#because she didnt think id be coming and it aches knowing that itll be a long time before j see her again when i move | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themeed · 3 years

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damn allowed myself to want things for a day and all i want is a van to live in, knowledge, freedom, weight loss, and a bass guitar.

im. happy with that i think. im proud of me, no jokes. im proud of being able to want things and care about them and vibrate towards them with longing. im... pleased with that. its fulfilling in a way Not Wanting For Anything isnt, because thats... kinda hollow. empty. in a vacant, lonely, yearning and grieving and SAD way. maybe because i Couldnt Want then. i Couldnt Desire or it would be used against me or taken away. that sucks. that sucked.

and now. im free to want again. and comparatively???? i think im very much never going to aim for buddhism or that weird Not Desiring Not Attached Nirvana mindset. like good for u but been there out of trauma and its not fun theres no reason to truly Live. u just float endlessly and experience and it aches so badly!!!! it hurts to want to want and not be able to. and i guess that is different from not wanting at all but... its not different enough for me to justify ever going back to that. or going forward to that. i just got this back and screw enlightenment if it means i have to give up on my passions i dont think life is worth living without it.

and anybody who looks down on that from a spiritual tower has yet to examine their own pride and how empty they feel without it.

anybody who looks down and smiles and wishes me luck on my journey? good for them. im glad theyre living their best life, on their journey as they see fit.

and i feel the need to protect myself because ive been hurt by the pride- the arrogance of others before. a lot of my hurts and traumas stem from my mother being too prideful to recognize that she can be wrong and someone under her power could be correct over her. and it was an uncomfortable truth. so she denied it was one at all and hurt me. i know the reason could be elaborated on. she didnt want to confront her own internal logic. or trauma. or even doublethink. that doesnt excuse her hurting a child for the sake of her sense of pride, of comfort, of self-worth. a child under her power, that she claimed to be parent of. teacher of.

not owing anyone anything is not the same as not hurting anyone. i havent reconciled that yet. oppressors should be held accountable for their mistakes, and give reparations if the harm is physical at LEAST. and i think that applies to politics, yes. privately though? if i beat up a nazi, i dont want to pay for his hospital bills. my personal philosophy struggles between equating people and ideas as a worth measurement, and realizing that that line of thinking is... similar to oppressors. but. its based on something people can change. the question is, do i think "if given the opportunity" is a good enough reason to stop and question a racist that runs their mouth? and do i think pre-emptive violence is okay? if say, a nazi walks into a bar and doesnt say anything but is wearing all the red flags and bells and whistles. i dont think that justifies a beatdown. being asked to leave, sure, but the beatdown doesnt start til the first remark flies.

once the intent is given OR the action is taken, the line is drawn. doesnt matter if they Havent Had The Chance. if theyre starting shit outside of debate spaces like that, and not, say, asking questions, theyre not looking for new perspectives, and it is NOT my job to educate people. its not my job to Show People The Light. a quick fucking google search could tell them why theyre wrong. if they havent put even the most basic energy into questioning their beliefs, thats on them.

it sounds like im trying to absolve myself of blame here. largely because. i think i should go out and help educate people because theyre inherently complacent if theyre, yknow, in a position of power. aka white folk and men and rich folk and cis folk and on and on and on. these people dont live my reality. they dont live the reality of a gay black man in the south, or a genderqueer lesbian in the west, or an indigenous woman whose nation is being targeted, or a muslim woman who cannot wear her headcoverings in the face of danger of death, or an asian immigrant who cant get a job because of COVD age discrimination resurging. we will never live each others realities, but we can become aware of them.

they wont come into awareness without someone asking or telling, and then doing something to change them.

we shouldnt need to go running to people in power for them to be aware of problems in the populace, govt is supposed to help and solve issues like this. like. actively. thats the whole point, make life better for the countrys citizens. and individuals in a position of social power...

are individuals who didnt take on a responsibility to protect and serve or otherwise care for the populace of a nation. i personally think they SHOULD care, but they are not obligated to. i cant make them care about others.

and honestly, on some of them, it would be a waste of time. there are people who want to change or question things and yknow what? they seek out answers. in people or places or online usually. stats and stories.

so like. i dont think someones Potential as a person matters when theres a throwdown about to happen. it really isnt my responsibility to save people from themselves or try to change their sides against their will. if they want to chat about it they can ask questions first.

not throw insults or punches or hatred.

what people have been taught is worth analyzing and trying to correct IN SOCIETY but i cant fix every broken white boy that comes to me. PSAs, fliers, outreach, online videos, debate spaces. those are things i already have access to and can be a part of if i really want to go around changing minds. or yknow. get involved in legislation and be myself around others to change their perceptions of whats socially acceptable or normal. maybe protest, maybe call congressfolk, etc.

but not every comment has to be analyzed or a learning opportunity. im allowed to shut it down, and people can respect that or stop talking to me. this isnt my parents house where i had to justify everything that i said or did when scrutinized, and doubly justify any criticism i had of mother, or any joke i frowned at instead of smiling.

these people dont have that power over me. they arent my mother. they arent my boss, and if they are i can fuck off and get a new job if necessary. they dont have financial control over my living space and food and schooling and physical control of where i can go and with who and for how long. I CONTROL THAT. I do.

Huh. maybe thats why i want a van so bad. i mean... when this lease ends if nobody is gonna end up living with me...

i could just... live in my car and shower at truck stops. get a storage unit for my stuff. save by driving jobs. like 40 to 60 a day. tear out my cars back, insulate it, and install my mattress pad there. water on the floor, cooler next to it, wooden cutting coard, knife, single camping plateware set, and another little shelf for spices. maybe a hot plate i can hook up to the car battery? get a long enough usb and it might be doable. i could go camping and open the trunk to just... vibe.

because yeah, honestly? i dont plan on having a solid apartment for a bit. like a long bit. and i still have like 70000 miles on my car before itll want to go. and by that point, even at like 100 miles a day, thats like 2 years, less if i go cross country in that vehicle. i could save up SO MUCH for a better vehicle, or like. college. live on campus, get some credit, continue working after i figure out want i want to do.

i think thats a solid plan, even if i dont get another apartment and put everything in storage. work as i need to instead of all the time for rent, really only paying for gas, car repairs, car ins, food, and phone data/hotspot internet... that would bring my monthly expenses down to like 500 a month max instead of like 1400. id only need to make some 1000 a month doing contract stuff to save for taxes and stuff. anything extra would be just that: extra for savings and things. holy shit.

depending on how this next month goes for my friends, holy s h i t.

i. i might do this. legitimately.

i. dont think i can yet. i need proof of address to get my license im pretty sure? but hey, thatll be my 21st this year, so. once i have that i wont need a new address for a While. i dont know if ill want one, really.

i could always just ask a friend or family member if i could use theirs for mail that cant go to a PO box.

anyway. yeah. wow.

