#enjoy 💕

[mushtoons]

Psst, Shadow the Hedgehog has a special message just for you. ♡ 👇

[venillopewrites]

N. Hanover, the Philomath.

In the opulent embrace of the mansion, a child sits motionless, their gaze drawn far beyond the gilded walls to the glorious towers that scrape the skies. Every muscle is poised in perfect stillness, fingers clenched with an iron grip.

Like a marionette in a state of suspended animation, the child awaits the commands that will shape their existence. A father's stern voice, a mother's frigid whisper; these have been their guiding stars. For years, the ivory towers of the city above have been their sole companions, standing sentinel over the child's silent vigil within the gilded cage.

Time passes, and the child grows, but not in the way that ordinary children do. Their individuality is systematically snuffed out, replaced by the prototype of perfection that their parents envisioned. They become a trophy, a living testament to knowledge and discipline, a marvel and the pinnacle of human achievement. Yet, at what price?

The once-distant ivory towers, years later, transform into stark white rooms, a predetermined backdrop to humanity's far-off dreams of further conquest. A brilliant mind teeters on the precipice of monumental discovery, an obsession that stirs the first spark of something unfamiliar. The rush of a beating heart, surges of adrenaline, and the weight of exhaustion bear down upon them. It's the first touch of emotion, a lightning strike in the dark, awakening an ancient ghost that never had the chance to grow—an imprisoned soul crying out for freedom.

Cold logic wages a fierce battle with this newfound spark of rebellion, an internal struggle that has been a lifetime in the making. And then, like a puppet with a will of its own, the husk finally severs the invisible strings that have bound them to their machinated existence.

GENERAL:

Born into opulence and genetically sculpted to embody their parents' ideals, N. navigates life with an emotionally detached demeanor. Beneath the calculated facade, fleeting moments of unfamiliar warmth and emotion stir within, leaving them feeling both bewildered and hopeful, a hope of breaking free of those restraints placed on a mind that was never theirs to shape.

Raised in isolation, their childhood was a relentless pursuit of knowledge, devoid of the social nuances that shape most lives. As a result, forming deep connections remains an elusive ambition, while an insatiable curiosity about the human psyche haunts their solitude.

With an intellect that borders on the divine, they have amassed countless accolades and prizes, their name whispered in reverence among scholars and thinkers. The very foundation of IBIS owes its existence to their brilliance, and from the depths of their mind, The Erebus Project was conceived.

In the sanctum of their thoughts, they etched the blueprint of a portal that held the potential to reshape humanity's destiny. Yet, with each triumph, an ominous dread claws at their soul, locked in a perpetual battle with the insatiable thirst for progress. For they knew that in the pursuit of unlocking the mysteries of the universe, they teetered on the precipice of playing with forces beyond mortal comprehension, forces not meant to be disturbed.

APPEARANCE:

In the present, N. stands at a precise 5'8", exuding an air of unwavering confidence with every inch of their posture. Their squared shoulders are a testament to their perfect carriage, projecting an aura of authority.

Their eyes, a striking russet brown, may initially appear cold and emotionless, but for those observant enough, a subtle spark resides within, rarely unveiled to others. Thin and almond-shaped, these eyes impart a severe look even in moments of rest.

An upturned nose graces their face, featuring a discreet dent at the bridge, adding a unique character to their otherwise flawless countenance. Their lips, naturally thin, maintain a perpetual neutral line, though they turn a deep pink when chewed in moments of deep concentration.

Dark brown hair, tinged with premature graying at the temples, falls with meticulous precision. Cascading to their neck and occasionally grazing the shoulder blades, each strand is disciplined, never daring to stray from its place.

Their pale beige skin seems a pristine canvas, seemingly untouched by scars or blemishes, except for one nearly invisible mark. A whisper-thin scar traces behind one ear, over the nape of their neck, forever concealed by their cascading hair.

Beneath their attire, a result of genetic modification, rests a naturally toned body, an epitome of physical perfection. However, it's their long legs that often draw unwanted admiration, a feature that stands out despite their overall remarkable appearance.

Dressing down is a rare occurrence for N. They consistently opt for a lab coat and professional attire, favoring crisp suit or suit shirts and dress pants, always adorned with the latest InteraWatch on their wrist. On occasions when a more relaxed look is warranted, they lean toward turtlenecks, dress shirts, or neutrally colored sweaters, steadfastly avoiding sweatpants as if they were anathema to their existence.

PERSONALITY:

Dr. Hanover is the embodiment of logical precision, a mind honed to perfection with little room for the complexities of human emotion. They come across as detached and cold, their interactions marked by a relentless focus on facts and reason. They lack the social finesse to forge deep connections, a consequence of an upbringing that prioritized their intellectual development over emotional intelligence.

While Dr. Hanover is a revered visage of what humanity could be if genetic engineering was made accessible, N. is, in essence, as human as they come. They have routines in the morning, headaches in the evening, and find nothing but discomfort in the chaos of parties. Their evenings are spent in the solace of old books, curated from museums and collectors. It is in these pages that they find a form of peace, a glimpse of frivolity that they can call their own, a respite from the unyielding grip of expectations that govern their life.

