#anyway i ignored facebook for a few weeks and then i see someone posted the 2nd photo and my life is made whole

[saltyground]

beardy 1980s rob :')

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Lost Lamb

pastor's son!geto x fem!reader

length: 12.8K (oof my apologies)

cw/tw: prison, arrest, religious shenanigans, implied/referenced child abuse

Your ex, your first love, Suguru Geto has been granted parole after spending several years in prison for manslaughter. You want closure.

A Disclaimer:

friends, please listen to me before you start this fic: there is implied child abuse in here.

i intentionally left it vague, because i didn't want to dwell on it for any longer than i had to. i dont have any particular headcannon about what happened to the girls in this au. assume it's bad, basically is what i'm hinting at here.

Suguru Geto’s arrest had taken your small hometown by storm.

In the following weeks, everywhere you turned there was a reminder. His empty spot in the back pew on Sunday morning, his jacket on the door hanger in your bedroom, his mugshot plastered all over facebook. You wished every middle aged mother that commented on the posts accidentally got their fingers caught in the garbage disposal. You’d made the mistake of voicing that opinion to your own mother, who’d called you hateful.

Wow!! He was always such a sweet kid!! What happened!! PRAYERS!!

Is that pastor getos boy??

It’s that damn Gojo kid he's been hanging out with.

Sad. what happens when you take god out of schools.

i cant believe this!!

I knew the minute he refused to cut his hair and stretched his ears he was a lost cause.

Your parents had eventually taken away your phone, and after a particularly rough point, your bedroom door from its hinges.

Initially, he’d received a few charges. Murder in the second degree, and attempted kidnapping. Tacked on were lesser charges; unlawful possession of a firearm, simple possession of controlled substances. Eventually, those charges had been dropped and reduced until he was left with nothing but second degree manslaughter. It was a hell of a plea deal, and most of the town suspected it had to do with the family’s influence, however the judge had simply sighted “mitigating factors”.

You do your best to ignore the whispers, the rumors, but they bled in anyway. He was gone, long gone and yet he was right there on every local news station, in every tear, in every nightmare, falling from people's lips in the local diner:

“Did you hear about the pastor's kid?”

You can't see the nasally woman behind you, but you mind conjures up an image. Middle aged, bob cut, wrinkly and judgemental. You bet she collects expired coupons like Pokemon cards.

“Yeah! I actually went to that church a few times! Isn't that so scary?! I heard that he always sat behind those little girls at church. Creepy!”

Her equally as nosey friend wasn't wrong. Suguru did sit behind the Hasaba twins every Sunday. What they didn't know was he had confided to you once that they had a rough home life. Apparently his parents had temporarily taken them in for a while as toddlers so their parents could “sober up”, the details of which were unclear. He wouldn't give you specifics, but you could garner that whatever was happening behind the scenes since they’d been returned home wasn't good. You always thought Suguru was lying in wait for something to happen, though you never knew just what.

“I mean, how do you kill someone, kidnap their girls, and only get ten years?!”

“You have a preacher for a daddy, that's how.”

“That's crazy! And a possibility of parole after only three years?!”

“Girl, I know! And poor Mr.Hasaba! He always seemed so sweet, you know? He just had kind eyes.”

She had no idea what she was fucking talking about. That man was a creep. Your mother had an awful habit of making you hug older church members goodbye, and his hands always slid a little too low, held you a little too tight. He was insistent upon cheek kisses, and they always felt disgusting; sloppy clamps of his lips instead of soft polite pecks. Once, you’d tried to tell your parents you didn't want to hug him goodbye anymore, but they'd simply told you it was the polite thing for a little girl to do.

“I wonder what he had planned for those girls?”

“Thank god we’ll never know!”

But you wanted, needed to know. There wasn't a single part of you that didn't crave the answer to the question that had plagued you for weeks; What happened to him?

Suguru had always been a sweet boy. Your playground protector, puffing up his chest to kids twice his age when they pulled your pigtails. You recalled a time he'd found a dead bird on the lawn of the church, and promptly went and buried it by the woodline, complete with a few verses of Amazing Grace and a moment of silence. He'd cried, and you pinky promised to never ever tell anyone he'd gotten so upset.

A few years later, he’d become the envy of all your friends. Any girl in your grade would've killed to have a boy two grades above them walk them home every day. You had let them be jealous, and hadn't dared to tell them that you were pretty sure Suguru would never like you like that. In fact, when they started a rumor that you two had been caught kissing behind the bleachers, you didn't deny it at all.

Turns out you were wrong, and you’d never been happier than when Suguru had asked you to prom three years later. Your parents had been absolutely thrilled. By that point, Suguru had been around for years, and he had always been respectful and well-behaved.

Doors stayed wide open when he was over, but usually he didn't seem all that interested in whisking you away from the other members of your family, much more happy to sit in the living room, talking business with your father or future plans with your mother; she liked to prod him with intrusive questions, all of which he handled with exemplary grace. That doesn't mean they weren't mortifying for you, though. Suguru was your friend and here she was asking him about grandchildren.

You had a sneaking suspicion that it was less about your relationship with Suguru, and more about your relationship with Suguru, the pastor’s son. Your family name wasn't known for much in this town, but the Geto’s held control of the church and therefore, control of the town itself. To be related to them was your mother's golden ticket to sit with the uppity tennis-skirt wine moms at every ballgame. When he started sitting with your family every Sunday, she saw an opportunity and was more than willing to take it.

It didn't hit you until he arrived at your door in a fitted suit that night that maybe one day that could be a real possibility. You hadn't expected to feel like you did. Standing in the lowlight of the gymnasium, for the first time you noticed he'd grown to something beautiful. Long gone was your playground hero. He'd been replaced by someone taller, leaner, more… handsome. The chub of his cheeks was fading, but his dimples still appeared when he smiled, and everytime they did you got this roller coaster-esque feeling, like you were free falling right through the floor.

Your mom had reminded the two of you to leave room for Jesus when dancing, but that didn't stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck as you slow danced, pressing your body against his, making a mental note to repent later. His hands had fallen against the small of your back as you swayed, and it struck you just how big they'd gotten. The thought made you shudder. His forehead fell down against yours, awkward bangs toppling out of his bun and falling across your own forehead. You tried to keep your eyes open, memorize the way his lashes fluttered against his burning cheeks, but found the sight too powerful to withstand, instead shutting them. Which was maybe worse, because without the distraction of eyesight everything else felt so much more intense. You found the rise and fall of his chest comforting, the hotness of his breath fanning across your face intoxicating. You, somehow, hadn't expected it when he leaned forward and captured your bottom lip between his own, but it lit a fire in you that to this day you hadn't been able to quell completely.

He left for college your Junior year. You had tried to hold it in, not show any sign of weakness, but every minute you spent with him felt like a countdown. He was going to the city, where the girls were gorgeous and knowledge was a bottomless well. You couldn't convince yourself he'd still think of you, the girl from down the street with braces and bargain bin jeans when he had the whole world to choose from. It had all come to head on move-in day. For the first time, your parents allowed you to be alone with him. You were angry that it just so happened to be the day you'd have to leave him here, hours away. His assigned roommate hadn't arrived yet, so he got to pick which uncomfortable mattress and study desk would be his. Your hands shook as you pulled his clothing from bins, folding them and tucking them away into the stow-away drawers beneath his bed.

“Are you okay?” He’d asked, and that was all it took for the dam to bust. You’d frozen, one of his hoodies still gripped in your hands, but when you opened your mouth to assure you were just fine, your body had betrayed you. All that had come out was a broken sob. He’d immediately dropped to the floor beside you and pulled you into his lap, squeezing you like his life depended on it. He’d promised you he'd come home whenever he could, that he was definitely not going to forget about you.

”Y/n, I love you. Distance can't take that away from me.”

”You-. You love me?”

”Unconditionally.”

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and planting gentle kisses to your scalp. It wasn't until he sniffled that you realized he was crying, too.

”I love you too.”

He couldn't come back until two summers later. Initially, you’d stayed in daily contact. But daily video chats had turned to weekly calls, and then texting only. Those texts spaced out and dissipated just like you’d always feared they would. You were surprised when he’d asked you to meet up, even more shocked to find out that he wanted you to meet him at a hotel, away from the prying eyes of your parents, or his for that matter. At first, you'd been elated, excited that he still wanted to see you after all that time, but on your drive over you’d become angry. Every moment you'd spent waiting to hear from him, every tear you’d cried, every helpless night spent laying awake hit you all at once.

You remembered your eighteenth birthday, spending most of your party glancing at your phone, hoping, just praying he’d call. You remembered your mother's funeral, when you’d listened to his father preach over her open casket, alone. You remembered that party where you’d been caged against the wall by a man much larger than you, when his lips had grazed your skin and you tried to close your eyes and imagine it was him.

He was waiting for you outside the door to the room he'd paid for, but instead of the boy you expected you were met with a fully grown man. He was chiseled, defined, from the angle of his jaw to the curve of his bicep fighting the fabric of his t-shirt. His hair was so long, silken loose locks flowing freely from his scalp and tumbling down his back.

“Hi.” He said, casually, like he hadn't broken every promise he made you and ruined every potential date since just by existing, and being him, and looking like that.

Tears well in your eyes, and you don't exactly know what the emotion behind them is; some combination of sorrow and infuriation and relief because he was here. He was finally here.

“Fuck you.” You half spit, half choke, a gurgled laugh escaping your throat because it was almost funny, wasn't it? The way he was fine and you were a fucking wreck.

He blinks, and then nods slowly, and has the audacity not to fight you back.

“I deserve that.” He pulls a white card from his pocket and keys the door open.

“You do. You really do, Geto.” You almost sound like you're pleading, but when he takes your hand and yanks you through the threshold you don't stop him. And when he backs you against the door you don't stop him. And when his lips crash into yours with an unprecedented fervor you kiss him back, lips and teeth mashing together, desperation taking hold as his tongue bullies it’s way past your lips. He moans into your mouth and you feel yourself absolutely gush at the sound, your body's reaction only serving to piss you off more.

You pull away and he dives into the crook of your neck, one large hand smacking flat onto the door above your head, the other reaching down to hike your knee around his waist.

“I’m fucking serious, Suguru! I hate you!” You cry out, but your hands tangle in his hair as he suckles on your sweet spot, marking you. You were his, you were always his, and you would always be his.

“I know.” He breathes, rocking against you and grunting as his clothed erection grinds against you, slowly at first, and then quicker, whimpers and whines mixing together in the heated air as sparks dance in your belly.

“You broke my heart.” You tell him as the hand against the door moves to hike your shirt up, bunching it around your neck as his head dips to lap at your skin. It’s messy, needy, the way he laps at you like a dog in heat.

“I know.” He repeats, and you realize he's sinking to one knee when he drops your leg, his fingers instead fumbling for the button of your jeans, doing his best to get them off before you change your mind.

“You fucking ruined everything. You ruined me.” Despite your words, you help him remove your pants and panties all at once, lifting your legs and balancing with your hands on his shoulders.

“I know.” He throws one of your legs over his shoulders and his eyes trail slowly from your face to where your core drips right in front of his eyes despite your protests.

“Who’d you shave for?” His eyebrows raise slightly in curiosity as he realizes you're free of all body hair, his eyes lifting to meet your face again.

“Did you expect me to wait for you?” You ask, chuckling incredulously “It's none of your business, really.”.

You don't tell him you have a boyfriend. Partly because you feel a sense of shame about being a cheater, but mostly because despite everything, you don't want to hurt him. Besides, it was nothing serious, just someone to attempt to fill the gaping hole left in your chest by the man kneeling in front of you. The man whose eyes had gone dark and predatory at your words. You’d never seen anything like it from him before. Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight.

“Did he make you cum?” He hums, presses his lips into your thigh.

“Oh, fuck you, Suguru.” You spit, and then immediately yelp when his teeth sink into your soft flesh as a reprimand.

“Answer me.” He chuckles against your skin and he moves higher, his tongue flat and warm against the sensitive surface.

“Make me.”

“Bad move.” He deadpans, and then licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, agonizingly slow, smirking against your core as you whine. He repeats the motion once, twice, three times and then slurps at your entrance. The sound is disgusting, but you can't care when he's buried between your thighs, teasing you, playing with your cunt like a toy. You think you hear him mutter something about how good you taste but the blood pounding in your ears drowns it out.

“Come on, y/n. Answer me, baby. Did he make you cum?” He finishes his question off by parting his lips and blowing on your clit, the cool air icy against your arousal and his spit. You shake your head back and forth, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth and glaring down at him.

“ ‘No’ as in ‘No, he didn't.’ or ‘No’ as in ‘I’m not telling.’?”

“I’m not- ah!”

You're quick to swallow the rest of that sentence when he leans forward and begins eating you in earnest. That desperate motion is back, the flat tongued lapping he’d done to your chest earlier, eager to taste and take and pleasure you. His hand grips and the underside of your thigh that's hiked over his shoulder, nails leaving red crescent marks on your skin.

Your hands fly to grip his hair and you begin to rock against him in time with his strokes, crying out with every flick and swirl and lap of his tongue. The pressure builds as he learns your body, repeating motions that get the most reaction out of you until you're basically doubled over his head, white knuckle gripping his inky locks as you feel that white hot coil in your center wind tighter, and tighter, and-

He pulls back, laughing as you sputter out “Nonono please, please!”.

“Are you ready to tell me whether he made you cum or not?”

You could absolutely fucking scream. How dare he dangle your orgasm in front of you and rip it away, just like he’d done with every hope you had of a future with him.

“Ohmygod, he didn't make me cum but he also didn't abandon me after promising he wouldn't!”

His face falters beneath you, that devilish smile melting away just briefly as your words seem to hit him in the face. For just a second, he looks familiar again, and you realize those eyes are the same ones that wept for the bird in the courtyard all those years ago.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He breathes, and before you can cry he's returning his mouth to your clit, closing his eyes and sighing into you as if the taste was soothing him somehow. His movements are now steady and fluid, and he uses more lips than before, almost making out with you in expert timing, lips smacking and slurping against you in a rhythmic motion. Below the lewdness, you can make out the sounds of him moaning, whimpering even as he drinks you down and if it didn't feel so good the fact that he seems so desperate for you would send you spiraling. This was the Suguru you knew. Honey sweet with an eagerness to please. You melt against him, gasping for air between whines. You couldn't even care that he was all but supporting your entire weight on his shoulder, but for what it's worth, he didn't seem to mind either.

A rough palm slides up the skin of your inner thigh, followed by the intrusion of two thick fingers gliding into you, not pumping but rather curling inside of you, sliding against a spot that has tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. Or maybe it is the fact that he’d come back to you after all that time, and you didn't know if he was planning on staying. Was he on his knees begging? You couldn't tell.

“Suguru, m’gonna- fuckyes, please! Cummingcummingcum-”

When your orgasm arrives, it washes across your body like ocean waves, one large crash of pleasure buckling your knees followed by several smaller ones, certain and steadfast.

He places your leg back down on the floor and you immediately fall to your knees, scrambling into his arms like he might run away if you don't, and he's quick to reposition himself beneath you so he can hold you in earnest. You think about the last time you were on the floor of some unfamiliar room with him and can't do anything but cry into his shoulder.

“Y/n?” He murmurs, and you hum inquisitively between hiccups.

“I don't believe in god.”

You draw a quick and stuttering breath as you brace yourself to sit back and look at him. His eyes are closed, though, like he can't look at you.

“I’m confused.” You admit, sniffling.

He opens his eyes to meet yours, his expression morose.

“I think I maybe never did. I always guilted myself, though. I thought-” He sighs and looks off to the side, his cheeks flushing as he speaks “I thought that it was the devil, trying to tempt me. I thought if I just prayed hard enough that it would go away-”

“Suguru, where is this coming from?” You ask, and he shifts underneath you, splaying his palm out behind him to support his weight, his free hand coming up to push his hair backwards, sliding through the root at his scalp and shaking the knots out, maybe anxiously.

“Just- just listen, please?”

That was years ago, when he’d explained to you how he lost touch with his faith. He called religion predatory, said it relied on offering desperate people a chance at salvation, at forgiveness, at love- only to take their money and run. Or convince them to vote one way or another. It was all a game of mind chess, at least to him.

He thought you’d hate him. He didn't want to hear you cry, beg him to come back home. He said hearing you devoutly defend the very system designed to harm you and keep you subservient would've been too much to take. He still loved you, by his own admission.

”There hasn't been a single day you didn't occupy my thoughts. I couldn't bring myself to rip you away from everything you've ever known.”

He would hate to see you now, crumpled at the altar, sobbing at the feet of his father, his mother's arms splayed across your body, her fingers intertwined with yours from above as she murmurs a prayer in your ear. She smells of the same laundry detergent his hoodies were always washed in, and it makes it all the more painful.

His parole hearing had been on Friday. His request for parole had been granted.

“Heavenly Father, we come before you with a heavy heart, burdened with the pain of one who has strayed from your path.”

It was always a little jarring, the way Suguru’s loss of faith came first in his list of sins in the forefront of his parent's minds. Still, all these years later, there's no one that still held this hurt the way you did.

”We know that your love is unconditional and your mercy boundless. I pray that you will lend us your grace to envelop my son, my sweet boy, in your grace and help guide him back to your light.”

You didn't know if you wanted to be a part of that. You wanted answers, mostly. You knew there had to be some reason, some explanation for his actions. You cry harder.

”Lord, I ask for y/n to be a vessel of your strength and wisdom in this difficult time. Help her to be a model of your love, showing patience, understanding, and unwavering faith. Grant her the courage to stand firm in her convictions while extending compassion and support.”

You can't argue with her, can't tell her that God has had his line disconnected for you since the day Suguru was arrested. At some point, you realized Suguru was right. Religion was a ploy for desperate people, and god were you desperate.

”Touch the heart of my baby, Lord. Open his eyes to your truth and fill his spirit with a yearning for your presence. May he feel your divine touch and hear your gentle whisper, calling him back to the fold.”

You didn't know what you could possibly say to him. Two weeks. Two weeks from today he would be home. You can't imagine what he’ll look like with a monitor strapped to his ankle. Your brain feels like sludge, so you focus on inhaling that familiar scent, imagining that it's him draped over your shoulders, the same way he'd hold you at football games in highschool.

”We trust in your divine plan, knowing that your ways are higher than our own. Let your will be done, Father, and give us peace in knowing that you are always at work, even when we cannot see the path ahead.”

For a while she just sobs into your shoulder, her white hot tears scalding your skin through your blouse as she cries.

”God, thank you. Thank you for bringing my baby boy home.”

***

“Y/n! Please, come in!”

The Geto household had been a second home to you growing up. As you stepped past Suguru’s mother into the entryway and began to remove your shoes, memories flooded your head like raging waters. Everything was so comfortable, so familiar. The gentle years-old carpet cradling your newly socked feet had been the backdrop for countless play dates, one- sided wrestling matches, and forts built from the blankets that had always been strewn across the leather couches and the barstools you knew awaited you just around the corner in the kitchen. You can almost see where your feet had worn a permanent path from the front door up the stairs to his bedroom door, though there's a part of you that knows that's unreasonable.

Pastor Geto and his wife both stood at the foot of the staircase, looking tense as they watched you shed your jacket and hang it on the coat rack. When you turn, you brush yourself off and wring your hands together. Despite the familiar place, everything feels uncomfortable. The skin of your hands feels like sheets of sandpaper grinding against each other, your jeans are pinching your waist uncomfortably, your shirt is constricting, it's too cold, it's too hot-

“Where is he?” You finally ask. You don't know why you're whispering.

“Upstairs, sleeping. He's…” Pastor Geto trails off, lets his head fall forward, and then up to the ceiling. Anywhere but your face.

“He's struggling with the adjustment period, we think.” Suguru’s mom cuts in, taking on the classic too-soft voice of an evangelical woman “He's been sleeping a lot.”. She nods, as if it's herself she wants to convince.

Your eyes trail up the stairs, and you nod and go to take a step forward, only to get stopped by the Pastor's hand on your shoulder. You lift your apprehensive eyes to meet his.

“Before you go, we wanted to know if it would be better for us to stay or if you wanted us to go. It's whichever you think will be best.”