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huphilpuffs · 6 years

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flares

chapter: 25/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3065 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up on Thursday to a heaviness in his chest.

He groans before he even opens his eyes. His face is squished against a pillow, his ribs pressed too harshly against the mattress. Stabs of pain burst between them, make his muscles spasm and send his breath escaping in a stutter. He has to count, one, two, three, four to keep it from happening a second time.

It eases some when he rolls onto his back.

And he tries to comfort himself further by counting out how long it’s been since he’s been able to sleep on his stomach. Too long, probably.

He’s been getting better, though. Even staring at the bedroom ceiling through his tears, Dan knows that. Knows the he’s helped Phil with dinner the last few nights, and managed to handle the curtains being open for a few hours yesterday.

His hand smoothes across his sternum, and he pokes at the painful spots in his sides until the sharpness dulls.

It’s enough to let Dan sit up, then stand on shaky knees. He tosses Phil’s pillow back to where it belongs and tucks the duvet into place to prove the voice in his head, wondering why he’s suddenly worse again, that he’s fine.

And to ignore the second voice, telling him it’s anxiety that causes your pain, over and over again.

His appointment is in a day.

Dan’s hardly slept for three.

He tries to swallow back a sigh. Whatever rush of adrenaline had dragged him out of bed has faded, left fatigue settling heavy in his bones again. He could drag himself to the lounge, curl up in his blankets and continue his new daily routine of watching people on YouTube for hours.

But his body aches and his eyes burn, and he crawls back into bed instead.

The voice in his head grows louder.

Dan grabs Phil’s pillow, clutches it ot his chest and presses his face against the fabric, breathing deeply.

It smells like Phil.

He holds it until he falls back asleep.

---

The afternoon drags.

It’s past two when Dan wakes up again. The flat is still empty, the bed unmade again. He crawls out without bothering to fix it, makes himself a sandwich, and settles back on the sofa, where he can rest his head against the cushions and ignore the tightness around his heart.

Every time he turns on his phone, it’s too a notification reminding him he has an appointment tomorrow that has his muscles seizing, making it ache to breathe.

And to a reminder he half regrets setting, since he’s ignored it for days.

Call mum.

There’s only a few hours to follow through with it now.

He glances back at the clock that tells him it’s just ticking past three. Twenty-five hours left, says the voice in his head. It sounds like the last GP he saw, who looked him in the eyes and told him to try acting like he had more energy, who told him it would help.

You should try it, his mum had said afterwards. You never know unless you do.

Dan’s thumb swipes across the screen. He finds her contact, sucks in a breath, and hits the call button.

He doesn’t breathe again until she picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dan,” she says.

He hasn’t heard her voice since he decided to stay here. It feels like a lifetime ago, suddenly.

“Hi, mum.”

There’s silence for a long moment. He can hear her breathing over the line, low and steady, and wonders if she can hear the shakiness in his.

“How are you?” she asks

“I’m okay,” he says. “I, uh, have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He swallows, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Just with my new GP, but I’m hoping he might be able to help me,” he says. “With, well, you know.”

“I hope he can.”

She sounds sad. It’s been a long time since Dan’s heard that.

“Me too,” he says. And then, because he can’t handle the silence: “But, uh, I was hoping you could maybe help me figure out my medical history, to prepare? I don’t remember all of it from when I first got sick.”

Back when she was responsible for it, he doesn’t say. Back when anyone could keep track of all of it.

“I’ll text it to you, okay?” she says. “I know your memory isn’t always the best, and your wrists tend to ache from writing.”

“Really?” He slams his mouth shut, the click of his teeth probably audible over the phone. “I mean, thanks.”

She chuckles, quiet, distant, like he can hear the miles between them. “I’m not always heartless, you know,” she says.

Dan’s breath comes out in a rush. Guilt bursts in its place, painful, bringing tears to his eyes. And he wants to tell her he never thought she was, but he can’t. She knows he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he thinks about her now, crying, hands shaking as he clutches his phone too tightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Without you getting mad?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” she says. “I know you don’t think your problems are with your mental health, and I’m not implying they are–” the not this time goes unspoken “–but I know you’ve had bad experiences with doctors and you’re my son.”

His breath catches. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his hand.

This is his first appointment without her, he realizes. The first one in six years that she’s not driving him to, waiting outside or sitting next to him for the length of it. The first time she won’t smooth his hand over his knee in the waiting room, telling him it’ll be okay, that doctors can be trusted, even though they’d been proving otherwise for so long.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Phil’s coming with me.”

“That’s good,” she says, like she means it. “I am glad you have him, you know.”

He almost reminds her what she thought of him living with Phil last time they spoke, but his heart aches and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want to fight, not this time.

“Me too,” he says. “He’s the best, mum.”

She sounds like she’s smiling when she says: “I’d love to meet him, one day.”

Dan swallows. He can hardly picture it, bringing Phil back to a house filled with terrible memories and people he still doesn’t trust entirely. And yet there’s a tug in his chest, a bittersweet image forming in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

Neither does she, for a while.

“I should get going,” is what she ends up saying. “As long as you’re okay? I’ll text you your medical information in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She hums. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You should call your grandma. She misses her sofa buddy.”

He chuckles. It aches. Suddenly, he’s exhausted again. “Okay. I will,” he promises. “And mum?”

“Yeah?”

“No news is good news, okay? If I don’t call you after the appointment, I mean.”

“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead.

His head falls back against the cushion and his phone drops onto the sofa. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s not entirely sure he knows why.

Or maybe he just can’t untangle all the many, many reasons.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He takes the smoothie Dan didn’t touch and sets it on the coffee table before dropping onto the empty cushion. His arm is draped across the back of the cushion, his hip just inches from Dan’s, as he turns his gaze to the open laptop, lit up with another Smosh video.

Dan’s been watching them mindlessly since his tears dried on his cheeks.

“This is a good one,” says Phil.

It’s an older one, the production value a little cheaper and humour a tad outdated. Probably more similar to what Phil had watched back at uni, Dan thinks. He tries to imagine it, a younger version of Phil, one with longer hair and a slightly narrower frame, sitting in a uni room like the one Dan moved out of before coming here.

He hardly can. Maybe because his mind is still muddled, hanging onto words he said during the phone call, onto all the things he should have said but didn’t.