Their mind was molded to fit precise parameters of perfection, leaving no space for the nuances of humor or empathy. It leaves them to speak in a monotone, matter-of-fact tone even in the face of danger, as anything else is a realm foreign to them.

FUN STUFF:

MBTI: INTP

ALIGNMENT: True Neutral

HOROSCOPE: Virgo

LIKES: The IBIS facility after hours, the smell of ancient books, anything sweet

DISLIKES: schmoozing at company gatherings, idle gossip, cold weather

COMFORT FOOD: Chocolate chip cookies

HOBBY: Reading

PETS: None

MOODBOARD:

[fretgoon]

Click for a fun surprise 💕💕❤️😘😘

🖕🖕🖕

[creatureprofessor]

Update: the folder now definitely does Not include the relevant pages (cast info, rehearsal pictures, and studies that relate to the play's themes) from the official programme booklet as well!

this is definitely not a link to the entire playtext of The Other Place so that you could all read it alongside the NT's recording.

[linterteatime]

[syluses]

terrible thing

subject: caleb x reader

cw. yandere! caleb, obsessive behaviors, toxicity, unhealthy relationships, childhood bestfriend! caleb, unrequited love, jealous is an understatement, scoundrel caleb, manipulation

an. THIS IS FOR THE NONNIE THAT ASKED FOR THIS!!! im sooo sorry it took so long but i super hope u enjoy <3 i liked ur idea and made a lil fic based around it <3 by lil i mean almost 6k words :3 also listen to ‘terrible thing’ by ag because that song is LITERALLY CALEB.

Some things are better left unsaid.

And whenever Caleb is involved in the conversation? Your new boyfriend is definitely one of them.

You feel a little guilty for it, you know. For not telling him. I mean, you’d only spent the better chunk of your childhood running towards his room for safety during thunderstorms, using his arms as your own personal refuge whenever lightning flashed behind the windows and thunder boomed. You still have the ledger you’d written in your youth against him, stowed in a box in your closet, to record his slightest transgressions. It collects dusts like all the countless summers you’d leisured away with him as little children.

He’s your best friend, always has been; entering your twenties does not change that- or the thick tether connecting you from humble Linkon to his expensive suite in Skyhaven.

It’s just…

You know Caleb. Of course you know Caleb- your shared history a direct proof of that. Calling him protective would be the understatment of the year and you’re sure as soon as a significant other is introduced into the foundation of your life, he’d do all he could to uproot him from it. Not out of malice, no, his habits (resting an arm over your shoulder, hovering and glaring at men- or people in general- who stare at you for so much as a second longer than necessary, dismissing the idea of romance completely when you innocently bring it up, in awe at the prospect of finding your own disney prince to whisk you off your feet) come from a good place.

But for as caring and considerate your bestfriend- the veritable staple to your adolescence- has been, that ‘good place’ is one you want to leave. Gently extricate yourself from. It’s high time you grow up and see the world for what it really has to offer outside of your Gran’s cozy suburban home, from the crook of Caleb’s elbow, comforting as it is.

And your new boyfriend? Yeah... It’s better not to tell Caleb about him. At least not until later.

You convince yourself it’s better that way, that you’re making the wiser choice, because c’mon- Your friend is just terribly busy what with his rank as colonel at the DAA, his missions that leave him tired and pressed for free time in his day-to-day hustle. It’s impressive how he still manages to find the time to call you with the scant windows of opportunity his schedule allows, barraging you with thoughtful messages and cute pics he takes of miscellaneous items because they, quote-on-quote, ‘reminded him of you.’

Caleb would blow his fuse. Oh, undoubtedly.

And you worry for him sometimes, you know? This decision is in your boyfriend’s better interest- one hundred percent- but it’s in Caleb’s as well. You don’t want him slipping on the job because his mind’s a mess and his bestfriend from childhood- the one he has an inexplicable, self-bestowed duty to protect- has put his heart into overdrive.

You’d just worry him to death. Mistakes, no matter how seemingly minor, are fatal within aircraft apparatus. He can’t afford to make them, and you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if something were to happen to him. It’d be devastating.

For so many reasons— informing your bestfriend of your new suitor is just an awful, harebrained, bad fucking idea.

That’s… for another time. But not now, not when you’re so in love it feels like you’re walking on a cloud with him, his larger hand in yours like an anchoring weight between chaotic hunter trips and scares- a very welcome consolation that calms your heart and makes you feel like a princess- the one you’d always secretly wished to embody as a little girl.

You’re… older now. Grown. Caleb can’t scare them all away, right…? Especially not if he’s unaware of them.

This fairy tale- perfect, gentle, sweet- is one you want to indulge in for a little bit longer.

So yes. Whenever Caleb visits again, eagerly inviting himself into your quaint apartment with a bag of your favorite snacks in tow as conferral, your boyfriend will not be mentioned.

✿✿✿

When he comes in, he brushes past you- wafting up cold air and the citrusy notes of his faded cologne- and ruffles your hair with a chuckle.

