#If I survive the 7 hour trip to get there

[papayainsectorone]

Emotional Support Stranger

summary: stranded in a late-night airport hellscape with a dying phone and a delayed flight, you are one sarcastic comment away from a breakdown—until an unexpected laugh from the guy in front of her sparks an unlikely connection.

content: no real warnings

airport purgatory vibes™, emotional damage via sleep deprivation, crying in public (but make it sexy?), strangers-to-deliriously-flirty-to-???, phone battery anxiety, surprise first class reveal??, “wait... are you famous?” energy, terminal-based emotional intimacy, light angst, one shared headphone

word count: 3.3k

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!reader

You're standing in line at the rebooking desk, the strap of your carry-on digging into your shoulder like it’s punishing you for booking with this airline imaginable. Your phone's at 7%. Your charger is buried under everything you packed for what was supposed to be a nice trip, now turned emotional survival exercise. 

The clerk ahead of you looks like she'd rather be anywhere else on Earth. 

You're trying not to cry. 

Really, you are. 

You keep chewing the inside of your cheek, eyes burning as the guy in front of you hands back your passport and ticket with the words: 

“Thanks. Have a nice flight.” 

It breaks you. Not all the way, not loudly—but enough that the sarcasm slips out before you can stop it. 

“Yeah, hope it crashes.” 

Silence for a second. Then a laugh—quick and startled. 

You glance up, tense, expecting judgment. 

Instead, he’s smiling. 

And not in a mocking way. It’s this crooked little grin like he wasn’t expecting to laugh today, but you just made him. 

He’s... hot. You notice that, but not first. First, you notice how real he seems in a sea of people who are all pretending not to lose it. His hoodie’s a little wrinkled. His curls are a mess. He has dark circles under his eyes like you do. He’s leaning on the handle of his suitcase like he’s been here a while too. 

“Bit dark,” he says, voice light but low. 

You exhale—half a laugh, half frustration. “I’ve been in this line for hours, my flight’s delayed indefinitely, and the dude behind the other counter just told the guy two people ahead that the next flight out might be tomorrow.” 

You tilt your head toward the heavens—well, toward the buzzing lights—and add, “So, yeah. I'm in a bit of a mood.” 

“Fair.” He nudges your arm gently with his elbow. “You looked like you were about to leap over the desk. I was rooting for you.” 

Your laugh this time is more genuine, and your posture shifts just a little relieved not to feel entirely alone in your disaster. 

“Where are you headed?” he asks. 

You sigh. “San Fernando International. Supposed to be working.” 

He raises an eyebrow, then deadpans, “Maybe this is fate.” 

You scoff. “Or just hell with extra layovers.” 

That earns a grin. “That too.” 

You’re finally done with the rebooking desk. 

They couldn’t get you on another flight. Couldn’t even guarantee the one you’re already booked on will go at some point. They handed you a sorry-looking meal voucher like it was a prize for surviving airport purgatory. 

You spot him a few rows down—hood up now, slouched in one of those hard plastic seats by the gate, his suitcase serving as a footrest.

Without thinking much about it, you walk over and drop yourself into the seat beside him. 

It’s not graceful. More like a slow collapse. 

You lean your head back against the metal wall behind you, closing your eyes. 

“Bad news?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. “Worse. No news.” 

He exhales a laugh, not because it’s funny but because everything feels like a cosmic joke now. 

You crack your eyes open and glance at him sideways. “What time is it?” 

He checks his watch. “2:57.” 

“AM,” you clarify. 

“Yep.” 

You groan and rub your face. Your phone’s been dead for an hour, and the outlet near your seat refuses to cooperate, blinking out the second you plug in your charger. 

You try it again anyway, just in case the universe suddenly decided to cut you some slack. 

Nope. Still dead. 

He chuckles. 

You look at him. “Are you at least entertained? Or is your Spotify saving your life?” 

He holds up one earbud. “A bit of both.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

He hesitates... and then offers the other bud. 

You blink. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Better than both of us being miserable.” 

You take it. 

The bud is warm from his ear and weirdly, you don’t mind. There’s something oddly intimate about it, like sharing a hoodie or a private joke. 

The music is something soft. Guitar, a little lo-fi beat under it. 

“Okay,” you say, settling back, letting your arm rest between you, not quite touching his. “I expected, like... EDM.” 

He huffs. “And you seem like the type to listen to... what? Heartbreak ballads in a coffee shop?” 

You smile. “Only sometimes.” 

The next track fades in. You don’t know it, but it fits. Everything slows a little. 

You're both still for a while, music filling the space between you. 

Then, he clears his throat, quiet. “You know... I can deal with it if you need to rant. About the flight. Or the apocalypse-level service desk. Or life in general.” 

You laugh softly, your head turning toward him. “Are you offering yourself up as an emotional support stranger?” 

He grins. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

You let out a breath. “Okay. Here goes.” 

And once you start, you don’t stop. 

About the mess at the gate. The rude lady who snapped at you like your very presence was an inconvenience. About your power bank dying. About the overpriced water bottle. About how the vending machine ate your last coin and gave you nothing. 

You don’t think he’d laugh so hard at that, but he does genuinely, hand-over-mouth, eyes-creasing laugh. 

When you finally sigh again and slump further into your seat, he says, “Feel better?” 

You nod. “Weirdly, yeah.” 

He glances over, soft smile still lingering. “So… what work got you flying at ungodly hours?” 

You huff, eyes flicking up to the departure board like it might remind you where you’re even going. “Conference. I’m in engineering.” 

His brows raise. “Oh, cool. What kind?” 

That’s all it takes. 

You don’t even realize how fast your words come, about structures and materials and that one project you’re working on that somehow turned into your entire personality for the past three months. You don’t even register how animated you are, hands gesturing slightly, voice picking up momentum like a train rounding a bend. 

You don’t notice, because he never interrupts. Never glances away. Just watches you with this sort of quiet focus that makes it feel like everything you're saying matters. 

You only pause when your throat goes dry and you realize you're smiling a little too hard. 

“Oh my god. I’ve been talking for, like—what? Ten minutes straight?” 

He laughs softly. “More like fifteen.” 

Your face flushes. “Why didn’t you stop me?” 

He leans his head against the metal wall, smiling crookedly. “Didn’t want to. You look happy when you talk about it.” 

That stops you. In a gentle way. 

He shrugs like he didn’t just knock the breath out of you a little. “I like people who light up.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just smile and nudge his shoulder with yours. 

And then—quietly—you say, “What about you? Why’re you flying?” 

His mouth quirks a bit. “Work too.” 

“What kind?” 

He hesitates, eyes flicking away for the first time. “It’s a bit... niche.” 

You nod, not pressing. There’s a flicker of something behind his expression—not embarrassment exactly, just a desire to stay in this moment where things feel easy, where no names or titles are needed. 

So you don’t push. You just smile gently and shift the topic. 

The conversation meanders from there. One of you asks something small, and the other answers. Then it flips. Back and forth, for what feels like hours—but the good kind, the fast kind. You talk about favorite snacks, worst travel experiences, weirdest dreams. The kind of things only a half-lit terminal at 5 a.m. makes feel profound. 

Then it drifts again into music, and eventually, quiet. 

His playlist becomes the soundtrack to your shared waiting. 

You hadn’t noticed when your eyes slipped closed, but you must have drifted. The warmth from his side, the quiet static of airport announcements, the fading adrenaline of frustration—it all lulled you under. 

You don’t notice when he gets up. 

You don’t stir when he approaches the gate desk with a soft-voiced question and a charm that’s more polite than pushy. You don’t catch the way he angles your boarding pass across the counter with just enough casual confidence to make it all seem easy. 

When he comes back, there’s something in his step—a quiet buzz of victory. But he says nothing. 

He just sits again. 

And the subtle motion—the shift of weight next to you—is enough to nudge your head, gently, down onto his shoulder. 

His breath catches a little. 

Not enough to wake you. 

Then, gently, he tips his head—just enough for his cheek to graze your hair. 

He lets it stay there, barely touching, like any more might wake you. And maybe he wants to let you sleep a little longer. Maybe he wants to stay like this a little longer too. 

But the intercom crackles overhead, sharp and abrupt in the hush of the terminal. 

Flight 227 to San Fernando International now boarding. 

You shift beside him, blinking awake, your hand rubbing over your face as you sit up a little too fast. “Shit,” you mumble. “Did I—was I drooling on you?” 

He smiles, still a little sleep-warm. “Just a little. Adds to the charm.” 

You groan softly, dragging your hoodie sleeve over your mouth, cheeks burning. “God, kill me.” 

But he just chuckles and stands, brushing the wrinkles from his jeans. “Come on. Looks like our ride’s here.” 

Your boarding pass is wrinkled in your hand, thumb dragging over your seat number again and again, a nervous tic you don’t even realize you're doing. The gate agent takes it with a pleasant smile, scanning it with a soft beep. Then her eyes flicker to the screen, and she pauses. 

“Oh, Miss,” she says, reaching for a pen. “Looks like you’ve been upgraded.” She scribbles something quickly over your seat number before handing it back, like it’s routine. 

You blink. “I’ve been what?” 

But she’s already turning to the next passenger, smiling as if it’s nothing. And maybe it is. But your brain—still fogged from sleep and that strange, dreamy layover haze—doesn’t quite catch up. 

You go with it. What else is there to do? 

The jet bridge feels colder than you expected, your hoodie not quite enough against the sting of early morning air. You wrap your arms around yourself as the line creeps forward, every step oddly slow and too quiet. You rub the sleep from your eyes, phone clutched in your other hand, still dead. Everything feels like a dream—like you’re watching your own life through a half-fogged window. 

Then, as you step into the cabin, the flight attendant greets you with that practiced, polished smile. “Welcome aboard,” she says, checking your pass once more. “You’re to the left.” 

Left. 

You hesitate at the threshold, feet sticking to the floor like you missed a cue. “Sorry,” you ask, brow furrowed. “This is… first class?” 

The attendant nods without blinking. “Yes. Welcome aboard. You’re in 1A.” 

She gestures with an open palm like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and somehow your body moves before your brain can catch up. 

You walk in slow steps, the plush carpet soft beneath your feet, the lighting warm, impossibly golden. It smells like leather and something faintly floral. You pass other passengers already settled in—pressed shirts, neat hair, a man sipping champagne at 7 a.m. like it’s juice. 

And then you see it. Your seat. Spacious. Sleek. With a blanket folded neatly across it and a glass already waiting on a tray beside it, bubbles rising in perfect spirals. 

You’re still staring at it when he appears beside you. 

“Would you look at that?” he says, voice low and amused as he slides into the seat right next to yours. 

You stare at him. “This is first class.” 

He shrugs like he doesn’t quite know what you’re talking about, dropping into the seat beside you with casual ease. “Huh. That’s wild.” 

You scoff, sipping the champagne that’s already making your head feel a little floaty. You study him from the corner of your eye. “You didn’t… do something, did you?” 

He raises a brow, feigning offense. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Pull some secret-string or bribe someone with your—” You gesture vaguely at his whole face. “—unfair cheekbones or something.” 

He lets out a quiet laugh, reclines his seat just a bit, and fastens his belt like he’s done this a thousand times. “I think you might be overestimating the power of my cheekbones.” 

You turn more fully toward him, champagne resting lightly in your lap. “So this is just a cosmic coincidence? We both got upgraded to first class?” 

His mouth twitches. “Maybe the universe owed us something after a seven-hour gate delay.” 

You exhale a soft laugh, but there’s still something curling suspiciously warm in your chest. Gratitude. Disbelief. And something quieter. Something that makes you want to lean into the seat beside him and pretend you’ve always flown like this. 

As the cabin doors close and the safety video begins, you find yourself watching him instead of the screen. His eyes track the window lazily, fingers idly brushing the armrest, his whole posture relaxed in that way people are only when they’re somewhere familiar. You’re starting to realize he fits here. 

You don’t. But next to him, maybe it doesn’t matter. 

And when the plane begins to taxi, the low rumble beneath your feet swelling with momentum, you grip the armrest hard—knuckles whitening, body stiffening without meaning to. Your breath stalls somewhere in your throat, chest locked tight like the air’s already thinning. 

He notices. He doesn’t say anything at first—just watches the way your fingers curl against the leather, the way your shoulders tense like they’re bracing for impact. Then, quietly, without turning his head fully, he murmurs, “I don´t know if i have to ask… but are you nervous flying?” 

You glance at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. It’s not pitying or amused—just there, open and real. 

You nod, small and sheepish, biting the inside of your cheek. “I think even more so being in first class,” you admit, the words slipping out with a faint, breathy laugh. “Feels too high up. Like I don’t belong here. Like if we fall, it’s further to the ground.” 

That makes him chuckle, quiet and low in his chest, the sound warm and steadying. “That’s a first,” he says, and then—without even looking down—he reaches over and takes your hand. 

It’s not a showy gesture. It’s easy. Effortless. Like he’s done it a thousand times. Like it just makes sense. His fingers curl over yours, firm but not tight, thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. 

His eyes stay on the cabin wall ahead of him, but his voice drops just a bit more, close and sure. “It’ll be alright.” 

And for some strange reason, you believe him. 

The plane lifts from the runway with a low, drawn-out hum that vibrates through the cabin. Your fingers tighten instinctively in his, but he doesn’t flinch or tease—just holds steady, anchoring you through the ascent. His thumb keeps moving in slow, absent circles against your skin. It’s quiet up here—strangely soft, like the world below has muffled itself entirely. 

After a few minutes, your grip relaxes, breath coming easier. He shifts slightly in his seat, his body angled toward yours, and for a while you both just sit there in the low hum of first class silence, warm hand in warm hand. 

“You alright now?” he murmurs eventually, voice dipped low with fatigue. 

You nod, turning your face toward him on the plush headrest. “Yeah. You’re—really good at that, actually. The whole handholding thing.” 

A crooked grin tugs at his lips. “Thanks. I charge per flight.” 

You smile sleepily, eyes heavy. “Put it on my tab.” 

A pause drapes between you. Not awkward—just easy. Shared. You both sink deeper into it, exhaustion softening your edges. Your legs stretch out a bit under the blanket the flight attendant tucked over you earlier. He shifts too, letting his head lean lightly against the headrest. 

You both speak again at the same time. 

“What do you do—” 

“Do you always fly nervous—” 

You both laugh, just a soft puff of air and amusement in the dim light. 

“Go ahead,” he says. 

You shake your head. “No, you.” 

He lets his eyes drift toward the window, a soft shrug rolling through his shoulder. “I was just gonna say… you look like you don’t sleep much.” 

That catches you off guard. Your brow creases slightly, but there’s no sting to his words. Just observation. Care, even. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “I guess I haven’t. Not really. Not in a while.” 

His gaze returns to you—warm, thoughtful. “You should.” 

You smile faintly. “So should you.” 

He smirks. “I will. Right here. Got everything I need.” 

The flight levels out and the lights dim further. One by one, the cabin falls into a hush of flickering screens and quiet breathing. His grip on your hand never slackens—not tight, just present, like a tether. 

Eventually, your eyes fall closed. 

His follow not long after. 

When the attendant comes by to check on passengers, she pauses—smiling faintly at the two of you, slouched toward each other, hands still clasped between the seats, asleep above the clouds. 

The plane’s descent is gentle, the soft hum of engines lowering as the city lights begin to twinkle beneath the clouds. Your hand still rests in his, fingers intertwined, and though you’re tired, the closeness keeps a quiet energy alive between you. You glance around the cabin, noticing how the few other passengers steal brief looks your way. Is it just the dim light, or do they seem to recognize him? You blink, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, but the feeling lingers—whispers, soft murmurs, and the faint clicking of a phone camera. 

When the wheels touch down with a smooth thud, he squeezes your hand lightly, a silent reassurance. As the plane taxis to the gate, you both stir, stretching out the sleep from your limbs. You gather your things slowly, the haze of tiredness still wrapped around you like a blanket. 

The moment you step into the terminal, the sensation of attention intensifies. People glance your way, some whispering just loud enough to catch your ear, others sneaking pictures when they think you’re not looking. You’re half-tempted to ask him if they know him, but he just smiles softly, not drawing attention. 

He steps in front of you, lifting your carry-on with an easy grace. “Let me,” he says, his voice low but steady. You nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and intrigue. 

By the baggage claim, the noise picks up. A young boy, no older than ten, approaches, tugging at his mother’s sleeve before gathering courage to step forward. “Can I have a picture?” His wide eyes shine with admiration. 

He chuckles, nodding. “Of course, mate.” He crouches down, smiling warmly as the boy’s parents snap a quick photo. 

You watch, puzzled but smiling at the easy way he handles it, the humility that doesn’t demand attention but quietly commands it. 

As you head toward the exit, the crowd grows thicker, flashes bursting like fireflies from outside. You spot several cameras aimed your way before you even reach the doors. He notices your widening eyes and murmurs, “Sorry.” 

Then, without breaking stride, he grabs your hand again, shoving a small, crumpled piece of paper into your palm. “Text me sometime, stranger.” 

You blink, heart skipping. “Wait—what’s your name?” 

He grins when looking back. “Franco.” 

With that, he steps outside, and the air bursts with a chorus of screams and the relentless staccato of cameras. 

You stand frozen, the crumpled paper warm in your hand, a small smile tugging at your lips as the noise fades behind you. 

[nonagalleryart]

I am at Aberdeen Comic Con this weekend and wanted to create a special t-shirt design for the event. So after talking with some lovely people in Glasgow I will be debuting this little chonk at the con. Come say hi if you’re going!

[enterstellars]

and with that i do believe that my run with interstellar in imax has come to an end.

[racke7]

Today I got confirmation from my boss. This summer is going to absolutely suck for me.

[lover-of-mine]

I don't really understand your logic. Having a decoy script isn't particularly unusual and isn't an evil scheme or a power trip. Anirudh is not some poor abused waif who needs us to protect him from his big evil boss.

Oliver has said that in s4 and s7 he was asked if he was comfortable with Buck being queer, there is zero suggestion he would have been fired if he said no. So yeah, it may be Ryan was asked and he said no, or maybe not, but saying he would have been fired if he had is a huge leap. You are taking one piece of information and expanding it wildly and dangerously.

Buddie are consistently shown as a core relationship on the show, they had significant stuff in fully half of 8B's episodes and I don't get why people think thats worthless if it's platonic. And aside from that, they are popular (see how much of the product placement is during their scenes?) so randomly firing Ryan would be financially irresponsible, too.

We don't know the details of discussions, if Ryan has said no, or the studio, or Tim, I don't see the benefit of casting either Ryan or Tim as a villain here. How quick this fandom is to cast someone on the devil honestly blows my mind.

