#It's not her fault or anything but I am now Too Aware of the fact that we're both breathing and I'm eating and that all makes noise

[monkeebratz]

truly I think I was meant to live alone bc the fact that my roommate even exists and has said all of three words to me is throwing me so far off my planned groove for the day that I want to scream

[niningtori]

cruel intentions | part two

part one

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: in the wake following the revelation that your boyfriend, beomgyu, only dated you for a bet in order to get his rent paid, you're actually doing pretty well. on beomgyu's end? he can't say the same.

genre: romance, angst, melodrama, fluff

warnings: clichés everywhere

word count: 3.8k

notes: she's here! i fear that this might be super corny and somewhat abrupt but that's fine i think!

beomgyu is not okay. he really, really isn’t. how could anyone expect anything other than that? it’s been a year since he saw you last, but he’s starting to believe that whoever said time heals all wounds was just blowing smoke up his ass. if anything, the longer he’s spent away from you, the worse his heart aches. that’s natural, he supposes, because you’re definitely the one that got away, and the fact that he drove you to leave only twists the knife. he wishes he could go back to the day he agreed to that stupid fucking bet and wring his own neck — maybe that'd talk some sense into his old self. but like you said all that time ago, he can’t. he even wishes he could go back to the first day of freshman year just so he could meet you sooner. that way, he could have been in your life and alleviated some of the stress and pain you always felt. but, and he cannot stress this enough, he can’t.

you may have blocked him on everything he can think of, but that doesn’t stop him from asking about you. luckily, taehyun made good on his intentions to get to know you better before realizing that you were the girl beomgyu had secretly been dating for months. as a good friend, taehyun declared you as totally off-limits, but that didn’t stop your all’s friendship from blossoming. as it is, your friendship with taehyun is only rivaled by your friendship with chaeyoung — a fact that she is all too aware of.

“when are you gonna stop beating around the bush and just get with him already?” she pouts.

“never,” you snort. “i told you, we’re friends and nothing else.”

“i know, i know, but i think he’d be good for you,” she insists.

“you’re only saying that ‘cause you’re worried he’ll replace you as my best friend, which he won’t, by the way,” you tease.

“you caught me,” she says playfully. 

truthfully, your friendship with chaeyoung has only strengthened after graduation. with the help of your therapist and a certain someone whose name you can’t bear to speak these days, you finally grew enough courage to tell her how you’ve felt like you were nothing more than her shadow since you were a preteen. you even told her about all of the times men (and women alike) only talked to you to get to her. to say she was horrified is the understatement of the century. after endless reassurances that you bore no ill will towards her and didn’t fault her for anything, she finally stopped apologizing. now, you two are closer than ever. 

“it’s just… i want to see you happy with someone,” she adds. she doesn’t have to end her sentence with  “again”, since you already know what she means: she wants to see you as happy as you were with beomgyu, again. except, for real this time. not for a bet or for fun.

“it’s okay, chae,” you say with a smile. “i’m happy as i am, i mean it.” and you do. working in your desired career field has helped you tremendously with income, and you’re actually able to provide for yourself and for your family without killing yourself with working overtime. you have so much free time, you're even able to date around a little bit. it never amounts to anything particularly serious, but it’s enough as it is. gone is the permanent storm cloud looming over your head and you’re finally able to breathe for the first time since, well, your relationship with beomgyu.

“i know,” she replies. “i just want my best friend to be even happier; is that so bad?” you roll your eyes good naturedly and she grins. 

“who knows? maybe i’ll meet someone tonight,” you muse, but you don’t really mean it. taehyun, or “tyun” as you affectionately call him, is having a get together at his place. he hinted at bringing some of his single friends, but you don’t expect anything to come of it. while it’s true that with the help of therapy and being completely honest about the nature of your inferiority complex with your best friend has helped boost your confidence, you never expect much from prospective romantic partners. you’ll never say it, but everyone knows it’s because of beomgyu.

“maybe. y’know, soobin is pretty cute,” she says with a nod, taking everything you say way too seriously. 

“yeah. he is.” 

-

while you have been to many, many events taehyun has invited you to, there has always been an unspoken rule that beomgyu would not be there. it seems that taehyun is able to perfectly juggle you two without having you all appear at the same place at the same time. that is, until you arrive at his apartment with a big smile and a 12-pack of beer and see the man who haunts you religiously sitting listlessly on taehyun’s couch. he doesn’t usually care enough to look up from his drink when new arrivals step foot through the door, but for some odd reason, he does when you walk in. it’s almost as if his truly supernatural intuition tells him to. unfortunately for you, his intuition is a pain in your fucking ass. 

when you meet eyes (lock eyes, really) you feel a pit of dread bloom in your stomach, threatening to swallow you whole. still, there’s a light fluttering of your heart that you wish to god you could deny, but it’s there, nonetheless.

you all stay in a deadlock for what feels like a lifetime before taehyun pulls you from it with a smile and hug.

“i’m glad you made it,” he says lightly. 

“of course, tyun,” you smile, successfully pulled out from your daze and back into the real world. it’s okay. you can do this. you’re a different person now that a year has passed. you’re mature enough to be in the same place as beomgyu. what you’re not mature enough for, though, is actually having to speak to him. luckily, you have no plans to do so now (or ever). 

beomgyu thinks… differently. 

when you’re standing in a quiet corner nursing a drink and wondering what the hell you’re still doing here, you almost miss the sound of feet shuffling towards you. your eyes lazily glance up and see beomgyu himself unsurely leaning against the wall next to you. 

“h-hey,” he says softly, cautiously. you look confused for a second, almost like you’re unsure if he’s addressing you, but his eyes look so earnest, there's no way he’s not. 

“hey?” you reply before fussing with your cup and watching the alcohol swirl around, threatening to spill over the rim of your solo cup.

“uh, how… how have you been?” he asks so nervously that it sounds like he’s surprised that you even responded. and he is. if he were you, he wouldn’t give himself the time of day. why would he? he doesn't deserve it.

“good,” you say with a ghost of a genuine smile. if he knew you less, he wouldn’t even be able to catch it. thankfully, he does know you, for better or for worse. his heart sings at the thought that you’re able to smile at him like you did before.

he waits for you to ask him how he is — that’d be the perfect segue into his apology — but you don’t. it’s like you don’t care to know, and any tune his heart was previously singing is strangled in an instant.

well, he supposes that he’s lucky that you’ve even said two words to him (two words in the literal sense that you’ve only actually said two words in total, but that's not the point). he’s even luckier that you actually seem to mean that you’re doing well. taehyun had told him as much, but it’s not nearly as effective as seeing you glowing the way you do with his own eyes. you look normal. you look happy. there was a point in his life where he thought that’s all he wanted, but he realizes he was wrong. he shamelessly wants to be happy, too, and he knows the only way he can do that is if he’s with you.

the air is awkward and heavy for a few minutes, but neither of you make a move to break it until you decide enough is enough. you purse your lips and are about to bid him goodbye so you can get home and ruminate on your very, very brief interaction, but he notices your movement and reaches out to grab your arm before he can stop himself. instinctively, you smack his hand away. not hard at all, more like a swipe than a smack, really, but he recoils as if you’ve just backhanded him.

“s-sorry,” you stammer. “it was just a gut reaction.” 

somehow, that makes him feel even worse. there was a time where his touch soothed you like nothing else, but now all it does is put you on your guard. 

“it’s fine,” he says with a forced smile, and your heart aches. “i was just gonna see if you wanted a ride home. i haven’t drank anything, so i just thought that… maybe…”

“oh, it’s okay,” you politely decline. “chae is going to pick me up.” he flinches at the name and as much as he wishes you couldn’t tell, you definitely do. 

“but i can take you!” he insists a little too desperately. “i just thought, you know, that we could talk or something,” he mumbles. 

“talk? about what?” you ask sharply. you begin feeling like you’re going to lose your temper. why is he making this so hard? it’s starting to piss you off.

“i—”

“if you’re going to apologize to me again, i don't want to hear it,” you sneer. you said you weren't mad at him and that you forgave him, which felt true at the time, but the more you started respecting yourself, the less patience you had for him. as you look at him, looking like he's every part like a victim in this ordeal, you realize that you’re angrier than you previously let on. “you know, i’ve thought more about what you did.” he looks like he’s just been kicked in the stomach, but you don't stop.

“and i’ve thought about what i would do for rent. i thought, ‘well, maybe if i were desperate enough for the money, i could do that, too’, and you know how desperate i was.” his lips tremble because he does know. he knows it all too well. “but i realized i couldn’t, and even if i could, i never would. the shame? the humiliation? i would never put someone through that, and i thought you would never, either, but i was wrong. i was wrong about you and the kind of person you are, or were, or whatever. and i thought, at the very least, you had enough decency to at least leave me the fuck alone, but i guess i was wrong about you again, as always.” you don’t mean for your voice to get so loud, but it does. each syllable is ripping through beomgyu like a punch to his gut, but he can’t find it within himself to defend his actions. all he can do is sit there and take it. 

devastated doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how beomgyu looks and feels, but you don’t really give a shit. you’re absolutely fuming right now, nearly shaking from releasing the anger you’ve felt for months, and he has the nerve to look like the one who’s hurt? what about you? what about how you felt when your boyfriend admitted he only dated you because he needed (more like wanted) the cash?

“babe…” you hear a familiar voice say. chaeyoung. she must be here to pick you up. your attention snaps from her to the rest of the room and you finally register that everyone has gone silent, all their stares directed towards you. embarrassed isn’t even the word. mortified is more like it. you awkwardly clear your throat and take one last scathing glance at beomgyu before grabbing chaeyoung’s arm and storming outside of taehyun’s place.

the ride home is silent — unsettlingly silent — until chaeyoung pipes up after a few minutes of driving.

“why don’t you just talk to him?” chaeyoung asks tentatively.

“what?!” you exclaim, whipping your head around to meet her gaze. 

“it’s just — i mean, i don’t think it would hurt anything if you tried,” she says cautiously, which is very, very much unlike her. 

“why? i thought you, of all people, would understand. you know what he did to me.”

“i’m not defending him, honey,” she coos, as if she’s soothing a child during a tantrum. “i’m always on your side. always.”

“then why are you saying i should hear him out? i thought you hated him!” you don't really know why, but you’re becoming more and more defensive as you speak to her. 

“i did hate him. i just think there’s more to it than that. why don't you talk me through how you’re feeling?” she suggests.

“i… i just don’t understand. i’m not who i used to be — i’m not some spineless doormat who lets people treat me like shit. don’t you think so?” you ask, sounding increasingly unsure about that sentiment to the point where it’s nearly laughable. 

“what does that have to do with hearing somebody out when you clearly want to?” she argues patiently.

“it’s just… it’s just not fair!” you exclaim. “it’s not fair how he used me. i had to try so fucking hard to rebuild myself after him.”

“as much as i love you, you and i both know you weren’t rebuilding yourself; you never had that foundation in the first place, and that’s not your fault, but it’s not beomgyu’s, either. it’s true that he treated you like shit, and you don’t have to forgive him for that, but how you felt about yourself was always so much bigger than him.”

you find yourself recoiling with each point she makes.

you hate how much she makes sense. 

“b-but still, i’m different now,” you argue, more like you’re convincing yourself instead of her. “i won’t let myself fall back into him like that.” 

“don't you trust yourself to make the right decisions? people change — you know that better than anyone. look, i’m not saying you have to or should do anything, but i think it’d be good for you to at least listen to him. you’re not doing yourself any favors by torturing yourself with ‘what if’s’ instead of just, well, talking to him.”

-

you think about it, and think about it, then think about it some more. you wonder what beomgyu could say to change anything he's done before realizing that it's impossible. but maybe chaeyoung's right, maybe he did change. does that matter, though? probably not, but you still find yourself wanting to know what he has to say. maybe you'll find it within yourself to finally let him go.

you unblock his number and, before you can think too much about it, you’re calling him. it doesn’t ring more than once before you hear the line connect.

“h-hello?”

“i’ve thought about it, and i'd like to talk.” 

“s-sure. uh, when?” he stammers.

“whenever.”

“i'll be there in 15,” he hurriedly says, as if wasting a single second will lead you to change your mind.

“okay,” you reply with a soft smile on your face, hanging up shortly thereafter.

12 minutes later, you hear a frantic knocking on your door. you open it to find beomgyu out of breath and looking incredibly disheveled. your lips almost curl up at his sorry state, but they don’t quite make it there.

“hey,” he says between pants.

you don’t respond, but you crack your door open further to let him in. he takes your cue and stands awkwardly in your living room, almost as if he’s afraid to actually touch anything. you don’t miss the way he takes everything in. some of the interior is different, but the bones of it are still the same. he doesn't know why, but the thought relieves him.

“so?” you ask after clearing your throat, effectively breaking the silence. he looks at you confusedly before seeming to remember what he’s doing here.

“r-right. i’m— i mean, i just wanted to explain,” he says meekly. 

“explain what?” 

“explain why i, uh, why i d-d—”

“dated me for a bet?” you finish, and mercifully so, because the words feel like nails when they try to leave his own throat.

“yeah. that,” he says, taking his hand and nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“mm,” you hum.

“i just want you to know that i’m sorry,” he blurts out before he has half a mind to stop himself. he knows it’s the wrong thing to say when he sees impatience flash across your features.

“we’ve established that.”

“oh. right,” he croaks, looking more and more crestfallen and lost by the second. 

“listen, beomgyu,” you sigh. “if you don’t have anything to say, i think you should just l—” 

“i do! i do have something to say!” he exclaims. you still seem agitated, but against all odds, you nod.

“back when heeseung and i, you know, made the b-bet, i knew it was wrong,” he says. “i knew it was wrong, but i still did it. i guess i just saw you as, like, a challenge or something.” you flinch at his words and cross your arms as if your insides will spill out if you don’t. he winces, but continues, anyway.

“but then i got to know you,” he quickly adds. “really know you. and i realized that you’re so much more to me than that. every day i spent with you taught me more about myself, and i didn’t like what i learned; but  i think even just being around you made me into a better person. i don’t know how to ever thank you for that, but i guess it’s worth a shot, so thank you. really.” you can’t help but feel your eyes water. you were that important to him? “and every day, i want to fucking strangle myself when i think about how much i hurt you,” he says, voice cracking at the end of his sentence. you take him all in, finally noticing the fatigue in his gaze, in his entire being. reminiscent of the way you looked nearly a year ago. instead of satisfaction at the thought that he finally knows how you felt, all you can feel is sympathy. you know how it feels to be the kind of tired even sleep can't pacify.

“i want you to know that you are the most important person in my life, a-and even if you don’t forgive me, it’s… well, i understand. but you are not a joke to me, or a challenge, or whatever. i guess i just want to tell you that i meant it when i said that i loved you, and i mean it when i say it now. because i do. i really, really do.” you are silent, trying to scan his eyes for any signs of deception or ill intent, but you can’t find any. his teary eyes and quivering lips tell you that he really means what he says. is that enough, though? can it ever be enough? maybe not, probably not, but as you stare at the tears that threaten to leave his eyes, you decide you’d like to try.

“okay,” you say. 

“o-okay? does that mean—” 

“it means we can try again. as friends. for real this time. but i’m not the same person i was. is that okay?” the tears that were once on the precipice of leaving his waterline have now begun to flow freely. fuck his stupid pride, you can have all of it if you just let him give it to you.

“y-yeah. me neither. i mean, i’m not the same person, either,” he babbles. 

“okay,” you say with a nod, ever-so-graciously wiping his tears with the pads of your thumbs, smile floating on your lips. and he just can’t help himself. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks. 

