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#also the fact i have to wait for a train back home again and cannot plan this at all because idk how long I'll be in the office

copper-16 · 2 months

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You Can Do This

Mapi for the life of her, cannot find Bagheera. The cat is in a place where the Spaniard and Norwegian least expect her to be.

(a/n: this is a mix between fluff and just a little bit of angst that is easily soothed. This is kind of introducing a theme about Mapi's specific struggles with becoming a parent, that is a topic I want to talk about and explore more in future stories about these three. Also, wanted to write some Bagheera/Elena content for @acornsquish, ofc :)

Mapi really, really hated waking up her wife when she did not need to.

Ingrid was notoriously grumpy in the mornings, especially before she had her coffee, so the thought of getting the Norwegian up and knowing that she would likely be annoyed with Mapi for the rest of the day was not an enticing thought for the brunette.

But the Spaniard also didn’t know what to do, because for the life of her she cannot find Bagheera anywhere.

Mapi prided herself on knowing the cat well. She had been here before Ingrid, before Elena, and she had been the Spaniard’s ever since she was just a tiny kitten. The defender loved the cat with her life, and she was sure that she knew her well enough to know all of her hiding spots.

The nook behind their kitchen table, behind the big armchair in the living room, under the TV in their bedroom.

So when Mapi got up this morning to take Bagheera to the vet and hadn’t been able to find her, she had checked all of those hiding spots first. She was sure that the cat was somewhere in one of those, simply hiding from the crying from Elena that would start up soon enough when she awoke.

The poor cat tolerated the baby, but she wasn’t exactly a huge fan of her either. Mapi and Ingrid were careful to keep the two relatively separated, not wanting Elena to accidentally pull at Bagheera’s tail or something like that.

And for the most part, the cat stayed away without having to be told. She wasn’t a huge baby person, evidently, and Mapi couldn’t really blame her. She hadn’t exactly been bringing a bunch of babies home in the past, to be fair.

But Elena wasn’t leaving, and neither was Bagheera, so the two learned to coexist peacefully, away from one another.

Bagheera wasn’t in her cat tower, or in the nook behind the kitchen table, or by the armchair, or their bedroom. In fact, Mapi couldn’t begin to find the cat in the whole damn apartment.

As the time of the cat’s vet appointment drew nearer, Mapi finally broke down, deciding that she needed to wake Ingrid up to help her look.

“Ingrid, Ingrid!” Mapi whispered harshly, slightly shaking the Norwegian’s leg from her spot at the foot of the bed.

“Mmm, go back to sleep Maria,” Ingrid mumbled sleepily, turning back into her pillow. Mapi swallowed thickly, looking around as though the cat would suddenly appear, and then squeezing her wife’s leg harder when she didn’t.

“Ingrid!” She tried again, and apparently her voice was panicked enough that she got the dark haired woman up, the Norwegian blinking several times before looking up at her wife, who appeared more than a little frazzled.

“What? Is something wrong?” Ingrid was suddenly very awake, wondering if there was something amiss with the baby. The next words out of her wife’s mouth are not, however, what she expects, given how panicked the Spaniard is.

“The cat is missing!” Mapi hissed, and the dark haired woman’s whole face scrunched in confusion.

“The cat is what?” Ingrid repeats, her words slightly slow as she struggles to follow the brunettes train of thought.

“The cat is missing!” Mapi echoes, looking around again.

“Mapi, she’s a cat. She’s not missing, she’s somewhere in this apartment,” Ingrid reasoned with far too much sureness for someone who wasn’t abreast of the current situation.

“No, I’m telling you! I’ve looked in all of her usual spots, and she’s not anywhere! You need to help me look, I have to take her to the vet,” Mapi insisted, not waiting for Ingrid’s answer before she walked out of their room, her steps hurried but quiet, well aware that their six month old baby was still very much asleep.

Ingrid let out a heavy sigh before she slipped out of bed, running a comb through her hair and brushing her teeth before she joined her wife in her quest to find their cat.

Together, the two Barcelona players scoured the living room and kitchen, trying to find the black cat. When they didn’t find her there, they moved into the dining room, and then their bedroom. It was Ingrid who finally decided that they would check the one place that they were sure Bagheera wouldn’t be in.

Elena’s room.

The baby was six months old, and entirely the light of their lives.

Bagheera’s life? Not so much.

But Ingrid drags her wife down the hallway, despite the Spaniard’s insistence that there is no way Bagheera would be caught dead in there.

The Norwegian pays her no mind, pushing the door open and walking into the room. She looks around, at the changing table, the rocking chair they have in her room, in the closet.

But it’s Mapi who finds the cat first, her jaw flopping open in shock.

“Ingrid,” she whispers urgently, moving toward the crib. And sure enough, there was Elena sleeping peacefully, with Bagheera wrapped around her. The black cat looks completely content and happy, more than willing to just sleep with the baby. Elena’s little fist is resting on the cat’s belly, and her face is turned toward Bagheera, even in sleep.

The entire cat’s body is curled around their baby, her body wrapped around the baby’s head, her head laid gently on the mattress.

Even the cat’s tail is laid over the baby’s body, resting lightly against her little belly. It’s the cutest thing Mapi’s ever seen in her entire life, and she quickly takes her phone out to snap a picture as Ingrid joins her at the crib side.

“Who knew,” Ingrid hums softly, her voice affectionate at the sight in front of her. The two appeared entirely enraptured with one another, and Mapi felt bad about disrupting their peace.

“I should take Bagheera, her appointment is in a bit and I don’t want us to miss it,” Mapi said forlornly, but she reached down to grab the black cat regardless, knowing that they really did need to go to the appointment.

Bagheera limply allowed herself to be lifted, her eyes opening as her owner lifted her from the crib she had been occupying. She allowed herself to be maneuvered with little fuss, but the disruption was less than ideal for Elena, apparently.

The baby began to fuss almost immediately, missing the comforting presence of the cat that had come to be a common presence in her crib at night, unbeknownst to her mothers. The little baby reached out for the cat instantly, looking for fur and warmth. Mapi placed the cat on the ground before she returned to the baby, her face knitted in concern at the clear unhappiness on her daughter's face.

The Spaniard looked over at her wife with big, worried eyes. She made no move to reach for Elena, despite the fact that she was now crying.

“Ingrid,” she prompted, looking down at the baby with an expression akin to fear. The Norwegian softened, knowing why Mapi was so concerned.

Ingrid had been the one to deliver her, and subsequently the one who stayed home with Elena the first few months of her life. Becoming a mother had been natural to Ingrid, and she was quite good at it. She knew how to soothe, and swaddle, she had since she was a young girl. The Norwegian had slipped into the role of mother seamlessly, unlike Mapi.

The Spaniard had not grown up around babies at all, really. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to or used to, and Elena was practically the first baby she had ever handled, apart from the odd ten minutes when she had been passed a baby who belonged to a distant relative at a family reunion or wedding.

Throughout Ingrid’s pregnancy, Mapi had spent more than her fair share of fretting about what her relationship with her daughter would look like. Would she be close to her, would she come to understand what her baby needed, would they bond. She wasn’t the one to carry her child, but that didn’t make her love Elena any less, right? It didn’t make her any less hers, did it?

“You are her mother too, Mapi,” Ingrid reminded the center back, not because she was chastising her, but because sometimes those were the words the defender needed to hear.

She was ashamed to admit it, but it had been six months and she still wasn’t sure that she felt connected with her baby. When Elena cried she didn’t know what to do like Ingrid did, she just panicked. The baby didn’t look like her, or feel like hers. She saw so much of Ingrid in her daughter, and she loved that very fact, but she also ached to feel close to her. It felt like she was playing pretend, like she was a fraud.

But she wasn’t, and Ingrid was always there to remind her of that fact.

“I am going to get changed and take Bagheera to the vet. Why don’t you spend some time with her this morning?” Ingrid suggested, noting the panic that immediately flashed across her wifes face. She placed a comforting hand on Mapi’s shoulder, her words sure as she spoke once again.

“You can do this Mapi. She is a baby, not a nuclear bomb. Hold her, check her diaper, feed her and snuggle with her. I know you know how to do that, and you can do this. I believe in you,” Ingrid promised and it took her a moment but Mapi nodded eventually, her face still a little worried, but holding more confidence now after the pep talk from her wife.

The center back went to get a bottle prepared while Ingrid changed, getting Bagheera into her carrier before she returned to the kitchen, back to her wife.

“If anything goes really wrong, you can always call me,” the Norwegian soothed, kissing the Spaniard sweetly before she slipped out the door with their cat, leaving Mapi alone with their daughter.

With renewed determination, the brunette went back into Elena’s room. She quickly changed the baby’s diaper before giving her a bottle. But even after that, and being burped, the little baby was still fussy.

Mapi bounced her gently, unsure of what to do. The baby just wouldn’t settle, and she found herself beginning to panic, not knowing what the next step was in trying to calm her.

“Okay, what would Ingrid do? What would your Mama do, mi sol?” Mapi asks the little baby, receiving nothing but a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a cry. She holds Elena tightly to herself, feeling on the verge of tears, the overwhelming feeling in her gut being one of failure.

This was her daughter, and she could not make her feel better? Could she not soothe her own child?

She felt like a rotten parent. The brunette looks down at the little baby, at the tear tracks that run down her cheeks, at the wetness of her little eyes as she stares up at the defender. She feels a renewed sense of determination to make the baby feel better. It hurt her heart to see her upset, and she wouldn’t stop trying to make her happier until she had exhausted all of her options.

“Come on,” Mapi decides, walking out of Elena’s room and back into her own, sitting down on the large bed. She carefully places Elena on her back on the bed, ignoring the shrill shriek that she receives in response, in favor of first stripping her own shirt, and then her daughter out of her little onesie.

Mapi lays back against the bed, sitting up against the headboard. She settles Elena on her chest, and is genuinely shocked by the speed at which the little baby settles, melting into her mother as her cries subside almost instantly. The baby's body is warm against her own, and her little limbs relax until she is completely limp and cuddled against the Spaniard.

The brunette brings her hand up to rub soothingly over the baby's back, and Elena lets out a relieved puff of air at the feeling. Mapi feels herself exhale a breath she hadn’t realized that she was holding as her daughter snuggled into her.

Elena waves one of her arms, making a little grabby fist at Mapi’s other hand that was not currently on her back, and the Spaniard brings it up, allowing her daughter to grasp her pointer finger in her tiny fist, holding it tightly to her chubby body.

“I’ve got you, mi sol,” Mapi promises, her voice thick as she drops her head to place a kiss to the crown of Elena’s head. As much as she is worried about bonding with her baby, she knows that there is no shortage of love that she feels for her daughter.

She would happily go to the ends of the earth for her little girl, no matter what it took. She can’t imagine not loving Elena, not having her in her life. And it’s moments like these, with her daughter completely relaxed into her chest, completely content, that remind Mapi that she can do this.

Progress is not linear, and neither is being a parent. At the end of the day she loves Elena, and she would do anything for her safety and happiness.

And that is enough.

#mapi leon #ingrid engen #ingrid x mapi x daughter #barcelona femeni #woso

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lola-bunn1 · 1 year

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❥ a/n: saw a lot of people going around tumblr with this idea so i thought i'd give it a try! hopefully this doesn't suck ok bye

Toruk Makto is a mighty warrior, he was known across the entirety of Pandora. A lot of women saw him as a fine young man, so why out of all of them, you were the one eywa picked.

He had come over with Tsu'tey to see you, Tsu'tey told him about you and how the olo'eyktan needed a woman with him and spoke highly of you.

You sat with them quietly until your mother finally broke the news right in front of them

"No! I do not like him! I cannot just-"

"Y/n! Have some respect, he is olo'eyktan. You should be grateful."

You looked to him and he just looked away, you shook your head and left, ignoring your mother's calling.

You didn't want any of this. You wanted to fall in love, choose a mate that also wanted you. You wanted to find a mate in your own time, what did you do so eywa can do this to you?

You heard footsteps behind you, you quickly turned, pulling your knife out in defense

"Whoa there" It was none other than Jake, raising his hands up, "Relax, it's just me"

"I do not want to talk to you" You sighed and sat back down

He sat next to you, "Look, I know this isn't exactly ideal to you. It isn't to me either, I didn't even know I needed a mate. Thought I would just be...whatever, you know?"

"What does be whatever mean?" You questioned, reminding him of the fact that you don't share the same lingo

"I mean...like I would just be there, without having to find a mate or something, just live my life" He explained and you sighed

A moment of silence filled your ears

"I thought that too..." You spoke, "I wanted to find a mate...but on my own terms."

"Alright, listen" He said and looked into his eyes, "I know you don't like me and no offense but I share the same feeling, so we can just...live. We don't actually have to like each other, you get it?"

You nodded

A few days later, you got married. The two of you haven't mated, just got married.

It was hard. When he first talked to you that day, when he was being understanding of your feelings, you thought something could work. But after the second you got married, it felt you were a box he checked off his list.

He was never home, he barely talked to you, you were at Tsahik training most of the time. But whenever you were both true, he would still avoid you.

You were in a loveless marriage and it sucked, it sucked and it hurts.

Not just that, but there were rumors, rumors of him and Neytiri. That he loved her, and he was chasing after a mated woman.

So to sum it up, not only were you in a loveless marriage. But you were also in a loveless marriage with an unfaithful husband, you hated the moment you agreed to marry him.

The hope you had for this marriage to work was gone. He acted as if you didn't exist, so you do the same. You focused on your Tsahik training, you hung out with your friends more often, you did your own thing.

One day, you came home late to see him sitting there, waiting for you. You ignored him and put your stuff away

"Where were you" He said, not even bothering to look at you

You didn't answer and began making dinner

"I'm talking to you"

You ignored him again and went to get the food but he grabbed your wrist and turned you to him

"Answer me" He said sternly

"I was out in the forest with my friends" You said, pushing his arm away and going back to doing your thing

"That's it? You're not gonna say anything? I've been waiting here for hours"

"Oh you've been waiting for hours?!" You yelled, turning back to him, "I've been waiting for weeks! Weeks, Jake! You're never home, you don't talk to me, you act as if I am not there but the second I do something wrong you act like the victim?!"

He went quiet

You sighed and wrapped the food before you felt arms around your waist, you pushed them away and turned to him, seeing the look in his eyes

"I'm sorry" He said in a sincere tone, "I'll do better, I promise, baby."

You blinked at the nickname, and slowly put his arms around you again, and went back to making the food

You two had dinner together, talking about what you did that day, you updated him on your training, and he updated you on his. As you two talked, light touches were shared, and went you went to sleep, you fell asleep in each others arms

You began letting your guard down, something you've never done. You saw each other more often, you actually acted like yourself around him and he enjoyed it, you would go out at night in the forest, watching the stars together, joking together, laughs echoing through the forest

You had never felt this sort of connection with anyone, he made you feel comfortable, safe, you liked being around him, you were no longer married to a stranger

That was until you were at Tsahik training, on your way there, you heard mutters and mumbles, one of your friends suddenly stopped you.

"What's going on?" You asked

How could you be so stupid.

Later that day, you were at home, making some beads for your hair in silence, you felt lips to your cheeks before you moved away, Jake looked at you in confusion, leaning down to kiss your cheek again before you moved once again

"How was your day?" He asked you, dismissing what you did, you didn't answer

He was about to speak again before he heard a sniffle, his eyes widened

"Hey..." He said, touching your shoulder before you pushed him away and got up, turning to him

"Do not touch me, Jake Sully!" You yelled, his eyes softened at your sight, he had never seen you cry, you were a very tough person

"What's wrong?" He asked

"I do not know how I was so foolish to fall for your tricks"

"What's going on?" He asked again

"I should've known better than to marry a man who was after another woman."

"Wait...what?" He asked

"Why did you marry me, Jake Sully?" You asked

"I..."