Geto’s mother cuts in, quickly elaborating:

“We thought it may be best to give you privacy. We know this is emotional for everyone involved, but if you're worried…”

Oh. They don't want to leave you if you think he's going to hurt you. The thought almost makes you laugh, and then you remembered the whole reason you were here is because he was violent. Your Suguru, the one you knew, wasn't. But this one…

“It's okay, you can go.”

You wonder if that was the right choice as you watch them go, but ultimately you knew it was. If he could- if he did harm you, it couldn't be any worse than what he’d already done. At this point, a swift death would be a mercy.

Every step from the ground floor to the second is a labor, but you couldn't decide if it was one of love or desperation. You felt like twenty pound weights had been attached to your ankles, each stretch of your muscles burning like you’d just run a marathon. You know that twelve feet of altitude does absolutely nothing to air quality, and yet somehow with each rising inch you feel like the atmosphere thins. You reach the top of the stairs and creep your way down the hall, making eye contact with the pictures on the wall. Cheesy mall-quality photoshoots of him and his family, all wearing matching outfits and smiling in perfectly practiced photos. There are others, too; family dogs that had since passed, distant relatives you didn't recognize, your prom photo.

You physically recoil from the image. His hands resting on your waist, the butterfly kiss of the tip of his nose against your cheek that was covered in just a tad too much blush, the genuine smile you both held as you laughed not for the camera, but in spite of it. You remembered that night like it was yesterday. You remembered how gentle he’d been with you. Did he still know how to do that?

You pause to take a deep breath before you knock on his door, wrapping lightly at first to no avail, and then a little harder when you remembered he was asleep.

“Yeah?!” His voice echoes from the other side and from the tone alone you realize he thinks it's one of his parents. You bite your lip and try not to cry. Not yet.

“It's-”

God, why did your throat fucking burn like that?

“It's me. It's just me.” You call out.

For a second, all is quiet, and then your heart drops straight through to the ground when you hear frenzied shuffling coupled with the uneven slap of large feet against the floor from the other side of the door. He's flung it open in less time than you can back away, a t-shirt still following over the lower half of his abdomen as he stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide and his lips parted open as his breath seems to get caught in his chest. His hair is messy and his eyes are tired; soft purple circles beneath the expansive brown irises you’d always adored.

“Y/n?” It comes out as a question, like he can't believe you're actually standing there.

“Hi.” Is all you can manage.

You weren't sure what to expect, but it wasn't for him to sink to his knees in the open doorway, folding into himself and bowing whether he intended to or not. On the way down, his hands reach out for you, but stop just short of touching you, instead he pulls them beneath him, hugging them to his chest like he was simply trying to disappear into his self. You understood the feeling.

“Fuck, y/n.” It comes out as barely more than a whimper.

Moments pass like trying to pour cool molasses. You're stunned by indecision, stuck between what you know you should do and what your instincts demand of you. You’d never seen him so vulnerable before. His pride always, fucking always, won out over his emotions. But here he was, crumpled beneath you like a wounded man, assuming the same position you took at the altar every sunday. Was he asking of you what you asked of god? For grace and mercy and relief? For love?

You notice beneath the mass of knotted hair a tremor in his shoulders. It was quiet, near silent, but you could hear the faintest sniffling. He was crying. You had only ever seen him cry once before.

You sink to your knees in front of him in a much more controlled manner, but your fingers still shake as you shuffle forward on all fours until you can reach out and slot your fingers through his hair, grazing his scalp with your fingertips. His hair wasn't as soft as it used to be. You doubted they had his ridiculously expensive choice of shampoo in prison.

“You’re a wreck, Suguru.” You point out, and although you meant for it to sound very tough and strong-willed, it comes out in a breathy, shaky murmur.

He chuckles in a low rumbling tone, and then sits back on his knees, his palms rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to wipe away the tears before you can see them “I guess you could say that.”.

You sit back as well, planting your hands on your thighs and rolling your lip between your teeth and nodding slowly. It was too easy. You were too comfortable. You had the urge to throw yourself into him just like that, but you wouldn't. You couldn't. Right? You open your mouth to ask him why, or to scream, or to tell him that he was the lowest of the low, but nothing comes out, so you shut it again.

“Y/n” He breaks the silence first “I understand if you hate me, you have every reason to, but holy shit you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”.

His face is blank but there's a hopeful spark in his eyes. He looks just like he did the day he asked you to be his girlfriend, just like he did when he'd touched you under your skirt for the first time, just like when he'd met you outside that hotel room all those years ago. He doesn't want to show you his entire hand, but the cards reflect in his irises.

You despise yourself for your reaction.

You crawl towards him until you’re close enough to touch him, your arms slithering around his neck as you pull him into a hug. For a moment, he tenses, like he’s unsure if he should reciprocate, but then you squeeze tighter, practically begging him through action alone, and he concedes, strong arms snaking around your center as he buries his face in your shoulder. The sensation was both foreign and familiar. You’d been wrapped up in him more times than you could count on ten fingers and all your toes, but yet this one felt independent of the others. His palms were still warm, inviting, splaying out across either set of ribs from behind as if to guard your very breath from the open space behind you, but he was bigger now, buffer, his arms almost swallowed you whole and you find yourself briefly pondering if he’d spent his time in prison exercising. You refuse to let yourself think about him in an orange jumpsuit, or how his biceps would flex as he did pushups. It was not the time.

“Are you not afraid of me?” He murmurs, and you shake your head slowly.

“I know I should be.” You admit “I just can’t- I, I don’t- I missed you.”.

Your voice cracks and you choke a small sob into his hair. You were no stranger to crying by this point, but this time was less violent then the fits you’d become accustomed to dealing with thrice daily since the day of his arrest. These were tears of relief, you realized. It didn’t matter what he’d done, he was still Suguru. You still felt at home in his embrace. You still slotted perfectly against his form.

“I missed you too, y/n.” He squeezes you, just slightly, to accentuate his words “You were on my mind from the moment I saw those blue lights in my rearview all the way up until I fell asleep this morning, please believe me.”.

You pull the world's biggest breath in through your nostrils, leaning back with your hands on both of his shoulders, looking into eyes you’d dreamt about for years.

“You have so much explaining to do, you asshole.”

He cracks a small, tight lipped grin “I know.”.

A few minutes later, you're sitting on the foot of his queen sized childhood mattress with your legs crossed in a spot you’d been in many times before. In fact, it was “your spot” if you were to ask Shoko or Nanami. When you were younger, Suguru’s house had been optimal for studying. Your room was too small, Shoko’s family was dysfunctional, and Nanami swore he’d rather fail pre-calc then to ever let the three of you inside his house. Plus, Suguru had the biggest bed out of the three of you, plenty of room for laptops and papers and textbooks and snacks. The rules set by the Geto’s were that the door was to be left wide open and you and Shoko were to remain six feet apart from the boys at all times, so they would settle themselves at the top of the bed and you and Shoko would nestle yourselves at the foot. No one dared to even dream of mentioning that Shoko was way more likely to make a sexual advance towards you than either of the boys.

Suguru grabs a hairbrush from atop his dresser before settling into the head of the bed, letting muscle memory take over as he rakes it through his hair, as if he was suddenly conscious of the way he looked. It catches on the knots intermittently, causing him to wince against the feeling.

“Nice anklet.” You attempt to soothe the awkward tension with a joke “Where’d you get it?”.

His eyes flash down to his ankle monitor, and he laughs, a little mirthless, before shooting back:

“Claire’s.”

You snort and shake your head at him, trying to find a way to ask the questions that really needed to be asked without making it awkward, though at this point it seems almost impossible. He finishes up with his hair and tosses the brush onto his nightstand as he speaks.

“I wouldn’t recommend getting one, personally. You have to plug yourself into charge twice a day or you go to prison.”

“Mmhmm,” You hum “You know, your mom used to tell me this thing- something about actions and consequences, no- games and prizes-”. You sarcastically attempt to lament over just what it was, but you both know the answer.

“Would that be, uh, ’Play dumb games, win dumb prizes.’ ?” He plays your game with a smirk as you nod enthusiastically, sarcasm practically dripping from your hair as it shakes with the motion.

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, but heat floods his face and his eyes land on the carpet of his childhood bedroom. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Shame was good. Shame meant he knew he’d done something terrible. Shame meant there was hope.

“I know you’re waiting on answers.” He breaks the silence for you with a sigh, leaning forward and pawing at his forehead with his fingertips, as if he could rub away the clutter in his brain “But I don’t even know where to start.”. A sigh.

You nod, swallowing thickly, your eyes tracing the plaster on the ceiling “How about the beginning?”.

You didn’t mean it as a joke, but he giggles anyway “Yeah, I guess that would be a good starting point, huh?”. And so, following a brief pause, he tells you everything.

It started when the girls had been taken by child protective services. Panicked, their mother had called the Geto’s in a frenzy, begging them to take temporary custody while the Hasaba’s sorted out whatever it was that was going on at home. Seventeen and sheltered, Suguru’s parents had never given him all the details of why they were there in the first place, but in the sixth months they’d been there he’d undeniably grown attached to them. He described Nanako as “spunky”, said she had an affinity for fashion and anything shiny and pink. She was your stereotypical little girl, full of sass and glitter. Mimiko, on the other hand, was quiet, reserved, and spent her afternoons sat at the kitchen table with a handful of crayons and a few sheets of printer paper. She preferred not to be seen or heard.

Suguru was good with kids, he always had been. The girls were quick to shove into the role of big brother; protector. It was where he fit naturally. A fact you yourself had taken advantage of throughout your own childhood. There were no bullies, no monsters, no fears when Suguru was there. Nothing could get you. The girls seemed to have felt much the same. Nanako enjoyed pestering him, even at the big age of four whole years old. She’d beat on his bedroom door while he was studying, demanding he play with her. Drop Legos down in his boots when he wasn’t looking, force him to sit in the living room for hours on end while she knotted his hair up with sparkly elastics and butterfly clips. Mimiko, on the other hand, seemed to be afraid of him for the first few weeks, peering at him around corners as her sister made him her personal bitch.

“Eventually, she let her guard down.” He smiles fondly, shaking his head “I remember the first time she actually hung out with us. She brought her bucket of blocks out in the front yard and set like, six feet away from us while we drew on the sidewalk with chalk- well, I drew on the sidewalk. Nanako drew more on me than anything else. I’ll never understand how she figured out if she wet the chalk first it would stick to my hair. That was the longest shower I’ve ever taken in my life-”

With each passing day, Mimiko would sit a little closer, look a little longer at whatever Suguru and Nanako were getting into. Eventually, she spoke, asked if she could play, too.

“We were eating dinner one day and Nanako asked if I would be coming home with them when the time came. I had to tell her no. I didn’t even think Mimiko was listening, but she got up with her food and just went to her room.”

For a while, Mimiko had reset, if not backslid to a state worse than the one she had arrived in. This all came to a head after their final meeting with their case worker, after which Pastor Geto had enthusiastically told the girls that they would be returning to their parents soon. That night, Mimiko had simply strutted into Suguru’s open bedroom door to find him slaving over his laptop in the middle of the floor, diligently studying for his SAT’s. She’d come in with the force of a person four times her size and began absolutely pummeling him to the best of her tiny ability.

“I didn’t know what to do with that.” His brow furrows, troubled as he recalls the memory, his eyes darkening “It’s not like it hurt, you know? Not really, she was a preschooler and I was over six foot tall but still- kids aren’t supposed to hit, you know? And it was… she wasn’t hitting me like a child hits people, y/n. She was throwing legitimate left and right hooks, with follow through, and I just remember wondering where the hell she learned that. Anyway-”

He’d gripped her arms, just enough to contain her, and she’d shrieked with all her might, kicking and screaming at him to let her go while he begged her to calm down.

“Mimi, what’s wrong? Why are you being cruel to me?”

”I don’t want me to leave you!”

The immature phrasing breaks your heart. You could imagine what his reaction had been. The same soft pout he’d given you over and over throughout the years.

“I just held her, rocked her, tried to convince her she could come play whenever she wanted, y’know? But she was absolutely inconsolable. So I asked her why she didn’t want to go home, and she… God, she said-”

”He hurts us.”

“Their dad?” You interject, your voice trembling against your heightened emotion. You can feel dread pooling in your gut as he nods, confirming.

“What-” You swallow, feeling nauseated “What did she mean by that?”.

He looks you dead in the eyes and your blood runs cold. You had never before seen that expression cross his features. His eyes were always dark, but in that moment you were peering into a lightless cavern. He doesn’t elaborate, only shakes his head ‘no’. You don’t push it, and the momentary lapse of sanity seems to fade. You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

He’d taken that information directly to his parents, who had reminded him that redemption was always possible. That we as people had to have grace for others. Jesus was friends with societal rejects. Whores, thieves, and beggars. All they could do was pray about it, they’d said, the rest was up to God and the state.

He left for college not long after that, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

God and the state.

God and the state.

He tried them both. Over and over, spending his free time on his knees at the nearest chapel to his college campus, spending the drive home calling and anonymously reporting what he knew to any government official he thought would listen. All of his calls went unanswered, ultimately.

“The longer it went on, I- I don’t know. I went insane a little bit, I think. It’s kind of a blur. I just tried to knuckle down and study. The less I thought about it, the better I felt. And then Satoru-” He chuckles at the name, shaking his head incredulously and pawing at his eyes as he giggled like a little boy “Fucking. Satoru.”.

His college roomate, who you’d met briefly the summer before the arrest. You thought him to be a little wild, a little brash, but nothing prepared you for Suguru to tell you he was a little more than into psychedelics. He was always trying to get Suguru to loosen up a little, let himself experience something outside of the mundane small town life he’d always lived. Satoru was spoiled, rude, a nepo baby who’s daddy “allegedly” paid a large sum of under the table cash for him to attend the same prestigious college that Suguru did despite having a GPA lower than the Mariana Trench.

“He isn’t dumb, though. He’s actually a genius, I think. He could comprehend academic concepts I had to study hours for in minutes. He just has this thing with authority-”

It wasn’t until Satoru convinced him to start smoking pot that Suguru began to question the existence of god.

You screw your face up, and he puts a hand out to halt you from saying something you were never intending to say in the first place.

“Weed had very little to do with this. I didn’t get high and decide to murder anyone, it’s not like that. It just took the edge off of everything. I don’t think I knew I experienced anxiety until I smoked for the first time and knew what the world felt like without it.”

Without the cutting edge of his inner turmoil, and away from the prying eyes of his parents, he came to a conclusion one night while sprawled across his dorm bed as his high pulled him off to sleep; maybe God couldn’t do anything because he didn’t exist, and the state couldn’t care enough to do something about it, but he could.

He fought himself on it for a long while.

But every time he'd come home, he'd sit behind the girls in church, already perturbed by his irritation with religious ideologies, already uncomfortable with the way his Sunday best was digging at his skin- and Mimiko would throw glances at him over her shoulder, her eyes begging for him- for anyone to intervene.

“Do you remember the last Sunday I saw you before it happened?” He asked, and you nodded, your throat feeling tight at the memory.

You knew he hated church, it was all he’d ever talk about on the drive to the local burger joint after. You hated thinking of him in this way when he was so frustrated, but you always thought he looked incredible pulling his hair loose from his signature bun, thought his fingers looked so pretty tugging at the top buttons of his shirt, thought his snarl looked just as enticing as his smile in the afternoon light. Sometimes he'd pull his car off an old dirt road after, hike up your dress and take you right there just to blow off steam.

That Sunday was different, though. He had driven you straight home, his hands white knuckle gripped on the wheel at ten and two. Precise, methodical. His jaw clenched so tight you worried for his teeth. You’d considered asking if he was okay, but your mother whispered to you from the grave not to bother with men when they get like this. So you’d sat in thick silence, not even the radio on to help dampen the hellfire you could feel omitting from his pores.

“You know the Hasaba’s?”

He'd asked you, his voice grim and his eyes never leaving the road. You had nodded, a small

”Yes.”

Falling from your lips. His fingers had tapped against the steering wheel as he inhaled through flared nostrils.

”You ever notice how the dad's always a little weird with young girls?”

You didn't recognize his voice that day.

”Yes.”

He chewed on his cheek, nodding slowly, swallowing back bile.

”He ever make you uncomfortable? Push any boundaries?”

You’d gone silent, fixing your face to your passenger window, your breathing going uneven. You couldn't explain it, but you felt like it was wrong to answer that question truthfully.

He spoke your name like a warning.

”No.”

He’d laughed. Not the laugh you knew him for, but once that was low, humorless, painted in disbelief.

”Liar.”

“You were a real prick that day, y’know?” You half-spit at him, but your animosity is quickly quelled by his response.

He nods, pursing his lips “Yeah. I know. I don't know where my head was at the time, I think I had long since lost it. I could've at least told you I loved you before I pulled away-”.

“But you didn't.” You whisper, almost accusatory.

“You’re right. I didn't. It's one of my biggest regrets.”

When he’d dropped you off at your house, he hadn't walked you to your door or chatted with your dad like he usually did. He hadn't even looked at you, or waited in his car for you to get safely inside, instead speeding away before you'd even made it six feet from the car.

Three days later around dawn, the town was rocked by the news of Mr.Hasaba’s murder. He was found face up in his living room with a singular bullet lodged in between his eyes. It hadn't taken long for the authorities to lock in on Suguru. What are the odds that one man dies and another disappears in the same county at the same time? What are the odds that they attend the same church? What are the odds that the families would be intertwined and blended by way of two vulnerable little girls? It was obvious.

“The girls…” You struggle to find your words. This was the biggest part for you “What happened to them? What was your plan?”.

“I had them in the car before I ever pulled my handgun out. They were watching a movie on my phone with headphones in. Y/n, I know what people must think but you have to believe me, I would never hurt them.” His voice becomes rushed and hurried at the end, crackling on the edges and you can't help but scoot closer, holding your hands out for him to take. He does, and you give him a pointed look.

“I know. I believe you.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment and then reopening before he continues.

“Satoru has this Aunt that lives upstate. She's middle aged, super rich, and has always wanted kids but can't have them. Uterine cancer took that away from her in her twenties. I always thought she'd be a great mom so I-”

You nod, understanding, your body sagging as you feel more weight than you knew you’d been carrying falling off your shoulders as he tells you about his plan to get the girls to her. He’d been apprehended about an hour out, but he'd begged the officers to call her.

“I told them I’d take whatever punishment they gave me without a fuss if they'd just get the girls to her. Life in prison, death row, whatever. The officers told me that wasn't for them to decide but they called her anyway and she was there within the hour filing an emergency protective order.”

He smiles a little “She’d never met them, y'know? But she heard there were kids that needed her and immediately rushed to get them. That's exactly what the girls needed, that type of love.”.

Apparently, the system smiles fondly at those who take down child abusers. Or at least, in his case they did. The D.A. had thrown out a hell of a plea deal in record timing after reading over his case.

“I still had to go to court for sentencing though. I think it helped that the girls were there. They were technically classified as 'victims’ but they got so excited to see me that Satoru's aunt had to take them out of the courtroom before anything had even started. They were yelling at me, yelling that they wanted to sit with me. I think the judge was a little amused.”

You squeeze his hands, smiling up at him through misty eyes.

“Don't look at me like that,” He breathes, his eyes soft “I’m not a hero, y/n. What I did was awful-”.

“I know. But you're not a monster either. I was so scared that…” You trail off and shake your head, not sure of what you're denying.

“It's okay,” He reassures with a placating smile “I get it.”.

“You don't, though.” You tell him, watching as his face contorts in confusion “Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?”.

He nods “In my dorm.”.

“Right. Do you remember what I said?” You're slowly inching forward, crawling into his lap.

“You asked me if I loved you, like you couldn't believe it.”

You hum the affirmative, settling yourself on his thighs “And you told me you did. Unconditionally.”.

He nods, obviously still confused, and you let go of his hands to run your fingers along his jawline, noticing the way his cheeks flared red beneath your proximity.

“Whether or not you meant to, you set a precedent for me. Unconditional love is all I’ve ever known with you, Suguru. I was scared that if I came up here today and found every rumor to be true that I’d still love you… because I would. I’m glad that doesn't have to be the case.”

His lips meet yours, hesitantly at first, his hands carefully cupping the sides of your face and his thumbs swiping at the skin there, almost petting you in a way. His tongue pokes past his lips, just slightly, swiping against your lips deliberately. You're happy to part your lips for him, whimpering as he swirls his tongue with yours and washes you in the familiar taste. The wet sound and a pitiful handful of whines from somewhere deep in your chest fill the once stale and silent space as he guides you down and backward until your spine is flush with the mattress, one hand moving to cradle your head like you were breakable, like you falling against even something as soft as the plush of his bed without his protective grip may shatter you.

