#crying over it. all i can do is take responsibility‚ take steps to prevent it in the future‚ and move forward

[coquelicoq]

usually i don't have any problem not thinking about work when i'm not getting paid to do so, but i made a big mistake earlier this week and spent five hours today dealing with the fallout and still have not managed to resolve it, and when i clocked out it was actually with this vague dread about leaving it unsolved instead of relief that it's finally the weekend. like it's bad that it's the weekend because it means i have to stop working on it?? wow. gross.

[petday]

I make fandom art I make porn I make stuff that makes me miserable and I make stuff that makes me happy and I follow all the advice online but still nobody likes my art. I know it's good art and im not insecure about my talent level but no matter what I post or where I post it, nobody wants to like or interact with my art at all. I know people see it I know people are scrolling past without acknowledging what I make and it fucking sucks. I don't have friends to share stuff I make with and nobody online cares clearly. What do you do when nobody likes you or what you offer.

Good question. This response involves some of my history. I try to talk about my experiences at a comfortable distance. But please skip to the 'Solutions' part if you're bored.

My thoughts below:

It's painful. I have a lot of memories of high intensity pain due to no one engaging with me, at school and online. 'If I live in the same world as others, but it still feels like I am in a world with just myself, what is the point of trying to make things? Sure, I will feel better about myself as I grow, but I've still got no one to grow with, so I am just talking to myself. Amusing myself is fine, but I want to reach a level of fun above amusement, a level that others seem to reach so naturally.' 

In fact, maybe you are less 'outward' with your emotions, but as a child and teenager and young adult, there was a lot of screaming and crying and thrashing about 'not being granted the ability to make things others will seriously engage with me about.' 

(The pain remained after making a few friends during teenage years. The pain's attitude shifted slightly to accommodate this new life change of gaining friends. Much later, even after I became an artist with a large visible number of 'followers/people interested in something you make', the pain shifted its shape around this life change again. "People make bad assumptions of me because I have a big visible number in my profile and most websites do not give me the ability to hide that number." Summary: If your pain/frustration still remains after you gain a friend or find people who engage you, don't beat yourself up. Emotions don't work in such a way that the outcomes you desire are only guaranteed to make you happy and no other emotions will rise.)

Although I loved to look at art on websites since I was a child, one may assume I enjoyed the community aspect. I did, but only as a spectator for the vast majority of the time, since age restrictions and the harsh attitudes that exist to 'prevent the weak from touching the strong' was present in many of the sites I visited. Similar to how children get frustrated when another child cannot keep up with their play, but the child that is 'left out' can still enjoy watching other kids play from afar. It makes perfect sense to me these feelings will always exist in the world no matter what 'social media' websites people invent.

Anyway, two solution attempts in succession I tried over long-term:

1. My first attempt at a solution was immersing myself in a fantasy world I created in my mind and I held my imagination in high esteem. "I know my imagination takes influence from the things I read and admire, so it's not such a lonely world anyway." Creating episode lists of imaginary cartoon episodes and such, so dedicated to something I hardly told anyone about. It felt good. But my friends had original characters too, and they could describe their personalities and dynamics to others naturally and quickly, likely due to their earlier experiences with 'communicating ideas to others.' I was quiet and envious. Although it was fun to play with the imaginary characters in my head, I decided to take another step. Of course I could not simply go back in time to gain the similar social experiences my friends had. But I could use that desire to 'go back in time' to 'go forward in time' and gain the experience.

2. Engage in others first. Because I spent a long time in my imagination, I felt more secure about myself, so I wanted to extend the feeling of 'caring about my own work' to 'caring about others' work on an equal level.' The internet allows you to assess people before engaging to see if your compatibility might be okay. If someone had posts that resonated with me, I tried to say 'hello, I like what you posted/I like your drawing because [...]' Even if the contact ended there, it was a good practice. Gently communicate with people over time. Especially since I am sure there are people who rarely receive questions about their artworks who would love someone to engage with them as well. Of course do not do this in a 'pity' sense – you have to genuinely find something that 'touches your heart' and if the artist seems to not get much curiosity in regards to their art, you can go ahead and try to express your curiosity to them. Keep posting whatever you like, but if you engage with others, you may find someone engaging with you without even expecting it, and that is fun.

(I think society should practice finding genuine value in things they like even if they see nobody has touched it. Not pity, but removing the "does anyone else like this? If I see no one else liking this, it must be a bad thing to like, so I won't engage" attitude. Some of my favourite artwork has maybe 5 visible 'bookmarks/favorites' on an art-focused website.)

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

Can you do rafe x reader and she find out she’s pregnant and gets kicked out so she has to tell rafe

you hurt me pretty good too

pairing(s): fwb!rafe cameron x fwb!fem!reader

warnings: pregnancy, toxic parents, reader is kicked out, talks of abortion, pet names

summary: after finding out you’re pregnant, you parents kick you to the curb, forcing you to tell the father.

authors note: thank you so much for the request! i’ve been so slow with updating because of my writers block but i’m going to finish up all of these requests as soon as i can.

part zero | part one | part two

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

“dad, please,” you cried. “i tried. i was careful! i don’t know what more you want from me. we used protection and i was on birth control.”

he didn’t seem to accept that answer. “then maybe you shouldn’t be having sex at all. if you’re not responsible enough to prevent getting pregnant, how can i trust that you’ll take care of a kid?”

“i promise i will. i have a steady job, i pay for all of my own stuff, i do everything on my own. i promise this won’t be a problem for you,” you tried to reason.

“if you won’t get an abortion, you can’t stay here,” he said firmly. “and thats that.”

your lip trembled as you turned to your mother. “mom?”

“i’m sorry, honey. your fathers right.”

you choked out a sob before rushing into your room and packing up all of your valuable belongings into a duffle bag you found in your closet. you grabbed all of your stashed money and anything else you needed. you didn’t even bother packing too many clothes, you’d later buy new ones.

without any exchanged words, you walked out to your car and threw the bag into the back, pressing the start button and driving off.

you furiously wiped the tears from your eyes as you sped down the bridge over to figure 8. you hated this. you hated what you were about to do. but it was your only option now.

and when you arrived, you were still in tears and even more nervous than confessing to your parents.

your walked up to the front door and knocked. “coming,” you heard his voice yell. then it swung open.

the first thing he noticed was your teary eyes. “hey, what’s wrong?” he was never this soft with you. but you were more than grateful right now. “come in. we can go up to my room.”

you stepped around him, trying your best not to cry even harder when his hand splayed across your lower back as he led you up to the room as if you hadn’t navigated your way there on your own a million times.

he gestured to the bed, silently telling you to take a seat as he kneeled in front of you, a hand on each of your thighs. “what’s wrong, sweetheart? something happen.”

you broke down now. “you’re gonna hate me.”

“i don’t think i could ever hate you,” he mumbled softly, eyes searching yours for some sort of answer.

you took a deep breath to gather yourself. “my—my parents kicked me out.”

his brows furrowed in towards each other. “what? why?”

you couldn’t look at him anymore. your eyes averted to the ground. “i’m pregnant.”

you heard the breath he sucked in, letting it out seconds later as his thumb moved across your skin comfortingly.

when he didn’t say anything, you cried even harder and stood up. “i’m sorry, rafe.”

he stood up with you and grabbed your hands. “no, no it’s okay, sweetheart. it’s okay,” he said before wrapping his arms around you. “it’s gonna be fine. we’re gonna figure it out together, yeah? i can talk to my dad about you staying with me for a little until we sort it out.”

his hand gently ran through your hair as he kissed your temple. “no matter what, angel, i promise to take care of the both of you.”

[eupheme]

— made for me

john hancock x curvy!f!sole survivor/reader

rated e - 1.5k

tags: head-over-heels!hancock, showering, body worship, praise kink, PiV, Oral, some descriptors of reader being curvy

prompts: from this ask, “you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me.”

You need him. Not just tonight, but always - and Hancock is all too happy to oblige.

Fuck, he’s missed you.

Been too goddamn long, the days stretching into weeks since his girl had last stepped foot into Goodneighbor.

Always off on a mission for the Minutemen. Trying to save a world that has long grown rotten, because you still see it the way it was before.

Maybe that’s something he loves about you… though he’s not ready to say that out loud.

You had stopped by to see him the second you got in. Leaning against the doorway to his office in the Old State House - only the weariness in your smile had prevented him from taking you right then and there. Already aching to peel you out of the worn vault suit that always hugs your curves so fucking perfectly.

Had even been plannin’ something nice - hell, he had had the time. A night at the Third Rail. A real dinner this time - instead of something warmed up from a can, around the fire.

Something romantic-like.

All of it drop-kicked out the window when you had leaned into his embrace. Chin pressing into his collarbone, as his arm tightened around you. A hand slipping across his chest, to brace right over his racing heart.

A hushed mumur in his ear.

“I need you.”

He’s yours.

Your cry is muffled into the pillow, fingers fisting in the worn sheet.

This is what you’ve been craving.

The grime has been scrubbed from your skin - hair still damp from the first truly hot shower you’ve had in weeks. Wandering hands when Hancock grew impatient, his clothes and tricorn hat still draped messily across a chair from when he joined you.

Unable to wait any longer.

Bruises sucked across your skin, clever fingers slipping between your thighs. Teasing at your breasts, unable to stop touching.

His already cock hard and aching when it pressed against your belly. A slick smear left behind, a mark against your skin that was not from the shower.

He couldn’t do everything he wanted to do to you there. It had been an easy decision to move to the bed. Firmly guiding you, a hand pressing against your back as you dipped.

“Hands and knees, doll.”

It had been easy to follow - easing into position before the words had left his lips. Eager to do as he asks.

If there’s anything you’d learned about the wasteland, it’s that Hancock was more than capable of taking care of you. That yes, you might call the shots out there, but here listening came second nature.

You need him everywhere. Need to forget all those long hours away - your knees inching wider, back arching, as he growls.

The snap of his hips plunges him deep each time. Pairing with the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet, where he stands at the end of the bed.

He likes it this way. The fit of his hands against your waist. The plush curve of your ass, bouncing with each powerful thrust.

It has you melting into the mattress. Sinking lower, flat palms and locked arms slipping, your body stretching out. All that responsibility you carry on your shoulders, easing for a moment under his touch.

Hancock follows the slope of your back, skin pressing against skin. His mouth at your ear - the harsh pant of his breath making your skin prickle with desire, as teeth nip at your neck.

A hand slipping to cup the soft weight of your breast again, unable to resist. His thrusts slowing as he moans - long and rough and low - starting a lazy roll of his hips.

It’s bliss, the wet slide of his cock. How full he makes you feel, the warm and comforting weight of his chest where it presses into your back.

“Been too long, sunshine,” It comes out ragged, more than just need layered in his words. His fingers tugging at a pebbled nipple, just to feel how you clench around him.

You hum turns into a moan, as his hand dips - curving past your stomach.

“Missed you,” You sigh, “I need this. Need you-”

He has unsettled you at first.

How he peeled away from the darkness, on that late evening in Good Neighbor. Shadows cast across his face - skull-like. The rough rasp of his voice.

“Whoa, whoa. Time out.”

The glint of a knife when he flipped it in the air. Catching the hilt easily before burying it deep into the gut of that thug. Done with his attempt at diffusing.

How quickly your opinion had changed. His charms softening that razor-sharp edge, though he was no less dangerous.

Your thumb had ran along it, expecting to get cut. Waiting for the sharp prick and red bloom of blood, the iron taste in the air.

But somehow - along the way - these drab hotel walls and the warmth of his touch has begun to feel an awful lot like home.

“Know you fuckin’ do, gorgeous.” He coos, a rough sound in his throat when his fingers press against your clit, “Look at you, taking me so well. So goddamn wet, were you thinking about this?”

Hancock hilts himself, unmoving, as his fingertips circle. Your moan is loud, thighs tensing - rocking back, fucking yourself on him.

He laughs, a hand grasping at your hip. Loving how soft you feel beneath the raw pinch of his touch. How easy it is to lose himself in your pleasure, a new kind of drug.

An even better kind of high.

“Yes,” You squirm, “Always thinking about you.”

It’s not quite what he meant, but damn if it doesn’t affect him. Not just needing the way he makes you feel - and he knows he’s good at that - but him, as well.

“Fuck.” Hancock rasps, unable to help the buck of his hips. Starting to fuck you again, leaning back to see the mess you’ve already made around his cock. Slick smeared across his base, his balls sticky where they kiss against your cunt.

“Been thinkin’ about you too,” His fingers still circle - he can hear the change in your breath. Held from when he sunk into you. Short and needy as he picks up.

Ragged now, as you meet his thrusts. Pushing back against his cock, and then against his fingers when you shift forward. A never-ending loop of pleasure.

“Not gonna let you sleep, you know that?” He coos, “Gotta make up for lost time.”

Exhaustion nips at you, but you think it’d be worth it.

Maybe you need the rest, but you need him more - eager to spend the night wrapped up in Hancock until his touch is the only thing you can remember.

The pleasure swirls to a breaking point, his sharp tongue toying at the pulled-tight string in your belly.