“It is,” he says, just as the video ends.

He doesn’t start a new one.

Phil’s fingers sweep across his shoulder. In Dan’s peripheral, he can see Phil turn to look at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” asks Phil.

Dan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes so harsh it aches.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” he says.

Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”

That makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. Of course Phil knows. He was there, arms wrapped around Dan as he fidgeted, tossed, and turned. His hands had combed through Dan’s hair, and his quiet questions about if Dan was okay were mumbled against his shoulder, his reassurance felt in his touch.

Phil usually falls asleep pretty quickly, Dan’s learned. Last night, he didn’t.

The hand at his shoulder tightens. Dan finally turns to face Phil.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

His eyes are soft, almost sad, as his hand rubs gentle circles against Dan’s skin. He knows. He must know something’s up. Dan has to remind himself that Phil’s seen him after countless sleepless nights, curled up in soft blankets on the sofa and dozing when his mind gets too tired to keep racing.

Today isn’t like that.

Dan reaches out to rest a hand on Phil’s knee, needing to feel grounded, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. Phil draws him closer, so Dan’s head is by his shoulder, his tears dripping down onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt.

There’s no pressure, none but the weight of Phil’s hand on his shoulder, when Dan says:

“I called my mum.”

Phil goes tense. “Oh,” he say. “How did that go?”

Dan swallows. “I don’t know.”

He really doesn’t. His chest feels too full with contradictions, the weight of past accusations crashing up against her understanding tone and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s never been sure how to exist around her, not since pain first settled in his bones and she told him it was growing pains, it would pass, it would get better.

And it never did.

“I haven’t talked to her since I told her I was staying in Manchester,” he says, maybe as an afterthought, maybe because it’s felt heavy on his shoulders since he answered the phone.

“Was she nicer this time?”

He nods. Another tear falls. “She’s texting me my medical history,” says Dan. “She offered, because she– she knew I had trouble writing and remembering.”

Phil hums. His breath has gone even again. His mouth is close to the top of Dan’s head. He sounds hesitant when he speaks. “It sounds like she cares.”

Dan feels that, sharp and painful in his gut. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and his breath catches, and Phil holds him tighter like he’s scared Dan will fall apart.

Maybe he will.

It’s been so long,

He’s been so that sure she doesn’t actually care.

Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

---

His mum texts him.

Dan almost cries. His teeth dig into his lip and his ribs ache and he stares, wide-eyed, at the list of diagnoses and unexplained symptoms he’s had over the years. There’s the migraines they never treated at the beginning, the lightheadedness it took them four years to explain, the instructions to do more exercise that dot the whole six years that he’s been ill.

The first time he went to therapy, and the antidepressants they put him on, and the second time he went to therapy.

And every time he told his doctor he was still sick after that.

Phil’s hand lands on his wrist, gently pushing the phone from Dan’s line of sight. His voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. His throat aches.

Laid out like this, it doesn’t look that bad, a distant voice in his head that’s haunted him for too long tries to remind him that maybe he’s just making it all up. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But Dan can remember the A&E doctor who turned him away because it was growing pains. Can remember the so many times his blood pressure was low before anyone bothered to point it out.

The time his doctor looked at him and said–

“Can we do something?” says Dan. “I want to– I need a distraction.”

Phil nods. In Dan’s peripheral, his phone screen goes black. The knot in his chest loosens, just a bit.

“Wanna play video games?” says Phil.

He shakes his head. “Wanna go out. It’s been too long.”

Phil’s brows furrow, like he’s about to point out that there’s a reason it’s been so long, about to warn Dan that he doesn’t want to make himself sick before such an important day.

Except part of Dan does. He’s done it before, forced himself to be in pain because maybe that way the doctors would actually see that he wasn’t lying. Not that it’s ever worked.

“Please?” he says.

Phil squeezes his wrist. “Okay.” His thumb drifts across Dan’s, careful and comforting. “Where do you want to go?”

---

Dan squeezes into his skinny jeans, even though the fabric burns his legs. He pulls a shirt over his head for what feels like the first time in forever. Though his knees are shaky, he bends down to tie his own laces, as Phil watches from where he’s leaning against the door.

“Are you sure about this?”

He reaches out, without a word, to help Dan stand again.

“I’m sure,” says Dan. “And don’t worry, you won’t need to take me to A&E this time.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, and Dan knows he’s forcing it. He can feel his worry in the too-tight clench of Phil’s hand around his, the way his gaze trips over Dan legs when he wobbles as he stands.

He squeezes Phil’s fingers, forcing a smile of his own, as he opens the door.

It’s warm outside. The sky’s going purple as the sun sinks below the city. Dan realizes, staring up at it, that he hasn’t left the flat since he trip to A&E, hasn’t enjoyed being outside in far too long.

If his joints would let him, he’d suggest they walk around a bit. Instead, he stares up at the clouds and reminds himself to spend more evenings, when the sun won’t burn his eyes, on their little balcony, just to feel the wind against his cheeks again.

Phil tugs on his hand when the cab pulls up in front of them. They pile in, side by side in the back seat. Dan doesn’t put on his seatbelt. He can’t be bothered to deal with the harsh rub of fabric against his ribs.

His chest is still tight, the quiet buzz of anxiety at the back of his mind growing louder. He can still feel his phone, heavy in his pocket, can still imagine the text he hasn’t yet responded to. He can remember their last movie night, laughing and gasping and falling asleep with Phil’s hands trying to massage the pain away.

They hadn’t even gone out last time.

Dan stares out the window and hopes he can keep his promise that it’ll be okay this time.

They slip out of the car at the cinema. Phil pays the driver. Dan leans against the wall as he waits, wondering if the lines inside are long. It’s been so long since he’s been to the cinema, he can hardly imagine it anymore. The screens usually hurt his eyes and the audio gives him a headache and he doesn’t care today.

“You okay?”

Phil’s smiling at him, standing by the door. He holds it open for Dan, and buys their tickets for a random comedy neither of them particularly wanted to see. He lets Dan go find a seat as he buys them popcorn, soda, and a chocolate bar to share. He hands it over, in the darkness of the theatre, with a smile.

Between them, their knees bump together as the film starts.

---

They’re holding hands when it ends.

Dan’s eyes are starting to burn and his chest aches from laughing, but the voices in his head have dulled just enough that he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t think about the appointment he needs to show up to tomorrow, or the doctor he hasn’t met yet who might dash his hopes all over again.

He stares at their joined hands as the cinema empties, smiling.