“that’s not what friends do,” you chastise playfully, “but alright. just this once.” and you’re still as kind and merciful as ever. he lets out a shaky breath.

slowly, he takes his trembling hands and pushes your hair behind your ear before leaning down and planting his lips against yours. you melt into the feeling, just like you always did when he kissed you, and you feel your heart fluttering in your chest. on beomgyu’s part, he feels like he’s in a dream. to be perfectly honest, he’s had many dreams like this since you left, but nothing compares to how sweet his present reality is. 

when he deepens the kiss, you let him. you want to say you’re unsure why, but you know it’s because you don’t want this moment to end. you two stay in each other’s arms for longer than you’d like to admit. who can blame you for it when nothing in your life has felt this right in such a long, long time? 

for beomgyu, when you two finally part, he thinks it wasn’t long enough, at all. but then, no amount of time could really satisfy him, anyway. still, when he looks into your eyes, he can’t help the unconscious pout that adorns his face when he realizes the moment is over. you can’t control the way you let out a soft laugh at it.

-

being friends with you is very, very hard. not because you're hard to be around or because there's anything wrong with you, but because, to beomgyu, you're so easy and comforting to be with. it’s all too familiar to beomgyu and he finds himself slipping into old habits such as holding your hand and tucking your hair behind your ear when you let it fall into your face. surprisingly, you let him do whatever he wants. whether that's because you missed his touch or because you just don’t want him to stop, you don’t care to figure out. when taehyun brings up the unnecessary intimacy between you two, you can’t help but blush and deny anything crooked going on, which beomgyu takes to heart every time.

he’ll wait for you to accept him, though. he’ll always wait. 

and one night when you’re watching cheesy movies on your couch with him and you look down at your intertwined hands, his thumb unconsciously rubbing against your smaller one, you realize you don’t want to deny him. 

“beomgyu?” you whisper, drawing his gaze from the screen.

“yes?” he asks, attention fully on you like a puppy ready to listen to whatever you say.

“you don’t have to wait anymore.”

-

notes pt. 2: yeah sorry if this is the corniest thing u have ever read... my fault!

permanent (sfw only): @zzhyuu @defnotleee

permanent taglist (sfw/[n]sfw): @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @midwinterblizzard @everythingvirgoes @sooberryworld @20-cms @inkigayocamman @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @blossommi @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @binniebakery @notevenheretbh1

series taglist: @vixensss @dejavu-jun @gyuchubss @missychief1404 @hihello-pinky @dojdcmidcmkmfekdvmkrkmvvrm

*bold names could not be tagged

[goldsainz]

❝ IN MY HEAD, WE BELONG ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . art donaldson x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . smut (riding, protected sex), cheating, reader’s kinda delusional, toxic behaviour, not proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . all it takes is a text and a lonely hotel room.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . first art fic i am beyond excited 🤭 many more to come and my requests are open so if you have any ideas feel free to leave them in my inbox!!!!!! forgot how fun writing smut was, kinda crazy to have my first art fic be smut but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless 💙

[ word count: 1,7k ]

You know it is wrong to long for Art Donaldson. To not have moved on, but your life is incomplete without him. You tried to find someone else, someone who can compare to him, yet there is no one like him.

He’s not yours, no, in fact he’s married now. He has managed to move on from you, he has created a life for himself and he doesn't need you. Not like you need him, anyway.

You tune in for his matches, watch him beat his opponents and then run to his beautiful wife to celebrate. They actually looked good together, seemed like a proper couple and were the perfect faces of tennis. You could not be that for Art, you're too much of a mess to even dare to be as idyllic as Tashi Duncan.

Maybe that's why it feels so good that he’s currently under you, that it's your name he's moaning and your kisses he’s searching for. Maybe that’s the reason why you feel so unbothered by wrecking a home, because if he cheats, is there even much of a home to begin with? You don't think so. 

He’s like a vice you cannot seem to quit. Even when you first broke up, it took less than two days for him to hit you up and for you to be outside his house. Nobody knows you like Art, and nobody knows Art like you. You wonder if his wife is aware of how much he dreams of you, that when he’s with her, he’s thinking about you.

All it takes is for one of you to reach out, and you both throw all dignity out the window. The measly barriers you both created collapse in a second, no words need to be said to know what the other wants. It is quite simple between you two, perhaps in a way that is too carnal and not emotional enough. 

That is why, for some reason you don’t care enough to think about, he’s in your hotel room. 

You’re in New York City, alone in a hotel room that feels too big for just one person. You tried to go to a bar, tried to mingle with people in hopes of making your life less lonely. For just one night, at least.

It is not intentional that Art is also in New York, in fact, you’ve tried to steer clear of him and his overbearing presence in your life. It has been months since your last conversation, which consisted of him saying “Happy birthday” and you answering “Thanks”. 

You go back to your hotel room after your attempts at not being alone fail miserably. It is partly your fault, because you always end up in the same vicious cycle of comparing the men you meet to Art. No one can compare to him, and you damn your heart for taking over and not letting you have some enjoyment. 

You’re sprawled out on the bed, wearing your pajamas and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You consider going to sleep, but something inside you tells you to stay awake and you receive your answer in the form of an imessage notification.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Hey, I heard you’re in NYC.

You

Yeah.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Wanna meet up?

You

Why?

Art (Do NOT contact)

Don’t know. 

Just missed you.

You

You can’t just say that.

Art (Do NOT contact)

I know. 

Are you free right now?

You

It’s 11pm, Art.

Art (Do NOT contact)

So? 

Send me your location.

You

[Location] 

Room 904.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Be there in 20. 

You’re thrust back into reality when he moves beneath you, hitting a spot that makes you arch your back and has you mewling. Guilt doesn’t even make its way through your mind, if anything, the scandalous nature of what you’re doing makes you wetter than you care to admit. 

Art looks up at you like you’re a goddess, a siren that he fell prey to, his eyes shine when he takes in the sight above him. Your tits are bouncing in front of his face, and he has to resist the urge to attach his mouth to one of them, but he’s too concentrated on the faces you make. 

You whine when he grabs your hips and moves you up and down quicker than before. Your hands are planted on his chest, grabbing onto whatever semblance of support you can get. You know how much he likes for you to be on top, loves it when you take control but today he’s antsier and needs to take some control back. So, he settles for tightly gripping your hips and deciding the pace of your movements.

You lean down and connect your lips with his. The kiss is sloppy, teeths clashing and your mouths open to let out a moan when the other does something that makes your toes curl. 

“Please,” he breathes out against your mouth, “Please, let me come.”

“Do you deserve it?” you ask, rearing back to look at him but you don't slow your movements either. 

“Yes, yes I do,” he pants, brows furrowing when he feels the heat in his core bubbling up.

“Only if I come first,” you say, taking one of his hands and placing it on your sensitive nub. 

Art moans at your response and his moves are hasty, rubbing you like his life depends on it. You let out short breaths at his touch, the heat inside you creeping up and ready to set off like fireworks.

He looks at your blissed out expression, how your bottom lip is between your teeth in an attempt to conceal the beautiful sounds you make. He’s tempted to use the other hand that’s on your hip to take your lip away from your teeth, but his thoughts are cut short when you clench tightly around him.

“I’m close, Art,” The blonde doesnt need to hear you say it, he knows your body like the back of his hand. 

It is no surprise when you come around him, a high-pitched moan escapes your mouth when your body shakes from pleasure. Like clockwork, Art spills inside his condom almost instantly after your release washes over you. 

He gives a few sloppy thrusts after he comes, feeling you collapse onto his chest, tired out from your orgasm. Art kisses the side of your head, heavily breathing and trying to form a coherent thought. Though it is quite hard when he is so fucked out. 

You separate yourself from his chest and press another kiss to his lips. Relishing on the closeness between you, he places his hand on the nape of your neck and keeps you in place.

After a few seconds he slips himself out of you. You whine at the loss of the fullness you felt, but he quickly shushes you with a simple kiss. It’s softer this time, sweeter than you deserve and more romantic than you’d like. 

You remove yourself from being on top of him, and lay down beside him. The pillow is soft and comforting, you keep your gaze trained on the ceiling and try to calm your harsh breathing down. You hear the rustle of the bed sheets and then feel yourself being covered by them, the soft touch of Art’s hand when he handles the sheets and brushes his knuckles against your chest makes you shiver

“This was fun,” he lets out, like he just got off an amusement park attraction. 

You can only hum in response, slightly turning your head to look at him. That is your mistake, because once you take in his beauty you cannot stop doing so. It makes you want to do things you shouldn’t, say things that would ruin whatever’s going on between you two.

“How long are you staying here for?” the question takes you aback, do you want him to know you schedule? A small part of you, the rational one, tells you to lie and put this little rendezvous behind you. But the part that makes most of the decision, the one that you damn each day, makes you tell him the truth.

“Until friday,” you respond, playing with the corner of the bedsheets between your fingers.

“Okay, cool,” he says back, it’s tuesday and that leaves you with just a couple days to see the other. How badly you wish that this wasn't what your relationship was now, but you have to make do with what you have. At least until you're pulled back into reality. 

You’re not sure why but the idea of him seeking you out once more, feels your tummy with a fuzzy feeling akin to butterflies.

“Yeah,”

Time seems to stand still for a few minutes, with his hands behind his head and yours resting just below your chest. It’s as if neither of you want to break the moment that’s happening, one that has a close expiration date.

After a moment of quiet, he finally breaks the silence, “I’m glad I’m here,”

You don't know how to respond so you settle for a simple, “Me too,”

For a moment, you both just look at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. It's a fleeting connection, intense yet fragile, and you know that despite it neither of you belong to the other.

“I should get going,” he tells you, sitting up from his laid down position in bed and searching for his sprawled around clothes.

“Sure,” you answer as you watch him clothe himself, intently keeping your eyes trained on his figure.

“I’ll text you,” he says when he’s done clothing himself, “We could hang out again,”

“Okay,”

He looks at you once more, and you swear you see him hesitate when he reaches for the door handle. Something inside you aches for him to kiss you goodbye, to give you that intimacy that youre no longer privy to.

But as quick as that thought crosses your mind, he’s out the door.

Art doesn't text you as he said he would. You want to be mad at him, but you know you’ll be waiting for the day he messages you, and you can tally another clandestine meeting to your board. After all, you belong eternally to him and he to you. 

[campfam4lyfe]

I get that Brooklynn is your favorite, she used to be mine too, but what are your thoughts on her in chaos theory? Don't you feel they destroyed her character? She's not herself anymore, and the fact that she can just. Fake her death and traumatize her friends/neglect her boyfriend like. I don't know, thats not it. I don't like her much anymore.

time to do my job as a brooklynn defender lol, alright here goes:

Don't you feel they destroyed her character? She's not herself anymore, and the fact that she can just. Fake her death and traumatize her friends/neglect her boyfriend like. I don't know, thats not it.

So. Thinking about Brooklynn. About her death. You mention how she faked it. except, I don’t think saying she faked it is really an accurate or fair description.

Brooklynn didn’t fake anything—here is what we know, and here is what I mean. The facts that we are presented with through season 1. limited as they are, are that Brooklynn was at a Dino Drop, the allosaurus escaped, and that it "killed her." Except it didn't really kill her. It is framed as an accident--a random Dino attack. But Ben shows up and suddenly it's clear that maybe it wasn't an accident.

So let's run through the facts one more time. Brooklynn's 'death' at the hands of the allosaurus wasn't an accident. It was premeditated. The attack was an honest to goodness attempt on Brooklynn's life. One the camp fam--and the people who targeted Brooklynn in the first place--believed worked. You're going to want to keep this in mind, because now I am going to address the other part of your ask.

Don't you feel they destroyed her character? She's not herself anymore, and the fact that she can just. Fake her death and traumatize her friends/neglect her boyfriend like. I don't know, thats not it.

Brooklynn's character has not, to me, been destroyed.

We see little of Brooklynn and what she was doing throughout Chaos Theory, because we are learning about her again through the eyes and memories of the people who loved and mourned her--we are gathering bits and pieces, parts of the narrative that we, as the viewers, can piece together more efficiently than the actual players, because the knowledge the Camp Fam has is disjointed in that they are not all privy to the same information or how it connects--and it's not their fault at all! They are not working under the same information we have--that Brooklynn is alive--and so, don't know why certain things are more important. Even we don't have the full picture, although what we have is a little clearer.

But from what we see of Brooklynn throughout Chaos Theory, there is something there that you believe is not true to her previously established character. I disagree. I think what you are talking about, when you say that she is not herself anymore, is that Brooklynn is too invested in her conspiracies, so much so that she has thrown everything else away--her "life", her regard for her friends/family and her relationships with them.

But I think, that when it comes to Brooklynn, being obsessed with a conspiracy or mystery is in fact a major core part of her character. We saw it all throughout Camp Cretaceous. She sneaks away when they visit Wu's lab that first time to snoop--and yes, maybe it was for her followers, trying to find something juicy before everything went to shit, but what she saw clearly stood out to her. She was hooked, she reviewed that footage, and it stayed with her so much so that when she saw the label E750 again at a later date while on the security cameras, she lingered over the shot before having to move on to help the others. And even then, it was clear that it stayed with her--whatever Wu did, whatever E750 was, it was a mystery and Brooklynn wanted to solve it.

And we see the others are aware of this! Sammy recruits Brooklynn to help out in her quest to find information, and the mystery consumes Brooklynn so much that initially, she was steamrolling right over Sammy's input. We also see Brooklynn's thirst for mystery solving when she becomes so focused on the frozen flowers, something she mentioned so much so that the other campers could quote her on it. We see it with her suspicions regarding Mitch and Tiff, and even Mae. We see it again in the final episode, when we catch a glimpse of the campers as teenagers. Brooklynn mentions the Lockwood Estate, which, for those who don't know or remember, is where the later events of JW:Fallen Kingdom (timeline wise, this is three years after the first Jurassic World, so three years after the kids first got left behind in the Park.) The events at the Lockwood Estate and what was supposed to be happening there wasn't public knowledge. That was Brooklynn following a lead, as at that point in time when she brings it up, the dinosaurs hadn't been set loose yet.

The reason I mention all this is because I really don't think Brooklynn's obsessiveness or drive is new. She loves investigative work, and she's good at putting together pieces too. She's also been shown to have a love for mysteries, loving Esther Stone and having her videos following the pattern of being named "Brooklynn unboxes x." She likes knowing the whys, whens, wheres, and whats. She literally says that she is trying to make the transition from influencer/vlogger to investigative journalist. Which is why I am not at all surprised with her being so focused on this Dino smuggling rings, and why I believe it was in character.

Tying It All Together

Now I know what you may be thinking. "But she neglected Kenji! That's not good girlfriend behavior. She faked her death! That's horrible." Valid, but also, not fundamentally true.

I said earlier, that by "not herself" you might mean that "Brooklynn is too invested in her conspiracies, so much so that she has thrown everything else away--her "life", her regard for her friends/family and her relationships with them." I don't think she has though, and if it has ended up that way, it was never her intention.

Take in all the Brooklynn scenes from Chaos Theory. Each member of the Camp Fam has an interaction with her that is shown through flashback or hinted at. So let's put together a timeline.

Brooklynn is dead at the start of the show, but for how long, I don't actually remember. I will put it at 6 months to a year, but if anyone else knows for sure, just let me know and I'll fix it. Anyways. She is dead for six months to a year. And in the months leading up to her death, she was investigating something, but they don't know what. We know that it had something to do with Dark Jurassic, Kenji's father, and Dino Smuggling. We know Ben introduced her to Dark Jurassic. We know Brooklynn stayed with Darius, left her jacket at Sammy's, and visited Yaz.

So here goes a tentative undertaking:

Ben introduces Brooklynn to Dark Jurassic and she visits him at his college. He hasn't dropped out/left yet. She is mentioning conspiracy theories, some as a joke, but its clear something there has caught her attention.

Brooklynn gets deeper into Dark Jurassic, and at some point reads about Dino Immersive therapy, which she recommends to Yaz. She visits her at some point, but when, is unclear.

Brooklynn visits Sammy. She is on Dark Jurassic so often that when Sammy has a flashback of her, Brooklynn is visibly on the site.

Brooklynn is with Kenji, but has been so absorbed in her mystery that she has started to neglect Kenji, but doesn't realize it. This goes on for a while. He breaks up with her and they are both devastated.

Brooklynn stays with Darius. Is still embroiled in her mystery. Asks Darius to meet up with her. "Dies."