“Please,” You moan, instead, “Anything you want. I’m so close, please-”

He laughs, a short, harsh thing that turns into a groan.

“Yeah?” Hancock husks, fingers dipping down to gather more wetness. Harder when they press against your clit, now. Tight circles that have you clenching tightly around him, “Gonna come already, sweetheart?”

His name a garbled whine, your face buried in the mattress. Heat licking at you, unable to do more than just hold on. Hips moving on their own, chasing the high that is just within your grasp.

“Then come on,” He growls, fingers pinching into your hip, “Lemme make you feel good, baby. I’ve got you.”

You break, under his touch. A much-needed shattering, his name moaned into the sheets as you come hard around him.

He can feel the way you stiffen under his touch. How you bear down around him, how your pussy becomes even more slick with your orgasm. Warm and tight, pulsing around him as he keeps up the pace.

Words spilling from his lips, as a strung-tight thread is plucked inside his belly.

“You’re so good for me,” Hancock husks. Voice rough and low and more ghoul than he’s sounded in a long time.

“So fuckin’ good around me.”

Practiced fingers drawing out your pleasure. Eyes half-shut as you whine, back arching. His praise shooting straight through you, down to thrum with the pleasure radiating from your core.

His teeth grit - a part of his heart slipping free with his words.

“Fuckin’ made for me.”

You almost don’t catch it. Everything hazy and muted. A hand slipping between your thighs, fingers twining with his. Squeezing, so he knows. A silent ‘for you.’

He eases from you, soon after - a gentle touch against your back, guiding you to the bed. Shooting him a little frown as you flip over, seeing the way his fist moves to wrap around the base of his swollen cock, squeezing.

Edging himself, holding back the orgasm swiftly building in his own belly.

Fitting between your thighs instead, his expression dark - hungry. Hands curving around your knees when they start to press close, a sharp grin sent your way when you sigh his name.

“Think I was kidding?” He husks - eyes dragging over you. Down, to where he split you open, made you come. All that soft, slick skin - begging to be devoured.

Because if you want him to make you forget - then he’s sure as hell going to see it through.

His tongue peeking out between his lips, just before he closes the gap. A warning and a promise gritted out, just before his head dips to taste you.

“Sunshine, you’re in for a long fuckin’ night.”

hi anon thank you again for requesting this! And thank you all so much for reading 💖💖

[icallhimjoey]

request: we have a panic attack and joe's there

MMM chefs kiss this is how to do a request, i fucking LOVE this, because, yes, we can have a panic attack and yes, joe can be there, but you know what ????? joe doesn't know how to fucking help at ALL (bcos useless clueless idiot) thanks for requesting! Wordcount: 2.1K

---

Heartbeats All Chaos

Joe had never seen an actual panic attack up close.

He’d heard of people having them, someone not making it to whatever was planned because they’d had a panic attack earlier and everyone would always frown and nod and be so very understanding.

Once at school, he’d heard a girl cry and then was later told she was having a panic attack. It had just looked like crying to him, but what did he know?

Well, he knew technically what they were, knew that people who had them felt like they were actively dying.

And he knew what being panicked felt like.

But when he got out of the shower and found you sat on the edge of bed, unresponsive to how he shook his hair like a dog when he walked past you, that was...

Unusual. To say the least.

His own smile turned into a frown, looking back at you over his shoulder as he opened the wardrobe.

“Hey,” 

You just stared ahead, chest heaving, nostrils flared.

“Hey are you all right?”

Just... nothing. 

You had a weird relationship with panic. You knew it liked you a bit too much, and when you were younger, you’d been forced to become acquainted with it. Had to learn the tell-tale signs of when it would try to grab hold of you. Had to learn how to prevent an attack, avoid whatever could potentially trigger it. Had to learn what to do when its long, cold arms still managed to wrap themselves around your ribcage where it would squeeze you tightly. 

You knew how to pull yourself through an attack.

You’d learnt breathing techniques.

You’d learnt how to mentally ground yourself.

You’d learnt where to take your mind and how to keep your focus there.

Joe walking past in just a towel wrapped around his hips, bending slightly towards you and shaking his head to get little droplets of water on you broke that focus.

You could feel pressure build in your chest as the ringing in your ears got louder. Joe’d asked you a question. You’d heard him fine. It just took a little longer to answer.

Joe took the silence to mean you were upset.

He pulled a T-shirt out of the wardrobe after stepping into a fresh pair of boxer briefs and let his mind wander, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I, oh shit, did I forget– what day is it? I forgot something important, didn’t I?”

With every passing second, your lungs allowed you less and less oxygen and your peripheral vision got smaller and smaller. Shrunk away from the sides and made you feel like your balance was off.

You gasped for air.

“Hey, are you crying? I’m– I fucked up, didn’t I? What did I do?”

You held an arm out, eyes on the floor where you could see your feet touch the carpet, and you shook your head.

Mistake.

Instantly made you feel dizzy, and nausea introduced itself thickly in your throat.

“No, it’s,” you winced, because, yes you were crying. It was just that the crying was a side-effect of the uneasy sensation of fear that tried to swallow you whole. You knew there was no external reason for it, just something that tricked your body into activating its fight-or-flight response. Made your heart rate pick up until it felt like it was going to break your ribs and escape from your chest. Made your muscles tense up enough to have you shaking all over.

Scared.

You were really fucking scared.

You felt how Joe took hold of the hand you held out for him, and were quick to squeeze.

“Oh my– hey, calm down,”

“Panic,” you managed to squeeze from your throat, hiccuping and gasping through breaths.

What were the techniques?

Think of the techniques.

Breathe in through nose, out through mouth. Focus attention outside of your own body. Think of three things you can see. You can hear. You can smell. Sit and let the symptoms pass on their own. They will pass. This is uncomfortable but not life-threatening. Uncomfortable but not life-threatening. Uncomfortable but not–

Yea, nothing was working.

“Are you having a panic attack?”

You were just going to have to ride this one out.

And Joe was just... he was just useless.

He didn’t know what to do, and so he kind of just... stood there. Got a bit closer as he held the hand that you were currently digging your nails into.

Your eyes found him before they squeezed shut, and you felt how his other hand grabbed onto your bicep. Kneaded the muscles there, squeezed and moved his hand down a bit to squeeze once more.

“Yea, you’re having a panic attack. Right now. Jesus, you’re having a pani– what do I do? What do you– do you need–”

Joe panicked. Did exactly what you didn’t need him doing.

You were still on the up-climb, and everything got steadily worse. Muscles tightening. Vision narrowing still. Heart rate increasing still. You needed... you needed... a parent? Someone to take over, someone who you trusted would know what to do.

“Arms up,” Joe suddenly said, voice a little steadier than before, like he was glad he’d thought of something that would help, that would make breathing a little easier for you.

“Come on, up, over your head.”

He took hold of you by the elbows and pushed both your arms up, which, yes, you knew technically that really should’ve made breathing easier. But your muscles were tensed up, and it hurt your chest, and all your body wanted to do was to curl up into a ball so your face could hide and cry into your knees.

Joe had a hard time fighting your arms that were desperately pulling down, and said, “Slow breaths, slow deep breaths...” whilst trying to demonstrate.

It was of no use.

You were choking on gulps of air.

“Hey. Relax!” Joe made eye-contact, eyebrows raised, like getting a little stern would shock the system into relaxing.

“No,” you sobbed weakly, eyes squeezed firmly shut as you shook your head from side to side. Telling you to relax when you literally couldn’t was the exact opposite of helping.

“No?” Joe immediately went soft again as he let go of your arms, his own eyes wet now too. That same unsure tremor found his voice again as he kneeled in front of you and said, “What do you need? How do you– oh my God, you have to breathe, baby.”

You gestured around wordlessly, gasping through stuttered inhales, and you saw Joe look, frown at it, thinking, deciphering.

“Sit?”

“Hmm,” you nodded, and started shifting, turning on the bed, but Joe’s hands squeezed your thighs and pushed them into the mattress as he got up. He climbed onto the bed, hands not leaving your body once and moved to sit behind you, legs around your hips, arms around your front.

Your hands immediately found his arm to grab and dig nails into, and the added warmth to your back made you let out a short soft hum that almost sounded like a whimper.

“Lean back, I got you,” Joe whispered, his head now resting on your own as he pulled you closer. With your back pressed against his chest, head firmly slotted into place underneath his chin, you could feel your shoulders slump down a little bit.

“Good. Yea, that’s good.” Joe cooed before he softly shushed you, stopping when he heard your throat make a noise.

“Can you,” you start through a shuddering breath, “Squeeze?”

Joe didn’t need asking twice, arms slowly wrapping around further, tentative and careful in case it was all too much, squeezing your ribcage right against his.

It made you sigh.

Feeling pressure from an actual outside source made it easier to accept the constriction of your chest. Made it make sense a little more.

“There you go,” Joe muttered as you sagged into him, your head falling forward for a moment as a small sigh escaped you. “This good? Or do you want it tighter?”

You squeezed fingers into his forearm by ways of answering, heartbeat all chaos.

“Here, pull your knees up, get them in here,” Joe said, reaching, leaning back for a second and taking you with him. You managed to plant both feet onto the mattress, knees drawing up to your chest and Joe reached both arms around, pulling you into him fully.

Yes.

Curled up and hidden.

Compressed into warmth.

This helped.

You sat like that for a while, locked into Joe completely. His grip didn’t waver once, until you’d slowly stopped crying. But even then, Joe wasn’t just going to let go of you easily. He’d let go once he’d be told to do so.

Joe tilted his head to look at you when you started sliding your hands over Joe’s forearms, running slowly up to the hems of the sleeves of his T-shirt where they played with the soft fabric. He could barely see you at all, but he was able to catch the tear stains, the worry-lines, the rosy cheeks.

Made him hug you tighter, squeezing you once more as his face buried into your neck on the side.

“You OK?”

You nodded, small little up and down movements of your head, mostly because you didn’t want to test if your throat felt normal again when you spoke.

“I know you said,” Joe started, softly whispering, not needing to speak any louder, you were so close. “You said you sometimes got unprovoked, what’d you call them? Freak outs?”

You nodded again, breathing slowly, using fingernails to trace lines over the back of Joe’s hand.

“We never talked about what I should do to help when you have one...”

You spasmed on a deeper inhale, before you said, “I know, maybe we should have,” and you tried thinking of what you would’ve told him. What would you have said for Joe to do? Asking him to compress you the way you’d only just managed to do this time was a spur of the moment thing that ended up helping a lot. However, you wouldn’t have known that beforehand.

You noticed Joe had started swaying, rocking back and forth with you.

“This OK?”

“Yea,”

“Is this... was this how it usually goes?”

“Hmm, they normally last longer,”

Your faces were so close, you were fine murmuring in your softest whispers. With Joe’s chin digging into your shoulder now, you exhaled and let your legs fall down, knees over the edge of the bed again. Joe took the moment to shift and get a proper look at your face and you might as well have slapped him right across his.

There was practically nothing left of you.

Tiny.

So fucking small.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked, entirely unconvinced that you were.

“Tired,”

Yea, Joe could imagine. Look at you.

“Are you all right?” you asked, and Joe had to really try to not pinch you in the side at the sound of your smile seeping through.

“No, that was fucking terrifying,”

You chuckled softly, immediately winced at how sore your muscles felt.

“Sorry,”

“No don’t,” Joe took a sharp breath as he watched his own hand find yours over your front to intertwine fingers together. “Don’t apologise. Just tell me what to do.”

“This was good.”

“Yea?”

“Hmm.”

Joe did so good.

“I think it’s why this one didn’t take so long,” you said quietly, and you felt Joe squeeze your hand as he hugged tighter once more as he actively tried to keep his own tears at bay. Realising that you’d struggled through panic attacks on your own without someone to hold you more often than not, was stupidly heart-breaking.

He thought back to that girl he’d seen cry at school when he was 14 and felt guilty over his lack of empathy then.

“Hey,” you whispered, feeling how Joe was holding his breath, feeling his heartbeat slowly stumble in chaos of its own now.

“Relax,” you repeated Joe from before, same tone of voice, but way softer. It instantly got a huff of laughter from him before he groaned softly and pressed his head against yours.

“Don’t apologise,” you said, full on grinning now, turning your head to look at him. “Just tell me what to do.”

Joe looked at you a second, happy to see you smile, overwhelmed with how you managed to fill his insides with all things soft so strongly.

Fingers took hold of you by the chin and pulled you in closer for a kiss that you hummed into. When Joe was about to pull back, you got him by the neck and lengthened it. Made Joe hum into your mouth in return, until you finally broke and gave each other dopey smiles.

“This was good.” Joe said, mimicking you now.

“Yea?”

All chaos gone.

“Hmm.”

So good.

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

[livelaughlaw3]

Panic Attack

TW : panic attack, trauma, sadness, sickness, fluffy end <3333

Shanks is only your Captain in this story. (He has two arms because he's too smart to have lost his arm that way and Oda already said it was his editor who told him to tell that story.)