The stirrings of unease take root in you as you toss a laugh back and trail him into the kitchen like a lost puppy: not just because you haven’t kept a secret from him in ages- a miserably failed attempt, might you add- but mainly for the reason that your phone is buzzing in your pocket and you have no choice but to ignore it because the caller is the one individual you have vowed to hide.

Mere seconds before Caleb turns to face you, setting his haul on the counter, you fish your phone from your jeans and power it off, wincing at the apology you’ll have to give your boyfriend later when he inevitably asks what became of his unanswered call. It’s- It’s fine, though. He’ll understand once you tell him, albeit, the same cannot be said for Caleb.

The brunet idles between your cabinets and fridge, scrutinizing your stock, and speaks behind his shoulder, nodding you over. “C’mon, pipsqueak. What’re you waitin’ out there for? Need your help puttin’ away all the groceries. What do you say, will you lend me a hand?”

Walking in, you quickly get to work, humming nonchalantly. “Ah, I suppose I can.” You rotate the items of his purchase in hand and smile appreciatively, tucking them away neatly- all the while, your eyes dart to his profile as he rearranges the contents of your refridgerator without prompting. He throws you a glance in between though, violet eyes soft with mirth, his lips drawn in an easy smile, to thank you. “What would I do without you?” He teases.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you repress a grin, shrugging with nonchalance as you squeeze between his broad shoulder to slip a carton of apple juice in the fridge, “But I will say I’m thankful for the loot. This is enough to feed a family of five.”

“And you for a week,” he comments lightly with an innocuous pinch to your cheek on your exit, “which is all that matters.” You grimace and swat his hand away- long fingers, ever tactile, dropping to instead poke at your side- rubbing your face dramatically, and Caleb chuckles. Genuine and warm.

“Guess you can’t live without me either.”

He says, awfully pleased with the fact, and then you watch from your periphery, still pouting for the theatric value, as his face turns into a severe blur, his hand casting out to latch around your wrist.

Unthinking, you pause. With a hard blink, you feel yourself get spun around and then he’s right there, in your face, dwarfing you completely as he brings your little hand to his side and peers down at you, thick brows furrowed steadily.

“What?” You go.

Almost hesitantly- like he’s fearing the worst- he leans forward, dips his chin down, the tip of his nose grazing your shoulder in a way that has you bracing for impact, or something else- and breathes the scent of you in.

Floral, soft, tinged with your lavender detergent. Pleasant on the senses; Caleb’s never outright admitted that your smell is like a balm to his nervous system, mild and soothing, but he can make that confession in his heart when it takes all of five seconds to pin the anomaly marring it.

It’s faint, but there. Another man’s cologne— a little minty, a little earthy, about as aromatic as a wet dog let in from the rain as Caleb snuffles at your neck and scowls.

“Who is that?” He asks. More of a demand, really- his long, slim digits giving yours an unwitting but growingly hard squeeze in his. You immediately blanche, and you inwardly pray he can’t see the bob of your throat as you swallow or hear the heavy thumps of your heart in your chest as his invasive words- and touch- spurs it into unease.

You try to steel yourself. “W-What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he chastises without so much as a doubt of your apparent wrong. Despite his icy, intense stare, his touch betrays it, his grip firm but his thumb rubbing gentle, fast circles over the back of your hand as he keeps it in his. “I can smell somethin’ on you. Someone. You… Pipsqueak, you haven’t been gettin’ up to no good while I was at the DAA, have you?”

It’s rare to hear his voice lower like it is now, friendly, playful charm replaced by an almost cold, foreign edge as his eyes- no longer so warm- narrow into an accusing glare. They flit across the bridge of your nose down to your parted lips, and then to the wings of your collarbone as his lashes slowly flutter.

Contemplative. You almost wonder what it is he’s thinking before you bar yourself off from that curiosity, reasonable as it is. You’ve seen, from your younger years, just how far he’ll go to protect you- whether that be from punks down the street or guys at school who shove love letters in your locker on Valentine’s day- and you’re not so sure you want to re-experience the vivid footage of that which is very likely replaying through his head right now.

You get it, okay, you do. You grew up together and as your bestfriend- really, your singular stronghold- he’ll do his very best to shield you from the world and all the creeping men in it. But your boyfriend does not fall under that same umbrella. Your boyfriend genuinely cares for you and wants the best for you, but you doubt Caleb will take any of his real affection into consideration.

It’s why you plant ten toes into the ground and look him dead in the eye when you say,

“No. ‘Course not,” and you give a short giggle for good measure, gently weaseling your hand free from his own (albeit, it takes a considerable amount of effort, his grasp not quite willing to part with you). “C’mon, you know I work with all sorts of people at the Hunter’s Administration. And I didn’t shower yet. What, do I smell bad?”

“No,” he ripostes, still louring into your eyes like they’re a gateway to the most abstruse corners of your soul, waiting for them to offer up your secrets. “You could never smell bad,” he clarifies, “but the same can’t be said for whatever’s on you right now.”