“You ready to go home?” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. He probably should give his spine a break by sinking into the sofa again, close his eyes against the bright lights of the city before a headache wells in his temples. But he doesn’t want to sit in the dark and wait until tomorrow, letting his fears return.

“Can we get pizza?”

“You up to walk?”

He nods. Phil helps him to his feet and leads him out of the cinema. He knows Manchester better than Dan does, and tells a story about coming to watch movies with Ian when he was younger as they find the nearest pizza place. Dan listens, maybe more attentively than he needs to, to keep his mind from going hazy as the city moves around him.

There’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dan wonders if him of a few years ago would have believed that he’d end up here.

The restaurant they end up in is small and quiet, and they slide into a booth in the corner of the room. Dan sinks back against the cushion, realizing that Phil’s smiling, too.

His chest feels warm. His fingers twist in the tablecloth, because part of him misses holding Phil’s hand.

“Thanks for tonight,” says Dan. “I had fun.”

Under the table, Phil knocks their feet together.

“I did too,” he says.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words #sorry I haven't been online much #turns out when irl is going either better or worse than just fine i don't find much tumblr time

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reesewestonarchive · 6 years

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EASTHALLOW | Masterpost | Project Page | Project Preview | ko-fi, if you like my work :p

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Back at the farm, Elijah walks, dazed but relaxed, back to the house. He checks behind him once, twice, to see if Rocky, who had followed him to the edge of his parents' property, still sits in the woods, wagging his tail at Elijah.

He doesn't.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Amanda says, as she steps out the front door. The sun is shining, bright and warm already for eight in the morning, and Elijah shakes the woods off of him as best he can.

While he's grateful the beast is a silly witch in the woods, the idea that someone out there just... lives in abandoned shack in his woods unsettles him.

"Not a ghost," Elijah says. He sighs. "Has this town always been this fucking creepy?"

Amanda cocks her head and looks at her son with a smile, then steps down the front steps and towards the hay truck. "The city has made you suspicious, my love." She waves the keys in the air, doesn't look back to Elijah. “Come on. I believe you promised me a trip to the farmer’s market.”

Amanda fiddles with the radio, sings along off-key with wrong lyrics, and Elijah absently brushes the mud from his jeans.

The market’s covered in small tables set up underneath tents. Sunlight shines through the trees, and Elijah all but forgets about Viola and Penny and their tiny shack in the woods. The air is sweet with the smell of apple cider and turnovers, and Elijah follows his mother past table after table of pickles, jams, fresh produce, pies, breads…

He last went when he was seventeen. Far too long ago. The smell of it brings him back to being a child, before he made such a shitty decision, before Josh—

“Elijah, can you take these apples back to the car? I’ve a few more tables I’d like to visit.”

Three bags of apples, Elijah takes to the car, tripping over tree roots and uneven, muddied ground. Passes tables selling food that has his stomach aching with hunger.

Just before the market closes off, though, Elijah notes a man, sitting at his table, his head rested in his hand, elbow on the table, flipping through a book with a bored look on his face. Customers seem to ignore him, as though he’s not there. Candles in mason jars are neatly lined up in front of him, a solitary empty spot where someone has bought one.

He seems to notice Elijah staring, because he lifts his head, locks gazes with him. A smile grows across his face.

“Interest you in some homemade candles, sir?”

Elijah makes a face. “I’m not a sir.” He should keep going, but—the logo of the candles. Elijah drops one of the bags of apples to pick up a candle. “This creature,” he asks, smoothing his thumb over the creature—thick hair, glowing eyes, fingers like nails. “What is it?”

With a shrug, the man says, “The Beast of Easthallow. Local legend. Man a few hundred years ago, back when Easthallow was just a mining town, claims to’ve seen it.” He cocks his head at Elijah. “There’s a book about it, you know. Adapted from Victor East’s journals.”

“So it’s real?”

Laughing, the man leans back in his chair. “Suppose that matters on whether you’re a believer.” He nods his head at the candle. “Supposed to smell like wildflowers if you see it. S’what the candle’s based on.”

Overhead, the sun hides behind dark storm clouds. Around them, the hum of chatter from the farmer’s market quiets for a minute.

“Can give you a discount if you buy the book, too.” He holds up a book, small, a plain black cover, the words THE BEAST OF EASTHALLOW embellished across the front.

Assuming, for a minute, that Elijah believes any of this, other than a crazy couple of witches living in the woods, he’s unemployed. Setting the candle back down, Elijah says, “I don’t have any money.”

He eyes the apples. “How about a few of those? They came from the Richard Orchard, right?” Elijah shrugs. “Two apples, then.”

Fine. Curiosity peaked, Elijah digs into the bag at his feet for two of the apples, without bruises, one still with a stem and leaf, and hands them over. Their fingers brush together, and Elijah’s lips twitch up in a smile, just for a split second, before he pulls back.

“Do you plan on hunting it?” the man says, dropping the apples into a bucket beside him.

“…Hunting it?”

“We also sell candles that smell like rotten wood and wet dog. Supposed to attract the Beast.”

Elijah snorts. “A candle that smells like garbage?” He shakes his head. “I’ll go with the wildflowers.” Maybe he can gift it to his mother for Christmas.

“I’ll just get you a receipt,” the man says. Elijah hears someone walk up behind him, and turns his head, sees Amanda stepping around counters, a single, small loaf of bread under her arm.

She smiles down at the man, currently scribbling out a receipt for Elijah, and says, “Good morning, Grant. All well at home?”

He lifts his head, looking between the two of them for just a beat or two before he smiles, pleasant and wide, and his eyes—

Elijah clears his throat, averts his gaze. His heart aches, as he thinks of Sean, back home. What used to be home. He wonders if the man he’d found Sean with would be comforting, in Elijah’s absence, or if he’ll find Elijah leaving cause for celebration.

“…fine, Mrs. Flynn.” Grant flashes her a smile, hands over the receipt to Elijah and says, “Have a good day.”

Elijah reaches for the receipt, and Grant winks as their fingers touch again.

As they leave, Amanda weaves her arm around Elijah’s, says, “That wasn’t so bad, was it? And I see you picked up some items as well.” She nods to the book, the candle in the bag. “Didn’t think you were a candle sort.” She smiles, reaches into the bags, plucks out an apple, and begins chattering on.

Elijah glances at the receipt. Ten digits, scribbled at the bottom—give me a call, if you’d like.

At the farm, Elijah thumbs over the receipt as he sits, reclined on the couch, listening as rain beats down on the tin roof. It’s dark, for mid-afternoon; a deep blue-grey overcast filtering the sun out and shadowing the fields.