He pulls his lips from yours and hovers over you, planting both hands on the comforter on either side of your head, his hair tumbling down around you like a veil, until all you can really see is an obsidian void and him, him, him. His lips are pursed, eyebrows furrowing as he inhales slowly and his eyes flutter shut.

“I’m sorry, you didn't come here for this. I lost control, I-”

“Suguru Geto.” You reach up and let your fingers dance along his devastating jawline until you're gripping his chin between your pointer and your thumb. He opens his eyes slowly. You always thought he looked a little fox-like, his features pointed and sly, yet so soft on the edges. Gorgeous. He was always so god damn gorgeous.

“I don't believe in god. I can’t anymore. But every fucking night I’ve prayed for you. Just in case.”

His eyes flick across your features, some combination of reverence mixing with guilt painting his features.

“I’m sor-”

You cut him off again, this time by taking your fingers and sliding between his parted lips, pressing against his tongue to silence him. His eyebrows widen in shock at your dauntlessness.

“No. No more apologies. What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you, Suguru. If you want to apologize, fuck me like you're sorry.”

His eyes darken as you speak and he swirls his tongue around your fingers before sliding his mouth off of them with a wet popping noise, reaching up to grab your wrists and pin them on either side of your head, laying flush against your body as he dips into the soft curve of your neck, slurping and lapping at the skin there like all he ever wanted was to taste you.

“Since when did you get bossy?” He questions between kisses, a hiss pushing through his teeth when you grind down on his thigh “I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like it-”.

His teeth sink into your flesh and you rock harder against him, whining pathetically as he dips his head lower, letting go of your wrists only to rid you of your shirt and yank your bra down, not bothering with taking it completely off before he's got his mouth wrapped around one nipple, lapping in fat motions back and forth across your areola while one hand gropes your free breast, his thumb swiping back and forth over your stiffening nipple.

You curse and keen, writhing beneath him as he teased, relishing in his expert conduction of your body as he alternates between your breasts, sucking on your sensitive nipples and looking up at you with blown out pupils, drinking in the way your face contorts when he gets it just right. It isn't until your entire chest is damp with his saliva that you grip his hair, pushing on him and urging him downwards.

He chuckles but doesn't move, smirking up at you with sparks in his eyes “Use your words.”.

You pout, huffing dramatically “That's not very apologetic behavior, Sugu.”.

“How can I apologize appropriately when I don't know what it is you're asking for?” He coos, his grin carrying a wicked edge.

“You’re impossible, I’ll do it myself.” You push him back from you and he cocks a singular eyebrow as he watches you wiggle around and rid yourself of your remaining clothing, re-settling on his bed with your legs parted, your pussy practically dripping down your ass and onto his sheets. You realize as you trace over his still and captivated expression that you weren’t the only one that no longer knew the other. Just as you’d spent years apart from him, he’d spent years apart from you. You are different now. Older, wiser, more bold, less likely to take his shit.

You trace your body with your hand until the pads of your fingertips slip through your folds and make contact with your clit, your movements slow and deliberate, for now. Suguru’s eyes trace your every movement as he stands on the side of the bed and begins to shed his own clothing.

“Who’d you shave for this time?” He asks, the sound muffled as his shirt slides up over his chiseled frame and then his head.

“Why? Jealous?” You tease, and he scoffs incredulously as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down and shedding them one leg at a time, taking a little longer on the leg that has the ankle monitor.

You move your fingers a little faster as you shamelessly reach out your free hand to palm him through his boxers, a moan escaping your lips as you begin to feel the pleasure of your own hand.

He grunts and tosses his head back, shamelessly thrusting against your hand “What if I am?”.

“Then you’d be dumb,” You fight to keep your tone even and confident “because I did it for you.”.

“Fuck.” He spits, seemingly losing all patience as he lunges down and flips your body until your front is flush against the mattress, your legs dangling off the edge and your toes barely touching the floor “Are you serious? Tell me you’re serious, y/n. You knew you were going to fuck me today?”.

“I didn't know, exactly- shit!” Your hips buck involuntarily as his hand slips between your thighs to roll your clit between his fingers, hard and slow “B-but there was a part of me that- nngh!- hoped-”.

That seems to be something akin to the answer he wanted, because he straight up moans into your shoulder blades before slathering the area in sloppy kisses, trailing down your spine with fervor.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” It's a question but you can't formulate a response, not when two of his fingers are slipping inside of you, stretching you out so deliciously “From here on out, I’m gonna be the best fucking husband you could ever ask for. You'll want for nothing. Just say it, tell me you belong to me, y/n.”.

“Husband?!” You half question half squeak, but he ignores you, only curling his fingers inside you with precision, hitting that gummy spot you could never reach with your own fingers that had you burying your face in the comforter to muffle your moans.

He pulls his fingers out of you and you almost protest but then he's on his knees, burying his face into your cunt from behind and causing you to nearly scream into the mattress. You give his college days credit for how fucking good he is at giving head, his thumbs spreading your lips wide so he can trace around your clit with precision, tracing figure eights around the sensitive nub before flattening his tongue and sliding one slow and wide stripe through your entrance. You expect him to stop there but he doesn’t, continuing his trail across your other hole and all the way along the crack of your ass.

“Suguru!” You're unsure if you're reprimanding him or crying out for more, and when you throw a glance over your shoulder he simply keeps his gaze locked on yours as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your asscheek, causing you to yelp.

“Say it.” He tells you, his hand moving to toy with your clit.

“Say what?” You know what. You just wanna see how far he'll take this.

He tsks disapprovingly, his free hand moving to push two fingers into you again, curling in time with the stars he was drawing in your clit “I can do this all day, you beautiful little brat.”.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, your eyes scrunching shut as he adds a third finger, the stretch making you see stars. The flame that had been on a low simmer in your gut was now a roaring fire, flames lapping at every inch of your exposed skin with every well timed movement. It wouldn't be long before you fell apart on his fingers and you knew it.

Apparently, he did too, because he slows his movements to a torturous pace, chuckling as you attempt to shove yourself backwards onto his fingers as he pulls them back in time with your movements, seemingly amused with the way you’re squealing his name in frustration. It’s not enough, and too much. It’s so mean, and yet you can’t imagine yourself going a day without it ever again. You can’t imagine yourself going a day without him ever again.

“Make me cum, please-” You beg, and he hums condescendingly.

“You know I’d love to, doll but unfortunately I’m still waiting on those magic words.” He sighs dramatically and picks up the pace again, waiting patiently for your walls to start spasming around his digits again before returning to the same daunting pace.

“Oh my god!” You groan in frustration, slamming your face down into the mattress like a petulant child, one fist meeting the space beside your head in a shaky dejected punch.

“It’s actually ‘Suguru’, thanks.” He quips, and you’ve officially had enough.

You scramble forward until he’s pulling out and off of you with a slick lewd sound, and then flipping around to face him, all but climbing his body like a tree before twisting ever lock of hair you can find in one fist, yanking him down to eye level with you and using your unoccupied hand to shove your finger in his face with a exasperated pout.

“You, sir, are supposed to be groveling.” You remind him, and he smiles genuinely, with his whole face, his eyes scrunching into crescent moons and the white of his canines shining through plush and soiled lips. You have the same realization you had at sixteen; he’s so beautiful. Even now, even after everything.

…And then his tongue darts out and swipes a stripe up your pointed finger, and you cry out in protest and yank him back a little by the hair that was still gathered in your fist like he hadn’t just licked your literal genitalia, and he laughs the same way he did when you were kids, and your heart explodes in your chest.

“Is that what it takes?” He asks, his words coming out a little breathless, accompanied by a small chuckle “If it’ll get you to tell me you’re mine, I’ll grovel.”.

You roll your eyes, but he's undeterred as he reaches back and grabs your wrist, squeezing lightly to signal for you to loosen your fingers. You do, and he pulls your wrist to his lips, kissing languidly in gentle motions up your arm until hes reached your jawline, murmuring against your skin as he does so.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I never ever wanted to leave you. I love you, please. I love you, I’m so sorry.” His lips tickle against your skin, and he remedies it with kitten licks that have goosebumps erupting from your skin and heat pooling in your core.

His lips find yours and you feel yourself swelling with emotion as he speaks between sloppy wet smacks of your lips.

“M’ gonna get my shit together.” He promises “Gonna give you everything you want and then some. Doesn't matter if that's a camper that we drive around the country or a big house with a picket fence and a couple kids. I'll spend my life worshiping you, y/n. It's all I know how to do.”.

“Okayokayokay-!” You concede as you push yourself backwards as far as possible “I give up, I’m yours. Shut up and fuck me before you make me cry again.”.

He giggles and it sounds the mid-notes on a piano. Comforting, familiar “Since when are you afraid to cry in front of me? That's kind of our whole thing; crying.”.

“I’m not afraid, Suguru.” You scoff “I'm just sick of crying. I don't want to anymore.”.

You dip your hand into his boxers, taking his weight into your hand, causing him to hiss directly into your open mouth in response. You hadn't realized just how much you were affecting him, but the head of his cock is already slathered in precum, making it easy to stroke him in the way you know he likes, applying more pressure at the head and a little less at the base, pausing occasionally to press your thumb in circles across his slit, needy whines escaping your lips every time he blesses you with another drop of wetness, every time his cock twitches in your grasp.

“Shit, slow down-” He gasps, but grunts as he fucks into your closed fist regardless, like he can't help himself.

“Awh, Sugu, gonna come from a two minute handjob? Who are you?” You tease, and he can't even bother to giggle along with you, his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips parted in pleasure as he reaches down to push his boxers down to his thighs so he can watch you work his body, a needy, uncharacteristically high pitched keen escaping him at the scene below. You don't fail to notice the way a ridiculous amount of precum dribbles from his cock onto the soft skin of your stomach the minute he takes in the sight.

“A man who's thought about this every night for the past four yea-”

You pick up pace, causing him to cut himself short with a moan. Smirking, your free hand moves to gather the precum splattered across your abdomen, gathering the salty liquid with your index and pointer, grinning maniacally as he follows your fingers all the way to your mouth with wide, almost devastated eyes. You lick them clean, providing him with an overly dramatic whimper as you swallow, and his whole body tenses.

He snatches your wrists with force, pinning them above your head as he gasps for air and swallows thickly, his lips pursed together and his eyes scrunched shut as he wills himself not to cum, his dick spasming against your belly.

“No.” He says it in the same manner that one would use when correcting a mischievous dog, and now it’s your turn to giggle at him.

“Y/n, I am going to fuck you until you forget I was ever gone. I’m telling you. You've really done it now. Whatever happens next is your own fault.”

The words have you leaking, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Please?”

“God. Fucking. Dammit.”

He all but tosses you up towards the headboard, rising briefly to shed his boxers before he kneeling between your parted knees, licking his lips hungrily and taking in a shaky breath as he grips to his last string of self control.

“You on birth control? Say yes.” His voice is distant; far away and fucked-out.

You confirm, but barely get the words out before he's flipped you into your stomach, pushing you practically flat against the mattress with his hands on the small of your back, using one of his knees to part your legs as far as they’ll go. It almost hurts, but before you can complain he’s pushing into you, a needy groan escaping his lips as you suck him in inch by inch, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

“Easy, easy, Suguru, please-” You beg, and his thumbs rub apologetic circles into your back.

“Sorry love, I'll be gentle.” He huffs, desperate “You just feel so good. Better than I remember. Tell me when you're ready, yeah? We're about halfway there.”.

Halfway? What the fuck do you mean halfway!?

…Is what you intend to say, but it comes out as a muffled jumbled mess as you do your best to accommodate him. You throw a glance over your shoulder just in time to see him gather a large wad of spit in his mouth and allow it to drain from his lips onto the place where your bodies meet. Your pussy clenches around him as his spit slides down the crack of your ass and flows over his cock, dripping down beneath the two of you onto the bed below.

“Like that, huh? You’re a freak, baby.” His grin is absolutely demonic.

You rock yourself back on him in response, effectively wiping that egotistical look off his face with one buck of your hips. He begins thrusting, shallowly at first, and then quicker, deeper, until he’s pounding into you with force.

Every thrust has you crying out into the mattress, mewling as he slides against your g-spot over and over, pushing down on your spine to angle you just right, and you silently thank god that he knows you so well. His slightly obsessive tendencies were more useful in some areas than others. You remembered the first time he fucked you, his eyes analyzing your body with surgical precision, mentally mapping every sweet spot in academic detail, committing you to memory and since then he seemed to know exactly how to use you to his satisfaction. You knew him well enough to know that nothing got him off quite like knowing he could get you off harder, faster, better than anyone else. Better than yourself, even.

He groans, allowing his head to fall forward until his forehead rests between your shoulder blades, sweat mixing between the two of you as he slows temporarily, rolling his hips rather than thrusting, leveraging his cock inside you and grinding down against your walls, the pleasure rolling over you in one never ending wave instead of repeated splashes.

“Fuck, Suguru-!” You keen, gripping at the sheets for some sort of purchase “Please, please, I wanna watch-”.

You slap at his forearm to signal him to let you move and he does, pulling out of you and watching with a fucked-out gaze as you settle on your back underneath him, moving to lock your legs behind his waist as he settles between your thighs and reaches down to guide himself back in with a hiss.

His thrusts are slow and methodical as he presses his lips to yours, swirling your tongue with his and allowing you to capture the wet muscle between your lips and suck, earning yourself a groan and a change in pace, lust overtaking his determination not to bust. He reaches down with one hand to rub the most delectable circles on your clit, whining and whimpering as you clench around him in response, the pressure in your stomach building at an exponential rate.

“I swear to god, it's like I can't get close enough.” You can't tell if he's blathering to you or himself but he reaches down and grabs the underside of your knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders and fucking into you impossibly deeper until you're certain he's bruising something inside of you. The pain mixing with the pleasure has you teetering on the edge of euphoria, your whole body tensing as tears pool in your eyes and you yelp with every thrust, trying to formulate words even though he's effectively smoothed over every ridge in your brain. All that's left is him and how good his cock feels reshaping your body from the inside out.

“I, I’m-” You attempt to announce your impending orgasm but no words come out, only an illegible mess of jumbled stuttered moans.

His hand slides down between your bodies to toy with your clit again “Please, baby, please cum for me, I can't hold out much longer. Not when you look like that.”.

The sound of him begging for you is the final nail in the coffin, your whole body spasming in an explosion of pleasure as you cum on his cock, damn near screaming his name, curling inward and gripping at his hair with desperation as he only pounds you harder.

“F-fuck, fuck, baby- yes. Holy fuck you're incredible. All mine. You're mine.” He's a blubbering mess above you as he blatantly chases his own high, his breath labored with effort, his eyes wide and drinking in your expression as you fall into the territory of overstimulation from the continual force. Your legs tremble against him, every thrust making you jerk and twitch beneath him.

“S-say it baby, fuck. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Suguru! I’m yours, please-!”

His orgasm hits him so fast it almost shocks him, his whole body stilling as his dick spasms inside you, painting your walls with an obscene amount of cum.

His muscles relax as he rests his forehead against yours, trying desperately to remember how to breathe. You tap at his shoulder and he mumbles an apology, helping you to pull down one leg at a time.

He pulls out and flops down beside you on his back, comfortable silence overtaking the familiar room, nothing but the sound of your breathing slowly evening out echoing off the walls.

You turn your head to look at him and he’s already staring at you, smiling gently.

“Hey.” He whispers cheekily, like an awkward teenager as he reaches over to brush locks of sweat dampened hair away from your forehead.

“Hi.” You respond in the same tone, grabbing his hand and bringing his knuckles to your lips, pressing kisses to each one.

“I think your parents wanted me to come up here and convince you that God was real.” You tell him, and he laughs, bringing his hands up to cover his face in embarrassment. You giggles meld with his, adding “I think I got a little distracted.”

“A little?” He questions through the laughter, and you nod.

“Mhm!”

“I mean, I think I saw him there for a second if that counts for anything-”

“Oh my god, you're so dramatic!” You playfully slap at his bicep and he catches your wrist, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“I love you.” He murmurs, pressing kisses into your hair, inhaling your scent like he couldn't get enough.

“Unconditionally?” You ask.

“Unconditionally.” He confirms.

masterlist

[ddanthedumbass]

"PSA: Johnny"

Call Me Karizma

May 25th, 2018

Another school shooting happened today, one will probably happen again next week and the week after that. I'm no politician, I'm not a lawmaker, or a judge, or a person of authority. I am no longer a student, I'm not a teacher or a parent. I'm an artist, and I believe my job as an artist is to create music to open the listeners' mind in the few minutes that they're hearing my song. I don't promise to always say the right things or to be politically correct, I don't know enough about guns or what laws might prevent the next murder of an innocent child. There are millions of these people already protesting our current lives so I decided to speak on something I'm more familiar with that hopefully opens up a dialogue to go hand in hand with gun violence talks

A topic I'm familiar with is mental illness. Right now, it is a devastating crisis affecting our youth. I've struggled with mental illness since I was young, I just thought I was the crazy kid. I kept to myself so others wouldn't know about my issues. I luckily learned to battle my illness by writing songs, it was my escape from it all. Unfortunately, in the last decade, since I was in middle school, I guess, I've seen our situation become incredibly worse. I can't go a few days without seeing a tweet or a Facebook post saying "my friend killed themselves today". As a society, we have ignored countless signs of mental illness and blanketed these issues with prescription pills and stigmas that only polarize these kids who need help the most. Then we sit on our couches and see headlines reading "Record high teen suicide" and "Kid brings a weapon to class" then act shocked and make it seem like they're just born quote/unquote crazy. These kids need way more than a handful of fucking Xanax

I'm not here to excuse or condone any violence but just to shed a light on society's passive role in creating a mind inside a kid to do such horrific things to their peers. Now, this is not a letter about a racist, radicalized adult walking into a school and killing children, or shooting up a church, or a Denny's. There is no fucking excuse for that. There is no helping someone who wants to hurt innocent people and they should never be forgiven. I'm writing this because today on the news I saw that a twelve-year-old boy walked into a class and shot at his fellow students. No one was killed but I turned off the TV and really asked myself: at twelve what was I doing? Was that wrestling practice? Was I playing on my Gameboy? Maybe working up enough courage to talk to a girl in gym class? One thing that never crossed my mind was hurting myself or others. That doesn't mean that other kids don't go through these things and have these feelings. I think we need to take a step back and wonder what is really driving a boy who should be at band practice to want to die and take innocent classmates with himI was advised not to speak in my song "Johnny" on this matter. I told my management team I was gonna write it anyway. And I want to say a few things

Johnny is a twelve-year-old boy, some of that you may know but have no idea what is going on in his head

Johnny could be a girl who comes home with cuts in her arms but her parents tell her it's a phase and she's gonna grow out of it

Johnny could be your son that starts posting weapons on social media but you just say "boys will be boys"Johnny could be your friend who gets called a slut and tell you she wants to die every day but you ignore the signs

I'll say it again there's no apologizing for a school shooter but no boy hardly yet through puberty who would ever do what Johnny did without being mentally ill and drastically affected in a negative way by our society

I was told that writing a song that speaks more from the shooter's perspective could be taken the wrong way and that is why I wouldn't change a fucking word to this song. As a society in America, we have to understand that our job is to put our youth first and not to measure mental health on a crazy scale. Everything shouldn't be easy listening and viewing. Sometimes we need to know what could happen if we don't do something. I am no saint and I'm just as guilty as the next when it comes to turning a blind eye to this epidemic. We need to learn to talk with our kids and realize that regardless of what politicians put into law we can make a difference without them. A difference that can change the impact of one or one thousand lives, maybe more. Something as simple as "How's your mental health today?" or "I saw your tweet, are you doing okay? Let's talk about it"This song was meant to cause a stir, it was meant to upset people, it was really meant to pressure on us as a society to combat mental health starting from preschool onward. I didn't have someone in my school to talk about my feelings and I was afraid to talk to my friends about it. I want that to end. I want there to be unlimited resources available in every public school for kids to let it all out and to know it's okay to be sad but it isn't okay to give up. Most importantly I wrote this song without a happy ending because there is no happy ending without us making a change. Before any law is put in place or before any therapist is put into our schools a shooting will happen again

I end this letter by saying this. I'm no politician, I'm not a lawmaker, or a judge, or a person of authority. I'm no longer a student, I'm not a teacher nor a parent. I'm a human being and I wrote this letter to hopefully bring us together to civilly and quickly put our kids first and make illness a priority. I will make no apologies for this song. If it pisses off a million people but helps one kid know that their mental health is fucking important and their society is here to support them through it all then it's worth every bit of hate. I'm gonna do my best from here on out to listen

Your friend, Riz

[alltheboysandmen]

The troubled liar

Dear best friends.