"You married me to make Neytiri jealous, didn't you?!"

"Hey-no"

"I should've known" You fell on your knees, sobbing, he rushed to comfort you but you tried pushing him away

He grabbed your face, you put your hands on his wrists

"Listen to me, please" He spoke, wiping your tears, "I...I did like her, alright? But that was in the past! I don't like her anymore"

"Just leave me alone..." You sighed

"No-"

"You were right, Jake Sully. We do not have to like each other, we can be married without having that-"

"But I don't want that!" He yelled, "I lied, okay? I like you I...what's that thing, oh yes- I see you. I see you, y/n please listen to me"

"You do?" You said

"I don't want Neytiri, I don't want anyone else, I just want you, y/n." He spoke, "Please tell me you see me too, please." He said, noticing your quiet state

"I see you too...Jake Sully" You said

He kissed you, feeling your soft lips against his, the two of you grabbed your braids, and looked to each other before finally bonding them

You felt each other, his heartbeat, your breath, everything

You touched foreheads, "I am with you now, ma Jake"

Good, because he never wants to let you go.

#jake sully x reader #jake sully #jake sully x you #jake sully x y/n #jake sully fanfiction #jake sully fanfic #jake sully imagine #jake sully fluff #jake sully headcanon #avatar fanficiton #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar 2009 #avatar imagine

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oh-saints · 11 months

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short

you had to go away for work immediately after the final match of the season was concluded. but now that you’re back, ben cannot wait to celebrate his win with his (rather) short girlfriend.

benjamin pavard x you

tw: soft sex with a bit of foot fetish

wc: 1.6k

prompts: “height gap” + “celebratory sex” + benji’s post-workout shirtless ig story

note: another one for the smut week! a rather short one this time but this is based on three asks here. pls also bear in mind this is 18+ content therefore minors DNI! and as usual, I happen to write at dawn so it’s not beta-read yet.

“you really should stop doing that.”

ben was rolling his quads on the foam roller under the bright sun in his backyard, warming down after a rigorous season they were having—thanks to dortmund’s admirable fight throughout the season. now that the season was done and over with, ben could opt in some slow days of training, just enough to keep him in shape.

the footballer looked up, catching the glimpse of his girlfriend standing by the door, still clad in her blazer, arms folded neatly. ben smiled at the sight—partly because he was glad you were back, partly because of the scowl in your face. you’d never appreciated when he worked out in the backyard, exposing his shirtless self to the rest of the world when it was meant to be only for her eyes’ consumption only.

“it’s bad for our health you know, you working out like you wanna fuck the yoga mat,” you clicked your tongue disapprovingly. “especially to our vagina.”

ben had to laugh at your comment. you always had the knack to be unfiltered, and strangely it was what drew him into you. in this blitz industry, a no-nonsense presence is always going to be appreciated.

“remind me again what does it do to you woman?”

“why don’t you come in and find out?”

and there was the persona ben loved the most about you. always so daring, always so challenging. it always kept him on his toes, on the ground, reminding him that there was always someone with a higher drive to survive the jungle.

the fact that you were wearing his favourite pair of stilettoes didn’t help either. in fact, that determination and those heels combined was actually a sight that was dangerous to ben’s health, body and soul. the backs of your heels arched in the ways only your body could replicate, damn what a sight to behold.

ben stopped his workout sequence altogether, feeling his cock hardening both at the sexy sight and the friction the foam roller was providing. he knew he needed his fix—real fix, not just this crappy piece of rubber shit—something you hadn’t been giving him post-winning the league because you had to go to london, promising a private celebration was in due as soon as she landed back home.

the player walked closer to you, and your smirk grew along the hardness of his cock, palpable enough through his shorts. and ben recognised immediately, that you’d been intending to entice this reaction out of him because you remembered your promise before you flew away for work.

ben inwardly smiled, realising you were in the same page as him. but his smile broke out of his face as soon as he got closer to you, towering you still even though you were sporting a skyscraper heels. he could never help himself whenever he noticed the height gap between you two, too cute to be missed out.

but as you thought he was going to kiss you like you were in need of oxygen to live, he paused a millimetre before your lips while his hand cupped your jaw, angling your face towards him. just the way he liked it—him showing you who was in power, you surrendering your power unyieldingly to him.

“don’t hold back,” he whispered sultrily against your gaping lips, taking in every air gasped by your mouth. “got me?”

before you could give a response to that, ben closed down the distance between your lips. his lips landed perfectly on yours with such a force you had to steady yourself before returning the fervour, clasping his upper lips between yours while he bit down gently your lower lips in between his.

by the harsh and rash manhandling he was doing you—in the way he kissed you senselessly, in the way he lifted you up and hooked your legs across his back, in the way he brought you both to the nearest soft surface he could find—it was your turn to recognise ben was the one who couldn’t hold himself back any longer. he’d usually wait for your compliant reply to his demanding question, vocalising your surrender to him. he’d usually start off easy, too, because he just loves slow-burn foreplay.

as soon as you felt the soft cashmere of the sofa on your back, your boyfriend’s lips were busy finding his usual comfort zone. or in other words, your weak spot. knowing the goal behind him peppering kisses down the line of your neck, alternating between soft licks along the trail, you moaned in absolute pleasure.

“there she is,” you could feel him smirking against the skin behind your ears, so close to your weakness that it ran some shivers down your back. “louder, ma chérie.”

your obscene sounds was what fuelled him to do more—more rush, more pleasure, more love. no matter how much your height hap was actually a silent hindrance between you two. he had to crouch and bend just to adjust with your ends, just to kiss you, just to fuck you, just to please you.

but the lovely sight of you spared underneath him, with eyes and face so trusting of him to do whatever he needed to do to bring you both to the edge, was enough of his reason to keep going.

so he did. he peeled your articles of clothing one by one, so painfully slow for your standard, but the kisses he left all over the body as soon as he pulled down the fabric was enough of a payback. except for the heels.

the only reason why you could hold your head high and why his head didn’t have to stoop so low whenever he wanted to say and show how much he loves you.

and his achilles’ heel.

he lifted your right leg, flinging them over his shoulder like you were worth less than a paper. you trembled slightly at the move because it exposed your clit to the air wider, and you’d hate it if he could smell you were wet for him already.

but it seemed like too late for that. benji was already smiling as he puckered his lips, pecking your calf upwards to your ankle, sniffing and licking your legs teasingly because you were somehow shorter this way in his hands. and he loved it more because he could engulf you in his arms and everyone would think he’d made you disappear.

you thought he was taking off your heels this way, but as he lifted your other legs over his shoulder, you suddenly couldn’t guess him anymore.

“I want you on top today,” your boyfriend announced, his lips tickling the small spot between your ankle and the back of your heel. “can you do that?”

“what can’t I do for the winner?”

ben didn’t waste anymore time before he flipped you around, settling yourself on his lap. you didn’t waste anymore time too before you pulled his zipper down and freed his hard cock, pulsating already in your hands with ardent desire and carnal need.

something you were familiar with because you were feeling the same way. you wanted to play some tug of war game with him but your clit was throbbing already, ben’s earlier demonstration of throwing your legs over his shoulder did wonders to your most sensitive organ.

you lifted yourself a bit, just enough space for you to rub his cock with your wetness, preparing the both of you to the pleasure that was to come. you maneuvered the shaft up and down the line of your opening before sinking in, taking all of your boyfriend into you, and you both groaned at the rare sensation of a complete lust consumption. you were more of a doggy style kind of couple because it alleviated your height gap problem at hand, and for ben, it was a bonus sight to see his cock disappear whenever he pulled your hips towards him.

“fucking hell,” you had to seek for ben’s hands to help you sit up still, the feeling of him inside of you this way was an out-of-this-world experience. “we should’ve done this earlier.”

ben tried to give you some support by lifting his hips first, letting you ride him until you found your own rhythm and energy to match his. and when you did, god did he want to say he agreed to your statement. he really should’ve done this from the beginning of your relationship.

your hands were now placed on top of his pectoral while your hips met his as you brought them down, the frictions against your skin was another reason why you were a wreck, breathlessly whimpering when you felt his cock slipping out of you and moaning when you felt his cock entering you again in each thrust.

but you were gone when ben pulled off his idea of flicking your puckering bud while you rode him. so gone he had to catch you in his arms, gathered the pieces he shattered, as he kissed the crown of your head while riding you out till the last drop of him spilled.

“now this truly feels like winning.”

#oh-saints writes #oh-saints writes requests #benjamin pavard #ben pavard #benjamin pavard smut #benjamin pavard x you #benjamin pavard imagines #benjamin pavard one shot #benjamin pavard blurbs #benjamin pavard drabbles #benjamin pavard fics #footballer fics #footballer fanfiction #footballer x you

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spacelizzbian · 7 months

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Ahsoka s1 ep6

Love how they reminded us of the fact that there are "former imperials working at every level in the new republic" ain't no way they're getting back to the normal galaxy this episode? like bro, dw I didn't forget the New Republic kinda sucks 😂

Deadass thought Ahsoka was gonna spill on her world between worlds experience 💀

Hm, Ahsoka seeing Sabine giving the enemy the map as a fault of her own shortcomings as a teacher when it shows that she really was Anakin's padawan.

Urging Sabine to do what's right and putting feelings aside, while being unable to do that herself and fearing what could happen because of it..... this coming after the episode where Anakin's legacy and Ahsoka's unease with it was explored is 😭😭

Though it is throwing me off that she's still saying the same stuff as before her epithany last episode?

I understand it would be too easy if those fears caused by Anakin's betrayal would be healed after one episode and they probably wanna save that moment for a more exciting scene than her and Huyang sitting in the mouth of a space whale. But it'd have been better if Ahsoka showed that she has progressed in this regard?

I cannot believe they did the cheesiest thing and actually had Huyang say the thing.

This show so corny I love it

Pour one out for the Wolfren people, there was a prison on board lmao

God I hope he keeps his promise, he's a more interesting dark sider if he does

Something about them being so far from civilisation is actually creeping me out....

They were in hyperspace for all of the events of last episode, probably longer, that distance between galaxies is incomprehensible.

If anyone gets stranded or hurt they'd be so far away from help, the typical "fleet arrives to the rescue" at the last second can't happen now.

I don't think it's ever sunk in for me how hopeless Ezra must've felt being stranded here

A signal?!? Really??? That was fast lol

You know, for a literal different galaxy, I'd have expected this planet to look funkier.

Even Dathomir looked more mythical than this

I guess I take back all that dreadful pondering about being stranded far from home in a deserted galaxy cause apparantly there are fucking people living here

ok sure

Poor Sabine, not Jedi enough for Huyang, too Jedi for them witches 😔

I swear to god if they show us another iteration of order 66

I don't think I've ever commented on Shin and Baylan's designs but I love how they almost have a game of thrones fantasy knight vibe about them. Makes sense as this convo suggests they seek glory from the past.

Props to Kevin Kiner, the music is stealing Thrawn's intro scene

Wild guess Im throwing out there, Enoch is Ezra but like ... brainwashed as Savage was

Either that or he is deep undercover as one of those stormtroopers, that def sounds like something he'd do

Bro why there so much familiar kind of typical star wars life on this DIFFERENT galaxy?? 💀

OH HE JUST A BIG LIL PUPPER 🥺🥺

Damn, last episode really felt like clone wars in style and this one really feels like rebels lmao

Shin self identifying as a trained Jedi? Interesting.

Her doubting what Baylan is saying?

Oh?

I cannot wait for Baylan "destroy the past" Skoll to face off against Ahsoka "recently started healing from the wounds of the past" Tano again. I can practically feel the emotional culmination of this show and Ahsoka's character concluding

Oh these creatures are gonna get fridged so bad aren't they?

Ah shucks my wild angsty guess disproven so quickly

Tho Ezra just chilling with a bunch of lil creatures is also very him

They can sense Ahsoka approaching in the whale?¿?¿? That sure is convenient for them

Lmaoooooo Morgan is so angry she's like "sOMEONE FUCKIN KILL THIS DAMN WOMAN ALREADY IVE HAD IT

👏 UP 👏 TO 👏 HERE 👏

WITH HER IMMORTAL BS"

Thrawn upon learning Ahsoka's master was Anakin: "oh, psssht, I know what buttons to push, easy"

#ahsoka #sabine wren #ezra bridger #thrawn #shin hati #baylan skoll #ahsoka series spoilers #ahsoka spoilers #ashowka #sw

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meowriddler · 1 year

Text

A/N: HEYYYY YA'LL ITS BEEN A MIN LMAOOO BUT IM BACK NOW YAY FR THO THANK U TO EVERYONE WHO LIKED THIS FIC IT MEANS A LOT ANYWAYS THIS IS PART TWO OF WHO IS SHE

Who is she? Part 2

warning: Edward is lowkey a stalker here but ik u freaks like it, Edward has an episode 🥹, reader has questionable taste in men…

After that incident Edward kept seeing her if only he had enough courage to go up to her and actually talk instead of stealing glances from each other it was never enough for him, he wanted to know her wanted to crawl his way into her heart and mind hoping to stay nested there for all of eternity, even at work Edward couldn’t stop thinking about her, she always invaded his thoughts it seems as if she bewitched him like a spell that was caused upon him that he never wishes to wear off oh what he would give to see her again to have her attention on him and only him he lets out a dreamy sigh smiling to while sketching what looks like to be a silhouette

Of his mysterious Angel he was too busy lost in thought and didn’t notice the figure coming up behind him Edward flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was his dipshit coworker Zach. He doesn’t hear what he has to say. probably something stupid like that stupid nickname he came up with.

Edward just nods, hoping he would finally leave him alone so he can go back to fantasizing about her, but soon feels empty knowing he most likely would never see her again.

His day has finally came to an end He sits and people watch as always, sometimes wondering what could be behind those lifeless faces. He looks down at his phone, trying to keep himself busy, but when he looks up, there you were in all your glory. Edward couldn’t believe it himself he thinks the stars just aligned for him he then again stares and when u look back he can’t help but get breathless like the wind just got knocked out of his lungs this time though he smiled back instead of looking away that’s some progress, Edward! He thinks to himself, feeling a bit proud. The train stops, and what looked to be her stop, wait she’s leaving?!?wait Edward? She’s walking away?! I just found her I cannot lose her again . I haven’t even realized that I started walking after her. He tried to match his footsteps with hers, not wanting to be seen or heard by her. He felt torn between the fact that what he was doing was wrong and the fact that he was basically stalking someone But also, you're just making sure she arrives home safe! Edward is choosing to believe the latter.

They Finale arrive to her apartment complex he watches her get in and waits, as he sees her lights turn on what looks like to be the sixth floor he will keep that in mind as he stares for a while deciding now would be a good time to head home.

As he enters his home suddenly a wave of dread hits him like a pile of rocks he literally just stalked someone? And tried justifying it, you idiot, you could have just gone up to her and talked to her like a normal human being. God, why can't he be normal? Why isn’t he normal? Because ur incapable of being normal that unknown voice speaks I just want to make a connection he feels tears well up to his eyes why cant he make a connection?! Because you're a fuckup, I’m not a fuckup! covering his ears, hoping that horrible screeching voice would just vanish. You deserve to di, he couldn’t let that thought finish.

Readers pov

It all started when you saw that cute guy from the subway. Something about him seemed so out of place from Gotham’s usual jarring looking people with his innocent cherubic face. You simply thought he was cute, nothing more. But you could feel eye on you now. You could tell he was staring. He isn’t exactly being very discreet. You decided to give him a glance just to let him know you were aware of his antics. He looks like a deer caught in headlights and immediately looking away as if he was caught doing a crime . I find myself smirking amused by his behavior . When He actually decides to make eye contact with me again I couldn’t help but smile that was the first time I’ve seen him and that was how we interacted from now on like unspoken language that only the two of us knew just exchanging glances from one another however the last time I saw him it was a bit different he grew more bold and what I meant by bold is him smiling back like I said bold by his standards but god call me crazy but I found his small smile so what’s the word? dorky? After I left I felt like I was being followed maybe I was being paranoid? I mean, this is Gotham after all; it’s normal to feel like this, right?