Big argument in the crew, the Captain was furious as rarely with some of his teammates. The others tried to diffuse things but it didn't work. You cleaned the ship from top to bottom, to distract yourself. Your whole crew is out, Shanks thought you were too, until he heard the water in your bathroom running.

He sat on your bed, waiting for you, realizing that you were showering. But for a long time, more than an hour, he crossed his arms behind his head. He lies down in your bed, he was planning to ask you out. You rinse, detangle your hair, clean the tiles. As you try to step over your bathtub, you tense up. Your heart seems to be hardening in your chest and you feel very hot. The palpitations, the shortness of breath, the dizziness, you feel the anxiety attack coming on you. You slide on the floor, you could sit back down but you can no longer move your body. You remain lying on your back, arms at your sides. You cry, looking up at the ceiling as you see the walls getting closer to you. As if you were going to be crushed, without being able to do anything. You are trembling, the hot flashes from the beginning have dissipated to give way to shivers. You can't cover yourself, can't talk, can't scream, can't move. You've reached the peak of your panic attack, you think you're dying.

Shanks even starts to doze off, he gets up. "Treasure ? It's me. Everything is fine ?" He doesn't hear a response, he scratches the back of his neck. He paces around your room, wondering if he's even allowed in. It's your privacy but at the same time, if something happens to you while he was there and he didn't do anything to prevent it, he will blame himself for the rest of his life. He takes a deep breath and opens the door. He puts his hand over his eyes before and expected you to push him out of the room. But nothing at all, he withdraws his fingers little by little, until he looks at you on the ground.

He kneels down, finding you, totally naked, on your back, tears in your eyes. The blank stare, as if you were in another dimension. Spasms, as if waves of fear were hitting your body. You stare at the ceiling, but not really at the ceiling. As if you weren't mentally present. He takes your face in his hands “Y/N ? It’s your Captain, please answer me.” Your eyes are haggard and his voice doesn’t reach your ears. You feel like you're going crazy, like you're coming out of your body. His voice still keeps you awake and connected to reality even if you can't move or respond to him. “What’s the matter my heart ? Did you fall ?” You continue to tremble with your hands clenched, he lifts your upper body onto his own knees. He opens the drawer and wraps a towel around your body. He kisses your forehead, checks your temperature with his hand. “Y/N ? Answer me… I'm here, sweetie. I'm here now." He looks at you but can't calm you down. He blocks your thighs with his forearm to stop them from shaking any more. He strokes your hair, checks to see if you were hurt by falling or passing out. Trying to look as little as possible, you have slight bruises. In a soft voice, he says to you “I love you, look at me.. Angel.. Look at me.” He puts his arms under your thighs and under your neck then lifts you to your bed. He removes your pillow to lay you down, on the same level. He dries you off and dresses you, searching your drawers for panties, a tank top and a skirt. He dresses you slowly, still looking at you. He lifts your upper body to sit up too and rest your head on his thighs. He strokes your hair, your face, one arm still blocking your thighs. “Honey, it’s me, it’s Shanks.” You breathe little and search for air, without success.

Little by little, you feel soft kisses on your face. Then his voice, a little closer and reassuring “I’m right here, my love.” He covers you and strokes your hair to relax you. He unfolds your hands, clenched against themselves, to hold them in his hands. “It’s okay my doll, it’s nothing, it’s nothing.. Shhhh, I love you, I love you, think of me, little heart, I’m here, look I’m holding your hands. Hold on darling, hold my hands.” He finally manages to capture your gaze, he dries your tears and holds you against him. Lifting your body against his chest to kiss you on the forehead and relax you. One of your hands is brought back to his shoulder, encouraging you to hold him. Your other hand is brought back to your chest, under his own hand. “Breathe my beauty. I'm here, I'm here. I wouldn't let anything happen to you, sweetie. Do not worry." You finally nod, still sniffling. Your cheek pressed against his muscular chest and his strong arms which hold you as if no one could touch you, reassure you little by little. He helps you with breathing exercises, which you try. He lowers your hand to your stomach, while he places his own, between your chest “Again honey, again. Do you feel my hand there ?” You nod, he kisses your forehead several times. He rocks you in his arms, feeling you begin to breathe normally again. “It’s going to be okay, you won’t die, doll. It’s just a panic attack, it’s not real.” He checks your head with his fingers to make sure you haven't hurt yourself.

He briefly explains to you what happened and asks you if you want him to rinse you again, since you were on the ground. But he answers himself, before you do. “You already cleaned everything this morning, I’m stupid, forget it, Y/N.” He runs his hands up and down your thighs. You tell him, your voice hoarse “The walls.. they.. they.. are.. getting.. closer..” He shakes his head, hugging you a little tighter. “It’s just a feeling, my moon. I’m right here, I have your hand in mine.” You nod, he smiles at you, looking at you intently. You are pale, he steps back to the wall and makes you straddle him, neatly, then takes your face in his hands to kiss you, where he can. He continues, until you regain color and tickles you lightly to see you smile. He covers you properly and holds you against him. You look at his collarbone and his neck when he speaks. “I apologize for coming in..”, “No.. it’s-it’s.. nothing.. t-thank you.” You rest your cheek against his chest, breathing in his scent which relaxes you. “Don’t be embarrassed Y/N, okay ? I did not see anything." You nod, he holds you tight, you let yourself go, cherishing his touch. He places his chin on your head and says “Thank you for today.. It’s so darling. You shouldn't have tried so hard..” You state that it's nothing serious.

You risk asking him if he's still angry, with the argument in the morning. You raise your head to look at him, he nods. You ask “Are you mad at me too ?..” He frowns “No baby, never. It has nothing to do with you, you didn’t do anything, sweetie.” He kisses you on the forehead, you ask him “Y-You.. w-wanted.. to see me ?..” He tells you yes, you stare at him attentively. He sighs “I wanted us to go eat.. Together.. Just the two of us..” You accept, you love your Captain “Aaahhhh.. uh.. okay..” He widens his eyes, jumping with joy "It's true ? You really want to go ?" You nod your head “Yes !!” He smiles, kisses you all over your face “Oh my princess, let’s go then but I’m carrying you !!!” You accept, smiling “Okay..” He looks in your wardrobe for a cardigan that he puts on then he braids your hair. He squats down and puts socks on you as you cling to his shoulders. He puts your flip flops on and holds your hand all the way to his room. He puts on his cape, his sword and leans towards you to carry you. Like a bride, you find a restaurant on the island, he pulls out your chair, orders, pays for you, makes you laugh.

You briefly talk about the argument again but tell him that the crew loves him and that they will all make up. He orders you what you want, throws you on his shoulder, running with you to the beach. You stay there for an hour, talking about everything, then you go back. You in his arms, who doesn't touch the ground, all evening. When you arrive on the bridge, no one has returned yet. He tickles you to make you laugh, you run to escape him, without success. You end up falling on him, laughing. He hugs you, bites you, pinches your cheek to make you laugh, kisses you. “Are we sleeping together tonight ?” You nod, he puts you in your pajamas, makes you sleep in his room with him. He turns on his heater, covers you a lot, hugs you tight all night.

You continue to sleep with him for a few days, so that he can take care of you, especially with your bruises after the fall. He reconciled with the crew. You explained to him why and precisely what the anxiety attacks were. And he made you promise to come see him, as soon as it happens to you, even to call him shouting but to always warn him.

Enjoy - Do not copy or repost anywhere. Republish of course if you like it. I made edits on Tiktok too if you want to check 🫶🏻

[lesbianvampiresposts]

Lachesism, the desire to be struck by a disaster.

E.P x Fem!Reader

Notes: GUESS WHOS BACK 😈 and not doing the requests she begged for jesus christ..i blame writers block ANYWAY so remember take me back to the night we met? yeah so MY FUN LOVING SELF who is such a GREAT person is here to continue it x

Warnings: death (R), angst, funeral, HEAVY survivors guilt? can i call it that? poor descriptive skills x

As quiet murmurs died down, the sound of heeled shoes hitting the wooden church floors rung out. Six agents carry a dark wood casket, American flag draped atop.

The air was thick, thick enough to choke on. The room reminded eerily silent, quiet words, sniffles and steps being the only sounds. A disheveled older couple sat at the front, holding hands, closely whispering sweet reaffirming words to one another.

As eulogies and sweet tales were told, Emily began to dread her name being called. No one knew of the final words Y/N had spoken to her, nor of the words she had said.

As she was waved up, dread and an overpowering sense of guilt came over her. She had caused this. She didn’t act fast enough. She didn’t go first. She should’ve taken that bullet.

Once she reached the podium nerves built, tears welled and her hands began to shake. Panic and guilt were all she felt. She unfurled a piece of paper, clearing her throat.

“I have so many fond memories of Y/N. She was the brightest, kindest soul with the most beautiful smile. Any horrid situation we faced, we faced together and for that i am insanely grateful.” The more she spoke, the more she choked up, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

“I will never forget her. Her funny jokes and quips, the dramatised stories of a takedown-“ She cleared her throat again, trying to blink away the tears and stop the horrid feeling of overwhelming pain and responsibility.

“I will always treasure the memory of her. She was and always will be my only love, and i forever hers.” Once the words left her mouth, reality collapsed around her. The girl she had spent years desiring was gone just when she could have her. As she walked off, out of the church doors, tears began to flow as she dissolved into a blubbering mess.

She was reminded of the nights she spent playing it over and over in her head, those words “So tell me you love me back, and i can die happy”. Those words meant so much and more. She could engrave them into her mind. Those 12 words would practically haunt her forever.

If only she knew the words wouldn’t be the only thing, but the guilt and greif would be too. The knowledge that all this could’ve been prevented. The knowledge that in another universe, this wouldn’t be Y/Ns funeral but hers. The knowledge that maybe, just maybe, if she had tried harder to save her, this could be something better. In that moment she wished it had all gone differently, she wished that they never picked up that case, she wished they couldn’t fly to Baltimore.

More importantly, she wished for her back. Emily had never felt more alone than she did right there, sat on the steps of the church crying like she never had before.

[fantasynsuch]

Can you do an Adam Stanheight x reader? Could be fluff/angst/smut/etc. whatever you are comfortable writing!

Sure!! I'd be happy to. This is after the trap. So some angst, but majority fluff.

REQUESTS STILL OPEN!!

TW: umm as far as saw fanfic goes this is pretty tame lol.

"I'm not going anywhere." + "Tell me what's wrong"

I'm rushing to Adam's shitty apartment. I haven't heard from him in a couple days, and that concerns me. Since the trap, he has randomly gone into no contact. Anytime he did this, it meant he was having a rough time mentally. I can't let him drown in his own thoughts, so I always try to pull him out of it.

Stepping into the hallway from the elevator, I'm aware of the stack of packages left by his door: I'm honestly shocked no one stole them, given the neighborhood.

I grab the packages and take out my extra key to his apartment. After the first episode, he gave me the extra key. It's probably to prevent me from attempting to tear his door down to get to him like I did the first time.

Unlocking the door, the air smelled stale. He probably hasn't opened his windows in days: no airflow.

"Adam? Where are you?" I calmly call out.

No response yet, he might be in his dark room. I step into the apartment and notice the trash hadn't been taken out in days and there was stacks of takeout on his counter. I make a mental note to help him clean it up.

"Adam, I'm not mad. Please, let me help you." I say.

"I-In here." I hear a meek voice call out from his dark room- knew it.

I make my way into the room and spot Adam lying with his head down on the counter. He's sniffling and has probably been crying for who knows how long.

"Can I sit?" I ask. I always want to respect his boundaries. He nods, head still in his heads. I grab a chair and sit next to him slowly.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" I whisper. I don't doubt he has a headache, so I keep my voice down.

"'s nothing. Don't need to put your life on hold to help me." He says. I call bullshit in my head, but I don't tell him that.

"I'm not going anywhere. Even if I can't help, I can still be here." I respond. I bring my hand up and begin rubbing his back. He stiffens up at first, but when I go to pull my hand back, he slowly relaxes, so I leave it there.

"Baby, tell me what's wrong. I want to help you." I ask.

"'s stupid." He demeans himself.

"No, it's not. You're hurting: that's not stupid." I reply.

"I j-just don't want you to think less of me." He shakes his head and more sniffles come. I rub his back harder.

"Baby, never. Never would I think less of you. You're the strongest person I know. " I smile as I think about all he's overcome.

He looks up, "I'm... just so scared. I close my eyes and the chains are back. When I dream, I dream of that... thing. I can't stop thinking about the pain... the electricity. The gunshot- hell, even sitting in my own tub makes me freak out. I'm a grown man who can't go underwater, because I'm weak." He spills it all out. In the year since I found him in that god forsaken bathroom, he's become so strong- but he still has so far to go.

I grab his hand and put it in mine. "Sweetie, you are so wrong. You're the strongest man I have ever met. None of it will be fixed overnight, and maybe it won't at all. But what I see is a man who said "Screw you" to that asshole who locked you in there and lived. I'll always be there to tell you just how proud of you I am. " I reply to him. He makes eye contact with him, and I can't get over how gorgeous he is. His eyes are full of sadness and tragedy.