Now, at some point before 4 and 5, Brooklynn visits Daniel Kon, gets a secret apartment, and is undercover within the Dino Smuggling ring.

We know that she did not tell her friends, or her boyfriend, any of this. Why? Especially Kenji! He was her boyfriend, one of her biggest supporter's, and his father was the guy Brooklynn went to so she could get her in to the smuggling world. Kenji has always heard her out, like when he was the one who stayed behind with her when she accidentally hurt Darius with the 'cool dad' comment. Kenji is the one who agreed to snoop with her regardless of his feelings because it was important to her. So why would she not go to her biggest supporter?

I believe that Chaos Theory tackled the kids growing up and their respective trauma very well. Not all of them are dealing very well. Yaz is the only one who seems to have gone to therapy, while Ben, Darius, and Kenji are all isolating. Sammy is dealing with repression and toxic positivity. It's very possible that Brooklynn was also dealing, and not very well at that. It's possible that her trauma manifested in another way. Maybe she needed to push herself into a project so she could ignore what happened--or maybe she needed to push herself into a project so if something happened, she could be prepared? We don't know! And it's because we don't know that I am going to, for the time being, ignore this, and focus on the possible reasons as to why she didn't tell them from what we do know.

Yaz has PTSD, and struggled a lot with the hopelessness of having to put the dinosaurs first and it costing them their way home in the later seasons of CC. So maybe Brooklynn didn't tell her because she didn't want to halter Yaz's progress. Still, she let on that she was investigating something and about Dark Jurassic.

Sammy is worried about Yaz, and so maybe Brooklynn didn't tell her because involving Sammy might mean involving Yaz, or maybe she didn't want to put stress on their relationship by having Sammy lie to her. Still, she let on that she was investigating something and about Dark Jurassic.

Ben had college. What, was she just going to disrupt that? Still, she let on that she was investigating something and talked with him about Dark Jurassic, which he introduced her to.

Kenji. Kenji was her boyfriend, her rock, THE Brooklynn enabler. who has always heard her out. The only time he didn't hear her out immediately was when his father was interfering. The same father she would need to go to for a door into the smuggling world. The same father who Kenji lived close to but never visited. In the last season of CC, Brooklynn, when investigating Daniel Kim, says that she won't break Kenji's heart without a good reason. Maybe, she did not feel like going to him about his father was a good reason--Kenji was in a good place, how could she hurt him like that? Maybe she thought she was protecting him. So she doesn't tell him. Still, she let on that she was investigating something.

Darius. Darius is my biggest "Brooklynn's Fake Death Can't Be Classified As Willfully Malicious On Her Part" card. Because he is the one that proves that Brooklynn did not in fact get sucked in so deep in her mystery that she tossed away all bonds and relationships. Did her death fuck him up? Definitely. But guys! She called him there that night, they had plans, she was "going to show him something!!!" Guys. She went to Darius. She was going to show Darius. Do you get that. In Chaos Theory, they say "Brooklynn was there to buy the Allosaurus that night." They are heartbroken. Yaz and Sammy say no way, and Darius says it is true, that she had a secret apartment, cash, and a note from Mr.Kim. But guys. She was going to show Darius.

Every time Brooklynn is called out on her behavior and shown how her obsessiveness hurts her friends—the way Sammy called her out when they were investigating E750, or her feeling regret over the “cool dad” comment when investigating Mitch and Tiff—she takes a step back and reassesses. She starts to investigate again but with changed behavior. That’s growth. Kenji breaking up with her may have really been the catalyst to her trying to show Darius what she was up to. As Darius says, Brooklynn was really torn up about the breakup and it is so visible on her face that she is devastated—she loved Kenji. She loved her friends.

So Brooklynn’s behavior, it was not Brooklynn cutting out her friends. Was she 100% honest with all of them? No. And unfortunately, the one person who she was going to show what was going on, didn't get to make it, and Brooklynn was killed.

Except she lived. So why not tell them? Why let them stew in grief? Why abandon them? Look, I think a lot of you are forgetting that the kids are very very good at improv. Are we forgetting Darius and Kash?An attempt on Brooklynn's life was made, and she somehow miraculously survived. She adapted, and made a plan on the go, lying low, somehow creating a trusted network, while being unable to reach out to her friends--it would blow her cover, and also possibly put them in danger. Who knows? Besides. Let's not forget, Ben was not the one who called Darius in that first episode. I don't know, but I do think it could have been Brooklynn, or someone on behalf of her, like Ronnie. (Or it could have been raptor lady to make sure Darius was home but who knows!)

Look, ultimately, you don't have to like her, and I'm not forcing anyone to! I do love her though, and her choices are ones I will defend. Besides, I know we are talking about camp fam trauma reactions to Brooklynn's death, but guys, flip side? We have a character who was going to tell her friend what she was up to, only to have an assassination attempt on her life causing her to lose a limb and go into hiding, not being able to contact her loved ones. I cannot even begin to think of the trauma Brooklynn has.

I hope this answers your ask anon, I feel I rambled too much lol!

[brionbroadway]

It’s Ylfa who finds him.

She sits beside Gerard, hands in front of her on the floor, back in her wolf-form and back to herself. “Where is the Princess Elody?” she asks.

Gerard sighs, but sensing Ylfa flinch beside him, he tries to cover it by clearing his throat. “She needed a moment to herself.”

“But just a moment, right? She’s coming back?”

Gerard shifts his head to look at Ylfa, and notices the shift in her as well. She is no longer a meddling preteen, ready to give him a makeover and plan a grand gesture based on a limited understanding of love. In fact, Gerard wonders if that was ever a fair assessment. Ylfa knows love, perhaps better than Gerard ever has, and understands the power of its loss. He sees the same thing in her eyes that he saw in Elody’s when she spoke of finding his body—not sadness, exactly, but an emptiness that a preteen should still be too optimistic to feel.

“It’s not fair, Gerard,” she says, quiet, and Gerard realizes too late that he was too slow to respond. “No one came looking for you, but you went looking for Elody, and you’re still going to be alone. I can fight Death for you, but I can’t fight this.”

“First of all,” Gerard says, speaking faster than his thoughts to not give Ylfa’s the chance to fill in the blanks. “I am not alone. I would not choose anyone else to travel and fight alongside—though, you need to know that you are not responsible for fighting anything for me. You are a protector, much like Elody.”

“I’m like the princess?”

“Most certainly, and while that’s admirable, it’s also too much weight to put on your shoulders. Strong as they are.”

Ylfa flexes, and Gerard laughs, relieved. “The truth is,” he continues. “I left Elody long before she left me. We’d sit together the way you and I are sitting now, but we would not talk the way we’re talking now. And that was my fault.”

“But she’s still your family,” Ylfa says. “You just made a mistake.”

Gerard understands what’s behind this conversation now, and wishes he’d recognized it the moment Ylfa sat down. Elody would have. “When you marry someone,” Gerard says. “You make vows to each other; it’s a partnership. I didn’t make a mistake; I made decisions that broke the promises I’d made to Elody. That is my fault.”

“When you have a child,” Gerard continues, before Ylfa can interrupt. “Of course, I have not had one, but as I understand it—you make a commitment to them. You love them unconditionally, no matter what mistakes or decisions they make. If a parent does not fulfill that, that is not the child’s fault.”

“Gerard, I’m sorry if this is disrespectful, but I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Honestly Red, I don’t know if I do either. That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Not for the first time, Gerard is aware of his role as an adult, despite not having the chance to properly grow into one. “Or,” he says. “How about this? I know that I am not your mother or father, or your grandmother, but as long as I am alive, I promise that we can sit and talk like this. And if we end up in different stories, I’ll look for you. You will always have a home with me, even if it’s just a bonfire in the woods.”

“I can light a match for us.”

“I know that you can.”

Gerard extends his webbed equivalent of a pinky finger, and Ylfa wraps a claw around it.

[genericpuff]

Hello, i saw your post about Perse being a menace to the nymphs and I agree and the majority of what you said buuut

not to defend Persephone or anything, but didn't Minthe send her to the wrong place on purpose? I haven't read LO in a long time so i don' t remember the details but since she works there, she knows that THAT place is dangerous, and I'm not saying blackmail is ok but in perse's place i would be angry too, so while yes, the author makes Persephone and all the other characters treat nymphs poorly and that's one of the main reasons I dropped LO, that specific event (without taking in account the context of all, because yes in that moment Hades is basically cheating on Minthe with Persephone and she doesn't even felt guilty) but Minthe was so wrong for sending Perse there in the first place

English is not my first language so i apologize if i sound rude or if it's difficult to understand my idea.

But i really like this kind of posts because there are soo many scenes that i used to romanticize when i first read it while in school, like all those scenes with Tori and now i realize why LO is sooo messed up

So it's funny you bring that up because yes, Minthe did send her to the wrong place on purpose, however what DOESN'T get remembered often is that Minthe felt remorse over it.

And we see her feel remorse in this way on several occasions, including during the slap scene.

The fact that Minthe keeps getting pigeonholed into the "petty bitch" archetype by the narrative feels more of a consequence of Rachel trying to make the audience hate her no matter what (because she's the "other woman" in the H x P ship), and yet she shows more self-awareness and capability for growth than Hades and Persephone ever have, which is what makes her so endearing for the fanbase. She doesn't understand why she acts the way she does but she knows it's not okay. It's just that change is hard, especially when that change is dependent on you analyzing yourself and being willing to accept your faults and mistakes.

Unlike Hades and Persephone, who not only continuously act like brats to the people around them (especially Persephone as of late) but only take the kind of 'accountability' that makes them look good (ex. Therapy Speak), without showing any genuine remorse or willingness to change. It makes it feel like the nymphs are only mistreated because the narrative constantly gives them characterizations to justify their mistreatment.

Yes, Minthe's done terrible things, things that ultimately led to her downfall in a lot of ways - but I'm sure as shit more interested in where she has to go as a character than I am in Hades and Persephone, who have nowhere to go because they're clearly content with who they are.

Eughghgh.

[peppermintquartz]

Eddie/Josh? Maybe.

*

"I almost didn't recognize you," Josh Russo says as he slides onto the bar stool next to Eddie, and motions to the bartender. "Gin and tonic, thanks." Turning back to Eddie, he asks, "What's with the moustache?"

"Hello to you too," Eddie drawls, sipping at his beer. It's a new one that Tommy's got him hooked on, damn the man. "I just wanted a change."

Josh grins and squints at it, making a show of examining the facial hair. "It suits you," he declares. His drink arrives. "A touch of Burt Reynolds, almost. Maybe a little Raul Julia also."

Eddie chuckles. "I'm not gonna be a Gomez Addams anytime soon." He dabs at his moustache with a napkin, aware of the foam caught on it. "And why are you here? This doesn't seem like your usual hangout spot." He gestures around at the faux rustic decor, replete with steer horns and riding gear on the walls. It reminds Eddie a little of Texas.

"Well, I was gonna go to a club with go-go boy dancers, but I left my feather boa on my ride over," Josh says, deadpan. The corner of his lips twitch. "My date suggested this place and no-showed."

"That sucks." Eddie leans forward on the bar counter and tells the bartender, "Put this guy's drink on my tab."

Josh makes a rude sound. "I don't need your pity, Diaz."

"Hey, you got stood up. I can comfort a guy who's down on his dating luck."

Josh goes quiet for a moment, letting the sounds of the other patrons swirl around them for a beat. "Still, not the worst date."

Eddie cocks his head, beer to his lips.

Perhaps it's the fact they haven't really spent time together outside of their contentious collaboration during Eddie's stint at Dispatch, but Eddie finds that Josh is softer and nicer outside of work. He guesses that's out of necessarity. Working at the dispatch center requires focus, empathy, and the ruthless ability to shut away feelings after each incident is handled, for good or for ill. And Eddie knows it's easier to be on-site to try to help, than to be on the other end being unable to do anything except wait for a response.

"One of the guys I went out on a date with jumped me, with his friend," Josh says suddenly, his fingers wrapped about his drink. Drops of condensation drips onto the coaster under the glass. "Beat me up and took my wallet, my security pass. You know the rest."

Eddie goes still. He does know the rest from Buck and Chimney. He had not known about Josh being baited and then beaten. "I'm sorry about that," he says, sincere and apologetic. He pats Josh's knee. "You'll find someone nice." Seeing Josh's surprise, Eddie adds, "Nicer than you were to me."

"I was pretty nice to you. Could've bitched you out in front of everyone for not following protocol, but I didn't."

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. "You're a good supervisor. And a territorial bastard."

"Yeah? What's your story, being here all alone? Where's your usual partner-in-crime? Or girlfriend?"

"Mm. No girlfriend now. I screwed that up. As for Buck, well, he's all loved up right now, so I am not asking him to hang with a pathetic schmuck on a Saturday night."

"Ooh, storytime? What happened with the girlfriend?" Josh wiggles closer, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

Eddie tilts his head and raises his beer. "My fault. I wasn't ready to commit, and I, uh, cheated on her. Emotionally. It wasn't like I slept around while I was dating her." He winces. "Still, it was my fault."

Josh makes a thoughtful face. "Maybe you should just sleep around a bit instead then. If you aren't really ready to commit, then don't commit. Just go out and have fun."

"Have fun? The last time I just 'had fun', I ended up with a pregnant girlfriend who, okay, gave me the best kid in the world, and then after I married her I ran away from the family, and then she ran away from her son, and then she came back, and then she wanted a divorce, and then she died. And then I cheated on my girlfriend with a woman who looks like her, and traumatized my kid, and hence, I'm here alone at the bar, feeling sorry for my scumbag self, and therefore I will never have fun again. Ever. In my life."

At the end of his rant, he catches sight of Josh's stunned expression and sighs.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to dump all that on you."

Josh reaches over to hold Eddie's hand. His fingers are cold. "Better me than some stranger, right?"

Eddie wants to laugh, but for some reason Josh's hand on his stirs a funny sensation in the base of his spine. He manages a smile. "I guess. Really sorry though. Have another drink. You deserve something nice after listening to that."

"I've heard worse," Josh says. He hasn't removed his hand. "Just this week, I've heard, like, four stories worse than what you said. You'll have to fuck things up a lot worse to land you on the scumbag list."

Eddie stares at Josh, at the nonjudgmental expression, at the slightly teasing smile, and thinks, Why not?

He leans forward before he can think any further and presses his mouth to Josh's lips. They're soft, and Josh smells pretty nice, and he's pulling away before he can really sink into the kiss.

Josh's fingers flutter to his mouth. "What was that for?"

"Being nice," Eddie says, grinning. "Positive reinforcement of a behavior, all that stuff. Maybe that will get you to be nice to me whenever you see me."

Rolling his eyes, Josh says, "That was hardly good enough a kiss to change my attitude, Diaz. You want me nicer, you gonna have to earn it."

But there's a slight flush to his cheeks and he can't look at Eddie at all. Eddie thinks it'll be fun to try and see if he can make Josh turn pink again.

[retrocesosdestacion]

HOLLOW-HEARTED PHASES | daniëlle van de donk.

daniëlle van de donk x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: 🤷‍♀️

notes: written for this request.

SUMMARY: Danielle finds herself in frustration after a match. You are the only answer for her.

In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.

kafka.

❝ Will you tell me what happened? ❞ You don't expect Daan to be comprehensible right now. Yet it's worth a try.

❝ Nothing. It was just an misfortune. ❞ She answer in a not-so-assertive tone. It was kind of obvious how difficult it was for the Dutch woman to lie to you.

❝ It wasn't just this, you got a really bad yellow card, Liefde. ❞

Van de Donk and accident in the same situation was something common, relying on the point of view. And a lot of those times, it was funny.

She was tired, you were too; Sweating and ravenous, you too; Danielle was completely worn out from the match, and so were you. Mutually in post games, that was what made you two so close.

Playing alongside the midfielder every week managed to be entertaining, mainly due to each unusual circumstance that Danielle brought to you.

Settling such complications was your job. And at this moment was not different.