I want to write this post while it’s still rather fresh in my memory because I think it’s important as to how this person is portrayed, and I also think that the longer I wait the more I might forget about how bad it was. I want to say this before anything else. He was a boy who seemed to be living with a lot of unresolved trauma, especially connected to his family life. And I feel like he was the epitome of “boy who needs a lot of therapy but refuses help”.

I like to keep these posts anonymous, even though it’s likely you already know who I am writing about if you know me well, and in this post you might see why anonymity is important. I never want to write about someone just to hurt or embarrass them, but they may be hurt or embarrassed by reading about themselves and that is not something I can help. This is after all my experiences with them, and how things went in the end.

After not having any contact with each other, other than the occasional facebook status update, for close to 12 years we seemed to find our way back to each other again. He was someone I had always been curious about and I wondered where in the world he was these days. Turned out he lived 10 minutes from me and was interested in meeting up. So our first date was rather spontaneous and very good, all things considered. The talk was good, chemistry was there, he seemed very interested in me. So we met up a few more times after that, and things rolled on quite quickly. Before I knew it I was meeting his dad, we were spending a lot of time together and things felt serious quite quickly. But I just couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, and I would be proven right in just a few weeks.

It turned out that not only was he lying to me most of the time, not only about where he was, but also what he was doing when he wasn’t with me. I’m not the kind of girl who need a detailed itinerary for my boyfriend at all times, but when he called me 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet for brunch to say his dad had called him and told him his dog was very sick, and that he needed to go there (approx. 1 hour outside of Oslo by train) something didn’t seem right to me. Especially not when I offered to go with or to meet him at the train station just to make sure he was ok, and he told me to not show up. I did anyway, and he never took the train anywhere. Nor did he answer any one of my many texts saying I was so confused and worried. I ended up going to his apartment where I could easily hear the TV through the front door.

Now you might think he was hiding some other girlfriend from me and unfortunately I think that would have been easier to deal with than the truth.

Because the truth was he was lying to me so he could be alone and drink. He was an alcoholic.

After this particular instance I started to slowly see the patterns in his behavior up to this point, and I could more clearly see all the signs that I had perhaps ignored. But what was worse was that I felt so bad for him that I forgave him for that day with the lies. Which only turned out worse for me. In fact, it turned into what I lovingly call “the cabin trip from hell” and is a weekend I think I’ll never be able to forget.

He was in a drunken stupor most of the weekend, from Friday to Monday. We were supposed to leave by then, but since I don’t have a driving license and he was too drunk to drive we couldn’t go anywhere. I genuinely felt like someone had taken me hostage in a basic cabin on the side of an unknown mountain, in a place I couldn’t escape. But what was even more insane than that was that I can’t really recall seeing him drink much at all, the whole weekend, and yet he just kept getting drunker and drunker. At one point he was so drunk he passed out like a trampled sea-star on the middle of the living room floor, and there wasn’t any way I could even get him to the bed. I remember sobbing by myself at 8 p.m. because I felt so lonely, stupid and scared. There was literally nothing I could do, and there was no way I was calling for help because I felt like it was my own stupidity that had put me in that position.

We parted ways some time after that, but until this day I still feel an enormous amount of guilt for not being able to help him, and also a large amount of rage for the way that I let him treat me. I feel like he trauma-dumped all over me, and in return left me traumatised by the experience of dating him.

Unfortunately I ended up having to block his telephone number and also block him on all socials because he wouldn’t leave me alone. I have never had this happen to me before, and I remember being so ashamed when I talked to my mum and my friends about it. I have never left it like that with someone, where I felt like I should have helped him but I just couldn’t do it.

Needless to say, he is also still single.

[survey--s]

442.

Do you ever just feel like you need to be alone for some reason? Absolutely. I need a good couple of hours of alone time everyday in order to keep my sanity - it’s one of the reasons I’d never have children.

When was the last time you wore something totally inappropriate for the weather? Does this happen often? I can’t remember. It doesn’t happen all that often as my job is outdoors so I check the weather religiously and always have spare stuff in my car.

The last time you went out of the house, where were you going and what did you do? That was for work yesterday. I left at 8.30, worked until 2pm, then went to the Post Office and to collect Archie then it was back home for lunch.

When was the last time someone cancelled plans on you? Were you annoyed? Emma had to cancel a riding lesson before Christmas. I couldn’t really be annoyed as the arena was frozen so we couldn’t ride anyway lol.

Do you have a friend that has a tendency to “dump” you whenever they get a new partner? No. I wouldn’t be friends with someone like that.

Would you ever want to go on vacation with just one of your parents? Sure, I did that all the time growing up. We often did 2-3 holidays a year as a family, then I’d do one with my mum and another with my dad. Dad and I normally went walking or skiing, and mum and I would go to Australia to see her family over there.

In summer, do you prefer to wear dresses or shorts and tops? Or maybe something else? I prefer dresses but they’re not really practical with my job, so I tend to wear shorts and t-shirts.

Has someone ever tried to start an argument with you over Facebook? What happened? Sure - mostly I just ignore them.

Have you ever had an unusual type of milk (eg. oat, rice, almond)? Yeah, my dad only drinks oat milk, and I went through a phase of drinking a loy of soy milk for some reason.

If you could experience life as a Disney princess for a week, which princess would you pick and why? Ariel because I could be a mermaid, duh. How many cans of soda would you say you drink in a week, if any at all? Probably one a day on average.

When you’re at home, do you spend most of your time in your room? No, I spend most of my waking moments downstairs in the living room. I only really use our room for sleeping or occasionally watching TV when I’m tired.

If you like to sleep in late, have your parents ever told you off for doing so? I don’t live with my parents but it’s not something they ever had an issue with. How much stuff do you take with you when you go on vacation for a week? Way too much lol. I never wear half of it.

How old is your oldest living relative? I think she’s in her late eighties now. The oldest any relative made it to was 97 and that was my grandma.

Do you know anyone who is an alcoholic? How has that affected you? Yes, both my grandparents on my dad’s side, and also a client of mine. It killed them all in the end. My dad went tee-total because of his parents’ behaviour and as an adult I don’t really drink much. I have a few drinks at Christmas but most of the year I don’t touch the stuff.

Could you willingly live on a vegan diet? No.

If you’re a fan of Harry Potter, are you sad that there’ll never be another book or movie? No. They ruined it by doing the Fantastic Beasts films IMO - Secrets of Dumbledore was just flat-out awful.

If you’re an only child, do you wish you had siblings? I used to want siblings, but as I’m adult I’m quite happy not to have any.

How long have you had the shirt you’re wearing? Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe 3 years or so.

What happened last time you got drunk? It was our wedding night - we had champagne in the hot tub, went out for fish and chips and then had loads of cocktails, hahah.

When’s the last time you straightened your hair? About a month ago.

Do you bite your toe nails? No. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Last thing you said out loud? Come on then, come have a cuddle.

Last time you laughed your head off? Earlier on today.

What do you want right this second? I kinda need a wee lol. But I’m comfy and the dog has just settled so I probably won’t be getting up just yet.

How are you sitting? On the sofa with my legs out in front of me and my ankles crossed.

Your mood? Relaxed.

Did you sleep alone last night?  Nope.

Do you plan on sleeping in tomorrow? Yeah, for sure.

Do you find piercings attractive? I don’t really pay much attention either way. Some attractive guys have piercings, so do some unattractive guys.

What were you doing last night at midnight? Sleeping.

Will you have sexual intercourse within the next two weeks? Maybe.

How many cigarettes have you smoked today? Zero.

Do you have a hard time admitting you’re wrong? Hmm, sometimes - I’m more stubborn than anything else.

Do you like potato chips? Yes. A bit too much lol.

Do you give out second chances way too easily? Nope.

[willow-salix]

This is going to be out of the blue and there's no need for a response to it, but I guess I feel like some of you deserve to get a peek behind my armour.

Facebook just gave me a memory from 7 years ago, showing me an album that I'd rather not see quite honestly, but you know when you're just drawn in even though you know it's against your better judgement? Yep, that was me just now.

The album is full of screenshots of the absolute shit ton of crap that I've had on the Internet over the years.

I was in the RP world for ten years, and in that time I was verbally and mentally attacked a lot, I was mentally abused, I was stalked, I was blamed for things I never did, I was used as a scapegoat for things I never did. I was the victim of unwarranted attacks that had my accounts deleted by fb so that I lost YEARS of writing.

I got my heart broken over and over again by people that claimed tk be my friends, people that claimed to love me but that were all too happy to dump me the second a better option came along. People that I sat up all night with, that I lost sleep over, that I went out of my way to help and support.

Some of them lied to me so throughly that they lied about who they were, where they lived, their job, their gender, their nationality, what other characters /accounts they had and everything else you could think of for over TWO years.

I've had one that claimed to be my best friend, sit on my couch, my actual couch, in my house and lie to my face. Lie to me and his long term partner and mother of his three kids that he wasnt cheating with a cheap bitch he met online (the third person he'd done it with I found out after) I only found out about her when she messaged me to tell me.

I stopped talking to him, after their friends started a smear campaign against me, and even then EVEN THEN, I talked it out and started talking to him again. But he turned it around and started blaming me and guilt tripping me again. So I cut him off. He stalked me. Like messaging my friend, posting things to me (actual letters through the mail) making new accounts to message me, buying new phone sims to call me. This was 6 years ago. He called me at the start of lockdown and left a message on my voicemail.

This man mentally abused me. He'd force me to talk to him when I had a problem and then he'd not like what I said, so he'd go silent and ignore me for up to three days, to the point that I'd worked myself up so much that I was apologising, that I was taking the blame for having feelings, only when he got that would he talk to me.

He was an alcoholic who worked in care if you can believe that, I supported him through him getting sober again, he still did all that to me.

I gave up on role play and let my character, my home, the one place I felt comfortable and safe, up. And I didn't go back for two years. I got talked around by someone, they made promises, I stupidly fell for it.

I then got used to bring their character back and to help them sort out storylines. I was then told they didn't want to work with me anymore because they had too much going on in their personal life, they blocked me and I then got screenshots that that had another writing partner already.

That broke me. That broke me and fandom and people and everything really.

I vowed never to go back.

Then I stumbled upon you lot. And I told myself not to get involved, not to start talking to anyone, not to start trusting again. Now look! Now bloody look!

I'm what... 500k + in a story that was never meant to be, I'm actually writing and collabing with people again and I have a character that I adore and feel just as comfortable with... And that is fucking scary.

It's sooooo scary. Like terrifying scary to me.

Because I'm having to trust again. Selene is like public property now, and I love how much everyone has accepted and adopted her and how they use her and write her too, that warms this cold, dead, suspicious heart of mine.

Because I can honestly say that Selene and John saved me and my sanity.

I am quite a sociable person, I love to chat to people and if I'm your friend I will go out of my way to do my best for you, to be there for you and to support you in every way I can. But I know I can be used and I dotn always see the bad in people. So I cut myself off and refused to allow myself to make friends again.

I was writing my novels and that was it. No interaction, no fun really. Then this loud mouthed witch blazed into my head, took one look at the spaceman and said "that one, he's mine, wrap him up I'll take him to go" and here she is.

They made writing fun again, they made it spontaneous and exciting, I suddenly had ideas again, people to talk to about the characters I love and it was hard. Because it was also good.

I had to trust the process, trust Selene.

But I'm also so wary. I'm wary that I'm gonna piss people off, that I'm going to annoy people with her and that people hate her. I know people don't like OCs' and I get major anxiety about that.

I've never had this amount of anxiety over stories before, never. Not my rp, not my novels, not the ones I did for class or competitions, nothing. This is singularly the most stressful writing I've ever done. Because these boys, they mean the world to me, they always have. They have always been my happy place since I was 5/6, they have always been my heart and home.

The problems I had in rp made me not like the books that I loved, the fandom I was in, because of peoples interpretations of the characters, the way they played them and the fact that they were so nasty to me. And I really really don't want that to happen here.

A few weeks ago I noticed that an account had bene set up that was clearly a piss take of me, of this account. And all the old fears and anxiety came rushing back. I instantly went running to Squiddy and Olliepig and basically tumbled around the group chat in a mess for a few minutes before I calmed down and realised what was going on and had a guess at who it could be.

But it's scary. Because I've been stalked, I've been badmouthed, I've had people make fake accounts of me to cause trouble, and it weighs on me.

Willow Salix is my author name, I had to choose that because my Pagan name (which I was writing under and still do on ff and a03) was too well known and my stalkers were reporting it every time I made a new account.

I had to come to love this name, come to see it as myself (willow is my actual real name btw) and feel comfortable with it. It's taken a long time, I've built my brand from it. I have five novels out under it. And to think of someone having an account with even a parody of that name gave me all sorts of chills.

I'm OK now, but yeah. Fun times.

So I guess... I just want people to talk to me. And I don't mean shine by ego lol, I mean that if I ever do anything to piss you off. If I ever say anything you don't like. If I ever annoy you with Selene or anything at all, PLEASE just come and talk to me.

I might put on a tough mask, and in general I am pretty hardy, but I'm a typical cancerian, hard outer shell, squishy inside.

Selene is my sanity in a home life that is far from easy, I won't go into major details but disabled husband, I'm a full time carer, he's majorly depressed and it's just... Yeah. Anyway, she's my refuge, she's my escape right now.

Actually making a side blog for her took so much guts, to allow her free rein to speak and act is scary as heck for me. Because I've been there and vowed to never go back.

The only good thing I took out of all my years of rp, apart from being able to make up a story pretty much on the spot, spontaneous replies, dialogue skills and character development, is my best friend in all the world @endellionaeternus who has seen it all and stuck by me through it all.

I have no real idea why I just typed all this, I guess I needed people to see where I'm coming from, and why Selene exists.

Yeah...

[jisungsmochi]

rest your love - lee haechan

don’t worry!! i didn’t forget about this series hehe,, i personally really liked this one!! i’m probably going to try and write more often!

anyways pls enjoy,, i’ll link my masterlist for the other parts of this series (nct dream as ‘the vamps’ songs)

word count: 2.2k 

summary: “when the world gets loud, baby you can rest your love on me”

haechan never understood why people liked to be chased. he thought that all he needed to do was ask someone out and boom, a beautiful relationship. until he befriends you, and learns that sometimes people just need a shoulder to lean on, before they can rest their love on someone.

//

I see you move, so I do understand

Why you get attention?

I hear you talk, but I don't comprehend

Why I get no mention?

“it’s physically impossible to dislike me, i’m just a catch” haechan brags while walking to his first college class, his friends, renjun and jaemin trailing behind him.

“just because everyone liked you in high school, doesn’t mean people will in college. it’s a completely different ball game” renjun rolled his eyes at how overly optimistic and delusional his friend was being.

“ah let him live, he’ll find out soon enough” jaemin chuckles softly as he and renjun wave to haechan,  scurrying off to their own lectures.

haechan shrugs, not taking in any of his friends words. he stumbled into the classroom, scanning for an empty seat. he quickly made his way to a spare desk, pulling out all his materials. just as the tutor walked into the room, his eyes met those of, who he believed, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. you flaunted your way to the last empty seat, which happened to be next to the awfully cheery boy, smiling at you.

you weren’t having the best day, immediately regretting your choice of a desk mate. as soon as you sat down, haechan was a blabbering mess. he shot questions left and right at you, despite the fact you barely responded to any of them. you just assumed he wanted to make friends fast, or he was just a chatterbox. “so how are you doing on this fine day?” he mutters to you, but received a stern glare in response. you tilted your head to the front of the room, zoning in on your tutor. haechan would lie if he said he didn’t feel slightly deflated. usually he had no problem making conversation with strangers. but you were so cold, so uninterested, it really hurt his ego. maybe renjun was right, not everyone would like him. but haechan was an unbelievably stubborn optimist. he was going to befriend you, no matter how long it took.

//

And you know, you know where to find me

Yeah, you know where to go when you're looking for love

And you know, you know where I'm hiding

Yeah, you know

it had been over three weeks since haechan first met you and you still wouldn’t budge. you only spoke to him during group tasks, other than that you continued to ignore his advances. haechan got the message loud and clear that you weren’t going to pay him attention. it took a toll on his own self confidence, until renjun gave him a stern talking to,

“god don’t let her get to your head, dude!! she’s awful for not wanting to be friends with you”

haechan pouted, “but she’s so pretty, i can’t just ignore her”

at that moment, he received a notification on his phone.

y/n: is this haechan? i think you took my notes by accident

his eyes widened, how did you even get his facebook account?

he scrambled around his room, looking into his backpack and surely enough, there were your notes, prettily written up.

haechan: hello! i do have your notes, i can meet you somewhere to hand it back? maybe the cafe? we can get something to eat!

renjun was now peering over haechan’s shoulder, too invested in this interaction.

y/n: no it’s fine, just give it to me next class, thanks

after reading your message, renjun bursted out laughing.

“dude that’s brutal, she’s something else” haechan fiddled with his phone, glaring at the other boy. he clicked on your profile, sending you a friend request as he scrolled through your posts. he saw that your friends had wished you a happy birthday, almost a year ago. he then realised it was in a few days...

“i have the perfect plan to get her to notice me” haechan smirks, renjun rolling his eyes,

“you’re ridiculous”

//

it was a friday afternoon, when haechan stumbled into class. you looked over at him, expecting some type of greeting, but you didn’t hear a peep from the boy.

strange, you thought to yourself.

as you were preparing for the lesson, haechan pulled something out of his bag. you looked over, noticing a small pink box now placed on your side of the table. you raised your eyebrow at him, in which he whispered,

“happy birthday, y/n”

your face froze. how did he know it was your birthday?

you looked back at the small box, slowly moving your hands to open it. to your surprise, there was a red velvet cupcake, decorated with a ton of rainbow sprinkles. there was a tiny picket that said:

“happy birthday, cutie!”

you couldn’t hide your smile, which only made haechan swoon even more. you weren’t the type to make a big deal out of your birthday, but this gesture from haechan truly made your day. you bit your lip softly, eyes meeting his.

“t-thankyou, haechan. i really appreciate this” you smiled at him softly, not caring that you were now on speaking terms with him.

“anything for you, y/n” he cheerfully responded, turning his attention to the front of the room.

maybe lee haechan was worth letting in...

//

the days following, haechan would spam you with random texts throughout the day. initially you would have been annoyed, but after his generous birthday gift, you started to enjoy his company. although you wouldn’t say it to his face, you silently appreciated him.

“how is my beautiful, y/n doing?” he smirked as he walked with you after class. he’d always compliment you, each time making you gush inside.

“i’m alright, have a ton of homework to do though” you sigh, thinking back to the stack of work you had on your desk.

“oh poor thing! do you want to copy my work? i have it here right now i ca-“

“no, haechan, it’s okay. if i need help, i’ll just...call you or something” you paused, looking over at the boy whose eyes just lit up like a christmas tree.

“of course you can call me! call me anytime you want!” he exclaimed. you shake your head softly at him as you both continued walking.

once haechan met up with renjun and jaemin again, he couldn’t stop gushing about you.

“...and then she said i could call her! well she said she’d call me, but same thing” he explained your interaction to his two friends as they were eating at a local diner.

“so romantic” renjun sarcastically comments, causing jaemin to elbow him slightly.

“i think it’s a good step! i mean atleast she’s talking to you now” jaemin chimed in, feeding into his friend’s cheerful nature.

“yeah! i have a lot of hope for us” haechan smiles to himself, in which jaemin and renjun looked over at eachother before rolling their eyes.

you did end up calling haechan that night, as you were stuck on the very last question of the homework.

“y/n, it’s hard to explain, let me just send you my answer” haechan insisted,

“no, i feel guilty” you sigh, placing down your pen.

“it’s really okay, i want to help you” you bit your lip, eventually giving in.