A/N thank u for reading!! I hope u guys are enjoying the fic so faralso sorry for any mistakes English isn’t my first language

#edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #edward nashton #dano riddler x reader #dano riddler #dano edward nashton x reader

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hwangsify · 2 years

Text

L.MH. — THESE ILLICIT PLEASURES.

pairing. lee minho x gn reader

genre. angst, fluff, exes to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden relationship au, idol au

warnings. food, mentions of blood and child abuse (non-graphic), alcohol

summary. after ghosting you for four years, your childhood best friend lee minho comes back into your life as a world renowned idol, awakening some buried feelings you've spent four years trying to push away.

length. oneshot

word count. 13.3k+

taglist. @starlostseungmin @ilynaevis @luvhyun3 @dnadoublefelixx @seung-scrittore @jungwonize

a/n. if you enjoyed this fic, please reblog it. i genuinely could not give two fucks about likes, if you actually liked this fic then just reblog— it's really not that hard !! also, a big thank you to @hh0320 for being the world's best beta-reader. i seriously could not have done it without you <3

i. the uncanny (en)counter.

After ghosting you for four years straight, Lee Minho comes back into your life like this.

Your mom texts you when college spring break comes around, insisting that you come back home to Gimpo for the duration of it. You text her back complaining that you’d rather not spend your vacation at home when there are so many better places to be. She texts you that she’ll cook samgyetang for you when you come and you give in, because her samgyetang is just that delectable.

So technically, all of this is kind of your mom’s fault.

You board a train to Gimpo a few days later. An old lady with an atrocious haircut keeps on prattling away next to you, going on and on about her grandchildren (who you could not give two fucks about) and how long it’s been since she’s last seen them, but you manage to tune her out. Eventually, she gets the message and shuts up, which you’re grateful for because it gives you a chance to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

You’ve gotten used to it, shutting people out when they get too close. You’ve learned to build walls, to hold yourself carefully. After all, you cannot afford to have what happened four years ago happen again.

When you finally arrive, you find that it’s not so bad after all. Your hometown has hardly changed, even after so long, and you can’t help the nostalgia that clogs up your throat as you walk through the streets.

Your mom greets you warmly when you knock on the door of her apartment. She hasn’t changed much, either, although there are a few more gray strands of hair in her bun and some new wrinkles around her eyes.

“By the way,” she says, after the two of you have finished dinner. “Mrs. Lee has been wanting to see you recently. You should go visit her.”

Your fingers tighten instinctively around your mug of tea. Looking up, you glare at her. “Minho’s mom?”

“Who else?’

Despite the bitter tang that fills your mouth at the very thought of Minho, you can’t help but love someone like his mom. You run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Today? I’m kind of tired.”

Your mom scowls at you and you give in before she bursts into complaints about how lazy you’ve been getting recently, quickly shrugging on a sweater and slipping on your shoes. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

The apartment is only a few floors down from your own— you suspect that the fact that you shared apartment complexes with Minho back when you were younger played an important role in securing your friendship. You reach the apartment in a matter of minutes, stopping by the doormat to knock hesitantly.

It’s been four years since you last stood by the doorway of this apartment. Just seeing it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, your mind fuzzing with memories you’d very much like to forget. You stand there for an awkward two minutes, waiting for the door to crack open, and just when you’re about to forget it and make your way back to your own apartment, the door opens.

Lee Minho stands in the doorway, clad in a pair of cat slippers.

You do the first sensible thing you can think of. You choke on air and burst into a coughing fit.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, lips parting in shock. You can’t help but return the sentiment, although you can’t nearly express it quite as well due to the fact that you’re doubled over, wheezing.

You’re still recovering from your paroxysm of coughing when Minho speaks up, voice achingly familiar in your ears.

“What are you doing here?”

You cough again and glare at him, eyes watering. “I should be asking you the same question.”

“I can’t even stay at my own mother’s apartment anymore?”

You frown, reluctant to admit that he’s actually got a point. “My mom told me that your mom wanted me to come visit.”

He lets out a barely audible sigh and stands back to fully open the door. “Well, come in, then.”

You step into the apartment and can barely keep from gasping because everything is just exactly how you remember it. There’s an embarrassing baby photo of Minho with tears streaming down his cheeks hanging by the living room couch that you used to tease him about all the time, and a cat litterbox sitting in the corner of the kitchen. The nostalgia hits you before you can choke it down, and you suddenly feel almost regretful.

Minho’s mom shuffles into the living room from the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist. Her eyes crinkle into a wide smile at the sight of you, stepping forward to take your hands in her own. “Y/N! I’m so glad to see you, it’s been so long.”

Minho is silent from next to you, watching your exchange quietly. You tip your head forwards in greeting, squeezing her hands gently and attempting a smile, although it comes out more as a grimace. “It’s been a while.”

She laughs. Minho’s laugh has always paralleled her own, and your chest squeezes tightly at the sound. Her eyes light on Minho and she smiles at you again. “You must have been startled to see Minho here as well.”

“Ah..” you say, trailing off. ‘Startled’ isn’t even remotely close to the feeling in your chest right now. “I guess so.”

“It’s been a while. You and Minho must have a lot of things to catch up on,” she presses again, eyes flickering between you and Minho.

Fuck, you think. She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know that you and Minho haven’t talked in years, doesn’t know that you haven’t even bothered keeping in touch. When Minho had received that email from JYP Entertainment inviting him to join that survival show, you had begged him not to go.

What will I do, you had asked, without you?

Because, you see, you had loved Minho once, maybe a little more than you should have. And you had naively and stupidly believed that Minho loved you back.

Four years ago was back when you still believed in love, in making a wish before blowing out the candles and in the idea of soulmates. You and Minho had wholly and solely believed that the two of you were going to change the world back then— back when the two of you were young and stupid but also undeniably content with life and all it had to offer.

Minho shattered that contentedness the day he broke the news to you. You remember the heat of your tears as they brimmed and spilled over, the way Minho’s face crumpled in guilt.

But Minho had already made his decision the moment he set his eyes on the email. He left you anyway, despite your pleas. You were too angry to bother contacting him after that, and he was too stubborn to contact you.

And that was the end of that.

But Minho’s mom stares at you with such expectant eyes and you can’t bring yourself to break it to her. So instead, you smile and nod. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

Minho shifts uncomfortably from next to you and his mom quickly shuffles to the doorway to kick on her shoes, grinning at you with dancing eyes. “Well, I’ve got a few errands to run, so I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll be back in an hour.”

And then she’s gone, and it’s just you and Minho.

Minho clears his throat and comes to sit on an armchair next to you. In the awkward silence that follows, you finally manage to get a good look at him.

He’s still just as pretty as always, if not prettier. The same perfect nose, same high cheekbones. The same catlike eyes that you fell in love with so many years ago. There’s a tiredness that seems to have settled itself permanently into the pallor of his skin that wasn’t there before he left, though, and the baby fat has long since gone from his cheeks.

But despite it all, he is still your Minho. And you despise the fact that you cannot find it in yourself to push him away— now that he is in front of you like this, even after all these years spent telling yourself that you would never forgive Lee Minho for what he did.

The door cracks open and Soonie strolls in, tail held high as he makes his way leisurely to sit by the couch cushion next to you. He’s hardly changed as well, which you’re glad for. You’ve always liked Soonie, with his wide amber eyes and perpetually swaying tail. You hold out a hand for him to sniff, running your fingertips along his soft fur. Minho watches in silence, dark bangs falling over his eyes.

He’s dyed his hair black again, you notice. It suits him a little too much. The aching in your chest only intensifies when you set your eyes on him, so you look away after a bit. But Minho keeps his eyes on you, observing you quietly as you stroke Soonie in silence, unable to unstick the words at the back of your throat threatening to spill out.

You can already feel yourself building up your walls again, stacking them up high to obscurify yourself from Minho’s dark eyes.

But your walls are made of sand and Minho is the ocean in all of its angry glory. And your walls crumble apart as the tide rolls in, leaving you on the shore, shivering, stripped bare before Minho, like an offering. You know this, because you’ve seen it happen a thousand times before when you were younger. You could hide all you want, you know, but Minho has always seen right through you— like glass.

You look away from him before your eyes can betray you, before he can sense the wrath pooling deep within your gut or the longing oozing out of every pore within your body. Instead, you run your fingers through Soonie’s fur, who has settled into your lap and has been purring away like some kind of furry motor for the past 5 minutes.

“I didn’t know you dyed your hair black again.”

Minho blinks at you for a moment before nodding. “I dyed it a few months ago.”

“Ah,” you say, venom seeping into your words before you can stop it. “Sorry. It’s been hard to keep track of all your hair colors since you left. I mean, how long has it been? Four years? Without as much as a fucking text, too.”

Minho doesn’t even seem surprised at your anger, just tired. He sighs.

“I’ve been busy these past couple of years.”

“So busy that you couldn’t even spare enough time to send me one fucking message?” you sneer. “Save it. I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses.”

You find that you’re curling in on yourself reflexively, building your walls as high as they can go. But Minho looks at you with quiet eyes and you just know that he’s knocking down your walls faster than you can build them up. He can see right through you, see the hurt brimming within your chest, and you have never hated anyone like you have hated him for it.

“I’m not trying to excuse what I’ve done,” he says, almost gently. As if he were talking to a trapped animal. You’d rather he yell at you or something, anything but this. “I know it was wrong. But it’s true that I have been busy, especially these days.”

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed as you stare down into your lap. It’s hard to be mad at someone who speaks to you in such a way. For a long moment, the two of you sit there quietly, Soonie’s purring reverberating through the room.

“Why are you even here?” you say, finally.

“Our promotions recently just ended so I’m on break right now,” Minho says. “I’ll only be in Gimpo for the next week or so, though.”

You want to say something harsh, just to watch his face crumble in guilt, like the day he told you about the JYP email. But instead, what comes out is—

“Have you visited Gimpo before since you left?”

Minho shakes his head, although he doesn’t meet your eyes as he speaks. “I’ve been too busy.”

Which strikes you as odd because even idols do get breaks and vacations, enough time to at least visit their parents and have a homecooked meal for once. But you don’t mention it. Instead, you nod and thread your fingers through Soonie’s fur.

Minho clears his throat.

“Did you get into Seoul National University like you planned to?”

Your lips curl into a reluctant smile as you nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Except I hate my major, you want to say, because I chose computer science just for you. Because I thought we’d get into the university together. But you didn’t go, so now I’m stuck in the most prestigious university in Korea with a major I couldn’t give two fucks about.

“That’s good,” Minho says. “Seoul National University was always your dream college.”

You nod. And before yet another awkward silence can settle into the atmosphere, the door swings open and Minho’s mom steps in, carrying several grocery bags. She beams at the sight of the two of you sitting together. “Had fun catching up?”

Forcing a smile, you nod. She sets the grocery bags on the floor of the apartment and turns to grin at you. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I bought lots of pork today— I can make samgyeopsal for you and Minho.”

And despite the very appetizing idea of samgyeopsal, you think that you might just combust if you spend any more time in Minho’s presence, so you shake your head. “My mom will probably be expecting me back by now. I should probably go. I had a great time, though.”

“Oh,” she says, regretfully. “Well, come back anytime! I’m sure Minho has missed you a lot.”

Minho hisses softly through his teeth, glaring at his mom from his armchair. She promptly ignores him as she smiles at you cheerfully.

Slipping on your shoes, you nod and thank her, stepping out of the door before she can say anything else.

When you enter your mom’s apartment, the first thing you do is glare balefully at your mom, who’s nursing a cup of green tea and observing you closely from behind her wire-rimmed glasses.

“You knew Minho had come back!” you snap accusingly, tugging off your sweater to toss it haphazardly onto the living room couch.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” she demands. “It was the perfect opportunity for the two of you to finally make up.”

“Me and Minho are never making up,” you say, decisively. “I can’t forgive him for what he did.”

“Well, you should at least try,” she declares, firmly. “I set up reservations for a cat café. You and Minho should go together.”

You open your mouth to inform her that she’s probably gone insane because there’s no way you’ll ever go to a cat café with Lee Minho after everything that he’s done but she cuts you off, smiling. “I already texted Minho’s mom about it. She thinks it’s a good idea.”

“Minho’s never going to agree,” you protest, eyes narrowed. Her smile widens.

“Oh, but Minho did agree. He said that he wouldn’t mind,” she counters triumphantly. “So you really have no excuse.”

You suddenly regret ever boarding the train to Gimpo in the first place.

ii. the morning after.

When Minho arrives at your apartment at 9 am sharp, clad in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, you almost cancel on him altogether as the sudden weight of what you’re about to do hits you like a ton of bricks.

Here you are, standing in front of Lee Minho himself after all these years, preparing to go to some cat café with him just because your mom insisted.

It’s just a little insane.

You’re about to open your mouth to tell him that maybe going to this cat café might not be the best idea after all, but your mom pushes you out of the door before you can utter a word, pointedly ignoring the way you glower at her.

“Have fun at the café!” she grins. “Don’t come back home until dinner time!”

And then she slams the door and you find yourself, for the second time in two days, left alone with Lee Minho.

Sighing, you turn to face him.

“Let’s get this over with,” you say, with a touch of resent in your voice. “Hopefully we won’t ever have to see each other again after this.”

Minho says nothing, just tips his head towards you in silent assent, dark eyes meeting your own evenly.

iii. of cats and iced americanos.

The café proves to be not so bad after all.

Minho keeps a baseball cap slung low over his eyes as you step into the shop, careful to conceal his identity. You marvel at how easily he blends into the background like this, his face obscured almost entirely beneath his cap and face mask. The people barely spare him a glance as he brushes past them, not one of them suspecting that he could possibly be Lee Minho, world renowned idol whose recent album just topped Billboard.

A waitress escorts you into a secluded room, where the two of you come to sit down by a rounded table. The cats arrive shortly afterwards, slipping into the room with their swaying tails and feline eyes. Minho lights up at the sight of them, crouching down to run his fingers through their hair and scratch behind their ears.

You sip your iced americano in silence and watch as he softens, observing how easily he unravels as a striped tabby comes to brush itself against his legs, purring loudly. A Siamese cat situates itself in your lap, a warm weight against your legs, and you allow it to run its rough tongue along your bare forearm.

Eventually, when Minho has had enough of sitting on the floor, he comes to sit on the seat adjacent to your own. You observe him leisurely as he sweeps a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his forehead, only for them to fall into his eyes yet again.

You could stare at Minho like this for forever, you think. Despite your anger, you could never get tired of studying his face. He’s always been exceptionally pretty, and he’s grown up well these past four years.

Maybe he’d be easier to hate if he didn’t look like some fucking god all the damn time, with his long eyelashes and finely-cut nose.

You clear your throat.

“How is it?”

He turns to glance at you, frowning. “How is what?”

“Being an idol. What’s it like?”

You can’t say that you aren’t curious. You’ve never felt compelled to become an idol, the entire idea being rather unappealing to you, but you can’t help but wonder how it must feel to have a hundred thousand doting fans scattered all across the globe, practically rabid with their adoration for you.

Minho tilts his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. A silence settles through the room as he contemplates your question.

“It’s fucked up and incredible all at once,” he says after a long moment. “It’s kind of hard to describe in words. But there are moments that I’d gladly relive a hundred times over, and there are moments that I’d do anything to forget.”

You run a finger through the condensation of your glass of iced americano, considering his answer.

