at, retreating immediately.  Ford felt the back of his coat begin to soak and his vision blur.  The tips of his finger began to numb as his arm fell to the ground. 

   With one last screech, a fourth hole was punctured into the top of the lab, right over the portal, leaving Ford’s escape in shambles.  He would’ve screamed, or yelped with his hand held out dramatically as any Author such as himself would, but that was the last sight seen before he passed out completely.  

~

  “Do you think it’s dead?”  

  “I say we eat it”

  “Dudes.  Is it just me?  Or does it kinda look like Mr. Pines.” 

  “Soos.  It has SIX FINGERS!  SIX!  It had to be some sort of clone… or- or… imposter.”  Pages began to flip in the background of the following commotion.  Quiet muttering was also heard following each turn of paper- though it was mostly blocked out by the pounding in Ford’s head.  

  “Mr. Pines… do you… know anything about this?”  Ford was becoming conscious enough to pick out voices.  This seemed to be the only female among the group.  

  “Stanford…?” This was a new voice.  Much older than the others.  It wavered as it said his name- effectively snapping him out of the painful slumber he was in.  

  Ford started with a groan and his eyes squinted shut, adjusting to the abnormal light- even for the living world.  In this universe that is.  

  “Dudes.  It’s waking up.”  Ford mumbled and rubbed his head.  Thankfully the wound on his back didn’t go that deep into his back.  Though the semi-dried blood latching the fabric of his coat to himself was very uncomfortable.  

  “Sixer!”  Stanford opened his eyes just in time to see the back of a tacky red hat by the side of his head.  Arms enveloped his shoulders partially helping Ford keep himself up.  

  “Stanley…”  The scientist just barely breathed out.  

  “STANLEY?!”  Ford couldn’t be bothered to look up from his brother’s shoulder at the other’s exclaimation

  “Is anyone else confused right now?  Cause I’m confused.” Soos commented.  Stanley sighed before releasing his disoriented brother.  

  “Kids, Soos, I want you to meet… the author of the journals.”  Stan was hesitant to let go of his brother, as though if he let go of his brother’s shoulder he’d disappear back into the fabrics of existence.  Dipper did an excited squeal and almost ran up to properly greet his practical obsession, but Wendy put a calm hand on his shoulder to stop him from ruining the two brothers' moment.  She decided she needed more context with her boss’ secret twin before Dipper butted in.  

  “Stanley.  I need- I need to tell you something.”  Stanford’s voice wavered with guilt.  As multiple scenarios ran through his head.  More than likely this wasn’t his universe.  He doesn’t know what happened to his own timeline, or this one… though it’s not like he can continue traveling timelines with the portal busted.  Ford opened his mouth to speak- but no sound came out as a thought surfaced to his head.  

  ‘…what if this is my timeline?  What if the portal busted for a reason?  Maybe… I can stay a while.  They need my help…’

  “Yeah?”  Stanley asked- a small smile almost suppressed on his face.  

  “…I missed you.” Ford sighed out.  He pulled Stan back into him.  The other man slapped his back playfully with a goofy grin.  Ford winced and let out a small yelp.  

  “Oh… forgot about that.  Welp.  I smiled too little in the past 3 weeks to smile this much now.  Let’s get back to the shack.”  As if on queue, an ominous roar shook the ground under them. 

  “Agreed.” Wendy said.  

  “Yup, yup, yup, let’s go!”  Soos hauled Dipper over his shoulder and sprinted out of the Lab and everyone else followed.  Ford found himself lingering for a moment- his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the remains of his portal.  It’s gone.  It’s all gone.  

  “Hey, bro.  Let’s get out of here, ‘k?”  Stanley put his hand on Ford’s shoulder, offering a hopefully comforting smile.  

  “We have a lot to talk about Stanley…” Similar to any other earth tremble, the earth shook following the signs of a beast approaching.  

  “Yeah, yeah.  Can we do that later?”  Stanley tugged his brother along by the back of his coat leading him out of the lab.  Stanford followed behind- occasionally wincing from the pulling on his jacket.  

[forestangel]

To my dearest friend

There are words I've never spoken out loud, feelings I've never allowed you notice. I wish I haven't withdrawn myself back then.

No conflict in this world was worth losing you. I don't care if I have felt betrayed, I shouldn't have let you go. Assumed you changed and that it's for the better that you stick with her instead of with me.

We haven't really talked in over a year, since our graduation. I only wished you a merry christmas on whatsapp because I know that it's your favorite time of the year. And I miss you every day, I am not lying when I say think of you and the days we spent together everyday.

The day we went to the forest and ran down the hill between the tall mossy trees, declaring our love to eachother. This was the day I realised platonic love is the strongest bond that can be created between two humans. I still keep our polaroid photo close to me.

The winter days we spent baking for our school's christmas market. We always made such a mess and couldn't stop laughing for hours. I've never been a fan of christmas, but you are the reason I fell in love with the season. Afterwards we would get cozy and watch something on your TV. To this day, I can't describe how much I love your room and how lovely it has been, with the dim LED lights and shelves filled with books. Teen wolf was our show. And I admire you for beeing such a book nerd.