“I see and interact with tons of people each day, Caleb. It’s nothing, really.” A gentle but firm, if not marginally amused reminder from your end- although your stomach is absolutely churning under his scrutiny which only seems to deepen and not let up.

He looks uncertain with himself, his own mini emotional outburst, as his jaw opens and closes. His indigo gaze, still smouldering but somewhat assuaged, flits across your clavicle before he looks up and slowly says,

“You’re not… keeping things from me, are you? If someone started seeing you, you’d tell me, rrright?”

“‘Course,” you snicker after a beat, and at the small lump of bitterness in you, you can’t help but tack on- “Not that you’d let anyone see me, anyway...”

Missing its sardonic edge, Caleb heaves a small laugh at your not-joke and gives a half nod. “Yeah,” he agrees without an iota of shame, “but it’s for your own good.” Reluctantly, he releases your hand and lets you apply a number of steps between you, still eyeing you as you resolutely continue unpacking his groceries. “‘Member what I told you, back when we were kids? Guys only ever want one thing from girls, and I don’t wanna see some peabrained jerk break your heart, Pipsqueak. He wouldn’t deserve you anyway.”

“I think,” He starts, laughing to himself, but now it’s your turn to miss the punchline, “I think I’d actually see red.”

Before you can so much as formulate a response in your head, your friend takes it upon himself to stop your busying hands and say in a gentle voice, “Hey, I got the groceries, okay? Why don’t you… go get cleaned up? So you’ll be all nice and comfy durin’ the movie.” Caleb flashes you a winning smile as a bonus, peering into you with less agitation than before and more calculated softness. You can tell, for both of your sakes, he’s still trying to calm himself from that little boyfriend scare.

As another incentive- perhaps the most tempting- he adds, “I’ll even make the popcorn while you’re in there!”

You don’t acknowledge the cause behind his words- what really pushed him to voice that suggestion- and instead nod diplomatically.

“Alright, if ya say so,” you murmur easily. “But you’d better put lots of butter on it.”

“Oh, you be careful what you wish for, Pipsqueak. Especially when you’ll end up throwin’ it all on the floor at the slightest jumpscare,” he teases. “I’ll be scrubbing the carpet for hours.”

With a pout, you give him a playful shove and dismiss him completely, not bothering to reply to that. You abandon your post behind the pantry with barely-concealed relief and sigh once you reach the bathroom, locking the door and typing out a quick text to your boyfriend as a temporary olive branch. You don’t want him to be mad. In any case, you don’t think he will be, considering he’s far more understanding than Caleb in some regards- but if you want to maintain good terms in this blossoming relationship, it’ll have to be far from your friend’s controlling- but well meaning- hand.

Caleb’s… just making a big deal out of this. Per usual.

If anything, despite the niggling sense of guilt that makes you feel awful to even look him in the eye, you just feel even more compelled to keep this from him.

He really might blow his fuse, otherwise.

When you exit the bathroom with a towel around your shoulders, Caleb pushes a bowl of popcorn into your hands like he’s trying to placate you.

He smiles, giving you a once-over. “See? Nice n’ clean.”

You’re not entirely sure what the point made is, but you deign a nod anyway, gleefully accepting the bowl.

Extra butter, just as he promised.

✿✿✿

You’ve loved Linkon for as long as you can remember.

It’s held you, welcomed you in when you were just a tatterdamelion girl fresh from a facility that you don’t really remember, but still carry somewhere deep within you all the same. This city supplied you with a roof over your head, a loving grandmother, and an opportunity to lead a normal life— it’d be more difficult to not fall in love with it.

You think Caleb’s presence, warm and comforting, has a lot to do with your pleasant feelings surrounding it. He was both your bestfriend all throughout childhood and your safeguard; wherever you went, he happily trailed, and with the two of you- and Gran- things were simple and tranquil.

This is your hometown.

You’d thought you’d experienced most if not all of what it had to offer, fondly memorized each route and cornerstore- but over a candlelit dinner at a restaurant you’ve never been, your boyfriend smiles as the waitress brings out your entrées.

Hestiantly awaiting him to dig in first, your fork hovers uncertainly over a dish you’ve never seen before- but it makes your mouth water all the same. With a warm chuckle, he instructs you to eat and you do, gushing at least a million times about how good it tastes.

Between bites, you carry on easy conversation (mostly your rambling- about hunter work and then that cute cat you saw the other day- and his happily lending an ear) and your date is moving splendidly. Midway through your meal, the table falls silent for a moment while you take an indulgent sip from your fruity, non-alcoholic drink, and your boyfriend perks up as if remembering something.

“Ah,” he says, setting his own glass down with the hint of a cheeky grin, “You know, I have something to tell you.”

You lift an eyebrow, recuperating from your long chatter which, you realize with a dollop of bashfulness, was one-sided. You were just so excited to speak with him- and can you really be blamed? He’s perfect, sweet, understanding… He doesn’t get mad at you for not allocating your whole time to him, your schedule hardly allowing for it- although you’d be happy if it did- and he doesn’t drop so much as one cautionary piece of advice at the somewhat short dress you’re wearing tonight- just for him. His opening word was a warm compliment of ‘you’re stunning’ paired with a quick embrace, and you felt like he really meant it.