“okay fine, but i’ll owe you something in return” you agree, hoping whatever he wanted wouldn’t be too bad.

“hmmm how about going to the movies with me this weekend? i know you wanted to see the new zombie one that just came out” he suggested. although you were shocked he was practically asking you on a date, were more shocked he remembered you talking about this movie.

“do you really think that is proportionate to what you’re doing for me?” you roll your eyes playfully, finding his advances quite endearing.

“yep!! take it or leave it” you hesitated for a moment, what’s the worst that could happen?

“okay fine, you have yourself a deal” you replied. haechan quickly put himself on mute (or so he thought), letting out a loud ‘YES!’, before returning to the call. you had heard everything, softly chuckling to yourself.

he was pretty cute.

//

That when the stars go out, you can rest your love on me

And when the world gets loud, baby, you can rest your love on me

“that ending was terrible” you pouted as you left the cinema with haechan.

“it wasn’t so bad, it could have been worse” he shrugged, leading you to the next location.

“hm i guess so, by the way, where are we going anyway?” you questioned, walking alongside him, observing your surroundings.

“this cool burger place i found online, here i’ll show you some photos” he pulled out his phone, swiping through the photos. you nodded along, agreeing to let him lead the way.

“y/n? is that you?” you heard a deep voice call, you head shot up, so did haechan’s.

“who’s that?” your mouth went dry. your body froze up. why was he here? why did he have to call out to you?

“oh my god it is you! long time no see” the mysterious boy approached the pair of you, completely disregarding haechan’s existence. he noticed how uncomfortable you were, eyes flickering between the boy and you. he placed his arm loosely around your back, the other boy’s eyes following in suit.

“oh i see, you’re dating someone. dang, i guess i missed my shot. he doesn’t seem like your type” the boy scoffed, arms folded as he stared you both down.

“w-we have to go” you finally bring yourself to mutter, pulling haechan along with you.

“y/n who was that?” haechan kept repeating, which only made you want to cry.

“he’s my ex, okay? just take me home” you sniffled, haechan immediately became concerned. he didn’t ask any further questions, driving you straight back to your place.

as he reached your house, he looked over at you, tears brimming your eyes.

“i-i’m sorry that our day was cut short. i was really enjoying myself. my ex and i ended on pretty bad terms and i would just like some time alone right now, i hope you understand” you sniffled, which made haechan’s heart ache.

“you don’t have to apologise. you know where to find me if you need me. i’ll be waiting for you to open up to me one day, y/n. however long it takes” he assures you, leaving you with a warm feeling in your stomach. you just nodded back at him, making your way into your house.

haechan sat in his car for a while, wishing he could take away all your pain.

//

you invited haechan to meet you at the local park. with no further questions, he rushed out of his room, eager to see you again. you waited patiently on the small bench, swinging your legs back and forth. you heard heavy footsteps approach, your eyes meeting those of the boy who radiated happiness.

“are you alright?” haechan starts as he takes a seat next to you, leaving a small gap between you both.

“y-yeah, i’m ready to tell you everything” you began,

“he and i ‘dated’ two years ago. i say ‘dated’ because well, i thought we were, but turns out he was just another player and i was just another pawn in his little game. it was my first relationship too, messed me up pretty bad. that’s why i tend to keep to myself, not really letting others in too much. he made me feel like every guy who gave me attention just wanted me for their own selfish needs” you sigh, eyes avoiding haechan’s. he wanted to hold your hand, but opted not to.

“he’s an asshole, you didn’t deserve that. i-i could treat you so much better i promise-“

“haechan, c-can we just slow things down?” you finally made eye contact with him, his face contorting into a confused expression.

“i know you like me, and i would be lying if i said i didn’t have a slight interest in you too. but i don’t think i’m ready for a relationship yet” you admit, worried for his reaction. but to your surprise, he didn’t feel sad or dejected at all. instead he smiled widely at you, leaning in closer.

“i’ll go as slow as you want. you can rest your love on me, whenever you need. i’m just glad to hear you like me too” he batted his eyelids, making you softly chuckle.

“thankyou” you whispered to him, moving closer so that your shoulders touched. the rest of the day was filled with random activities from the arcade, to a bike ride along the park’s trail and finally dinner. haechan came to realise that being with somebody wasn’t black and white. there was a grey area that lied in between. he didn’t care how long he needed to wait, all he knew was that he finally got you to like him. and that was enough to make him the happiest man alive.

[twinrowcitizennews]

snapshot

Note from the editor:

This is the first letter of this nature that I’ve received from someone who wanted their question published. Other than editing for formatting and grammar, it’s in their own words and their own words alone. Please send an email or ask if you know how to solve their problem-- and quickly. 

I have to warn you, this letter isn’t for those who are put on edge easily. Reader discretion is advised. 

I don’t know if I’ll still be around by the time this is posted, but that doesn’t matter. So long as this reaches whoever might need it. 

I first saw it last October. The 27th, I think. Kind of cliché for this sort of thing to be happening right around Halloween, but truth is stranger than fiction. It was late in the evening, almost nighttime, when I saw this stray dog roaming around in my front yard. I grabbed my dog’s leash and went to get it, thinking I could keep it in my backyard until I could find the owners, but the second I left the front step, it started off towards the bike trail. I sped up to a jog and followed it, hoping not to scare it off any further. 

The bike trail veers away from the neighborhood and through this piece of undeveloped land that separates the suburbs from a nearby farm. The dog was mostly sticking to the path, moving along at a trot, stopping every once in a while to look over its shoulder and wag its tail, like it was waiting for me to catch up before starting off again. After a few minutes of this, I called for it-- tried to whistle, asked it to heel, etc. It came over when I pretended to have a treat in my hand, holding my fist out like there was something inside. When it leaned over to sniff, I clipped a leash on its collar, a simple fabric band without any tags or ID. I’d never seen the dog before, so I got out my phone and took a picture of it to post to the neighborhood Facebook page, asking if anyone knew its owner, before walking it back to my place and letting it out in the fenced back yard. After feeding my own dog, I sat down to check Facebook to see if there was any response. 

No one recognized the dog from the photo. One comment asked me who was standing in the background. 

There hadn’t been anyone else in the woods, as far as I remembered, but I double-checked the photo anyway. In the background, about 20 feet away, it looked like there was a figure-- vague, kind of person-shaped if you squinted-- standing just to the side of the bike path. It was all indistinct and fuzzy. Probably just a smudge on the lens. I responded to the comment before trying to clean off the lens on my shirt, then taking another photo down the hallway to see if the smudge was gone. There didn’t seem to be anything. The rest of the night was relatively normal. 

The next morning, I ended up trying to clear out my camera roll, to save some room for any pictures I might take of my baby cousins in their costumes. I deleted a bunch of screenshots, old photos, and the image of the dog, before going to delete the hallway picture. 

The smudge was still there. Like before, it was around 20 or so feet from where I’d been standing when I took the photo, around the size and height of a person. Unlike before, it was peering around the corner from the door to the bathroom. 

I was freaked out some, to be honest.  I scrubbed the lens down with a Lysol wipe and took another photo down the hallway, trying to prove to myself it was just some sort of shadow. Nothing that would show up in the daylight. And it didn’t-- nothing strange, no smudge, just a block of sunlight from the windows. I didn’t delete the picture from the night before, though. Just in case. 

It was a few more weeks before I took another nighttime photo. My cousins are too young to stay up late, so they’d been out trick-or-treating around 5:00 in the evening, back before it was even dark, so I didn’t really take anything on Halloween. The dog was returned to its owner a few days after, so nothing there, either. 

It was around the middle of November when I ended up catching it again. I was on a nighttime walk and passed the home of this older couple down the road who always put up their outdoor Christmas decorations about a month too early. I wanted to get a picture of the setup-- they had this new animatronic Santa, sitting on a throne and waving to the road. I can promise that no one else was in the yard. I used the flash (on accident, but still), and if someone was there, I would have seen them. When I got home, I sent the picture to a friend of mine for her to make fun of. She messaged back with a few laughing emojis before asking who took the photo.  

(ID: Two texts from my friend reading “lol” and “really who took it”. My response says “wdym?”. She responded with two texts saying “I see you in the background, genius” and “just vibing by the garage”. End ID.)

I checked the photo again. By the house’s garage, a little under 20 feet from where I’d been, was a clearer, more distinct figure. For once, I could make out its face. 

I don’t know who or what it is, or how it got there, but it definitely looked like me. It was even wearing my clothing, had its hair done the same way, everything. Just standing there and smiling for the photo, like someone just out of frame was telling it to say cheese, looking right into the camera. 

I immediately turned all the lights on that I could reach. I almost deleted the photo, staring at it for too long, before closing out of Photos and reopening my camera. I figured this had to be some weird hallucination or something I was making up, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. I aimed the camera down the hall and took a video. Nothing. I checked it, sliding the scrub bar back and forth to inspect each individual frame. All of them were just empty, illuminated hallway. That didn’t shake the feeling, though, so I turned the hall light off and tried again. Nothing showed up on this video, either. I took a photo. 

It was there. Again. It wasn’t peeking out from around anything, just standing in the middle of the hallway, the same distance it had been from the camera in the yard. 

I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next few. 

I ended up searching the internet as much as I could for anyone with similar experiences. I saw things about ghosts, things about illusions, things about solid doppelgangers that people saw with their own eyes and not through pictures, but nothing like this. Over the weeks and months that followed, I took investigating into my own hands. 

My fears were quieted some-- some-- when, after the first few nights, I realized that it wasn’t hurting me. It never even moved, staying in the same poses each night. The only change was, no matter where I was, inside or outside, it was always the same distance away.

I started taking pictures almost obsessively. Every day, every night, I tried something new. I tried every condition I could think of to see when and where this thing would show up. It became a part of my routine-- almost a companion. I’d even jokingly wish it goodnight. 

I could put walls between myself and it. At one point, I stood inside my closet and took a picture, only showing racks of coats and clothes. It could be seen through windows, if there was no room for it to appear indoors. I could take pictures out my bedroom window to show it standing right there outside the window on the front walk. It always looked exactly like me, down to the smallest detail, except for the face. It never had any expression other than a smile. No matter where I was, inside or outside, it could be there. I got pictures of it at home, at work, out of town. It never showed up in well-lit photos. Things in the dark with flash were okay, but it would just be a little indistinct. Dimmer lighting, pictures taken at night, all of that was free game. I never got a picture of it in daylight. 

Around February, I sat down and tried to sort all the successful photos into one album to clear up my camera roll. At this point, it was mostly just pictures of the thing, since I was sometimes taking up to dozens a night. I deleted all the failures, saving all the pictures of it into one album. That’s when I noticed.

It was getting closer.

I guess I had ignored it over the first months. It had been too gradual for me to notice, only an inch or two each night, but looking at all the photos in order, it was obvious. Instead of being around 20 feet away, the thing was closer to 15, still just standing and smiling.

I had to tell myself it was coincidence, or something I was imagining, or I think I would’ve done something I’d regret later just then. Now that I knew it could move, I didn’t really think of it as a friend anymore. 

I kept taking pictures throughout the following months. Only at night. It stopped showing up outside my bedroom window-- in retrospect, probably because the ground wasn’t close enough for it anymore. It stopped lurking at the end of the hallway, drawing nearer until it was standing right there in the living room. It started putting its hands against the glass of the kitchen windows. Then it started showing up at the kitchen table. 

I got desperate, some. I tried everything. I burned incense, I tried to talk to it, I bought fucking crystals. I’m an atheist, but I even considered calling a priest or something. All spring, I was constantly scrambling to find some way to get that thing to leave, or at least stop moving. Every night I took more pictures, too many, before scrolling through my photo album with a looming sense of dread. Nothing worked. It kept coming, slowly, always dressed like me and always doing that smile. It got close enough that I could see the whites of its eyes. I almost wish I could say that there was something messed up about it, something that made it obviously inhuman or dead or anything, but there wasn’t. It was just me, just exactly like me, and somehow that was worse. 

I’m sending this in now because it’s really close and I don’t know how to make it go away or if that’s even an option anymore. These past few nights, it’s been right in front of me-- I could reach out and touch it, if it was solid. Hell, I could probably feel its breath, if it had that. I’ve been taking pictures every hour or so, sometimes every couple of minutes.

Last night, around the fifth or sixth picture I took, it wasn’t there. Just gone. I took a few more pictures, and it didn’t matter where I was, it just wasn’t there. I don’t know why I did it, but I turned the camera around to selfie mode and took a shot. 

That thing was standing right behind me.

One of its hands was hovering right over my shoulder, like it was about to touch me. I freaked out and took another picture. It hadn’t moved more than a hair. I turned all the lights on and haven’t slept. 

I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m not turning any of the lights off. It can’t get to me if the lights are on, or I hope so. If anyone knows what to do or what this thing is, please respond. It might already be too late, but I don’t know what this thing will do or who it’ll go for when it’s done with me. I don’t have much advice to give, other than to sleep with the fucking lights on.

[massivedrickhead]

Loving your series of one shots bud!! I, myself, am a massive fan of fluff and happiness (tooth rotting), how about a prompt where Beca is in LA with Khaled (post PP3) and she is finding it really tough, physically and mentally, especially knowing Chloe isn't there, she hasn't spoken to her in a while, and she believes her to be happy with Chicago elsewhere... and when she returns home... She finds Chloe there. Waiting. (Or the equivalent, where Chloe is engaged, Beca hasn't spoken to her in a while, and she comes home to see her there) xxxxx

Hi, thank you so much! 

I might have gotten away from the prompt a little, but I hope you like it anyway.

I’m kind of tired and emotionally tonight so I don’t know if this is any good, and it’s kinda long so I hope that’s okay haha

Read on AO3

------

“Beca, are you listening?”

Chloe Beale is single.

“Mhm,” Beca said, pulling her eyes away from Facebook on her phone and looking back at Theo. “Sorry.”

“Everything alright?” He asked, knowing it wasn’t like Beca to zone out in a meeting like this. 

“Yep,” Beca said, turning her phone face down. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s Chloe.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Is it an emergency?”

“No,” Beca said, putting her hands in her lap to resit the urge to pick her phone up again. “I am super focused and professional.”

“Can we talk about your album for, like, ten more minutes?” Theo said, trying to keep up his face stern.

“Absolutely,” Beca said, her eyes dropping again, briefly, to her phone.

The meeting felt like it lasted a lifetime, but eventually Beca hurried out and back to her own office, puling Facebook up on her phone.

Chloe Beale is single.

Chloe’s profile picture had changed from the sickeningly sweet picture of her and Chicago showing off her engagement ring, to just a simple selfie.

Beca clicked into her contacts list and her thumb hovered above Chloe’s name.

She should call her, right? 

She scrolled down further, and hit call on Aubrey’s name.

“Aubrey Posen,” Aubrey said, using the same tone of voice she would use to greet a stranger, and not one of her closest friends.

“Aubrey what’s going on with Chloe?”

“I’m doing great Beca, thanks for asking,” Aubrey replied.

“Aubrey.”

“I don’t know,” Aubrey said, her tone softer. “She’s been unhappy with him for a while.”

“She has?”

“Yes,” Aubrey said. “When did you last speak to her?”

“It’s… It’s been a while,” Beca said, sounding guilty. “Work has been a bit much.”

“I know,” Aubrey replied. “You should call her.”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “Thanks.”

“Speak to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I’ll call you.”

She ended the call with Aubrey but once again hesitated before calling Chloe. Apart from the occasional surface level text or exchange of snapchats and memes, she really hadn’t spoke to Chloe for a while. Not properly. Not the way they used to. 

She was scared that if she called her now, Chloe would be mad at her. 

She drummed her fingers against her desk, her stomach twisting slightly, as she tried to decide what to do. She never handled confrontation very well, it’s why she’d spent so much of her life just walking away from situations.

Beca picked up her phone again, and typed out a text.

Beca: Hey Chlo’. I’ve just seen Facebook, are you okay? xx

She hit send and closed her phone before she could overthink it, and tried to focus on her work again. 

She had a bunch of album art she needed to look through and pick her favourites. (Yes, her job was pretty awesome.)

She also had twenty unread emails that had popped up in the ten minutes she had spent on the phone to Aubrey/deciding what to do about Chloe. (Yes, her job was also pretty demanding.)

As her phone buzzed on her desk with Chloe’s reply, Theo poked his head through her office door.

“What’s up?” She asked, resisting the urge to pick up her cell to read the message.

“Have you got plans tonight? Because you need to cancel them if you do,” he said, looking stressed.

“Why?” Beca asked with a sigh.

“The head of the label is coming in for a meeting tomorrow morning and he wants to hear your new album and it is nowhere near ready for that,” he said.

“Isn’t he in Europe?” Beca said with a groan.

“He is literally flying in for this meeting. There is a lot riding on this album, Beca,” he said. “He took a big risk when he signed you as a solo artist after the Khaled collab.”

“I know that,” Beca said, running a hand through her hair. “I know. But it isn’t getting released for another two months, why does he need to hear it now?”

“I don’t know how his mind works, I just know we need to impress him tomorrow,” Theo said.

“Okay,” Beca said. 

“No distractions tonight, okay? Take an hour now and we can get started at,” he glanced down at his watch, “5:30.” He closed the office door behind him, and Beca immediately picked up her phone, pushing away the sudden wave of nerves.

Chloe: I’ve been better xx

Beca: Are you free right now? xx

Chloe: Yeah, I just finished work. xx

Beca called Chloe, this time without hesitation, and the redhead answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” Chloe said, her voice sounding heavy.

“Hi,” Beca replied, sinking back into her chair at the sound of Chloe’s voice. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed hearing it. “What happened?”

“Can we not talk about it?” Chloe asked. Beca could hear the sound of New York traffic over the phone and she felt suddenly homesick.

Not for New York specifically, but for that tiny apartment she and Chloe had shared in Brooklyn. For that level of closeness and intimacy. 

She liked L.A. fine, and her new home was, on paper, a thousand percent better than the Brooklyn apartment, but it still didn’t feel like home. She would trade her state-of-the-art kitchen, king-sized bed, hot-tub - all of it - for one more night in that apartment. One more night sleeping beside Chloe. One more night where Chloe’s arms would snake around her waist and pull her close, mumbling that she was cold. One more morning eating breakfast together before they parted for work. One more evening making dinner and watching trashy TV.

What made it hurt more was that she knew there was no going back to that apartment. Chloe had moved in with Chicago, Beca had moved out to L.A., and Fat Amy was somewhere in the Bahamas. Someone else was living in their apartment now. Sleeping in their cramped bed, making food in their kitchen.

“How’s work?” Chloe asked, breaking Beca out of her thoughts.

“Busy,” Beca said. “It’s… It’s a lot right now.”

“Are you taking care of yourself?” Chloe asked. And Beca thought just how like Chloe that was. While she was going through a heartbreak, she’d rather make sure Beca was okay.

“I thought that was your job,” Beca said, smiling at the soft laugh Chloe gave. She could hear the sounds of keys jingling and a door opening.

“That’s kinda hard to do when I’m all the way in New York,” Chloe said. “God it’s so cold outside. I need a vacation.”

Beca glanced at the sun streaming through her office window. “Maybe you should come to L.A.,” she said, without really thinking. As soon as the sentence left her mouth, she realised this was something she wanted more than anything right now. 

“That would be nice,” Chloe said with a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Beca said, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. 

“Come on, Becs. I can’t do that,” Chloe said. “I have work.”

“Take some time off?”

“The flights are expensive-”

“-I’ll pay for the flights,” Beca said, cutting her off. “I think… Chlo’ I think I need this. I need some time off. And I think you need it too?”

“Yeah, I need it,” Chloe said. “Are they even gonna let you have time off?” 

“I can ask,” Beca said. She looked down at her watch and saw she only had ten minutes before she had to get back to work. “Look, if you want to come, I can make it happen. I’m working for the rest of the night, but give me a call tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. “I’ll call my boss.”

“So you want to come?”

“Yeah. Yeah I want to.”

——

Beca glanced around her nervously as she stood at the arrivals gate of L.A.X. airport a week later. She was wearing a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses but she was still afraid someone would recognise her.

Then she caught sight of ginger hair and suddenly Chloe was walking towards her and Beca felt her nervousness drain away.

Chloe grinned when she spotted her, and started walking more quickly, practically running by the time she got close enough to hug her. She dropped her case and flung her arms around Beca, squeezing her into the tightest hug she could manage.