“I like my members a lot, though,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “I didn’t think I’d like them too much when I first met them, but they’ve grown on me.”

Something fills his eyes at the very mention of his members, a prominent sheen of fondness spilling into his irises, and you feel your stomach twist itself into knots. You know this gaze, have seen it a thousand times before, because Minho used to look at you the same way four years ago. You swallow down the bitter bile that rises up in your throat and turn to glance at him.

“Your members sound nice,” you say, although you don’t really mean it. You’ve seen them at least a hundred times by now on TV, and you cannot help the envy that fills your mouth every single time at the sight of them. You know it’s not their fault, but you can’t help but blame them for Minho’s leaving. A small, childish part of you desperately wants to believe this; that they took Minho away from you— just to have someone to blame.

Minho lets out a small laugh and your heart clenches like a fist within your ribcage.

God, you think, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard him laugh like this.

“They’re like family to me,” he says, eyes soft. And resentment seeps deep into your skin at the warmth that laces his voice.

You have seen enough. Physically unable to hold Minho’s gaze, you drop your eyes down to your lap. The Siamese cat left a few minutes ago; your legs feel chilly now that they are absent of the Siamese’s soft warmth.

“Did you miss Gimpo?” you ask, not meeting his eyes.

You both know that you don’t quite mean the question, not entirely. That there is another question laced beneath this one, one that you can’t quite bring yourself to ask.

Did you miss me?

Minho glances at you, although you’re still staring down at your lap. The heat of his gaze bores into you as he considers you, eyes heavy. Finally, after a long silence—

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’ve missed Gimpo a lot. There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought of it.”

Minho’s voice is quiet as he speaks, barely audible despite the muted atmosphere of the room. He speaks casually, feigning indifference, dark bangs falling into his even darker eyes, iced americano lying abandoned in front of him.

And it is enough for you.

Something within you gives way, softens underneath Minho’s gaze. The realization comes to you easily, almost gently, as if you had known all along. The same realization that you’ve spent years in denial of, burying it deep underneath your anger and regret. But it resurfaces the moment Minho admits that he’s missed you, and refuses to be buried once more.

You’ve missed him, too.

Minho observes you quietly, watches as your resilience crumbles into sand.

He says nothing. The air smells of stale coffee grounds.

iv. the fall.

Minho texts you for the first time in four years the next day. You stare at your phone in a mixture of shock and disbelief, the screen unbearingly bright against your eyes.

[11:34 am] minho: do u want to come over? i’m making kimchi jjigae.

You’re not quite sure what warranted this invitation. But you don’t have anything else to do, and you’ve warmed up considerably to Minho these past few days. The idea isn’t as repulsive to you as it might have been two days ago.

Besides, you enjoy his company. More than you’d like to admit.

[11:36 am] i’ll be there in 5 mins

You arrive at his apartment shortly. Minho tips his head towards you in a silent greeting as you slip into the apartment, a plaid apron tied around his waist as he hovers over the stove. You come to stand next to him, peering over his shoulder.

“Didn’t know you could cook.”

Minho shrugs. “I only started a year ago or so. I got tired of ordering takeout all the time since my members can’t cook to save their lives.”

You glance around the kitchen. “Is your mom home?”

Minho shakes his head. “She said something about her crocheting class.”

You nod and lean back, perching on the kitchen countertop, observing Minho’s broad shoulders as he cooks. Minho turns to glance at you, eyes bright with amusement. “Is the fact that you accepted my invitation to come over a sign that you’ve finally forgiven me?”

Your lips tug up into a half smile.

“Absolutely not. You’re still the world’s biggest asshole for leaving me,” you say, watching silently as Minho puts the last finishing touches to the soup. He smiles and comes to stand directly in front of you, so close that you can see the faint scar next to his eyebrow. He used to complain about the scar all the time when he was younger, joking that it ruined his good looks. Four years later, you can hardly even see it at all— just a faint white line by his eyebrow.

Something shifts between the two of you, the atmosphere tensing and thickening until you can hardly even bring yourself to breathe.

“Is that so?” he asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins.

You tell your heart to stop flopping around inside your chest like a fish as he leans in closer and nod.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “I’ll make it up to you.”

And then you’re kissing.

Kissing, and Minho is gripping your waist with a gentle hand, his nose brushing against your cheek. Your body responds to his touch faster than your brain does and you find yourself melting into him, pulling him closer and running a hand through his dark locks of hair.

You shouldn’t be doing this, you think. You shouldn’t be kissing Lee Minho, world renowned idol slash professional dancer slash ex best friend on his mom’s kitchen countertop. But it’s been so long since you’ve had him like this and you can’t resist it.

The anger within you ignites again the moment your lips meet, consuming you wholly in its blaze.

You want to devour him whole, to take and take and take until he has nothing left to give you. Minho hums against your lips and you are so greedy— all teeth and heated lips, demanding and begging him for more.

Everything that you have kept within your walls for the past four years spills out of you.

You want to have all of him, down to the faint scar that sits by his left eyebrow. You want him to run his fingers across the cracks of your misshapen heart, to take you in with all your bruises and flaws.

Look, Lee Minho, for this is how you break a heart. Look at the destruction you have left in your wake, the hairline fractures that run along the flesh of my heart. Look, for you shattered me into a million pieces the day you left, and it was I who pieced myself back together again.

Look, Lee Minho, for you left me in Gimpo as a mere shell of a being, a husk of flesh and bone, and I have molded myself back into the shape of a human once more.

You pull Minho closer into the kiss, lips slick with your own greed.

The soup starts smoking before you can bother doing anything else. The two of you practically jump apart, flushed and panting. Minho’s ears color red as he quickly turns away from you to tend to the stew, lifting it off the stove and placing the steaming pot on the countertop. Clearing his throat, he spares a quick glance your way. “The soup’s ready.”

You nod distractedly, hopping off the countertop to sit by the dining table. Minho slides a warm bowl of soup in front of you, face completely passive of any emotion as if the two of you weren’t making out a few minutes ago. You poke at the stew skeptically, doubtful of his cooking skills.

Minho catches the suspicion in your eyes and lets out a laugh. “Don’t worry. It’s edible.”

The stew proves to be more than just edible when you finally take a sip. Minho grins as you nod approvingly at the rich saltiness of the soup, almost smug. “Good?”

You nod. “Better than I expected from you, at least.”

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“You always underestimated me. Even when we were younger.”

You widen your eyes in mock protest. “When did I ever? I always had the highest confidence in your abilities.”

“Right,” he grins. “Just like that time you predicted I’d get a 73 on my physics exam and I ended up getting a 97, right?”

Exhaling softly, you swallow hard. Even after four years, you still remember everything in perfect detail. After Minho left, you treated every memory you ever made with him with utmost care, placing them in glass jars and setting them high in the shelves of your heart, where forgetfulness would not be able to reach them. Now that he’s finally come home, it’s as if he took every jar and smashed it to pieces, releasing a torrent of memories in his wake.

Minho laughing on your seventh birthday, blue frosting smudged on the corners of his lips from the cheap grocery store cake your mother bought you. Minho kicking your leg from underneath the desk during chemistry class, lips quirking up in a grin when you turn to glare at him. Minho running a finger along the bruise decorating your cheek when you show up at his apartment, cheeks wet with tears after your father came back home drunk again.

You swallow again, as if you could choke down the memories if you tried hard enough, dissolving them in the acid of your stomach. Minho peers at you with worried eyes. “You okay?”

You are about to brush him off with a dismissive grin like you have an innumerable amount of times with others, before you remember that this is Minho. Minho, who has always been able to see right through you, who can read you at a glance, knocking down your walls with those dark eyes of his before you can put them back up again. Minho, who would never buy into your little white lies and halfhearted smiles.

So you tell him the truth.

“Just thinking about what we used to be,” you say.

Minho drops his gaze down to his lap in understanding and before you can stop yourself—

“Why did you do it?” you ask, voice coming out smaller than you intended it to be. “Why did you still leave, even after everything I said?”

You watch as Minho’s eyes darken at your question, lips curving downwards in a slight frown. You wait for his answer in silence, breath caught in your throat in anticipation, although you never know what to expect with someone like Minho.

“I had to get away from him,” he finally says, after a long pause.

“Who?”

“My dad. I had to get away from him.”

Oh.

Because you know of Minho’s dad and how he is, of the dementia pills that sit by his empty bedside and of the hardness that fills Minho’s eyes at the very mention of his father. And for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, because you have never felt so guilty in your entire life. Minho clenches and unclenches his hands into fists, knuckles painted white.

“I thought I could handle it, you know,” he says, without looking at you. “I thought I could handle his.. episodes. When I was younger, they weren’t too bad— just scary. He’d mistake me for one of his childhood friends or his younger brother and start acting all weird and my mom would help calm him down. But he kept on getting worse as I got older and the doctor didn’t know what else to prescribe him so they just told my mom and I to keep a close eye on him and— fuck, it’s still so hard to think about.”

He swallows hard.

“I came back home from dance practice one night and my dad was cutting up lettuce for dinner and he just started freaking out when I stepped into the house, yelling at me to get out— I think he thought I was his dad or something. And I didn’t know what to do because my mom had gone out and we had just ran out of his pills, and he kept on trying to stab me with the knife and— God, it was so fucking terrifying. He ended up nicking my wrist pretty badly— by the time my mom came back home there was blood splattered all over the kitchen floor, although everything ended up turning out okay. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, you know? Like, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I was coexisting in the same home with someone who had just tried to kill me.”

You don’t know what to say as you stare at him, breathless. He shakes his head. “It got so bad that he had to get hospitalized, eventually. And even then, he kept on mistaking me for his father. Like, he’d be all hooked up on all these machines and IV drips and the moment I’d come in he’d just start screaming at me to get out until the nurses rushed in to tranquilize him. And I just remember standing by his bedside, watching as the nurses stuck a bunch of syringes into his wrists to pump at least 13 different sedatives into his system, wanting nothing more than for him to die.”

Minho lets out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his dark locks of hair. “I couldn’t handle it, afterwards. I felt so guilty all the fucking time for wanting my own fucking father to die and I couldn’t imagine what my mom would think if she ever found out and— I had to get away. So when JYP sent me that email, I jumped at the opportunity.”

You open your mouth to say something— anything, really, although you doubt it’ll be much of a consolation to Minho, but he glares at you before you can say a word.

“Don’t. You’ve never been good at comforting.”

So you don’t. Instead, you turn to stare at him, your mouth a hard line of resentment. “Why didn’t you at least tell me? All this time, I thought it was because you grew tired of me or something. You could have at least told me you left because of your dad.”

Minho sighs.

“I never thought you’d ever think of it that way,” he admits. “Besides, it was pathetic to tell you that I left just because of my sick dad.”

You smile ruefully, and think about your own dad, with his cracked beer bottles and bloodshot eyes. “You’re not the only one with an asshole for a dad, you know.”

“He wasn’t an asshole,” Minho says. “He was just sick. Very, very sick. He died a few months after I left. I couldn’t even bring myself to attend his fucking funeral, even though my mom begged like crazy.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, maybe things would have turned out differently if my dad wasn’t so messed up.”

You trace your finger along the rim of your bowl, lips curling into a smile. “Maybe you would have stayed here in Gimpo. With me.”

Minho looks up from his soup to gaze at you, dark eyes soft.

“I never wanted to leave you behind, you know. You were the world to me.”

It’s unlike Minho to be so straightforward about his fondness. You study him, taking him in critically. Everything about him is so achingly familiar and foreign at the same time that it hurts to look at him. “But you hated your dad enough to leave your world behind, huh?”

Minho leans forward, tipping his head towards your own. For a moment, the two of you consider each other, eyes heavy, breaths hitching in your throats.

“I said I’m sorry already,” Minho says, lips curled into a wry smile. “What more do you want from me?”

You tilt your head to the side, grinning. “I can think of a lot of things, actually.”

And then you find yourself kissing your ex best friend for the second time since this morning.

v. the deal.

Later, when you are sprawled out in a mess of tangled limbs across the couch, breathless and panting, lips swollen from your exertions, Minho turns to gaze at you. You meet his eyes sluggishly, half-asleep in his arms.

“What is it?”

Minho swallows, reaching up a hand to sweep back his bangs. “We can continue this, if you want.”

You frown. “Continue what?”

He gestures vaguely with his hands at your intertwined limbs. “Whatever this is. We can continue it, if you want to. It doesn’t have to be dating.”

You feel your eyebrows knitting together. You had thought all of this would be a one-time thing, that Minho would disappear without a trace after his week in Gimpo ended. Now fully awake, you turn to stare at him.

“You’re an idol,” you deadpan.

Minho lifts up a shoulder to rest more comfortably against the couch, arms tightening around your waist. “So?”

“Do you have any idea what would happen if we were found out?”

“Like I said, it doesn’t have to be dating.”

You laugh shortly, although you don’t find all of this funny at the slightest. “Do you think it would look like that to your fans?”

“We’ll be careful, then. No one has to know.”

You sit up, untangling his arms from your waist. Minho watches you with indolent eyes, hair splayed out in a halo against the couch cushion.

“One thing I don’t understand, though,” you say, frowning. “Why me?”

Because Minho could quite literally have anyone he wanted, with his good looks and fame. Because just a few days ago, he went trending all over Twitter over a fucking fancam. Because Lee Minho lives so vividly, is so vibrant and colorful in everything that he does, especially compared to your own monochrome palette. And a small part of you wonders what he could possibly see in someone as mundane as you.

He swallows, suddenly serious. “It’s so easy to be with you,” he says. “Maybe it’s just because we’ve known each other for such a long time, but it’s nice to spend time with you.”

He watches as you consider him, eyes narrowed.

“Think of it as stress relief,” he proposes, sensing your confusion. “That’s kind of how it feels. It’s hardly been three days, but this is the most relaxed I’ve been in a while.”

Rationally speaking, the entire deal is bullshit. You know that a proposal like this one could only end badly, and Minho is too smart to not know as well. But both of you have missed each other a little too much over the years, and rationality has been thrown out the window ever since Minho kissed you on the kitchen countertop.

So you wrap your arms around him and press your lips to his collarbone. Minho brushes his nose against the crown of your hair in a strangely affectionate gesture and you feel yourself shiver with delight, at the thrill of this entire affair.

“Okay,” you say. “Stress relief.”

vi. before the coffee gets cold.

Like this, the days pass in a blur. Everything happens a little too fast for your liking, and in the midst of Minho laughing because you accidentally tripped and fell on your ass in the middle of the ice skating rink and your mom ducking her head to hide a knowing a smile when you come home late after a long day at the amusement park with Minho, you faintly register that this is the happiest you’ve ever been in a very long time.

The four days Minho had left at Gimpo faded away as quickly as they’d come and soon enough, you found yourself sitting next to him by the dining table of your apartment, a mug of coffee clutched in your hands, a mere thirty minutes before Minho was to leave for the airport to return to Seoul.

Minho watches as you stir cream into your coffee, eyes trained down to the dull beige of your latte.

“I’ll come back again, you know,” he says, voice soft.

“You better,” you say, half jokingly, although your voice is devoid of any humor. “I’ll post your predebut pictures online if you don’t.”

You both know that it’s an empty threat, but Minho feigns annoyance anyway. “The ones you took back when I had a terrible case of acne?”

You feel your lips twist into a grin as Minho narrows his eyes menacingly. Before the two of you can launch into another one of your petty bickerings, you suddenly remember the gift you ordered off of Amazon a few days ago.

“Oh, right,” you say, reaching behind you to pull out a box. “I got this for you. As a farewell present.”

Minho lifts his eyebrows. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

You shrug and gesture for him to open it.

It’s a cat airpod case, the last one in stock. You had spent the better part of your shitty college wages to buy it, thinking it would be worth it just to see Minho’s face split into a grin at the sight of the airpod case. But now, as Minho cracks open the box to take the case into his hands, you all of a sudden regret ever buying the fucking present in the first place.