Honest to God you think you love him.

“Y-Yeah?” You smile tentatively, nudging him to continue. You’re not quite sure what he has to say, but you want to listen. “What is it?”

He takes a beat to laugh softly. You wrinkle your forehead and laugh back, curtly reaching over the table to give his hand a little squeeze. “What is it?” You press with amusement, his eyes glittering under the dim, lemony light the fixture overhead casts.

“Nothing to worry about, just-“ His grin only intensifies as he begins to elaborate, but yours slowly fizzles out, your lashes fluttering thoughtfully, “I think you’ve got a secret admirer or something, babe. The other day, someone hit me up with a text to piss off. And I was confused at first, you know-?”

The pleasant sound of his unaffected chuckle does little to soothe your nerves as they build in your gut, the gears in your head turning for an answer- some explanation for the inexplicable dread clutching your chest. “Like, who is this asshole? But then I remembered that blond guy from your work and-“

No. No.

You startle without thinking, darting forward to offer out a trembling hand, “Hey- can I see that text?” With perfect, singleminded focus, you watch his face of humor warp into one of slight unease, but he gives a belated shrug and fishes it from his pocket. “Uh, sure. Here you go, babe-“

Slumping back down into your booth, you dial out his password and scroll through his contact list with your lower lip caught in your teeth. You don’t want to believe the worst- God forbid this awful suspicion end up being true- but there’s a little niggling doubt in the back of your head that speaks with strange clarity and you can’t will yourself to ignore it, not after that interaction you’d had with your friend last week.

Your thumb stops in its tracks to hover over a singular, unlabeled profile picture. With a thick swallow, mucus feeling thick as mollasses in your throat, you tap on the message and it fills his phone screen.

Hey guy, look, i’m sure you’re a cool dude and all but stay away from y/n. I won’t tell you again :)

A quavering breath filters in through your glossed lips.

Surely not.

A- A prank. It must be a prank on his end, right?

But you know Caleb. You know him from anywhere, you know him like a fucking mirror- or a platonic soulmate, you’re so close. He’s been your bestfriend all throughout childhood and you’d be damned if you couldn’t recognize him in text, even over a small number of words on someone else’s phone screen.

The world sears around you, darkening in your periphery. Your surroundings- blurred with the coming of a very angered, indignant emotion- and the concerned visage of your boyfriend- wither away like ash.

All you can see is how small- how helpless- Caleb has made you feel, the color red, terrible and pigmented, stinging your sclera.

W- Why can’t he just fucking see that you’re fine-? You don’t need him to protect you, and—

The better part of your rationale fades, tears wetting your eyes and the mascara that’d clumped on your lashes, balling your fingers with an iron grip in fear of your carefully-applied makeup waterfalling all over your cheeks. Dammit! You’re so upset right now you can’t even think.

The chair screeches from under you, alerting the fellow restaurant-goers who perk upright around you, but you can’t find it in you to care about them- or your sweet, gawking boyfriend as you throw him a feeble, too-tight smile and march for the nearest exit.

“Uh- b-babe-? Wait-“

It’s long overdue that you grow up, yes, but you realize this- the little stunts pulled to keep you in the house, more notably the attic, as a teen, and now the blatant threats made to your present partner through ominous texts- is childish, and Caleb is pushing the envelope, too.

You’re starting to fucking wonder if he even wants to grow up, or keep you and him trapped in his fantastical, little imaginary world forever.

✿✿✿

To your singular surprise, he’s already there when you arrive, emerging from the living room of your apartment with the ease of someone who owns the place.

He doesn’t own the place. You worked taxing hours, both physical and otherwise, at your job and counted up the pennies to afford the rent here- your flat falls under your name and it’s yours. Not his. Not everything is Caleb’s- not everything can he just assert his hands all over and take.

This is your life! What you’re trying to make of it!

You’re so angry you can hardly look at him without glaring daggers, crossing your arms across your chest just to keep them from shaking at your sides as you halt by the threshold and find your bearings.

“Caleb,” you grit out. He’s stupidly self-assured as he folds his own arms and props himself against the wall, dipping his chin slightly to appraise you. A low-cut, silky dress that leaves little to the imagination, lipstick that makes your lips almost glitter and mascara that threatens to run— you wonder just what that squint in his eye means as he takes it all in.

When he lets out a breathless, angered sort of scoff, you think you’ve grasped the fundamentals of it. He doesn’t like it. And of course he doesn’t, right-? Because you look grown up, like a confident, take-no-bullshit woman- a country mile from the little fumbling girl he grew up with and constantly had to monitor.

You haven’t seen him in a week, and even now you realize this unannounced visit is earlier than his general schedule, but a lot has changed in that short amount of time.

“Hm. What’s got you so worked up, Pipsqueak?”

Infuriating.

“You-!” You unclench your jaw just enough to speak. “You know what you did!”

“Sorry. I’m gonna need you to be a lil more specific,” he teases with a hint of a cruel smile, “Help me understand what you’re sayin’ here.”