❝ At least explain it to me, please! ❞ You beg, pulling the first stool you could get and sat down in front of your partner; implying you wouldn't be leaving anytime soon until you resolved this.

❝ Do you think bumping into someone is so reckless as to get a yellow card? ❞ She started. ❝ Nowadays they are accepting anyone as a referee! ❞

She gestured every second, her dutch accent made the whole situation even funnier.

The only reaction you could have was to laugh at it all. ❝ It contigent on the intensity, actually. ❞ You say amidst giggling. ❝ And well, I know you. ❞

❝ I didn't do anything wrong! ❞ Danielle sounded like she wanted to prove a point. ❝ It’s not my fault if she unexpectedly appeared near me... ❞

❝ Okay, I take your word for it. ❞ In fact, your lips were a little erroneous, you saw how the midfielder purposely pushed the rival player at that time and could uncertainly defend Daan.

She raised her eyebrows involuntarily and jiggle her face, not hiding the evidence that she didn't fall for your fallacious chit-chat.

You gradually reached for the dutch woman's hands, probing each of her fingers; then caressing them.

Suddenly Van de Donk was equal to a carefree sea; a pelago that had just experienced a storm. The midfielder's eyes were devoted to yours, glinting more and more with each passing second.

Even though Danielle always left in a temper after incidents like this, you had the unparalleled ability to alleviate her. Whether just with your presence or caresses.

❝ How about… Next time you bump into someone more carefully, hm? ❞ You muttered, bringing your face inches closer to the midfielder. ❝ Or better yet, not bumping into the person is also a great option! ❞

Your thumbs slowly slid over the skin of other woman’s fingers, trying to comfort her while at the same time considering a clarification for all of this.

❝ In conclusion, not retaliating to a provocation is what you're telling me. ❞ Danielle articulated calmly.

❝ ...Yeah, almost that. ❞ You replied, withdrawn from your previous speech. ❝And also, you’ve been a lot… ❞

❝ Stressed? ❞ She concluded by cutting off your words, even though she was aware that such emotion was not true.

❝ I wasn't going to say that. ❞

❝ Yes, you would. ❞

You took a while to answer, since deep down it was more of a truth.

❝ No… I was going to say that you have been very frustrated and nervous lately. ❞

❝ It's the same thing. ❞ Daan had a silly smile on her face, clear how she was enjoying a game with you.

Your lips locked before commenting something, daring extra time to think of words to please her.

The palm of your left hand was the first touch to the dutch woman's face after disregarding her fingers, now giving light gentle taps. ❝ Who knows, maybe behind your little face it’s all the same! ❞

Van de Donk's fortunate laugh was delightful to hear, like a pleasant sound you rarely find amidst the chaos of an urban city; like your girlfriend.

The dutch girl got a enjoyable laugh out of your face whenever she could, and you got the occasional warm fervor. It was a cycle, and you had everything to do with it.

❝ I'll take that as a compliment. ❞ Daan articulated happily, slowly pressing her own fingers over yours; those who were snuggled against the dutch woman's face.

❝ Better now? ❞ You ask, wondering how Danielle was calmer than before.

❝ Possibly yes. ❞ She reply, inhibited by previous actions.

The shorter woman looked down demurely. But honestly, anyone gets irritated, especially by situations like this. Daan had every right to be upset about this, after all, you would be there.

Your fingers, from both of your hands, placed themselves on the other woman's face. You compress lightly so that you could move the other person's face closer to you.

Danielle had her typical confused look, but also aware of the affectionate attitude. A short beam shines on your face, accompanied by a pleasant chuckle before your lips touch the other person's skin.

You placed a short peck on the tip of the dutch woman's nose, immediately going to her lips, giving her another peck. Centimeters away from the other person's face, being able to even feel de Donk's warm and agitated breath.

❝ If that's okay, how about we get together with the girls, then we go out for drinks and find something to eat. ❞ You murmur after the affectionate act.

❝ If you say so… We can. ❞ Daan answer, sounding like she's still trying to recover from the affection; with the silly smile printed on her face. ❝ To be honest, I'm hungry. ❞

One or twenty years can pass, the dutch woman always becomes the silliest person in the world when she receives your affection.

❝ How about that new restaurant that just opened? ❞ You make a suggestion. ❝ Vanessa felt like eating pasta these days! ❞

Despite Van de Donk being a difficult woman to deal with on the pitch, off there and for you, it was like an easy puzzle to put together.

Danielle could stress a thousand times, but you would always get her back no matter what.

❝ Sounds fun! ❞ She responds one last time before gradually rising from the bench where she was sitting.

The midfielder pulled your hands, so she could help you when you got up. It didn't take long for you to act and do the same, even though you were extremely tired.

Daan still had her index fingers intertwined with yours, her eyes needed to make minimal effort when looking up, where she could look affectionately at you.

She took a while to say something, and honestly, Danielle's eyes darted to your face and without saying anything made you a little nervous.

You gave a confused grin.

❝ Thank you for that. ❞ Van de Donk mutters.

❝ …For what, exactly? ❞

❝ For being with me, by my side. I don't know how I would react to things without you. ❞ She articulates through the small laughs she lets out.

Without realizing it, your confused smile became happy, small compliments coming from your girlfriend were a relief; a victory.

Your silly smirk that burned your cheeks didn't allow you to answer, but made you act embarrassed. Your lefty raised up, so you could try to camouflage this stupid smile.

❝ Why are you smiling so much?! ❞ Daan chortled, tilting her head confusedly to the side.

❝ Nothing, nothing. ❞

ᅠ

[garfinkelstingle]

magic and maybes | draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (implied slytherin!reader but only once i think)

warnings: swearing; implied mentions of verbal abuse; this is not in chronological order, but i do think it makes sense this way (especially if you've listened to the song); angst

word count: 5,2k

summary: based on “wendy” by maisie peters; loving draco is like something out of a fairytale. but not all of those always end with happily ever after, do they?

a/n: oh my!! hi!!! my first full-length fic in over a year!!!! so exciting!!!! this came to me while listening to wendy (which you should defo listen to if you haven't yet; the whole album is too good!!) and i just sort of rolled with it. i will never understand why i keep coming back to draco, but i just do. i have never written anything like this, and i certainly have never written draco like this, but the song called for it!! and also, let's be honest, this really matches draco better than it would most other characters. oh and i put it in the warning, but please beware that this is not written in chronological order. it's supposed to showcase the rollercoaster of relationship that reader and draco share, and i thought this was the best way to do it! let me know if you like it, it would really mean a lot <3 happy reading babes

masterlist

rolling like a stone / laughing like a kid

She had never seen him like this before.

Correction: She had never seen him like this before in front of people that weren't just her. Because this is the only way she had ever seen him, really seen him. She knew the charade he kept up, could see right through it better than anyone else. And if you took all of that faux meanness and excruciating ass-ness away, this is what you would be left with, what she's been left with all these years that she's known him. A silly kid, rolling around in the grass, holding his stomach laughing, eyes glistening with tears and shining brighter than any star ever could.

This is how she saw him, always, and how she hoped she would get to see him forever. This, and nothing else.

calling like the future / closed up like a fist

It was always the same. He always did this, and she swore that one of these days she would hex him into oblivion for it.

"What do you mean I can't come with you? We've been planning this for months; I told my parents to make plans without me and they have. What am I supposed to do now?" They had been at it for close to an hour now, going back and forth, nowhere close to having this argument reach its conclusion.

Usually, she didn't mind backing off. He was stubborn; she knew that. This wasn't something she had discovered only recently. She had known him for longer than she hadn't, so she was acutely aware of this quality of his. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it didn't annoy her, either. So she'd just let it slide and move on—one of them had to.

This time, however? She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm not responsible for you and how you spend your time," he provocatively stated, his eyes ablaze with fury that nearly matched hers. How dare he? As if this was in any way, shape, or form her fault.

"You have got to be kidding me! You were the one who invited me to spend Christmas break at your house! You were the one who wanted me to meet your parents! You were the one who made all these grand plans, and now you just blow me off the day break starts and talk about responsibility?" She couldn't believe him. She really, truly, couldn't.

Except that, maybe, she should. This wasn't the first time Draco blew off their plans. In fact, it wasn't even the second or the third. But he usually had a not-so-terrible reason for it, and the worst thing he had ever cancelled before was a Saturday in Hogsmeade or a picnic by the lake. This, however? This was huge, a plan that had been set into motion during the summer, when they had sent their owls into a frenzy, corresponding through multiple letters a day and vowing not to spend another break apart. She had told her parents before she boarded the train to take her back for another year at Hogwarts, that she would spend the Christmas break with her boyfriend and that they should take that trip to the sea they've been dreaming of forever. And since they did just that, and she didn't feel like ruining their holidays as well, she would now have to spend hers at the dingy castle, with people she barely knew and couldn't care less about.

She didn't even need him to change his mind at this point. While the reason he was giving her sucked, she was sure the real reason didn't—even if he wasn't planning on telling her. What bothered her so much was his refusal to just simply apologize for screwing up and leaving her hanging. If he would just say that he was sorry, she'd let this go. But she knew him well enough by now to know that the chances of that happening were non-existent at best.

"I will not apologize for your lack of a backup plan," he said, with a voice so cold that she could feel actual shivers run down her back. "I will see you after break is over. Merry Christmas." And with that, he turned around and made his way back to the castle, without even sparing her a backward glance.

And all she could do was stare after him, seemingly frozen in place, with tears flowing down her cheeks freely, and wonder if this was what loving someone was supposed to feel like.

lost my page when you kissed me

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. They had been friends, or at least something very close to it. Draco believed that only people who had nothing else to their name cared about having friends, and she somewhat agreed with him. Friends were feeble; people came and went. There was no use getting attached to them, not when you couldn't ever be a hundred percent certain that they wouldn't just up and leave one day.

But he—he was something else. They had known each other for years, attending the same balls thrown by both their parents and their associates, riding in the same train compartment on their first trip to Hogwarts, reading the same books side-by-side on their common room's couch. They were put in each other’s orbits due to their inescapable proximity, yes, but they were welded together by baked goods that they would steal from the kitchen and share in some dark corner of the too-big houses they would be dragged to, shy smiles and squeezing of hands followed by it's okay, you're not alone's, two a.m. conversations in front of the fireplace in which they discussed whatever books they just finished reading and, sometimes, maybe even more. That's what made her the first person he would say "good morning" to at the breakfast table, and what made him her preferred potions partner. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't friends, but they were each other's person. Whatever that meant.

It made sense, and it worked, and neither of them needed more. Or so she thought. Because when Draco kissed her after one of those infamous two a.m. conversations and told her „You just looked too pretty not to kiss", after she asked him why he would do something so ridiculous, she came to realize that maybe they were wrong. Maybe getting attached to someone wasn't the worst thing there was. It couldn't be. Right?

i know the girl you want / it scares me

He was scared. He was scared, but so was she. The future was uncertain and terrifying. It didn't make sense on a good day and was simply revolting on a bad one. So much could go wrong at any given moment in time, and not knowing when or what could happen made it sometimes feel like, maybe, life just wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

And when you add love to that equation? You're pretty much just signing off on a death sentence. Draco knew that, and so did she, but unlike him, she believed it to be worth it. Love was never something she saw herself needing, or even wanting, but now that she had it, she was certain it was worth all the heartbreak it might possibly entail. Draco, however? He still didn't trust her enough to let his walls down completely, to give her the power to destroy him and believe her when she said that she would never, ever do that.

She loved him, and she was certain that he loved her, too, but she also knew that he might never be able to let her know that himself. And she knew that he expected that to be enough, that her own knowledge would suffice her and that she would survive without his confirmation, and maybe she could. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to. Spending your time with someone who was emotionally closed off to everyone around you and made them feel like they were replaceable was one thing, but spending your life with someone who was emotionally closed off toward you and too proud to tell you that the one person he could never replace was you? She wasn't sure if she was strong enough for that. She doubted she ever would be. And that terrified her more than anything else ever had before.

pretty like a girl / vicious like a man

He was beautiful. She had always found him inexplicably beautiful; his was the kind of beauty poems were about, a beauty that ran so deep and was so intricate that she sometimes wondered if he wasn't put on this world solely to be admired and stared at.

Even now, when his face was laced with fury and his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping his desk, he was still beautiful.

She wasn't even sure what they were fighting about now, stopped paying actual attention to the ugly words leaving his mouth. Instead, she was questioning her judgment. She had always found him beautiful on the outside, just as everyone else did, but unlike them, she had also always considered his soul to be beautiful, too. And yet here she was, target to his livid shouts and insults, wondering if maybe that was just another thing that she had been terribly, terribly wrong about.

give up like a ghost / leaving halfway through

It was moronic at best, really. They had spent a fortune on these tickets and had been excited for this game for months now. So, the fact that they were now letting it all go to waste? It was pure idiocy.

Especially when you looked at the why. He was being a child, a petulant little toddler who got upset at the idea of giving his girlfriend of nearly four years a kiss in public.

And the worst thing is that she hadn’t even been upset because it hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. She knew Draco, knew that he liked keeping their PDA to an absolute minimum, and she didn’t mind it in the slightest. Or, well, not enough to be actively affected by it. So, when the kiss-cam panned to their faces, she blew it a kiss and winked for good measure and went back to talking to Draco about how pathetic Potter and his friends looked standing there on the very far side of the stadium, most likely not even able to see the scoreboard. She had moved on, and so had the camera, but for whatever reason, Draco didn't.

Instead, he started huffing and puffing about Salazar knows what, getting upset at her for what, exactly? For respecting his need for privacy? For not pushing him to do something she knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with doing, even though she really wanted to? For, once again, putting him first and foremost? Is that what he was trying to punish her for? Because he certainly didn’t seem to be able to put it into words, storming off like an actual imbecile instead, leaving halfway through the match.

And of course, she had to follow him like the ever-loyal girlfriend that she was, trying to catch up with him and calm him down, even though she was seconds away from losing her bloody mind herself. She was sick and tired of his juvenile behaviour, was just so exhausted with having to put up with his shit instead of just enjoying herself, and yet it seemed as if some invisible string kept on pulling her in his direction, not allowing her to choose her own needs and herself, ever.

She wondered if he would ever grow tired of this pretence of his, or if this was what being with Draco Malfoy would entail, forever. She didn’t want to believe it, but it became harder and harder with each passing day. Maybe this is who he was, who he always would be.

But maybe it was just a matter of time before he would finally give it all up and be who she has blindly believed him to be all this time. All she could do, it seemed, was to hope that she wouldn’t be the one to give up, first.

if i'm not careful we'll be married

"Do you ever think about the future?" His voice broke through the quiet reverie they had both found themselves in. She was used to him being the first one to speak up after a long beat of silence; he didn't find it quite as peaceful and tranquilizing as she did. Not that she minded, though. She liked his voice, and she liked talking to him even more. To say that the question surprised her, though, would be an understatement.

Putting the book she was currently reading to the side, she snuggled further into him. The fireplace was providing a fair amount of heat, but the chill seemed to be inescapable in the Slytherin common room. It was also just very nice to be able to have him hold her close like this, even if the only reason he did so was because it was far past midnight and everyone else was already fast asleep.

"Sometimes, yeah," she said. "Do you?"

"Yeah." She didn't expect him to elaborate, so it stunned her when he did. "I see us. You and me, together. Married. But not like them. Like us. Does that make sense?" It did. She knew exactly what he meant. Not like them. Not like his parents, who didn't love each other in the slightest and could barely stand each other most days. And not like her parents, either, who cared deeply about one another, at least as much as you could care about someone you didn't choose to marry. They found a way to be friendly and cordial, mainly because they didn't want their daughter to grow up with parents who were constantly at each other's throats, but it was still far away from the real deal.