In german class, you wrote me a flower poem, how I am like a snowdrop flower, full of beauty and strong in hard times. I hide it in a box between all the gifts you have made me since 6th grade. I still read through the long birthday cards you had written to me. Hundreds of memories that we have created over the years are inside of that little box.

You told me that you are scared of falling in love, that you would probably be easily manipulated because of how inexperienced you are. I promised you to always give you advice and help you if that day ever comes. I hope it didn't because if it did, I broke my promise to protect you.

I will never forget how you called me on new year's eve 2021/22. We talked for hours and you opened up to me about how unloved you felt at home. We lost ourselves in our fantasy realities, away from the stressful studying tasks and horrible parents, where we have our own little café in a remote area. Is this a universal girlhood dream, to own a bookshop that is also a bakery and flowershop? I told you that dreams are not silly but to be taken serious, since no beautiful life can be created without dreaming. And you answered that you love me for my dreamy nature. That whenever I enter a room, I radiate a magical energy. That the way I talk radiates peace. Never ever will I forget these words. To the day I die and beyond.

But is this all now? Is it all just a dream now? I hoped to make our dreams reality and I haven't stopped dreaming. At least not forever. But have you? Have you grown up already? Have you turned out boring now? Or did you keep your promise to stay a wild child like we intended to?

Screw her. I shouldn't have put my jealousy and fears in front of our friendship. I thought I've already lost you, not knowing I was the one pushing you away. I may be wiser now but what difference does it make now. I wish I didn't let my emotions control me. I wish I never got anorexic and let my fears of the future eat me while I starved myself. What happened to the dreams, and why did I stop believing in them? I wish I talked to you.

When I was at my worst and really needed someone to talk to, you were getting drunk with her. I wanted to die and watching you laugh with her instead of with me made me realise that it might be for the best, that you found a friend not as miserable as me. So I let myself drown in tears and agony. Despite distancing myself so much, what I really wanted was my best friend. I wanted you to help me find my dreams again. Like I did when you were hurting. I just wanted you to remind me of dreaming again. But you didn't - of course you didn't, because every single behaviour of mine indicated that I don't want you around anymore. How can one's feelings be so different than their actions? I was the living example for that. To make it worse, I lost myself in social media addiction just to never face my feelings.

I eventually healed, but it is too late now. Time passed, we went on different paths in life and I'm not sure if what we had can ever be as magical as it once was. It’s just so hard to tie you back into my life with all this distance between us. But I started dreaming again, without your help, and in my dreams we are reunited again. I fear as long as I don't make the first step and call you, that dream will stay a past regret instead of our fairytale reality.

(not sure if anyone will ever read through this. But my only hope is that one day I'll be able to let you know of my true thoughts and feelings and that you can forgive me)

[pearlypairings]

20 questions for (fanfic) writers!

I was tagged by so many moots the past few weeks, but was just not up for talking about myself with how much stress I've been dealing (or not dealing?) with. However! I am doing some self care tonight and I'm squeezing this in under that category <3 so thank you @erythromanc3r @deadheaddaisy @1lostsoul0fishbowl @pipergirl17 @krakoansam and anyone else who tagged me ✨

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

On AO3, I have 43 fics under my regular username and 8 anonymous fics (lol all were anonned for very different reasons, some funnier than others)

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

Over 363,00 words which is totally insane to me by the way!! Like how did that happen??

3. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Do or Die (which absolutely cracks me up btw) 2. not a sound but the wind (one of my own faves) 3. {redacted anon fic} 4. there is a light that never goes (!!! my photocheer rarepair fic!!) 5. Meet Me at Our Spot

4. What fandoms do you write for?

I’ve written a bunch in the Stranger Things universe (lots of hellcheer, and some rarepairs mostly consisting of a nice dude with Chrissy Cunningham (jonathan, steve, patrick). I've also written a few fics for Twin Peaks and recently got into writing wips for Star Trek : Enterprise which has been such a FUN fandom to participate in:) everyone had been so sweet!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Always try to respond when I'm updating wips or checking in on my inbox. I love interacting with other people in fandom, and if they're reading and enjoying my fic, of course I want to gush and thank them<3

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm I'd have to say my Audrey Horne-centric fic that was a fic study of her "friendship" with Laura. It's called Twin Flames Divided. The ending concludes on an angsty note, because it circles back to the canon start of Twin Peaks.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think all my fic endings are pretty sweet and happy to be honest! I just love warm gooey feelings at the end of a fanfic for our darlings. hmm if I had to pick one, it would be... broken curses and kept promises which is a look at older hellcheer from Wayne's pov. Smooshy stuff!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I don't think so....? But I genuinely have a poor memory lmao makes life a lot easier on my ego.

9. Do you write smut?

I've dabbled! they're anon though so have fun trying to figure them out!