Still better than the city.

He sighs. Reads the note again. Little early for hookups, isn’t it? Ezra considers himself fairly capable of moving on quickly, but still, if he thinks too much about Sean, something in his chest goes tight and the world feels too small. He could have gone to the other side of the country, to Australia or Japan, and still Sean would feel too close.

Fingers reach up behind him and pluck the receipt out of hand, though, and Elijah doesn’t even bother turning around to chastise his brother. Instead, he says, “Really? We’re being this childish, now?”

Josh reads the note out loud, makes an awwwww sound, and says, “What happened to Sean, McDreamy? Weren’t you guys happy-ever-after or whatever you want to call it?”

“We’re not in trouble,” Elijah says, but he doesn’t make an attempt at the receipt. He just rubs his eyes, wonders how long it’ll take Josh to give up on this. “And it’s none of your fucking business.”

It’s not a lie; they’re not in trouble. Elijah’s completely out of trouble. Feels better about this than he ever has. Josh, though, Josh takes that and runs with it, his eyes getting wide, and he says, “Holy shit. You’re not—“

“Josh—“ Footsteps are coming up from the basement steps, and fuck, Elijah’s not ready to admit that he’d failed in the city, that he ran home with his tail tucked between his legs, and no. They don’t need to know. They don’t need to know. Not yet. Not until Elijah can get on top of things, until he can

When she reaches the top of the stairs, Amanda glances between them, offers a tentative smile. “Getting on, I hope?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, already heading for her bedroom with the laundry basket. “So nice to see the two of you in the same room without screaming…”

She leaves before Josh can say anything, thankfully, and with a pleased sigh, Josh holds the receipt back out. “S’cute. Taking a page out of your older bro’s book, lying to Mom and Dad.”

Refraining from reaching for the receipt, Elijah says, “I’m not lying to them. And would you stop it with the older bro shit?”

Holding his hands in mock surrender, Josh says, "All right. Just... interesting you're the one keeping secrets these days, is all."

Elijah watches him leave, jaw clenched, and lets out a frustrated groan when Josh is finally around the corner.

It's good, though, right, to meet people. In Easthallow. If he's going to be living here... he'll need a network. Grant can help with that.

He calls the number before he can tell himself not to.

"Elijah," he answers, and his voice is smoother, on the phone, than it really should be. "I wondered if you'd call."

"How do you know it's Elijah?"

A beat, then, "I had a feeling. I wanted to know if you’d be interested in getting a drink?” So the entire town can know about it. So Elijah can spend the evening shooting glances around the bar, wondering who he can trust and whether Grant’s one of those people or not. “About the Beast—“

And Elijah laughs, runs a hand through his hair, and wonders if the entire town is like this. “You don’t really believe in it, do you?”

“You’re meant to believe what you see, right?”

“I’ve seen this Beast,” Elijah says. “Didn’t seem so freaky to me.”

Grant makes a noise, like a scoff, but his voice holds no judgement. “Everyone knows about Viola.”

Fine. Just to sate his curiosity. “All right. Drinks, and you can tell me all about this furry little beast of yours.”

Grant meets him in town, dressed in a light jacket Elijah finds himself jealous of, in the misting cold. He reaches out for a handshake. "Good to meet you."

"You, too," Elijah says. "I thought I knew everyone in this town." He grew up here, went to school here. Graduated with twenty kids in his class. Grant... either he was older, younger, or... wasn't from here.

As though sensing Elijah's thoughts, he sends him a sidelong glance and says, "I grew up in the city. Parents divorced when I was little. Thought I'd do better there, but I always liked the country." His smile is warm, pleasant, and Elijah wonders if it helps with the cold or if he's blushing under Grant's gaze. "What about you?"

"City all the way," Elijah says. "Stepping in cow shit has never been my version of fun."

Grant laughs. It feels good, genuine; Elijah can't remember the last time he made someone laugh. "Plenty of other farms than cattle farms."

"Not according to my parents," Elijah says. "You know they started planting crops when I was fifteen, to help with running costs, and my dad flipped?" He did; Allan's a livestock man, through and through. Elijah still remembers the nights his parents stomped around downstairs, trying to make sense of their next plan.

"What happened? Nobody in Easthallow exports crops."

They take a seat at the bar. Grant holds up two fingers to the bartender, and soft country music plays from the corner of the room, and something settles in Elijah's stomach. He's used to drink menus, twenty minutes with Sean while he tries to decide what he wants, and it's like relief when the bartender slides two beers in front of them and disappears.

It's the little things Elijah loves about this town.

"I knew your brother," Grant says, as he digs his phone out his pocket. "Back in high school."

His mood sours, but Elijah tries not to let it. He peers into the bottle, thinks about downing it all in one go. Doesn't.

"He was a prick." Grant taps away on his phone. "Little fucker nearly drove my little sister insane."

Sounds like Josh. "He cheat on her? Josh is an asshole."

"Wouldn't give her the time of day, mostly. She thought they'd grow up, get married, have kids, whole nine yards. Josh found out and... she ended up homeschooling for the rest of high school."

He remembers that. Something faint, and, hell, Elijah didn't even know the girl, but Josh slept with her best friend and then there was all kinds of drama. Because of Josh. It's hard to believe anyone thought he was a catch, but people like the bad boy thing.

"Don't hold that against me, do you?"

Grant doesn't even lift his gaze to meet Elijah's. "If you were anything like your brother, you wouldn't be speaking with me."

He turns his phone to Elijah, finally, onto a homepage for THE BEAST OF EASTHALLOW. He clicks around a bit, checks out the first hand accounts--all written journalism style, with publishing dates and Grant's name at the top as the author--the photos.

"A lot of them are Viola," Grant says, gesturing to the phone with the beer. "She loves getting dressed ip on tourist weekends and scaring the shit out of the visitors in the cabins." He smiles, shakes his head.

"She's not the start of the rumor, then?" Elijah'd been sure... she could've seen something, made the costume as a joke, to keep people away from her house...

"Nah. Viola's big into local history. Or--Penny, her wife, is. Viola took a liking to the Beast 'cause it's mystical."

Grant's thigh rubs against Elijah's, just a little. Just enough to catch the fabric, enough for the pull to tune Elijah into how close they are everywhere. "Did you read the book?"

"Book?" Elijah echoes, then clears his throat. Grateful for the low lights that help hide his blush, Elijah adds, "Right. No. Didn't even crack the spine."

Like he expects it, Grant scrolls down through his phone again, until he stops at a very clear, very close photo. "This is the most famous ever taken. Fifteen years ago or something like that."