Were they the real deal? That's what Draco was implying, wasn't it? That if they would get married, it'd be because they loved each other. He's never even said it, she thought. And he hadn't. But he's said this now, hadn't he? And that should be worth more than any stupid three words ever could be, right? Because he wanted to marry her, really marry her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. It rarely happened for people of their status, so she should be beyond delighted that it was happening to her. Plus, she loved him, too, and unlike him, she hadn't been afraid to say those three words. Marrying Draco was what she was supposed to want; finding out that he wanted to marry her, too, was supposed to be the greatest news she's ever heard. So why was there some nagging part of her brain that knew that saying yes would be the worst thing she could possibly do?

"I know what you mean," she said. She had never lied to him before.

you want me / you're sure

Blaise Zabini was flirting with her. Then again, Blaise Zabini flirted with everything that had legs and a mouth he could kiss, so it did nothing to impress her. It did, however, do its damage by making Draco furiously jealous. After all this time together, she prided herself in being able to read him like a book. Him storming off like a petulant child made her think that, in this instance at least, even a visually impaired person would be able to deduct the fact that he was (unreasonably) upset.

Sighing, she made out to follow him, annoyed that she had to make yet another excuse for her friends. It shouldn't be her job to smooth things over every time his tantrums killed the mood at a get-together, and yet it seemed like part of the "Dating-Draco-Malfoy" package.

She found him at the lake, the same way she always did. She wondered if there was any specific reason he chose this place to run off to , but she doubted he would tell her even if there was. Some secrets just weren't worth the effort of trying to figure out.

She expected him to be upset with her, to accuse her of leading Zabini on and whoring herself out to him—Salazar knew it wouldn't be the first time. It used to upset her beyond measure. There would be a good amount of crying and screaming on her part; calling him a pretentious douche, telling him to screw off if he really thought so little of her. It always ended the same: he would storm off, eventually, and disappear for a good few hours. Then, he'd come back, without something even remotely close to an apology, and tell her he wasn't mad anymore. She knew what he really meant when he said it: I expect you not to be mad anymore, either. And even when she was, she was usually too exhausted to keep on fighting. After a while, she decided there wasn't even any point in being upset in the first place. Draco was who he was; she knew what she was getting into. Or so she kept telling herself.

This time, however, seemed different. She was sure he could hear her approach him—he always did. So why wasn't he turning around? Why wasn't he yelling at her and making her feel as if the affection of others was her fault?

He stayed quiet until she finally reached him and made to stand next to him. "I don't like it when others try to make a pass at you," he said. She waited a beat, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He did. "I know I have no right to be upset with you." This was new. It surprised her. So much so that she wondered if she might've misheard. "It's not your fault Zabini has no respect for boundaries, or anyone else, for that matter. I just... it's paralyzing, sometimes. Realizing that you could leave me for someone else at any given moment, and there's nothing I could do about it. I want to be with you. I know I'm not always good at voicing it, but I do. I'm certain. That's why I get upset. Because it terrifies me."

She took his hand in hers and gave the back of it a soft kiss. This was possibly the most vulnerable he had been with her, ever. She understood him; of course she did. Didn't he know that she was just as terrified? That a life without him in it didn't seem to make any sense whatsoever to her? She loved him, and now she was sure that he loved her, too.

Nothing else mattered.

lose the world that you live in / pretend that it's what you wanted

“This isn’t okay, and you know it.” Maybe she did. Maybe she knew that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel like. But it’s all she’s ever known, and sometimes it felt as if this was all she’d ever want to know. Because when it was good it was great. It was all she could ever want and then some, and she honestly didn’t think she would ever find anything better than it.

Draco wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She had her flaws just like anyone else, so to expect him to be something she herself couldn’t be? That seemed unfair and illogical at best.

“Look, you don’t get it, alright?” And she didn’t. None of them did. Not her mother or her father, not her friends or his. They were complicated and messy, but they were right. Right for each other, right in all the ways that mattered. She loved him, and he loved her. If there was anything in life she was sure of, then it was that.

“You can’t let him treat you like that.” That’s what it always boiled down to. Every fight she ever had about him—and there were probably too many to count—always came to the same conclusion: She shouldn’t let him treat her like that. But what did that even mean? No one would ever treat her the way he did. No one would ever look at her as if she was the reason they got up in the morning, as if she hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. No one would ever be able to make her feel like she was the thing they lived for, someone they’d die and kill for in the same breath.

So, what if he’d yell at her and insult her and make her question her worth sometimes? He’d never allow her to question herself out loud to him; he’d make sure to show her how important she was to him. And Salazar forbid someone else dared to say the wrong thing when it came to her—he’d made sure it’s the last thing they’d ever say.

Maybe she knew it wasn’t okay, what they were doing. There were a million words to describe their relationship, with toxic and unhealthy being the prime examples. But no relationship was perfect. Why should theirs be?

it's a life i could have, i know

They were invited to someone's birthday. She didn't even know whose, just knew to wear "that green dress that makes you look like actual royalty". There also had been a promise by a certain someone that the dress would later be carefully taken off, and that there would be some... not so careful actions afterwards. It was the prospect of that that kept her from making up some excuse as to why she suddenly had to leave this awful and hollow house and curl up with a book and one of Draco's sweaters in her bed.

The party in itself wasn't awful; on the contrary, it was lovely. The music was played by a live orchestra, and the entire house was decorated in different shades of blue and silver. There were white roses everywhere, and the food was exceptional, too. But she didn't know anyone here except for Draco; she didn't even know the birthday girl. She was a couple years older than the two of them, and from what she understood she was the wife of a son of a business partner of Draco's father. Or something like that.

She was currently standing in a corner all by herself, with a champagne flute in hand, trying to find Draco in the crowd. He had snuck off some time ago, claiming that he had to make the rounds or else "my father is going to chew my ear off about it", convincing her that it wasn't necessary for her to introduce herself tediously to every single person he would have to shake hands with. He wasn't wrong, but somehow standing in her lonely corner appeared to be an even worse fate.

Eventually, she locked eyes with Draco and gave him a small smile. She knew it was pointless to beckon him to her; he'd just shrug her off. Instead, he sent a quick wink her way, before turning back around to speak to whatever important person he was speaking to right now.

This could be my life, she thought. Going places with Draco, having him wink at her from across the room, promising to take her dress off at the end of the night and make it all worth it. This could be the rest of her life. She could see it, could see herself be one of the important men’s wives, gossiping away in some lonely corner just like hers, on their fifth or sixth flute of champagne already, trying to hide the hollow look in their eyes. This could be it. It was nothing like the life that she had wanted for herself all this time, and yet it didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it should.

throw your rocks / scream that you hate me

She didn’t even know how long it’s been. All she knew was that her mother had been up twice to tell her that she was this close to hexing him away from their property, and that she had begged her just as often not to.

“He has every right to be upset,” she had said, and could feel the bile rise in her throat at the bitter taste of the lie. Because no matter how often she told herself just that, it didn’t sound any more truthful to her ears than it did the time before. Yes, maybe Draco was allowed to be upset. She certainly was. But standing below her window, completely wasted, and throwing rocks at it, whilst yelling profanities at her? No one should have the right to do that.

And it wasn’t as if it was her fault, either. She had given him a choice; she shouldn't have had to do that. She hadn’t even meant to. It was supposed to be clean cut. She was supposed to tell him that it was over, that it should have been over a long time ago. If he still couldn’t tell her that he loved her after five years together, chances were that he never would. And she was just so tired of not hearing those words.

But she had looked him in the eyes and something—something made her believe that maybe, just maybe, he would realize that she was worth so much more to him than his pride and that being with her was worth more than being whoever he kept on pretending to be.

She should have known that her stupid, childish hope would be the death of her.

So here he was now, screaming that he hated her, that he wished that he had never met her, that being with her had been the greatest mistake of his life. And what if he wasn’t wrong? Would things had been different had she been different? Would he have been able to tell her how he felt if she had been more like Daphne? Would she have been able to leave him sooner and protect her own heart had she been more like Pansy?

It was driving her mad, the never-ending question of “what if?”, and yet her silly mind didn’t seem to be able to put an end to it. Because no matter how awful being (or in this case not being) with Draco may have been, it was still the most magical time in her life so far. And she didn’t even doubt for one second that the rest of her life might have been just as magical, too. Except that there was only so long a person could survive on magic and maybe’s, before eventually having to put an end to the madness and realize that the whimsical dreams weren’t anything other than nightmares hiding behind a pretty façade.

She loved Draco, loved him with her entire being, loved him more than she could ever imagine loving or even wanting to love anyone else. But, somehow, along the way, she had come to realize that just because she couldn’t see ever loving herself even half as much as she loved him, it was still enough to realize that leaving him was the only way she could ensure that she wouldn’t lose herself completely.

So, when her mother came up for the third time, this time with her father in tow, she didn’t fight them when they suggested to call the authorities to remove the Malfoy boy from their property. After all, just because Peter never wanted to grow up, didn't mean Wendy couldn’t.

i could love you / wait 'til you're ready

It was the little things more than it would ever be the big ones. She knew Draco, knew that the only way she could expect big romantic gestures from him was if someone were to put him under a spell, which is why she came to appreciate the small gestures and hold them as close and dear to her heart as she possibly could.

It was the little enchanted paper cranes that would hold little love notes of “your hair looks pretty today” and “how lucky I am to be dating the smartest witch in this castle”.

It was how he would lend her his robe without a second thought when he would see her rub her hands together in a fruitless attempt of warding off the cold, even though he had adamantly tried to convince her to wear a jumper underneath.

It was how he would press a kiss on her temple first thing in the morning, without fail, every single day, no matter if they had fought the previous evening or not, letting her know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was how he would rub her feet at the end of a long day in Hogsmeade, knowing that her boots were a size too small but that she loved them too much not to suck up the pain and go out with them anyways.

She loved him, and whilst she had no problem with telling him just that, he had no problem with showing her, either. And maybe he wasn’t lying when he told her that he just needed time, that she ought to just be patient, that sooner rather than later he would feel ready enough to say it, too.

The question wasn’t whether she could wait or not; she knew she could.  The question was whether she loved herself enough to know that she shouldn't have to.

forever 20

Twenty.

That’s how often she had said it, and how often he had stayed quiet. And every time he hated himself just a little bit more because he knew that with every time that she would say it without hearing a reply, he would get closer to hearing it for the last time.

And now here he was, stuck at twenty, forever, because he knew her well enough to know that it was over, really, truly over, with no one to blame but himself.

The worst thing was that for every time she said it, he had wanted to say it tenfold, had wanted to shower her with those words until she grew sick and tired of them. Had, on the worst days, wanted to just grip her by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake her and tell her, over and over, that he loved her, that he had loved her all this time and would love her for all the time to come.

But he never did, and now she was gone beyond his reach and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, maybe, this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The best thing he had ever done for her. And that had to count for something, right?

[mattmurdocksscars]

Late Night Healing Sessions

A/N: Installment two of the Chaos Trio aka the continuation to Friends?! This chapter is kind of Frank-centric so hope yall enjoy! Sorry this took so long to get done, my muse has been dead for some time now.

Warnings: Wound tending, cursing, it’s pretty tame.

Pairing: Eventual Matt x Reader x Frank

"Red."

"Castle."

"I ain't been shooting anyone lately so what brings you here?" Frank looked Matt over and raised a brow. He was posted up on a rooftop, just watching and listening. Matt had popped up next to him though and if Frank didn't know any better, he'd say Matt was nervous.

"Can I ask you something?" Now Frank definitely knew something was strange but, figuring it was probably something vigilante related, he shrugged and nodded.

"How did you know Maria was it for you?" Frank choked and Matt had the decency to look sheepish even with his mask still on.

"You comin to me for love advice, Red?" Matt sighed and tugged his helmet off, running a hand through his hair. 

"No. Maybe." Matt growled. "I don't know, okay?"

"Is this about your friend from a couple weeks ago." Matt's sudden silence and the way he froze told Frank everything. "I don't know why you haven't gone for it. Even you, a blind man, should be able to see that she cares about you."

"Just because she cares about me, doesn't necessarily mean she wants more. I mean, she doesn't even really know who I am."

"And whose fault is that?" Matt grit his teeth. "Yeah, exactly. You closed the door, not her. From what I saw, she'd be very interested in taking things further. And you clearly are too, if the way you put her in bed says anything."

Matt huffed and started pacing.

"But what if I put her in danger?"

"Sounded like she could take care of herself. And if the way she stood up to me says anything, she definitely ain't afraid of much."

"That's what I'm afraid of. I'm half convinced she'd follow me every night but there seems like there's something holding her back. I can't place it, but there's more to her."

"And there's more to you. Maybe if you let her see that side of you, she'll show you her secrets too."

"All of this doesn't negate the fact that I don't want her in danger because of me."

"Look. I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you this. Life is a bitch. It'll take everything from you in the blink of an eye. But I wouldn't still be here today if it weren't for the memories of the good times I carry with me. Maria, she might not have approved of what I'm doing but she would have understood it. She was there through all the tours and the night terrors and the bad days. I wouldn't be who I am if I hadn't had that support."

"... Thanks, Frank." Matt nodded his head to Frank and slipped his mask on. He headed for the edge of the rooftop and just as he was about to jump, Frank spoke again.

"Hey, Red? Don't wait too long. Someone else might come along if you do."

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Castle. Stay out of trouble, will you?"