"Y-you might get tired of me. You deserve someone so much better than a man who has to cry into your tit everytime he has a bad dream." He chuckles, but he's not laughing. There's no comedy in his self-deprecation.

"I'm not, and will never, go anywhere, baby boy. You won't get rid of me that easy." I reply as I stare into his eyes. I giggle. "If it's worth anything, my tit will always be somewhere for you to cry." I smile.

He cracks a weak smile. I grin back at him.

"C-can I have a hug?" He requests and puts out his arms in a dramatic way.

"Hmmm. Let me think about it!" I joke back. The sadness is slowly leaving his eyes, and his cute wrinkles that show up when he smiles return. I withdraw my hands from his and go to run away.

"Oh no you dont!" He declares, and grabs me by my waist and holds me there.

"L-let me go!" I yell, though I don't mean it.

"Never! You have to give me a hug, or I may just die!" He exclaims. I smile and turn around, and I grab him by his shirt. I pull him down and kiss him. Wrapping my arms around him, he leans into the kiss. I smile into the kiss.

He's going to be okay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but he will be okay. I'm going to make sure of that.

[ranposbabe]

Delightful | William James Moriarty x Reader

Chapter 11

Louis was always content with routine.

Today was different however as he rushed around in search for food supplies he needed. He typically was on top of everything, of course he had to be it was one of his top duties. It was one of the responsibility’s his brother assigned to him therefore it was important he excelled and executed it well.

“What are you doing ?” You ask standing still in the doorway. These men lived in a manor that was the size of a house you could only dream of and yet Louis seemed to be their only man seemingly doing chores. Did they not have staff ? They looked like they could afford it.

“Gathering together a list of what I need to prepare for supper later.” He stated

“I can go get it for you ?” You offer out of pure boredom, no seriousness evident in your tone. “Absolutely not.” His back is still turned to you as his shoulders suddenly tensed, tensions tight seemingly always.

Perhaps more in your presence.

“Then let me go with you !” You gasp at the seemingly brilliant idea.

Really he had no reason to deny you.

“I need some air.” You sigh, your attempt at stepping away was quickly dismissed as Louis grabs your wrist, catching you before you could make your exit.

The shop that Louis brought you to was becoming more busy and busy as the minute went by since the evening was growing late. You were wrong to think that walking somewhere would ease you. Or maybe Louis’ glares were finally digging into your back. “We’ve been here not even ten minutes can you really not manage ?” He asks with genuine curiosity, no taunting. You simply groan in response dropping your arm so he lets go of yours.

As soon as you stepped outside the shop you’re hit with the freshness of a passing breeze. You look out upon the busy road seeing people together smiling and laughing. You take in a deep breath and exhale, hoping to ease the tension in your chest. “Excuse me.” You hear from behind you. A stranger eyes you up and down and you have to stop yourself from pulling a naturally disgusted expression. He nods to someone that you assume is stood out of your view but before you can turn back around to look you’re suddenly grabbed.

“Louis !” You cry out, desperate for someone to notice.

“Ugh ! It’s like watching a child.” Louis mumbles, his eyes still observing his list.

The sound of your voice was partially muffled due to you being outside and him still stood indoors.

“Louis !” You scream but that only encourages the stranger to quickly pull you away. It was only when Louis heard you call his name again did he sense the urgency in your tone. When Louis looks out the shops window he’s met with the unexpected sight.

You’re pulled back as a unknown man behind pulls you into him as he traps you in his arms a hand going over your mouth preventing you from making a sound. Before you can even dare bite his hand he one ups you by pulling out a knife and rests it right under your chin. Despite not even seeing the knife the sharpness that could do easily cut you sends chills down your spine.

You’re dragged into a carriage instantly.

“Not a word or you’ll never say a word ever again.” He whispers in your ear and at that you try stop yourself from gagging.

“Do you mind ?” You scoff, managing to slightly turn back to face the man.

“I could’ve cut myself there ?!”

“Stop that carriage !” Louis calls out, running out onto the road. Frustration evident in his eyes as seemingly no one listens, the carriage practically disappears as it moves on. Louis catches on right away at how the sun has began to set.

He needed to make the others aware and he needed to do it now.

“Brother !” Louis calls out, catching sight of his older brother seeming also returning home, cane in hand and top hat on his head. This was all your fault, Louis was sure of that. He wasn’t panicked that you were in danger he somehow has a feeling that’s your somehow pull through like s sly Fox. The only thing he was truly panicked about was this current situation interfering with his brothers plans.

“What is it Louis ?” Williams asks, taking in the appearance of his brother that he barely saw today. William knew straight away something was wrong from the look in Louis’ piercing eye, his other being still covered by his blond hair.

“Are you alright?” He asks with genuine concern, worrisome evident in his brows.

“It’s y/n !” Just from Louis tone, William needed no further explanation.

“Louis gather the others together.” He spoke with such determination evident in not only his tone but his eyes as well.

“It’s one thing after another with her isn’t it ?” Moran didn’t hide his slight irritation as he rolled his eyes, Fred following right behind him as the pair found the others all ready gathered where all their meetings took place. “Let’s assume no further harm has been given her way.” William states, standing still as the others began to sat down. “She’ll be fine.” Moran nods, sharing a glance with Fred. “As long as she doesn’t bang that head of hers that is.” “We have to work quickly.” Fred agrees. “We still don’t know whose behind this.” Albert states what exactly was on William’s mind.

“I’ve got what we need !” A familiar voice calls out. “Where the hell have you been hiding, Herder ?” Moran smirks, not surprised to see the sight of the man holding numerous guns in his arms.

“Perfect timing, Herder.” William nods, his mind already ahead accessing what the essentials were. What they needed to do to get you back. The gunmaker didn’t hesitate to throw the multiple different weapons out onto the table before them

“Now all is on order.” William shares a glance at his fellow men just like the countless times before when assembling a plan. But this time was somewhat different. “There is something causing a sudden shift in our plans !” Louis for a moment lets it be known that he speaks with annoyance evident in his tone.

That something was clearly you.

William couldn’t help but sense he needed to speak to Louis about such arrangements. A talk of reassurance of such. But that could wait.

“As of now, our original mission will be momentarily put aside.”

“Tonight my one concern is retrieving y/n from whoever is responsible. But until I know y/ns safe, knowing who organised this is none of my concern.”

If you wish to be added to the taglist please comment below to let me know!!!

TAGLIST: @elvyshiarieko @queenofspades403 @rayonfirethe2nd @simpy-geli-lol @phoenix666stuff @lindoasd @silveredwood @nimuelis @cherryher

[kidrauhlschik]

Stray Kids as Sad Songs

Hyung Line

Bang Chan - Angels Like You (Miley Cyrus)

"It's not your fault I ruin everything

and it's not your fault I can't be what you need"

If he could go back in time to never meet you, he would. He would prefer to never experience the things he did with you, because then this moment wouldn't hurt him the way he's hurting right now.

He finally let's his tears flow freely as he packs the last of his things.

"A little more hurt won't kill you tonight"

He wonders if you'll ever forgive him. It's doubtful. He came into your life and everything felt like a dream. The first year the two of you spent together, you could have sworn that the two of you were soulmates. As time went by, that illusion quickly started to fade into a memory.

He self destructs, it's the only thing he's good at. You tell him that you're there for him through every step of the way, but he knows better. People like you don't belong with people like him. You need someone who can be there for you day and night, someone who you can see year round, you need someone who can post you on social media and show you off.

"Cause they say that misery loves company"

Bang Chan knows that he doesn't deserve you. He lack in areas you need him most. He notices when you cry yourself to sleep while he lays next to you, you never liked to tell him your problems because you don't want to add another burden to his ever growing list. He sees the missed calls that he didn't see while working, while performing, or while sleeping.

You deserve a good man, not the shell of one.

"Gonna wish we never met on the day I leave"

He decided enough was enough, and although his departure will destroy you, he knows that this is what he has to do. He knows that you would stop him if you knew, so disappearing without a trace is his only option. You deserve an explanation but he's too scared to confront you. So with that thought he grabs the rest of his bags and takes one last look at the place the two of you used to call home.

"I'm everything they said I would be"

Lee Know - A Grave Mistake (Ice Nine Kills)

"Till death do us part came far too soon"

He can remember that night as if it were yesterday. Every time he closes his eyes, the memory of the accident haunts him. Except, it was no accident. The man chose to get in his car after drinking way more than he could handle. He chose to take your life that night.

He can remember riding his bike behind yours, the two of you were discussing what you would have for dinner that night through the mic's in your helmet. It all happened in a second. You had a green light, everything was perfect. Until Satan himself flew through his stop at insane speed. Minho's heart stopped in that second. His brain refusing to process what had just happened.

He can remember the way your body flew over the car but he couldn't see you any more. He rode his bike around the car and found you. You weren't moving, but your helmet was still in place.

"Baby?" You weren't responding.

He flies off of his motorcycle, almost stumbling after it falls behind him. The bike didn't matter to him right now.

"Baby? Are you okay" No response.

On his knees next you he keeps trying to understand what his eyes are seeing. His hands hover over you, not wanting to so much as touch you to prevent further damage.

"I'm so sorry, I was was just driving and I-" But before the man could say anything else, Minho stopped him, he couldn't even bother to take his eyes off of you at that moment.

"Call 911! Call them right now!" From the top of his lungs. The world around him seemed like a blur to him, he knew there were cars stopping to see the scene but all he cared about was making sure that no one would touch you unless they knew what they were doing.

"Baby? Can you hear me? Baby please answer me!" Delusion.

"Rage, scorn, misery

Payback from what you took from me

Hope, love, sanity"

He remembers the ambulance arriving, shortly after the cops were putting handcuffs on the drunk man. He remembers that they were trying too pull him away to give the paramedics space to work. As he was fighting to get back to your side, he remembers the words very clearly.

"Time of death, 10:48PM" His world stopped. The words circled in his head but he couldn't understand them.

"NO!" He throws off the man who kept trying to hold him back. Landing on his knees next to you. They had taken your helmet off. You were fine. What were they talking about? It wasn't until Minho noticed the blood around your body that reality set in.

"Baby wake up! Get up baby! We have to go home! The cat's are waiting for us baby! Get up! Please." Tears were beginning to mix with blood as he held you body to his chest. Eyes full of pity let him have a moment with your body as he sobbed into your hair..

"No forgiveness, just farewell"

The memory hurts just as much as it did a year ago. He can only see your face as he holds the gun up to the man who took your life.

11 months. They only gave him 11 months in jail. It's okay though, Lee know would take care of the rest.

He pulled the trigger.

"A match made in heaven

You sent straight to hell"

Changbin - Ghost (Justin Bieber)

"I know you crossed a bridge that I can't follow"

You moved on. He knew you were happy. You finally had your dream career, your dream house, you dream man. Unfortunately, that man wasn't him.

You were the smartest person he knew. He always knew that you would accomplish everything you put you mind into. That meant that you knew exactly what you wanted in life, and being in a relationship with an idol was not in your list.

He received the wedding invitation three months ago. When he saw your name written in the front he was worried that the others would hear his heart burst into a million pieces. It's over. There was no chance of winning you back now.

"Since the love that you left is all that I get"

It wasn't that you no longer loved him. You simply love him in a different way than he does. Changbin thinks that it hurts even more this way, because he can still remember how you used to love him. He can still remember your voice through the phone on his late nights.

Now all he has to remember your love are letters. You always wrote him letters. You would tell him that it felt more personal that way. He thought it was silly but it was one of the many things he loved about you. He held on to every single letter, sometimes he still reads them to remember when you loved him.

"If I can't be close to you, I'll settle for the ghost of you"

He knew he also had to move on. He tried it. No one could replace you. He brought his girlfriend to your wedding. His girlfriend was kind, beautiful, romantic, and she was everything a man could want. Except, she wasn't you.

You looked beautiful in your white dress, reading your vows to your husband to be. You probably hand wrote them, and all that Changbin could think about is that you still write letters, but they're no longer for him.

Your beautiful words are now directed to someone else and that thought alone makes him choke up. He refuses to cry though, he wants to be happy for you, but he can't help wishing that man holding your hand was him.

"I'd leave it all behind if I could follow"

If you turned to him in that second and told him that you still loved him, he would leave with you with no questions asked. He would simply get up and leave with you. He felt awful for feeling that way. His girlfriend didn't deserve that. Yet, he can't help but fantasize about your love and how it will never be directed at him anymore.

However, his heart will always belong to you.

"I miss you more than life"

Hyunjin - Creep (Radiohead)

"Couldn't look you in the eye"

Hyunjin never felt normal. That's why he escaped reality so often. Singing helps him forget. Painting helps him forget. You help him forget. He can always count on those three things to help him forget the world he lives in.

One would think he was perfect in every way, but he knew better. If people could see his brain, they would understand. Sometimes he's scared to look at you in the eyes, because maybe you could see the darkness in his.

You were always there for him. As a friend.

That's all he can ask from you.