Because after all, this is Lee Minho. Who probably has a filthy rich net worth, judging from the Internet estimates, at least, and a million seller album despite the fact that it was only released a few weeks ago. Compared to him, your present seems trivial and insignificant.

Minho examines your gift closely, eyes scrutinizing. And just as you’re about to snatch the case out of his hands, telling him to forget it, that it was just a joke, anyway, Minho reaches into his pocket to pull out his Airpods, fitting them neatly into the case.

“I can finally stop worrying about losing my Airpods, now,” is all he says as he turns the case in his hands.

You feel your chest swell as he grins at you, your lips tugging into a smile to mirror his own. Leaning forward, you reach out to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Maybe I can visit you sometime in Seoul. My university isn’t too far away from JYP.”

Minho nods, leaning into your touch. “I’d like that.”

And then you watch as he stands up to leave, watch as he brushes off his jeans and shoulders his backpack, tugging a suitcase along with him. Everything is a little too familiar, a little too similar to how he left four years ago. Minho turns back to you at the doorway and touches his lips to your forehead, wrapping his arms around you.

“I think I developed abandonment issues because of you,” you say.

Minho laughs, a faraway sound in your ears.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll come back this time, promise.”

And then he’s gone.

When you walk back to the dining table, a hundred years older, you find that your coffee has already gone cold.

vii. after dark.

The next time you meet Lee Minho is in the privacy of his own apartment. Minho is the one who first proposes it, a few months after he leaves for Seoul. By then, your spring break had long since ended, and you are back to your usual grind at your university.

He texts you in the middle of organic biology class, your phone chiming embarrassingly loudly throughout the room. Your professor turns to glare at you over her half-moon glasses as the students collectively turn around from their desks to stare.

“You know my policy about phones in class,” your professor reprimands.

You mumble out an apology, cheeks red. The students slowly turn their attention back to the professor as she resumes explaining properties of lipids, and you seize the opportunity to quickly check the text.

[9:52 am] minho: u should come over to my apartment

It’s a little too in character for Minho to text you something like this with zero context at all, so you don’t question it. You’re about to ask him how the fuck you’re supposed to know where his apartment is in the first place when he sends you his address.

Holding your phone beneath your desk to keep it from your professor’s prying eyes, you carefully type out a message.

[9:54 am] i have class

Minho responds almost immediately.

[9:54 am] minho: come after class then. i can wait

So you do. You arrive at his apartment shortly after dark, when you should have been working on an overdue paper that you’ve been procrastinating on for a week by now. Minho’s eyes light up when he tugs open the door, lips tugging into a smile.

His hair is purple now. There are dark circles under his eyes, a gray weariness settled deep into his skin. Stepping forward, you wrap your arms around his waist, feeling his chest tremble and then deflate as he exhales, sinking into your touch.

“Sorry I took so long,” you say. Minho hums into your shoulder in a wordless acknowledgement of your apology, voice muffled. Detangling your intertwined arms, he takes a step back to study you. For a moment, the two of you drink each other in before Minho tugs you into the apartment.

The moment you step into the apartment, you let out an exhale of air you didn’t know you were holding. Everything about his place is so undeniably Minho that it aches to observe it all. The cat clock hanging by the living room couch, the familiar scent of coffee that hangs heavy in the air. Minho watches you carefully as you take it all in. “Do you like it?”

You avoid the question.

“I thought you lived in the dorms with the other members.”

“We moved out a few months ago,” Minho says. “JYP finally expanded our budget, and we thought it would be nice to have our own spaces. They still come over all the time though, or I go over to their places.”

You nod wordlessly. The cat airpod case you gifted him a few months back is lying by the coffee table. Grinning, you pick it up, running a thumb along its top ridge. “You still have this?”

Minho laughs. “Why? Do you want it back?”

You shake your head, smiling. Something about the fact that he kept the airpod case even after all this time is terribly endearing to you, although you’d never admit it out loud.

Minho shuffles into the kitchen, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily as he picks up a spatula. “Are you hungry? Should I cook something?”

You hesitate, frowning as you observe Minho’s evident exhaustion. “Maybe I should cook instead?”

Minho narrows his eyes skeptically.

“Can you even cook?”

You roll your eyes, stepping forward to yank the spatula out of Minho’s hands. “Of course I can cook.”

(Which is a lie.)

Yanking open his refrigerator, you take out a carton of eggs and a jar of kimchi. Minho hovers over your shoulder, hot breath ghosting over your neck as he speaks. “What are you making?”

Brandishing a knife you just pulled out from his knife block, you flip open the carton of eggs to pull out a few. “Kimchi fried rice.”

Minho lets out a derisive snort from behind you, evidently doubtful of your cuisine skills, causing you to turn around and glare at him.

“Can you at least be more supportive? I’m trying to do you a favor here.”

Minho nudges the bowl of eggs you just finished cracking, their yellow yolks jiggling as he pokes at it. “You got bits of shell stuck in the egg whites.”

Hissing through your teeth, you pull out a pair of chopsticks to fish out the pieces of egg shell. Minho sighs.

“It wouldn’t hurt to let me cook, you know. We both know I’m the superior chef between the two of us.”

Snapping at him to shut up, you pull out a frying pan and proceed to make the worst dish of kimchi fried rice ever made in Korea. In the middle of preparing the kimchi, the eggs start to smoke. Minho yells at you over the din of the smoke alarm to turn off the fire as you dart around the kitchen, attempting to salvage the damage. Eventually, after about thirty minutes of chaos, you finally manage to quiet things down again and you and Minho sit down to a very poorly cooked dinner.

Minho pokes at the rice tentatively with his chopsticks. The eggs are burnt to crisp and the rice is scorched black. In an attempt to make the dish a little more appetizing, you dumped chili paste all over the kimchi, overly-seasoning the rice in the process.

Bracing yourself, you take a bite of the rice. It tastes exactly how it looks, burnt and blackened. Minho watches you as you chew. “Does it taste okay?”

You resist the urge to throw up your mouthful of rice all over the dining table. Swallowing with some difficulty, you manage a pained grin. “It tastes great.”

Minho tries a mouthful of rice and promptly gags the moment it hits his tongue. Staggering to the kitchen, he retches straight into the trashcan, eyes watering. You glare at him as he makes his way back to the table.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Minho shakes his head. “I should sue you for food poisoning. Even Changbin isn’t this bad at cooking.”

For a brief moment, the two of you sit in defeated silence, mourning the waste of perfectly good rice and kimchi. You’d argue more with him in defense of your cooking skills, but even you can’t bring yourself to stomach another mouthful of rice, which is saying something. Finally, Minho speaks up.

“Do you want to just get Chinese takeout instead?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Let’s do that.”

The takeout arrives half an hour later, a banquet of Peking duck and Mapo tofu. The two of you dig in enthusiastically, having eaten nothing but burnt fried rice since this evening.

By the time you have eaten yourselves sick, your stomachs full and sated, the moon hangs high in the sky. Minho rests with his head on your shoulder, half asleep as the two of you watch some Netflix show that neither of you could give two fucks about.

Minho’s eyes are half-shut when you glance down at him from the TV screen, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. You touch a finger to the ridge of his cheekbone, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. You run your finger along a scar against his temple, barely visible in the dimly lit room. Minho’s eyebrows knit together as you barely graze the scar with your fingertips, but he leans ever so slightly into your touch anyway.

“What’s this from?” you ask.

Minho’s eyes flutter open, his hand coming up to touch the scar. “Oh, this?”

Something in his voice. Fractured glass, crumbling sandcastles.

You glance at him, perplexed, and Minho breaks your gaze, glancing down until all you can see is his long eyelashes.

“My dad,” he says as an explanation, voice impossibly small. “I visited at the hospital a few days before I left and he went completely berserk, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me, yelling all this shit. He slammed my head into the cardiac monitor before the nurses could sedate him.”

There is nothing left to say. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he goes silent. You gaze down at the boy pressed to your side, observing the weariness in the pallor of his skin and the slight downturn of his lips, and know that if you could, you would gladly give the world to see him happy.

You run your finger along the scar once more. And maybe if you were dating instead of just messing around, you’d lean down and press your lips to his temple, right where his scar was. You’d take the pain in Minho’s eyes and cradle it gently to your chest, hold him as he trembled and tensed beneath your touch. But you aren’t dating, and there are walls of sand standing between the two of you. And you know that you can only stand within a certain proximity of Minho before things become dangerous, lines blurring and softening. So you drop your hand from his temple to place it in your lap and glance back to the drama.

Next to you, Minho lets out a barely audible sigh. You are both tired of this, although you cannot bear to say it out loud.

viii. as the lines blur.

Minho proves to be remarkably adept at making up excuses to come and see you.

He texts you the next day as you’re making your way back home that you left your hoodie at his place, before texting you some Korean BBQ restaurant to meet up at just so he can “return your hoodie.” You don’t bother telling him that you didn’t even bother wearing a hoodie yesterday in the first place, just because you want to see him just as badly.

“Where’s my hoodie?” you ask as you seat yourself next to Minho, lips curled into a wry smile. Minho grins at you from behind his mask, eyes crinkling.

“I guess I forgot to bring it.”

A few weeks later, Minho calls you to say that he made too much jjajangmyeon and needs someone to help him finish it.

“I’m sure your members would be more than happy to help you eat it,” you say through the phone, grinning.

He laughs. “Most of them don’t like jjajangmyeon.”

You know that this is a dangerous game the two of you play, this loving in the dark. You’ve long stopped believing in happy endings, not after everything you’ve seen. But you have already lost Minho once, and you cannot bear to lose him again.

This is the happiest you’ve been in forever, and despite the barriers between the two of you, it is enough to pretend that everything is as real as it seems.

You see it in his eyes too, when he finally takes off his cap as he steps into the apartment, hair messy. When he adjusts his mask over his nose as the two of you pass by a group of girls, ducking his head down to cover his features. There is a weariness in his eyes that filters through him no matter how many times he covers it with a grin, a sort of simmering anger burning behind the dark depths of his pupils.

You would show Minho to the world if you could, whispering to them to look. The way his laughter is jagged at the edges when he is the happiest, though it is never like this on camera, where his laugh is always pretty and clipped. The dark circles beneath his eyes, although they have never seen him so before, for they are always covered in layers of makeup.

For this is what it means to love someone: to take in all their flaws and blemishes and hold them closer for it all.

ix. crumbling sandcastles.

This is how it all ends.

You walk back home from college one day, arguing with Minho via text about the legitimacy of mint chocolate ice cream. You’ve been seeing each other more often recently, coming up with random alibis to meet up. You can’t say that you regret it.

Just as you’re about to enter your apartment complex, you hear your name. Turning around slowly, you find yourself staring directly at Bang Chan, the leader of Stray Kids. After Minho’s insistence, you learned the names of his other members and even watched a few of their music videos, and you find that you are able to recognize Chan in an instant.

You jump back, startled, before hastily dipping your head forward in a bow. Chan mirrors you, bowing politely, before flashing you a tight smile.

“I’m sorry. You’re Y/N, right?” he says. “Do you have a minute? Maybe we can stop by a café or..”

“You’re Bang Chan of Stray Kids,” you say, incredulous.

Chan nods sheepishly, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah. I am.”

“What are you even doing here? Don’t you have schedules or something?”

You know you don’t sound exactly friendly, but really, you’re in such a state of shock that you physically seem unable to remember your manners. Chan lets out a short laugh. “I was hoping to meet you sometime. Minho’s told me a lot about you.”

You flush at this, wondering what it exactly was that Minho said about you, and nod. “Sure. I have a minute.”

So Chan takes you to a local park that he seems to be fond of, sitting adjacent to you on a rusty picnic table. You sit straight, staring at him expectantly. “So. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Chan presses his lips into a firm line and sloshes the coffee in his paper cup. Finally, after a long moment, he looks up. There is no longer any trace of faux chivalry in his expression, only a firm resoluteness and beneath that, a dark worry. “I came to ask you if dating Minho is really a good idea,” he says, quietly.

“We aren’t dating,” you say automatically, because this is what you have drilled into your head countless times these past few months. You had thought that if you kept your distance from Minho, refraining from dating, it would be easier to bear if he ever had to leave again.

Chan raises his eyebrows. “Really? That’s not how Minho made it seem.”

“I know it sounds like we are,” you say quickly. “But we reached a mutual agreement that we’d just mess around. You know, nothing official.”

Chan nods slowly, although he still looks just as confused. “But I mean, if your relationship ever gets leaked, no one will ever see you two that way.”

“I know,” you say. “We’ve been careful.”

“Careful,” Chan echoes, and lets out a harsh laugh. You jump at the sound, cringing at the way it grates against your ears. He gives a dismissive shake of his head, smiling, although it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s what they all say,” he says. “But they all got found out in the end, anyway.”

“Minho and I aren’t like that,” you protest, although your argument sounds weak and distant in your ears. “Our relationship is more… detached.”

This is a lie so blatant that you resist the urge to wince.

Chan grimaces, taking a sip of his coffee. “I know I can’t do anything to stop the two of you, and if you two decide to continue whatever you have going on, it’s your choice. But I just wanted to say this.”

You inhale, preparing to put your walls up already. Chan’s eyes are as dark as ink as he gazes at you, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“My members have come a long way to get to where we are today. I can’t risk having a single member ruin this all for us. To have a dating scandal right at the peak of our careers as of right now— it’ll ruin us.”

There is a sense of finality in his words as he speaks. You meet his gaze quietly, unflinchingly, because that’s what you’ve always done— looked pain in the face and pretended that you were unafraid, even if you were barely holding together at the seams.

“If the two of you ever get found out,” Chan says lowly. “I won’t hesitate to cut Minho off from the group. If it comes between saving the entire group or just one member, I will always choose my members.”

He turns to go, standing up to brush off his jeans. He meets your eyes one last time as he reaches out to grab his half-empty coffee cup. “I hope you remember this when your names are all over Dispatch.”

You lean back, feigning nonchalance although your hands are shaking so badly you can barely hold yourself up. “A bit selfish, don’t you think? Allowing one member to take the brunt of the fall just to save your reputation?”

Chan’s eyes harden.

“I think I deserve to be a little selfish,” he snaps. “I’ve spent the past twelve years worrying after others, fulfilling their every request.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, his chest deflates in a sigh. “I’m fucking tired.”

And if you were braver, maybe you would grab his wrist before he turned to go to argue some more. But staring at this man, with his dark eye bags and bleached locks of hair, a strong sense of pity fills the cavity of your chest.

He is tired of this too, maybe even more than you are.

So you let him go. And after he’s long since disappeared, you gather up your things and make your way to your apartment, head underwater.

x. how fairytales end.

You were four when your father came home drunk for the first time, nothing but slurred words and reeking breath. A shell of what he once was. Seven when your father slapped you across the face for the first time, just a flash of a calloused hand as it came down hard against your right cheek. Thirteen when he disappeared for good, leaving behind only the reek of beer and a collection of memories that you’d be more than happy to forget.

Happy endings cannot possibly exist in a world like your own.

This is what you tell yourself as you dial Minho’s phone number, what you drill into your head as the phone rings. You think about Minho with his dark eyes and jagged laugh, about how easily he elicits smiles out of you, about how he can read you at a glance.

You think about what it means to love someone.

Minho picks up on the third ring, his voice achingly familiar, even through the phone. “Hello?”

“Minho,” you whisper.

Minho picks up the note of fear in your voice before you can bury it under a facade of nonchalance.

“What’s wrong?” he demands. You can practically hear his frown. “Did something happen?”

You lean your head against the back of your couch, holding the phone so close to your cheek that it digs into your flesh. “Let’s end this.”

The laugh Minho lets out comes out all wrong, half-strangled with not a trace of humor. “End what?”