"No promises, Red."

~~~

The uneven knocking at your door woke you from an uneasy sleep. All night you'd felt that something was off and so you'd tried to stay awake to see if Daredevil needed your assistance. When he hadn't shown by his normal time, you'd laid down on the couch and passed out. Now though, you jolted awake and up, rushing towards the door.

"I'm coming, D, I'm- What the fuck?" Standing at your door was not Daredevil, but Frank Castle. "What are you doing here?"

He looked like shit. Blood wept from a cut on his forehead and down his face. Speaking of blood, you realized the rest of him was covered in it. 

Rather than answer your question, Frank swayed and hissed as his body caught the door frame. You winced at the blood he left behind but brought your eyes back to the man in front of you. 

"Castle…?" That seemed to startle him into awareness enough for him to speak.

"Didn't know where else t' go. Need help, please?" Your brows shot up and you immediately opened your door wider. 

"Come on, let's get you inside." As soon as you put your hands on him to help support his weight, he dropped. You cursed as he almost brought you down with him but you managed to keep your footing. 

"Fuck." You hissed, trying to figure out how you were supposed to get this massive man inside your house. Putting both hands under his shoulders, you pulled with all your strength. 

He barely moved. The movement also drew a moan from him and you winced in sympathy. Moving around so you could face him, you gingerly cupped his face.

"Hey. Hey, Frank, wake up. I can't get you inside without your help. Come on. You can do it."

You kept coaxing him and silently hoping none of your neighbors chose to look out their windows anytime soon. 

"Come on, Castle. Don't make me slap you."

"You wouldn' hit an injured person." He slurred and you nearly sobbed in relief.

"Don't try me. Now, come on. I need you to help me get your ass inside." You pulled on his shoulders for good measure and watched as he then forced himself up onto his feet. You stood with him and carefully began leading him inside. It took the two of you entirely too long and the way Frank got paler and paler the more the two of you moved, did not sit well with you. 

"What the hell happened to you?" You wondered aloud. 

"Mob. Irish. Motherfuckers hit hard when they want to." You sighed and rolled your eyes in frustration. 

"Of course. You and Red are gonna be the death of me."

"Mm. Red. He talk to you yet?" You furrowed your brow but figured it was good to keep him talking. You settled him on the couch and rushed to grab your first aid supplies.

"About what, Castle? Keep talking."

"Shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"He wouldn't like it." You huffed and began working on cutting Frank out of his shirt. He started to go lax on you and you quickly shook him.

"Hey, hey! Keep talking, Castle. Why wouldn't he like it?"

"'Cause he likes you and doesn't wanna admit it." Frank slurred out and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. You ignored them in favor of starting to stitch Frank's wounds. 

"Oh yeah? He tell you that or are you just guessing?" 

"He told me. But it's also obvious as shit. The two of you aren't subtle." Your face burned from his comment, but he was still talking and you weren't going to stop him.

"Told him to quit bein a scaredy cat. Life's too short for that shit. Also told him he better figure it out before someone else comes along."

You half listened as you worked to stitch up the worst of his wounds. He was a mess of knife slashes and stabs and you had to hope that nothing out of your limited experience was wrong. Frank was starting to fade again, so you gently shook his shoulder.

"I need you to stay awake, Frank. Keep talking to me."

"About wha?"

"Anything. Tell me… tell me about your family, Frank." It was quiet for long enough that you thought you'd overstepped but then Frank started talking. 

He told you about Maria and Lisa and Frank Jr. He told you stories and little moments and your heart ached as you realized just how much this man loved his family… and just how much he had lost. 

Frank managed to stay awake the entire time you worked on him, but just barely. You sent up a silent thank you to his family. They're memory had kept him alive another night.

Sitting back, you pulled your gloves off and patted Frank absent-mindedly on the arm. 

"Alright, I've fixed everything I can. You know the rules from last time but to be honest, you might need longer than a couple hours. So stay as long as you need." You told him, standing and wobbling because of how long you'd been kneeling. A weak hand shot out to stabilize you and you huffed a laugh. 

"Don't worry about me, Castle. Worry about yourself."

"'M fine. Just need to sleep a few hours and I'll be right as rain." You jokingly rolled your eyes and stepped away from him. Taking all the dirty materials you used, you threw it all out and then went to the sink to wash your hands.

"Sure, Castle. Whatever you say."

"Oh, so I'm Castle again, huh? Thought I was Frank now." 

"Frank is reserved for almost dying only." You teased from your spot at the sink and you heard him chuckle then hiss. "Sorry. Seriously, get some sleep. And I mean it when I say stay as long as you need.”

“Thanks.” He murmured. In the ensuing silence, you assumed he fell asleep. Keeping as quiet as possible, you cleaned up as much of the mess as you could. Finally, once your place was relatively clean, you checked on him one final time. As you had guessed, he was fast asleep. Deciding to keep an eye on him, you settled into one of the chairs you had catty corner to the couch. Pulling a blanket over yourself, you settled in to get a restless night of sleep.

Throughout what was left of the night, you checked on Frank several times. The amount of blood he’d lost was worrisome and the last thing you wanted was him dying on your couch. When you finally gave up on sleep, it had been about 5 hours since Frank had fallen asleep. Getting up and stretching, you headed to the bathroom. After brushing your teeth and running a hand over your hair to tame it some, you headed back into the living room. You froze in the hallway when you realized Frank was no longer on the couch. Instead he was standing in front of your coffee maker, sleepily pressing buttons. 

“Castle, what the actual fuck are you doing up right now?” You scolded. 

“It’s mornin’. I need to get going.” You rolled your eyes and walked over to him, gently nudging him out of the way and getting the coffee going.

“I swear, you’re just as bad as D.” Frank grunted and leaned against the counter as the two of you waited for the coffee to brew. He seemed like he wanted to say something so you kept quiet and let him get his thoughts together.

“About last night…”

“What about it?”

“What I told you. About Red. I shouldn’t have said anything. What goes on between the two of you is none of my business.” You raised an eyebrow and turned to face him fully.

“It obviously is some of your business. D trusted you enough to come to you and talk. That’s gotta mean something.”

"Yeah and then I broke that trust by telling you." Frank rubbed the back of his neck. "If it's all the same to you, can we pretend I never said anything?" 

"Of course. It doesn't matter much because I still doubt D will say anything to me. He's too guarded." You shrugged and poured yourself and Frank a cup of coffee, passing his to him before doctoring yours to your liking. 

"He's got his reasons. This life ain't easy." Frank said, a dark look on his face. You were quiet for several minutes before you spoke again.

"Did you kill them?"

"Who?"

"Everyone involved in your family's death."

"...Yeah. Yeah, I did." Frank was surprised when you smiled.

"Good."

Frank decided then that if Matt didn't make a move soon… he might be the someone else he warned Matt about.

[joe-spookyy]

nothing makes me more evil than seeing someone misinterpret daniel “oz” osbourne of buffy the vampire slayer fame. this is deeply unfortunate because it seems to be all everyone knows how to do. the amount of people i’ve seen dogging on him for things he did not even have control over is crazy. if you have issues with him read on. he’s the best character and i will die on that hill, so fight me on this one. i dare you. season 4 spoilers under the cut sorry to my friends. also him and tara could have been best friends but this isn’t really about her. just had to say it.

FIRST of all. he did not cheat on willow. veruca took advantage of him. i don’t even get how there’s grey area there - it’s clear that in both situations the wolf has control over oz, but not over veruca. so not only was HE not choosing to have sex with her or even aware that he was doing it, but SHE was aware and was taking advantage of him. this is not in ANY way his fault??? now yeah. he coulda been a little more defensive about himself when he was talking to willow and buffy but it’s oz. he’s already worried about hurting people when he’s a werewolf. if everyone’s telling him he’s bad and wrong for this he’s gonna believe it even if it isn’t true. and he didn’t have to scram and go full no contact after that. but again. he was SCARED! he didn’t wanna hurt willow any more than he already had. he made a snap decision based on what he felt he HAD to do. and if you’re one of the people who says just because he brought veruca into the cage that means he Wanted her to do that to him. i am going to get you. that’s victim blaming. he just wanted to make sure she didn’t KILL anyone. it makes sense that he would pick risking her taking advantage of him again over letting people die. did he handle it perfectly? no. that does not mean he wanted her to do all that. he loves willow and says that so many times explicitly. literally left to make sure he was good enough for her. he did not want veruca. jesus.

and SECOND. even worse is the people who are saying he comes across as homophobic for having a negative reaction to finding out about willow and tara. like. hello. did we watch the same scene. not once does he say anything negative about the fact that they’re both girls. he’s clearly just upset that willow didn’t tell him she was involved with anyone else, and with his whole new controlling the wolf thing, there’s gonna be a lot of pent up emotion and probably anger. so when he got extra upset when tara wouldn’t tell him anything more and eventually ended up wolfing out, it’s clear that it’s because he’s upset that he trusted willow but she didn’t give him all the information about where she was at and whether or not he had a chance with her again. which makes sense from her perspective of course, and tara’s reaction was valid too, but we can’t act like he suddenly hates gay people just cause he got mad that someone he cares about wasn’t totally honest with him. and he warns tara so he doesn’t end up hurting her by accident. and at the end of the episode all he wants to know is whether willow is happy. and she is. and so he’s happy for her and accepts it. i don’t even know how people are getting any other perception of the situation. god. sorry.

big idea is if you think oz is in the wrong for either of these i am going to hunt you down and beat you up evil style and maybe sit you down and have a talk about media literacy.

[suzukiblu]

Heyyyyy, who wants the expanded excerpt of that one WIP of mine with transfemme!Kon, two glorious and terrible Amazons, and familial soulmates that's behind this here read-more?? (( tw: internalized misgendering, unintentional misgendering ))

Kon just saved Lex Luthor's life, so that's kind of weird and unfortunate. Like, he's perfectly aware that Kal would've wanted him to do that and would've done it himself if he hadn't been too busy bashing on the robot minions of the latest morally dubious AI to need dropkicked out of Metropolis, but also now the whole stupid world is gonna know he's the kind of dumbass who wastes time saving Lex Luthor. 

Specifically, wastes time saving Lex Luthor in the middle of a situation that has at least an eighty-five percent chance of being Lex Luthor's own goddamn fault, just to really rub it in.  

Look, somebody had to have programmed that morally dubious AI. 

Kon can't even enjoy the fact that Luthor's currently knocked out on the ground and both of the dude's super-hot and allegedly Amazonian bodyguards are on top of him. And considering that the one's all buttoned up in a sexy chauffeur uniform with semi-sheer stockings and the other's wearing a black minidress and strappy gold stilettos under a trenchcoat, and that they're both at least six feet tall and built like, again, actual Amazons, that is a lot to not be enjoying. 

. . . although actually, he can't help but notice, they're weirdly not his type despite the fact that they're both absolutely gorgeous and also the fact that he pretty much just described the stars of at least the last three pornos he watched. 

Very weird, Kon thinks, then attempts to get out from underneath said porn star bodyguards. The chauffeur-looking one–Mercy, he thinks her name is–cuffs him upside the head, then pulls out a gun that he cannot even imagine where she was hiding and takes aim at the nearest robot. 

"Quit wriggling, brat, you'll throw off my aim," she orders, and then starts firing. 

"Aren't you supposed to be a fucking Amazon?" Kon demands incredulously. Since when the fuck do Amazons use guns? Since when is that a thing? 

"I am also not too stupid to see the benefits of high-velocity rounds," Mercy replies dryly without missing a shot. Every robot she hits immediately explodes. There is literally no reason a normal handgun should be causing that reaction, so Kon's just gonna assume that's not actually a normal handgun. 

"Always with the high-velocity rounds," the other bodyguard–Hope, Kon's pretty sure?–snorts as she strips off her trenchcoat and reveals a truly improbable amount of absolutely flawless muscle packed into that skintight minidress that Kon, again, finds bizarrely just . . . not hot, somehow? And neither is Mercy's narrow-eyed look of concentration or the fact that they're both still on top of him. 

Maybe he's coming down with something. 

Admittedly, he's pretty sure they're only on top of him to keep him pinned down to be a useful meat-shield for their currently unconscious boss's much less invulnerable body, but Kon has found people who were repeatedly bashing him in the face with an I-beam or just straight-up about to murder him hot, so . . . yeah, definitely coming down with something. There's really no other explanation. 

"Hmmm," Mercy says, eyeing the swarming robots that are very aggressively beelining for their position. Like, these robots are way too interested in their position for this whole stupid situation to not in some way be Luthor's fault, in Kon's opinion. "We need to clear some space." 

"Then you should've packed a bigger gun," Hope says dubiously, dropping her trenchcoat on Kon's head. 

"Fuck's sake," Kon mutters, then flattens his hands against the pavement, grabs every robot he can reach at once with his TTK, and rips them all to pieces in one burst. 

It's not easy, but he at least nails a pretty respectable amount of them, so he's got that much. And also, like, about a hundred-yard radius without anything that's trying to murder them in it. So that's nice. 

". . . huh," Hope says, tilting her head. 

"You're welcome," Kon snipes. "Can I get up now?" 

"No," Hope says as a fresh wave of robots rushes them. "Do it again." 

"Whatever," Kon mutters, but he does. He's got better shit to do right now than argue with alleged Amazons of unexplained origins. Taking out as many damn robots as possible, specifically. 

"That's convenient," Hope observes, inexplicably dropping a hand onto the back of Kon's neck and squeezing . . . approvingly, actually? "Good job, kid." 

And that, bafflingly, still doesn't do anything to his dick. 

Okay, so he's probably actively dying of radiation poisoning from, like, some kind of new stealth kryptonite that Luthor has in his pocket or whatever. Luthor would absolutely be the asshole to have stealth kryptonite in his pocket right now, ungrateful prick that he is. 

Kon really doesn't have time to be worrying about that right now, though, so he just grabs another group of robots with his TTK and does what comes naturally as Mercy keeps firing at the ones in the air overhead and Hope keeps her hand on the back of his neck. It . . . still isn't doing anything to him? 

Except it sort of is, just . . . not in a way that makes sense. 

Kon really doesn't have time for this. 

Mercy reloads her handgun. Hope squeezes the back of Kon's neck again. Rubs the pad of her thumb across his pulse, the gesture more absentminded than anything else. 

Kon feels weird. 

Then he rips apart every single fucking robot left on the ground. 

Which is . . . a lot of robots. 

Like. Way, way more robots than he actually should've been able to get a grip on. Or even reach. 

"Uh," Kon says, blinking stupidly. 

"Damn convenient," Hope says, then gives his neck a neat little pat of appreciation before dropping her hand away. Kon does not examine the part of himself that misses it, mostly because said part has literally nothing to do with his libido and he just can't make that fact make sense. "Mr. Luthor? You with us?" 

"Not at the moment, no," Luthor mutters from the pavement, pushing himself up carefully and dusting his suit off with a mildly annoyed expression, like they're not currently in the middle of a half-destroyed city block while innumerable robot minions and Kal and Kara are all throwing down in the sky overhead. "Hn. Is there a reason the two of you are perched on one of Superman's pet teenagers? The more annoying one, even?" 

"Convenient bullet-catcher," Mercy replies dismissively, shooting down a couple more of the aerial robots. 

"Also surprisingly obedient," Hope muses. 

"Asshole, I literally just saved your life and fucked up half an army of shitty robots to keep it saved, and as for you two, I did your fucking jobs for you, and all three of you are all gonna be shitheads to me about it?" Kon demands in exasperation. "Seriously?" 

"Seems like a reasonable source of entertainment for the afternoon," Luthor says, idly watching Mercy shoot down a few more of the airborne robots. "Given that Superman's being inconsiderately dull and not getting himself punched nearly hard enough." 

"Let me the fuck up already," Kon says flatly. 

"Oh, that hit was a slight improvement," Luthor says musingly as he gets to his own feet and finishes dusting himself off, clearly far more interested in watching Kal get knocked around by the aerial robots than anything else. Kon flips him off on principle. Mercy pistol-whips him for it. It doesn't really hurt, which bemuses him enough to lay off the rude hand gestures. She's an Amazon, probably. Almost definitely. Either way, she definitely could've made that actually hurt. 

So that's weird. 

Actually a lot of weird has been happening in this whole stupid interaction, really, which is what Kon gets for saving fucking Lex Luthor's life. 

Something explodes really loudly in the distance, which is probably the command center that Steel was supposed to be dealing with because all the remaining robots jerk violently and then drop out of the sky like rocks all at once and crash into the ground. Which–thank fuck. 

"Hm," Mercy says, holstering her gun as she glances around the smashed-up street and finally gets off Kon. "We might actually make your three o'clock, Mr. Luthor." 

"Unfortunate, given that I'm fairly certain my three o'clock is good ol' Brucie Wayne," Luthor says dryly. Hope gets up too and, absolutely inexplicably, offers Kon a hand up. He's so fucking bemused that he actually takes it, and she pulls him to his feet. "That man is absolutely unbearable." 

"Mmm, I don't know, Hope and I usually find Mr. Wayne good for a bit of afternoon delight," Mercy drawls, sounding amused. 

"Ew," Kon mutters reflexively as he lets go of Hope's hand and makes a face. Then he wonders what the fuck kind of kryptonite that stealth kryptonite is, because picturing two dangerous and gorgeous Amazons making a sandwich out of a slutty Gothamite playboy shouldn't be making him say "ew". Like, that is very literally the last thing that should ever be making him say "ew". Ever. 