Tim didn't tell Jeniffer if Maddie would survive. Tim let Ryan believe he didn't have a job. Tim didn't tell the cast that Bobby was dying and actually led them to believe that Ravi was the one who was dying. I never said Anirudh needed to be protected, I was just stating that the fact that Tim is just lying to everyone, along with all the evidence we have of him changing things on a whim, like the fact that he said he mentioned writing the vertigo plotline in a weekend, the fact that we evidence of multiple scenes being scrapped after filming, the fact that he added an episode so last minute that they finished filming it 7 days before it aired. 809 and 10 were done and then changed, we have multiple bts of scenes that never aired. Oliver, Aisha, Kenny, all mentioned stuff that was supposed to happen to their characters but didn't, which implies that they were at least told something that never made it to screen. We have abc executives saying they weren't informed of the decision to kill Bobby and multiple people saying they didn't want this and it was 100% Tim. We also have Tim saying he wanted to shake things up and didn't take anyone's input. Hell, the menu of their wrap party was inside jokes and they had a drink named script tba because of how delayed the scripts get, with actors saying that in multiple occasions they got the scripts with less than a day to prepare. The actors were scheduled to be at a con, Kenny was confirmed for over a year, and they were forced to cancel because the filming for the season wrapped in the 6th, 9 days before the finale aired. None of the information we have can lead me to believe that the actors have any sort of automony. The crew has talked about 16 hour days. The first half of the season had a 17 day streak of filming. Everything points to them being at the mercy of Tim's whims.

And yeah, no one is gonna force Ryan to do anything, but people coming into my inbox to tell me conspiracy theories about how Ryan is in a cult and just refusing to film because he's just so homophobic, saying he is responsible for filming delays and refusing to film already written scripts is not it. Ryan has the right to say no to queer Eddie, yeah, and Oliver talking about being asked, implies that Ryan saying no means it would be the end of it. There would be no half baked plots or them trying to force Ryan into filming just for him to back out in the last second. Buddie is a core relationship of the show, yes, but the switch to romance was half filmed and half aired just to be dropped. To imply that Ryan can just decide he's not doing it anymore and completely fuck up the season, forcing reshoots, rewrites, more time on set, a whole extra episode to be written, along external things that the other actors would be paid for like the con to get cancelled, fuck up a whole press tour plan, with no consequences is insane. Ryan's bargaining chip to make demands is fully based on the fact that people want buddie to get together, in this scenario people keep saying is what happened where he removed buddie from the table completely, he has no bargaining power to still have a job after forcing a whole season to be rewritten and sending the show down the drain.

We don't know what happened, but I sure as hell have more to support the fact that Tim was bored and on a power trip than that a c actor has enough power to completely change a season with no consequences.

Also, for the love of fucking god, y'all wanna use me as reach booster or to act holier than thou or like you don't know how to use the post button, stop using the fucking anon and put your whole back into what you're saying.

[kiana12113]

Modern AU︎ ₊˚⊹౨ৎ

Red Dead Redemption Headcanons, in which:

The Van der Linde Gang lives in the year 2025 — where most of them are in college.

Note: Very fluffy; I had a field day writing this. I know these dudes are in their mid-twenties. Let’s just play with our dolls a little. ( ´꒳` ) <3

John Marston

✦ Who shares a dorm with Javier. Despite the noisy rooms filled with the constant blaring of electric guitars, the dorm is quite well-kept. Mostly, the cleaning of Javier — who makes sure the room is presentable.

✦ Who owns band shirts for a living. An avid listener of Nirvana, Radiohead, Deftones, and Foo Fighters. There are posters put on his walls, along with his black Stratocaster.

✦ Who owns an electric guitar, put stickers on it, and thought it would make him cooler than Javier. He thought it would get him chicks, but it instead made him look more of a loser than he already was. Javier borrows the guitar frequently, using it more than John does. Argues that he knows how to play more songs than Smoke on the Water.

✦ Who won’t let Arthur touch it, though.

✦ Who doesn’t necessarily fail his classes, but doesn’t necessarily pass them either. He does them with incredible finesse that he is always at point 50/50. John barely studies before tests, either, claiming his stock-knowledge will help him pass.

✦ Who uses 7-in-1 shampoo. He complains about having dandruff, searching YouTube tutorials how to get rid of it — stubbornly refusing to stop using the shampoo even though Arthur had told him multiple times to drop it. John argues it’s because it’s effective, but it’s really just because it’s cheaper.

✦ Who crashed Arthur’s car, not once, but twice. After the following tragedies, Arthur no longer let’s John touch the steering wheel, getting an earful every time he even got close.

“Hey, maybe we should do this more often.” John says, in the passengers seat.

“Maybe we could if ya stopped crashing my car, Marston.” Arthur replies.

✦ Who gets high in his dorm’s bathtub, body wholly soaked in water as he listens to “Creep” by Radiohead. Tears flow down his red eyes.

✦ Who writes his number on a bathroom stall with a Sharpie. No one messages him, unfortunately. He told Javier about it and the Mexican laughed his ass off. “You’re truly something, John.”

✦ Who spent all his money on a concert, had the time of his life, and about a slideshow in his Instagram story. He ate canned corn and tuna for the whole week after, earning a trip to the clinic after ridiculous diarrhea.

✦ Who has about 500 followers on his TikTok, who apparently like to watch John’s rants and fit checks. He’s always talking and yelling about some niche issue like why there has to be different levels of water needed for specific rice. His video is always unGodly cropped, too, always just showing most of the ceiling and his face only until his nose.

✦ Who has people ask why his beard is like that and John says it came from a wolf attack just to seem cool. No one believes him anyway.

✦ Who was crossing the street once, in a really bad mood, when a car had stopped to only honk at him. He stared at the car for a moment, as if trying to discern if they were serious. He gave whoever asshole inside that car a middle-finger. It wouldn’t be uncommon to see John go viral for doing something vain and stupid.

✦ Who has large canine teeth, always showing when he smiles in pictures.

✦ Who has an hour in screen time for the calculator app and notes app. Not because he is a poet or a mathematician, but because he pretends to look busy when passing by people.

✦ Who almost burnt down his dorm one time trying to cook “gourmet” food. The CCTV footage of the event is pinned in the Van der Linde GC.

✦ Who survives off of food in convenience stores and ordering food. The only time he gets to eat real food is when Javier decides to cook (rarely) and he goes out with Arthur.

✦ Who meets a girl named Abigail — who Javier had suggested. They hit it off for the meantime, John frequently texting her and thinking to himself if he looked a little too desperate.

✦ Who played Mario Kart with Arthur when they were kids and he never won against him. He would always threaten to throw the console (Arthur’s) as he yelled out insults to him.

✦ Who has about $2 to his name.

Javier Escuella

✦ Who does pretty well in his classes, and actually tries.

✦ Who actually gets girls, unlike John. Although he never gets in a relationship that lasts more than two months. He always ends up getting cheated on, for some reason.

✦ Who played “Hotel California” by Eagles in a campus event and killed it. He got about 50 DMs after, him and John playing a guessing game on how high the numbers of notifications he would reach. Anyway, he gave his phone to John to reply to them.

✦ Who is well kept, clean, showers daily — unlike John, he actually has a deliberate shower routine and process.

✦ Who’s always talking to himself, muttering and mumbling in Spanish. John is weirded out when Javier’s toes hit the legs of the coffee table and it looks as if Javier’s cursing its whole oak family in Spanish. He’ll also do it in his sleep.

✦ Who gets baked. He contemplates the meaning and purpose of his life for an hour, then stares at the empty wall in front of him in silence for about twenty minutes. Promptly passes out after.

✦ Who loves his guitar more than himself. So much so that he actually named it “Boaz”. He accidentally hit it on his knee once and despite yelping in pain, he checked if the guitar had gotten a scratch first. It’s more expensive than his life.

✦ Who had gotten drunk off his ass once, and tried to serenade a woman. He was so wasted that he didn’t even notice it was merely a life-size cutout of a celebrity. People stared at him weird.

✦ Who casually has knives displayed in his room. John stared at him weird, entering once. “What? It’s a hobby. Never heard of it before?”

✦ Who cooks like a housewife, with music, hands on his hips, and with an apron on. He’ll even point at John with the ladle if he tries to steal his stuff.

✦ Who stares at the mirror for twenty minutes before leaving. He squints his eyes and makes sure his ponytail is nice, his clothes aren’t wrinkled, and he still smiles the same.

Sean MacGuire

✦ Who’s roommates with Lenny. He usually makes most of the noise, except for when Lenny crashes out while studying for an exam.

✦ Who’s naked most of the time, too. He’s found walking around the dorm without a shirt on and his boxers. Once he answered the door forgetting that he had nothing on but his underwear and he wondered why the pizza delivery guy was stammering and stuttering in confusion. “Whut? You wanna hang out?”

✦ Who is chronically online. He knows all the latest trends, the latest memes, the latest emojis being used, even brain rot. Presently, he’s been talking Lenny’s ear off about his undeniable hate for “Tung Tung Tung Sahur” or whatever.

✦ Who comments on most of the posts he sees. Arthur posting on Facebook about horses? “Well ya look like one, so that’s another one.”

Bill’s angry rant on Twitter? “Chill out Billy Badass!”

Karen’s Snapchat story? “I swear, they stared at me first. Honest.”

And he’ll spam Dutch’s posts with likes for fun. He’s a menace like that. Dutch’ll tag him minutes later in their group chat and go,

“@Sean MacGuire, stop liking my posts repeatedly. It’s not funny.” Sean’ll react a thumbs up to his message and keep doing it anyway for shits and giggles.

✦ Who’s always early to posts, too. So if the gang members are hoping it’s some thoughtful comment and compliment, it’s actually just Sean fucking around.

✦ Who switches his profile picture and changes his username every few weeks. People will wonder who this person liking their posts are, but it’s actually just Sean’s third account who’s changed his profile picture the second time this week.

✦ Who has his social media stories updated every day. Admittedly, they are entertaining, even if it’s just full of shit. He’ll post a picture of him and Lenny and the next picture once you tap it is an attempt at thirst trapping.

✦ Who’s beaten everyone in a drinking game before. He’ll bug everyone in the gang to drink with him and find a way to make it competitive. He’ll even throw in his phone for a time-lapse so it’ll be funnier.

✦ Who Lenny will try to help with his devastating grades. Lenny will say how he has no future ahead of him if he continues passing late homework and projects and Sean grumbles and mutters complains and rolls around the couch in annoyance.

✦ Who studies for a test one time in his life because it was worth half his grade and still gets a 49%. He had to retake the test after.

✦ Who is great at singing, especially in the shower, much to the annoyance of the people next door. Unfortunately he won’t be stopping because he’s realized his power and talent one time he tried duetting with Javier.

✦ Who copies off of Lenny’s work. (They have different classes).

✦ Who lost his front tooth in a sad attempt at skateboarding. Had it live streamed on Tiktok, too. He had to play it cool.

✦ Who stayed up so late with Lenny once finishing Breaking Bad. They vowed never to do such a marathon again because the following day their head hurt like hell and they stayed on the floor the whole day. There laid a comforter, though, despite it being covered in crumbs of leftover chips.

✦ Who has the most unhinged wallpaper ever. Like his profile picture, it changes every few weeks.

✦ Who’s the only one active in the Van der Linde GC. He keeps trying to change GC name and profile picture but Dutch always changes it back the next day.

✦ Who gets so drunk out of his mind after a party and slept with his mouth open and legs wrapped around itself. Lenny took pictures with flashes that night. Sean doesn’t remember a thing that happened, but claims he had several girls chasing after him then.

✦ Who jokes at the worst times, accidentally upsetting Lenny even more after joking about being a failure in life. Lenny had just failed an exam.

✦ Who celebrates Halloween for the whole month. His costumes are always top tier with realism — it’s the one thing he takes seriously other than St. Patrick’s Day. “Let’s fockin’ go, Ireland! Long live the Irish!”

Lenny Summers

✦ Who gets invited to parties, though mostly rejects them if he has something more important to do. He takes Sean for an example. But if he doesn’t, though, he’s going to get drunk, piss drunk until his legs feel like wet spaghetti and barely gets his keys to open the door. He tries at least ten different combinations of putting it in before it opens and his body falls down on the floor.

✦ Who has a part-time job, usually busy and exhausted the moment he comes home. Imagine being tired and seeing Sean without clothes greet you. That’s his life.

✦ Who is active on social media, taking care of his account. It’s actually organized and have meaningful posts.

✦ Who’s natural habitat is the couch, watching shows that rot his mind even more. Sean’ll have the remote in his hands and go through Netflix, asking “How about this one?” for hours because Lenny has seen all of them already.

✦ Who walks to his classes with EarPods on and blasting “Sunflower” by Post Malone and Swae Lee because he has to get through this day even though the dread is already catching up to him. He copes by pretending to be Miles Morales.

✦ Who knows how to drive a car properly. In fact, he’s the only one Arthur trusts driving the car other than Hosea. Maybe not while drunk, though.

✦ Who had once a long-time girlfriend when he was in high school and hasn’t moved on from her. He’ll be sharing posts like “still thinking about you” even though she’s blocked Lenny on all social media sites.

✦ Who can’t sleep without a blanket because he gets cold easily. He keeps adjusting the temperature in the dorm and Sean’s sleep walking ass keeps turning it down.

✦ Who banged his head against a wall so hard out of annoyance, it grew a red sore spot the next day. The annoyance got to him after trying to memorize all the acts in his Textbook. He looked like a clown.

✦ Who bought spicy Korean noodles once and attempted to eat it while on live stream with Sean. They cried.

Kieran Duffy

✦ Who got a one person dorm and loved it. He had all the space to himself and he didn’t need to get along with anyone — well, at first. Except his neighbors, and that Irishman who wouldn’t stop singing in the shower. He doesn’t get sleep.

✦ Who one time studied for a test so much he came to class shaking. No, not because he was nervous or scared (maybe), but because he drank so much coffee he was sure he was about to collapse. To add, he didn’t shower the whole week. He passed out after the exam, his unfortunate stinky body found by Sean.

✦ Who went to a baseball game and got a baseball directly swung at his nose. He wasn’t able to see baseballs the same for a few weeks, especially after how his nose-bridge shattered upon impact, bleeding endlessly.

✦ Who is financially stable. He’ll have savings and plans and control his spendings. He is the richest broke college student ever.

✦ Who still freaking loves horses — he’ll scroll through his TikTok For You Page and all that is there are about horses. He has his horse, Branwen, waiting for him back home. He visits frequently to see his Mammy and Pappy, as well.

✦ Who got invited to a party once and got more girls than Sean did that night. He left the party with his face filled to the brim with kiss marks of lipstick, and numbers written on paper in his pockets. How? He didn’t know.

✦ Who doesn’t use his phone much. While some people are reliant on in these days, he doesn’t see the catch. He’d rather spend his time elsewhere.

✦ Who regularly uses emoticons like “:)” and “:(” when he texts someone or posts something. He’ll be like “Went to visit Brawnwen today :)” in his story or “Bad news, guys :(”.

✦ Who is techy — for some reason, he knows how to fix a PC, the WiFi, the monitor. He says his Pappy taught him that when he was a teen.

✦ Who has the clearest, 20/20 eyes however has astigmatism in his left eye. He wears glasses sometimes when he wants to.

Arthur Morgan

✦ Who takes the gang in an outing once in a while — Dutch’s idea. They went to a beach once. On the way there Sean had blasted music and people in the back seat decided to eat inside his car even when he explicitly said not to. “I said not to eat in the car. You are all insufferable. All of ya shouldda squeezed yurselves in Hosea’s car instead.”

✦ Who groans every time Sean says “Are we there yet?” and John has to say “No, Sean.” and shut him up with a disappointed face. Lenny is admittedly annoyed out of his mind but cannot for the love of him talk to anyone in the backseat.

The only time Arthur had peace in that Godforsaken trip was when everyone fell soundly asleep and the radio played “Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman.

✦ Who owns a 1965 Blue Ford Mustang. He cursed John when he crashed it, causing the car to have a few scratches. He takes care of it very well.

✦ Who makes a living off being an artist and lives in a comfortable home with Mary. There also lives his dog, Copper.

✦ Who gets incredibly worked up when there’s traffic. He’ll grumble and insult everyone in front of him, honking his horn loudly if they’re on their phone while driving. He’s an impatient man when it comes to these situations. He loses his mind when the traffic light suddenly turns red just when’s he’s about to cross.

✦ Who has some knowledge on how phones work, as much as he doesn’t use them. He uses Facebook the most, scrolling through everyone’s posts and occasionally reacting a “haha” emote on a funny post. He’s usually at the Facebook Marketplace, though.

✦ Who won’t replace or buy something new unless it’s completely unusable. Those boots and shoes he’s been wearing? Yeah, that was from 2011. Still going strong.

✦ Who hates Starbucks. “It’s so damn expensive, ‘n for what? Cup of coffee?” He’d rather eat at the diner nearby — he isn’t a picky eater. He has a burning hate for minimalism, too. He wonders why people need to simplify already simple enough things.

✦ Who’s always the provider, bringing food when he comes to visit people. Times when he’ll get invited by Hosea and Dutch to do something he knows to bring at least two bottles of Whiskey with him. Or when he visits Charles.

✦ Who’s also unfortunately John’s babysitter — even if he’s gone to college already. He’ll pick him up in a random house after getting drunk beyond comprehension.

“Don’t throw up in the seat — open the window,” Arthur warns.

John begins to hurl.

“No no no not here — John!”

✦ Who has so much shared posts in Facebook it’s scary. It’ll cover a wide range of emotions. “Appreciate what you have in life”, “Careful who you ignore in high school”, “This deer decided to enter the pub”, “Traffic incident today”, “Happy Wife hapy Life” “20 minute sketches” and “Easy Baking Soda trick to remove stains from non-stick pan”.

✦ Who still prefers to journal with a pen and paper. He feels like it’s right.

✦ Who cried when he watched “Up” by Pixar. He couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

✦ Who’ll need reading glasses when he’s settled down on the couch to read a book. Dutch gifted him a book written by Dostoevsky once and he’s been meaning to finish it so he can tell Dutch he did. He’s kind of confused, but he’s got the spirit.

✦ Who you’ll find in the deepest trenches of Reddit and Quora scrolling down to find the answer to the questions he asked for.

✦ Who’s the type of guy who’ll die before the grocery bags are lifted up two times. He needs to have all of them in his arms even if it weighted more than him, because he’ll be damned if he has to go back to the car when he’s already in his house.

Charles Smith

✦ Who lives alone and peaceful out in the suburbs — he’s the farthest from everyone. Most of the time he’s out, anyway.

✦ Who occasionally has boxing matches. He uses it to take out the anger in himself. If it isn’t enough, he has a punching bag that he uses daily.

✦ Who’s closet consists of hoodies ninety-percent of the time.

✦ Who has insomnia and can’t sleep without turning off the lights and taking sleeping pills. He gets so irritated if he’s just closing his eyes but not sleeping because the man is so tired; all he wants is to rest.

✦ Who has a controlled diet and exercises regularly, running every morning, eating fish and vegetables, all of that fiber. He lifts weights, too — he has decent discipline.

✦ Who, despite this, still has days when he would lay on the couch all day and let his brain deteriorate while eating a tub of ice cream. He finished it all in one night — despite it being family-sized. What a miracle that he was able to stomach it for dinner.