"I wish I was special

You're so fuckin special"

He never felt safe on this earth until he met you. You were the light of his life and he always hoped he could be the light in yours, but that's unrealistic. Someone like him could never be a light.

You were so perfect. You always know what to say. He can't help but admire you. You have so many friends, and Hyunjin has nine. You had so many hobbies and passions that you enjoyed for fun, Hyunjin has hobbies to escape his own mind. You were beautiful in everyway, and Hyunjin thinks that's he's disgusting.

Those thoughts always haunt him.

"What the hell am I doing here?"

Panic always sets in at moments like these. His nails dig into his skin trying to bring himself back to reality.

"I don't belong here"

"Otw! :)" Your message read and he immediately calms down.

He wishes he could be with you all the time but he'll never tell you that. You would probably laugh in his face and cut him off and he wouldn't be able to handle that. He can't live without you.

"But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo"

So there he sits in a room full of paintings of your face, paintings he made whenever he had a chance. Painting of you smiling, some when you were cooking, some of you when you were sleeping, and others of you naked.

Hyunjin has seen you in every way possible. But you don't know that. He tells himself it's okay because he loves you.

"Run."

~

A/N: That was a lot longer than i expected it to be. Also, I may have gotten a bit carried away w Lee Know's lol ! anyway thanks for reading !:)

[karmic-vibes]

If I Can Dream

24 - While I Can Think, Talk, Stand, Walk

art credit: @lazylittledragon on tumblr / lazyjunebug on twitter

cw: general teenage angst, mentions of not eating (not related to any EDs !!), blood

Year: 2004

“Okay, just a few more steps,” Eddie said.

His hands were over Bobby’s eyes as he guided her out of the house, down the driveway. The teenager was giggling to herself, stumbling over her own feet as her father tried leading the way. Eddie peered around the girl, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to focus.

“Nearly.” They took a few more steps as Eddie sighed in relief. “Okay, ready?”

“Yes!”

“Alright… one, two, three!” He pulled his hands away and ran to meet Steve.

“Oh my god…”

“Tada!”

The two were standing next to a brand new, navy blue BMW Beamer, arms raised with cheer. There was a bright red bow on the hood of the car—the perfect finishing touch to the teenager’s birthday gift.

“I… oh my god… thank you guys!”

She ran into their arms, crying tears of joy. Bobby had recently gotten her license and was constantly asking to borrow Eddie’s decked out Dodge Charger, over Steve’s practical Mercedes sedan. So, the couple compromised and got her a Beamer—best of both worlds.

“Now, there’s a couple rules,” Steve started. “First–”

“When can I take her for a spin?” Bobby cut him off.

“After we tell you the rules and responsibilities, okay?”

“Fine… lay them on me.”

“Okay,” Steve sighed, hands resting on his hips. “First, having a car is a big responsibility. You need to make sure all its preventative maintenance is done, like oil changes, tire rotations–”

“Yeah, okay, what else?” Bobby was practically buzzing from excitement.

“There’s going to be a curfew. You can leave as early as you need for work or school, but I expect to see you home, in the driveway, walking through that front door no later than ten, got it?”

“But dad,” she whined. “All my friends get to stay out until eleven, sometimes even later!”

“And you’ll survive coming home an hour earlier.”

“Fine,” she pouted. “What else?”

“You’re responsible for putting gas in it, got it? Pops and I will handle insurance and payments and everything, but gas is up to you. We want you saving your hard earned money, but we still want you to be responsible for something this big. Understood?”

“Yes, dad. Keys, please?”

“Here,” he smiled, handing them over.

“Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She hugged them, eagerly jumping up and down.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie giggled, “just be safe, alright?”

“I will, papa. I love you guys so much!”

Bobby released herself from the hug and ran to the driver’s seat. Steve took the bow off the car, tucking it under his arm, as he waved his daughter off.

“She didn’t grab her license, did she?” Steve asked.

“Nope.”

“Her phone is probably inside too, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Whole purse?”

“Mhmm.”

“How long until you think she figures it out?”

“I give her ten minutes.”

A few days passed and Bobby had barely been home—she was taking her car out at any chance she had. The boys would be lying if they said they didn’t enjoy having a little helper go to the store, or put gas in their cars, or even have to drive her around anymore. However, it broke their heart to see their little girl so grown up.

Ever since Bobby got her car, the boys noticed she was becoming more secretive. Whenever she went out, she never explicitly said what she was doing or who she was going out with. Steve trusted that she knew was she was doing, but Eddie was constantly panicked. He was her age once—terribly sneaky and always getting into trouble (at least before dating Steve).

One day, Bobby came home right before dinner was on the table. She rushed through the corridor, dumping her bag in the hall, and trying to run up the stairs. However, her efforts were stopped by Eddie catching the hood of her sweatshirt.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy?” he asked.

“Upstairs,” she mumbled.

“Dinners gonna be ready in a few minutes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Bobby Judas, why are you facing away from me?”

“It’s nothing, pops! Jesus Christ, leave me alone!”

“What’s going on?” Steve asked. “Bobbs, come on, dinners nearly ready.”

“I’m not hungry!” She yelled, finally facing her parents.

Their eyes widened when they finally saw their little girl—septum pierced along with bilateral nostrils. Eddie stammered as he tried to find the right words, but Steve took them right out of his mouth.

“What did you do?” Steve uttered.

“Went to the piercer…”

“How… how did you get… who signed off on parental consent?”

“I… um…”

“Um?” Eddie fumed.

“I have a fake…”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “You could’ve just asked us! Honey, you know us, we would’ve said yes. B-But going behind our backs? Bug, it’s a slap in the face.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t think you guys would approve…”

“How did you expect to hid three piercings?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Do you know how to properly take care of everything?” Steve sighed.

“Sorta…”

“Christ, okay, did the piercer tell you? Give you instructions or anything?”

“No, but Judah–”

“Ugh,” Eddie scoffed.

“What, papa? What do you have against my boyfriend?”

“Where do I start,” he seethed.

“Eddie,” Steve warned.

“He has made you rebellious and has you going behind our backs! We didn’t raise you to be like this!”

“Well, turns out, you did!”

And just like that, Steve was teleported nearly twenty years into the past. Back to one of the many arguments he had with his parents—specifically, when he stood up on Eddie’s behalf. He was sick and tired of his parents misgendering Eddie—he figured it was time to finally stand up for himself and his [now] husband. Steve had dissociated, being stuck in a memory.

“I didn’t raise a fag,” John spat.

“Well, turns out, you did,” Steve grit his teeth. “I love him. He’s not going anywhere. Get used to it.”

It wasn’t until Bobby’s yelling pulled him back into reality.

“I love him! He’s fun and older and mature. He’s everything a girl could want,” she fawned.

“How much older,” Steve asked.

“What?”

“Bobby, how old is he?”

“Only nineteen.”

“Bobby!” the two yelled.

“I knew you’d react this way! Ugh, why can’t I just be happy!”

“While you live under our roof, you live by our rules. Are we clear?” Eddie scolded.

“You guys ruin all my fun. I hate you!” She cried, running up to her room.

Tears streamed down Eddie’s face as he hit the corridor wall just enough to make the paint chip. He wiped his eyes on his sweatshirt sleeve and stormed back into the kitchen with Steve hot on his trail.

“We can’t yell at her like that,” Steve said. “It’ll only make everything worse.”

“No, I know,” Eddie sniffed. “I just… we didn’t raise her to shy away or hide from us. I-I thought we were doing a good job at forming that close bond where she could tell or ask us anything.”

“I guess not,” Steve sighed. “But think back to when you were her age… were you any better?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Stevie… I don’t want her to be like me.”

“Smart, pretty, and successful?” he teased.

“Shut up,” Eddie mumbled. “I’m being serious. When I was sixteen, Christ, I was getting sketchy tattoos in peoples basements. I-I was out in the woods growing my own pot and selling it to people.”

“You were what?”

“Please, I sold much worse.”

“You what?”

“What?” Eddie shrugged.

“Eds, we’ve been married for how many fucking years and you’re just now telling me you used to be a drug dealer?”

“How did you think I made my money?” He raised a brow.

“Hell, I don’t know, maybe working like a normal person‽”

“Please, when have you ever known me to be normal?”

“Touché…”

“So what’re we gonna do about Bee?” Eddie sighed.

“Eds, I don’t think there’s anything we can do. We just have to let her make her own choices and make sure she doesn’t get herself killed.”

“I miss when she was little,” Eddie pouted. “God, we were best friends. She was a mini-me—a little sidekick!”

“To be fair, Eds, she’s still a mini-you. She’s just reached that rebellious stage,” Steve shrugged. “Let her ride it out. I’m sure it’ll all work out—it did with you, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but only because I started dating the hot jock, not some dude who already graduated.”

“Ed, you were supposed to already be graduated when we started dating. You’re reading too deep into this.”

“Yes, but I was nineteen and you were eighteen. A little different than sixteen and nineteen.”

“I’m not saying I’m happy about it, but us trying to stop it is going to do more harm than good.”

“I guess you’re right… do you wanna try getting her down here for dinner? Or at least bring a plate up to her?”

“I think it’d be better if you did it, Eds.”

“Why me?”

“The tensions been a lot higher between you two than me and her.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll go try and bring her down.”

Eddie ascended the stairs and made his way to his daughter’s room. He gently knocked a few times before testing to see if the knob would turn. When it did, he let himself in. Bobby was sitting on her bed, legs clung to her chest, journal balanced atop her knees—headphone cords dangling from her ears as music blared loud enough even for Eddie to hear.

“Bobbs?” Eddie started. She glanced up, rolled her eyes, and went back to journaling. “Bobby, honey, I’m sorry.” Eddie closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed. “Bee, please…”

“What do you want?” she huffed, ripping her headphones out.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“I don’t wanna hear it. Judah and I are happy.”

“No, I know, but forgive me for worrying. If you ever become a parent you’ll understand.”

“What’s the big deal? Huh? You’re older than dad!”

“Yes, honey, I know, but we were nineteen and eighteen when we started dating. We were both legal. I just worry that he’s gonna take advantage of you.”

“He’s not that stupid, and neither am I. He knows better—mainly because I think he knows you and dad would kill him,” she giggled.

“He better know,” Eddie weakly smiled. “We love you, bug, and we just want you to be happy and safe.”

“I’m a big girl, pops, you don’t need to baby me.”

“Bobby, you’ll always be my baby. Even when dad and I are old and gray, you’ll still be our baby.”

“What do you mean when?”

“Bobby Judas!” Eddie teased. “Ugh, fresh. You literally are a mini-me, Christ.”

“Oh my god, it’s almost like I came outta you.”

“You came out of me‽” Eddie jokingly gasped. “I thought I was a man!”

“Oh, shit, pops, I love you.” Bobby laughed to herself, nudging him with her foot.

“I love you too, bug. So, what’d ya say? Come downstairs for dinner?”

“I’m honestly not hungry, papa.”

“Then at least join us? Please?”

“I’ll be down in a few, okay?”

“Okay… love you.”

“I love you too.”

A few days passed, and while amends had been made, Bobby was still sneaking around, getting herself into trouble. One random evening, Steve and Eddie heard a bump in the night, jostling them awake.

���What was that?” Eddie groaned.

“Was that Bobby?”

“Probably.”

“Can you go check on her?”

“Whose night did we leave off on?”

“Eddie, that was like ten years ago. How the fuck am I supposed to remember?”

“Because you’re supposed to be the smart one here, Steven.”

“Go check on our spawn, for fuck’s sake.”

“Christ, fine.”

Eddie swung his legs out of bed and trudged down the hall. He quietly opened Bobby’s bedroom door and glanced in, not seeing his teenager anywhere, not even her bed (which did not look slept in).

“Piece of shit, stupid fucker.”

Eddie turned his head, hearing sobbing coming from the upstairs bathroom. He knocked on the door, not even waiting for an answer.

“Bee, is everything– Bobby!”

Tears pricked at Eddie’s eyes as he saw his daughter crying, blood pooling in her hands as it poured from her nose. He rushed in, panicking to help her in some way—any way.

“Bobby, wh-what happened? Did that piece of shit hit you?”

“No,” she cried. “We-We-We– god!” She sobbed hysterically.

“Just breathe, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Eddie cooed. He dampened a wash cloth as he cleaned her face.

“We broke up,” she sniffed.

“Why’re you bleeding?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No, I did, pumpkin, and I’m sorry to hear that, but why are you bleeding?”

“I was taking my piercings out,” she frowned. “He was the one that liked them… I don’t want ‘em anymore.”

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sighed.

“What’s going on? I heard crying!” Steve panted, bursting through the threshold.

“Smooth, Harrington.”

“Shut it. Bobby, what’s wrong? You’re bleeding…”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“Okay, watch the fucking attitude, Eds. Bobbs, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“Papa, don’t make me repeat it,” she cried.

“I’ll explain later, Steve, just go back to bed. I’ve got it handled.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Look at me, bug…”

Eddie gingerly lifted her chin as he dabbed away at the blood staining her sore nose. She winced in pain at every passing swipe, Eddie tutting his tongue in sorrow. He couldn’t stand seeing his daughter sad—never mind in pain.