Seriously, what the fuck. 

Luthor looks back over at them. 

And then he frowns. 

"Hope," he says. "Mercy." 

"Yes, sir?" Hope asks. 

"What the hell are those?" Luthor says. 

Hope and Mercy frown too. Then they look at each other. Look each other over. And . . . pause. 

"Oh," Hope says. 

"What the fuck," Mercy says. 

Kon has no idea what they're all frowning about, but whatever. An annoyed supervillain and his annoyed bodyguards are not his also-annoyed problem, at least not as long as they're not actively trying to murder Kal or blow up Metropolis or whatever. He's just gonna go make sure everybody he actually gives a shit about is okay, and then get back to–

Hope and Mercy's frowns deepen, and then they both flick their eyes towards him. 

"Bullshit," Mercy says, her eyes narrowing. 

"What, do you think it was one of the drones?" Hope asks dubiously, raising an eyebrow. 

"He's a damn man," Mercy says accusingly. "Worse, a damn boy!" 

"Excuse you?" Kon says, bristling reflexively. He's technically eighteen, okay? Or at least the rough equivalent of eighteen, whatever. 

"I will say, not quite what I pictured for either of your types," Luthor says, looking Kon over with an unimpressed expression. 

Oh, gross. 

"Annnnnd I'm out," Kon says firmly as he lifts off the ground, because Lex Luthor just checked him out and he needs to go gag now. And like, scrub the entire memory from his brain. 

Hope grabs his shoulder and shoves him back down onto his feet. 

"You're our soulmate, kid," she says matter-of-factly. Kon . . . blinks. 

"The fuck?" he says, and Hope points down at herself. He looks. There's a soulmark wrapped halfway around her right thigh, which is . . . weird, actually, because he doesn't remember her having a soulmark there earlier, especially not such a big and flashy one, and . . . 

What the fuck, Kon thinks. He looks over at Mercy and sees the exact same soulmark showing through her stockings in the exact same place on her own thigh. He doesn't remember seeing it there before either. 

It's . . . well, it's a soulmark, he guesses. It's gold–like, several different shades of gold, but all of them metallic and gleaming. He can see the shine of the mark even through Mercy's stockings. It looks like a mosaic of a stylized sun, all intricate rays and bright circles and interlocking shapes, and it takes up a hell of a lot of real estate, going all the way from just above their knees to who knows how high up under their skirts. It's . . . well, it's pretty. 

Actually, it's beautiful, and Kon kind of wants to touch it. To touch both of them, more specifically, ideally at the same time. 

And still not in the pervy way. 

So that's a bad sign, definitely. 

"Take your pants off," Mercy orders impatiently. 

"How about 'hell no'?" Kon says, because yeah he has literally no sense of shame or self-consciousness but Luthor was just eyeballing him like a weirdo and he very much does still want to go make sure nobody he gives a shit about got fucked up by a morally dubious robot or anything. And like–okay, fine, apparently he has soulmates and apparently those soulmates are both drop-dead gorgeous Amazons, but like . . . he doesn't actually give a fuck right now, and also they both work for Lex Luthor, so that kinda doesn't bode well for any kind of long-term relationship or whatever anyway? Like, this is very much about to be another Knockout scenario. Knockout in stereo, even. 

Ugh.

"I said take your pants off," Mercy repeats in annoyance. 

"Again, hell no," Kon tells her. 

Mercy grabs for his belts. Kon dodges her. 

"Hey!" he says. Mercy glowers at him. Hope folds her arms. 

"It's obviously him, Mercy," she says with a sigh. "We haven't touched anyone else but each other and Lex in at least an hour, and any of us would've triggered a mark long before now." 

"He's a child," Mercy bites off. 

"I'm eighteen, kind of!" Kon protests indignantly. If he had to forcibly lose sixteen-odd years of his natural lifespan, at least people could fucking acknowledge him as a fucking adult. Like, is that too much to ask?

"You're two," Luthor says dryly. "'Kind of'." 

"Oh, fuck you," Kon snaps, scowling at him and also not sure how he feels about the fact that the fucking weirdo actually knows how old he is. Like, why the fuck does he know that? 

"A literal child," Mercy says witheringly. "A literal child is our literal soulmate. In a V-shaped triad, of all things!" 

Honestly, if somebody'd told Kon half an hour ago that he had two soulmates and said soulmates were a pair of smoking hot older women dressed like professional escorts who could both kick his ass due to being unconfirmed Amazons, and he was the focal point of their V-shaped triad? He would have very literally needed to go have a lie-down until he recovered enough to get some bloodflow back to his brain. And it would've had to be a very, very long lie-down. 

Right now, though, it's just like . . . a thing, he guesses. A very weird thing that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, as far as he's concerned. 

"Well, he'll mature," Hope says resignedly. "Theoretically." 

"Oh, that's a turn-on," Mercy snorts. 

"Look, whatever, I'm not into you two either but I'm not being a prick about it, am I?" Kon says in exasperation, folding his arms. 

The other three all pause. Then they all turn their heads to look at him. 

"You're not?" Luthor says, sounding mystified. "What, neither of them?" 

"Not that it's any of your damn business, but no," Kon says, wondering what his life has come to that he's actually answering the asshole supervillain right now. 

". . . you know, you could just come out to Superman, it's not actually necessary to so aggressively pretend to be straight," Luthor says dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. Kon, again, wonders how and why this weirdo knows anything about him, much less enough to have an opinion about his sexual orientation and the way he expresses it. "I mean, you'll have to put up with him 'validating your identity' every five minutes, I'm sure, but he isn't going to disown you or whatever nonsense you're expecting." 

"I'm bi, asshole, and I am out to Superman," Kon says in exasperation. Who, admittedly, did kind of spend a couple months validating his identity every five minutes after he came out to him, but that's neither here nor there. "It's possible to just not be into someone." 

"But you're not into either of them," Luthor says, eyes narrowing in consideration. "And they're your soulmates." 

". . . oh gods," Mercy says in horrified realization, putting her hands over her face and staring at Kon through her splayed fingers. "Hope. Hope, are we fucking parents?!" 

". . . huh," Hope says, tilting her head. 

Kon blinks at both of them. Then stares at both of them. 

"Are you high?" he says incredulously. "There is literally no damn way!" 

"Really? Because it'd be one thing if you weren't sexually attractive to either of them yet," Luthor says, still eyeing him assessingly. "You're barely past jailbait, physiologically speaking, and that's frankly being generous. But neither of them is sexually attractive to you?" 

"It's possible to just not be into someone!" Kon protests again. "That doesn't mean they're my moms, for fuck's sake! It could just be, I don't know, platonic or something! Or a sibling bond!" 

Not that those options aren't just as weird and doomed as a romantic bond would be, obviously, but at least they'd make more sense than a parental one would. 

"Amazons only get sister bonds, brat," Mercy says dubiously, which Kon guesses makes sense but also makes him feel a little–never mind. Never mind how it makes him feel. 

He doesn't like how it makes him feel, though. For reasons that he's just . . . not ever gonna examine. 

Ever. 

"Yeah, well, last I heard nobody ever proved you two were real Amazons anyway," he snaps back defensively, clenching his fists at his sides. 

"It's adorable that you think we care what anyone else thinks," Mercy snorts, rolling her eyes. 

Kon very literally cannot imagine just not caring what anyone else thinks to that degree. Like–not ever. 

Must be nice, though.

[pixlpxie]

Heeeyyy. I have a question. (SA trigger warning)

Do you think the desire for cnc stems from previous sexual trauma? I've seen an anon here say that she wanted to be full on tortured and held down by, was it Yunho or Hwa, I don't remember. I didn't even sense the consent in her ask. And I was like, I'd be down, and then I was like huhhh???? I would?????

I was almost sexually assaulted by an agemate when I was 14. Back then, I felt horrible. Like, I really went through it. Asking myself why I was even there in the first place yk? Blaming myself, and so on. I was also sooo against any form of non-consent, even if it was consensual. But now that I look back, I'm like, ugh I was over reacting and if I went back in time to that moment I would just tell my young self to shut up like it wasn't even that bad. (My morals do prevail and I know that any kind of SA is not acceptable. If it were anyone else, I would NEVER say this.)

But now I am so very willing to participate in cnc, 100%. Even take part in various kinks. I think I just grew up and became more self aware and honest with myself, but I would like to know if you think my previous experience contributed to this.

Also, you don't have to answer this if it makes you uncomfortable. I love love love your page, like it constantly reminds me that I'm not odd for liking the things I do😭🫶🫶. Thank you so much. You're a blessing to many of us, and some hATERS (cue annoying people) cannot even seem to understand that. Talking about lists and all that. Ew

Such topics do not make me uncomfortable, don't worry🤭its literally my job atp (im a psychologist now so I mean it)

First of all before I get into it, I want you to know that you were never the blame. Its not your fault that you had to go through something like that. I'm so sorry for what happened and I hope you are better now. And you feeling bad about non consensual plays for some time is totally normal, don't think that you had to enjoy this kink right away.

Honestly I had to research quite a lot on this topic before because even though I knew it was a perfectly normal kink, the reality of r*pe makes you doubt yourself. So I wanted to find out if there was something wrong with me or not because no one around me irl likes cnc. They think its extremely weird. It turns out nothing's wrong.

There are many reasons why a person can be into cnc, involving extreme versions of it. You can already guess some of them, which is that it's a really strong roleplay for power dynamics. Whether you are the agressor or the victim, you give in to the most extreme level of domination or submission. It's also primal. It can easily bring out your animalistic sides. Many people enjoy this. So for example if you like being the victim it can simply mean that you like not having control. Its a good way to relieve stress and release adrenalin too.

The other reason is that CNC can actually work as a coping mechanism. In fact, kinks and role plays are important for human psychology. They can help you resolve or at least deal with unresolved issues in two main ways. The first is that you might have experienced something related to the said kink/rp. In this example, you might have actually experienced SA. It's not easy to accept a reality like this and it can easily damage a person's identity and self-perception. It can take so long to get better. So you need to find a way to cope with this and resolve it. So over time you can start enjoying CNC as it would give you a sense of control that you couldn't have during the bad experience. You can control, change and alter the way the role play can go. This can help you to accept what's happened in a less damaging way, assuring that you are in control. It can also help you relive the experience over again, although this can sound bad, you can become insensitized to the situation.

The second way is that these unresolved issues don't have to be anything related to the roleplay. Meaning you don't have to experience SA to enjoy CNC. Such symbolic roleplays can help you deal with repressed emotions and help your subconscious to process the material there. As such roleplays also have clear cut archetypal figures, they can help you deal with deep-seated symbols, personas or narratives. Do you know why they say people with daddy kinks don't have a healthy relationship with their dad? Its not true all the time obviously (bc its so common now) but it's a good way to show you what I mean.

So no, not all people who enjoy CNC experience SA or similar events. But if you had, it can help you cope too. But kinks and fetishes are way too deeply rooted in your subconscious and they are madly complicated. Most of the time you will end up feeling so lost when you try to find out why you have a certain kink/fetish. So you're not really supposed to know why you like the things you like. You should let your psyche and subconscious deal with them. As long as theres constent and they dont hurt other people, you can enjoy anything. Its ok. Don't let people make you feel bad for enjoying CNC. Trust me, people who like this kink are actually really nice and care so much about their partner's well being. Meaning the agressor roleplayer don't actually want to r*pe anyone irl. That's what I've seen.

Overall, in your case, it might have contributed. And it's ok. Keep enjoying your roleplay and let it help you resolve your trauma.

And thank you so much I hope youll keep enjoying my blog and i was able to help 🥺🥹💖💖

[hannahssimblr]

Agnieszka is available, actually, likely because our family pays her more than most people pay babysitters. I don’t think they’re being deliberately generous to her or anything, it’s more likely that they don’t really have a concept of how little babysitting teenagers earn. Recently Ivy asked my father what minimum wage was after hearing it discussed on the morning radio and he suggested that it was very little money. Something like thirty euros an hour, probably. 

She arrives in her usual furry coat and uncomfortable looking high heeled boots with the chill from outside clinging to her, and I invite her. I give her the awkward spiel about being allowed to watch any of the channels on TV and take what she likes from the fridge as though I am a fully grown adult, not a school boy two whole years younger than she is and then finally, forty five minutes later than I had planned, I leave the house. 

It’s Jen who answers the door when I knock, and she has an amused look on her face, “I thought you’d chickened out.”

“No,” I shiver as I step into the warmth of the hallway, kicking off my shoes and shrugging out of my coat and bag “It was my mom. She decided she had plans and left it to me to sort out a babysitter at the last minute.”

“Colette had plans?” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, she doesn’t have any friends, I don’t know what the hell she was doing.”

Jen leads me into the kitchen where she fills a glass of water for me, “Is it a work thing?”

“On Saturday?”

She shrugs, “Maybe she’s having an affair.”

I take the water and chug it, parched after my sprint down the seafront, “Yeah. maybe.”

“Good for her.”

I snort.

“There’s potential in this, I think we could run with this theory.”

“I love how much you love theorising about my parents. But they’re just not interesting enough to do any of the crazy things you like to think they do.”

“So you don’t think your dad is fucking the babysitter?”

I pull a face, “No. Why would she fuck him?”

“Uh! Because he’s a stone cold fox.”

“Ugh.”

“When you remove his odd personality from the equation, like, yeah, he’s objectively hot. Michelle and I had a conversation about this a while ago, and of all the parents we know, your dad is the most physically attractive.”

“God!” I let a full bodied shudder rip through me at the thought of anyone having ogled my father when he ventured downstairs to frown at us when we made too much noise at home.

“Oh don’t be so disgusted, take it as a compliment. You’re all him. You’re just like a mini Christopher.”

I’m aware of this, of course I am, but still, hearing this fact aloud makes me queasy. All I’ve ever wanted for myself was to be so supremely unlike Christopher that similarities were nowhere to be found, for people to say ‘No way. You’re related to that guy?’ But looks, my colouring, my height, my bone structure and that slight romanesque curve of my nose give it all away, these things I cannot easily change. I’ll always be recognisably Dr. Christopher Turner’s son, and every teenager in Clontarf is going to think so when they're lying in his chair watching him tighten their braces.

I shake the thoughts away, “Have you started the movie yet?”

“Started it? We’re like halfway through now.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so punctual.” 

“Half seven means half seven.” She points out, “You snooze, you lose. But still, come into the living room and watch the end of it. You might be lost but that’s not my fault.”

We creep into the darkened room together, where the only light is from the glow of the TV. It’s a particularly quiet scene in the film, and all of the emos snap their necks around to glare at me as I create noises of disturbance with my entrance. 

I whisper that I am sorry and find a place to sit on the floor near that girl with the pink hair. I touch her accidentally with my elbow and she flinches away like I am an escapee of Leper Island so I shift a good metre to the left in case I inflict myself upon her again. 

Wow. I think to myself after five minutes of concentrated silence. They’re really, actually watching the movie. Whenever I hang out with my other friends we just blab our way through it, making stupid jokes and saying ‘that’s you’ whenever someone ugly comes on screen. I don’t know what this movie is but at some point a zombie with bits of rotten flesh hanging off his face claws his way through the earth to stagger toward an oblivious canoodling couple, and I bite my lip to try and stop myself from saying it to Jen. I know it would be so funny but she would be the only one to think so. 

It’s a long film and I never fully understand what is happening, so I’m glad when the credits roll and I can get up to stretch my legs. The lights come on then and I get to see them all in their outfits, and me in the middle of them all in mine: tracksuit bottoms and a football t-shirt. The fact is that when we’re in our uniforms it’s way easier to ignore the contrasting details about us, but now as I look at them and they all stare back at me I wonder if there is true merit to this deep seated feeling I keep getting that I naturally belong in that reeking changing room, discussing the Premier League and the merits of Kid Cudi's Day 'n' Nite music video with the rugby boys instead. 

“Are we out of snacks?” Jen says as she peers into empty bowls dotted around the floor, “Damn, okay, I’ll run down to the shop for more before we start the next film, I suppose.”

“I’ll come too,” Michelle raises herself up from the couch, all legs in her fishnet tights, and then Evan does too, and I know I’ll have to go with them in case the rest of the room starts feasting on my innocent flesh while I’m left alone and vulnerable with them. It works out well this way, because there was something I was planning to talk to Evan about. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[sheriffgrimes-archerdixon]

So I am autistic, not very high on the spectrum, and I would love to ask for a fluff request with Daryl Dixon but as a father figure. The girl is like 19 and she is Rick Grimes daughter or whatever. So she had moments when she’s excited or happy, maybe nervous she fidgets and won’t stop moving around. She will also just make random noises just to calm nerves or something. Big crowds bother her and cause her to be just overstimulated so maybe Daryl takes her away from like the party and outside where he calms the reader down? I know from experiences that I am a very touch sensitive person with textures, so what if he uses his poncho knowing it’s a texture that is for comfort for her, or Dog could be used for the comfort too. Just overall him being a dad figure to the reader. But I am obsessed with fluff