✦ Who has gotten a cat enter his house one time and meow endlessly for food. When he gave it some, though, it never left. It stayed inside and made itself feel at home. Charles thought it was brave and fierce — he named her Taima. So now he’s a cat lady.

✦ Who has a stable job and sideline. He’s doing well financially, and despite having the money to eat outside, he much prefers to be inside and cook his own meal.

✦ Who owns a bike that he uses frequently to get where he wants to, usually his work. He’s willing to let people borrow it, however, no one does — considering how far he lives away. He’ll have a helmet on and all of that gear. Women around him will often greet him and giggle. He is complete eye candy.

✦ Who posts rarely. He doesn’t pay attention to social media, always saying how it’ll eat you alive if you don’t notice. He avoids using his phone much, which causes him to see messages late. Arthur will send a message in the GC and Charles will react to it the next day.

✦ Who is a really good drummer. He performed a gig in front of a crowd once and people loved him. He now does it occasionally. The gang will attend his shows.

“The drummer! Show the drummer!” Arthur says. “Woo!” And he’s literally playing jazz. They’re treating it like it was a Metallica concert.

✦ Who had gone offline for roughly three weeks one time that Dutch got worried and sent Arthur to look at his state. He didn’t need another Trelawny — he says. That time, Charles had left his phone somewhere.

Hosea Matthews

✦ Who is retired and happy. On most days he’s found sitting on a chair by his front porch and reading novels, or listening to a radio. He lives near Arthur’s so he’ll often see him out and he’ll yell, with a smile, “Hey, Arthur! Bein’ a great husband?”

✦ Who was the one Arthur turned to when he wanted to buy a car. Hosea’s immense knowledge and taste will forever influence everyone.

✦ Who has a bunch of polaroid pictures in an album of the gang when most of them were still very young. He has a picture of him and Dutch in his car, Arthur as a rebellious teen, John in his underwear, a group picture full of smiles, the girls as teens posing while putting excessive makeup on and Miss Grimshaw telling them it was way too much. He has some of them hanged on his living room wall, and a picture of Bessie in his wallet.

✦ Who will be on the receiving end of Dutch’s shared posts. Dutch will send him posts with captions like “life is great when you follow the right path” or “the best leaders always make the best results” and Hosea will give him a thumbs up and an “Of course Dutch”.

✦ Who still has an old gramophone and plays different songs that remind him of his young days. Sometimes he will be slow dancing with Bessie in the living room. “Feels like the good ol’ days, eh? Darlin’?”

✦ Who plays Word games on his phone occasionally, and will ask Bessie for a game of Domino and Scrabble every once in a while. Hosea always wins when the Gang is playing Cluedo. And he’ll cheat along with Arthur when the game of Poker gets too boring.

The chaos that ensues during Monopoly is indescribable. Hosea and Trelawny are filthy rich, Sean never gets out of jail, John is in absolute debt, Sadie and Karen are arguing with Arthur because he’s pulling “new rules” out of his ass, Kieran is secretly winning, and Molly is watching it all happen with coffee in her hands.

Also, someone’s been eating the pieces.

“Who the fuck is eating the pieces? Where’s mine? El hijo de puta! I just went to get water!” Javier yells.

A Reverend who has suspiciously been burping shrugs, “Maybe it fell under the couch.”

✦ Who watched Titanic with Dutch, John, and Arthur in a cinema once and kept glancing at John and Arthur who were bickering about who was gonna cry first. They both did — failing to hide it.

✦ Who is like their father, the way John introduced him to Abigail. He raised a brow at John.

“You’re too good for this,” And John frowns, “Hosea — don’t say that to her.”

“What? I was talking to the girl. She’s too good for ya.” and he chuckles.

✦ Who accidentally clicks the button to call the GC. Dutch answers first, “What is it, Hosea? Is there a problem?”

Then Sean follows, “Ooh? What’s this?”

And then Lenny, Karen, and Bill pick it up as well. A few more minutes of silence ensure and Hosea’s camera is facing the ceiling, John and Arthur answer the call. Sean puts on a group filter.

Javier, Tilly, and Mary-beth do as well. The others catch up, all except for Strauss, Susan, Trelawny, and Charles.

Reverend frantically asks as he keeps incessantly sniffing, “What’s wrong?” And they’re left in constant confusion.

“Hosea?” Arthur asks.

“Who even called?” Karen adds.

Hosea picks up his phone because for some reason he could hear the gang. His eyebrows are furrowed while the camera shows his nose, the filter glitching in and out trying to detect his face. “Why are you all callin’?” He says, confused, and slightly irritated that his day got interrupted.

To which, in unison, they all say: “YOU called!”

Dutch Van der Linde

✦ Who is a big shopper. His clothes are all stylish and fashionable, making sure it makes him look classy and respectable. He takes care of his appearance very well, and his camera roll consists of primarily selfies and pictures of his rings and jewelry.

✦ Who is big on opinions, especially about current news and politics. Dutch will post a tweet on Twitter about the streets of America getting to crowded and how New York smells like shit — the only purpose it serves being a shiny pearl to foreigners.

He gets either two things: believers and non-believers. He’ll reply to them one by one because every notification from his phone is seen by him. Dutch’ll ignore the death threats in his DMs and say it isn’t even worth his time.

✦ Who’ll tag everyone in the GC every announcement, and every little thing. It annoys most of them. Arthur has considered muting the GC because of this — but he doesn’t, anyway.

✦ Who will also share every “inspirational quote” he sees and send glittery Good Morning GIFS in the GC.

✦ Who says games are a waste of time, yet is pushing level two-thousand in Candy Crush. He’s even got Hosea beat.

✦ Who will loudly talk to his phone, “Hey, Siri.”

“Turn the lights on and play Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven.”

He feels very powerful as the music starts and he begins to read a book.

✦ Who will try making those healthy shakes once. He’ll pretend to like it but secretly throw it away after one sip.

✦ Who has expensive wine cases and bottles decorated around his house. He has one of every brand, red and white wine.

✦ Who also regularly wears dark sunglasses, especially when outside or driving in his car. The man will smoke a cigarette, windows opened while his hand rests outside during traffic.

Someone will look at him wrong and he’ll further roll down his window, raising an eyebrow. “Got a problem, sir?”

Micah Bell

✦ Who will show up in gang outings without a word after saying he hasn’t got time to join them. He’ll give them a flashy grin and open his arms, expecting the warmest welcomes. “Well well well,” He starts. “Look who’s here. I’m sure ya all missed me.”

✦ Who is generally unemployed. He’ll try to pick up a job but will end up getting fired for inappropriate behavior. Then he’ll tell everyone he was too good for the company anyway.

No one knows where he’s getting his money from.

✦ Who is the master rage baiter. He is the rat whispering in everyone’s ears, especially online; primarily Instagram Reels. He’ll comment backhanded insults when someone changes their profile picture or shares posts. One time Arthur changed his profile picture to Copper and Micah replied, “Nice haircut, Arthur.” On other sites he will get banned every once in a while, though he’ll just make new accounts after.

✦ Who’ll also say the most unhinged and quite literally illegal opinions on 4chan. When it had shut down he shrugged and migrated to Twitter and Reddit — which he was using beforehand as well.

✦ Who also frequents sending death threats to people. He’ll get so worked up typing the longest essays in detail and will cry if they don’t reply shaking in their boots like he had imagined.

✦ Who keeps getting kicked from the GC by Arthur. Dutch adds him back a few hours later and will ask Arthur why he does this. In response Arthur will just tell him it was an accident, though it had happened about five times now.

✦ Who has one of those classic American motorcycles. It is well cleaned and kept, admittedly more than he is. He’ll go past the speed limit multiple times of the day, honk his horn for no reason, cut past people. He’s probably broken all of the traffic rules.

It’s his pride and life — his beauty. The love of his life, really.

✦ Who is often found in gas stations. He goes there for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Oh, he’s hungry? Gas station. Oh, he’s thirsty? Gas station. Oh, he wants a little snack? Gas station.

✦ Who lives in a garage-like apartment. He will often fight with the landlord and strive to piss him off every day of the week.

✦ Who tries to take care of his hair. He’ll buy shampoo and conditioner for one month before giving up because it always reverts back to being greasy at the end of the day.

Mary-beth Gaskill

✦ Who’ll also share a room with Tilly. Their room is the cleanest of them all, filled with decorations, posters, and bookshelves. They take turns in all the chores and making dinner. Her natural habitat is her bed, her desk, or coffee shops — where she likes to study.

✦ Who’s stuffed toys from childhood, crocheted plushies, and Squishmallows have more space on her bed than she gets, though she likes it that way. In fear that people will call her silly, she doesn’t tell them they all have personal names.

✦ Who is the ultimate final boss when it comes to thrifting and ordering online. She knows all the great spots and places. She orders so much that she personally knows the delivery guy, and Tilly does, too. It mostly consists of books, sundresses, makeup, and so.

✦ Who makes “GRWM before class”s and it’s the most aesthetic, cutest video you’ll ever see. She also posts book reviews and writing tips on TikTok, with a staggering thirty-thousand followers.

✦ Who’ll put makeup on Kieran if he ever agrees. The young man is hesitant at first before eventually letting her. Mary-beth experiments on him, and it turns out Douyin makeup fits him the most.

At the end of the day, he’ll be filled with pink kisses on his cheek. Maybe it is worth it, he thinks.

✦ Who makes Pinterest boards in an organized manner. There’ll each be a board for different pins, like “Clothes”, “Book Quotes”, “Writing tips”, “Romance”, “Games”, “Study Methods”, and “Food”. She’ll put an emoji in each board title that matches what it says.

✦ Who is a builder. Her world in Minecraft is well-crafted and has a number of detailed builds, along with her houses in The Sims, Stardew Valley, and Animal Crossing.

✦ Who often visits the others with Tilly since they all study in the same university. Sometimes they’ll conduct group dates and movie marathons when everyone’s schedules are all free.

✦ Who also have a Tumblr blog and an AO3 account. She hides it from everyone, even though no one shames her for it. It’s like a little escape for her, especially with the stress and how College Life is. Her followers love her work, and she feels really appreciated.

✦ Who’ll cry with earphones on, listening to her playlist. Tilly never hears the end of “Enchanted” by Taylor Swift — especially the bridge.

✦ Who Tilly will find huddled in two blankets, sitting with the intense glow of her phone so close to her eyes she might as well go inside it. This is a common occurrence.

✦ Who’ll smoke a cigarette when she gets stressed, mostly about exams and her future. Constantly, she will ask herself, “What am I doing? Am I supposed to do this?”

Tilly Jackson

✦ Who’ll either come to class with a well thought of outfit or a “fuck this” one. The latter is chosen often because she couldn’t care less about what people said — she can’t fail Calculus looking all prety. She’d rather pass it looking like she hasn’t slept (and she hasn’t).

✦ Who will ask Mary-beth to go and get their hair done and nails together; in which they get sucked in a spending spree and end up spending more money than they thought they would. But it doesn’t matter, because they’re giggling and feeling good at the end of the day.

✦ Who will also ask Mary-beth to accompany her in a party. As much fun they have, drunk young adults try to woo them and invite them to their dorm. While Mary-beth will firmly say no, if the drunkards are too persuasive, Tilly will get ready to throw hands.

“Tilly, you almost made a scene there,” Mary-beth says in a worried tone.

“Well? What was I gonna do? Let ‘em harass us?” Tilly replies with sass.

“No, I’m saying you shouldn’t try to take three men in a fight.”

✦ Who went to an amusement park with John and Arthur when they were kids. She thoroughly enjoyed the first part of the roller-coaster before she ended up reciting all the curse words in the dictionary.

Arthur, after, asks her where she even heard those things. She shrugs, “It just comes to me naturally.”

✦ Who, as a kid, had been gifted dolls by Hosea. He thought she enjoyed them, with the way she was smiling and always had her hands full with playing. When Hosea came to check out how she’s doing, he discovers that Tilly has been making deliberate and highly detailed drama scenes.

“But I still need you! You’re everything,” Tilly says.

The old man peeks and raises a brow, listening intently.

“What about everything we’ve gone through? Where those all lies? You’re a bastard, Martin! A sick, cheating bastard!”

Hosea laughs his ass off.

✦ Who claims she doesn’t care about gossip, but will suddenly know where John was last Monday if anyone asked. She’ll pretend to think and ponder before eventually disclosing the story of how royally drunk he was. All the details are there and there are even point of views. No one knows who she’s getting this information from — but the reliability is definitely there.

✦ Who’s favorite show and movie as a kid was Tinkerbell (AKA The Pirate Fairy). Which leads to her favorite song, “Who I am” by Natasha Bedingfield.

Karen Jones

✦ Who presents a presentation in front of the class hungover and mind still fuzzy and bleary. Reportedly, she was stuttering and slurring a little — and yet got herself a high grade.

✦ Who hated Molly at first when she had to share living quarters with her. She thought she was arrogant, and only cared for herself. Molly herself returned the feeling of dislike while at the same time picking up Karen from being wasted in God knows where.

“Why’re ya always pickin’ me up? Can’t ya just leave me alone, Molly?” Karen says sluggishly.

Molly will only huff and cross her arms.

✦ Who’s active on Snapchat for a few months before dreading to open it again since all she gets there are creepy men who follow and Snap her — along with Sean replying to every story she adds. It’s like he knows when she’ll post.

✦ Who’ll get high in her room, once. She started seeing patterns and had the feeling that someone was behind her. No — never again, she swears.

✦ Who, like Lenny, has a moderated account in Instagram where she posts meaningful posts. Like stories when she leaves town, or went to the mall with the girls, sunsets, like that.

✦ Who, in the morning, will listen to her voice recordings from last night she didn’t even remember making. Karen has got a confused look on her face while she listens to herself cry about an exam she failed seven months ago.

Her notes app has also got the most unexpected things. It will be normal for the most part, like grocery checklists and passwords, and then there’ll be a gut-wrenching poem out of nowhere, followed by one-word notes.

✦ Who’s helped numerous women after a break up while drunk in a bathroom stall. She has the best advice, too.

“You don’t need ‘im, girl,” She hiccups. “Damn men. You said ya needed a pad, too? ‘Ere. Have ‘em all.”

✦ Who occasionally keeps herself sane with yelling as loud as she can in a pillow.

Molly ‘O Shea

✦ Who always looks and smells good. Her outfit looks stunning, she’s got effortless makeup on, along with perfectly curled hair. She says it “doesn’t take too long” but the truth is — it does.

✦ Who replies back in a second, due to the fact that doesn’t have anyone else in her messages other than the GC and one or two people. She’ll also stalk people’s accounts when she’s got nothing else to do, scrolling through the profiles with her cheek rested on her palm.

✦ Who regularly reads “Am I the Asshole?” on Reddit and will get too invested.

✦ Who is the watcher. She’s practically known everyone’s secrets and what they’ve been doing. She doesn’t even do it in a way that she wishes to bring people down, she just can’t help it.

Once she had accidentally overheard Karen talking to herself, mumbling about how she could feel someone.

The time when the gang played Monopoly she had the time of her life. She did see Reverend eating the pieces, she did see Arthur smuggling cash, and saw it all. But would she say something about it? No — they were about to set the table on fire; it was too entertaining. Then, the next moment, John had flipped the board in complete anger and wrath. That day, a war had started.

✦ Who has a mini fridge. It’s full of Pomegranate juice because somewhere she had read it helps skin glow. Her diet is usually healthy, with her cooking her meals herself — enjoying the process.

✦ Who listens to sad songs made by women. She’s got a whole playlist in Spotify filled with Lana del Rey. She will buy Spotify premium if that means she won’t get interrupted by ads every two songs. It pisses her off beyond measure.

✦ Who’ll gain thousands of likes from a single picture. She’ll post a selfie once and the next moment her phone will be bombarded by notifications — but none of them befriend her for the sake of being friends. She sighs.

Others

✦ Sadie, who’ll buy a motorcycle for chores and work, before realizing it has garnered much unnecessary attention — from mostly women. They’d wave at her and giggle amongst themselves. Sadie will flash ger wedding ring. “Sorry, ladies.”

✦ Susan, who, despite rarely using her phone, will occasionally tag the gang in text messages if they’ve done something wrong.

“@Arthur Morgan, I heard someone in a BLUE mustang yesterday went honking around the highway.”

Arthur will reply, still like a teen, “It wasn’t me. It must’ve been Micah going around.”

✦ Reverend, who’ll send voice mails in the GC about the constant danger of the world ending. Dutch will tell him to stay off the Morphine.

✦ Bill, who is constantly lurking on Twitter. He’ll get in a bunch of petty arguments and fall for one of Micah’s accounts. Then, he’ll get banned, as well.

✦ Trelawny, who is barely active, if he is at all. The gang will suddenly find out he’s been in California with his family and the other day went to Japan.

✦ When the gang went to the beach, John stayed out of the water and had to stay under the shade with the ladies.

✦ Micah was “complimenting” them and other women on the beach, though he ended up being reported to staff.

✦ Sean flaunted his nonexistent abs and got sunburnt.

[atereaste]

7 Days And Your Gone

Pairing: Abby Anderson X Reader

Warning: suicide, angst, no happy ending

A/N: this is a old post I had but I deleted it on accident so I’m reposting it because I have butterfingers

Day 1

You never realize how quickly life can flip on you, how everything can shift in the blink of an eye. One moment, you were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt, surrounded by friends who felt more like family. You were planning Sunday dinners and beach trips, texting Abby about what to make for date night arguing playfully over pasta or tacos, all while knowing you’d end up cooking both anyway because she’d want leftovers. You were in love. You were happy.

And then, suddenly, you weren’t.

There was no warning. No storm rolling in. Just a silence that settled deep in your chest and refused to leave. One morning, you woke up and couldn’t feel the sun through the window. Couldn’t taste the coffee. Couldn’t smile at Abby without feeling like a liar.

Everything felt heavy. Every conversation, every laugh, every breath. The joy you used to feel effortless and bright now felt like a performance. And beneath it all was a quiet, gnawing thought that maybe... maybe it would be easier if you just stopped trying.

You didn’t know how fast your world could fall apart. But it did. And now, all you can think about is how to survive the next hour without breaking.

You asked to be alone just for a few hours. No explanations, no distractions. You didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be comforted. You just needed silence. So you turned your phone off, dropped it somewhere out of reach, and put on the kind of music that usually drowns everything out. The kind that used to make you feel something. Anything. But today, even the music felt hollow. The lyrics didn’t hit. The melodies didn’t stick. It all blurred into background noise, like a conversation you couldn’t quite catch.

You tried cooking next your favorite dish, the one your mom always made when things felt off. You knew the steps by heart, muscle memory guiding your hands as you moved around the kitchen. But it didn’t taste the same. It was off missing the warmth, the love, the care only she could put into it. You pushed the plate aside after a few bites, the disappointment settling in your stomach heavier than the food.