When Elijah lived here. Why the fuck didn't he ever hear about this? "Someone's screwing with me," Elijah says. "I grew up here, and we never had a fucking local cryptid, unless you count the town drunk."

"Fifteen years ago, no one used to see it."

"We don't see it now."

Tapping the screen of his phone, Grant says, "Twenty times in the last year."

It's Josh. It's gotta be fucking Josh, enlisting the entire fucking town, right? Found some freaky girl in the woods to scare him, some guy at the farmer's market to fuck with him, and...

That doesn't make sense, though. Josh didn't know he was coming, and Elijah hasn't been home that long. Is this... does Grant actually believe this shit? That there's really some fucking monster crawling around their little town? Easthallow's a trash heap, people and literal garbage. There’s no cause for why he might be…

Elijah huffs a laugh, shakes his head. Downs the rest of his beer and says, “So, okay. Let’s say I believe in your furry little friend, just for like, five seconds.” He’s still not convinced it isn’t Viola. That this entire set-up isn’t something done to fuck with newbies. “Why only see it now?”

The question of the hour. Grant glances up at him, his eyes twinkling. Something there lights a fire on all of Elijah’s nerves, leaves him feeling warm, pleased, arousal building in his stomach. Grant’s an attractive guy; the muscles that scream outdoor labor, a five o’clock shadow Elijah wants to feel against his skin. Dark eyes Elijah could get lost in, and smooth, tan skin, and hair just long enough to pull.

Shit, he’s tapping his phone again, eyebrow raised like he knows Elijah’s imagining being held down by him, and he says, “Hundred year anniversary of old man Lowell’s suicide.”

“He killed himself?”

“So said the newspapers,” Grant said. “Lots of conflicting reports, though. Another one said he died in the old mine tunnels. Pushed from the roof of the Carnegie library… One said he got caught in a wood-chipper.”

Grimacing, Elijah takes a drink of his beer. “Poor way to go.”

But Grant’s voice is thoughtful when he asks, “Is it? Head first, maybe…” He shrugs.

Silence settles between them, Elijah picking at the label on his beer, Grant tapping his fingers rhythmically on the bar top, before Grant finally says, “So what brings you to Easthallow?”

It isn’t a secret, not really, but Elijah hesitates nonetheless. It’s only been a few days since Elijah spoke to Sean, but it feels like it’s been weeks. Easthallow seems so far removed from the city. Always has. “Bad breakup,” he says, finally, then, “or—not really. Just a breakup.”

“He cheat on you?”

Elijah turns his gaze to Grant. How the fuck does he know. He asks as much, and Grant just chuckles, shrugs one shoulder. Ducks his head in something like embarrassment. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“You have a vibe,” Grant says. “Definitely not from here. Wouldn’t come to Easthallow unless you had family. No one comes here.”

“Viola and Penny?”

With a twitch of his lips, Grant says, “I stand corrected.”

Elijah finishes his beer. Returns it to the coaster. Beside him, Grant pockets his phone. “I could show you Old Man Lowell’s place, if you’re up for it.”

Making a face, Elijah says, “Doesn’t that place have to be ancient by now? How’s it still standing?”

Before Grant can answer, Elijah’s phone buzzes in his pocket, incessant against his thigh. He apologizes as he checks it—his mother.

“Sorry, dear,” she says, but sounds exhausted, “your father has a situation with the cattle. Can you come home, help him out?”

Like a child, Elijah says, “Isn’t Josh home to help.”

Her voice is thick with false sweetness when Amanda says, “I’m asking you.”

He doesn’t have much of a choice, then. Offers a tight smile to Grant when he gets off the phone, pockets his phone. “Dad needs me. Cattle probably got loose.”

But Grant’s gaze snaps to Elijah’s, and his questions are lightning fast, one after another, until Elijah reaches out and grips Grant’s wrist. Intimate, for a man he’d met earlier that day. For a man with a curiosity for the unknown and a crazy loom in his eye when he talks about it. “I’m sure he’d welcome the help. My brother’s useless.”

“Bringing a strange man back to the house already?” Grant tsks, but leaves a twenty on the bar as he stands. “What will your parents say?”

Nothing, if Elijah has anything to do about it. “My mother knows you my name. I’d hardly consider you strange.”

The farm is a cacophony of noises when Elijah arrives there. A loud barking, his father’s deep voice as he hollers, the loud, angry mooing of a cow that does not want to follow orders.

“Yikes,” Grant says, closing the door to the driver’s side of his SUV. “Suddenly glad my parents run an orchard.”

“It’s not always like this,” Elijah says by means of explanation. Never once has he heard a dog barking here. His father’s allergic. He can make out his mother standing at the edge of the field, though, makes his way across the yard towards her. Grant’s headlights shine out toward her.

“Elijah,” she says, gripping his arm as he stops by her side. “Your father’s been at this for an hour. Something spooked the cattle.”

No shit. Even from here he can make out the door to the barn, broken off the hinges. “Dad leave the barn open?”

Amanda shakes her head. “No. Strangest thing. The hinges are bent.”

A chill runs through him; the hair on the back of his neck stands up. He takes a quick glance around the yard—lit up by the emergency lights his father had installed—but sees nothing, save for Grant as he makes his way towards them. “Not surprising,” he says. “Cattle are strong. Especially if the bull got out.” A beat. “So someone broke in?”

She takes a second to glance Grant’s way, a twinkle in her eye as he reaches out to shake her hand. “Grant. Didn’t realize Elijah was bringing help.” Before he can offer anything by means of explanation, she adds, “The more the merrier.”

Another bark sounds from the field, and Amanda whistles. “And this fucking dog. No idea where it came from.”

At her whistle, the dog comes bounding up to her, tongue wagging out of its mouth. In the dark, it’s a little different, but Elijah would recognize it anywhere. “Rocky?”

He barks, wags his tail. Amanda looks between them with a frown. “You know him?”

Elijah reaches to scratch his ears. “I met his owner the other day—” He almost says in the woods; doesn’t want to tell her what he was doing out there. “—does he come here often?”

“More than we’d like.”

Behind them, Grant adds, “Could it have been the dog who spooked them?”

Amanda shrugs. “Not likely. Allan nearly got one back to the barn before it ran off again.”

“You guys check the barn out?”

What? No. Elijah really doesn’t want to go play detective right now. He wants to go to the field, help his father wrangle the half-dozen cows and the bull back into their barns. But Grant’s already eyeing the barn, and Elijah’s not going to leave him on his own.

Not until he trusts what the fuck is going on here.