“Bee?” Eddie whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you ask us for help? O-Or wait until the morning when we could take you to a piercer to get this stuff removed?”

“I dunno, I just panicked,” she shrugged. “You wouldn’t know—you’ve never been heart broken.”

“Says who?” Eddie asked.

“Please,” Bobby scoffed. “You and dad have been together for a million years.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t date before that.”

“Wait, you… you were in love before dad?”

“Mhmm, sure was.”

“What was his name?”

“It was actually a girl.”

“Oh… I never knew you ever dated any girls.”

“Girl… just the one.”

“Does dad know?”

“Mhmm. He was actually friends with her back in high school, long before we started dating.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Oh, gorgeous,” Eddie beamed.

“Why’d you break up?”

“Well, sweetheart, I realized I wasn’t into women in that way. I was confused when I was younger—trying different things, seeing what felt right. My junior year of high school, I rekindled with this beautiful girl who I was friends with back in middle school. I knew I wasn’t straight, but I didn’t know in what way. At the time, I thought I was a lesbian… I was getting so much gender envy from all the guys, I just thought I hated men. Turns out, I wanted to be them,” Eddie chuckled. “But, before she joined the cheer squad and became popular, we briefly dated, and yeah… the rest is history.”

“And you loved her?”

“I adored her, honey. I loved her as a person, and I honestly kick myself for not keeping in touch after the breakup.”

“Was it mutual?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “We realized we were different and not what we wanted. We were both heartbroken, sure, but we still loved each other.”

“That’s so… bittersweet…”

“Sure was,” Eddie whispered.

Eddie eased out the remainder of her fresh piercings, throwing them haphazardly in the trash. He finished cleaning up Bobby’s face and hands before running to get her a clean pair of pajamas. After she changed, she headed back to the bathroom to take off the rest of her makeup. Eddie took it upon himself to undo her ponytail and brush out her fried hair.

“Thanks, papa,” she sighed.

“Anytime, bug.”

“Papa?”

“Hmm?”

“Actually, never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No, what’s up?”

“How did you know you loved dad?”

“I just knew,” he beamed. “I can’t really explain it. I knew I loved him pretty early on, but I never said it until about six months in.”

“What made you finally say it?”

“Well…” Eddie’s cheeks burned red, thinking back to the night him and his husband confessed their love.

“Oh, fuck, Steve. Shit, I love you so fucking much,” Eddie babbled.

“I love you too, baby,” Steve huffed, trying to hold out for Eddie. “You feel so fucking good, god. So tight, so wet—all for me.”

“All for you,” Eddie whined. “God, please, Steve!”

“Pops?”

“Hmm?” Eddie’s eyes widened, pulling himself back into reality.

“What made you say it?”

“Just… how sweet and understanding he was when I came out.”

“What made you come out to him?”

“He was upset our relationship wasn’t progressing the way he had hoped. He started asking if there was a problem with him and he got all worked up. I couldn’t hide from him anymore so I showed him my bandages–”

“From top surgery?”

“No, no, that wasn’t until a year or so later. I mean, I used to use ace bandages to bind my chest down. But he took them off, cared for me, and has loved me unconditionally ever since.”

“If that never happened, would you have ever come out to him?”

“It’s hard to say, honestly. I was afraid of losing him.”

“But why would you want to be with someone who wouldn’t love you for you?”

“You never knew him in high school,” Eddie chuckled. “God, did you know, dad initially wanted upwards of six kids. Six, Bobby!”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned it once or twice,” she giggled.

“I know, but I still can’t get over it! Regardless… I loved him so much that, if I never came out, lord, I would’ve popped all six out for him. I would’ve been miserable, but if he was happy, that’s all I cared about.”

“That seems toxic…”

“It would be if he didn’t love me back or didn’t compromise. But alas, he did, and he just wants to see me happy too. Seeing me happy was just having you,” he smiled. “That’s called loving someone unconditionally… all their beauty and all their flaws.”

He continued brushing through her hair, grabbing the numerous products Steve bought for her, and properly pampered her hair. Bobby closed her eyes and sighed contently. She knew this is what love was supposed to be—someone to always be there for you, care for you, and accept you no matter what; all your beauty, and all your flaws.

“Papa?”

“Yes, bug?”

“You said you would’ve been miserable with multiple kids.”

“Mhmm.”

“Did you ever think you were gonna be miserable with me?”

“Oh, god, yes. Bobby, I was petrified when I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified that I wouldn’t love you, or that you wouldn’t love me. Thankfully, dad knocked some sense into me.”

“How so?”

“He said something along the lines of people who worry about not loving someone often already love them more than they know.”

“And?”

“Wouldn’t ya know it—I love you more than life itself,” Eddie beamed. “You’re a good kid, Bee. Dad and I are proud of you… we always will be…”

“Thanks, papa,” she whispered. “Sorry I’ve been a pain in the ass…”

“Eh, it’s alright. You’re a teenager—we’ve all had our moments. Okay…” Eddie whispered, tongue poked out in concentration as he tied Bobby’s hair into a braid. “And done! Get to bed, love bug. You have school in the morning.”

“Alright, pops. I love you.”

“I love you too—sleep well.”

Despite the boys’ best efforts, Bobby was still sneaking around. Steve and Eddie considered different forms of discipline, but they realized that would only make everything worse. Instead, they decided to try the opposite—play into it—let her know that they knew her every move.

“Bobbs! Dinner!” Steve called.

“Not hungry!”

“Bobby Judas, please come down and try to eat something!”

“I said I’m not hungry!”

“Bobby!” Eddie warned. “Get down here!”

“What’re you doing?” Steve whispered.

“Getting the spawn to eat.”

The boys heard the thumping of their child trudging down the stairs. She stood on the landing, arms crossed, hip jutted out against the banister. She raised a brow as she tapped her foot impatiently.

“What?” she snapped.

“Okay, cut the attitude, missy. Come sit down with us,” Eddie said.

“I told you, I’m not hungry.”

“That’s fine, just sit with us.”

“But I have to work on my campaign.”

“I’m sorry, your what?” Steve asked.

“You heard me.”

“While I’m so proud of you, join your father and I for dinner. If you eat, I’ll help you out and we’ll make a one-shot that is so hard and so sadistic, not even I’ll be able to beat it.”

“Shit, fine.”

She hopped down the few remaining stairs and pulled a seat up at the dining table. She grabbed a plate and a glass of water and took her usual spot between her fathers. She started shoveling the meal down her throat, trying to clear the table as quick as she could.

“So, how was school?” Steve asked, trying to start up a conversation.

“Fine,” Bobby mumbled.

“How’s your nose?” Eddie added.

“Fine.”

“Bee–”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” She shoved the last remaining bits of food in her mouth before standing up. “Thanks for dinner. Bye.”

“Bobby–”

“Dad–”

“Sit, for fucks sake. We miss you, pumpkin. Talk to us.”

“Christ, fine.”

She slumped back down, crossing her arms in protest.

“So how’s school?” Steve asked again.

“It’s fine, seriously.”

“Meds working out okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You’re focusing okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“None of your friends are asking for your Adderall, right?”

“Some do.”

“You don’t… you don’t give it to them though, right?” Steve stuttered. “I love your father, but I don’t want you being like him.”

“Hey– eh, you’re right,” Eddie shrugged.

“No, I don’t give it to them.”

“You promise?”

“I swear, dad. I literally need it to function in school. I’m not about to just give it away or sell it. Plus, if I need money for something, I’ll just ask papa.”

“Okay… I believe you…” Steve sighed.

“So what’re you working on in your campaign?” Eddie asked with a mouth full of food.

“Christ, I thought you’d never ask!”

Bobby got lost in her story telling, speaking to her fathers more than she had in the past month. By the time she was done explaining her campaign, Steve was already cleaning up the mess from dinner. Eddie placed a kiss on Bobby’s head and joined his husband, helping him tidy up. Bobby peered in, smirking to herself as she quietly grabbed her car keys.

“I’m going to bed,” she called.

“Night, bug,” Eddie said. “We love you.”

“Love you too.”

She ran upstairs, locking her bedroom door behind her. She grabbed an array of pillows and clothes and stuffed them under her blanket to match the shape of her sleeping body. The young girl popped open her window and scaled down the front of her house like she had done many times before.

Bobby briefly fumbled with her keys, unlocking her car with the main key so her parents wouldn’t hear the alarm go off. She buckled herself in and started the engine, eager to drive off into the nothingness of Hawkins. As she tuned her radio to the desired station, she heard a voice echo from the backseat.

“Where are we going?”

“Ah!” She screamed.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Bobby?” Eddie asked.

“Sorry…” She whispered.

“Be home by twelve or I’m sending dad to come and get you.”

“But he’ll embarrass me!”

“Yeah, exactly.” Eddie got out of the car, leaning in through the window. “Just be safe, kiddo, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Please don’t hurt yourself or get into any trouble.”

“I know.”

“Dad and I love you and we hate that you’re becoming distant from us… I know we’re lame and everything but… but we miss you, Bee…”

“I’m sorry, papa. I love you guys too. It’s just, I’m not a little girl anymore. I wanna go out and have fun and do my own thing.”

“I understand,” he sighed. “All we ask is have dinner with us, alright?”

“Fine.”

“And don’t end up like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Bobbs, I was a sneaky, rebellious drug dealer who was held back three times. Go out and party and do whatever kids your age do. But for the love of god… don’t end up like me. Talk to us. Ask us for help. We’ll always be here for you… we want to be there for you…”

“I know… I’m sorry, papa…”

“It’s okay.” He kissed her cheek and hugged her as tight as he could through the window. “Just be safe. You call us if you need us. No questions asked.”

“Okay, pops,” she giggled.

“Bye, pumpkin.”

“Bye, papa. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“No later than midnight!”

“I know, I know.”

[nightswithkookmin]

Okay time out

I'm reading through the comments on my last post and some of yall are wilding in there losing the whole entire plot👁👄👁

Please watch your language. I don't want to make space for anyone's hate and vitriol towards anyone. If you've been in the Fandom for more than a month you'd know Kim Taehyung is not a bad person at all. He's not. A little nuts sure but bad???? Cmon now.

If you hate him or anyone in bts this is not the space for it.

What I want is to hold space for anyone who feels disillusioned and jaded by the whole vmin situation. In case that intention didn't come through lemme reiterate. WE DON'T HATE TAEHYUNG ON THIS CORNER OF THE INTERNET.

You can talk about being disillusioned with Jikook and how you think things are not the same with them and I'll make space for that. Similarly you can talk about vmin or any ship for that matter and express your opinions about their dynamic and I'll hold space for that.

But please don't hate on nobody😔

Vmin have one of the best enviable friendships in all of Kpop. We love to see that sort of genuine love. It's healing, it's beautiful. Love in and of itself is a beautiful thing and we love to celebrate that.

And for me it's really hard to think of Kim Taehyung, the guy who threw a producer under the bus for preventing him from featuring Jimin on his song because he thought it was gay, same guy who saves fan art and recommends them to Jimin- there is a trail of moon on JMs back all thanks to Tae, when Jimin dropped Vibe he shared it to his story, he liked the post, he was commenting and interacting on JMs posts- when JK was silent as well. He even said he had saves a video of JM he was going to post on Jms birthday!

How is this person then a bad person at all. I don't understand. Can we talk about this one mishap without rubbishing and invalidating all the love effort and consideration he's shown towards Jimin up until now?

Do I think he could have done more to support JM, I do. Simply because he's done it in the past. He stayed up with us to watch Vibe when it dropped!

I'm just mad at him for staying quiet and leaving fans to do all the heavy lifting when he, JK, Suga are one of the biggest PJMs on earth. I'm hurt, I'm disappointed, and yes I'm crying my eyes out over here cos everything that has happened over JMs release overwhelms me.

Or maybe I'm too much of a romantic and I keep wandering back to moments of JM running to him and comforting him and promising he'll take responsibility for him. I keep wandering back to them talking about how much they protected eachother from bullies and I hoped he would lead the chorus and stand up for Jimin this time around too.

vmin are not perfect. They have their issues. But they also have one of the best relationship dynamics in kpop. Yet I feel I can't even vent out the frustration I feel over this, over the gradual decline of their ship, Bangtan friendship, or even express my insecurities over vmin without being overly cautious so as not to enable their antis and it's so frustrating.

We can't tell them how to love eachother. We can't do that. And there's always a possibility they know something we do not know. He's closer to JM than you and I. For all you know, he isn't even aware how these things affect his own fans who support him with Jimin.

This is something Jimin is constantly aware of and is good at- self awareness- but when it comes to Jungkook and Taehyung not so much.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go back to pouting cos Tae sucks. He can step on leggos

I'm open to hearing theories about why you think he didn't say anything about Face.

No, it's not because he hates Jimin 🤺

Do you think it's because JM chose JK to do letters with and not him?🤔

Jk didn't say anything bout Vibe either and when he decided to sing that song he only knew JMs part💀🤧

Either way, he needs to make this right else I'm sending poop emojis on his next live💩

[iviarellereads]

The Murderbot Diaries - Compulsory (SubPress reissue)

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which we go back in time, but different.