So you went to the bathroom. Turned the shower on as hot as it would go, hoping the steam would melt something away. Maybe the ache in your chest, maybe the thoughts clawing at your mind. But the moment the water hit your skin, all you felt was the sting. The heat found every raw edge, every cut you tried to hide. It didn’t soothe you. It punished you.

You turned the water off and stepped out, dripping, barely noticing the cold air or the way your towel clung to your body. You stood in front of the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back. You didn’t move. Didn’t blink. You just looked.

And looked.

And looked.

As if maybe, if you stayed still long enough, something would shift. Maybe the reflection would change. Maybe you’d see yourself again not this hollow, tired version of you. But nothing did. The hours passed, and still, you stood there, frozen waiting for something, anything, to bring you back.You stared at yourself in the mirror, eyes locking onto the parts of you you’ve spent years trying to ignore trying to fix, to shrink, to change. Your gaze settled on your hair first. The same hair you used to get teased for in school too thick, too curly, too different. You remembered all the times you wished it looked like theirs, all the times you begged your mother to straighten it, just so you could blend in. Now, it framed your face in tangled waves, and all you could feel was the old shame rising again, curling around your throat like smoke.

Your eyes dropped to your stomach the same one you used to starve when you felt like you were too much, like you were taking up too much space. You remembered standing in front of the mirror just like this, turning sideways and sucking in, trying to measure your worth by how flat your stomach looked that day. You remembered the hunger, the dizziness, the fake smiles when someone complimented your “discipline.”

You glanced at your nose next. Another thing you used to hate. Another thing people commented on, picked apart, compared. You’d trace it with your fingers sometimes, wondering what it would be like if it were smaller, sharper, “prettier.”

You hated all of it. Every single part of you. Everything you saw everything your girlfriend, Abby, somehow loved.

Your thoughts spiraled to one of the many late-night conversations you’d had with her those quiet moments when insecurities crept into your voice without warning.  

“Look at the way my stomach looks,” you had mumbled once, curling away from her under the sheets.  

“I love the way it looks,” she’d said, gently placing her hand there, like she was grounding you with her touch.  

“You’re just saying that because you’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m saying that because it’s true.”

Her words echoed in your mind now, soft and warm like the way she used to hold you. But tonight, they weren’t enough to cut through the storm inside.

You stayed there, frozen in front of the mirror, tears welling up before you could stop them. And then they came slow at first, then heavy and endless. You cried until your knees gave out, until the weight of it all forced you to the floor. You curled up against the cold tile and sobbed until your body had nothing left to give.

And somewhere in that silence, with your cheek pressed against the bathroom floor, you drifted off to sleep tired, hollow, and aching.

Day 2

“Here, Julien. I want you to have this,” you say, holding out a small stack of your gaming consoles, your smile gentle but a little too practiced.

Julien blinks, her brows pulling together as she slowly takes them from your hands. “This is… unexpected. Why are you giving me these?” she asks, placing them carefully on her desk like they might break.

You just shrug, keeping your tone light. “Well, I don’t really need them anymore. And I figured selling them would just feel… I don’t know, wrong. So I thought, why not give them to my best friend in the whole wide world?” You try to sound playful, to make her smile.

She does, kind of, but there’s hesitation in it. Still, she walks over and wraps her arms around you, pulling you into one of those signature Julien hugs the kind that squeezes tight like she’s trying to fix you without saying anything.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she says softly against your shoulder. “This means a lot to me. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

You shake your head, returning the hug and holding on just a little longer than usual. “No need,” you say, smiling as you look at her really look at her. She’s been your rock since kindergarten. Through scraped knees, awkward teen years, breakups, breakdowns, all of it.

“Julien… you know I love you so much, right? I thank every god, every star, every twist of fate that brought you into my life. I honestly don’t know where I’d be if you weren’t in it. You changed everything for me. Thank you… for being you. I’ll see you soon.”

Julien pulls back a little, still holding your arms, her expression shifting. Her smile wavers, dipping into something unsure. “Y/N, you’re kinda scaring me. What’s going on?”

You don’t answer. You just glance around her room at the posters, the plants you helped her pot, the cozy chaos that’s always made this space feel like home and you smile, warm and distant.

“Y/N,” Julien says again, her voice tightening. “Talk to me. Please.”

But you don’t. Not yet. You just keep smiling, the kind of smile that tries to hold back the weight pressing against your chest.

"Nothing's going on," you say, your voice light, maybe a little too light. "Just feeling really grateful, you know? For all my friends. For you."

You flash another smile gentle, genuine, but guarded. Julien watches you for a moment, searching your face for something she can’t quite name. Then she nods slowly, accepting the answer even though it doesn't feel complete. A quiet settles between you, the kind that feels full even though no one’s speaking.

After a minute or two, Julien breaks the silence. “Well… I love you so much, Y/N. You’re still coming to my birthday in six days, right?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “We’ll see,” you mumble, trying to keep it casual.

She nods again, but this time there’s a flicker of disappointment behind her eyes. She hides it well Julien’s always been good at making space for people, even when they’re being distant. “Alright,” she says softly, adjusting the sleeves of her hoodie. “Well, I gotta go. But please, take care of yourself, okay? I love you so, so much.”

She steps forward and pulls you into a tight, warm hug—the kind only she gives. The kind that says I’m here, even if you won’t talk to me. You feel yourself melt into her arms, a soft ache blooming in your chest at how much love this girl holds for you, without condition, without question.

“We’re for life, Y/N,” she whispers into your shoulder. “Nothing not even death can break the bond we have.”

She holds you one beat longer, then lets go. You don’t want to, but you let her. She smiles at you one last time, then turns and gently closes the door.

You stare at it, frozen, as the silence settles in. The last time. You already know it.

But she doesn’t.

Day 3

“Abby… I think we should break up.”

Your voice is quiet, nearly swallowed by the hum of her computer fan. Abby turns from her desk, eyebrows furrowed, her fingers still poised over the keyboard. “What?”

You glance over at her, then repeat it calmer this time, but no less painful. “I think we should break up.”

She blinks, confused, like she’s trying to process a language she doesn’t speak. Then, without a word, she shuts down her computer, the screen going black with a soft click. She rises from her chair and crosses the room, lowering herself onto the couch beside you like she’s handling something fragile. And in a way, she is.

“And why’s that?” she asks, voice gentle, but laced with a quiet fear. “What did you do this time?” she teases, trying to lighten the mood as she pulls you into her lap with an easy smile the one that always made you feel safe, even in your darkest moments.

You settle into her arms, the familiar weight of her presence making your heart ache. Abby. Your Abby. The one who kisses your forehead when you're anxious. The one who always brings you your favorite snack without you asking. The one who loves you more than you think you deserve.

“I just feel like we should,” you whisper, eyes locked on some invisible point across the room.

She tilts her head, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “That’s not a good enough reason to break up, baby. What did I do? Just tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

You don't respond. You can’t. You just look at her—really look at her—and feel the exhaustion creeping up your spine. Slowly, you wrap your arms around her, burying your face in the crook of her neck, hugging her like you're afraid to let go.

“I just… I don’t think I’m right for you, Abby,” you murmur. “We’re so different. We come from different worlds. You’re so strong and solid and good. And I’m just… this mess. This crazy bitch who doesn’t even know what she’s doing most days. And I keep wondering what someone like you is doing with someone like me.”

Abby pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes. Her hands come up to cup your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks like she’s holding something precious. “Y/N… you are enough. You’re everything to me. Everything I do, I do for you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you. I want to have kids with you.”

You blink. “How many kids?”

“Six of them,” she grins.

You laugh really laugh for the first time in what feels like forever. A warm, belly-deep sound you forgot you were capable of. Abby lights up at the sound.

“I want our first daughter to be named Y/N Jr.,” she adds, brushing her fingers across your cheek.

You search her face, waiting for the joke, the smirk, the just kidding but it never comes.

“Really?” you ask, breathless.

She nods, then leans back against the couch, spreading her legs and pulling you close again, settling you between them like you belong there. “Y/N… I hate when you talk about yourself like this. It breaks my heart. You don’t see what I see. You don’t know how beautiful you are, how much light you bring into my life. You’re my sun, my heart. And when you say things like that… it’s like a knife straight through me.”

You nod slowly, taking in her words. You want to say I’m sorry. You want to say I love you too. But something inside you holds it back like the words are caught in your throat, afraid to come out.

She presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you, Y/N. You’re not getting away from me that easy.”

Hours pass. You both talk, laugh, fall into that easy rhythm that only people deeply in love know. You cuddle, legs tangled together on the couch, her hands running lazily along your back as you listen to her heartbeat. For a while, you forget the ache. You forget the darkness creeping at the edges.

But eventually… you feel it again. That familiar heaviness returning, pulling you inward. You shift slightly, pressing a soft kiss to Abby’s shoulder.

“I should go,” you whisper.

She lifts her head. “Where?”

You hesitate, forcing a small smile.

“To write.”

Day 4

Dear Abby,

My baby, my love, my hero

I don’t even know where to start except to say thank you. Thank you for every ounce of love you've ever poured into me. Thank you for every late night you stayed up just to hold me. Thank you for being my shoulder to cry on, my protector when the world felt too heavy, my warmth when everything else felt cold. Thank you for the laughter that pulled me out of dark places, and even the arguments that tested us because somehow, we always found our way back. Stronger. Softer. Still in love.

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this why I’m putting it all down on paper when I could just walk into the living room and say it to your face.

But the truth is… I can’t.

I can’t look you in the eyes and tell you how tired I am. Not just sleepy tired, but soul-tired. Exhausted down to the marrow. I can’t tell you how I've started cutting again, even though we just celebrated a week clean with so much hope. I can’t bring that disappointment into our space. I can’t ruin the air between us with the weight I’ve been carrying. You know how much I hate awkward moments how I always try to keep things light, keep you smiling.

But Abby… I love you. God, I love you so much.

You’ve shown me strength I didn’t know I had. You’ve seen me at my lowest and never looked away. You’ve loved every inch of me even the ones I’ve always hated. You loved me when I felt unlovable. You held me when I couldn’t hold myself together. And every time I looked at you, I saw the proof that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as broken as I believed.

Growing up, I always felt like the ugly duckling. Never good enough. Never beautiful. Never anything worth staying for. But you told me once, “Even an ugly duckling needs its swan.” And I couldn't believe you meant me. That I had somehow been lucky enough to have you.

We built a dream together, didn’t we? Six kids. A big house with a farm. A dog, a cat, a yard where we’d grow vegetables and watch the sun set together. The first two kids named after us God, we were ridiculous. But it was beautiful. It was ours.

I’m sorry, Abby. I don't think this lifetime was meant for us to reach those dreams.

Sometimes life just… doesn't care about how hard we hope. Or how badly we want something. Sometimes it just hurts, and there's no fixing it.

I need you to let me go.

I know you won’t want to, and I hate myself for asking. But you have to forget me. You have to move forward, even when it feels impossible. The heartbreak will fade one day. I promise. You’ll find someone new someone who can give you all the things I couldn’t. Someone who stays.

I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve put you through. It was never intentional. I never meant to hurt you. I loved you too much to keep being the reason you cried.

And I do love you, Abby. So deeply that there aren’t words strong enough to explain it. You’ve always made my heart flutter even just hearing your name made me feel like I was falling for you all over again. Every time.

I remember on our first date, you told me you didn’t believe in love. You said it was overrated. But then you fell in love anyway with someone like me. Someone who’s been dying a little inside every day. And you loved me through it.

Thank you.

Maybe in another life… we’ll get our happy ending. Maybe then, we’ll raise our six kids, and laugh in our farmhouse kitchen while our dog chases the cat around the yard. Maybe then, you’ll look at me and I’ll look back without any weight pulling us under.

I love you so much, Abby. More than I’ve ever been able to say out loud, more than I even understand myself sometimes. It’s the kind of love that lives in your bones that sits heavy in your chest and makes your heart ache in the best and worst ways. You became my home when I didn’t have one. You became my reason when I couldn’t find one. You became everything.

Maybe… maybe in another life, we’ll get it right.

Maybe in that life, I’ll be whole. Maybe I won’t carry this pain, and you won’t have to be the one constantly stitching me back together. Maybe in that world, we meet under different stars ones that don’t burn us when we reach for them. And maybe we’ll get our six kids, our farm, our messy house full of love and chaos. Maybe you’ll still call me your sun, and I’ll believe it.

Maybe in another life, we’ll wake up next to each other with no weight in our hearts, no sadness behind our smiles. Just us. Just love. Just peace.

And we’ll finally get forever.

Until that day… your gonna have to let me go

Forever yours,  

Y/N

Day 5

The screech of ambulance sirens and the flashing lights of police cars cut through the night like a jagged wound. Your parents' house is engulfed in chaos, the sound of frantic screams and anguished cries filling the air. Everything is a blur, like the world is spinning too fast for anyone to keep up.

Your mother your sweet, strong mother screams your name, her voice cracking with pure terror as she cradles your bloodied body in her arms. She’s shaking, her hands trembling as she clutches you, her arms wrapped tightly around you as if she could somehow hold you together, keep you from slipping away.

“No! Not my baby! You can’t take my baby away from me!” she wails, her voice breaking with raw emotion. Her eyes are wide, wild with fear, pleading with the police officers who try to gently pull her away. But she won’t let go. She won’t let them take you.

Your father is there, too, trying to pry her arms open, his face pale, his voice desperate. “Stop being difficult, dear,” he says, his voice trembling with a mixture of worry and frustration. “Let them take her. They might be able to save her. Please, just let them do their job.”

But your mother doesn’t hear him. She can’t. She only sees you, her firstborn, her baby, slipping away from her. Her grip tightens on you, her tears soaking your skin. She’s not ready to let go. She’s not ready to lose you.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your mother's cries, the frantic whispers of your father, and the muffled voices of the paramedics, moving quickly to save you. Then, slowly, so slowly it feels like time is stretching on forever, your mother’s arms begin to loosen. She looks down at you, her face contorting with grief, her eyes falling to the men who are hovering over you, ready to take you away.

And then, with a gut-wrenching sob, she lets go.

It’s not fast. It’s not easy. She holds on to you just a little bit longer, as if somehow, by holding tighter, she can reverse what’s happening. But she can’t. And as her arms fall away from you, she seems to lose herself in the memories the memories of you as a child. Your first word. Your first steps. Your first day of school. Your first heartbreak.

Her whole life flashes before her eyes in a blur of emotion, regret, and heartache. She never imagined that the baby she loved, the child she raised with every ounce of her being, would be slipping away from her in this moment. The woman she swore she would never become like her own mother rises in the back of her mind, her own fears taking root. Was it because of me? Did I fail her? Was I not enough?

Her heart is breaking in ways words can never describe, and yet, she lets them take you.

The ride to the hospital is long. The sirens wail. Your mother’s sobs are the only thing that fills the space. She doesn't stop crying. She doesn’t stop praying. To every god she knows, to every force that could hear her desperate pleas, she prays for you, for your life. She doesn’t want to believe it. She refuses to. Her mind can’t comprehend it. Why? Why would you do this? Why would you want to end it all? Why didn’t you come to her?

Was it because of her? Was it something she did or didn’t do? She tried so hard to be different, to be a better mother than the one who had raised her. She wanted to protect you from the things she’d endured. She wanted to give you a life free of the mental and emotional scars that had shaped her, free from the cruel words and actions of a mother who was never kind. But maybe… maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Maybe she couldn’t escape it after all.

And now, she’s facing the nightmare she always feared the fear that she wasn’t enough, that somehow, she had failed you.

Her thoughts are a whirlpool of grief, guilt, and love. Why couldn’t I have done more?

"Mom, please! Tell me it’s not true!" Julien’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. Your mother lifts her head, her face twisted in agony, and sees Julien running toward her. Without hesitation, she gets up, arms wide, and as Julien reaches her, they collide in a tight embrace. The weight of the moment knocks your mother off balance, but she doesn’t care. She holds Julien as if she can somehow hold on to something, anything, to keep her from falling apart completely.

"She—she just… I—I’m a terrible mother!" Your mother chokes on her words, her voice breaking, and tears pour from her eyes. Julien tightens her hold, their own tears mingling with your mother’s, the two of them standing together in the midst of heartbreak and confusion. Julien doesn’t know what to say. They can’t fix this. They can’t take the pain away. So they just hold her tighter, silently promising to be there for her, for both of you.

The sound of footsteps comes from behind them, and a doctor appears, clipboard in hand, wearing a small, strained smile. She approaches cautiously, her eyes flickering to your mother. "You’re Y/N’s mother, correct?" the doctor asks softly. Your mother’s hands tremble as they come together on her chest, an almost instinctive gesture of protection. She nods without saying a word, her eyes wide, waiting, hoping for any good news, any glimmer of hope.

The doctor clears her throat gently before speaking. "Your daughter just got out of surgery," she announces, the words hanging heavily in the air. "She tried to end her life, and sadly, she sustained injuries to some major parts of her body. Right now, she’s in a coma. We’ve done everything we can. It’s now up to her whether she decides to wake up."

Your mother’s entire body goes stiff. Her face loses all color, and she seems to crumble into herself. The words sink deep into her, pulling the breath from her lungs. She shakes her head, her eyes unable to process what she’s just heard. A coma? The very idea feels impossible to accept. She reaches out, as if trying to physically pull the doctor’s words out of her mind, to make sense of them.

But there’s nothing to say. Nothing to do but let the tears fall, slow and steady. The doctor, seeing her breakdown, offers a quick, apologetic glance before turning away. She doesn’t linger, leaving your mother in a sea of disbelief and crushing sorrow. 

As soon as the doctor disappears, another figure rushes through the doors Abby. She’s drenched in sweat, panting as if she ran the entire way to the hospital, but the fear in her eyes tells the real story. Was she too late?

She tried. She tried to get here as fast as she could. Her mind races as she pushes through the emergency room doors, her heart thundering in her chest. The thought of you, her Y/N, in pain possibly gone shatters everything inside her. She’s still struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that you, the person she loves, would ever even contemplate something like this. 

It wasn’t even a day ago that you wanted to break up with her. Was that it? Was it because of the fight? Was it because of everything you’d been holding in? Was it something she had done? Her mind spirals through the possibilities, each one more painful than the last. She doesn’t want to believe it. She refuses to. But there’s a sinking feeling in her gut that something broke in you that she couldn’t fix.

Abby’s breath catches in her throat when she sees your mother’s face, crumpled in grief, her hands clutching her chest as if she could hold herself together. The look in her eyes says everything. Abby freezes for a moment, unable to speak, her heart racing as the weight of what’s happening becomes all too real.

"Is she..." Abby starts, her voice faltering, too afraid to even finish the question.

Your mother, her face raw with grief, barely looks up. But her eyes tell Abby everything. 

Abby collapses into a nearby chair, feeling like the world is slipping through her fingers. It’s too much. She thought she had time. Time to make things right. Time to fix whatever was broken between the two of you. But now, it feels like it’s all slipping away.

What could I have done differently? she thinks. What should I have said? She doesn’t know. But all she knows is that her heart is somewhere, far away, with you—fighting, hoping, praying that you’ll find a way back to her.