10. Do you write crossovers?

One! Agent Cooper in S4 Hawkins, called Coffee and Contemplation. I have fun dabbling between those universes and their intersections :)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of~

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but I would be over the moon about it :)

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

not yet, but perhaps some day with the right motivation and timing for losty and I.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I gotta say my darlings Jonathan and Chrissy have me in chokehold. I will always love hellcheer, they have a special spot in my heart, but somehow the gentle pain of both Jonathan and Chrissy complement each other so well and in so many interesting ways.

15. What’s the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

All my wips are finishable! Just in their own time and when life decides to cooperate<3

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, poetic description (on occasion), and tiny funny jokes (they're funny TO ME all right lol)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Probably following consistent grammar/punctuation rules. Not the basic stuff, but the more in-depth ones that are reinforced in creative writing classes that I never took because I thought I hated writing lol. Also I write a lot of alternate scenes that can be a bit dizzying after I'm done editing. Sometimes I have trouble remembering which lore details were included in the final chop.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

Depends on the intent and the complexity! If it's for a quick bit, sure. But lengthy conversations might be a bit overkill.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stranger Things (technically an orphaned twin peaks fic but eh we don't count that one)

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Honestly, just like your favorite songs change with the seasons of your life so do my favorites of my own works. Sometimes I love my rarepair long fic, sometimes it's my anon smut, sometimes it's my newer Enterprise fics that feel so refreshing and challenging. And it'll circle back to my older hellcheer classics. Overall, I'm always happy about the fics that have one or two kind comments that connected me to someone on the other end of internet. It's really really cool to know someone out there really enjoyed something you've shared.

[sunrisemill]

❀~Daisy chains~❀

Summary: You had always been a sucker for nostalgia, going back to places that have memories attached to them and embracing the changes you have gone through. But what happens when you get hit with the biggest nostalgia bomb of your life…your high school boyfriend.

(Warning: Suggestive but only a tiny bit.)

As I step through the door, the tiny bell rings out across the coffee shop. I’ve been going to this quaint shop since I was a kid and don't plan to stop.

The warm, comforting vibe it gives off has always drawn me inside on rainy days like this one.

My eyes scan across the almost empty shop when they land on a certain man. No way, It can't be him. I tell myself as I study the stranger, the brown tousled hair, the way his eyebrows furrow as he reads his book, It can't be him, I refuse to believe it.

“Oat milk latte for Matt.” The barista calls out, the man lifts his head and that's when I get a good look at the so-called stranger and all my suspicions are true…

It’s him.

~~~~

(5 years ago)

“You know Y/n…you should join me sometime. It might actually be fun.”

He flashes me a bright smile as he treads the water lightly. “I would but I forgot to pack a bathing suit.” I shrug as I lay flat on my stomach on the blanket we laid across the rocks on the water bed.

He smirks as he swims up to me, resting his arms on the rocks as he lifts himself up slightly, our faces inches apart. “Who said anything about a bathing suit?” He cocks his head to the side in a teasing manner as he watches my face flush a bright red.

I tried to think of something to reply with but I couldn’t come up with anything, not even a witty comment. I hate the little cocky look on his face when he sees my flustered state. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Have I left you speechless?”

His voice is below a whisper now as I feel his warm breath against my lips.

“M-Maybe…I dunno” I whisper back in a weak voice, my voice always gives out on me at the worst moments.

He chuckles, bringing a hand up to brush his thumb across my burning cheek. I feel a small shiver run down my back as the cold water that was once on his thumb is now smeared across my cheek.

“You’re so pretty.” I hear him whisper before I feel his soft lips press against mine.

I’ve never truly felt this way towards anyone else before. Of course, I’ve had boyfriends in the past but I can tell this is different.

Matt makes me feel safe, I feel as though nothing bad could happen to me when im with him. So when he kisses me, I kiss him back.

My hand quickly finds its way to the back of his head, running my fingers through his wet curls as I pull him closer. Suddenly, all of my problems disappear once I’m with him, he’s like a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else.

I can't help myself wonder if he also thinks of me that way but I always back out when I go to ask him, I guess im scared of finding out he doesn't think of me like that.

When he pulls away from the kiss, he looks up at me with a love-drunk smile and I’m quick to return it.

“Hey… I love you, like a hell of a lot.” He chuckles and I can’t seem to wipe the stupid grin off of my face. “I love you too, Matt. A hell of a lot.”

I lean down, pressing my forehead against his as I whisper. “Promise you won't leave me.” I watch as his eyelids flutter closed, a peaceful look across his face.

“Now why would I ever leave you? I love you too much.”

(A/n: Famous last words. WHATTT??? WHO SAID THAT?! I’m just kidding 🙏 I can’t help but feel so awkward when I write them kissing cause I feel like I’m interrupting smth 😭 I swear people who write smut have super powers cause I cannot do that shit. Anyways, this was low-key (high key) inspired by skinny dipping by Sabrina Carpenter cause she is MY GIRL. I love her so much it’s unbelievable. I hope you like this one cause she definitely stressed me the fuck out writing (my laptop decided to shut down in the middle of writing and wouldn’t turn on for 10 minutes) my laptop and I have a love hate relationship atm)

Tags: @guccifrog @junnniiieee07