This is part 2, examining the new reissued version of Compulsory in conversation with its original. If I remember after the first post goes up, this text will be edited to be a link to it.

Murderbot's given some thought to killing humans, since it hacked its governor module, but once it found the entertainment feeds, it thought, what's the rush? It can always kill them later, after the next series drops.(1)

Really, even the humans think about killing each other. MB hates mines, and it hates this mine the most, but all indications are that the humans hate them more. It calculates at least a 53% chance of a human-caused massacre by the end of the contract. It witnesses some name-calling and wonders if it'll happen in the next few minutes.(2)

The humans are arguing about the flow rate. MB, for its part, is watching episode 44 of Sanctuary Moon, which it thinks is a better use of its time than standing guard over the stabilizer array. One of the humans, Sekai, says SecUnits creep her out. MB can't argue, it doesn't like SecUnits either, even as one. It spends a paragraph briefly explaining SecUnits' biology and purpose in the company hierarchy, and what supposedly would happen if they didn't have governor modules.(3) Still, it doesn't respond, because most of its attention is on its show, so it misses when the accident happens, until it hears a strangled yell.

Running the video back, Asa snapped about getting the supervisor and turned quickly. As he did, the testing rod he was holding hit Sekai, who was mid-step, and unbalanced her. She fell off the platform, down into the shaft. MB tracks her descent, and hears breathing on the comm. Unfortunately, where she lands, she's about a minute and a half from getting dumped into the collectors and incinerated.

You might think that MB's job is to rescue her, but no. Its job is to prevent workers stealing corporation property, prevent workers from injuring or killing corporation management (no matter how tempting), and prevent workers from injuring each other and inhibiting productivity. So, HubSystem tells it to stay put. The nearest safety bot is 200 meters up, and incoming, just in time to retrieve the "smoldering lump" of remains.

Asa realizes what he's done and is making noises that make MB uncomfortable. Vena is sobbing. Elane is frozen. MB could go back to its episode and follow orders to stand in place, but it doesn't particularly want to watch a human die in the episode, and Sekai is a real human it's responsible for who will die for real shortly.

Having free will after so long under strict controls sometimes make MB do things it doesn't understand. It steps off the edge of the platform, and controls its fall to land next to Sekai. HubSystem sends a command for its governor module to fry it, but the joke's on HubSystem.

Sekai looks up at it, tearful and terrified. It reaches down to her, wondering if she's too afraid to take its hand. MedSystem supplies that there's an 80% chance she's stunned from the impact. MB says they have forty five seconds to get out. Probably not the most sensitive thing to say, under the circumstances, but it works. Sekai reaches up to grab MB's arm, and it pulls her into its chest just as the section she'd been holding on to cycled and dropped to the collector.

Sekai made an “eep” noise. I wanted to make an “eep” noise too but I was busy.(4)

MB tells Sekai to look up, and clip herself to its armour. She obeys, shaking. MB climbs out, and works on Phase II of the plan, which is convincing HubSystem that the rescue was its idea in the first place. Fortunately, it manages that by the time it gets them back up onto the platform.

As the humans reunite and cry, MB checks the supervisor feed it's not supposed to have access to, and is relieved they're not suspicious of its actions. Sekai's team will get a fine for almost clogging the collectors with her deep fried body, but better than dead.

The humans make to pull Sekai away, but she turns back to say thanks to MB. Its performance reliability drops 3% at the idea that she can see through its visor. Asa tells her they can't talk, and she insists she heard it.

Note to self: shut up.(5) Back at my guard station, I started episode 44 again. Maybe somebody would save the colony solicitor’s bodyguard, too.

=====

(1) Already a few rephrases in this intro. Reordering the hacking and the killing thoughts, and then subtle changes about the entertainment feeds. After the next series drops vs ends, VERY different in context here. (2) I don't know that the would-be tragedy that gets averted needed this extra line of setup, but kay. (I'm not the expert who writes words for a living, I'm nobody and my opinion is only worth as much as you want it to be worth.) (3) I find it interesting that it's this expanded edition that's getting these bits of information, and not the original story. The original was short, snappy, concise, but would have benefited from having a little more context for a SecUnit's role. It was published after the first novellas, but it makes me wonder if it was a concept piece written first that expanded into the Murderbot series, slightly reworked for Wired. (4) This is just… how can it be so cute in the middle of mortal peril? (5) The last major change, and an interesting one. Before, MB didn't make a quip here. Was it added to pad out the word count, or do you think it adds a little needed levity after the peril? (Or both. Both is typically an option.)

[gamesbyalbie]

The Cursed Journey

PART 6: BEDSIDE

The heart monitor beats rhythmically—a slow, measured march that provides a stark contrast to the frenzied clicking of my keyboard. I barely hear any of it. Everything happening around me is white noise to the drama playing out in my head.

The crew has just freed Prometheus. Zo's trying to convince Mel to get in Atalanta's car, but Mel has no idea what's going on. To her it looks like her best friend dragged a bloody body out of Olympus Tower and is telling her to get in an outlawed vehicle with a corpse and a criminal.

The Eagle is hot on the group's trail and Zo keeps seeing images of Mel being stabbed repeatedly in the liver. They're screaming at one another, but Mel can't believe what Zo sees in their visions.

There's only a few seconds left. They can either force Mel to get in the car or stay with her and try to fend off the Eagle. Zo looks to Atalanta for guidan—

He stirs.

My fixation shatters. Fantasy fades to reality.

I leap from the armchair and stand over Min-joon, taking in every centimeter of his face, every inch of his body—searching for any signs of distress or pain. Any kind of response. Any kind of change. Anything at all.

Nothing. Min-joon seems as peaceful and still as he always does.

I kneel at his side and just look for a long while. My fingers must have woven themselves between his because I'm suddenly holding his thin hand in mine. Min-joon's knuckles are really prominent now. The Ward uses some kind of chemical treatment or procedure that's supposed to prevent major atrophy, but I can see how far into disuse his body has fallen.

Icy water drips down my cheek. It tickles my neck before collecting along my collarbone. The cold ribbon becomes thicker and thicker. Eventually a second mirrors the first, tracing the other side of my face and neck.

My mother once told me it was unsettling to watch me cry. Perfect stillness and an unreadable expression perverted by the sudden appearance of tears. I rarely make a sound and I can name the few times in my life where I've been compelled to wail or sob—and, even then, in my own disturbingly reserved way.

What time is it? I glance at my watch. 07:34. I need to get going.

The thought of leaving him always feels unfair—he's here, I should be here—but I don't want to get Sam in trouble.

"Oh, shoot." My neck snaps up and I catch a glimpse of a young woman backing out of the doorway. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—I just wanted to..."

I brace myself on an end table and pull myself to my feet. "Kelly? Is that you?"

"Hi. Yes. I'm so sorry! I had no idea you were here."

"Yeah, I shouldn't be here." She pops her head back in. "That's on me," I continue. "Not you. There's no reason to apologize."

"Oh." She steps in and runs a hand over her bangs so they form a sharp diagonal line above her brows once more. "Okay. Thank you."

"No, thank you." I glance at Min-joon and realize I'm still holding his hand. I lay it down gently then shove my fists deep in my pockets. "Is there something you need to do in here?" I take a step back, clearing my throat.

Kelly raises an eyebrow at me, but quickly shakes the curious expression off her face. "No. I'm done with my rounds and I finished my last chart. I was just coming to check on Mr. Park, since you'd asked about him earlier."

"Ah." I feel genuinely touched. She doesn't have to do that. I glance down at Min-joon and feel a tiny flash of relief. Nothing's better but nothing's worse. I can't always be here, but he's in good hands. That's all I can ask for now.  "Great, uh, thank you."

"It's no problem." She hovers near the doorway, almost swaying back and forth. "So... should I?" Kelly points at Min-joon. 

"Sure, sure. I'll get out of your way." I pick up my laptop and realize that I'd tossed it aside when I shot out of the chair. What if I'd broken it? My pulse quickens though my heart stumbles. That would've been it. Surely. I would not have been able to recover from that. I carefully slide my laptop into an old messenger bag.

Kelly says, "You don't have to leave—unless you want to."

"Really?" I ask. She nods. "Cool." I let the strap fall off my shoulder and return to my seat, pulling my knees in tight to my chest.

Kelly gets right to checking Min-joon's vitals. For how awkward and hesitant I've seen her in most social situations, she radiates confidence and control in this context. I imagine that's why she enjoys working at the Ward. None of her patients are conscious. Unless some spectator like myself is present, there's no socialization required. 

"He's great," she murmurs. "Perfect condition. You've nothing to worry about right now, but I'll personally let you know if that changes. You have my word."

"Good. Thank you." The tremor in my hands is getting stronger. I fish another thermos out of my bag and take a deep swig. "That makes me feel better."

"Glad I can help." She washes her hands and turns around, leaning against the counter as she dries them off. 

Swirling my coffee around in the shiny metal tube, I start to reflect on our call. "Hey, Kelly?"

"Yeah?"

"Was I a little rude earlier? Sorry. I didn't mean to be but, thinking back on it now, I might have been."

She pauses for a moment, analyzing me. "Truthfully?" I nod. "You were a little short, I guess. But it's not unexpected. People are normally more emotional and, uh... volatile when I have to deliver news like that. So, I'm conditioned to expect far worse." 

"Mmh," I mumble, relieved that I wasn't as much of a dick as I could've been. But shit, I probably was that way years ago.

Kelly tosses the hand towel into a bucket. "Can... can I ask you something?"

"You already have." I smirk. "But feel free to do so again."

"Why do you do it?" Kelly seems to process the words only as they flee her lips. As soon as she finishes her sentence, her mouth falls open, shocked by her own audacity. "Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"No, it's fine." I assure her. "It's been a while since someone else asked me that. I ask myself that question two to three times an hour." I lean back in the armchair, pushing my fingers through my short hair. "You're talking about writing, correct?" I'm almost positive she is, but I want to make it clear that's all I'm comfortable discussing right now.

Kelly nods in response.

I take a deep breath, massaging my aching wrist. "My answer changes all the time. Right now, what I can say is that I despise writing. It is 5% blissful satisfaction and 95% debilitating agony. Still, as uneven as it feels—and as absurd as it may sound—I love writing more than I hate it. It's the cause of immense pain and torment, but I don't think I can stop." I've tried. I glance at Min-joon and feel a twinge of guilt. "I often want to. I know my life would be far easier—or safer, at least—if I could just give it up, but the need to write is a part of me, like some kind of parasite; it preys on my soul, consumes my life essence, and—at this point—it's almost certainly going to kill me. But, even with all that, it's kind of symbiotic. When I write, I can create entire universes. I can immortalize something as fleeting as thought. I can make imaginary people, places, and events real in the minds of millions. It's... it's everything to me. In fact, I'm afraid it's all I am at this point. I'm not me without that wretched, little parasite. If I'm not a writer, what am I? If I can't write... what's left?" I can feel tears starting to gather along my bottom lid. I seal my eyes shut. No. Inhale. Exhale... that's it. You're fine.

"Wow." Kelly is silent for a moment. She holds her chin in her hand and shifts her weight to the other hip. "So, to oversimplify, you write because you're in a toxic—yet somehow symbiotic—relationship with an imaginary brain worm?"

A smile cracks its way across my face. I like her. "Precisely."

Kelly nods. "Good to know." She clears her throat and looks back down the hallway. "Well, I'll let you get back to it. It's been a real pleasure talking to you, Mx. Specter."

"Ody."

"Right. Ody." She chuckles. "Ody and the brain worm."

"Hey," I snap and point at her. "That's got a good ring to it. Might make an interesting short story."

"Well, if it does, I expect a dedication."

I smirk. "I'll remember that."

End of Part 6 of ? • LAST PART • NEXT PART

More Cursed Journey • More by Albie • Image Source

The amazing music video that inspired this:

[welcome-to-the-districts]

Comfort

This the third one-shot for Mike and Greaseball. The fourth one will be posted in a few days. This one-shot takes place after the races in the musical after GB lost. No trigger warnings here. One-shot under the cut.

Mike hurried over to Greaseball’s shed as soon as he heard the news. The one time he listened to Greaseball and had gone home early during the races, the diesel crashed and was in a horrible state. Greaseball had finally been fully repaired and sent back to his shed to rest. He stopped in front of the shed’s large doors before banging his fist against it. Silence.

Mike’s heart skipped a beat at the silence and he quickly pushed the doors open and stepped into the shed. It was dark and he couldn’t see a thing. Yet, he heard something large, no doubt Greaseball, moving around in the darkness.

“Mike?” Greaseball’s voice was soft and hoarse. Mike stood still for a moment, remembering the diesel could pick up his scent, allowing him to identify Mike out of a crowd. It was something that truly baffled the old man. The diesel’s senses were much sharper than a human’s. This was used to prevent accidents and it had been working for many years now, until now.