“Be my guest,” Amanda says. “After that, can you guys head out to the field?”

“Will do, Mama.”

Rocky follows at their heels, quieting the closer the get to the barn. The hair on the back of Elijah’s neck still stands on end, but, save for his mother and Grant, the farm’s clear—nothing out of the ordinary.

Grant whistles as he pulls on the door. “Damn thing’s strong.”

“Thing would’ve taken a truck to pull it off the hinges like this.” Elijah rubs his hand along the bent metal. The hinges look twisted, ruined beyond repair, the metal worn and fragile in places. “They’d’ve heard it.”

“No one’s gonna take a damn truck to a barn door, either. Easier to steal the cattle out of the pasture.” Grant seems lost in thought for a few seconds, then pulls a small flashlight from his pocket. “And that’s still a lot of work for half a dozen cattle.”

Old cattle, too. Allan does it more as a hobby, now, than as a way to make money. Breeds the cattle, trades them to keep the bloodlines clean. Elijah remembers some of it from when he used to live here. His father’s trips to cattle auctions.

“Elijah,” Grant says. His tone, soft, strange, not quite a whisper but not his normal tone, piques Elijah’s interest, and he follows Grant’s gaze to where he’s brushing his fingers along where the door used to sit against the side of the barn. He doesn’t see anything at first, just like Grant’s pressing against nothing, and then…

Three long, thick gashes in the wood, splintering the siding out. Like nails, fingernails, but… there’s nothing that could do that. A bear, maybe a cougar, but… “You’re seeing this, too, right?”

Anger flares in Elijah’s stomach. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Josh. He’s always been a joker, but—fuck, getting the cattle involved in his homecoming prank on Elijah? This isn’t some petty joke he’s playing, built from an old sibling rivalry he won’t let go of anymore. This isn’t just between them, and as soon as Elijah gets him alone, he’s going to tear his brother a new one.

He turns on his heel, back towards the field, towards where he can hear his father making whooping noises towards the cattle in the dark. Josh is—damn it. Usually better about this sort of thing. It’s not the first time one of his jokes has gone too far, but it’s about to be the last.

He comes across one of the cows before he sees his father. Behind him, he hears Grant’s footsteps. The cow makes a noise, distressed, and starts to stand. Elijah holds a hand out, palm up, and says, “Easy girl, you’re okay,” in a voice he hopes is soothing.

Still, she only makes concerned noises, struggling to get up, get away. Elijah turns, slow, moves so she’ll run towards the house, not farther into the field, still talking in quiet tones. “Easy—let’s get you back to the barn, yeah? Back to sleep? Bet Dad’s got some treats for you. How ‘bout you follow me?”

She moos again; this time, her voice breaks, and she stands, slow, staring off into the darkness behind Elijah. “Grant, you’re freaking her out,” Elijah says. “Can you back away, just a bit?”

No sound, though; no answer. Not even footsteps as Grant moves. Elijah turns, ready to ask him again, when he sees it—fur, thick, eyes glowing yellow in the dark, shining in the light from the yard. It stands tall, taller than Elijah by at least a foot, and its teeth glimmer, sharp and long. Arms, impossibly long, hang at its sides, its chest heaving with each breath.

It’s different, up close. Taller, thinner. Creepier. He thinks about Viola, about how her costume looks up close, and knows, without a doubt, this isn’t her.

His throat goes dry, his blood rushes like a river through his ears. He can’t scream, doesn’t know what he would say if he could, and hopes to tell Josh off for this, later, when the thing snarls, and the next thing Elijah sees is the large, clawed hand that reaches out, as if from the shadows, and punches him in the head.

He doesn’t remember falling.

#easthallow #my writing #sorry mobile

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neo-shitty · 3 years

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toffee!

no dont apologise! i didnt check until just then so np :)

mmm yeah it is a bit trippy. hehe ITS TRUE THO. yeah sadly i think ur right, and tag blocking is probably a good idea. sometimes smut written well or not in excess is okay but goddamn when its abt 01 line and thats the whole fic... *silently blocks tags*

hehe i do that all the time lol this conversation is carrying on threads from a month ago :) mmm yeah ur probably right sadly, same. HA HE DIDNT HAVE A CHOICE and now i have someone to talk to abt them, so thats good! I KNOW felix was actually the one who got me into skz with his iconique gods menu line so i guess i have a soft spot for him. i always tell myself my bias is chan but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ guess im more whipped than id like to admit. mmm yeah that does make sense dw i hope they do that as well. YES king seungmin hIMSELF. GODDAMNIT DONT GET ME STARTED ON MINHO IN GODS MENU I DIDNT EVEN KNOW HE WAS PART OF THE GROUP UNTIL I STARTED GETTING MORE INTO THEM. BITCH (affectionate) THE LINE DISTRIBUTION HAS BEEN UTTER DOG SHIT but *deep breath* its better now so were moving on adn hoping it stays that way. sis same but i may or may not have gone thru a rlly depressed phase and actively sought out the elimination episodes so i could actually force some tears out of my emotionless shell of a heart but what cna you do? lmaoo i feel that irl, binnie deserves more vocal lines. yesss channies accent is rlly prominent then, i think also the way he structures his phrasing? is more english speaking than korean? but yeah i totally get what ur saying. AJKSAL lmao

okay then! im excited for whenever it gets done! (maybe tag me?) ahh the cold shrivelled heart of a dark au writer beats again at the thought of torturing another poor characters very soul (/j) :(( yeah that would suck not being able to see them. ohhh ur on the other hemisphere to me! were just going into spring rn. mmm smth to look forward to! YES you put it into words. they rlly are pretty independent from the company (remember how jyp rejected that other dudes songs after like 3 seconds and then how he was apparently nervous to show the song hed written to chan cos chan was so good at writing hits ahhh sweet revenge) mmmYES we rlly need a mute and remove notifications button for our brains dont we?