Beca was going to make some sarcastic joke, but the feeling of Chloe’s arms around her caused her voice to die in her throat and her eyes to fill with tears. 

“I’ve really missed you,” Chloe said, squeezing tighter and planting a kiss on her cheek and releasing her.

“Missed you too,” Beca said, grabbing the handle of Chloe’s case. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” Chloe said, grinning. “Why are you dressed like a spy?”

“Um, because I am?” Beca said, laughing. “I just don’t wanna get spotted.”

“Right,” Chloe said. “You’re a big deal now.”

Beca laughed and shook her head. “It’s a lot,” her voice was a little quieter. 

Chloe frowned slightly, and then her eyes widened as she saw a few men with cameras hovering outside the entrance to the airport.

Beca sighed. “Just ignore them and stick close to me.”

They walked out of the airport quickly, and as soon as the men spotted her, they started yelling. 

“Beca! Beca! How’s the album going, Beca?!”

“Beca! What do you say about the rumours that you’re dating your producer?!”

“Holy shit,” Chloe muttered under her breath as they made their way to Beca’s car, the paparazzi following them, continuing their barrage of questions.

“Beca! Introduce us to your friend!”

“Beca is it true you’re dating-”

Whatever name he was planning to say was lost in the sound of Beca slamming her door shut, and starting her car. She honked the horn a few times to get them to move out the way.

“Beca, what the fuck was that?” Chloe asked, pulling on her seatbelt as Beca pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Fun, right?” Beca asked, glancing in her rearview mirror, making sure they weren’t going to follow her home. 

“Does that happen every time you go out?”

“Not always,” Beca said. “To be honest they were probably there just hanging about to see if anyone would turn up. I don’t think they knew I was there before they saw me.”

“Jesus,” Chloe said. “I forget you’re like a legit celebrity now.”

Beca pulled a face. “I’m not. Not really.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Beca said, glancing over at Chloe. “Yeah, just… Just really looking forward to this time off. I had to work a lot of late nights to get Theo to agree with this.” Chloe frowned. “You know that guy was full of shit, right? There’s nothing going on between me and Theo. I haven’t been dating him. I haven’t been dating anyone.”

“Why not?” Chloe asked.

“Why not, what?”

“Why haven’t you been dating anyone?”

Beca shrugged. “I haven’t met anyone I liked.” They were quiet for a little while longer as they continued to sit in L.A. traffic. “So, can we only talk about my love life or are you going to tell me about you and Chicago?”

“There’s nothing really to tell,” Chloe said, turning to look out of the window now they had gotten off the highway. “I just… It wasn’t working. We were fighting a bunch. I wanted him to be different and he wanted me to be different.”

“I’m sorry, Chlo’,” Beca said. 

“It’s okay,” Chloe said. “It’s better in the long run. At least we weren’t married with kids before we figured it out.”

They sat in a comfortable silence as Beca drove them the rest of the way to her house, the radio playing quietly. 

When Beca pulled up to to her house, Chloe let out a low whistle.

“Right, you live in a fucking mansion now,” she said.

“It’s hardly a mansion,” Beca said, feeling embarrassed. She took Chloe’s bag from the trunk and they made their way into the house. “You want the tour?”

“Please.” 

Beca showed her around, dropping her bag into the guest room. The tour ended on the deck, and Beca grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchen on the way. They sat in comfortable loungers and looked out as the sun set over L.A.. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Beca said, pouring them some wine.

“Me too,” Chloe replied, cheers-ing her glass against Beca’s. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Anytime, Chlo’.”

As they sat in silence watching the sunset, Beca felt a warmth spreading through her chest. For the first time since moving to L.A., she felt like she was home. And then she realised something.

Something she’d known all along, really.

She glanced across at Chloe, who was smiling with her eyes closed, letting the sun soak into her.

Chloe.

Chloe was her home.

She placed her hand on top of Chloe’s and squeezed, softly.

Chloe opened her eyes and looked over at Beca, still smiling. She adjusted her hand so her fingers were threaded with Beca’s. 

Beca looked away, blinking against the sun and feeling tears stinging her eyes.

If Chloe noticed, she didn’t mention it. She just carried on smiling, and turned back to face the sunset, their hands still linked. 

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I feel like I never actually get to relax out here. I spend so much time just sleeping at my office these days.”

“I knew you weren’t taking care of yourself,” Chloe said.

“There’s just been a lot of pressure at work. This is my first solo album, and if it fails… If it doesn’t do well everyone will know that my last one was only a success because of Khaled,” Beca said. “I can’t fail at this.”

“You won’t fail,” Chloe said, softly. “You’re so talented, Beca. You’ve got this, I know you do.”

Beca smiled. “I wish I didn’t have to do it without you.”

“You don’t,” Chloe said. “I’m only on the other end of the phone. You can call me anytime.”

“It’s not the same,” Beca said. “Sorry, I just miss how things used to be.”

“I know. I miss it too,” Chloe said. 

“If I’d known things wouldn’t stay that way forever, I might have done things differently,” Beca said.

“What do you mean?”

Beca shrugged, feeling like she should stop talking before she said something she’d regret. She didn’t want to cause an awkward situation that they both had to live with for the two weeks of their vacation.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” Chloe said.

“I just wish I’d been more honest. Braver,” Beca said, avoiding looking at Chloe.

“It’s not too late,” Chloe said.

But Beca shook her head. “Sorry. I’m… I’m rambling. I’ve probably drank too much.”

“I guess it’s getting late,” Chloe said, letting Beca’s hand drop. “We’ve got a long day of relaxing ahead of us, right?”

“Yeah,” Beca said. She stood and stretched and helped Chloe to her feet. “If you get hungry or anything during the night just help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Chloe said, kissing Beca on the cheek. “We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow, okay?”

Beca laughed, and felt her cheeks burn. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Night Becs,” Chloe said.

“Night.”

Chloe woke a few hours later, her head hurting from too much wine and sun and not enough water.

She made her way to the kitchen and drank what felt like her body weight in water. As she was about to head back, she heard noises coming from Beca’s office. 

The door was open and a dim light was creeping onto the landing.

Chloe peaked inside to see Beca sitting cross-legged on her chair, her hair tied up messily, the light from the computer screen the only light in the room.

She was talking to someone on the phone, her voice a little hoarse.

“No, I get that Theo,” she said, her hand resting on the back of her neck. “But when I spoke to you yesterday, the track was fine.” She watched as Beca tucked the phone in between her ear and shoulder and the began typing into her computer. “Uh huh. So like, more bass? Less bass?” She stopped typing. “I don’t know what you mean by the same bass but different.”

Chloe had heard enough and stepped into the room. 

She placed a hand on Beca’s shoulder and tried not to laugh when she jumped. She held out her other hand for Beca’s phone. 

Beca sighed and handed it over.

“Hi Theo,” Chloe said, smiling. “It’s Chloe. You remember me from the USSO tour, right? It’s 2 am, and Beca’s on vacation. I know. I’ll pass your apologies on. Goodnight Theo.”

She clicked end on the call and passed the phone back. 

“Theo said sorry.”

Beca laughed and put the phone down. “Thank you.”

“Does this happen often?”

“Oh yeah,” Beca said. “Theo and I are both kinda nocturnal so sometimes he’ll call me with ideas.”

“No wonder you look so tired,” Chloe said.

“Gee thanks.”

“Come on, it’s bed time.” Chloe took her hand and pulled her up. “This room is off limits while you’re on vacation, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” Beca said, smiling. “How are you finding the guest room?”

“It’s nice,” Chloe said, as they hovered outside Beca’s room. “Why?”

“No reason,” Beca said.

“Becs, you can just say it you know?”

Beca laughed, and looked down. “I can’t. I’m not good at this.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. She pushed Beca’s bedroom door open and gave her hand a tug. “Come on.”

“Chloe,” Beca said softly, closing her eyes when Chloe cupped her cheek with her hand. “Wait.”

“Hey,” Chloe replied, her voice just as gentle. “Look at me. Tell me what you need.”

Beca swallowed hard, tears burning her eyes. “I’ve… I’ve been waiting. That’s what I wanted to say before. Why I haven’t dated anyone since Jesse. I’ve been waiting for you. I… I waited to tell you and I waited too long.”

“It isn’t too late,” Chloe said, pulling Beca into a hug. “You can tell me now, it isn’t too late.” She felt Beca take a deep breath, and when she spoke her voice was muffled by Chloe’s shirt.

“I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you. And I know you and Chicago just broke up. I don’t need to hear it back.”

Chloe ended their hug and cupped Beca’s face in her hands again, her thumbs brushing away the tears. 

“I wanted Chicago to be different than he was. That’s why we didn’t work out. I wanted him to know what I needed without me having to ask. I wanted him to know when I needed a tea instead of a coffee. I wanted him to bring me an aspirin when I was two hours into a study session because he knew I’d have a headache by then. I wanted him to know when I wanted to talk, and when I just needed to sit and listen to music. I wanted him to know me. I wanted him to know me the way you know me. I wanted him to be you, Becs. And… And when I realised that… When I realised it was you that I wanted… You that I was in love with… That’s when we broke up.”

“You love me?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Yeah I love you.”

Beca let out a teary laugh. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Beca nodded, and Chloe’s mouth was on hers, and Beca knew she was home.

[ladyhallen]

The Sentient House and Alice

Three weeks before the elections, Alice woke up with the nagging need to move to her grandmother’s house.

It was a nice house, but simply too large for one family to have. Just simply, impossible large. Alice had once tried to catalogue all the rooms in the house but just lost count. It was as if the house itself didn’t like to be measured.

Alice got used to inanimate objects having opinions of their own. It wasn’t so bad and at least if you treated them right, they wouldn’t object to being used. It was a side effect of having taken too strongly from her grandmother.

She had a feeling that nagging need to move into the house was another quirk of her blood. Her mother never could explain it properly, other than knowing more than people.

So, with just that urge, Alice packed up her bags for a weeks clothing, all her documentation that labelled her as having something extra and moved out of her tiny apartment.

Her landlord, a man with cat-yellow eyes, sighed.

“Must be something important, if you have to do it without any prior notice,” he murmured. He was one of the few people who knew about her. Being part of the Other community, people often knew everyone else. Mainly for self-defense.

“I don’t know if it’s a calling,” Alice said. “But…there’s a need? I don’t know. A need to hide.”

The landlords eyes were wide. “Alright. I’ll spread the word.”

Alice wished he wouldn’t. While there would be some people who would appreciate the warning, there would also be others who didn’t like false alarms.

“Alice, you’ve never actually given me false alarms before,” he reminded her. “Now, stop being modest and get moving.”

Alice nodded, feeling a little bit better. “Just remember, I’m not a Seer,” she repeated, feeling the need to reiterate things.

“Yeah, you just know.”

Alice gave up.

..

The house was situated in the middle of the city. It was a large, sprawling land bracketed by fruit trees and large, rustling grass. Even if it was in the middle of the city, the trees were tall enough and thick enough to block sound and make it seem isolated.

In the middle of it all was the house.

Wreathed in spells, the windows blurred as though it was moving. It made measuring things difficult. If Alice didn’t already know that the house was sentient, she would have believed it after spending a night inside. The bathroom tended to rearrange itself according to how she liked it.

“I’m here, I’m home,” she called, opening the door that didn’t even pretend to be locked. It swung invitingly open, like it had just been closed and not closed for a good twenty years. “Stop calling, I’m here.”

The chandelier flickered and turned on.

“What’s the problem?”

The lights turned on, one by one until Alice could clearly see what was lit and what wasn’t. The house was leading her to the library and she followed, leaving her bag on the sofa by the fireplace.

It was clearly agitated and it showed. By the time Alice reached the library on the second floor, the lights blazed.

On the bookstand by the door, a book was open and being flicked to and fro by the wind. She took the hint and bent close.

“Of all the creatures that witches spent battling,” she read aloud. “Demons are the worst. Banished to the Otherworld by the Coven of Witches in the year 1905 after the disaster that was the Spanish Influenza. They are characterized by their yellow eyes and the scent of sulfur that follows them. They also have an aversion to cats.”

Alice breathed deep, trying not to panic.

“But,” she whispered. “The UCO just declared demons to be a myth. If the Coven of Witches did this and then scattered afterwards, that leaves a mark on the World. Why would the UCO declare demons to be a myth?”

Alice had no answer and the house rattled around her in agitation.

..

Since the house was clearly averse to letting her leave the house – as evidenced by the doorknob that wouldn’t twist open and the trees that suddenly blocked her way outside the gates – Alice made herself at home.

She picked a bedroom, almost jumped out of her skin when she found the drawers to be full of clothes her size and even felt her eyebrows climbing when she saw the pantry overflowing with food.

Evidently, it had prepared itself for her arrival.

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful,” she said.

The windows preened.

Half-forgotten lessons with her grandmother resurfaced and Alice ended up baking cookies. The scent wafted up to the third floor and the house actually felt lived in. She knew the house appreciated it by the bubble bath it drew up when she headed for bed.

..

On Alice’s third day, when she was arguing with the house on whether she could go outside and get some other supplies, the doorbell rang.

She paused in the act of wiping the glasses and glared at the nearest mirror. “This discussion is not yet finished,” she declared.

Opening the door, she found herself face to face with a petite woman, glossy wings protruding from her back and an energetic smile.

“Hi!” the half-fairy greeted. Alice knew she was half since her skin wasn’t green. “I saw your ad in the internet and wondered if you were still hiring? I’m a good cook and can work around substitutes in case of allergies and Other problems.” Alice blinked at her. The woman didn’t even pause. “I can also bake and clean and sew. So anything is really fine. I just need a place to stay. The cats are all saying their fur is standing up and – “

“Wait, wait, just stop,” Alice said, trying not to shout. Fairies didn’t like sudden loud noises. “Why are you here?”

The woman looked bewildered. “You posted an ad in the internet asking about housekeeping.”

Alice sighed and pulled the woman inside. Once they were seated inside the kitchen, Alice glared at the mirror. “You posted that ad, didn’t you? I thought I told you not to do things like these without asking?”

In response, all the drawers in the kitchen, which had been obligingly opened once Alice took out the polishing rag, drew shut.

The half-fairy goggled. “The drawers just moved.” She stated carefully.

Alice sighed again. “It has a mind of its own. Most things do, when they spend enough time around me. And the house was likely the one who posted the advert too. Most probably, it convinced my laptop to do it. People,” she said loudly. “We have consent issues. Didn’t we have this discussion when I was fifteen?”

The woman laughed, a gay and infectious sound. “You must have some sorcerer blood! They’re the only ones I know that can do that, even by accident. So can I work here?”

Alice nodded. “Why do you want to work for food and lodging anyway?”

“But that’s just it,” she said seriously. “Anyone who has a drop of Other in them are hiding. Apparently, someone with Seer blood said to be careful or something.”

Alice had the feeling she could blame her old landlord for that. But…

“Wait, where did you find my advert?” she asked, feeling dread.

The woman obligingly rolled out a printed sheet and Alice felt blood drain from her face. “Is that Facebook? And the UCO page? And that…”

“The official chat room for the Other community,” she supplied. “I was really lucky to get here first. I think there’s going to be a lot more people coming here.”

Alice dropped her forehead to the table and she couldn’t even hurt herself since the table softened to avoid hurting her.

“Oh my god. What are you planning, you crazy house?” she muttered.

…

The half-fairy woman’s name was Susan and Alice set her to cooking or baking.

It was amazing to have conversation that actually talked back.

“This was your grandmother’s house?” Susan asked. “Wow, it’s amazing the UCO hasn’t seized this yet.”

Alice shrugged, trying to peel the apples. It was slow going since she didn’t particularly like holding anything sharp. “I think they tried?” she said. “I remember a year when Mum was going gray about grandmum. She and dad had a spectacular row about it.”

“It’s really well taken care of,” Susan said. “Especially the garden. I really like your trees. There’s something…different about them.”

Since Alice had seen them move and walk around, they definitely weren’t ordinary trees.

…

Alice’s next applicant was an elf, pointy ears and all.

She stared at the man when he volunteered to be the gardener.

“Pick a room,” she said. “There’s a lot.”

“My name is Samuel,” he said, a melodic trill in his voice. “Thank you for sheltering me.”

Alice blinked dazedly at him and then marched determinedly up her room to continue arguing with the laptop about taking down the adverts. She didn’t need more people.

…

Even with the advert being taken down, people still arrived in staggering, slow numbers.

After Samuel came three more elves. They all took care of the gardens. A werewolf and his mate, a half-lizard. They started a vegetable garden – which struck Alice as ironic since werewolves and lizards didn’t like vegetables and were as carnivorous as possible.

Then came the pixies who roosted in the Roof Gardens and only came down to steal some desserts. They did amazing cleaning and swept the house of any dust at night when everyone slept.

Two gnomes arrive, bringing with them one earth nymph and two tree nymphs. Alice, at this point sits down with Susan and tries not to pull out her hair.

“How am I supposed to feed an earth nymph and the gnomes?” Alice hissed at the fairy. “Aren’t gnomes vegetarian?”

Susan giggled. “It’s a good thing Erik and James have just harvested their first crops then. It’s like fate. You gather such amazing people, Alice.”

It definitely wasn’t Alice’s doing. She merely stared at all the people arriving and kept worrying.

Meanwhile, the elections draw closer.

….

The first time Alice sees a cat when she’s doing laundry, she dismissed it as unimportant. Its green eyes stare at her, and then seemingly finds her suitable.

The next time she sees a cat; there are four of them sunning themselves on a patch of sunlight in the library.

“Okay, this is definitely not normal,” she said with a frown.

The cats ignore her.

..

Two pairs of vampire mates arrive and seek sanctuary. Alice tried not to cringe when Erik eyes them up.

“Please don’t fight,” she pleaded. “The house will definitely get angry.”

At that statement, the pixies that were watching the proceedings by the roof beams, gasp.

The vampires paused and Erik goes still.

“I’m not fighting them,” Erik announced. “But I’m not going to make any promises if they mess with my vegetables.”

The vampires nod at him regally.

“What can you do?” Alice asked before someone else exploded. Vampires tend to make people irritated. “We can sort your books. And do repairs. We also brought with us some animals. We know you like fresh milk and we can get blood from the cows as well so it balances evenly for us.”

Alice tried not to laugh out loud. Vampires volunteering for animal husbandry. Vampires volunteering to be repair men.

….

Marcia, one of the most well-known in the Other community, shows up and it nails the coffin to how weird her life is.

Because Marcia, White Mage extraordinaire, just volunteered to be her librarian.

“I can also help raise defensive spells,” Marcia adds at Alice’s flummoxed silence, mistaking it for hesitation.

“That’s fine,” Susan interjects for her. “But...”

The words, why are you here remains unsaid, but the White Mage hears it anyway.

“I did a divination spell once the warning reached me,” Marcia says, like its normal for someone to manage a divination spell and have it work. Gosh, it’s blowing Alice’s mind. “And my results said that the best place to be in right now is the house of a Witch.”

Her houseguests look at Alice in interest. The words take a while to penetrate.

“But!” Alice says with surprise. “I’m not a witch! I mean…I don’t think I am? I can’t work with plants for shit and my empathy is out of whack. I don’t have a green thumb!”

Marcia finally looks confused, which makes Alice feel better. There are finally two of them suffering here.

“I do agree that an affinity with plants is a sign of a witch, but you are so obviously magical and good with witchcraft that it’s affecting everything around you, even non-living things,” the White Mage says. “The cats agree with me,” she adds, pointing out the three cats twining by her feet.

Alice, for the first time in a while, finally knows what she is. And she doesn’t appreciate it in the slightest.

…

On the day of the election, the camera pans to the president candidate and Alice almost jumps a foot in the air when his eyes turn yellow. Not dragon-gold or cat-yellow but demon-yellow.

An instinctive revulsion rises up in her and Alice finally understands why she had known to hide.

Because demons had finally come back from their banishing and Alice was one of the few Witches left in the world.

...

wrote this a few years ago, just posted this now. 

[xspaceprincess]

If you don’t mind the ask, what exactly happened with your ex?~

I’ve been following you for a long time and I’ve seen your previous posts + hints about what happened in the end. I think I’m going through something similar and I’m just looking for hope that it gets easier! <3~

Ah, i never get on here anymore except to vent so I totally missed this!! So sorry, love! (And oh gosh, I’m sorry you’ve had to be subjected to my rantings and ravings for so long lol 😂).