“You know what I mean. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

A long silence. You run a finger along the waterlines of your eyes to brush away any gathering tears, but find that your eyes are dry. Maybe you’ve been preparing for this moment all along, knowing that there would be an end to all this drunken euphoria eventually. When Minho finally speaks, there is a desperation laced in his voice, one that he hasn’t bothered to mask.

“Can I come over?”

You are silent, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Minho tries again.

“Please. Let me come over. Just once.”

“Okay,” you say. “Just once.”

xi. as the curtains draw.

Minho arrives at your apartment in record time, breathless. He reaches out to touch you when you open up the door, a hand coming up to brush against your cheek. You lean into his touch almost by instinct before jerking back, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest when hurt flashes in Minho’s eyes.

“What happened?” he asks, voice hoarse. “Why would you want to end this, all of a sudden?”

You drop your eyes down— afraid that you will unravel the moment your eyes meet. “It’s too risky,” you say. “What we have going on. I can’t bear it anymore.”

You’ve put up your walls of sand again, building them so thick that even Minho is not able to break through. Or so you hope.

Minho’s dark eyes bore holes into your skin as he studies you for a moment, before giving a dismissive shake of his head. “Bullshit. That’s bullshit.”

You twist your mouth into a sneer. “What do you know? You’ve been gone for four years.”

He takes a step back, flinching as if you had physically slapped him across the face. You haven’t mentioned his departure in ages, and bringing it up again is like ripping open an old wound. You watch as Minho’s face hardens, body tense as he takes a step forward.

“You’re still a fucking coward, huh? Even after all this time.”

You open your mouth to tell him to stop talking, to shut the fuck up, because you cannot bear to see just how far he’s seen into you. After all this time, he still knocks down your walls as if they were made of glass.

You look up then, to study him. To take in this boy you have loved for fifteen years now, and to gather up the courage to push him away. “A coward?”

“I know you love me,” he says. “But you’re scared to say so because you’re too afraid that I’ll leave again.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before dissipating. You force a sneer, telling yourself that this is for the greater good.

“Is that what you thought all this time?” you ask. “That I loved you?”

Dig your nails deep into his flesh, break him open. Push him away before he can see right into you. Look away before you can catch the glimpse of hurt in his eyes, because you cannot afford to feel guilty.

“You ghosted me for four years,” you say. “And you still think that I love you? That I ever loved you?”

He opens his mouth to speak and you cut him off.

“You were fun while it lasted. But you burnt out a long time ago,” you say. “And I should have ended all of this before it could have spiraled into this fucking trainwreck.”

You can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth, pushing on heedlessly, blinded with your own need to keep him away. “You’re like a cigarette. Addictive in the moment, useless the moment you burn out,” you hear yourself say, although your voice sounds as if it’s underwater. “And now you’re just a stub, something I should have stamped out a long time ago.”

It is then that you finally look up to meet his eyes one last time.

“So I’m just finishing off what I should have thrown out a long time ago,” you say. Minho is silent as he stares at you, unflinching as his dark eyes sift through you. You take a step back, clutching the knob of your door so tightly that your knuckles turn white.

“Leave,” you say. “I don’t want to see you again.”

Minho leaves. Maybe a long time ago, you believed in fairytales, in happily ever after and driving off into the sunset.

But that was an eternity ago. And this is no fairytale.

You shuffle back into your apartment to make yourself coffee, hands shaking as you pour out the cream.

xii. through the screen.

You melt back into your life before he came back as a shadow. You can feel yourself going through the movements; buying groceries, finishing up homework assignments, attending lectures, but you’re barely there, a ghost mimicking the motions of life.

Minho goes viral a few weeks later over some fancam of him and Chou Tzuyu. Bitter bile rises up in your throat as you watch the two of them converse, heads tilted towards each other, lips curled into smiles.

You tell yourself that it’s only natural that he’s moved on, although this isn’t much of a consolation, either. Your friends invite you out to drinks one night, sensing your moodiness, and you cancel out on them at the last minute, telling them that you’ve got a stomachache. They either don’t care or can’t tell, because they don’t bother prying past your half-assed excuse.

Minho was the only one who had ever been able to see right through you, and now that he is gone, you are untouchable. And you would like to keep it that way.

He will be the first and last person to ever make it behind your walls.

Behind the screen, you watch as Minho continues to stitch his life back together, closing over the gaping wounds so seamlessly that it’s hard to believe the two of you ever loved each other in the first place. Pictures of Minho and Tzuyu surface all over Twitter, and you scroll through all of them endlessly, envy burning heavy at the back of your throat, a sour taste blossoming on your tongue as you bite back your pain.

Just when you feel that you are unable to stand this world anymore, that you cannot bear to live your life as a shadow for a minute longer, the car accident happens.

xii. as it all comes down.

It happens like this.

You receive a call from Minho’s mom, and your first instinct is to ignore it. Because you can’t bear to hear her voice, so similar to Minho’s, or to speak to her, acting as if you and Minho are still on good terms. But a small voice at the back of your mind nags at you to pick up the call, and so, against your better judgment, you do.

When you pick up, her voice is hoarse and raw with fear. “Y/N. I thought you’d want to hear this.”

Your heart dips as you clutch at your phone nervously.

“Mrs. Lee? What’s wrong?”

“There’s been a car accident in Itaewon. Minho’s been rendered unconscious.”

It is then that she breaks into sobs, and all you can register is the way your world shatters and crumbles into shards of glass at her words, the way her sobs come out all wrong through the phone, as if underwater.

For the first time in months, the fear within you makes you feel a little less like a ghost.

Minho is still unconscious by the time you arrive at the hospital. The Stray Kids members are crowded around his bed when you burst into the room, but they easily part the moment you approach the hospital bed.

Minho lies limp against the starched white linen of the hospital sheets, dark hair splayed out in a halo around his head. You can hardly make sense of it all, can hardly even register the absurdity of the entire situation.

But amidst the turmoil that surrounds you, there is one thing that remains clear. And that is this: you cannot bear to lose the pain in the ass that is Lee Minho again.

All your life, you have been afraid of being seen, afraid that they’d crack you open if they came too close. Fearing that they’d catch a glimpse of the monster inside if you let them in, the monster that you could only barely contain.

But it is only now that you realize that perhaps it is not the worst thing to be seen by Lee Minho. Because you know all too well how he has seen every corner of you, and how he has loved you all the same for it all.

You reach out a trembling hand to graze your thumb against the ridge of his cheekbone. He looks so peaceful like this, almost as if asleep.

“Lee Minho,” you whisper, your voice barely audible against the incessant humming of the hospital machines. “Please wake up.”

xiv. when you reach out with both hands.

Minho finally wakes up three days later.

You’re half-asleep by his hospital bed, cheek pressed against the sheets of his bed, hand intertwined with his own. His members left a few hours ago for practice, and the room is foreignly quiet without their soft murmurs or gentle peals of laughter. You’re just about to drift off completely to take the first nap you’ve taken in days when you hear your name.

You jerk awake, sitting up so fast that you accidentally slam your knee against the bedframe. When you glance up, Minho is looking at you with tired eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Minho,” you say. And then you don’t know what else to say, so you just take a moment to stare dumbly at him.

“Y/N,” he says hoarsely, voice rusty from disuse. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

You notice that your fingers are still intertwined against the bed sheets, so you take a moment to yank your hand back, cheeks flushed. Standing up, you grab a cup of water that’s been sitting by his bedside and thrust it towards him. “Shut up and drink.”

Minho glances down at his hands, both of which are attached to IV drips. Mumbling a string of curses underneath your breath, you raise the cup to his lips, tipping it forward for him to drink. Your hands are shaking so badly that a bit of the water slops out, trickling down the collar of his hospital gown, but he doesn’t seem to mind it much.

When he finishes the cup, he turns back to you.

“I can’t believe you came,” he says, head tilted as he takes you in.

You flush again.

“Idiot,” you mumble. “Of course I came.”

Because you’d always come back to Minho, no matter how many times you ran away.

He grins, eyes crinkling fondly as you glare at him. For a moment, an awkward silence settles in before he clears his throat. “You look like shit.”

“You don’t look much better,” you shoot back. He’s not wrong though— you haven’t showered in three days and the meals you’ve had were few and far in between. You’d probably look a lot worse had it not been for Minho’s mom, who insisted on bringing you homecooked meals everyday and a fresh change of clothes.

You’re about to launch into a lecture about how you’d kill him if he ever gets into a car accident again and does he know how worried you’ve been these past few days and what was he even thinking, getting hurt like that without your permission? But instead, what comes out is—

“Are you and Tzuyu really dating?”

Minho lets out a choking sound, whipping his head up to stare at you. “Is that what you’ve been worried about this whole time?”

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “Just answer the question.”

“We aren’t dating,” he laughs. “We’ve just been hanging out more, mostly for fanservice. She’s already dating someone else.”

You would like to say that relief didn’t course through your veins at this confession, that you didn’t let out a huge exhale of respite, but unfortunately, that would be a lie. Minho laughs again, eyes fond as he reaches out to brush his fingers against your wrist.

“Did we really look like we were dating this whole time?”

You glare at him. “That’s what everyone was saying at least. You could have at least texted me to clear things up.”

“If I recall correctly, wasn’t it you who told me that you never wanted to see me again?”

You have no refutation to this very reasonable point, so instead you opt to glare at him some more, cheeks coloring. Minho laughs again and reaches over to lace your fingers with his own, his skin warm and real against your fingers.

You stare down at your intertwined hands and wonder how something so small could feel so impossibly right. Minho’s voice is gentle in your ears.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “I don’t think there’s any point in denying all of this anymore.”

Your eyes burn as you study your lap, cheeks flushed. When you finally speak, your voice is small and crumbling. “What are you going to do about it, then?”

“Date me for real this time,” he says. And there is no trace of hesitation in his voice, only a gentle firmness. “I won’t leave you behind again. Promise.”

You close your eyes and think about happy endings and what it means to love someone. And for the first time in an eternity, you break down your walls. And you let him in.

Looking up, you gaze at Minho, this boy who you have adored for a lifetime now, and you smile.

“Okay,” you say.

And then he brings you close to him and you let him, allow him to trace over your every flaw and scar and allow him to love you for it all anyway.

Maybe it’s true that you don’t believe in happy endings, that happily ever after could never exist in a world like your own.

But right now, in this moment, you desperately want to believe in a happily ever after with Minho.

xv. 10 years ago.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl in a castle located deep within the forest.

She was always alone, and always bored. So one day, she left the castle to find herself a friend to play with.

She offered them all sorts of amazing gifts, but they never accepted her. They pushed her away and left, leaving her sitting in the dust.

Later on, she found out why. A monster who carried with her the shadow of death. That’s what everyone called her.

She was angry at everyone. Bitter towards the world who she had accepted with open arms, the world that had pushed her away and left her in the shadows.

And even so, despite her anger, she one day rescued a boy from drowning. She dove deep within the murky waters and pulled the boy out of the river, dragging him onto the sandy shore of the river.

She took in the boy, who lay limp against the sand of the river bank, hair slick with river water. The boy opened his eyes and took in the girl, with her angry eyes and her bitter shadow.

And the moment the girl saw this boy, impossibly beautiful against the river bank, dark eyes tracing over her every feature, her bitter shadow disappeared. And from then on, the boy followed her around instead.

And for the first time, the girl was happy.

“That’s a terrible story,” you told 12-year old Minho when he recited this fairytale to you.

Minho’s eyes had widened in protest. This was back when dementia pills didn’t sit by his father’s bedside, back when everything was so perfect that it felt almost wrong.

“Why?” he had demanded, eyes narrowed. “I think it was a pretty good fairytale.”

You had shook your head dismissively. “It’s too perfect. No stories are that simple.”

Minho had smiled then, a smile that you were captivated by even at the young age of 12.

“But doesn’t it remind you of what it means to love someone?” he had asked, eyes a thousand years old as he gazed at you.

You cross your arms skeptically over your chest.

“To really see them for who they are and to follow them to the ends of the earth anyway,” Minho said slowly. “Maybe that’s what it means to love someone.”

You had laughed then, and Minho had echoed your laugh a few seconds later. You were both young then, and free of the burdens of life.

“Maybe,” you said. “Maybe.”

#ficscafe #kflixnet #straykidsland #also for the record the ending fairytale is from the kdrama it's okay to not be okay and is not my original work !!!#this took like 3 months to write i'm not even kidding #i went thru the BIGGEST writer's slump while writing this #the product of my blood sweat and tears fr #lee know au #lee know angst #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #stray kids au #stray kids angst #lee know fluff

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running-with-the-feels · 2 months

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*An excuse to rant about Raiden in MKX Scorpion's Tower ending*

Hi Tundra, how you're doing?

oh bless you for enabling me

TW! Suicide Mention

Okay so, the fact that Hanzo is so wracked with guilt he's about to Hara-Kiri is angsty enough as is, like that would be comfortably bad enough

BUT THEN THEY MAKE HIM IMMORTAL?!?!?!?!?!!!

Like, he's now bound to the Jinsei, he cannot die unless it and therefore the world does (You could argue that he also can't leave the Jinsei chamber or go too far from it if you want extra angst) So for the rest of his life (which is forever) he will be sitting there, waiting for another war

Can you imagine that? How lonely and exhausting that would be? He's been fighting wars pretty much nonstop since his resurrection and now he will never be able to rest or heal. He's functionally nothing more than Raiden's home security system

Makes me wonder how much of this was Raiden trying to prevent Hanzo's suicide and how much was him wanting to punish Hanzo

Bc also, Hanzo being immortal means that he's going to have to watch everyone he loves die.

Again.

For the third time.

He'll be training his clan (it's kinda implied that others might have been made immortal if you look at the background during the ending narration, but those could also just be Raiden and the other elemental gods, its not super clear) and watching them learn and grow and die and get replaced and he never, ever gets to stop.

I wonder if he even told anyone that he was immortal, did Hanzo even know? Or was it a surprise when he got speared through the heart and kept walking?

Like, I know in canon Hanzo being able to die is kinda debatable but the mkx comics imply that he has a choice. He can choose whether he comes back or if he wants to stay dead. Now tho? Now he has no choice whatsoever, now he has to keep going whether he likes it or not.

Just imagine Hanzo after learning what has really been done to him, raging in the Jinsei chamber and burning and breaking everything but the moment he targets the Jinsei, it hurts him too so he has to stop.

Imagine Kuai Liang and Takeda finding out

seriously, this ending is horrifying

#hanzo hasashi #mortal kombat x

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gingerhastoomanyobsessions · 2 years

Text

so. based on this post of mine, which was based on this post and the addition by @animate-mush, I have been braining on a vampire!jonathan modern reincarnation au. au soup. and while I may not have the stamina to write it (and the million and one other ideas I have), i have been able to outline it.

angst and such below because I love to torment the blorbos <3

• vamp!jonathan tries to confine mina in the castle that he took over from the count. there are no vampire brides to terrorize her, no pack of wolves at her door, just jonathan, desperate and obsessive and so filled with a dark, twisted kind of love. “they took you from me once, they’re not taking you again.”

• she wants to leave. she has a life back in england and very little idea of who jonathan is at this point. all she knows is that his face is familiar in a way that should scare her.

• she escapes one night through a window. they’re eating dinner together (if you can call it “together” when it’s only her eating and him sipping from a glass of what looks like wine) when he again begins pouring out a torrent of affection towards her, asking her for the hundredth time if she remembers him. she says no, truthfully, and through tears tells him that if he loves her as he says, he would give her her freedom. “I too can love,” he says passionately, before freezing, his eyes going wide and staring somewhere else as he realizes who he sounds like. who he’s become. she takes this moment to flee. he doesn’t chase her. not yet. • but he knows where she’s going. • mina manages to stumble through the woods, using her ingenuity and sheer desperation to survive, until she finds her way into a train station. she ends up in a convent, cared for by the nuns, who write to lucy to say that mina has been crying in her sleep and calling out jonathan’s name. whether she’s screaming in protest or calling out forhim, they cannot say.