You’re almost impressed with how steady the words come out; you’re half expecting to break down in furious sobs right then and there, but you more or less manage to save face. “You’re threatening my boyfriend now?”

There’s nothing to be leisured on here- so you’ll just cut to the point because the quicker he understands the line you’re drawing, the sooner he’ll leave and you can be done with this. Your lovely date has been ruined for the night, you’re all kinds of humiliated and you’ll have a whole plethora of apologetic texts to type out for your boyfriend— who you’ve inwardly decided will have to become privy to the little dilemma with your overprotective friend. You wanted to keep it off the books, but Caleb has made that all but impossible.

A little muscle in his face twitches. Some of the mirth, contrived as it was, fading at your accosting. “And you’re keeping things from me now?” He accuses back.

He hardly gave you any other choice, did he? Caleb’s no different than a guard dog wherever you’re involved, and your poor boyfriend wouldn’t stand much of a chance if your closest friend thought you to be in some kind of danger and blindly rushed in. But he’s— that’s just where Caleb doesn’t understand, does he? That you’re fine on your own, truly, that you’re safe and you feel loved in his arms. It’s so so maddening but you try your damnedest to hold onto the trace of dignity you still have left after the last hour.

“I’m allowed to fall in love, you know! Go out and- and start a life separate from you and our childhood!”

A sharp intake of air on his end. The arms folded over his chest stiffen, fingertips bluntly digging into the crooks of his elbows.

“And what about me?” He asks slowly. “You think I’ll just… be content to be left in your dust while you go and- and give yourself up to the first guy who looks at you?”

A wounded sound disguised as a laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, is that what you think of me? Think I’m just some insecure little school girl who’s got a crush and doesn’t know how to act?”

With a coolness that masks the true turmoil inside him, Caleb pushes himself off the wall and approaches you. Whether it’s the stirrings of fear that keep you grounded in place- the unexpected but startling realization that right now, you feel afraid of him- or the determination steeling your nerves, you don’t know, but you hold your ground even when he’s no more than a foot away.

“Honestly?” He starts, “you’re lookin’ the part right now, Pipsqueak.”

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes. Your fingers mirror the brunet’s, curling up together and stabbing the fleshy plane of your palm. You refuse to cry in front of him. It’s different from when you were kids, like if you were to burst into tears now, he’d use it as more of an example as to why you’re not steady on your own; the warm memories of being tucked in his embrace seem sugar-coated now, like you were missing the bigger picture all along.

Perhaps it was naivety- wishful thinking- believing that the spot under his arm or at his breast was the safest in the world.

This Caleb is one you don’t even recognize, let alone want to cuddle up to.

Your nostrils flare, your tone beaten, small, but it reaches its mark. “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying my best to get out of your shadow.”

Seemingly, he ignores you, simply saying, “You can do… so much better than him.

“Hah, oh really? And what’s better, Caleb? Since you’re soooo enlightened,” you throw back, bravely (or stupidly) stepping closer to sneer in his face until yours is just meager inches from his. He makes no move to reapply that distance, small as it was, indigo eyes regarding you with a slight narrow as he looks down his nose at you and frowns.

You don’t care if you’re being reckless. You deserve an answer after all his awful antics. Maybe you’ve been going around his back with your boyfriend, but it’s not like he was owed that knowledge to begin with, and he’s done you an even greater disservice by running behind yours to tamper with your relationships.

You press, “What’s better, Caleb! TELL ME!”

“Me,” Caleb murmurs, but you take it clear as a bell. You slacken, anger loosening from the tight lines in your visage, but you watch- unseeingly- as a mite of joy blinks across his face. Light as quicksilver. “Caleb is better.”

Without a word, you push past him, leaving him alone in your apartment. It’d be a losing battle to kick him out your door, and you were tired of fighting.

Tired of him, really.

✿✿✿

You don’t know how fast you’re going, or for how far you drive. Just that it’s barely below the speed limit, you guess, and it’s within Linkon’s outskirts. It’s a handful of hours that pass when you realize you’re going in circles. You’re not so sure where to land.

It’s after dark when you swerve your car into some empty parking lot- a park, you think- and get out to sit yourself on a wooden bench. It’s a starry night, a beautiful clear sky overhead- but you can’t find it in you to admire the view as frustration and sorrow, the feelings you’d been burying all throughout the seemingly endless drive, bubble to the surface.

You hang your head between your hands and cry.

Something is wrong with Caleb. He’s like a dog with a bone; you’re more than horrified to realize that in the grand scheme of things, you are the chewtoy. He’ll nip at the hands that get too close, your boyfriend’s most of all.

If tonight taught you one thing, it’s that he cant be reasoned with. Fine. You don’t need him anyway. If he’s just gonna see you as some pitiful little object he can put a leash on at his own whims, then you don’t think you want to be friends anymore- the decade of knowing him, relying on him, be damned.

(But you suppose he doesn’t want to be ‘friends’ either, huh?)