I’m sorry that you’re possibly going through something similar because honestly, it was the absolute worst. My ex boyfriend was not very emotional in our relationship. In fact, he can’t feel empathy, so that always made things a little hard. Honestly, there were a bunch of issues leading up to the main cause. Lots of little things that broke me down and wore me out (such as he refused to wish me a happy birthday or what seemed like silly little things like that).

Last year, he started spending more and more time on discord. He started ignoring me. Eventually, it came to a breaking point where I told him flat out that how I felt. He apologized and said he would spend more time with me and was sorry I had felt that way. Spoiler alert, it didn’t get better. While he “spent time” with me, he was ALWAYS on his phone. I mean, constantly. I was starting to break mentally again. And then… I got pregnant and decided on having an abortion because neither of us wanted to have kids and we weren’t ready for that anyway. And things were even harder. He wasn’t there for me when I needed him the most. He was on discord, chatting up this girl all the time. He would talk to her well into the night (like, five am and keeping me up all night doing so). And he claimed it was because he was in a bad place mentally and his friends made him feel better. Well, if that wasn’t a sucker punch to my already wounded emotions. Because I did love him. I loved him a lot.

Well, he went on vacation to meet this friend and her brother. Was going to stay the week there. He broke up with me while he was there (and spoiler alert, they got together and their “get together” date on Facebook is two days before we broke up 🙃). I don’t think he really physically cheated on me, but he 110% emotionally cheated on me. And not just with her, but with other women. And I’m petty and wonder if she knows he was still thinking of getting back together with me the week he had come back 🤔

In any case, I had brushed a lot of my feelings under the rug because I didn’t want to be the kind of girlfriend who got jealous or who clung to hard or who did anything of that sort. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have put my own feelings first. It would have saved me a world of trouble.

I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but if you think you’re seeing red flags, please don’t brush them off. Oftentimes, your gut is right. If you think you should leave, do it. For me, I didn’t leave even though I had thought of it a few times in our almost four years together because I didn’t think anyone would love me like he did. But guess what? Someone does. Actually, scratch that, they treat me a hell of a lot better than he ever did. He treats the people around me a lot better than my ex ever did. My ex drove me from the people I loved because none of them wanted to be around him. Because he was an asshole. There is hope. It gets better. And yeah, sometimes you have to go through hell first. Doesn’t mean we have to appreciate the experience or anything tho.

When I was worried he was going to break up with me before he did, I had commented my worries on a Patreon post of my idol (who had asked how everyone was doing) and she responded, ending her post with “Let the boyfriend go if you gotta. and remember that everything changes.” So, I pass those words along to you. Everything changes, but sometimes, it’s for the better.

Also, I’ll try and keep an eye out here. So if you need anyone to talk to, please reach out.

Just know, I see you, anon. I send my love to you for whatever your situation is. Good luck! You got this!

xoxo Alix

[patrick-hockstutter]

Modern!Bowers Gang:

Patrick:

Really into cinematography and photography of the unsettling

Never captions his Instagram posts

Goes live on Instagram a lot, even though people really wished he wouldn’t

Makes art out of dead animals or animal bones he finds

Think Banksy, but with roadkill

He’ll take some (somehow) tasteful photos of them, post them, then leave the scene there for some unexpecting bystander to find

Has a nosering (fight me)

Never uses incognito mode

If someone happens to stumble upon his search history, he’s not paying their therapy bill

He likes reading smut more than he likes watching porn

A ps4 guy

Loves spooky games like Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Until Dawn and Death Stranding

He’s not really into school, but he surprisingly reads a lot when he’s alone in his room

Only about things he likes though

Abnormal psych, criminal psych, and sometimes some zoology (u kno y)

Watches serial killer documentaries like he’s paid to

Listens to grunge, nu metal, and 80s alt

Won’t admit it, but sometimes listens to Joji

He’s not super into emo music, but he’s the only one who will listen to it with Victor (he fckn vibes to Brand New)

Ironically uses a Zune

Has an Android but lowkey wishes he had an iPhone

Doesn’t have a computer, just jailbreaks/hacks the school issued laptop

Has a black line tattooed around some of his fingers, one of his wrists, and the shell of his ear

Has a foot tattoo

Has a fucking Juul

Watches LeafyIsHere on YouTube (tell me I’m wrong)

Spends too much time on Reddit

Wears flannels, skinny jeans, and Vans (a beanie if he’s cold)

Mostly cycles through the same three or four outfits

Wears the same pair of Vans every single day

Victor:

Big into aromatherapy

He uses lavender soaps and has an essential oil diffuser in his room

Uses incognito mode to watch Vampire Diaries

A Nintendo ass b i t c h

He has the gray Switch Lite

He brings his Switch with him everywhere (yes he’s that guy)

But what else are you gonna do when you wanna ignore Patrick?

Watches conspiracy theories about ghosts, cryptids, and aliens

Also big into podcasts (mostly true crime and conspiracy ones)

He listens to them on his headphones while he takes walks or draws

Posts his drawings on Tumblr

Does art streams on Twitch when he gets really bored

Has an eyebrow piercing (but it’s a small stud one, not a ring)

Has little tattoos on his hands

Wears bomber jackets, skinny jeans, joggers, army jackets, converse, and combat boots

The boy has style okay

Had an emo phase but still listens to the music (especially Tiny Moving Parts)

The emo phase was pretty short because Henry made fun of him so much

He just fucking liked MCR and Taking Back Sunday a lot, okay?

And Pierce The Veil and Sleeping With Sirens, but he doesn’t readily admit that

Now mostly listens to new wave, synth pop, and lofi hiphop

His favorite bands are Drab Majesty and Choir Boy (look up their new album btw)

Has a black iPhone and a space gray MacBook Pro

Uses Apple Music

Vapes, but only fruity flavors

Watches BoJack Horseman

Doesn’t really eat fast food but never passes up an M&M McFlurry

Paints his (and Patrick’s) nails black

One time Patrick caught him doing a facemask, so Patrick put one on and started chasing him around screaming as a joke

Cue: hmm… this feels kinda good tho

So now Victor and Patrick have secret mini spa days

Drives a Subaru

Belch:

Makes Spotify playlists like he’s paid to

He’s just really good at putting songs together

He tried to get into music theory, but he wasn’t one for actually making his own songs

Really into metal (obvi) but also likes some classic rock and punk stuff

Has records hung up side by side all around his room where the wall meets the ceiling

Still buys CDs

His Instagram feed is full of vintage cars and custom import cars

Fast and Furious is his favorite movie series

His favorite shows are Sons of Anarchy and The Walking Dead

But he also loves early 2000s comedies

Has a mini projector to watch movies on his room wall

Wears band tees, flannels, jean jackets, Carhartt stuff, d a d  h a t s

Really wants a tattoo but always gets nervous

Uses incognito mode to watch porn and buy some of his band tees from Hot Topic

Only one in the gang that uses Facebook (Mama Huggins made him so he could keep in contact with family)

Follows a few meme pages but also some cooking ones so he can send his mom any cool recipes he finds

Victor lowkey makes fun of him for actually using the Facebook page

Invests money in really good headphones and car speakers

Has a black iPhone

It’s always at 20% battery cause it’s always connected to his headphones, Bluetooth speaker, or car stereo

Him and Victor FaceTime when they’re bored

Sometimes they won’t even say much, they just like the over the phone company

Doesn’t smoke, but sometimes hits Vic’s vape

A social vaper if you will

Watches Idubbbz and Filthy Frank on YouTube

His favorite fast food place is Wendy’s

Not really into video games but fucking slays at Guitar Hero

And when Rock Band came out nobody saw him for like two weeks

Has a black Hydroflask with band stickers on it

Henry:

He plays a lot of Xbox

Mostly Halo, COD, Destiny, any first-person shooter really

Baits people on Xbox Live cause he thinks it’s hilarious

He’s also a fucking cyberbully but we all expected that

Has Victor’s old iPhone

Never fucking charges it

He’ll text you back in 3-5 business days (if at all)

And if you try to call him he’ll block your number

Plays iMessage games like cup pong and 8 ball with Belch

The only social media he uses is Snapchat and Tinder to look at girls

In one of his Tinder photos he’s holding a fish (srrynotsrry)

Doesn’t really listen to too much music

He doesn’t dislike music, just usually prefers to do things in silence

His mind is chaotic enough, he doesn’t need background noise

But he will listen to Cigarettes After Sex and TV Girl on a really low volume when he goes to sleep

Uses incognito mode to pick and choose random soft or angsty songs that he likes to put into a bedtime playlist

Otherwise just listens to whatever Belch listens to

Has a tattoo on his wrist

Takes a lot of drives into the countryside/national forests/mountains with Belch

Takes a lot of scenery photos, but never posts them anywhere or shows anyone except Victor

Still smokes cigarettes (he thinks vaping is douchey)

Watches South Park and American Dad

If he’s willing to spend money to go see a movie, he’s going to an IMAX theater

Sometimes he likes 3D, but most of the time it just hurts his eyes after a while

Longboards everywhere

Needs prescription glasses but refuses to wear them

They’re mostly for reading, which he doesn’t do anyway

But he does listen to audiobooks sometimes

Likes Frappuccinos but will kill you before you find out

He orders them through Uber Eats under a fake name so nobody will find out

BONUS: all four!

Victor still has his childhood GameCube that they play Mario Party, Mario Kart, and Melee on

Henry is banned from playing Mario Party after breaking a controller while beating Patrick with it

Patrick only ever picks Waluigi in Mario Kart and everyone is sick of it

When they play Rock Band Patrick is on bass, Henry plays guitar, Belch absolutely slays the drums, and Vicky boy sings his lil heart out

One night a week they order a shit ton of Dominos and make a drinking game out of watching Vine compilations

Victor does everyone’s birth charts

They collectively made a fake Tinder account on Patrick’s phone and catfish guys with it

They all try to one up each other doing vape tricks yikes

They buy bags of chips and candy from Costco and lounge around eating them on weekends

They’re banned from the city metro busses because Belch’s car was in the shop for a week and that week was hell for every bus driver in the city

[fighterraven]

My Story with Fossil Fighters Frontier.

Ah March 20th 2015. I remember that day like it was yesterday. In case you forgot what was so special about that day, it was the release date of Fossil Fighters Frontier or at least the American release date. It had been in Japan for a year under the name Infinite Gear. Now in order to fully tell this story we need to rewind back to 2014 so Insert some timy wimmy transecsion here.

The year is 2014 and I'm starting to wonder "where the heck is Fossil Fighters 3?" Of course that's what I called it. I'm on a site called "Nintendo everything." And I see this "Fossil Fighters Infinite Gear." Naturally,  I freaked out "OMG THEY MADE A NEW FOSSIL FIGHTERS AND IT'S ONLY IN JAPAN!" I even had Facebook and Miiverse posts from back in the year freaked out about Infinite Gear. Now, I'm not a betting man, but if I was, I would bet 10,000 dollars that I knew about Infinite Gear before everyone outside of Japan did. I even knew about the final boss before the rest of the world too due to a Japanese video. Now once I saw this news, I immediately went to my friends and said "now you owe me because Fossil Fighters 3 exists now." I guess I was a dumb 15 year old who wanted Fossil Fighters by someone who wasn't me. I mean the original game was still one of my favorite games of all time after all, I just wanted a sequel after Champions disappointed me. (Champions was a letdown for me compared to the original.) 

Let's fast forward to e3 2014 and Let's skip everything that was announced on day 1 and go straight to a video I uploaded that very same day where I had a hissy fit over Ruby and Sapphire getting a remake but Fossil Fighters Infinite Gear isn't coming to the west. Now you have to understand that I was 15 at the time and I was very edgy, angsty and angry. (Who knew my 15 year old self would be how Nintendo fans would react to the Mini directs in 2020 and the direct in 2021?) I mean I had known about Infinite Gear for months at that point, I felt like my anger had been justified at that point (although I'm glad my YT channel never gained any fame because I would have been roasted by everyone. I probably would have deleted the video if I had in order to avoid complete embarrassment.) Anyways 2 days later and Infinite Gear was announced as Fossil Fighters Frontier. Before I get into the next section, can I just point out how much cooler a name Infinite Gear is over Frontier? They should have kept the Infinite Gear name outside of Japan.

Naturally I lost a bit of control over the announcement and posted my excitement over every social media I had at the time and Frontier was basically the only thing on my mind at the time. Heck, I even went crazy over the Fossil Fighters trophy that was in the 3DS version of Smash 4. Now did I go way crazier over then I ultimately should have? Absolutely and you're probably thinking: "is the trophy in 3DS Smash 4 really that important to this story?" And I'll say "Absolutely." To me, it felt like Nintendo was celebrating my hype with me, it felt like Nintendo read all of my Facebook and Miiverse posts and were hyping the game up with me. I even did only type runs and a no Sonar chip challenge runs in the original and Champions in the time Frontier was announced for E3 up until it's release, meaning I beat the original and Champions 5 times in one year.

So now let's fast-forward to the 2015 February direct. Where they announced Fossil Fighters Frontier's release date. March 20th 2015. MARCH 20th 2015 BABY LET'S GO FOSSIL FIGHTERS FRONTIER! FOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLL FIIIIIIIIGHHHHHHHHTERRRRRRRRRRS! FRONTIER. I then make a bunch of posts on every social media I had at the time reminding myself and everything else about the date. Now keep in mind that they didn't show anything in the release date. Heck we didn't even know about Paleo Pals in the direct so before you say "didn't Paleo Pals ruin it for you?" We didn't even know that stuff back in the day.

March 20th 2015. I went to my local gamestop to pick up my Pre order and I absolutely loved Frontier and it was my favorite game of all time. Now you're probably wondering, how can I love this game when the Paleo Pals make the combat 3/4s automated? The simple answer was that I was sort of in a high when I first played this game. The gorgeous graphics, the animations and the environment all looked pretty damn good and heck I still think Frontier is the best looking 3ds title even to this day. That's entirely subjective, I realize but you can't ignore this game's presentation is top notch. Heck if you gave the game a few touch ups, it could look like a Switch game. Of course I also enjoyed the game's Miiverse community and seeing everyone's reactions to various things and getting to interact with people playing the game was a major factor for me. Although it never really occurred to me that people playing Frontier were playing it because they played other games in the series not because it was their first Fossil Fighters game. The best part of the story is easily when Nate gets his but bit. I actually saw this part in Japanese too but getting to see it in America was also very good. Seeing the twist that Nibbles was the Dreadasarus was also pretty damn good too. Of course I beat the game in 2 days and I did all the post game stuff in one sitting and I felt empty. Now I thought, "this can't be it. There has to be a reward for Ranking up every Vivisaur, Paleo Pal Vivisaur and every Super Paleo Pal Vivisaur. Maybe I'll get to use the Earth Dragon and Dreadraven." Now you're probably thinking to yourself "You're an idiot for assuming maxing out everything would unlock anything." And my answer is that the game wasn't even a week old when I set out to do this herculean task. I had basically an infinite amount of justification as to why I did this. I wasn't going to be all of the time I spent hyping this game up for nothing. I didn't just want to do to this, I HAD TO DO IT. 

So I began my long, tedious grind and I posted my struggles on Miiverse and Facebook (Really wished I knew about reddit back then.) And even some person on Miiverse even called me insane and they had every right to. Nonetheless, I soldiered on with the grind and kept Miiverse informed and after 2 months of grinding, I had done it. I had grinded every Vivisaur, Paleo Pal and Super Paleo Pal Vivisaur. So you're probably wondering what the reward is. Nothing, absolutely nothing, not even Stryker becoming your Paleo Pal (although Stryker does go unused as a Paleo Pal in the game's files.) So you're probably wondering did I regret it? Absolutely not. I enjoyed every second of that grind. It led to a lot of Miiverse posts and probably a lot of memes from said posts. Sometimes it's about the journey, not the destination or goal. Sometimes it's about the friends we make along the way. 

And for this reason alone, I can't legally hate Frontier and heck I still like Frontier over Champions simply because of this story. I mean I love Frontier even after my high wore off. What can I say? I just can't hate this game, I would be absolutely heartless if I did, even if Frontier did completely butcher Spinax, I still don't hate this game. This story is by far my favorite story in a video game. 

And that was my story with Fossil Fighters Frontier. 

[kikiyakno]

✧ Little Star

Date → Some day during the week prior to the Masquerade event. Feb 2021 Setting → Kian’s Grandparent’s Home. Santa Monica, California Triggers  → None, but does include descriptors of fish cutting so if that’s not your cup of tea... Mentioned  → Yi Jae-Sang , Seong Sunwoo , Brandon Kelly, Song Minjoon , Maverick Maxwell, Yong Chul Synopsis  →  ★ Stars are born when large gas clouds collapse under gravity.

The invitation was weird, it was random, it definitely was fishier than whatever fish it was Kian’s grandmother was scaling on the cutting board, but Kian held the weirdrandomandveryfishy invitation close to his chest. This was it. This was exactly the shimmering gold ticket his family and their restaurant needed that would definitely turn everything around.

Except…Gyeonggi Grill was having no part of it.

Just about every eatery in Pico was on board, even the ones Kian didn’t particularly think should be serving food (looking at you Pete’s Palace) and the ones he personally considered to be competition. There was no haste in the flood of Facebook posts on his feed of businesses confirming and promoting their attendance in response to the mysterious invite. It was hard not to feel the clamoring excitement over a party at an art museum. The more he refreshed pages, the more he heard about people talking of it between deliveries, the more Kian felt that this was possibly the shining light for Gijis to be seen again. They would sign up, get paid for it, and best of all to serve new people ~rich people~ to ultimately bring business back in. 

This big chance and his grandparents were radio silent. Kian couldn’t understand.

“Momo,” Kian whined loudly to his grandmother with a soft bounce on his heel. Even with his call the older woman didn’t look up from her work and feed into his melodramatic call. He huffed, the lack of response making his brows deepen further in frustration. “Momo, everyone who’s anyone will be there. They’re paying vendors to be there. This went out to a ton of people, probably everyone we know! Seriously! Everyone’s talking about it. This isn’t just something someone planned on the block, yakno. It’s a huge deal.” 

The pressed enunciations of his words make Kian stop to take a breath. In consideration, he defaulted to speaking in Korean when he was at home and not surrounded by any of his friends. His grandparents had never requested that he do so, but on his own Kian decided that it was a  respectful gesture. Just because English was his preferred language, forcing them to speak it with him didn’t seem fair. It takes him seconds to catch his breath before Kian starts up again.

“This party is exactly what we need, Momo. We can serve…..we can serve the soy garlic chicken! And you know people absolutely love our fried chicken. They talk about how good it is all the time! You know normal chicken places in America don’t double fry. And when they try, it sucks. That’s what makes ours so good! We can stand out with that! Guaranteed!” 

His grandma still didn’t respond, head down and much busier in her re-work of separating scales from the fish. However, there was a soft smile that had made a way to her face now. The passion and sincerity in his voice tickled her ears, especially when a little twist of the accent Kian had arrived at her doorstep with slipped free. Her grandson spoke with fire but not the kind that sought to burn others. He also spoke awfully fast. Which wasn’t too out of the norm for her grandson. Years ago she noticed Jae, Sunwoo, and Kian all shared that oddity.

The lull in the room pressed in on Kian and he broke through it with a giant huff. He waited still, watching her work the knife with expertise. He bit his lip to stop the clench of his jaw and the tightness from impatience building in his throat.

 “Mo—“ “Do you want to cut the fish? It’s your favorite before I clean it.” 

Cut short mid breath, Kian blinked wide at the knife being placed aside for him. She still didn’t look at him, but stepped aside for him to join her. The words sitting on his tongue blew away on a sigh, obediently setting the invite away and beelining to the sink to wash his hands. He steps beside her to take the knife as he starts cutting through the skin. The silence lingers on, aside from the edge of the knife occasionally drags against the cutting board. Kian works as asked, but fast. His cuts are clean and precise despite having his conversation stalled.