• lucy comes to care for her and bring her back home. on the way, the nightmares keep getting worse. mina keeps dreaming of a life she doesn’t remember living. soon, everyday glimpses of things, of people, make her stop and stare into space. she thinks she’s losing her mind. first vampires, now past lives?

• lucy takes her to whitby to recover. they tour the old abbey, the lighthouse, the graveyard. it’s at the graveyard that lucy stops, now. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

• and mina knows. she knows what happened to lucy last time. when they wake to the news that a ship crashed into whitby harbor, mina and lucy know that now is the time to run.

• they return home. both of them are remembering more and more. lucy’s friends/boyfriends— an exchange student in college from Texas, an aspiring psychology student, and her boy-next-door childhood friend— get involved, worried sick about how lucy seems to be deteriorating. it looks like she’s having a crisis of nerves, according to seward.

• it looks so much like it, in fact, that when lucy starts to weaken, he dismisses it.

• mina knows what this is. she remembers glimpses. god, it’s her fault, and it’s happening all over again.

• seward insists that she seek professional help. he recommends a group run by his favorite professor— Van Helsing. • it’s there, also, that she meets renfield. he knows what’s coming. doesn’t know how.

• one person with a sense of impending doom is a case. two is a coincidence. two, along with a steadily weakening friend of one and a shared belief between them, is enough to make van helsing suspicious. he interviews them both, then lucy, then seward and the rest. the dots are connected.

• the entire gang is assembled. van helsing and mina share what they know. seward doesn’t believe it, obviously.

• not until they leave lucy out as live bait one night and wait, armed with crucifixes and garlic. they see jonathan come to her, put her into a gentle sleep, whisper to her that he always felt sorry for her and they wouldn’t get to her this time. he’d make sure of that. after all, his mina would need a friend.

• they leap out to drive him off. he flees. lucy is saved. now it’s known and believed by everyone. somehow, they’re part of a story that ended badly last time, and they have this one last chance to fix it.

• every time someone remembers something relevant to their pasts, they write it down. they compile diaries. just like last time. this time, no one is left out— not arthur, not quincey, not renfield, not lucy. mina compiles everything.

• the suitors hunt for jonathan’s boxes of earth. just like last time, they joke. beneath the joke, they’re unsettled. it’s reassuring to know that their friendship has stretched back a century. it’s less reassuring to know that they might not all make it out alive.

• this time, when renfield starts spending daytimes fending off episodes and not always succeeding, knowing that he’ll cave to an urge from outside himself, seward is one of the first to back him up when he asks to stay someplace away from the group. the two of them (safety in numbers) relocate, meeting up with the others in the daytime. last time it was his fault. this time, he changes his major. no use playing into a broken system twice.

• this does not mean that they are on good terms. both of them remember too much for that.

• on the last day of the box hunts, everyone goes. jonathan thinks he’d been clever to use carfax, to put the last of his earth boxes somewhere filled with bad memories for everyone, somewhere no one would want to go. in a way, he was clever, when he put different boxes in different rooms. the group splits up to search through the halls. mina and lucy find a few boxes in the crumbling old abbey.

• while lucy is busy taking care of them, mina sees a face in the shadows. she follows it.

• jonathan gets her alone. he tells her again how much he loves her, how they and all the rest can spend eternity together if she just agrees to be with him. and she remembers more of him, now. enough to know that the jonathan that she fell in love with was deathly afraid of losing her, would walk into hell for her, would lay down his life for her…but would not hurt her. not of his own volition. the jonathan she sees now is a sad echo of who he used to be, trapped as a creature that cannot help but lash out. perhaps looking into his eyes weakened her resolve, or perhaps she was too lost in the memories of who he used to be, but she kisses him out of pity.

• and his mouth is full of blood from his bitten tongue.

• she realizes what has happened the second the coppery taste is on her tongue. in his desperation, not-jonathan sought to bind her to him. she screams out.

• the group comes to her aid, they drive not-jonathan away, but it’s too late. her mind and his are linked. he uses it to tell her that he loves her, over and over again. she cries.

• everyone is there for her. everyone. they’ve all lived this far, they’re not backing down now. whatever happens, they’re going to make sure that she— and what remains of jonathan— find closure.

• they chase not-jonathan back to the castle in transylvania. when they travel, the suitors fall asleep with their heads on each other’s shoulders. arthur squeezes lucy’s hand when he finds her looking out the window biting back tears. van helsing makes sure everyone’s resting and eating, passing out water and buying blankets and making coffee. the others sometimes find lucy and renfield and mina talking to each other in hushed tones about what it’s like, being tied to a creature like that. quincey can’t shake the feeling that it’s all going to go wrong again.

• they reach the castle before jonathan does. they used planes whenever they could, he took only trains. they lie in wait, all of them armed with knives and guns.

• quincey shoots out the tires of the hearse that comes up the castle drive. arthur and seward block the front of the car while renfield drags the driver out of his seat and lucy and mina throw open the back hatch. van helsing opens the coffin.

• he’s not there.

• of course there was a decoy. he saw what happened last time. this kept the crew busy until sundown. as night falls, mist forms into a familiar figure.

• he asks all of them. not just mina. he begs them to join him, asks them to stop fighting. can’t we all be happy together, for once? lucy won’t have to choose. those who died last time won’t ever have to be afraid of it again. van helsing, we can be the family you wanted. aren’t any of you lonely? mina, isn’t ours the holiest love? isn’t it?

• and mina goes to him.

• she kisses him and holds him tight, burying her face in his chest. crying.

• she apologizes.

• and while his eyes are closed, a smile finally on his face, she stabs him in the back. right into the heart.

• he doesn’t have the chance to cry out. he doesn’t even realize it happened. he dies still smiling, but the smile softens as it becomes that of the jonathan she knew, who never wanted to hurt her or trick her or drag her into a life that would only cause her pain.

• “maybe we’ll get our happy ending next time.”

#SORRY FOR THE ANGST LOL I LOVE TO TORMENT THE BLORBOS #Dracula #Dracula daily #vamp!jonathan au #made it a post of its own because it’s been in my brain for too long for me to leave it to be lost in reblogs #Jonathan Harker #Mina Harker #the Harkers

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petitelepus · 2 years

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This is a part 2 to my previous request The next time they come to visit she finally stands up and tells them that she has a scholarship there so she doesn't need them to pull her out and finally calls out o all the BS they have been pulling on her and her siblings and saying that she aint never coming home until she sees improvement on her parents behavior. Also remind her dad that he was a second prince as well so he has no room to talk shit

A lot had happened since your birthday and your family's visit. Despite telling you to leave Leona, your first love, you had gone behind their backs and kept seeing him. An act of disobedience that earned you a visit from your furious parents.

To keep things civil and to your safety, Headmaster Crowley had summoned you all to his office to talk things out. Sadly, your parents preferred yelling.

"What are you doing?! Why are you still seeing that no-good Leina!?" Zira shouted at your face, but you held your ground despite fearing her.

"His name is Leona and yes, I am still seeing him."

"Didn't your mother and I tell you to ditch that boy and find yourself a royal successor?" Scar finally said, "You're young and don't know any better. The best you can do is to listen to us."

"No, I don't." You clenched your teeth together and growled, "You are the shittiest parents that a cub can have and I won't take orders from you anymore!"

"Excuse me?" Scar asked, and you swallowed as you could feel bloodlust emitting from him. "You say you choose that brute who has no land to call his own? You choose him over your own family?"

"You're one to talk!" You snapped, "You're a second son also!"

"That's it! I will not stand this disrespect from my own kin," Scar clasped his hands together and focused his glare on Headmaster Crowley, "Take her out."

"Excuse me?" The masked man asked.

"Dad!" You cried out but the beastman ignored you, "Take her out of the school. She is returning home with us."

"You can't do that!" You tried to protest.

"We can and we will!" Your mother shouted, baring her teeth with an ugly scowl, "Once we get back to the Outlands you will be put to vigorous training and you will never see that boy ever again!"

"Indeed." Scar nodded and looked at the masked Headmaster, "Take her out."

"I'm afraid I can do no such thing, sir." Headmaster Crowley said. Scar raised his brow, "You can't or you won't? You know damn well that she cannot stay here without our money."

"That's the thing, sir." Crowley cleared his throat, "Your daughter has gotten a scholarship from one of the college's best-known influencers. She can stay here if she wishes to."

"You must be joking?" Your father asked but when no one replied, he looked at you and gave you one of his cruel smiles, "Well, in that case... Good luck making it out there on your own. You won't survive with that second son as your mate."

"Actually, Leona and I have a place." You said as you crossed your arms and smiled, finally feeling a little smug for having the upper hand over your parents, "We have a patch of land in Briar Valley waiting for us. I don't ever need to come back to Outlands again."

"Why you little ungrateful-!” Your mother was hissing but the Headmaster went between you and your parents if anything would happen.

“It has been a honor having royalty visit us, but I’m afraid I must ask you to leave the College grounds.”

“But I'm royalty!” Scar raised his voice for the first time since coming over, “You can't do that! I have right over my own kin!"

"If you wish to enroll one of your other children you are welcome to do so, but until then you are no longer welcome to the school's grounds." Headmaster Crowley said as he tipped his hat to your parents, "Until then, I wish you the best."

You could tell your parents were furious over the fact that they had no control over the situation or you. They shot you furious glares as they left and once they were gone, you sighed out loud in relief.

“Thank you for having my back Headmaster.” You smiled as you looked at the masked man and he bowed, “My pleasure. Students’ safety is my top priority.”

You were smiling, but you had a hunch your parents weren’t just going to sit and take this but for the first time ever, you felt free. Free to live and love however you like.

#twisted wonderland #twst #writing #my writing #scarletdragontiger #scar #zira #lion king #reader #reader insert #dire crowley #bad parents #Enjoy!

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boguladekoms · 2 months

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The Dark Ring : Origins Of The Mad Doctor by Bogula D. Ekoms

Chapter 1

Once long ago, the sun crested over the mountains in the east, in the clear skies over Byrst Township. It was a mellow spring morning, characteristically cool and slightly damp. On this day in Byrst, a fledgling young wizard-to-be dragged himself out of his warm and cozy, but frankly, dirty bed. Sheets, once alabaster, were now far more yellow than white. He sat up, and groggily rubbed his eyes. "Again", he muttered with wretched anger in his voice. "I'm forced to rub shoulders and bump elbows with those fools again." The 'fools', as he called them, were his fellow peers, students of the magical arts - he hated all of them. This was his morning ritual.

He trudged downstairs, barely dressed in his robe. He ate well, as his mother tried her best to love and care for her contemptuous child. As he was leaving, he nearly left his rucksack. He didn't necessarily forget it, he just didn't feel like bringing it along today, assuming he wouldn't need it. His mother caught him as he was out the door, handing him an overstuffed rucksack that was starting to split in several spots. On the top of the rucksack, in poor handwriting, there was a name. "Seldlic".

Seldlic was born into a family of successful wizards and sorcerers. His father was a decorated veteran, who sadly perished in battle when Seldlic was still only a toddler. His mother was a healer, specializing in magical plagues, and worked for a hospital in Byrst. Seldlic also had a brother, Wyndreám, who was actually flunking his classes and very close to being kicked out, but he would hardly ever let his grades get him down.

Seldlic was not at the top of his class, though he consistently scored high on tests. His problem was that he never bothered with homework, but moreso that he was a hateful person. He assumed that his classmates were jealous of his intellect. He would frequently brag about his perfect test scores, his family's wealth, and his lineage. If, however, you were to ask his peers, the reason they didn't like Seldlic is because he was a cunt. A pretentious, self-centered, cunty brat who looks down on everyone he meets, and thinks he's so smart that nobody can match his intellect. Indeed, if a group of his classmates were walking towards Seldlic, they would scatter around him and regroup once past, like a school of fish avoiding a shark. Unfortunately, even the most powerful wizards cannot see the future through divination - if only they could foresee how accurate that analogy would soon become.

On this gentlest of mornings, Seldlic was walking to school. His rucksack was unbearably heavy. He was not a very active boy, he could barely handle walking to school to begin with. Oh how he envied his classmates with horses, which were most of them. Wyndreám never minded, however. He quite enjoyed long walks, sometimes Wyndreám would go on walks for hours on end with no destination in mind, and return home long after the sun had set. This morning, Seldlic would have a test waiting for him. Several in fact, as this was one of his last days of schooling. If he could get perfect scores on these tests, he would graduate smack dab in the middle of his class. "Fools", he silently barked. "If it weren't for all of that homework, that wretchedly stupid homework, I would be the valedictorian!", he snidely proclaimed as his school's many steeples began to peak at him over the hill.

Terror Daemonum Academy was established centuries ago, named as such because it was first used as a military academy to fight back a scourge of invading demons. Once enough blood was spilled to make the oceans run red, mankind stood victorious, and closed off the realms of hell from entering again. Afterwards, the training school was turned into an academy proper.

Seldlic stood at the top of a hill, gazing at the marvelous school, with high walls and imposing pillars made of solid marble, accented with gold, and beautiful stained glass windows, and silver roofs that softly reflected the light of the sun, symbolic of it being a beacon of hope in times long since passed. He loathed that school with a passion. His hatred for academia was the one and only thing that he truly felt passionate about. Nothing drove him more than his desire to leave and never come back. But this morning, gazing at the academy bathed in the soft light of morning sun, Seldlic had a new feeling. Soon, he thought, he would be leaving. But what then? As it were, he would have a hard time furthering his education. And why would he even want to do that? He'd just spent about the last 15 years learning, and he kicked and screamed nearly every step of the way. Why would he want to spend more time learning, more time spent with fools. But, at the same time, he didn't like the alternative. As all this time, those fools were having fun. They laughed, they threw parties with ale, and mead, and sweet wine, and all manner of food, and music. They knew camaraderie. Seldlic, however, was alone. At least, he thought he was alone. His mother loved him dearly, and Wyndreám always tried his best to get Seldlic to loosen up, but that meant very little at the end of the day.

Seldlic had always held this in his heart, but suddenly he felt an overwhelming sadness wash over him. In this moment, he realized that, maybe, he was the cause of his own misery. He had always pushed people away. He had always called them fools, or imbeciles, all manner of hurtful titles. He'd never courted a girl, like the fools could do with relative ease. He'd never received praise from his professors, in spite of acing every single test they threw at him, unlike the other fools who did worse. Once Seldlic had seen his professor congratulate a classmate for getting what would equate to a B-, just because that kid "improved" and "worked hard for it". Seldlic had never had to improve, and the test was easy to the point of being boring for him. He got a perfect score on that, but his professor barely looked him in the eye handing the paper back. He could never understand why, but now, as the silver roof basked in the early morning rays, the reason similarly began to shine and stand out within his mind.

Coming to this realization nearly made him shed a tear. He had never felt so low. Yet, as he came to understand the deep sorrow in his heart, a new feeling emerged from the black pits of sadness - anger, purely crimson. He didn't want to die in obscurity, nor repeat this mundane routine. What he wanted was to be remembered. So, standing there on the hill, he dropped his rucksack. When he did, it ripped completely open, books and papers slowly spilling out of the bottom, and it gave Seldlic a rather sinister thought. He chuckled at it, projecting several of his classmates all at once onto the blown out rucksack, the books and papers being blood and innards, naturally. Seldlic wanted to go somewhere nice and quiet to reflect on these new ideas popping into his head, one after another. All sorts of vile, twisted thoughts of immolation, decapitation, mutilation and gore of all kinds, they were dancing freely within his mind. He could smell the scent of iron, and taste the coppery flavor on his tongue. The screams. The horror. It delighted him.