YES CORRECT i totally agree. some people jsut dont give it a try, adn assume its bad cos its korean smh racist assholes. yes! im coming up to my 6 month anniv actually! sis sAME, i feel like theyre being tugged into appealing to the western american market and theyre not staying as true to their artistic flair as a group, especially with only writing english songs atm. *sigh* ah well, at least theyre bringing recognition to the kpop world. AHUH dead on, theyre going to be discarded pretty soon and then where will bp be? theyll prob go solo paths which is rlly sad but what can you do when the company is run by a prideful asshole? yg is not going to last much longer in the big four if they keep this up.

hehe you get it. oooh very cool! whos ur ult? (sorry if youve said this before) mmmm yeah good decision, i feel liek thats probably a wise decision. this is my first album release as a kpop stan (not counting mixtape oh) so i think ill get it for sentiments sake. yeah! im excited for the new music! mingi was the one who got me into them, but atm my bias is seonghwa followed by san, wooyoung and ateez but jonghos high notes man *swoon* he, yeah atm ive got jake, jay, nikki, jungwon and sunoo down so just trying to get the rest :) heh, yeah kard i rlly only got into cos of bm, ive seen him like interacting with a lot of idols and he seemed nice so i decided to check out the group. ikr gunshot man *another swoon*

no noe! i didnt know what it was until i got it lol. thx toffee ill try and take that to mind :) yeah lol im on a waiting list thats not going to be free until late september so hopefully i can hold on until then. hope ur okay, that sounds like it sucks, hope you can find someone. maybe ill just take you along on my phone and the therapist can get a two for one patient deal lmaooo. mmm, sorry no i havent mentioned it before, i dont rlly talk abt it much. uhhh basically hypermobility? if you google it, it doesnt seem bad, jsut joint flexibility but ive got the severe end of the stick, leaning towards ehlers danlos syndrome so thats fun. basically it just makes it hard for me to exercise, run, jump, stand or just walk for long periods of time and gives me a lot of joint and muscle pain so... thats fun! but obviously so many other people have it worse than me, so i try not to complain. normally in young people it will improve as they get older, but my doctor said bc its severe in me, its unlikely to get much better. but again, i dont have the worst lot in the bunch, so its all g.

oh its good that its not the bad type of rain, a light sprinkling can be relaxing sometimes. aww thx darl, the concern is appreciated but it went pretty well and i managed not to cough too much on stage or kill myself trying to run around to the other side of the stage in the pouring rain so thats good! oooh tea buddies! my dogs a labradoodle, but shes a bit more of a feral poodle lol not much labrador in her at all, unless its her relentless urge to hunt down every bird that has ever walked this earth smh :((( hopefully they can come back on soon, does uni have dances?

ahhh a mood if i ever heard one. hopefully things will get better for you soon, ik anxiety sucks ass. ooh thats always good! when its sunny here, its always melt ur thongs to the pavement hot so the nicely cool sunny days are a lovely change. hehe impatience is not so good for you, but good for us that get to see ur beautiful theme early. ahh no worries, itll come eventually hopefully. and if not, then just things that make you not anxious are good. it doesnt have to be black or white, sometimes gray is good. mmmmm sames i have midterms this week to catch up on and then two weeks of end of terms so thats fun! i hope u can overcome that a little, heres some channie to be ur motivation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8LWyNjzOww. hah! i hear that all the time, he seems to be everywhere. did you see that tiktok of hans slowed back door rap, i stg it sounded EXACTLY like namjoon, it kinda scared me. also teh beginning of another day, sounds so much like joon i swear.

that reminds me! idk ur biases! i feel like this should be smth i should know so please! feel free to elaborate!

ahh im glad, i was worried it is. mmm same, so no hard feelings if either of us misses a day or smth. ill start worrying if weeks/months have gone by, but if its just a little while thats more than fine. ill just picture you studiously completing notes and i wont worry lol

<3 w.a. 🐺

at some point i really think i'm going to start blocking accounts because blocking tags won't be enough. i saw ask tags the other day and it just made me want to bleach my eyeballs.

i could talk about god's menu felix for hours man. the teaser for god's menu that featured his part on the bridge made me look forward to the mv release. you: biases chan, also you: lixiesbabyhands. yes you are more whipped than you think. i can't believe orange haired minho was given NOTHING during that era but they kind of made up for it in the b-sides. i also hope it stays that way. the distribution for this era was pretty fair.

"torturing another poor character's soul" in all honesty, i used to live for this. 2017 me leading up to early 2020 wrote nothing but angst. i have another aussie friend on twt and tbh i'm still really (O.o) about the seasons! jyp should be terrified skz could easily take over that company. heck if skz grow old and start their own company, they'd probably do a great job at running it. PLEASE. i have issues on muting/notifications both mentally and in real life. sometimes, i just wish to disappear.

some people in my country are just disgusting tbh. not only racist but homophobic too. they label kpop as 'gay' and it DISGUSTS me. it's a problematic behavior/mindset people in my country need to fucking get rid of. anyway, HELP ME 6 MONTHS??? and i've been in this shit for like a decade eye. tbh, i’m not fond of kpop groups trying to appeal to the western audience :// it feels like they’re losing their identity in a way. yes recognition but at what cost? yg has my favorite groups but that’s one shitty company when it comes to promoting.

okay my ult! it’s haechan from nct but i consider chan an ult too. like a close second above my whopping list of kpop boys. oh yes! you should get the album just for like a keepsake? remembrance? how did mingi appeal to you? omg did you start getting interested in ateez back when he was still on hiatus? NOT YOU BIASING THE SAME PEOPLE I DID WHEN I FIRST STARTED STANNING. the infamous ateez thot-line. jongho is easily one of the best fourth gen vocalists out here, no one can change my mind :( good luck with memorizing the rest of enhypen! just in time for the comeback too. i hope i’ll get into kard soon but i’m pretty content (and a tad bit overwhelmed) with the amount of groups i stan right now.

please hold on though, feel free to vent here if you like. thanks for the offer tho HAHA but like i’ll try to get checked here too when the cases die down a bit. i’m sorry to hear about your condition though :( please don’t ever overwork yourself to the point that your joints/muscles would ache. it’s completely valid to complain about it tho. i get that you have others in mind but keeping that mindset really doesn’t do you (like you internally) any better? so if you need to, vent your frustrations out and don’t keep it in.

oh my god, about your performance last sunday. was the stage out in the open? glad you didn’t cough too much and did well on your concert. i’m proud of you! i can never understand dogs and poor birds T_T uni doesn’t have dances unfortunately. i think there’s just one party at the end like a graduation ball. what year are you in anyway? if it’s something that you’re fine with sharing. if not, it’s cool.

good luck with your exams! and thanks for the link! AHA what a cutie. i think he does this motivation thing once in a while during his lives and it’s just comforting. yeah joon and han my irl just freaked when we made that discovery. ult crumbs for her. oh god not me forgetting about every biases when you asked. you can ask for my biases in a few groups just list down the one’s you’re interested in knowing.

i missed yesterday because i was grinding and finishing what if we stay + school work. finally did it today. i’m sure i’ll reply in like a day or two, definitely not a month unless i state otherwise. if i ever decide to abandon this blog, i’ll let you know.

#toff.asks #wild anon 🐺

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