Day 6

Abby hadn't left your side since she arrived, unable to pull herself away for even a moment. Not to use the bathroom. Not to rest. Not even for a breath. She was terrified if she let her guard down for a second, you might slip away, and she'd never get to hold you again. The fear gnawed at her, turning every moment into an eternity of helplessness.

*Beep*

The rhythmic sound of your life monitor was the only thing that kept Abby anchored in reality. She squeezed your hand, her fingers trembling with the desperate hope that you'd wake up. She glanced between you and the screen, anxiously watching the monitor, willing you to fight. "Come on, Y/N. Wake up, baby girl," she whispered softly, her voice cracking under the weight of her exhaustion.

To distract herself, Abby pulled out her phone, scrolling through old photos of the two of you, smiling in all those happy memories. There was the picture from your first date at the zoo both of you laughing as you watched the playful animals. Then there was the movie night, where you snuggled up together, the world outside forgotten. She smiled softly at the memories, but the ache in her chest grew stronger. She didn’t just want to remember those times; she wanted to make more. All she needed was for you to open your eyes and be there with her.

*Beep*

Abby took a shaky breath, trying to keep herself together. "Do you remember when you told me you were tired of living with your parents?" she said, her voice soft but laced with emotion, as though speaking to you would somehow make you wake up. "Well, I found this sweet three-bedroom apartment. It’d be perfect for us. The third bedroom would be great as a little office. College is starting soon, after all. We could start our next chapter there, just the two of us."

She paused for a moment, biting her lip to keep her tears at bay. "I gotta use the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?" she said, squeezing your hand one last time before slowly standing and walking away.

*Beep*

Abby’s footsteps felt like they echoed in the hallway as she made her way to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears, and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. She looked hollow, like a shell of the person she used to be. The reflection staring back at her wasn’t the vibrant woman she knew herself to be, but someone broken and lost. 

She splashed cold water on her face, trying to shake the exhaustion from her limbs, but the ache of helplessness wouldn’t leave. Abby turned to leave, but the sight of doctors rushing down the hallway snapped her attention back. She froze, confused. Were they heading to your room? No... it couldn't be. Not yet. But the knot in her stomach told her something was wrong. 

Y/N? Her mind raced, but her body refused to move, paralyzed by the thought of losing you. Everything she had lived with for the past six days, the constant vigilance, the hope, now seemed pointless. The weight of her memories your first introduction, your first kiss, that night you shared together flooded her thoughts. Then, everything blurred as her mind raced through the events that led to this moment.

"Move out of the way, kid!" a doctor barked, brushing past her roughly. Abby stumbled back, the force snapping her back to the present, but by then, she could hardly breathe. She looked down the hallway, the distance to your room feeling impossibly far.

She needed to be there with you. To hold you. To tell you everything would be okay. But something felt off. She tried to move, but her legs were heavy, her mind too clouded. And then, her worst fear came to life.

Abby arrived at your room just as your parents and Julien rushed in. She stood frozen at the door, unable to speak, unable to move. She watched helplessly as the doctors spoke softly to your parents, their words carrying a weight she couldn’t understand. "Say goodbye," the doctor said gently. Your mother nodded, her face pale, and rushed to you. She cradled your lifeless body, kissing your face, her words lost in the space between them. She said how much she loved you, how she wished she could have protected you from this fate.

Abby couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. Her heart felt like it had stopped in her chest, too shocked to process what was happening in front of her. She stood there, her eyes fixed on your body, as the doctors slowly turned off your life support. She watched the last of your life slip away, the breath leaving your body like a final whisper. Her mind refused to accept it, but her body betrayed her, standing still, unable to move, unable to fight the overwhelming grief that took over.

And then, it was over. They zipped your body up in a white bag, and Abby’s heart shattered. The sound of your body being wheeled away was the last thing she heard before the room fell into a silence that swallowed her whole.

"I'm sorry for your loss, kid," a doctor said gently, patting her on the back. Abby didn’t respond. She was the last one in the room, the last to leave.

Day 7

The day of the funeral hit Abby with an overwhelming weight. In the span of just 48 hours, she had lost everything that meant anything to her. The reality of the loss was too much to bear, and there was no time to process it. She hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, to hold you, to kiss you, or to tell you how much you meant to her before you were ripped away. All of it felt so sudden, so unfair. She wanted to stay strong, for you. She wanted to hold herself together, to honor you with her strength, but it was impossible. How could she, when a part of her heart had shattered, when the light in her life had been extinguished so abruptly?

As the pastor stood before the gathering and spoke, his voice full of praise, "Y/N was loved by everyone," Abby couldn’t focus on the words. She was too busy trying to keep herself from breaking down completely. Her thoughts spiraled as she fought to hold back the tears. She stared at the casket, wondering if this was some sick joke, if you were really gone or if you were just playing a cruel trick on her. She wanted so desperately to open the lid, to look one last time, just to make sure. 

When it was her turn to speak, she found herself frozen. The words she had rehearsed in her mind felt foreign and impossible to say aloud. Every word felt like a boulder lodged in her throat. “Y/N was my everything,” she began, voice trembling, struggling to maintain composure. “It feels like a part of me has been ripped away. Life is so unfair. Why her? Why me? Were we not meant to have our happy ending, like everyone else? Were we so unlucky that the world just gave up on us? I promised her happiness. I wanted to marry her. I wanted to grow old with her... but fate decided otherwise. It took her away before I could even say goodbye.”

With a trembling hand, Abby held up the small box the ring she had intended to give you when she asked you to be hers forever. She stared at it, her heart aching, and a sad smile crossed her face as she continued. “Y/N, you were my soulmate, and I don’t think I’ll ever find someone who could take your place. I know you’d want me to move on, but I can’t. It feels like cheating, like I’d be betraying you if I tried to. You were my Juliet, and I was your Romeo. Maybe, in another life, fate will bring us back together.”

As she walked back to her seat, she was met by your mother's gaze, her eyes full of grief and gratitude. "Thank you for loving my daughter," she said softly. Abby nodded, her heart heavy as she held the ring box up. “I meant every word. I wanted to marry her,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the weight of her sorrow.

The ceremony continued, and when they began lowering your casket into the ground, Abby couldn’t hold back. She took the ring she had planned to propose with, the one that was meant to seal their future together, and threw it into the grave. Then, she slipped the other ring the one she now wore onto her finger, a silent commitment to the love they had shared. She watched as the earth covered you, the song of the service echoing in her ears, her heart heavy with each layer of dirt that sealed your final resting place.

Hours passed, and still, Abby didn’t leave. She stayed at your gravesite, lost in the weight of her grief. She stared at the sky, the world around her quiet, the stillness almost unbearable. But then, she saw it a dove. The symbol of peace, hope, transformation, and love. It flew across the sky, its white feathers a quiet reminder of everything you two had shared. Abby managed a small smile, her heart breaking but also finding a tiny sliver of peace in the symbolism. 

"Goodbye, Y/N," she whispered, her voice soft, filled with both sorrow and love. "You can rest now."

And though she would never forget you, though you would remain in her heart forever, Abby finally stood up. She took one last, lingering look at the place where you lay, the weight of the loss heavy on her shoulders, but the love she had for you undying and eternal carried her forward.

I’m back better and ever everything is situated but I also start college today so a lot of updates are gonna be slow I have a few drafts I’m gonna post this week one of them being a Sevika smut. I hope you enjoyed this and remember if you ever feel suicidal or anything don’t hesitate to reach out your never alone in this Ⓒ atereaste

[kanmom51]

This one is kind of personal and a lot mushy

(And as I'm writing this, a bit of a rant as well)

*Be advised.😅

Been a bit.

Well, I was kind of busy. On one of those 'once in a lifetime' trips you take to celebrate a big one, this one being my 30th wedding anniversary.

And while I was on this trip (and I am sure to share some pics, cause why not, seeing we got some spectacular ones) I got to thinking about Jikook. Because, who doesn't think about Jikook on their 30th anniversary trip, right?

Let's be real for a sec. Who doesn't think about Jikook ALL THE DAMN TIME?

Obsessed much?

Hell yeah!!!😂

Proudly admitting it!!

Look at those two:

Can you seriously blame me?

Nah, but seriously.

I couldn't help but think about who I am, where I've come from, how my partner and myself came to be, our love and respect for each other, how we fought through everything life swings at you and how our love not only survived all of it but seems to have flourished even more. I can honestly say that I love my husband today even more than I did when we got married. It's a different kind of love. A mature love. A love that survived many trials and tribulations. Some you know of when you tie the knot but many more you don't expect.

And thinking of us I couldn't help but think about those two young men and how they met, what brought them together, how they connected, how they have been through so much together, the hardships, the struggles, the amazingly good and the terribly bad, all making their bond even stronger.

There are those that cannot fathom how 2 young beautiful talented men could be in a committed relationship when they have this whole smorgasbord of beautiful people just wanting to lay a hand on them. Everyone wants a piece of them and here they are in a committed relationship with each other? A long term committed relationship? How ever could that be?

When you love someone to the core, which is exactly how those two feel (people can deny it all they want, but it won't change the facts, these two have chosen each other every single time over anything and anyone else), when you get to know that one person and fall deeply in love with them, know their ins and outs, know their flaws and issues, seen them at their best and at their worst. When they are happy or sad, healthy or sick, elated or furious, and find them attractive through and through, still want to be by their side.

No.

Need to be by their side.

Want to be there when they are happy, share their joy, but also be there when they are sad or down and stand by their side to support them through it (even with and despite all those flaws and issues and difficulties that at times can also infuriate you and basically make you want to ring their necks at certain points in time) there is no love (between partners) deeper than that.

I do know, we all should, that what they experienced and how they are living cannot be compared to us regular folk. Their circumstances are such that they have to deal not only with an industry and society that deems them as 'wrong' (that includes a big chunk of their own fandom btw), but also a lifestyle that is nothing like the one we know or have experienced. The hours, the cameras in their faces close to 24/7 (up until their break and hiatus and even prior to that during the pandemic - which btw is one of the reasons people have gone mad at that point given we stopped getting an influx of BTS content for such a long time), growing up and maturing in the limelight, enjoying the fame and exposure at first and then fighting for privacy and 'anonymity' when you realize there is a price to that fame. None of us have experienced that. Yes, we can find the similarities and by extension make conclusions about them, but at the same time we always need to remember that their lives are different than ours and that we cannot always hold them to the same standards of behavior that we are used to in our own lives and relationships.

This is beside the point that every relationship is different. I will just say this. A healthy long term relationship is built on 2 or more (I ain't judging) individuals that stand as their own person and chose to be with the other/s. They don't necessary have to have the exact same interests or likes. What they do need is to love, respect, trust each other and understand that part of that is allowing your significant other to do what they love, even if it means doing it without you. Even if it means doing it with someone else. You all know where I'm getting with this right? Going out with others, travelling with others, drinking with others, spending time with others, choosing to spend time alone without your significant other, none of them diminish from your relationship if indeed it's building blocks are solid. And brace yourselves (well, those that are in long term relationships know this already...), but all of the above actually helps maintain your relationship. Can make it better and stronger.

I've been lurking a little on SM, even while away, only to find that once again, or should I say still (surprise surprise... NOT) there are those that are doubting the bond that these two young men have. It's solos and cultists trying to create an alternative universe in which JK and JM are not close and even distanced (some would love for them to actually hate each other - good luck with that psychos). Or it's once again those insecure 'Jikookers' that seem to need that constant affirmation from a real life queer couple that most certainly will not be giving them that. I keep asking myself why is it that a couple like JM and JK need to constantly prove they are together (all while they actually can't come out and say it due to their circumstances - industry and society they live in), when a heterosexual couple, say Zendaya and Tom, for example, are not expected to? How come a blurry clip (which I still say is fake) released at a very suspicious point in time, together with other obviously edited clips and serious claims of misconduct that are clearly made up and were intended to cause JK harm, have more of an impact on them than years and years of interactions, talk, actions (including just before the clip was released and after it as well)? And now another blurry clip that people are going all crazy over. Like seriously, what is wrong with people? Is the lack of content driven them mad? No drama so we need to create it? Well, thing is that when you are in a healthy committed long term relationship there is not much drama. That's the way it is when you are settled and happy and know who you are and who you love and know that they feel the same about you. Arguments, disagreements, bad days - sure. That's life. But at the end of the day if people want drama they should go watch one on TV.

So, how do I put it to make is as clear as possible?

These insecurities we get from some of the fans, they work like clockwork. Every single time, in the past, when we didn't get much from the two there were these whispers and question marks regarding their relationship. Not even if they are still together, but down to the core of their bond, as to even question if they are close or friends. This phenomenon goes way back.

But since end of 2021 beginning of 2022, when they were on their break and later the hiatus into 2023 it blew up like a full on hydrogen bomb.

This got worse after they were assigned their own 'personal' IG accounts and went on their break.

The misconception by many that these accounts were somehow their private accounts that they use to interact with each other, I can't call it anything other than delusional. Sorry not sorry. And if people did not realize that themselves if only from the lack of posting or interaction with whoever, then we had the members themselves telling us that they regularly interact within their own private chat groups. That photos shared on IG with us have been previously shared with the others in those groups. These IG accounts were created to maintain contact between the members and their fans, knowing that the group is going into hiatus and that they will each be promoting their own individual solo projects. Yes, the group Twitter (X) account could be used for that, but there was an attempt to create a more 'personal' connection between each member and Army. These accounts were work, as simple as that, and them reacting to other members or talking with each other through these accounts was not an indication what so ever to whether they were in touch or not otherwise.

At the time, back in early 2022, when people were reeling over the lack of interaction between the two on their IG accounts I tried to explain that a. not seeing something most definitely does not mean it's not there (something those two made sure to prove time and time again over the past couple of years), and b. that the lack of interaction can actually be an indication to them spending most of their time together, as there is no need to comment on another's post when you are right there to tell them whatever it is you want to tell them to their face. Not to mention, and this part is all me, so take or leave it as you will, but some of said IG posts, well, how do I put it? I guess I just say it as it is... some of these photos posted were either taken by the other or they were right there or really near by when it was taken. There. I said it. In any case, the fact that these were the only two not to interact with each other in front of Army's face, out of the whole group, that, to me, meant they were the ones spending most of the time together.

Oh, and let's just address the whole fanservice stupidity surrounding those two once and for all.

If they were all about fanservice, how is it that since that during the break in 2021-2022 and then during the hiatus and their solo endeavors, we were robbed of said fanservice? Wouldn't you expect that the fanservice couple, the scripted couple, be pushed during each other's promotions? How is it that we have seen during these periods of promotions every single other coupling other than JM and JK. Even JK visiting JM during his rehearsals was heavily edited. How come, if we are being sold a fake bond? No JK being forced to go visit JM when performing at the music shows. No JM being forced to do the same with JK. JM paired with Suga for an add for Busan (? that one was really an odd one for me). When did we see them? So yeah, people can scream fanservice all they want, but deep down inside they know it's a crap claim. I won't even go into JK's lives. There was not one ingenuine bone in his body, and that excitement seeing JM's comments, that coquettish behavior while interacting with him (especially during the bed live, OMG!!!), the reactions to the JM centered content he CHOSE to watch during those lives, none of that is scripted nor acted. It's all JK. All him. And JM's reaction when JK shows up at his documentary viewing live, that little butt wiggle in his chair (reminds me of Bam when happy to see his dad/s, as shown by JK), the face lighting up, the genuine worry on his face talking about JK working hard (during another couple of lives), again, not faked.

So yeah, not fanservice.

I digressed, I think.

Let's get back to 2022 why don't we?

On their break these crazy stories of heartbreak and breakup and hate and suffering and god knows what, only all to be thrown out of the window as soon as we got to see the two together again during the Seoul concerts and then LV. Oh LV. That was a wild ride.

Then BTS went on hiatus and the solo era began. And we were getting less and less ot7 content, and once again the insecurities. These ups and downs (you know, the whole JITB party stories about them not being together - that was countered by the BTB that followed a while after), then Busan concert's high, then 2023's downs and ups and downs and ups and fruck it all, I'm sea sick from this stupidity.

Same exact stories were repeated in 2023!!!

Especially after THE CLIP "which shall not be named" dropped.

SAME EXACT TO THE T STORIES!!!

But again, I digress.

Insecurity regarding the two and their bond (seeing they aren't in the public eye) followed by realization that everything is as it was (if not even better and stronger) once we see them together again. And the reason we don't see them together while on break... wait for it... is because they are a private couple living their everyday life, not for the cameras, not for Army, but for THEMSELVES.

Who would have thought.

And when they are together, as in working together, either filming or shooting or performing, well their bond can't be hidden, as much as they might have to wind it down at times (which is mainly not when they are on stage hyped up on adrenaline, lol), seeing that this is still Kpop, with fandoms that feel ownership over them, not to mention them being a queer couple. You know. All the usual reasons.

This idea people have that these two owe us something. That they constantly have to prove their bond, their connection, their relationship. What utter bull.

Anyway, what a slap in the face (for some a good wake up call, for others a well deserved one) the news of them choosing to enlist together was for so many.

Bottom line is, repeated for the millionth time, that these two young men have shown us time and time again that when push comes to shove they will chose one another!!!

I feel like I'm all over the place here. Came to talk about my trip and ended up talking about fanservice and insecurity and god knows what. I guess it's the jetlag (yeah, let's go with that and blame it on the jetlag).

In any case I will go with my favorite saying as of late:

Why this whole long word vomit, you may ask (or you might not ask, who knows, lol)?

What the hell does this have to do with my trip?

Nothing...?

Probably, lol.

But I am going to try to connect the dots. Even if they did make sense in my mind when I first started writing this post and no longer do...

How about the fact that the two chose to take these trips together?

See how I did that? Connecting the unconnected?

Not even going to ask the egg-chicken question here, as I am quite positive it was always about the trips and the show/content for army was the excuse that allowed them to travel 'for work', and a little bonus of content for army when they are away - not to mention perhaps even an opportunity for a soft outing, who knows.

They wanted to spend this time together before enlistment.

We know of at least 3 trips. Connecticut, Jeju and Japan (the Jeju trip may or may not be part of that 'show').

We are yet to know what exactly this 'show' will be. Will it be an actual show, style BV or ITS? Will it be a Vlog? Will we be getting actual episodes or several minute clips? But one thing for sure. Whatever we get, it will be a drop in a lake of the time they spent together. They went on these trips to be together. They shot this 'show' to allow them to be on these trips. This 'show' will give us a glimpse, no more than that, of what they got up to while together. Bottom line - it's about them, not the show and definitley not us.

So yeah, tripping together (lol, as in traveling, just felt like using that fun word, which can mean so much more as well) is something couples love to do, and going on said trips prior to a huge life changing event (let's be real here, going into the military for 18 months, especially knowing that to be able to enlist TOGETHER, they will be placed in one of the harsher units and environments, knowing that even though they will be together they most certainly will not have the freedoms they enjoy prior to enlistment), well that is something they would do as well.