Thank you so much for the request!! I’m so sorry for how long it took! I hope it’s what you were looking for! I of course don’t go through what you go through so this might not be realistic/ authentic and I apologise if it isn’t! But I hope it doesn’t disappoint!

Simple reassurance

The small party being held in the Monroe families house within Alexandria’s protective walls. You were already feeling incredibly anxious and this didn’t help you one single bit. You always struggled with crowds and lots of people, it made you uncomfortable and well… this was making you increasingly uncomfortable, your hands fidgeting by your side- a slight clicking coming from your mouth. It was a sound you made without even being aware of… but it happened every time you were anxious, worried or embarrassed. Almost like a cringe… because you truly didn’t want to be there. Parties during the apocalypse just seemed bizarre. Absurd. It felt wrong.

And unbeknownst to you your closest friend had spotted your odd behaviour. Daryl was incredibly observant and he knew just by your body language that you were uncomfortable, people drinking around you, attempting to engage you in conversation yet you were clearly anxious and didn’t want anything to do with it. “Hey y/n,” the older man called grabbing your attention, your hands almost stimming as you struggled to keep them still, fingers wiggling as your wrists almost hit against your sides. It wasn’t your fault… you just felt incredibly sick. So many people. So many different smells of food and beverages, you just felt sick to your stomach. His hand gently grabbed a hold of your wrist where he quickly lead you outside and into the fresh air, where you automatically calmed down, body language becoming calmer and more neutral “you good?” He spoke gruffly your hands now squeezing in and out of fists, body feeling tingly in the most revolting way. Textures often helped make these feelings go away- sometimes you’d just touch your clothes and that would help but that wasn’t solving the issue this time.

“I- I feel like I have a fucking microfibre cloth on me… it’s freaking me out..” you expressed to Daryl you grew more concerned, he knew what you were like and how textures often helped “here,” he reached his hands out towards you, offering his hands “hold my hands.” Daryl wasn’t a very touchy person… never in fact… but he cared very much about you and just wanted you to be okay. He knew what it was like to feel… odd… feet not grounded on the floor. It was almost anxiety inducing. He also understood the fact that you were touch sensitive, so he was always cautious no matter what. Your hands shakily gripped onto his rougher dirtier hands his touch gentle and reassuring as he gave your hands a simple squeeze yet within ten seconds you had to pull away

“I- I’m sorry… I just…” “no. Don’t apologise. Come with me..” he spoke before nodding in the direction of his home before he began walking, you trailing slightly behind him as you followed after him before eventually being lead into his home. You sat down on the couch in the living room, Daryl disappearing before returning crossbow in hand and an arrow, you took the crossbow into your hands the cold texture making that little crack in reality shine through as a soft breath soon left your lips “you know you really shouldn’t force yourself to do things you aren’t comfortable with…” he spoke softly the look on your face proving it all as he let out a soft grunt, quickly shaking his head “I know what you’re goin’ to say. You’re a people pleaser.. ya need to learn how to say no.” He spoke sternly his eyes full of concern yet a lot of care and affection for you. He was always a reserved man but seemed to hold a lot of care for you.

Your thumb traced over the arrow head before you glanced back at Daryl “teach me how to say no.” You spoke Daryl not responding to that as instead he whistled, tapping his thigh loudly “dog! Hey dog! C’mere boy!” He called, dog happily trotting into the room greeting Daryl before the dog bound over to you, snout immediately pushing into your lap, the arrow now beside you as instead your palms were stroking against the dogs fur , entangling within his soft winter coat the texture immediately bringing you comfort, dog wagging his tail as he licked your cheek tail at a medium height, wagging happily. “Even dog agrees.” He spoke, you glancing at Daryl before letting out a soft laugh “you know I can’t say no.” You murmured Daryl shaking his head in disagreement before sighing softly “I’m okay now.” You reassured continuing to fuss dog, Daryl raising his brows at you knowing there was some sort of a catch to your words “I’ll go back to the par-“ “nope.” He cut you off shaking his head “but you can come with-“ “no y/n. I don’t like people. And I know you’ll panic if you go in there again.” He spoke you knowing he was right as you instead focused on dog, running your fingers through dogs fur, dog licking your cheek again, paws coming to collide against your thighs his tail wagging faster and faster “dog come,” Daryl soon called hearing your soft laughter as dog continued to lick your face your eyes squeezed shut- as if the animal knew you needed something to laugh about, not listening to Daryl as he continued licking over your face, daryl watching with amusement before shaking his head “dog, hey boy!” He called again clapping his hands the dog bounding over to him before Daryl stood up fussing dog before walking over to you, you standing up before watching him carefully “can I hug you?” He asked you, he knew your boundaries and knew what made you uncomfortable but also what you struggled with so always asked no matter what. You nodded your head the man getting closer to you before pulling you into his embrace his hug gentle and careful but also secure and safe.

“Please learn how to say no.” He spoke to you a small smile tugging at your lips before you sighed softly “okay… I’ll try to.” You reassured with a soft laugh Daryl soon pulling back hands resting upon your shoulders “good. You better.” He spoke a playful threat coming from him but you knew he was just playing around “now first… will you go into that party?” He asked “no.” You said after a moment or two Daryl smiled “good. You’ve got no one to please other than yourself. Now go pick up that crossbow and we can go hunting yeah… get our own food.” You smiled amused you loved hunting with Daryl. It was your favourite thing ever.

“Squirrels?” You asked and he nodded

“Squirrels… or maybe even deer if we’re lucky.” He chuckled out making you smile widely. Gods did you love him.

[hurlingsupport]

Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous (Gender Neutral Reader Insert)

Chapter 18: Recovery

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Normally, when someone wants to create a sense of peace and tranquility, they'll describe the feeling of the sun on their skin. I mean, who wouldn't? What's better than the feeling of warmth you get from the sun on a chilly day? Or the burning sensation of an oncoming tan while you're lying in the sand at some beach resort? Well, not that you knew anything about that. You lived in some random Midwest town. The closest thing you could get to a beach tan is by standing in a parking lot at 2 pm.

That's off topic though, what you're trying to imply here is that the sun isn't doing jack shit to make you feel peaceful. In fact, you're convinced that big, stupid, orb of light is shining on you in order to ruin your day more than it's already been ruined. Although, It's not entirely the sun's fault. It's mostly due to the fact that you're being treated like a toddler that's going to eat an electrical wire as soon as you're left to your own devices.

“You're seriously not letting me come?” You hiss, hands outstretched in perplexity.

Darius shakes his head, “You need to rest some more. We don't know what we'll find–”

“We've been in the tunnels before; I'm fully aware of what's in there. It's not like I broke my leg!” You spare a quick glance at Yasmina's frown before adding onto your sentence. “Why does Yasmina get to go?”

“Yasmina's basically fully healed.” Darius argues.

“So am I!” Ben grabs your shoulder, maybe in an attempt to calm you down, but you shrug his hand off.

“No, you're not.” Darius mutters, his brows furrowed in a rare expression of anger. “You reopened your wound yesterday, and you're obviously not…” He pauses, eyes darting away from your face.

“What?”

“Nothing! You just need to rest more!” He sputters.

Darius spins to face away from you, pulling the others away to discuss what to look out for while they explore the tunnels. You're not sure what would even be down there at this point, but if they didn't want you to come, then fine! You'll just find another way to occupy yourself.

Taking a seat on your bed, you huff in agitation. It's not like you're going to walk using your face. There's no way you'll reopen the wound again, that was a one time thing. It wasn't your fault. And what was Darius even going to say? You're not what?

“Hey,” Brooklynn takes a seat next to you, the dingy bed creaking under the extra weight. “Darius wants me to stay with you.”

You spare her a fleeting glance, not wanting to take your anger out on her. It wasn't Brooklynn's fault that Darius was so paranoid now. Granted, you didn't expect him to give you a babysitter of all things.

“He's being really strict now.” Brooklynn whispers towards you, her eyes watching as Darius gives out different orders and directions, letting Kenji butt in when needed since he ‘knew the tunnels like the back of his hand’.

“I know.” You murmur in agreement, arms crossed.

She stares at you for a bit before leaning in closer to take a look at your bandages. “Do they hurt at all?”

“Yeah.” You pull away as her finger traces the wrappings on your face.

It actually hurt a lot, but you were hoping that if you could ignore it you'd be able to join the others. It's obviously pointless now. So, you don't hide your nauseous expression as the burning wound on your face continues to throb. The bite on your neck had lost its numbness as well, and now you've had to avoid the temptation to itch it. It was like a giant mosquito bite but prehistoric.

“There should be some painkillers somewhere around here.” Brooklynn says, fingers pressing against the bite on your neck, only relenting when you winced. “We should change these bandages, too. And you need a shower.”

“Do I smell bad?” You ask before sniffing your arms.

“You smell like metal.” Brooklynn stands from her spot on your bed, off to find the medical supplies now that the others were gone.

To be honest, you barely noticed they left, too busy grimacing at Brooklynn's poking and prodding. Now that you think about it, that may have been on purpose. Ignoring that, you head towards the makeshift shower.

“Oh, make sure not to get any soap on your face.” Brooklynn warns you.

“I know.” You pull the curtain back, stepping in before shutting it again.

You really should get a clean set of clothes to change into, but they're not that dirty. Most of the blood got on your sweater, which you're sure is long gone by now. So, you leave your clothes in a pile right outside the little shower room.

With Kenji's morning showers, it's not unexpected when the water comes out rather cold. You don't mind that much. Still, you feel a pricking feeling along your back as you wash. Like a feeling of disgust stabbing your flesh and sinking into your bones. But you're not sure what for.

You're careful to avoid your face as you put shampoo and conditioner in your hair. But even then, you can see little droplets of blood falling to your feet. Or maybe that's the blood that dried in your hair. You just know that your fingertips are a slight pink, and you feel like puking.

The wounds on your face are still fresh and fiery. However, the Compy bite has already scabbed over. And when you glide your fingers across it, you can picture the dinosaur biting down. And after that, you can imagine what would happen if Ben didn't find you when he did.

Would their little pack eat you alive? Would you even be alive by then? Would you wake up to the feeling of your flesh being torn into and be forced to sit there and endure it? Sit there and watch as each bite numbs you more and more, until you can't even feel the pain anymore and your body feels like another's.

The feeling of disgust builds, a ringing in your ears distracting you from anything else but your hand as it makes its way to your face. Then, with your pointer, you feel the painful groove in your nose, which had before been spotless. And you trace the sensitive flesh leading to your eye. You wonder if it's still there, hidden under skin that's so desperately trying to rebuild itself. Or maybe it just went ‘pop’ when the bullet hit you. Your hand goes higher and higher, fingers just barely grazing where your eye should be. You can't hear anything besides the ringing in your ears and the ‘click, click, click’ of a spinning dial as a hunter prepares his shot. If you turn around, will you see the red reflection of his scope? Or will your vision go black as he takes your other eye?

“You okay?”

You startle as Brooklyn knocks her knuckles against the outer wall. You gulp, quiet as you catch your breath, which you hadn't even realized was stolen away.

“Yeah.”

You turn the shower knob, and the lukewarm water leaves you shivering. Beach towels aren't very good at drying people off, in your opinion. They're better for lying on the ground, whether that's to avoid hot concrete at a public pool or hot sand at a sunny beach. Still, they're the only towels you saw back at Main Street. Or, at least according to the others. You weren't in charge of gathering supplies back at Main Street. Before Mitch and Tiff. Before…

“I'm getting dressed.” You tell Brooklynn, making sure her back is turned before you grab your bundle of clothes. You pull your tank top over your head with a wince. At least your jeans don't come into contact with any annoying injuries. Once you've got the important things on, you sit on your bed and give Brooklynn permission to look. You're putting your socks on when she walks over. Once again, she takes a seat right next to you, sorting the supplies she had in her hands.

“Your bite scabbed over pretty quickly, so we shouldn't have to rewrap it.” Brooklynn says with a slight smile.

You hum, adjusting your position when she motions to do so with her hands. Once you're facing her, she pushes some of your wet hair out of the way so that she can get a good look at your face. Even though you know she's doing this for a good reason, you feel grossed out by the feeling of her eyes on you.

“Y'know Darius is just worried about you, right?” Brooklynn asks diffidently.

“I can tell.” You scoff.

Brooklynn grabs your face, forcing you to look at her stern expression. “I'm serious.”

“I know.” You shove her hands off you, “Did he tell you to say that?”

“What?” Brooklynn hesitates, hands lingering in the air. “No, why would you think that?”

“If he has something to say to me, he can say it himself.” You watch as Brooklynn's face falls.

“No, no, I didn't…” She stutters. “Are you really mad at him?”

You don't answer her, and you're about to just up and leave, even if nobody approved of you doing so. But Brooklynn grabs ahold of your shoulders.

“Look, you can be mad at him. It's none of my business.” Well, that’s surprising. “But I still need to rewrap your head.”

“I can do it myself.” You push her hands off of you, but she grabs onto you again with twice the vigor.

“Please.” Brooklynn begs. “Let me help you.”

You watch as tears build in her eyes, and guilt stabs you in the chest. Why was she so adamant about this? Why did it matter so much to her? Was she trying to make you feel bad? But, no matter her intentions, you didn't want to make her feel this way just because you were angry at Darius.

“Fine.” You mutter, sitting still as she sniffles.

Her grip on your arms is tight, as if she's afraid you'll make a run for it at any second. She takes a bit to gather herself, and briefly, you wonder if she's ever going to actually do anything. But you never ask her to get a move on or shove her hands off of you for the thousandth time. You just watch as she cries for reasons you can't understand.

After some time, she quietly starts rewrapping your head. You feel her hands shake as she stuffs your oculi area, and even as she makes sure the outer bandages are snug, she seems almost scared. And after she's done, she continues checking the bandages, dragging on the entire interaction.

Finally, she sits back, staring at you solemnly. “I'm sorry.” She whispers, wiping at the tear trails left under her eyes.

You're not sure what to say. You're not sure about anything that just happened. She tried to defend Darius, you got angry, and all of the sudden she's trying not to be nosey for once, and then she started crying? Still, despite your confusion, you can't help but feel bad. You caused this, even if you're not sure how or why.

“It's fine.” You utter, still staring at her in befuddlement. “What… what's wrong with you?”

You immediately regret your wording as her bottom lip starts quivering and the waterworks happen all over again. You lunge forward, unsure of what to do except hold her. She merely shakes in your arms for the first few seconds, until her arms snake around your neck.

“I'm sorry.” She cries again.

“For what?” You ask a little aggressively, only because you have no idea what she's talking about.

“I wasn't talking about Darius.” She admits. “I'm worried. I was scared, and I still am.”

“What?” You mutter, still unsure why that was such a big deal.

“Because I had to do it! You could've died, and it would've been my fault, and I'm not a doctor. I just make videos!” She breaks into sobs at the end.

You go silent, your bafflement too great to form words. Was she talking about tending to you while you were unconscious? Why did that matter so much? You wouldn't have minded it if she messed up and you died. Mostly because you thought Ben was dead too, but he's not, which is good.

But, she obviously doesn't think of it that way. You were so focused on Ben that you didn't put much thought into the rest of your fellow campers. Isn't that selfish? It definitely is. Especially since you can feel Brooklynn's tears on your shoulder and her nails clawing at your back. Brooklynn cared for you. Isn't that nice?

You hold her tighter as she continues mumbling about all her worries and her guilt. Most of which wasn't entirely made up. She could be blamed for a lot of things, but she's still a kid. Well, you shouldn't be saying that you're only a year older than her. You're both still kids. That's weird to think about. Kids don't go through things like this, usually.

Most kids still have both their eyes, they're not stuck on a dinosaur-filled island, they're not surviving on canned food, they don't have to build their own treehouses because someone's science experiment broke free and destroyed the original one, and they don't have to carry the weight of someone else's life on their shoulders. Or, at least you don't think so.

Brooklynn's tears eventually run dry, but you both continue holding onto each other. It's silent aside from the chirping of unseen bugs and the distant bellows of dinosaurs. Even the sun has died down and left the two of you to feel the growing coldness of the night.

“I'm sorry.” She apologizes again, sniffling.

You don't say anything in return at first, mostly because you weren't sure what you could say. What would make her feel better in this situation? What made you feel better when it was just you and Ben?

“I'm glad it was you.” You say softly.

Brooklynn's grip grows stronger at your words, and you're a little worried she might start crying again. But, it seems she's all out of tears because instead, she pushes her head into the crook of your neck, and you swear you can feel her smile against your skin.