“You aren’t listening to me.” He says in an undertone, looking down at his work as he goes.  “I am, Ki-Hyun. I am listening.” Her voice is fond and silvery. Kian knew he was doing his cutting well. “Then why aren’t we joining everyone? Why aren’t we preparing for the event, Momo. We can serve food there.”  “...” “They will give us money. They pay, it won’t be free yakno.” “...” “A lot of people will be there. A lot of people who will love our food like they used to.” “...” “Maybe it’ll be enough money to help us catch up, Momo.”  “Kiki, please slow down and watch your cut.” “Please stop ignoring what I am saying.” Kian’s voice rises a few notches from his soft mutter. He pauses his cutting, noting how his clean work had suffered as he had tried to discuss. He evaluates briefly if his volume had gone too high to be seen as disrespectful, or if he could go on. Soon after he disregards his worry. He was tired of making these pleas and not getting answers. “Why are we not participating? Why aren’t we going?”

The sharpness in his tone takes her by surprise, but she is no stranger to determination. She can’t fight the look on her grandson’s face anymore, sighing herself before she gingerly responds.“...We can’t afford to close an entire day, Ki-Hyun. That’s a day’s business lost.” 

“They’ll pay twice that! Maybe triple than what we make in a day!” 

“We can’t guarantee that, Ki.”

“I can! It’s all over Facebook! Twitter! Other businesses saying they’ll be there and got paid! Remember when I made those accounts for us? People have tagged us—ah, mentioned us! They want to know if we’ll be there.” His voice brightens, contrasting her modulated one. His falters down instantly, however, seeing how her eyes widen then dampen in gentle confusion. Social media was still an entirely new world language for her. “Customers that are going to the party are asking about our food being there. They want us to be there too, Momo.” He defines for her with warmth. Kian can see her understand with his explanation, but she looks away from him before he can see a different turmoil in her eyes.

“We can’t gamble on something everyone else sees as lucrative. And...it would have to be more than a day to prepare for such a large number of people…that means we would have to close for longer to accommodate. Everyone on our staff would have to work longer.”

“Right, and then I’ll get Jae and DaeDae and Mason, and some of my new friends to help us all out and make things easier. And-and Minjoon loves being in the kitchen. If not, him and Chul have networks online too! I know they’d be super happy to help us find the hands we need. Maverick likes food trucks and stuff, he could talk to people! Oh, and Brandon might could help us with clothes and let us borrow something nice to go in!”

“Ki-Hyun.”

“He would find you a really nice dress. Remember I told you that’s what he does, yakno? He’s really good at it. Remember he called me from out of town? He was in a Fashion Show out of state! People love his stuff!” 

“Ki-Hyun.”

“And you know Jae would probably take off all his jobs to help. DaeDae would help too. Buuttt he’s the only one we might have to pay with food, so—” “Ki-Hyun.” Kian stops. Moreso to take a breath than to listen.

“Ki-Hyun, we don’t even have enough in our inventory right now to do so.”

“Yes we do, we—” “Kiki.” 

Kian blinked wide, and she simply shook her head against it. He hadn’t even finished! Each idea of his was shot down in seconds.

Excuses, excuses, excuses. These weren’t answers they were excuses. He didn’t notice how his hands had started trembling or how an ill taste of bitterness wrapped around his tongue. 

“Maybe if you stopped preparing that sweet chili wing combo every Monday and Wednesday night, we would have enough.”

“Kian!” 

“Momo, if Sunwoo was going to come back he would’ve by now. I told you that. But you still do that every night for two days a week. It’s been a month. That’s four weeks. Combos come with six pieces, but you give him two extra. So that’s about thirty-two pieces of meat we’ve had to throw out in the last month because of one person that could’ve fed five or more people.”

Kian knew he had crossed a line and he could see it in her face. He braced for anything, but she only fired right back at him.“And I will keep making what I want for him because those are his nights he works late. It’s too late and dangerous for him to stop anywhere else!”  

“You don’t get it. He doesn’t CARE!” Exploding, Kian lets knife go to drop onto the table as his world suddenly blurs. “He doesn’t care! He-He doesn’t care and he won’t come back! They aren’t coming back. Cause they don’t care. They don’t care. And YOU don’t care!” Kian steps back, immediately remorseful but a throaty sob obstructs his apology. The busy pattern on his grandma’s shirt melds into one in the watery world. “You don’t care! You won’t let me help. You don’t think I know we’re behind! I work because I know we’re in trouble. But you and Grandpa keep...trying to HIDE it and not make me worry. But that just makes it worse! I worry anyways! I’m 27 now and you’re getting older, but I see you work every single day. Then you come home, tired, but then for ME you pretend we’re doing okay when we’re not. We’re NOT!! No matter what we do it’s not enough. I keep working and working and working and working but it’s just not enough! It’s not enough for you to stop pretending like I can’t help! It’s not enough for my friends to feeling like they don’t have to baby me and take care of me and pay for me to eat all the time! It’s not enough for me to ever see you stop working, or rest well at night, or for us to think about taking road trips like we used to or flying away on vacation!” Kian stops to wipe his face with his sleeves in a rush, face wet as though he had been standing in rain. He pushes his face into them to have his cry, only to feel his chest heave in harder when in the brief darkness he only imagines the glittering, serene lights of Paris. He shuts his eyes tighter and tears his face away in a hurry, feeling the accumulation of months of his world caving in on itself finally collapsing on top of him. 

“I-I’m tired, halmeoni. I’m tired of us pretending. This is our one chance and you say no! Why are you giving it up so easily? Why are you giving up?! Wh-wh-why am I the only one who cares? N-N-No one cares! No one cares but me!”

Kian feels like he’s going to give way again before strong arms pull him close from behind. He breaks regardless, knowing now that at some point his Grandfather had come into the room. At this point Kian’s grief commanded his outburst.

“I’m sorry i’m not Kyung-soo. I’m sorry i’m not good like Kyung-soo so you could finally rest and have plenty of money and friends and nice clothes like he does. If I wasn’t here your family would love you and send you the money you need and you wouldn’t be dealing with this. They won’t even help you because of me. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry we can’t be happy and enjoy things like normal people. I’m so—!”

Kian felt warm hands take his cheeks and his body be squeezed harder. Momo had been hushing him and only at her touch had he quieted. He didn’t know how long she had been trying to, but his Grandfather’s face was buried heavy into his shoulder. Momo smiled, relieved to see that she had gotten through to him, but Kian could finally see her face was just as wet—and tired—as his. As familiar as she was to determination, her heart ached to see overwhelming frustration cripple the brightest heart she knew. She could be angry, she could be upset, but while Kian said one thing, she heard another. Hopes, wishes, blame, and shame but most of all that passion and sincerity.  Yes, it hurt to be the one hit by his fire this time, but this detonation of Kian’s was different than all the others she seen before it. She swiped over his cheeks with her thumbs, still working on a smile despite her own tears.

"Don’t let go of any of those dreams of yours, little one. We will figure this out just like we’ve figured out everything else. Keep hoping. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

[rachelthompsonauthor]

What is social proof? It’s a marketing concept that we are all inadvertently, unknowingly contributing to every time we click on, retweet, like, reply or comment, and share any kind of social media, article, or blog post on the net. Technically, social proof, as defined by Sprout Social is:

The concept that people will follow the actions of the masses. The idea is that since so many other people behave in a certain way, it must be the correct behavior.

Social Proof and Me

As an author, social media is a hugely important part of my author platform, as it is for any writer or blogger. This is how we connect with readers now, even before the pandemic. Virtual, online events are now the norm. Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube Live video discussions are the new book signings. Twitter chats are weekly on any number of topics; I have two of my own, in fact, #SexAbuseChat every Tuesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est and #BookMarketingChat every Wednesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est.

All important for visibility, branding, and most importantly, connection.

However…there’s a limit. I reached my limit over the course of this past year. It didn’t come all at once. It came, little by little, reaching a peak this past month or so.

Why? How? Me, the so-called social media expert?

Access. Like many people, I have issues with the incredible level of access Facebook gives people once we friend them without our consent. PMs (private messages) are automatic, now with the ability for people to call, voice, and video message us, with no option to shut these options to OFF unless we unfriend the person (we can, however, mute a specific conversation). Technically, we do give them consent in the legal mumbo jumbo we all agreed to when we joined back in the 2010s.

I am not okay with this. And Facebook doesn’t care. Nobody cares. You’re probably thinking, “Geez, Karen. Shut up, already. Stop your whining, white lady.” I get it. I do. First-world problems.

I counter with: I hear you. It’s also part of my business. A huge part. Here’s why:

As someone who manages over 70+ various social media accounts as part of my BadRedhead Media business, plus my own accounts as well, Facebook requires I have a personal account in order to manage all those other Pages. I do understand why, particularly with all the ridiculousness of the past four years with the abundance of fake accounts, fake news, and such.

As a survivor of sexual abuse and stalking, this is ultra-concerning to me. So, what happened this past month or so? Suffice it to say, one person repeatedly tried calling me. I never pick up Facebook calls, especially if I don’t know you. Another left me a few voice messages saying they were offended by something.

Yet another left me another message in ALL SHOUTY CAPS that she didn’t find what I posted inspirational enough and she expected better from someone who is “supposedly on the side of authors.”

Oh, and there is the one lady who started replying on ALL my posts to the kind people who did comment that she didn’t think I replied often enough or to her satisfaction.

Well. I’ve been criticized before. You should read some of my 1-star reviews. There’s plenty!

But, for whatever reason, this struck a chord. I got up in my feels. I cried. I talked with one of them and we worked it out because we like and respect each other’s work in the mental health space. The others I blocked. It’s darn frustrating to donate hours of my time each week to helping writers solely because I want to, only to be told it’s not enough. Like, seriously? Fuck off.

My blood raged. My heart sank. Understandable, right?

But what really made me angry is that I put myself in that position by being available. I accepted that ‘it is what it is.’ This is what the social media platforms have given us, so that’s what I have to work within.

I’m too available. It’s too easy to leave me shitty messages. This is why people hire people like me – to handle this crap for them! So they don’t have to read these ridiculous criticisms from judgy people who apparently have nothing better to do or are having a bad day.

And I get bad days. It’s a damn pandemic. We’re all struggling. Where’s the damn compassion for one another?

I have a dislike/hate relationship with Facebook anyway, since about ten or so years ago when I discovered that a past love had died by suicide by going to his personal profile and seeing, “RIP dude,” messages there. We had spoken early that day. It still haunts me.

So…what to do? I’m claiming my time. I’m not posting to my personal Facebook profile right now. I’m ignoring it. I am checking my Pages and of course, my client Pages. When I feel like I can face it again, I will cull my ‘friends’ down from *checks real quick* 4385 people to maybe, I don’t know, the few hundred in my groups, many of whom I do know and treasure.

Social Proof and You

If you’re a writer, social proof matters. This is the world we live in. Publishing is not only writing.

You need to be ‘findable,’ not only on Google, but also on each individual social platform, so your readers can learn more about you and hopefully, buy your books. If you go the traditional route, publishers and agents want to know how many followers you have (easily upped by buying fake followers or likes from Fiverr or wherever). I suggest not doing that, because:

1) fake followers don’t buy books 

2) it’s usually pretty obvious when you have fake followers because they’re all foreign names, have questionable bios, and no tweets

3) do you really want to start your publishing career with a lie? 

They also want to know what you post, how often, and what your branding is. If you’re an indie author, honestly, the same applies. Social proof is about connection, building relationships, and authenticity. I’ve believed that since I started my business and writing career way back in 2011, and I stand by it now. Start slow, grow slow. It’s not a race.

I’m the furthest thing you’ll even find from a conspiracy theorist – I don’t believe in chemtrails, pizza parlor cabals, or that the earth is flat. However, I am a realist. Watch The Social Dilemma sometime. These huge tech companies share our data without our knowledge or consent (Cambridge Analytics, anyone?). Younger generations are so used to this, they don’t really care – ask them.

(My kids think having a chip implanted in their hands with all their data is a fabulous idea. “So much easier than having to talk and repeat everything over and over. Just scan me and be done with it,” says my daughter Anya (21). “Agree,” grunts my son, Lukas (15). Buy stuff, go to the doctor, whatever. Scan and go. Talk with any GenZ kid, you’ll likely get a similar answer. They’ve been tracked since birth everywhere. They don’t know life without a computer, tablet, or phone in their hands.)

Know that whatever we do, it’s all part of each platforms’ AI, and they share data, which is why that darling pair of shoes you just saw on Amazon is now showing up on Google, Facebook, Twitter, and every website you visit going forward. It’s all about the money, and they all get a piece of that affiliate link.

Every bit of every click is recorded, even when you’re watching videos on YouTube, or a subscription service like Netflix, or perusing goods on Amazon. It’s all connected. I’m not shocked or surprised by any of this, are you?

It’s Not Personal

What people say to us and about us is ultimately incredibly revealing about them. We know this, at an intellectual, psychological, and emotional level. Still, when people say mean things, it hurts. We’re human.

Does it matter in the overall scope of our lives? Who can say. It matters at that moment. It can matter when it comes to overall visibility when you’re marketing your book(s) or trying to get that book contract or interview. Only you can say if it matters to you.

Already a longtime fan of THE FOUR AGREEMENTS by Don Miguel Ruiz, I took a moment to reorient myself with this one agreement: Don’t take anything personally. I also stumbled across an excellent short and entertaining TEDTalk by Frederick Imbo. His main message to stop taking things personally is two-fold;

It’s not about me. Look at the other person’s intention and

It IS about me. Give yourself some empathy. Speak up. Ask questions. Pay attention to how you feel and be vulnerable with your needs.

I’m glad I was able to, inadvertently, employ point #2 and work out some issues with one of the people by telling him what he said made me cry. He apologized. I apologized. We talked it through and we’re still friends.

Ultimately, social media is what we contribute to it. What we make it. How much we allow of it into our lives. Social proof is going along with the tide. I’ve been in this space since 2008. Being connected to others is a big part of the work I do to help and support not only other writers, but also other childhood sexual abuse survivors. However, I’ve reached that point. I knew it was coming.

I’m not shutting my doors. I’m just adding a screen. With a strong lock.

***

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

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The post What Is Social Proof and Does It Matter, Really? appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

via Rachel Thompson

[arcticdementor]

A reader writes:

I’m writing to you today because I have some information to share with you (and your readers) who may still be skeptical that this LGBTQIA+ gender-identity craze is coming for their kids.  Some recent interactions online have made me more aware than ever that the movement is spreading in wild and unpredictable ways, and also made me reflect on how, in my own life, even someone like me could have fallen victim to it.

I want to start off by saying that recently, (and ironically, in an attempt to try not to be sucked into the internet as purely a source for doom and gloom: you will see how this backfires on me) I decided to rejoin a fan community surrounding one of my favorite franchises on Twitter. I won’t go into too much detail about which community and the exact specifics, but just know that it’s a popular franchise that’s appropriate for older kids, teens and adults (nothing 18+, nothing for really little ones).  As a teen myself I was fairly active in a similar branch of this community on another social media platform (Facebook), and enjoyed it immensely before the platform eventually went more or less defunct as a hot-spot for fan content. Most of the content was fan-created work (like fan-art or fan-fiction) with a little interaction and lots of “DID YOU SEE THE LATEST” kinds of posts.

…

Anyway, to keep it to a minimum, that was then. If you’ve been on the internet any time in the last five years you know that spaces where people just talk about an interest and don’t mix it with politics and activism are becoming few and far between. Even though I knew this, and knew that I wasn’t going to have the same experience in a different place, something sparked an interest in me to go try to reconnect with my internet roots in a different setting.  So, I followed some hashtags, quickly found some new followers and settled back to enjoy at least marginally some discussions online that didn’t have to do with Covid and All The Ways We Are All Going To Die.

Then came the teenagers.

Much like when I was a kid, this franchise attracts a lot of younger people.  So it was hardly surprising to me to find that many of my new followers were in the 14-18 age range and that people like myself (mid-older 20s) were a sort of senior majority. That was fine- Twitter’s rules after all are 13+, so it’s not unreasonable to assume if you’re part of a popular group that you’ll interact on occasion with minors. That wasn’t the part I found strange. The part I found strange was that all of them, and I repeat, all of them were fans of two things- the franchise, and gender identities.

You can actually almost pinpoint the age range of the 18 and under crowd by how many of them have the following: 1. Pronouns in bio and in username.  2. Gender identity or lack thereof displayed in bio or username. 3. LGBTQ+ sexual orientation displayed in bio or username. etc. etc. etc. I’m not going to dive into it too much, because some might be saying “isn’t that just normal nowadays? Even politicians do that?” Well, you’re not wrong if that’s what you’re thinking. And that’s not the part that disturbs me.

What disturbed me was that, a few weeks after I joined the group, I started noticing an unsettling pattern among many of these teenage users (and many over-teen users, but I’m trying to make a point about the young ones specifically). For a few days, after an interesting bit of news or a trailer or some other thing that unites franchises, the posts in my feed would be primarily things like what I remembered from past experiences: posts about the franchises, theories, speculations, fanart, etc.  But, every time things would settle back down into a quiet, normal week, the feeds in my post became almost entirely about one thing: Gender and LGBTQ talking points.  I’m going to diverge for one second and say that many people in this group aren’t using a personal, front-facing account for their interactions in this fan-group. They’re mostly using alt-accounts with no real names and faces attached (myself included).  And yet, every time the discussion in the feeds died down to where there was just no new stuff about the franchise to talk about, all the conversation slowly but surely shifted back to sexual orientation and gender.  From fan-ships of perfect LGB couples to ‘hey I drew this person but as a trans-female!’ to even forgoing pretending to talk about their interests and just discussing their own gender and sex presentation with their other online friends, it became quickly very clear to me that A. I no longer really belonged here and B. Every single one of these kids was obsessed. Every. Single. One.

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I’m going to digress and talk about myself for a minute to explain just why these examples, particularly that last one, burn a hole in my soul.  From the minute I was old enough to remember, I’ve never been one of those typically presenting females. When my sisters and I played dress-up as kids, they played princesses and I played a prince or a witch or whatever was more interesting. In addition to the dolls and barbies I had being one of three girls, I also had an assortment of boy-oriented toys, including action figures, a remote control car and this really cool nerf bow-and-arrow set that I still secretly wish had survived my playing with it because man, my kids are gonna miss out someday. My hair was short because I hated wearing it up and the solution was a bob, and when we spent time with relatives I could be found as far away from my female cousins as possible, hanging out with my male cousins and talking about Legos and Lord of The Rings. I spent 90% of my time reading books and ignoring reality, and didn’t put much effort into my appearance until probably age 13 or later.

And I wished I was a boy.

It wasn’t an all-consuming thought, but I thought it. I wished, many times, when my parents would fuss at me to please stop attempting to climb trees in your Sunday clothes and when my sisters never talked about anything but dolls and tea-parties around their friends that I could be one of the boys. I had always liked the boys and their world better, and I fit into better, and yet there was that little problem (that I was still a girl) that kept me from being accepted into the boy group.  The reality was, I was already probably very intelligent for my age (too-well read children can relate) and I took that big-headedness a little too far at times. I was also a very emotional person (still am) and just passionately felt that being a girl and being expected to do girl things was hideous and unfair.

The saving grace? My mom was the same. She’s never been a typical female either, and though as adults we have some clear differences (ironically, I have more stereotypical female interests/talents than her- like a hidden passion for interior decorating and a love of baking and so on) she was there for me, to be able to tell me that no- I didn’t really want to be a boy, I was just a girl who liked sword fights and grass-stains more than ballgowns and tea parties, and that was okay!!! She was proof that there were other girls like me, and that I would find more of them eventually (I did) and, even though we never said so in so many words, that stereotypes and how we fit into them has nothing to do with our innate female and male selves. And so, reassured that I could be female and still be however I wanted, I eventually grew out of those thoughts, and as I matured, found that there were ‘female things’ I connected with that my past self was too young to appreciate.

But, think about all this in a modern context. I’m a happy adult female now, and I was never truly gender-questioning. I just thought, for a while, that boys had more fun than I did, so I wanted to be one.  But that, in it of itself, is a thought that’s deep enough for modern gender activists to insist I be transitioned immediately and put on life-altering hormones, never given a chance to grow up or grow out of questioning, and affirmed in my presentation instantly! If I, like that young girl online, had been handed a ‘gender-affirming’ flag and an identity that ‘made sense’ out of why I was different from my peers, I might have jumped on it, especially without the presence of a wise older person to tell me I wasn’t anything different than what she’d been as a child. This is the problem, this is why this kind of thing is so dangerous and toxic and wrong.