To the east of Byrst Township was a tall mountain range, with the highest one being nicknamed "Skullcrusher Mountain", as facing Byrst was a large dome of rock seemingly bulging out midway up. It had several large indents, making it look like a skull with its hollowed out eyes and nose, and a giant, jagged crack roughly going down the middle. To the west of Byrst was what would be known as the Sea of Blood. At the time, it was a deep, rich blue as far as the eye could see, and far beyond that lay the Kingdom of Snowfall. Byrst Township itself was built with density in mind. Owing to its purpose of being a refuge and training grounds during the demon wars, Byrst boasted tall buildings, housing thousands each, with several smiths, and restaurants, and markets, and more on every floor. There were very few buildings in Byrst that didn't have at least a third floor. As much of the surrounding land within the township as possible was left untouched. The cobblestone roads were constructed well, made 300 years ago and nary a single crack was appearing. In between the roads and the tall buildings were even taller trees, with mighty canopies of brilliant green that could reflect a hint of the golden rays of the sun. Many ended up building homes into the largest trees. Their bark was smooth, and golden brown. Its sap was red, and it became taboo to build in a way that would cause harm to the trees. Even shaking leaves off of felled branches could earn you stern looks from a few. The way the people of Byrst saw it, nature sustains life. Life should also sustain nature. Take crops from the same patch of soil enough times, soon enough you'll have infertile land. Therefore, you must nurture the soil. There was once an annual "Sacrifice Week", wherein the people of Byrst for 7 days had no obligations to fulfill work or school related tasks. The only obligation was to go out to the farmlands for at least one day and till the fields with fertilizer. A liquid concoction of various foul smelling things, it was to be spread over the fields and worked into the soil. You were allowed breaks, and though nobody was obligated to, the townsfolk would set up various feasts and buffets. Nearly everybody who grew up in Byrst had a very distinct, intense love of nature. They didn't mind working in the fields for a day if it meant being around the people you love. And the food and drink, particularly the mead, was a delightful bonus.

Yes, most didn't mind, except for Seldlic. You there, dear reader, did you really think he'd tolerate even being out in the sun, let alone laboring? Even the food that was usually free of charge, and mead or ale bought for an IOU couldn't motivate him. He hated it. He just wanted to go home, and be away from the people he hates. Moreso, he hated seeing them happy. This became far clearer to him while gazing at his school. The much lauded fools laughing, comforting, hugging, cahorting, giggling, kissing, fucking, he knew all of this was happening for them. "Why not me?", he said aloud, with a beet red face bearing pure, unadulterated rage, and tears yet to fall in his eyes.

Seldlic was unburdened, and felt like it as well. He was indulging in sadistic fantasies the whole time that he walked. Every step brought forth a new idea. A new person's head in his hands, ripped off of the shoulders, with torn skin, and ripped muscles and sinew, with faces portraying pain unimaginable. Or standing over his schoolmates' bloody bodies, stabbed repeatedly, to the point where their organs were likely minced and hacked to bits on the inside. He didn't want them to stop, so he kept walking. He walked so long that he was tired, which took about 20 minutes, but by the end he had found himself in the surrounding forest, between the township itself and Skullcrusher Mountain, and its mountain range. He was near a stream, running ice cold water down from the mountain top from melting ice and snow. Seldlic felt tired, but rejuvenated in his soul. For the first time in his life, he'd had a goal. A real goal that he thought he could accomplish easily. He was, after all, so far ahead of everyone. The fools had to toil in books and plough for information, but for Seldlic, magic came as natural to him as the thoughts of murder, and torture, were flowing to him now.

One prodigious or hard working wizard could learn from Terror Daemonum Academy several types of magic, though most who grew up and lived among Byrst chose the path of the druid, at least in some capacity. Others, like his mother, chose a hybrid of druidic and healing magic. Very rarely did anyone from Byrst forgo the learning of any nature magic to learn strictly the magic of war - the magic that Seldlic's father was a master of, and Seldlic himself was a natural with the arts as well. His teachers would have described Seldlic as being smart, but troublesome, and lacking focus. Some had a gut feeling that would soon be validated, though they knew not to what extent, that Seldlic might someday use what he'd learned against all of them. But, they were also assured that that would be nonsense. Maybe he could start to do some damage, but surely he could be stopped. Druidic magic is not outright as powerful as war magic, but that doesn't mean it was useless. People from villages near Byrst Township would regularly come to hire druids for both crop management and protection. Highwaymen wouldn't dare lay one finger, even in jest, on a Byrst druid. Wherever they lay, propped up in a tree, or beneath fallen leaves, the druid would have sensed them, and turned the tree's branches and limbs into clubs, or grown an acorn mixed in with the ruffage you chose to hide in.

Seldlic knew how to do exactly none of this, he was only concerned with what he was good at. The spell "Wifer", for example, created a concentrated bolt of energy that was fired off the end of your chosen staff or wand, named as such because the bolt of magic resembled an arrow or a spear. There are many more war magic spells, and Seldlic was proficient with many of them. He decided to test one out. In the stream, stuck against some rocks under the water, there was a small log, about as wide as a man's torso. Seldlic drew his wand, made of cured wood with a matte lacquer. He pointed it at the log, and with a sensation of energy going through his body, crackles of energy rippling out of his arm, his hand, and into his wand, "Wifer!" Seldlic yelled. A white hot glowing orb of power lay at the end of the wand, growing, charging, humming, and then shoots out with a "WAP"! It hit the log like a cannon, blowing it in every direction into some big bits, some small chunks, but mostly splinters. And Seldlic was quite close, he couldn't have been any further than nine, maybe ten paces.

He was blown back a short way, and he'd been hit with debris. His ears were ringing. If Seldlic had any thoughts, he was unable to hear them, and it would be that way for several minutes. His face hurt as well, stinging, numb, all over his body really, but his face especially. He could not open his eyes, they were stinging and like hellfire they burned. He felt warm in some places. From instinct, he checked his vitals, checked for blood loss with his left hand, like his inner thigh, and his neck. He would have checked with his right, but he forgot all about his right hand for a moment. He felt that was odd, because if he thought, he couldn't hear it. He checked his right with his left, and he had it, thank the gods, but it had a sizable chunk of flesh blown off the side of his palm. He could've seen how his skeleton connects his pinky together if he could open his eyes.

Seldlic was trying his best to scream. He had made one loud shriek, and with that his voice broke. He was forcing air out of his mouth, and he was making queer squeaking noises, but nobody would call it a "scream". Above all, more prominent to Seldlic than the pain from his hand, or the splinters, or his throat, was how winded he felt. If he weren't writhing in pain, his blood almost boiling hot with adrenaline, he wouldn't have the strength to stand.

War magic has an effect on your body, in that it draws upon your stamina pool to cast. The spell "Wifer" can be cast to varying degrees, generally ranging in size from small bolts, to javelins that can pierce through multiple soft targets, and only stops once the spell fades or it hits a solid surface. Seldlic had created a larger Wifer spell, the largest that he could muster, as he wanted to see the log be eviscerated and project a cruel fantasy upon it. The saddest thing is that even conjuring a few small bolts would be enough to get him to this point of exhaustion. However it may have also had a less painful aftermath.

After silently screaming into the sky for what seemed like forever, Seldlic could hide it no longer. His tears fell like rain. "Worthless", he told himself. Seldlic spent several long, excruciating, painful minutes realizing everything that was wrong with him, which was himself. Seldlic no longer wanted revenge. He just wanted to die. Seldlic couldn't do much else, so with what little strength he could muster, he crawled and dragged himself to the stream. It was deep enough to come halfway up your shin and calf. Just deep enough to drown himself.

The water, surprisingly, was clear, and reflected Seldlic's face as he hovered over the surface. His face was covered in splinters and cuts and blood and bruising. He propped himself up with his left hand, resting in the stream, in the soft dirt among several small, smooth rocks. As Seldlic was convincing himself to get it all over with, he also quite enjoyed the feeling of digging his hand through the soil, and fingering and handling the smooth stones. He was about to drop his head into the water, when he felt something. Not soil, not a stone, not a plant, not a fish or a crab. Something had worked its way onto Seldlic's finger. Curious, Seldlic pulled his hand out to examine it.

A softly glinting band, appearing to be an even mix of gold and silver. It was not dull, nor did it shine brilliantly. Upon the unremarkable ring it was a single gem, a shade of crimson like that of blood. The gem had some type of design within it. It appeared to be a warped ladder. As Seldlic pondered the curious ring, he had noticed the pain in his face, and hand, and all over, was gone. He felt his face, and there were no splinters. He looked at his right hand, and it appeared as it always had. Seldlic also was no longer tired. He felt rejuvenated.

And now, he felt vengeful.

#writing #short story #bog #the dark ring

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deepestkoaladonut · 11 months

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Today, I learned an important lesson in my life, and i could say that i learned it the hard way...

I have a boyfriend who is working as a Personal Fitness Trainer now. I have been very supportive of him with his career, making sure that whatever he needs that i can give, i will give. I honestly thought that i would continue to show him 💯 of my support. But recently, I have been struggling to give that 💯, especially when he was starting as an intern, because i have thought and experienced it first hand how he will train other people plus the thought that he will be surrounded by people who perhaps have better body shape than me. I am not the type to be insecure, in fact i would say that i am most of the time overconfident about myself. Going back... I cannot help but think of all those things. I noticed how he slowly lost time for me, and struggled to make time for me because whenever he tried, he would often just fall asleep. It was so much of a big deal to me whenever it happens because it would often remind me how I've been taken for granted in the past. I would wait and wait for him, understand him, and wait for him again, not knowing that he's becoming more comfortable with the changes that are happening in our relationship. He used to be so excited to go home to come and see me, but then he started to change. Whenever he has an opportunity to rest and not work, i would wait for him to say that he will spend it with me like he used to, but he didn't. I actually perceived that he liked the company of those at work with him more than me and whenever he would say otherwise, i wouldn't believe him. I tried to keep to myself whatever i was feeling because i never wanted to stop him from doing something he enjoys to do. But i was a human after all, whenever i'm hurt, sad, angry, happy or what, my actions would say it all, no matter how much i try to hide what i feel it would show. So the confrontation came, it didn't go well at first but fortunately, it ended well. We say we would make it work, he promised to be better and not make me feel that i was being left behind and i trusted him. We became okay. But just like all other relationships, we still argue from time to time, and just recently, something i never wanted happened.

He had a client, a girl. I didn't care much at first but because of his stories, i started to become curious with her. I stalked her and found out that she may be looking for a special someone as per her friend. I also noticed the way she talks to my boyfriend, which did not sit well with me because the vibe she gives was really different with the vibe that his other girl clients give. Just recently, something happened that i instantly regretted happening because it tainted my faith in Christ. A cursing word came out from me and i hated that it did because i was so mad at what she did that i wasn't able to think about it much. Not that i regret showing her boundaries as a client, but i regretted the way i showed it to her because it was under how i handle things, and it is not what is expected of me as a Christian. And i hated my bf because i've been telling him to handle her and show her boundaries because i am not really in the position to do so, since she was a client to him. I also hate myself because of how i felt that caused all of these, I am a Christian so more is expected of me and I feel ashamed to God for bringing shame to his name.

Right now, i don't really know what to say so silence is the only thing i could give. Hopefully, i would be for the rest of my life so i wouldn't complicate everything around me. Care less, and shut up... I also realized that it is not my job to do something to make other people know that he has me, it was his job to do that since it was his relationship with other people and not mine. What i can do is to kneel it all to God, pray, and let the will of the Lord take charge just as what Maxine Magalona said in an interview.

Help me please...

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alyosiuscreightonward · 1 year

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Dear Diary.

I cut people off with ease. You disrespect me or try me, I have no time for that.

Nor will I ever think of you again!

Forgive & move on!

- - - - - - - I cut and pasted this. I found this on another social media site. This really hit me. I’ve been that person. If one day I just felt that I had no more choices or at least had not found another option, you’re dead to me. I’ve also been that vicious caustic acidic soul crushing person. The Demolition Man. One minute, there’s a metropolis and the next minute, it’s razed erased eradicated and there’s no evidence that anything was there in the first place. I’ve destroyed people for the absolutely stupidest thing ever. They were breathing. Then I’d be like, they’ve been dead since Christopher Columbus and we’re still not getting it.

Also I’m an extremely forgiving person. Some people have told me that I do too much for people. I’ve gotten a phone call at some ungodly hour of the morning and driven to save that person. I expect nothing from them. If I’m being a tad over dramatic and played up the situation, they’d say that it’s enough and they need to go as I was going through the minutiae of the story. Granted I will tell you the truth and nothing but the truth and yet I might leave a piece or two of the puzzle out of the story. I just know that the person who is listening to the story, they’re losing their minds because of the fact that I’m not the evil doer here. Yet I gave the other person permission to fuck my shit up and I actually allowed it to happen. I let them walk all over me. I did it because I thought they would like me even more. I did it because I thought they would love me even more. Talk about living under the delusion.

As of recently I had a friend who I had connected with on a level that I hadn’t been on in a long time. She’s been having her own issues and I’ve attempted to be supportive and reach out to her. Days will go by and nothing. Then I get a text or a message from her saying blah blah blah and that she’s going through some shit. I’m suspicious of the response but I do let it go and move on. I’m not doing that anymore. I can’t. I won’t. I’m in a different space now and I just cannot and I will not.

It’s like lyrics from a song, time heals all wounds or something similar to that drivel. The wound has not actually healed and physically it may have healed and left a scar but I now can cope. I can talk about it or write about it and I don’t get upset about it. Like that one time I got mugged and I had shit taken off my person yet I was unharmed physically but the emotional impact is still here. I knew that I would just say, here this is what I have on me. Take it. Walk away. Back when it happened, there no cameras on the subway platform as there are today. There’d be a panic button available today but not when this happened. Telling the transit police, I was just standing there waiting for the A-Train at Rockaway Beach and some group of guys all pulled out knives and threatened me and I gave them everything I had on me. What would they do? Honey Child, sometimes shit happens and the perp doesn’t get caught. It took me two hours to get home instead of the forty-five minutes it would’ve taken had I not been mugged. That’s just one example but there are other stories but why dwell? I have the capacity to dwell on shit and go into an abyss of feelings. Now that I’m meds, I need to continue to take steps forward and maybe one day I’ll have a chance to take that one giant leap.

So I’ve left many people behind and I’m a better person because of it. Thanks for the memories. I look at my foster children and everything they went through. Then I look at the adults that were there. It all went thermonuclear and it did fade away but it continues to radiate energy. I make the conscious and deliberate effort to keep myself out of it and keep it from entering my mind or body. I know quite well what I did and I know how it hurts and yet none of them can say the same. I allowed it to happen and now I’m just putting up a boundary and that wall will never ever be torn down. Nope. I can easily talk about it and I might be upset about it but I’m not going back there until I have confirmation that they have actually passed away. I know it’s that easy for me to quote Moms Mabley, “They say you shouldn’t say nuthin about the dead unless it’s good. He’s dead. Good.”Nope.

What? I didn’t suffer? I didn’t have pain? I didn’t feel some kind of way? Motherfucker, they need to get a grip. They all need to get with it. They all need to go find the meaning of the word Acceptance, Accountability, Acknowledgement and Affirmation. They all need to learn the meaning behind Listen Explore Acknowledge and Respond. Listen to the words that are being spoken. Get down to the etymology of the words. Then realize that they were also being caustic and acidic. They are being oblivious to what they did to me and I will continue to crumple them up like a piece of paper and I will toss them out and into the bin. Nope. I have no reflexes. I have no reaction. I will say shit and then I will spit on the ground with absolute disgust.

So, now it’s simple 🤷‍♀️

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