“Hey, Grease, I heard about what happened. I’d like to check on you.” Mike took a step closer and froze as he heard a soft growl from the diesel. The growl quickly died down to a whine, the silence.

“Grease.. it’s okay. It’s just me. No one else is here.” Mike waited for a response. There was silence. Despite his better judgment, he stepped closer, following the direction the growl came from. His heart sank as he heard a choked sob from the diesel.

“Mikey.. I lost.. I lost the races. I lost everything! It was all I had! I’m nothing without it! All I’ll be remembered as is the champion who lost to a damn shunter. A steamer no less! Dinah was kind enough to comfort me, but.. I didn’t deserve it after how I treated her. She wants to give us another chance, but.. I don’t know if I can do it, Mike…” the diesel trailed off. Mike felt around for a light switch on the wall brier turning it on and the diesel shrank back slightly, shielding his golden eyes from the light with his hands. Greaseball slowly lowered his hands and Mike felt a twinge of guilt for it. He didn’t want the diesel to become uncomfortable, even if it was for just a moment.

Greaseball had obviously been crying. His tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving a trail behind. The diesel sniffled as he huddled by a wall. It reminded Mike of the time when he first met the diesel, broken spirited. Mike cautiously approached the diesel before reaching out to gently take the diesel’s much larger hand into his, only able to wrap his hand around a couple of Greaseball’s fingers, as the diesel was so much larger than him.

“Grease.. that’s not true. You still have me, Dinah, your fans, the passenger service. You have a better life here. Sure, losing is hard, but it’s a part of life. Sometimes you win, other times you lose. There’s always next year if you want to try again. You may have lost the races, but you didn’t lose everything. You still have your gang too. They won’t dislike you just for losing the races. You’re still the Greaseball everyone knows and loves. Dinah clearly still loves you. She forgave you for everything you did. That’s something worth keeping. Grease, you never truly lost hardly anything at all. You’re still a champion in my eyes. You always will be.” Mike smiled softly as Greaseball’s warm gaze turned to the old man. The diesel’s gaze shifted to the floor.

“Are you sure about that, Mikey? Do you really mean it?” Greaseball asked softly with a weak smile. Mike felt a glimmer of hope. That was the Greaseball he knew.

“I mean it, buddy.” Mike replied. Mike yelped in surprise as he felt Greaseball wrap his powerful arms around him and easily lift him up into the air for a hug. The diesel hugged him to his chest and purred softly. The diesel’s embrace was tight, not exactly crushing but tight enough to restrict Mike’s breathing ever so slightly. Mike coughed a few times.

“Grease.. you’re crushing me, buddy.” Mike said between coughs. Greaseball’s eyes widened in realization before he loosened this grip slightly, allowing Mike to breathe fully.

“Sorry, Mike.. didnt realize I was squeezing you so tight.” Greaseball chuckled softly. The diesel was a brute, no doubt about it, easily able to crush Mike with little to no effort if he wanted. However, Mike knew the diesel better. Greaseball had always been gentle and protective of his beloved engineer. However, despite this, Mike had to keep reminding himself, diesels are powerful and could turn on him in an instant. They were predators when need be, but Greaseball had proven himself the exact opposite. The diesel wouldn’t hurt a fly.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Fanfic Snippet

I made Martin cry.

I will not apologize.

(all unedited, not final version, etc. and so forth)

Kayne bothering Martin, who has had the WORST WEEK.

———

Three days have passed.

Three days without Jon.

Three days of feeling like his heart was left back there on the cold, gray beach, bleeding into the sand.

Three days, too, without the Fears being brought into the world, so… that’s good, at least.

Martin wipes at his eyes again. Takes up his notebook and Eloise’s ink.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone,” he murmurs as he writes, trusting Pepper to keep to the road.

“There’s a game I play when I’m alone. Imagined rounds of hide and seek. A call and response, Seeking anew, Seeking another to be so dear.

“There’s a game I play when I can’t sleep, Breaking the rules of time and place. Imagining touch, Imagining you, Unprompted and sweetly divine.

“There’s a game I play when I…”

A tear splashes on the paper, smudging his words.

“Shit,” he mutters, putting the book aside (open, praying it won’t smudge further), wiping at his eyes, gripping the reins. “Shit.”

He almost wishes the Lonely were here in this world so he could retreat into it. He’d still be without Jon, but he wouldn’t feel it as much. Nowhere near.

“Oh, that’s not a healthy thing to think,” he mutters to himself, and wonders again how the hell Jon is resisting the call from all fourteen.

For something to do, he reaches into the back and takes out Kayne’s black book. He still doesn’t know why he was given it.

Now, it says, Patience, my little creme puff, over and over and over again.

“What’s the point of this?” he mutters at it. He’s sure Kayne can hear him. “You’re doing it all wrong, you know,” he informs the book. “I thought you didn’t want the Fears brought here. Well, Jon needs me. So if this is your plan, it’s a really stupid one. Short-sighted, apparently based on… entertainment, or something, instead of the actual issues at hand. I swear, it’s like you actually want the baby tentacle god to win.”

Pepper stops.

“Come on, girl, I don’t have time for this,” Martin mutters, jostling the reins.

Pepper won’t move.

Martin sighs and dismounts. “Of all the days to get stubborn on me, you had to do it right now?” he soothes, wipes his face again, then pets the mule’s. “What’s wrong? Do I need to check your shoes? What’s happening, girl?”

And Pepper says, “Just trying to keep you from being exploded.”

Martin yips and stumbles backwards.

Right into a hard, hot form that is person-shaped, but definitely not a person at all.

Martin leaps forward again.

Kayne laughs. “Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t help it!”

“Wh… leave the mule alone, for the love of god!” Martin says.

“She’s fine, I just borrowed her for a second!” And then Kayne switches the laughter off, like pulling the plug on a machine. “And really, I had to do something to prevent your little self-immolating tirade. That was rude, Martin. Very, very rude.”

Maybe Kayne has trigger-words, too, though Martin isn’t sure which ones he used.

He’s also fairly certain the use of his name is not a good sign, but he’s too miserable to stop now. “Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I wanted your attention.”

“Oh, like burning statements to get my eye, hoping you can survive the fallout? Oh, oh, no, my dear one. All you’ve done is leverage my pride against my ever-present desire to kill you (which, to be fair, I desire to do to everything all the time, but still). Very risky. A dangerous step. I absolutely loved it. Don’t do it again.”

“Don’t give me reason to, then,” Martin says, not even sure why he’s pushing, why he’s toeing the line even further (does he want to be hurt? Is that it?).

Kayne is suddenly right in front of him, hooking one foot around Martin’s ankle to make him fall, and catching him with one hand between his shoulders like a dance partner. He’s so close that Martin can see through Kayne’s eyes into time, space, eternity, nightmare, falling, terror, gravity, inversion, pain -

“No,” Kayne says, slowly, a clear warning. Then he drops him.

Caught in whatever hell spins behind Kayne’s eyes, Martin lands like a sack of wheat, and gets the breath knocked out of him. “You… you said - ”

“‘You said, what do you want, how dare you talk through my donkey,’ wah wah wah,” says Kayne.

And Martin is suddenly not here.

He’s in the Panopticon, cheek stinging from flying debris, staring up at Jon who is so beautiful and so terrifying and so infuriating and -

I didn’t think you’d go through with it! Not without me!

And Martin is horrified at the rage in his voice, at his fury toward his love, at his choking fear that by doing this, Jon might have lost himself, and  -

I can’t believe you’d do this! That you’d leave me like this!

And Jon looks at him and Martin sees Jon is still in there, and that is somehow worse because it means they’ll both have to go survive the consequences, and no one will be spared -

You swore to me! You swore to me, you bastard!

“Stop, please stop!” Martin shouts.

“Hm?” says Kayne, looking up from apparently buffing his nails on his shirt. Then he hits with one more memory.

I knew that you couldn’t help yourself. You never could! I knew you’d lied to me, that you were going in alone!

Tears blur the world. Martin is on his knees, head down. His heart might have actually exploded.

“Lesson learned, muffin?” says Kayne.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. “Go fuck yourself,” he gasps.

“I could, muffin, but I don’t think this planet would survive.”

“Ugh.” Martin manages to stand. He’s shaky; feels like he’s going to throw up. Well, that didn’t accomplish anything, he thinks, and wonders if Anabelle would still think him spider-worthy if she’d seen this little train-wreck.

Kayne chuckles, low.

Somehow, Martin pulls himself onto the cart. His heart hurts so much that he can barely breathe around it.

Kayne leaps. Suddenly, he’s astride Pepper (who does not seem to care), backwards, facing Martin. “You know, though, I’m being unfair? It’s not really your fault I’m in a bad mood. I thought today was the end, after all.”

Martin stares at him. “The end?”

“Mmm, yep. I thought this was it. The end of life as-is, because of course Hastur was going to have his way. But then do you know what happened? Do you? Do you?”

The Fears aren’t here, and Martin knows. “He didn't give in.” Pride lifts his chin. “I told you he wouldn’t.”

“Martin. Martin, Martin, Martin. Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being - ”

“Did he give in before? Is that what happened? Is that why the whole story went swirling like vomit down the toilet bowl? Is it, Martin? Is it?”

Ah.

No. It was not what happened.

Jon hadn’t given in at all, and that was why it went wrong.

Kayne wants him to make the connection, to dig out his trauma, to plug together terrible currents that Martin strives to keep apart. 

But Martin already has done that. He even thought he’d come to terms with what happened.

He’d realized, finally, how depressed Jon had been. How the weight of the whole suffering world had landed on Jon so much harder than it had him, because while even the bits Martin saw were too damn much, Martin could look away.

Jon could never close his eyes.

Martin knows that if he’d listened more, heard what Jon was saying, really understood how low Jon was, he’d have better anticipated what happened.

But he hadn’t. And then Jon drowned in hopeless sorrow, and Jon lied, and Jon decided to end the world instead of waiting to figure it out together, and Martin understands why.

Understanding doesn’t really make it better.

Martin feels like he’s holding a beloved teacup, a thing he treasures above all else, and sees the crack running through it, and doesn’t know how to make it whole. “Look, we haven’t…” He hates how he sounds - small and wobbly and beaten. “We haven’t talked about it, all right? This isn’t how I want to process it, either.”

“Oh, yes, yes, because first it was about keeping him alive, and then it was about stealing eggs for survival, and then it just was in the past, and you moved on, and it’s all okay because nobody would ever talk about it again. I get it! So sad.”

Of all people, for Kayne to understand this so well was deeply unsettling.

Kayne smiles. “Do you know how often I’m wrong?”

“At least once,” Martin says.

Kayne laughs.

Pepper shifts; the laughter bothers her, too, so Martin feels a little less pathetic for hating it.

“I mean, it’s still a given - he will lose,” says Kayne.

“Now, wait a minute - “

“But things got a little complicated today, and I think he’s going to take a much longer time to do it than I thought. Which means this is going to draaaaag ooouut, and who wants that, right?”

“I don’t - ”

“It’s filler. I don’t want filler. Nobody wants to see Goku get his driver’s license. No one wants to watch the Ceaseless Watcher change in response to what your lover becomes. So that means we need a script doctor, you get me?”

Martin feels like ice water just splashed down his spine. “It’s changing?”

“Your beloved is basically immortal, you know. He doesn’t age. Unlike you.”

Was Kayne going to drop bombs with every sentence? “What? Wh… what?”

“So I was already feeling just so depressed at how long this was all going to take, and how ugly it was going to get - but then Hastur cheated.” And the delight that stretches Kayne’s face now makes it anything but ordinary, anything but just some guy, anything but sane and human and recognizable, like some horrible ancient mask of clay being pulled by many hands.

Martin leans back, breathing quickly. He can’t look away. He dearly wants to look away.

“He cheated, so I get an advantage, because that’s the deal.”

Martin knows Kayne wants to be asked. “Ad… advantage?”

In that split second, Kayne is off the mule and into the cart, face an inch from his own.

Martin scrambles sideways and nearly falls off.

Kayne catches him. Suspends him, really, gripping his shirt in one hand like Martin weighs nothing, holding him horizontally over the ground.

Martin freezes.

“I’m sending you that cheat,” says Kayne again, “and you’re going to play from there and make it all interesting for me again. Oh, oh, and since you’ll want a clue - ” He lifts, just a little, impossibly raising Martin’s hips off the seat, leverage meaning nothing. “He’s taken the Archivist to the Dreamlands.” And he lets go.

Martin falls onto the ground.

When he scrambles up, feeling bruised, Kayne is gone.

Pepper flicks her ears.

This was… this was a lot.

He leans against the wheel, trying to process.

So Jon’s not aging. The Beholding is changing. And there is so much Martin hasn’t dealt with.

So much he hasn’t said.

He should have said. Why hadn’t he said?

Because it felt like we had time, he thinks, and wipes his eyes. “I forgive you, Jon,” he whispers. “I already did forgive you. But oh, gods, it hurts.”

He should have said this to Jon’s face.

He hopes he’ll still have the chance.

This crack in the teacup, Martin is certain, can be fixed.

But it’s going to have to be repaired from both sides.