To sum this whole rant up:

I came here to show off some pics from my trip...

If Jikook are allowed to (and god help them all if we don't get that show eventually...), then so am I...

The scenery...

And the wild life

So there you have it.

I managed to talk about my trip and about Jikook all in one long ranty post.

To those that managed to work their way through it I have this to say:

[sabrinajenre96]

Field Trips & Foot Chases

Pairing: OA Zidan x Wife!FBI!Reader

Word Count: ~6,000

Genre: Action, Romance, Domestic, Humor

Setting: FBI HQ & NYC Historical Museum

---

The elevator doors slid open with a familiar ding as Y/N Zidan stepped out onto the floor of the FBI New York office, her steps confident and brisk. It was barely 7:15 in the morning, and most of the city was still stirring awake, but inside these walls, the machine was already running. She clutched a file folder in one hand—yesterday’s case summary, neatly printed and signed—and her travel mug in the other, steam rising from the dark roast she desperately needed to survive the next twelve hours.

Dressed in slim black trousers and a camel-toned coat that still smelled faintly of OA’s cologne from where it had brushed against his earlier, Y/N’s look was a balance of business-formal and “mom-on-a-mission.” She didn’t plan to be here long. Just long enough to hand off the file to Isobel and print the necessary attachments. Then it was off to chaperone Talia and Harlow’s first-grade field trip to the New York Historical Museum.

Her twin daughters had been buzzing about it all week—especially Harlow, who’d told everyone in their household (including the dog) that she was going to “see real colonial shoes” and “eat a sandwich like George Washington.” Y/N smiled to herself at the thought.

She turned the corner into the bullpen, where the usual early birds were already around. Tiffany was poring over some digital forensics with a very large cup of coffee, while Scola looked like he was mid-rant about parking tickets to anyone who’d listen.

“Zidan!” Maggie Bell called from across the room. She stood, her coat half-off her shoulders, and crossed the floor with a grin. “What are you doing here? Thought you were playing hooky today.”

Y/N returned the smile and held up her folder like a trophy. “Just dropping off paperwork for Isobel and printing a few things. School trip starts at eight-thirty. I’m still on the clock for ‘Mom Duty.’”

“Right—the big museum day.” Maggie leaned on the edge of her desk. “Please, I need pictures. You know I live for updates on my goddaughters.”

“I’ll flood your phone with them,” Y/N promised with a laugh. “You’ll be sick of them by lunchtime.”

“Impossible.”

Just then, footsteps approached, and OA appeared from the direction of the elevator, hair still damp from the shower and shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. He had the distinct look of a man who had tried to leave early and been waylaid by something critical—his tie hung loosely around his neck.

“Hey,” he said, smile softening the edge of his focused gaze when he saw her. “I thought you’d be at the school already.”

“I wanted to make sure the case was buttoned up,” Y/N said, handing over the rest of the folder to Isobel who had just joined them. “And someone has to keep the system running while the rest of you run off chasing bad guys.”

OA leaned down and kissed her quickly—chaste but warm. “You’re amazing. Have fun with the girls.”

“You know I will. Just don’t get tackled or shot while I’m gone.”

“I could say the same to you,” he teased, stepping back just as Isobel raised her voice.

“Team, let’s go—conference room, now,” Isobel called. She was already walking fast, the others grabbing tablets and folders in response.

Y/N glanced at the wave of motion like a tide rising behind her, then gave Maggie a wink. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

“Send me those pictures!”

“You’ll get a whole album,” she promised, waving goodbye to the team as they moved into their briefing.

---

The school courtyard was buzzing with six-year-olds and coffee-wielding parents when Y/N arrived, switching gears from “Agent” to “Mom” without missing a beat. She spotted Talia and Harlow immediately—Talia in a navy-blue peacoat and matching headband, Harlow in her trademark rainbow beanie and pink boots, a stark contrast of order and chaos that defined them perfectly.

“Mommy!” they cried in unison, bolting toward her. Y/N crouched down just in time to catch them both in her arms.

“Hey, my sweet girls,” she said, kissing each of their cheeks. “Are you ready to learn all about history and revolution and maybe meet a statue of Ben Franklin?”

“Only if he has the kite!” Harlow declared.

“I want to see the old-fashioned classroom!” Talia added.

Their teacher, Miss Reyes, smiled warmly as Y/N joined the parent volunteers. “Glad to have you with us today, Mrs. Zidan. The girls have been so excited.”

“Thanks for letting me come. I wouldn’t miss it.”

The bus ride was a whirlwind of snack-sharing, knock-knock jokes, and a surprisingly intense game of “I Spy.” Y/N sat with the girls, pointing out landmarks and helping explain the difference between colonial homes and “olden castles.”

By midmorning, they were inside the museum, walking through exhibits of Revolutionary War uniforms, artifacts, and models of early New York life. The twins held onto her hands tightly, wide-eyed and full of questions. Y/N took photos throughout, even getting a perfect candid of Talia peering into a replica hearth and Harlow dramatically posing with a tri-corner hat.

She sent a few to Maggie, who replied instantly:

Maggie: LOOK AT MY BABIES. That hat!! Why does Harlow look like she’s about to lead a rebellion?!

Y/N: Because she probably is.

The group finished the final stretch of the tour—crossing a grand marble hallway with columns and a huge exit foyer where the buses waited outside in the sun. The kids were energized, talking about muskets and old coins.

And that’s when Talia froze.

“Mommy… is that Daddy?”

Y/N’s head snapped up.

Outside the tall glass doors, two figures in dark suits were sprinting across the plaza, weaving between pedestrians. One of them was OA—her husband—his badge out, gun holstered, eyes locked on two suspects making a break for it.

Next to him? Maggie, determined as ever.

“Oh no,” Y/N whispered, eyes narrowing.

One suspect veered toward a side alley. OA followed without hesitation and tackled him hard to the ground, knee to his back, cuffs already in hand.

The second suspect bolted toward the museum steps.

Y/N’s protective instincts kicked in. “Miss Reyes, get the kids on the bus. Now.”

The teacher didn’t ask questions. Y/N was already moving.

She sprinted across the marble floor and out into the courtyard, intercepting the second suspect as he reached the sidewalk. Timing it just right, she shifted her weight, stuck her foot out, and caught him mid-stride.

He stumbled—hard—crashing to the pavement. Before he could recover, she was on him, knee pressing down, one hand on her spare cuffs clipped inside her purse.

“Federal agent,” she said calmly. “Stay down.”

Behind her, the tour bus erupted into cheers.

When OA came jogging up, dragging his suspect with him, he burst out laughing at the sight of his wife expertly cuffing the guy in front of a group of cheering first graders.

Maggie leaned over, catching her breath. “Okay, remind me never to underestimate you in ballet flats.”

“Noted,” Y/N said dryly.

They both looked toward the bus. Talia and Harlow were standing in the window, saluting with both hands, beaming.

Maggie nearly doubled over laughing. “You two have the coolest kids.”

“I’ll take that as a win.”

---

The suspects were booked within the hour. Y/N filed a witness statement while Maggie handled the rest. OA offered her a ride, but she waved him off.

“I’ve still got sandwiches to eat and juice boxes to open,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “We’ll meet you later.”

By the time the girls were home from school, OA pulled into the driveway with a soft smile and two bags of cookies from the café down the street. The twins ran into his arms, talking over each other.

“Daddy, we saw you run so fast!”

“You tackled a real bad guy!”

“And Mommy kicked one!”

They all laughed as they went inside, collapsing onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and warmth.

Over dinner, the girls retold the museum adventure five times, dramatically acting out the takedown. OA and Y/N exchanged loving, amused glances. Their lives were never normal, but they were perfect in their chaos.

Later, after bath time, the family curled up in the twins’ bedroom for storytime. OA read from a picture book while Y/N braided Talia’s hair.

“And then the agent said, ‘Not today, criminal!’ and kicked him right in the shin—”

“That’s what Mommy did!” Harlow squealed.

Eventually, the girls drifted off to sleep, their hands still tucked in their parents’. OA carried Harlow to her bed while Y/N kissed Talia’s forehead, brushing a curl from her eyes.

They met in the hallway outside, quiet finally descending.

“She’s right, you know,” OA whispered, arms slipping around Y/N’s waist. “You did look kind of cool out there.”

“I don’t need to impress a bunch of six-year-olds,” she teased, kissing his jaw. “Just you.”

“Well,” he said, leaning in, “consider me impressed.”

They smiled, wrapped in the comfort of the night, hearts full.

Together, they walked into their bedroom, knowing tomorrow would bring more cases, more chaos—but for tonight, they had peace.

And maybe, just maybe, their daughters would dream of saving the world—just like their parents.

---

The End.

[fangirlfuel]

SerafinaDeLuxe posted

_________

SerafinaDeLuxe

I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor

Liked by Joao_Oliveira and 30 others

SerafinaDeLuxe Prepared for Thursday's test !🤓

view comments

Joao_Oliveira

"Don't worry guys I will never begin without yall ! "🤓

SerafinaDeLuxe

@Joao_Oliveira I am sorry but you guys always start too late ! 😭

Bianca_Santos

@SerafinaDeLuxe Sera ! It's Saturday!, there's still time until Thursday 😭😂

Rui_Mendes

I am too busy for this 😗

SerafinaDeLuxe

@Rui_Mendes Of course, anything it's more important to you than to pass the test. 🙄

Rui_Mendes

@SerafinaDeLuxe you know me to well !😌

Lia_Silva

Girl how do you do it ?!😭

SerafinaDeLuxe

@Lia_Silva will you believe me if I say I don’t know ?🫢

MariaDeLuxe

My smart baby !😊

SerafinaDeLuxe

@MariaDeLuxe Mom you are embarrassing me !☹️

--------------------

Serafina POV

Serafina logged out of Instagram with a sigh and glanced at the clock—7:00 PM.

In an hour, her father would be home from work, and dinner would be ready. She stretched her arms over her head, rolling her shoulders. Studying had drained her energy, but she had pushed through. Four hours straight. Okay… maybe it had only been three, but it sure felt like four.

She stacked her books into a neat pile on the desk, shoved her pens into the drawer, and finally stood up. She was about to grab her phone again when she realized something.

Only fifteen minutes had passed.

Serafina groaned. Time was moving at a snail’s pace. Feeling the heaviness of sleep threaten to take over, she decided a shower would wake her up.

She made her way to her private bathroom (a perk of being the youngest and knowing how to negotiate with her parents). She turned the water on, letting the steam rise before stepping in. The warmth enveloped her, melting away the tension in her muscles.

The past few weeks had been exhausting. Between school, family, and her upcoming trip to Mexico, it felt like she barely had a moment to breathe.

Still, she wouldn’t complain.

Not when Jose, Maria, Marco, and Alex were always the ones dealing with real responsibilities.

By the time she got out of the shower, changed into a comfortable sweater and leggings, and made her way downstairs, it was 7:40 PM. The living room was already filled with the familiar sounds of her siblings talking over each other.

Serafina paused at the entrance, taking in the scene.

Jose, 26, was scrolling through his laptop, probably working on something related to his job in IT. He was the most responsible of them all, always looking out for everyone. Maria and Marco, 25-year-old twins, were bickering—probably over something stupid again. Maria, a hairstylist, had her arms crossed, clearly irritated, while Marco, a mechanic, smirked like he enjoyed pissing her off.

And then there was Alex, 23, lounging on the couch with his phone. His final year of university was keeping him busy, but not busy enough to stop him from getting into family debates.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Maria commented, her tone dripping with something between sarcasm and irritation.

Serafina raised an eyebrow. “Relax, I was studying.”

Maria scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Studying or scrolling through Instagram?”

Serafina rolled her eyes. She wasn’t about to let Maria get under her skin.

Jose, ever the peacemaker, shut his laptop with a sigh. “Let her be, Maria.”

“Whatever.” Maria flicked her perfectly manicured nails through her long, dark hair. “It’s not like she needs to study anyway. Everything just works out for Serafina, doesn’t it?”

There it was again.

That thinly veiled jealousy.

Serafina knew Maria had always felt a certain way about her. Maybe it was because their parents tended to be a little more lenient with Serafina. Maybe it was because, growing up, Maria had to fight for attention, while Serafina had gotten it naturally.

Or maybe… it was because Serafina had always been the one who stood out.

She ignored the comment, walking over to flop onto the couch next to Alex. He barely looked up from his phone.

“What are you doing?” she asked, nudging him.

“Checking the latest F1 news,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Serafina sighed. Of course.

Her entire family was obsessed with Formula 1. It wasn’t just casual fandom—it was a way of life in this house. Their father had been a hardcore Ferrari supporter since forever, and that had bled into all of them. Well, all of them except Serafina.

It wasn’t that she hated F1. She just didn’t care as much as they did.

She didn’t wake up early to watch practice sessions.

She didn’t spend hours debating strategies.

She didn’t idolize drivers like they did.

And yet, every race weekend, she was forced to endure it.

“What’s the latest drama now?” she asked, pretending to care.

Alex smirked. “Well, Ferrari just released a statement—”

“Oh my God, don’t start.”

Alex laughed, shaking his head. “You’re just mad because you’re the only one in this house who doesn’t appreciate greatness.”

“I appreciate a drama-free weekend,” she shot back.

Marco leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah? Then why are you still coming to Dad’s big season opener watch party next week?”

Serafina groaned. Right. That.

Their father had gone all out for the first Grand Prix of 2025, inviting family, friends, and anyone willing to yell at the TV with him.

“I never agreed to that,” she muttered.

“You live here,” Jose pointed out. “You have no choice.”

Maria smirked. “You could always go on that little trip of yours early.”

Serafina narrowed her eyes. “I leave in a few days. I can handle one stupid race.”

But even as she said it, she knew she was lying.

Because every time she let herself get roped into an F1 event, something always happened.

And this time…

She had a feeling it was going to be worse than ever.

[rockspider556]

Fence Headcanons :)

Nicholas Cox

Literally survives on spite and protein bars.

Always forgets to do laundry until he has one sock left and has to go rogue.

The first time Seiji complimented Nicholas’s form, Nicholas actually dropped his sword.

Cries at sports movies. Don’t ask him about Cool Runnings, it’s a sore subject.

Secretly really good at baking? Like, his muffins slap. It’s the only thing that calms him down before matches.

Is one step away from writing in his diary, “Dear Diary, Seiji said my lunge was ‘adequate.’ I’m in love.” He can’t handle compliments, and Seiji’s deadpan delivery makes it even worse.

Seiji Katayama

Has a secret Pinterest board titled “How to Be a Normal Person.”

Pretends he doesn’t know Niccholas’ schedule. Knows exactly when Nicholas eats lunch, does cardio, showers, breathes.

Thinks “small talk” is talking about fencing footwork at brunch.

Keeps accidentally complimenting Nicholas. “Your form is... improving.” (Translation: “You look really hot when you lunge and I hate how flustered that makes me.”)

Sleeps exactly 7 hours and 43 minutes every night. No more, no less.

Definitely has a Spotify playlist called “Fencing Focus” and it's just classical music and anime OPs.

Harvard once caught Seiji watching a slo-mo video of Nick fencing. When asked why, Seiji said, “Tactical review.” Sure, Jan.

Harvard Lee

Can and will carry 7 grocery bags in one trip to prove a point.

Keeps trying to play wingman for Nicholas and Seiji and doesn’t even realize he’s in a rom-com subplot himself.

Binge-watches reality TV with Aiden and insists it's “cultural research.”

Brings snacks to practice. Everyone likes Harvard. He probably brings homemade trail mix.

Literally the only person Jesse can’t successfully intimidate. Jesse tried once—Harvard just offered him trail mix.

Aiden Kane

Sleeps in until 3 PM and still looks flawless.

Gives off “I have a secret” energy constantly. Spoiler: the secret is just that he has feelings. Ew.

Smokes clove cigarettes for the ✨aesthetic✨ but never inhales.

Secretly writes poetry that would make Lord Byron blush.

Hoards a secret stash of Harvards favourite candy, just in case

Totally flirts with Nicholas just to make Seiji uncomfortable.

Bobby Rodriguez

Has never minded his own business. Wouldn’t know how even if you gave him a manual. He’s the team’s self-appointed romantic consultant and professional meddler.

Has an outfit for every possible occasion, including “dramatic rooftop monologue” and “accidental kiss in the rain.”

The best at comforting people. Like, instant emotional support in a crop top.

Ships Adrien x Harvard like it’s his full-time job. Makes PowerPoints. Adrien has seen one slide and walked away in horror. Harvard gave it a standing ovation.

Made a meme calendar of all the fencing boys. It’s iconic. It circulates every month.

Knows all the drama in the school, even the stuff that hasn’t happened yet.

Jesse Coste

He says he’s over Seiji, but the second Seiji smiles at Nick? Suddenly Jesse’s in a bad mood all week. "I'm just tired," he says, while death-staring a wall.

Has dreams where Nick messes up so badly Seiji gives up on him. Wakes up smug. Realizes it didn’t happen. Gets grumpier.

Every time Nick does something well, Jesse gets this flash of “That should’ve been me.” Then feels gross about it. Then sass-bombs practice to compensate.

[measuredingold]

7:15

author's note: hello hello hello ! the jolly fic i promised last month. on a roll :-) i have a few trips coming up and i wanted to get this sweet lil fic out before i was away from home. i haven't wrote much for jolly and i just really like how this came out. short and sweet, domestic as fuck. as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated !

pairing: joakim karlsson x reader

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 1.9k

cw/tags: fluff, sweet domestic tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, maybe some angst but it lasts 2 seconds, kissing, ~suggestive~ content, 18+ minors do not interact

Jolly wakes up slowly, a groan slipping from his lips as he stretches his limbs out across the bed. He pauses, realizing the spot beside him was unoccupied and cold, and a frown settles on his lips. Blinking, he sits up and stretches out his limbs again with another groan, looking beside him to confirm that yes, the other side of the bed is definitely empty. 

He doesn't panic, no, because he sees the bedroom door has been left ajar only slightly, but enough to let him hear you downstairs. It's a distant sound, muffled, but he can hear the clambering and chattering of pans in the kitchen and the faint hum of music. The frown on his lips slips away and a smile replaces it soon after, heart twisting. 

He loves mornings like this with you. With their more than hectic schedule now, mornings like this are few and far in-between, so he tries to never take it for granted. Even though he'd much rather drag you back into bed with him and sleep a few more hours, (he flinches at the time on the clock, 7:15), he throws his legs over the side of the bed and pushes himself up. He hisses as his feet meet the cold floor but braves it, shuffling out of your shared bedroom and down the stairs. 

The music gets louder the closer he gets to the kitchen and he's not sure what it is, something easy to listen to early in the morning. Some morning indie playlist you found on Spotify, he's sure. He smiles again when he finds you in sweatpants and an old shirt of his, hair pulled back out of your face. Your back is facing him, humming along to whatever song is playing, and he leans against the wall beside him. Jolly doesn't remember the last time he was able to just... admire you from afar. He's always in your space whenever he's home, the both of you wanting to spend as much time with each other as you can, never leaving each other's side. 

