#this is becoming an insomnia blog...

[tchaikovskym]

You should tell me if I'm getting too self-loathing and seemingly fishing for compliments or affirmations. I don't want to do that. I know I've been posting a lot of negative things lately, but I feel like they're pretty okay? This blog has always been like a public extension of my thoughts, so I think it's a given when I have a bad time my posts kind of mirror that. And I really hope that I don't make anyone uncomfortable or make anyone feel like they're obligated to respond to me or help me. I'm not always good at remembering to tag things but I'll try to do so with the tag negativity.

The main purpose of me even having this blog is just yeeting posts in the void. If someone wants to read them, they can. If someone wants to interact with me, they can. But I'm not aiming for any goal or audience. I'm just happy with the fact that my thoughts are not alone when I post them and I'm not forcing anyone to deal with them.

#i mean i did post abt bella and edward having sex this blog is a chaos i dont have a theme #i just dont want to become one of those blogs that are posting mostly negative things abt themselves #its hard to deal with those kinds of blogs and its harder to see a blog become one like that #i dont really really really want to become that #also this is a #creation of insomnia

[truevedicastrology]

Astrology Observations

Aries Ascendants possess an uncanny ability to exude allure even in moments of anger. It's perplexing how these individuals effortlessly maintain a captivating demeanor, concealing their potential to swiftly retaliate if wronged. 😭

The enigma of those with Venus and Sun alignments lies in their perpetual elegance and charm. The cosmic dance between Venus and the Sun bestows upon them a radiant and inviting energy that transcends mere aesthetics. 💕🫂

Infidelity with individuals boasting a Water/Fire Venus is a perilous venture, especially with Water Venuses known for their profound and merciless reprisals rooted in deep emotional connections. 🫂

Venus in Capricorn personalities exhibit adorable tendencies within relationships, yearning for substantial time spent with partners, creating cherished memories in pursuit of a traditional and harmonious connection. 🥺❤️❤️❤️

Be vigilant of your solar return chart, as Venus positioned in the 1st/2nd/6th/10th houses may herald a substantial transformation this year. Additionally, Saturn - Venus Aspects can amplify this transformative glow-up. 💎

Individuals with the Moon in the 11th house form deep attachments, displaying a profound neediness for friendships, earning them the title of a "true friend." 🫂

The dynamic between Pluto and Mercury leads to articulate speech with an influential cadence, inducing others to adopt a similar hypnotic communication style. Jealousy often ensues due to their expansive vocabulary and eloquence.

Observing Mars and Venus aspects reveals a proclivity for intense jealousy, possessiveness, and a desire for exclusive ownership over partners and friends. 🔥🫂

Virgo Venus/Mars individuals can exhibit possessiveness akin to Scorpio and Taurus Venuses, creating a captivating yet possessive aura when these placements intertwine. ❣️

Saturn's transition through the 6th/12th house or the house occupied by "Pisces" in your chart may precipitate insomnia or sleep disturbances during that period.

A concentration of planets in the 9th house fosters a profound interest in spirituality, magic, and exploration of various religions.

A Mercury in Capricorn engages in conversation with a classic glamour, exuding sophistication and ensuring a lasting impression with every spoken word.

Individuals with an Aries/Taurus combination in their chart might grapple with significant anger issues and heightened nervousness.

Venus residing in the 2nd house signifies a beautiful physique and a refined appearance, inherently possessing elegance.

Neptune in the 12th house has an intoxicating effect, leading people to become inexplicably addicted. This spiritual placement demands attention to subtle signs. 🧘🏻‍♀️

Aspects between Neptune/Uranus and Sun/Ascendant create an electrified, dreamy aura.

Moon in Earth Signs manifests a fervent love and passion for reading books, blogs, and internet curiosities.

Capricorn Suns exhibit a penchant for living, laughing, and indulging in dark humor. 😭

Sagittarius and Aquarius Placements are fervent seekers of freedom, capable of undertaking the impossible to reclaim their liberty if threatened.

Harsh aspects between Saturn 🪐 and Moon 🌕 result in unresolved maternal issues, fostering either possessiveness or emotional detachment from a mother figure. (⁠つ⁠✧⁠ω⁠✧⁠)⁠つ💕

Saturn - Mercury harsh aspects may induce anxiety during conversation, stemming from past restrictions on speech, leading to incessant overthinking. (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ You truly deserve a comforting embrace!