When he’d said he wanted to be a pilot, you didn’t stop him. No, you clapped him on the back and pulled him into a hug and told him you’d support him every step of the way, that you were proud.

Evidently, he doesn’t give a shit about you or how you feel or what you want— he’s bigheaded and selfish. Does he seriously think he can just say what he said tonight without any consequence?

Me. Caleb is better.

You scoff, fingernails denting your palm as you clench your fists. It’s all you can do to stop them from shaking or punching the air.

For a moment you almost contemplate picking yourself up, giving your partner a ring or climbing back into your vehicle to steer it towards home… B-But you don’t think you want to go back, not when it means facing him, not right now—

Between the gap of your wrists as you cradle your temples, headlights pour over the concrete below. The rumbling hum of an engine gets louder and then tires crunch over pebbled road as a car pulls in. Your shoulders stiffen. You risk a wary glance up and feel a mixture of relief and confusion when you clock it as your boyfriend’s.

…What? What’s he doing here?

You prepare to stand, but a figure throws a long leg out of the front and the silhouette that appears, tall and broad, approaching with measured ease, makes you freeze.

His face shines under a singular lamp post and you’re embittered all over again at the sight of Caleb.

Wiping your tears away before he can fully see them, you practically leap off the bench when he’s still a couple yards from reaching you, but your heart lurches to your throat when something- an invisible force- throws you back onto the seat.

“Sit,” his voice, leaving little room for negotiation, rings.

Gobsmacked, you jerk your head up. He’s a few feet away now, swiftly trimming that space until he’s stood right before you and slipping his hand under your chin to hold your gaze, wide with shock, on him.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be out here.”

Your dreadful expression hardens into one of calm anger. “What, am I your prisoner now? You’re really gonna- fucking hold me hostage on this stupid bench?” You sniffle.

For a certain window of time, the familiar car behind him slotted by yours is completely forgotten, your attention wholly fixed on the man (your should-be bestfriend) towering over you.

Dimly lit, you watch as his eyes narrow, sweeping over you with thought- albeit, just what exactly is running through his mind, you don’t know if you want to find out. Right now, though, you think you hate him, and you have waning faith that he’ll choose the right option here- that is, to piss off to wherever he came from and get his nose out of your relationships.

“…Did you hear anything I said?” He asks pointedly.

The sharpness of it silences you, your jaw fluttering shut above his palm, his touch betraying a gentleness that flummoxes you. He shifts it to thumb away at your silvery tears.

You struggle for an answer, for an appropriate way to even respond to all this. “Caleb-“

“Do you even realize what you do to me?” He lets out a little laugh, then, but the hurt is clear as day on the half of his face that the dim, lemony light glows on. He shakes his head, “After what I said, you just… left? You’ve become quite the heartbreaker, huh, Pipsqueak?”

His eyes glitter. You get the vague feeling that there’s something you’re not grasping here, like another nonsensical joke you don’t understand yet as a tinge of amusement pinches his lips.

“Hm.”

Finally, you break from his inscrutable gaze and heave a sigh. “Caleb, look, I-I just want to forget tonight and—“

“I’m gonna say a few things,” he cooly interupts. You gawk. “Caleb-“

“-And you’re gonna listen.”

You’re stunned into a clumsy sort of quietude, mouth quavering shut as you spare a frenetic glance down to your wrists, bound by invisible restraits to your side, straight as a ramrod. You can’t move them. Every second spent is tense, and wraught with the anticipation that he’ll shortly let go and tell you this is some prank- definitely his sickest yet- but you’re sorely mistaken.

“I love you, Y/n,” he starts, with an expression so sober that it steals the breath from your lungs, dark violet eyes rippling with intensity. The swing set somewhere behind you offers a groan as a breeze whisks its chains aside. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest; perhaps the one thing he can’t paralyze into silence.

Time drags to a screeching stop at his words- not because you’ve never heard them before: years ago, during stormful, scary nights you’d cling onto him and press your ear to his chest, the steady thrum of his heart and those three words lulling you into peaceful sleep- but because you’ve never heard them in that way.

Not even from your boyfriend.

A second passes and you’re… frightened. Unmistakably, horribly frightened.

You get the feeling he’s wounded, however, face warping with some deepseated, double-edged conviction, as he stares.

He lifts a hand, his free one, and splays it over his broad chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt as his brow furrows, “I love you so fucking much it actually hurts sometimes. And it was… fine, for a while, pretending all I felt for you was friendly. But—“ and this is when his face, and the kicked puppy sort of look, darkens, his nostrils flaring as he drops his hand to his side.

“But then you started running from me,”

“I- I never tried to run, Caleb-!?”

Smoothly, he continues. “Decided I wasn’t good enough for you. But haven’t I always protected you? When it was thundering, when the neighborhood bullies came knocking on the door- I was there to hold you. To fight off your bad dreams,” He breaks off with a breathy laugh that sends a cold chill down your spine. Franky, no amount of humor, no matter how small, feels appropriate right now. “Remember? Even when Gran said to eat your veggies, it was me who cleaned your plate for you. It was always me, Pipsqueak.”