He likes seeing you like this. As corny as it sounds, this is the most beautiful he thinks you are. Still sleepy he’s sure, still in your pajamas, hair thrown in a messy ponytail, cooking breakfast for the both of you. It's something he'll never get tired of.  

After a solid two minutes of silently watching you, he shuffles over to where you stand and doesn't waste time in wrapping his arms around your middle, lips meeting your shoulder.

"Good morning."

"Was waiting for you to come over here." You hum and instantly melt back into his chest. "Were you just watching me in silence?"

"Maybe."

"Creep." 

But he can hear the smile in your voice, which makes him smile, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head before untangling himself from you, leaning against the counter to your right. 

"What's on the menu this morning?" He questions, eyeing the eggs in the pan.

"Eggs and waffles. Wanted some turkey bacon with it too, but was deeply disappointed to find out that we were out." You send him a pout before focusing back on cooking.

"Oh, you poor thing. How will you ever survive?" He teases before reaching out to poke your side gently, causing you to squeak. "I’ll make sure to add it to our ever growing list. You still want to do that today, right?"

"At some point." You nod before reaching over to turn the stove off and then reaching for one of the waffle filled plates that were placed behind him - two for you, three for him. "We also need to clean this place up before you leave. The living room makes me want to peel my skin off... and don't even get me started on your studio."

He hums, almost in an afterthought, and watches you plate the eggs. "We have time, love."

"I know, I just..." You trail off, continuing to plate the food and he watches as your brows begin to furrow like they always did when you were in thought.

He reaches up and rubs his thumb in between your brows. "Your face will get stuck like that."

"Shut up." You grumble, but your face relaxes for just a moment. "I just like having the place clean before you leave. Makes it feel better when you're gone."

It's his turn to frown, brows furrowing as he stares at you. He knows it rough when he leaves. Leaving you here all alone while he's off traveling with the band isn’t an easy thing to do. If it was his choice, he'd bring you with him every time, but he can't. You have responsibilities here... and unfortunately, his responsibilities are elsewhere most of the time.

He doesn't leave for another three weeks, though, and usually you're asking him to help clean up around the house the week prior. Something is obviously bothering you.

"What's on your mind?"

You sigh, sitting the spatula down on the counter after you finally finished plating. "I just... this time feels different. Don’t you think?” 

Jolly cocks and eyebrow up at you. "How so?"

"I don't know." You shrug and come to stand before him, leaning into him and resting your forehead against his shoulder. His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you closer to him. "You guys are getting bigger, which is amazing. Don't ever think I hate that because I don't, but... the bigger you get means the more tours you get. The more tours you get means..."

You don't say it, voice trailing off, but he knows what your next words will be. The more tours you get means the less time at home. With you. His frown deepens at that.

"Baby..."

"And I don't want to sound selfish. Seriously, I don't! I'm so fucking proud of you, Joakim. All of you. Some of the most deserving people I've ever met, but I..." You sigh again, almost in defeat, and he feels you press closer to him, voice muffled. "I miss you. More than I usually do. It used to be easier, and it still is because I know you'll always come back, but..."

The silence that follows breaks his heart. 

He does remember this last time being away in Europe was a little rougher than normal, constantly thinking about you, wishing you were there with him. It might be because last time they were there you were with him, taking leave from work to join him on their European headliner for this new album. The only thing that really got him through was the fact he knew that when he got home, you'd be right there waiting for him.

"But?" 

"But... it just sucks." You pull back just enough to look up at him, a sad smile settling on your lips. "Wish I could just go with you and not worry about anything else.”

"You could," He's quick to respond. "You've always had that option."

"I know." You mumble, face pressing back against his shoulder. "I feel bad, though. Making you support the both of us. Plus, you know how much I hate flying. I couldn't stand it." 

Jolly laughs at the tiny groan you let out, probably remembering your flight last year to the UK with him and the rest of the band. You had begged Matt to switch seats with you, so he could be by the window and you in the aisle with Jolly squished between you two. One look out the window - while you were still on the ground - had sent you in a spiral. He remembers having to hold your hand the entire flight, and when it was allowed, lifting up the armrest so you could press yourself into his side. He hadn't minded it one bit, finding it endearing that you put all your trust in him to keep you safe.

"You and flying don't mix well." He teases, hands now rubbing up and down your arms. "But... you know I don't mind providing for you."

"I know you don't."

"And I love taking care of you."

"I know you do." You whine, pulling back again to pout up at him. "But you know I can't let you do that. My brain tells me no."

"Tell your brain to get over it and let your boyfriend take care of you." He leans forward, planting a kiss to the center of your forehead. He feels your arms circle around his middle and he smiles against your skin.

"If only it were that easy." He pulls back to find you still staring at him, but a smile has since replaced the pout on your lips. "This'll only suck for a little bit, then it'll become our new norm and it'll get easier. I'm just cranky about it now, but I know we'll figure it out."

"We always figure it out." He hums. "Just tell me what you need from me to make it easier on you while I'm away, and I'll do it."

"There's nothing you can do.” You pause. “Except, maybe, right now… a kiss could possibly fix my cranky mood."

He watches your gaze drop from his down to his lips, and then back up, your own lips puckering dramatically. Jolly huffs out a laugh before happily obliging and leans down, lips pressing against yours gently. Nothing too crazy, a sweet peck, because he still hasn't brushed his teeth, and he pulls back seconds later.

"I love you." You say happily, eyes fluttering shut briefly. 

"I love you, too, baby."

"Alright, I’m not allowed to complain for the rest of the day. Let's eat before all my hardwork gets cold." You step on your tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek before pulling away entirely, reaching around him for both of your plates. "And maybe after, shower? Then go grocery shopping? The fridge is running on fumes... I think I used the last of the eggs and we have maybe half a glass of milk left."

He perks up at that, following you over to the chairs that sit at the island in the middle of the kitchen, plucking his plate from your hands before settling down in his chair. "A shower, you say?"

"Of course that's the only thing you heard." You deadpan, but he doesn't miss the smirk on your lips.

"Sorry. You know my brain likes to focus on the important stuff."

"Perv." You tease, but the smirk has finally settled on your lips fully. "Does that sound good, though?"

"Mhm. Sounds good to me, love."

"Oh! And maybe later we could go to the thrift store we wanted to check out last week? Hit up some other shops, too."

"Oooh, yes. That sounds like a perfect plan.”

It's almost as if the worry from earlier is forgotten as your conversation continues through breakfast, and when you're finished putting your dirty dishes away and dragging him up the stairs to go shower (among other things), Jolly knows that the two of you will eventually figure it out. He knows you two can weather any storm, just like you have for the last few years, and that these worries won't mean much to the two of you in the future. He knows wherever he goes, you’ll be right there waiting for him, and he hopes you know he’d do the same for you.

[warvariations]

Okay where to start....

Within the same week and while extremely ill with a flu from hell I had to pack up both my Berlin and Athens apartments. The Athens apartment I'm renting out to this really cool woman I met recently while the Berlin one will be taken by the son of a friend of ours. After that we flew to Rome where we spent an afternoon and from there we flew to Shanghai where we got a hotel for a few hours which made the trip so much more bearable cause our first flight was so bad, we were sitting behind these italians who like either had sex in plain sight or yelled the entire time and the bathrooms were so disgusting it was a scene out of my nighthmares. From Shangai we flew to Auckland where we spent 3 days at Oliver's dad's during which I acted extremely autistic cause I had exhausted my ability to be normal in order to survive the journey and the weeks that preceded it. From Auckland we flew to Dunedin where we booked the tiniest airbnb (I forgot to mention we have like 7 suitcases) and we went to apartment viewings for days until we got an offer which we accepted this morning. The house is just about a km from the beach but also very well connected to the center and it has 3 bedrooms plus a studio, a kitchen that comfortably fits a dining table, a sunroom, a studio, a lounge and a garden but the floor is quite uneven (house is sloping towards the sea lol) which I suppose is the reason why it had been on the market for a bit. Our application was also strong though, we had written a whole cute cover letter already months ago, I don't think anyone else did that. Btw it was funny how we kept bumping into the same people at viewings. I'm still heartbroken over two houses that were offered before we could get a viewing but I suppose I'll get over it. I got my period just as we arrived which means I've been a monster and Oliver said he's basically gonna leave me if I don't get help but nobody's gonna save me from this body unfortunately. But I need to stop yelling at people, that's something I might manage to do one day. So yeah we have a house!! We're gonna go to Wellington for a few days and then to Oliver's mom's and then we're coming back and moving in properly even though the deposit will swallow the entirety of our savings so I'm not sure how we're going to buy a bed etc. One step at a time I guess...

[jesterfairy]

.♠︎.💜 𝐀 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 💚.♠︎.

Chapter 7: The Weight of Silence

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

Chapter Word Count: 4,673

Fic Summary: Alina Vale dreams of escaping her dead-end life as a diner waitress, finding solace in painting Gotham’s haunting shadows. But when a routine trip to the bank turns into a living nightmare, she finds herself face-to-face with the Joker—a man as captivating as he is terrifying.

As his twisted games unravel her defenses, Alina is forced to confront the pull he has over her, a collision of fear and desire she can’t control. Trapped in his world of chaos and power, survival means facing not only him but the darker parts of herself he’s brought to life.

A story of obsession, control, and the intoxicating allure of letting go.

Genres: Dark romance, Gothic romance, Stalker romance

Pairings: TDK Joker x Female OC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: non-con, extremely dubious consent, violence, psychological manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, slow-burn, toxic relationships, trauma bonding, childhood trauma, graphic sexual content, stockholm syndrome, dead dove do not eat

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

Chapter 7: The Weight of Silence

Alina sat in the dark, still and resolute, determined to prove to herself that she could handle this. The silence was just another game, another twisted trick he’d play on her to see how far she could bend before breaking. She could withstand the isolation. She had survived far worse—alone, abandoned, forgotten—this was nothing new.

The darkness, as suffocating as it was, didn’t have to be her enemy. It was just another thing to endure. And soon, he’d be back. Of course, he would be. He wasn’t done with her yet, not when he was enjoying tormenting her so much.

She lay back on the mattress and closed her eyes, resolving to get through this by sleeping as much as possible. Rest would keep her sharp, and maybe when she woke, she could start plotting her escape—or better yet, figure out how to convince him to release her.

If he thought he could break her, he was wrong.

But as the silence dragged on, sleep refused to come. Minutes stretched into hours, each second a cruel mockery of her fortitude—blurring into agonizing eternity.

The darkness swallowed everything—her thoughts, her resolve, even her breath. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.

She tried to focus, to breathe deeply and center herself.

Stay calm. Stay strong. Just wait him out.

But the stillness was relentless. Every sound—or lack thereof—seemed to press against her skull. Even her heartbeat felt too loud.

As time crept on, the cold seemed to grow worse. She huddled on the mattress, wrapping her thin cardigan tightly around her body, but the fabric was threadbare, a mockery of the warmth she so desperately craved.

How long had it been?

Her stomach twisted. The dull ache of hunger growing sharper with each hour that passed. How long since I ate? She couldn’t remember.

She stood up to stretch, caught off guard by just how sore her body was. Every muscle ached, a dull reminder of how long she’d been confined to the mattress.

She reached for the locket, her fingers tracing its cool surface. It had always been a source of comfort, but now... now it felt different. Heavy. Cold. Was it a reminder of strength—or of everything she had already lost?

If I had just destroyed it...

The thought slithered into her mind unbidden, but she couldn’t push it away. Maybe if she had let it go, he wouldn’t have seen her as weak—something to lock away and ignore.

Aunt Marlene’s voice, sharp and cutting, rose from the depths of her memory:

“Sentimentality is for the weak, Alina. If you had any sense, you’d throw that thing away. It’s worthless. Just like your art.”

Alina squeezed her eyes shut, but the words wouldn't stop. Weak. Worthless. Was Marlene right? Was holding onto the locket—her art, her past—the reason she was here? Had it marked her as different, as someone worth tormenting?

Why couldn’t she have just been like everyone else? Predictable. Normal.

The word twisted like a knife. Normal. She’d never been that—no matter how hard she'd tried.

She curled up tighter on the mattress, hugging herself, desperately trying to block out the cold, trying to block out the hunger.

The oppressive darkness was no longer just physical—it was in her mind now. The creeping thoughts, the shadows that couldn’t be outrun.

And in those shadows, his presence loomed—the echoes of his voice, in the way his gaze had burned into her, stripping her bare. The silence was maddening, a deafening void where his cruel laughter should have been.

Would he come back? The idea sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t know if the thought terrified or comforted her more—and that truth frightened her most of all.

I’m so stupid, she thought bitterly. Stupid for thinking I could outlast him. Stupid for thinking I could win.

She blinked, but it made no difference. The darkness swallowed her whole, as if her eyes were still closed. She couldn’t tell if she was breathing anymore. Maybe she didn’t exist at all. Maybe she’d already faded away, and this was what came after.

This was always going to be how it ended. Alone. Weak. Helpless.

Tears pricked her eyes, falling quietly, almost apologetically. She couldn’t stop them this time. The cold wasn’t just physical anymore—it had seeped deep into her heart, freezing her soul.

If I had just let it go…

Her body trembled. Her mind screamed for release, for relief. From the cold. From the hunger. From herself.

It’s too much. I can’t do this.

And then, just as the darkness threatened to consume her completely, the door creaked open.

---

The thin sliver of light that cut through the blackness was blinding. She squinted, her breath catching in her throat as the sound of footsteps echoed in the silence.

He was back.

A twisted sense of relief surged through her. She wasn’t alone anymore. No more silence. No more darkness.

The Joker stepped inside, his figure outlined by the light spilling in from the hallway behind him. That crimson grin stretched across his face, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked down at her, curled up on the mattress.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, his voice sickeningly sweet. “Look who’s still with us.”

Alina’s mouth was too dry to speak. She just stared at him, her body too weak to move, her mind too foggy to form words.

She'd never been so happy to see anyone in her entire life, and it made her hate him all the more.

He crouched down beside her, his grin never faltering as he studied her face. “Enjoy your me time, sweetheart?” His voice was playful, mocking. He reached out, his hand brushing her cheek. “You look like you’ve had a rough couple of days.”

His gloved fingers were warm against her skin, the heat of them seeping into her chilled body.

She hated how much she craved the sensation. It didn’t matter that it was him; it was something. Something real, something human.

His eyes flicked down, catching the faint glint of her locket where it rested against her chest. Slowly, with almost exaggerated care, he reached for it. His gloved fingers traced the delicate chain before cradling the pendant between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it slightly.

“Hmm,” he murmured, turning it in his hand like a child inspecting a trinket. His grin stretched wider, dark and predatory, as his gaze flicked back to hers. “So... tell me, was it worth it?”

Alina’s breath caught, her chest tightening as her fingers instinctively twitched toward the locket, but she didn’t dare move.

He leaned in closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. “All this—” his free hand gestured vaguely to the room, the mattress, the suffocating dark. “The darkness, the hunger, the cold... all because you couldn’t let go of this?” He gave the locket a deliberate tug, just enough to make the chain press into her skin.

Her fingers itched to snatch it back, to shove him away, but the weight of her own shame pinned her down.

It wasn’t just the cruelty of his words—it was the truth buried within them.

Was it worth it?

She wanted to scream yes, to hurl the answer at him with all the conviction she could muster, but the longer his mocking grin lingered, the more her resolve wavered. A hollow ache settled in her chest, mingling with the hunger gnawing at her stomach.

His laugh was soft, venomous, as he let the chain drop. “Pathetic,” he spat, his tone mocking but lined with something sharper. “What is it, anyway? A little piece of sentimental garbage you drag along with you like a ball and chain?”

He tilted his head, studying her expression like an artist admiring his latest work. “Or is it starting to feel like just another bad choice?” His voice was sharp, sinking into her like a knife.

The locket fell back against her chest, the cold metal hitting her skin with a hollow finality.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away furiously, refusing to let him see her break. Her jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain even a shred of control.

“Still sentimental,” he said softly, almost to himself, his gaze flicking between her face and the locket. “You know, sweetheart, it’s almost cute. Tragic, really.”

Her throat tightened, the lump there growing unbearable. She hated him for seeing through her so easily, for twisting the most fragile parts of her into weapons he could use. But more than that, she hated herself for how much his words hurt—because they struck a truth she wasn’t ready to face.

The Joker sighed, his tone dripping with mock indifference. "I’ll bet you’re starving, aren’t you? Just wasting away in here." His eyes flicked around the room, as if bored by the sight of her suffering.

She nodded, her head barely moving, the gnawing hunger twisting through her like a blade.

He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with sick satisfaction as he stood and took a step back. “I’ll get you something to eat,” he said, as though he were offering her a favor. “But remember, sweetheart... next time, when I give you a choice, you might want to think a little harder before making a decision.”

Panic surged through her.

Was he really leaving again, so soon? As much as she needed food, the thought of being alone again was almost worse than starving to death.

And yet, she stayed silent, clinging to the last shred of self-respect that kept her from begging him to stay.

The Joker’s footsteps echoed as he moved toward the door. He paused at the doorway, turning back to her with a smirk. “I’ll be back soon, with food this time. Try not to wither away before then.” The door slammed shut behind him and the flickering shoplight flipped on, followed by the heavy click of multiple locks snapping into place.

At least he'd left the light on this time.

---

A few hours later, the Joker sauntered back into the room, the familiar heavy thud of the door closing behind him. In his hand, he held a brown paper bag, the unmistakable and delicious smell of fast food filling the air. Alina’s stomach twisted painfully, her body almost betraying her with how desperately she wanted it.

But it wasn’t just the food that caught her eye. Draped casually over his other arm was a thick, woolen blanket. Its warmth seemed to radiate from across the room, a cruel contrast to the frigid air that had seeped into her bones.

The Joker noticed, of course. His gaze lingered, sharp and calculating, as his lips curled into a wicked grin. He swung the blanket over his shoulder, making a show of it. “Hungry, doll?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery, savoring the torment he was inflicting. "Cold too, huh? Well, lucky for you... I’m feeling generous.”

Alina's eyes flicked between the bag of food and the blanket. Her body screamed for both, but she knew nothing came without a cost.

He knelt down beside her, grinning like he had all the time in the world. The bag rustled in his hand, taunting her.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” His voice was soft, almost soothing. “Bet you’d do just about anything for a bite right now, wouldn’t you?”

Alina didn’t answer, her eyes locked on the bag. Her whole body screamed at her to snatch it from him, to tear into the food like a starving animal, but she knew better.

“Come on, dollface, I brought you dinner. Don’t I get a thank you?” He set the bag on the floor between them, his eyes glinting with dark delight.

She could feel the heat radiating off him as he leaned closer, the sharp tang of gunpowder and leather mingling with that oddly warm, masculine scent of his. Beneath it all, there was a faint, clean hint of soap. Had he showered before coming here? The thought felt out of place, surreal, as if mocking the twisted reality of her situation.

"You know, I think I like you better this way. Dirty, disheveled, like some wild thing who’s lost its way. There’s a certain... honesty in it." he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek, and though her body screamed to recoil, she didn’t move.

She hated herself for it, for how good it felt just to be touched after days of isolation and darkness. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, and the more she sat there, the more she realized how much she needed to feel, to be reminded that she was still alive.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice dropped to a whisper, darkly playful, as his fingers traced the line of her jaw. “You’ve been so alone, so cold.” His lips curled into a smirk as he watched her reaction. “I could help with that. All you have to do is ask.”

Alina swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. She was repulsed by him—by the power he held over her, by the way her body betrayed her hunger for not just food, but warmth. But she was so exhausted, starving, and his closeness, the feeling of another human being nearby, was almost enough to break her.

“You just need to say please,” he whispered, his eyes pinning her, his expression dark and coaxing. “That’s all.”

Her eyes flickered to the brown bag. The scent of the food filled her senses, thick and overwhelming, making her stomach twist painfully. Did he expect her to beg for it?

Every inch of her wanted to scream no, to deny him the satisfaction. She bit down on her lip, willing herself to stay silent, to hold on to whatever shred of dignity remained. But he was so close, his warmth pressing against her, and the hunger gnawed at her insides like a wild beast.

His hand slid down to her neck, his thumb tracing her pulse as if savoring the quickening beat beneath his touch. “Just beg a little, sweetheart,” he whispered, his words tickling her skin, making her shudder. “Show me how much you want it.”

Alina’s chest constricted, her heartbeat thundering as his fingers grazed the delicate skin of her throat. She loathed him—loathed how effortlessly he twisted her mind, how his touch stirred something inside her, anything other than the cold void she’d been drowning in for days. But most of all, she despised herself—for how desperately she wanted to surrender to it, to feel something beyond the gnawing emptiness.

Her pride warred with her survival instinct, each second of silence a battle she was slowly losing. The room felt colder, the weight of his presence pressing down on her like a storm she couldn’t escape.

And then, her stomach growled, loud and relentless, the hunger tearing through her savagely.

The Joker burst into laughter, sharp and cutting, clutching his stomach as though he couldn’t contain his amusement. “You’re giving me a show, doll. Even your insides are begging.” He ran his tongue slowly across his teeth, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I’ve got to admit—it’s kind of adorable.”

Alina’s face burned with humiliation, her fists curling weakly at her sides. The anger flared hot and fast, but it was smothered almost instantly by the overwhelming ache in her belly.

She exhaled shakily, the words catching in her throat before they finally spilled out. “Please...I need to eat,” she whispered, the words fractured, barely audible, her voice trembling under the weight of her defeat.

The Joker's grin stretched wider, his eyes glittering with dark satisfaction." Louder, sweetheart,' he purred, his voice flooded with twisted delight. 'I couldn’t hear you."

Her face flushed with shame, but the gnawing hunger dug too deep, overpowering her pride. “Please,” she said again, louder this time, her voice rough and broken.

“There it is,” he crooned, leaning back slightly, his laughter low and biting. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He let the silence hang, drawing out her humiliation for a moment longer, sadistic delight etched into every line of his expression.

Until finally, he opened the bag with a leisurely flick of his hand, reaching inside to retrieve a burger and fries before setting them in front of her.

“Enjoy,” he said, a smirk curling his lips as he watched her trembling hands reach for the food. He stood, taking his time, as though ensuring he had the perfect angle to fully relish her humiliation.

As Alina took the first desperate bite, the taste was a flood of relief, but it was bitter with the knowledge of what she’d had to give up.

And yet... despite the degradation he'd just inflicted, a part of her mourned the loss of his touch, the warmth of his proximity, as he stepped back, leaving her in the cold once more.

---

The Joker watched her in silence for a moment as she finished the last bites of her meal, his twisted smirk never faltering. Alina’s hunger had eased, but the room was still unbearably cold, and the lingering shame of what she had done to get the food weighed heavily on her. She could feel his eyes on her, predatory and amused, as if she were a fascinating toy to him.

"Good, wasn’t it?" he asked, his voice low and mocking. "You know, it’s nice when you’re compliant. It makes everything so much easier."

Alina didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She was too exhausted, too humiliated.

The Joker crouched beside her again, this time letting the silence stretch. His eyes flicked over her hunched form, his gaze settling on her torn, dirty clothes, the mess of her hair, her trembling hands. He tilted his head, almost as if he were considering something.

“You know,” he started, his voice soft, “you don’t have to live like this.” His tone was deceptively gentle, a mockery of compassion. “I could make things... nicer for you. A little more comfortable.”

Alina’s eyes darted to him, wary. She didn’t trust his kindness. There was always a catch.

“I could get you something softer to sleep on, maybe some clean clothes,” he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. “A shower, perhaps? Soap, shampoo—how about that?”

He reached out, his gloved fingers threading through her tangled hair with agonizing slowness. The intimacy of the gesture sent a shiver down her spine, the possessiveness in his touch unmistakable. He gently stroked her scalp, lingering a moment too long, as though staking his claim—as though she belonged to him.

She hated the warmth that followed, the way her body betrayed her by leaning into his possessive touch, as if it craved the connection. It felt wrong, twisted—and yet, she couldn’t pull away.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and dark. His hand tightened, pulling slightly before he let her hair fall, the cruel glint in his eye making her stomach twist.

The offer sounded like heaven. After days of filth, the thought of clean clothes, of washing the grime off her skin, was almost unbearable. But she knew it wasn’t free. Nothing was with him.

“What do you want?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The Joker chuckled softly, his eyes alight with smug satisfaction. “Smart girl. You know the deal.” His gaze flicked toward the blanket she had been eyeing since he walked in. “Let’s start small, shall we? I’ll make it easy for you,” he murmured. “You want this blanket, don’t you?”

He held it up slightly, letting the fabric slip through his fingers as he watched her reaction. “All you have to do... is give me something in return.”

Alina’s chest constricted, her breath shallow. It was always a game, always a cruel exchange. And she knew, deep down, that the blanket was just the beginning. A small token to reel her in, to strip her dignity piece by piece.

But she needed that blanket—desperately. The thought of going on without its warmth, its comfort, was almost enough to break her.

“What do you want?” she repeated, her voice trembling with the weight of her desperation.

“Show me how much you want it,” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive hum.

Alina’s stomach twisted violently. The word please had already slipped from her lips twice, tainting her pride. But the cold was unbearable, sinking into her marrow.

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the last of her resistance. “Please,” she whispered, hating how easily the word fell from her lips.

The Joker’s grin widened as he leaned down, his fingers grazing her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, though his words cut like a knife. “Begging is a start, but it’s too easy, don’t you think?” His thumb brushed her lower, his touch deceptively tender.

Alina’s heart pounded, each beat a sharp reminder of how utterly trapped she was. The weight of his gaze pressed down on her, amusement flickering like firelight in the dark depths of his eyes.

She felt so foolish for thinking a simple "please" would satisfy him again.

“You want that blanket, don’t you?” His voice dropped to a low murmur, his hand brushing softly against her cheek, the roughness of his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.

She nodded, her body aching for any scrap of warmth, any relief from the grime and biting chill that had settled into her bones.

His eyes gleamed with something darker, more dangerous. "Then show me," he whispered, the thrill of it creeping into his voice, his gaze locking onto hers with a hunger that made her stomach twist. "Show me just how much you want it."

He stood, the silence between them thick with unspoken demands, the blanket hanging just out of reach like a cruel taunt. The room felt colder, the concrete beneath her pressing into her skin, each breath a reminder of the cost she was about to pay.

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a tremor as she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

The Joker’s smile stretched wider, dark and ravenous, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Crawl to me,” he commanded, each word thick with the weight of his control. “On your hands and knees.”

Alina’s stomach churned with humiliation, her pride flaring hot for a single, fleeting heartbeat. She thought of refusing—of standing tall, even if it cost her everything. For a moment, the image of herself defiant, spitting in his face, flared in her mind. But the cold gnawed at her bones, relentless and punishing.

She could feel it—the almost tangible heat of his anticipation coiling in the air between them. The Joker’s grin sharpened, his eyes gleaming with a feral intensity, clearly savoring the moment: her indecision, her vulnerability, the way her pride warred with her desperation.

He leaned forward slightly, his body taut with expectation, a predator relishing the sight of his prey submitting.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as the humiliation threatened to consume her, but her desire for comfort was stronger. Slowly, painfully, she lowered herself onto the cold floor, her hands trembling as they pressed against the grime-covered concrete.

The Joker’s tongue darted across his lips, the movement almost languid in contrast to the electric hunger in his eyes. “That's it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with dark satisfaction. “Take your time. I'm enjoying every second of this.”

She took one last shaky breath, then started to crawl. Each movement felt like another piece of her soul slipping away, but she couldn’t stop. The promise of warmth, of comfort, of escape from the bone-deep chill, drove her forward.

The Joker’s eyes never left her, watching her every move with dark satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words curling around her like a serpent as she crawled toward him, her shame heavy with every inch that passed beneath her hands. “See? You’re learning.”

Her palms stung against the rough concrete, the chill biting into her knees. She clenched her jaw, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. This wasn’t giving in—it was surviving. She told herself that over and over, clinging to the words like a lifeline as she crawled forward.

Laughter, soft and dark, rumbled through the room as he watched her with predatory satisfaction.

By the time she reached his dusty shoes, her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with exhaustion and self-loathing. But as the Joker crouched down to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze, a small spark of defiance flickered in her eyes. She loathed him, loathed the way she had crawled like an animal. Her body may have surrendered, but a part of her still clung to the shreds of her dignity—fragile, but present.

The Joker’s grin faltered for the briefest of moments, his sharp eyes narrowing as they caught the glint of rebellion in hers. He tilted his head, studying her face intently.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice low and dark with amusement, “you’ve still got that little flame going, huh?”

He wasn’t angry. If anything, her flicker of defiance seemed to thrill him, promising the game would last even longer. His grin sharpened, more dangerous now, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Seems we still have more work to do,” he whispered, his voice a dark caress, a promise of things to come.

His words lingered in the air, pressing down on her like a weight, but Alina couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting. Her eyes locked onto the blanket, her body screaming for the warmth it promised, even as her mind rebelled against the price she had already begun to pay.

“You've done well, sweetheart,” he said softly, his fingers finally leaving her. The absence of his touch was like a sudden chill, a strange emptiness settling over her skin. Against her will, she missed the warmth, the brief human contact that had kept her grounded—however twisted it was.

Finally, he reached out and draped the blanket over her trembling form, the weight of it settling over her like a mockery of comfort.

"That wasn’t so hard, was it?" he crooned, his tone almost sweet, though the cruel glint in his eyes was anything but.

His gaze lingered on her, dark and possessive, as if she were nothing more than a prize he’d claimed in a game. He let the silence stretch between them, reveling in the tension that hung heavy in the air.

Then, without a word, he turned, his movements unhurried, every step deliberate and calculated, a predator retreating with full knowledge that his prey was cornered.

The Joker paused at the doorway, his painted grin slicing through the shadows like a jagged wound. “Tomorrow, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice a chilling mix of playfulness and menace. "I’ll bring more comforts. But we both know—nothing's for free."

"Think about what else you’re willing to give."

With a final smirk, the door clicked shut behind him, the sound of the locks snapping into place echoing through the room, each one sealing her fate a little tighter.

His absence was immediate, tangible—a vacuum sucking the air from the room. She felt the walls closing in again, the cold coiling tighter, sinking deeper.

The blanket wrapped around her now felt heavier, not with warmth, but with the weight of the bargain she had struck—and the price she knew she would be forced to pay again.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Instead, she curled up on the mattress, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, the locket pressing coldly against her chest.

Was it worth it?

The question lingered in her mind, twisting in her gut. But no answer came, only the suffocating silence, and the weight of everything she had done to survive.

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

A/N: Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! It honestly means the world to know there are real people out there reading and connecting with my story. I'm so glad you're enjoying it!

Poor Alina is falling deeper into his snare, and I’m really working hard to make her descent feel believable. Please let me know if you think it’s working (or if it’s not)—your feedback is so helpful!

And for those of you here for the spice (I see you, lol), don’t worry—it’s coming! Joker's just biding his time, but expect every chapter from here on out to kick it up a notch. After all, he's a master manipulator, right? 😏

___. ♡ ✦ ♧━━━♢ ✦ ♠️ ✦ ♢━━━♧ ✦ ♡. ___

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[tripleglitchwriting]

Ignition (Short 1)

CW: mostly fluff, mentions of war (both human and cybertronian)

Because I accidentally set the poll to a week rather than a day, I’m going to bridge the gap with a short story.

This is set shortly after part 4 because I like writing dialogue.

After the initial heart attack that was the last 48 hours or so, you began to feel more comfortable with this giant alien. He was kind, which was something you figured out after he saved your life, and he assured you he wasn’t going to kill you.

Now you were cupped in his hands while he walked back to this pod of his.

“So, what’s this pod thing we’re going to? Is it like a space ship?”

“Escape pod.” Ratchet remembered the crash. Well, he remembered what he could of it. Suddenly an old worry popped into his head.

“Right, right, escape pod.”

“Your injury, it wasn’t from… the crash, was it?”

“Oh, no, I fell down a cliff. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.” Ratchet stifled an ex-vent of relief. “I was on a hike but I got lost, and then I started to panic because I don’t know how to survive in the wild, and then I panicked too hard and tripped in the worst spot imaginable.”

“You went out into an unknown area with no experience on how to survive there or any contingency plan if things went wrong?” He said with a mix of worry and vague frustration.

“Well there was a path… but there was also cool flowers off the path, and then I saw a rare bird, and then the path was gone. I really don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to come out here, I should have known better. I was doing fine at home I just… I don’t know.”

“Does your kind usually do things like this?”

“No, not really. Just me.”

“I see. Are you… no offense, but are you the dominant species on this planet?”

“What? I mean, I guess, we’re the only ones that can talk and all. That we know of. Actually, it would probably be a shock to the world if they found out about you. Knowing us we’d probably start attacking or something.”

“Attack? Why would you do that?”

“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t, but I’ve taken enough history classes to know as a whole we can be… violent. I hope no one else saw you crash, things could get nasty if they see you as a threat.”

“Thats… quite primitive.”

“Oh, gee thanks.”

“No offense.”

“Probably should have led with that.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Ratchet hummed to himself for a second, and then he began to think out loud. “If they do find me at least I’ll be able to get away…”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well- I- I wouldn’t think your technology is exactly…”

“Not up to par with your superior standards? Well don’t worry about that. We have weapons that can wipe out the world in a span of hours. Every country has their hand over the big red launch button, and if they see you as too much to handle, somebody is going to get blown up.”

“What? That’s- that’s crazy! You mean to say your leaders would sacrifice… how ever many there are of you in a given area just to take me out?”

“They probably wouldn’t do straight to the nuclear option for one of you, but if there were more and they were killing people, then probably yeah. If things work like they do in the movies that is.” Ratchet paused, about to make some snide remark about the primitive violence of the human race, but he stopped when he remembered the history of his own people.

“…I’ll keep myself hidden then.”

“Oh, um, good. I wasn’t really expecting you to accept that so fast.”

“If my own history were any different I might not have.” He sank deeper into thought. “Doe, is there a medical station anywhere near here I can drop you off at?”

“Wait, I thought we were going to your pod?”

“We are, I just… I got caught up in healing you and… look, I’ll be honest, I don’t want you to get hurt. How many of you are there on this planet?”

“I- I don’t know, 7, maybe 8 billion?”

“Billio- scrap.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. Let’s just… talk about something else.”

“Well, alright I guess.” After you said that, both you and Ratchet stayed silent for an agonizingly awkward minute. You felt the sway of him walking waft through your entire body, a feeling you haven’t even began to get used to. He seemed largely unaware of this, at least to your knowledge, and instead looked forward with a serious expression.

“How about we talk about… the weather. It certainly is sunny today! And there are… uh, a couple clouds… wait, no that’s just a weird tree.”

“You aren’t great at small talk.”

“How about you try then?”

“…no.”

“Oh I see how it is. Fine, you’ll just have to deal with my terrible communication skills.” You took a deep breath, preparing to go on a rant about whatever was on your mind.

“Oh please don’t.”

“Unless you’re going to say something I will.”

“Alright, alright. What do you want me to talk about?”

“That’s up to you, conversation expert.” You smiled smugly up at him. He huffed in return.

For the next five minutes he talked about his life up to this point. His friends, his enemies, glossing over assumedly painful details. In your mind a picture started to form about all of this. He wasn’t just an alien, he was a person. A person with real relationships, real love and loss, real war, real family. You felt silly having not seen it before.

A friend. You’d like to think that’s what you were now, though it was tough to tell based on the way he acted. You wondered who all of his other friends could be, where they were, and you even went as far as to silently wish them well.

Arriving back at the pod, hopping off the hand of a giant alien that saved you from dying the woods, you realized this may have been more than you bargained for.

[interstellar-cluster]

survived day one of this bloody family trip with only a few tears shed.

however, here is a list of things that have happened in the last just over 24 hours

for context, sister is 26.

i = us, our system. we = our system and mother and/or sister

- was meant to wake up at 4 to leave the house at 5 to get to the airport at 6 for our 6:40 flight. sister got up at 4:30, and made us late. got to the airport at 6:15

- sister brought a carry-on that was too small and another bag (supposed to be a purse or a tote) that was too big. had to rearrange ALL her things around and put most of it in MY carry on and tote bag. we almost missed our flight because of this, literally had our names called three times over the speakers

- i was supposed to have the window seat and sister shoves past me to get there first, despite not having the window seat ticket. mother didn’t do anything about it

- i wanted to crochet during the flight but sister took my yarn and hook and started doing her own thing with it

- when a flight attendant came around with lollies to suck so that your ears dont get so blocked, i took one because my head felt like it was going to explode and before i could open it, sister takes mine, eats it, and then eats hers.

- while getting off the plane, i asked sister to take her THREE books and massive water bottle she shoved in my tote bag because it was heavy as fuck and she told me “it’s not my problem, deal with it”.

- sister stole my jacket given to me by my uncle thats super warm because she was cold and didn’t think to bring a jacket. to a place where the weather doesnt get above 10°C at all times.

- while grocery shopping in the city (we’re staying in a camper van so need all our food) we were getting snacks, kept asking sister what she wanted and she said it was fine and she didn’t need anything. an hour into our drive, she’s complaining we don’t have snacks for her.

- sister kept leaving the van doors open, letting all the cold air in while we were trying to sleep because she “wanted to take pics of the stars but didnt want to feel shut off from us”.!

- at a ripe 7:30 in the morning the next day (today), sister and mother are talking, laughing, opening the doors and singing loudly after i told them last night “please don’t wake me up before 8:30 because i am tired and need as good a sleep as i can get”.

i hate my whole family. i need my therapist. i need my cat. it’s so fucking cold here.