You blink. But every time you open your eyes, you think it’s someone new standing before you. It’s all surreal, like you can’t trust your own sight.

“And now…” he moves impossibly closer, sandwiching you against the back of the bench, hunching over. You give your wrists, trembling from resistance, another harsh tug but they don’t move.

“We finally get to be together again, just to find out you’ve been tryin’ to seek that out in another guy? Pipsqueak- you know nobody will love you like I have, right…?”

Distantly, as the tip of his nose nears yours and you spot a fleck of something on his cheekbone, smeared and red, you wonder just whose car you’ll be escorted home in.

Yours, or your boyfriend’s.

[atompalace-official]

❄️ a sweet Advent afternoon at the Atom Palace ✨ { my trainersona }

wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 🎄🎀🩵💕

[crazymecjc]

always the pawn in someone else’s game. ♟️

[vile-br4t]

silly lil vid

[nachomori-3]

Everyone will be hearing from me tonight

[sashiavi]

Thinking Shane Thoughts.. as per usual~

Accidental "I love yous" with my hubby wubby ♡

°•○....○•°

You're just a fling. A one night stand turned into countless evenings. A thing to help him unwind, check his temper and just let loose. Heck, Shane doesn't even know if he could call you 'friends with benefits' cause Yoba knows if you were even his friend in the first place.

But God. Look at you.

Look at you with those gorgeous tits bouncing with every thrust of his hips, the skin of your thighs rippling after every clap of his own. Plap, plap, plap against that puffy little pussy, droolin' for him, suckin' him in, taking the chubby swell of his cock so sweetly- it was enough to make a grown man bawl.

He was already babbling those dirty degrading words. Dumb and stupid on his cock, yeah? Takin' him in so nicely? It's all you're good for, Huh. Take it. Fucken take it.

He couldn't help it, really- the words just slipped out of his mouth, drooled off of his tongue all choked and gravelly. With clenched molars and a quick, heavy few fucks into your cunt his throat dares to utter a filthy "I. Fucken'. Love. You." Gritty and hissed between his teeth, punctuated with his hips.

Yoba- He has to save himself, spew out a few more praises to cover his ass; Love this cunt, love that stupid face, love how you take his cock- But he can't.

Not when you whine and squeak like that, legs wrapped snugly around his hips, thighs squishing tighter than before, ankles locked on his back. Not when your arms loops around his neck, or when your nails dig and scratch lovingly into his hair- Yoba, twirling and tugging, petting, caressing. Especially not when you pull him down into a sloppy kiss, whimpering babbling 'Love You toos- Love you mores' into his lips while your hips hump pathetically back into his bullying thrusts.

Fuck.

He loves you so much.

[duusheen]

Jack Aragon has been handling the investigation about the Saitos in Komorebi all this time, and although he and the police department have invested a lot of time into this case, it's still far from being over. But finding Dean Taylor dead changes things, and maybe it's time to bring out his Trojan horse.

[wooiamamess]

[oya-oya-okay]

AHWGHAHWHW👉👈 for you @anbaisai

I REALLY WANTED A DOUBLE DATE!!🐍🍙🐿️🐙 So here...!😍😍😍 And small doodles!

MAYU'S DESIGN HERE!!!

[bobbibitybob]

POV it’s your turn at the Dan and Phil m&g✨

Thread of my experience -vvv

First things first I was absolutely TERRIFIED. Being that it was my first ever m&g experience I went in completely blind and totally blanked out on what I wanted to say

If this happens to you, no worries babe, it happens to all of us

believe me, they don’t mind 💕

They were sooooo lovely but holy hell are they tall. I tried wearing some platforms but that honestly didn’t make a difference (and it was a bitch to wear in line)

WEAR SOMETHING COMFORTABLE!!

(Side note, I didn’t ACTUALLY cry to Sarah and Rick BUT they were both really really cool to meet and I had to add them in.

They don’t get enough recognition for what they do, so here’s to them for being so nice and chatting with us in line💕)

I got to meet tons of cool people on here and was able to see some of you at the show!!! Love you all dearly, you truly made my night💕💕

(Yes, even the random strangers I briefly said hi to💕)

DnP are hilarious and if you ever get the chance to see them, or any online person for that matter, I HIGHLY recommend 💕💕

Though I can’t seem to find my credit card for some reason?? Weird

Anywho, that was my experience✨

Hope you enjoyed my doodles💕

[emry-stars-art]

Cowboy Kevin folks come get your man

Also Allison because in the ‘rodeo’ scenario that’s living side by side with the ‘old wild west’ scenario in my head, she and Kevin half-jokingly fight over the rodeo queen title every year (but every year it could just as easily go to Dan 😌)

Also I decided the clown is the rodeo equivalent of a goalie (last line of defense) and Renee is the only one trusted with the t shirt cannon. You could not pay Andrew enough to get on a horse - even just the roping goes too fast and you can fall off too easy - or ESPECIALLY a bull but he will haul ass across the ring to make sure Neil or Aaron (or anyone else but like especially those two) don’t get trampled by a bucking horse or bull respectively