Individuals with Scorpio Placements exhibit a predilection for wearing dark-colored attire such as black, dark blue, dark red, and dark purple.

Mercury - Pluto aspects thrive on discussing taboos and addressing topics people are hesitant to confront face-to-face, showcasing an inherent ability to broach uncomfortable subjects.

#astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astrology observations #placements #astro notes #venus #ascendant #neptune #Pluto #sagittarius mercury #mercury #aries #taurus #Capricorn #uranus #Saturn #moon in the 11th house #astro fyp #tumblr fyp #astro community #horoscope #fyp tumblr #couple #couple goals #relationship #love #aesthetic #love aesthetic #couples

[harmoonix]

🔥Gorgeous Astrology🔥

❍Observations ❍

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Aries Risings; How you can manage to look so good even when you are angry???? Like seriously these people look good in every mood they are, they can keep a smile on their faces and stil thinking how to end you in 2 seconds if you do them dirty 😭

How to people with Venus and Sun aspects manage to be so pretty and charming and to be so elegant and on point every single time??? Venus and Sun aspects can make you to radiate such a big and warm energy 💕🫂

Cheating on someone with a Water/Fire Venus is the WORST! these people know how to revenge and they can do it very bad and without mercy especially Water Venuses because these people love at a very deep level 🫂

Venus in Capricorn people are very adorable in relationships they want to spend very much time with their partners and make good memories together 🥺❤️. These people usually wish a very traditional and harmonious relationship ❤️❤️❤️

Watch out your solar return chart, if you have Venus in the 1st/2nd/6th/10th houses in that chart you can have a very big glow up this year, watch out if you have Saturn - Venus Aspects too these can help your glow up more 💎

Moon in the 11th house can get very attached to people, they can be very needy of their friends and that's why most people with such placement are called *true friend* 🫂

Pluto - Mercury aspects can cuss a lot and can talk in a very influential way to make you talk like this too, is like they take you in a hypnosis and make you talk like them. Also a lot of people can get jealous at them, for having a very large vocabulary and expressing their words very good

I've seen very people with Mars and Venus aspects getting jealous very hard and very easily to their partners and friends they can be somehow possessive and wanting you only for them 🔥🫂

I have seen people with a Virgo Venus/Mars getting posesive the same as Scorpio and Taurus Venuses can get 🤯🤯, if you have some of these placements combined they can make you a very posesive yet attractive person ❣️

When Saturn is transitioning your 6th/12th house or is transitioning the house where "Pisces" is in your chart you may have insomnia or problems with sleep a lot during that time

Having a lot of planets in the 9th house can make you very interested in spirituality and magic very much, you can also find interest in discovering religion and learning about them

Capricorn Mercury can talk with a very classic glamour in their voice, they are VERY sophisticated people even when talking these natives make sure to make a good impression

Natives with Aries/Taurus combination in their chart might struggle with very big angry issues and nervosity

Having Venus in the 2nd house can mean you have a very beautiful body and a very beautiful appearance, you can have elegance in your blood

If you have Neptune in the 12th house people can become addicted to you, in all ways possible even subconsciously, this placement is a very spiritual so pay attention to the signs 🧘🏻‍♀️

Neptune/Uranus aspecting Sun/Ascendant = Electrified + Dreamy vibe aura

Moon in Earth Signs = Love/Passion for reading books/blogs/internet curiosities

Capricorn Suns live, laugh, dark humor 😭

Sagittarius Placements/Aquarius Placements are freedom seekers, if you put their freedom at risk they can do the imposibile to have that freedom again

Saturn 🪐 - Moon 🌕 harsh aspects = Mommy issues, they can have a very possessive/detached from feelings mother 🥹 you deserve a big warn hug (⁠つ⁠✧⁠ω⁠✧⁠)⁠つ💕

Saturn - Mercury harsh aspects could have anxiety while talking that's because they could've been restricted to talk in the past and they can also overthink a lot "Did i said everything right?" "Do they understand what i say", "Do i talk too fast" vibe i wanna give you a very big hug (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ you deserve it!

Scorpio Placements = Love for wearing dark color clothes (Black, dark blue, dark red, dark purple)

Mercury - Pluto aspects might like talk a lot about taboos, about things people are afraid to talk face to face, these people can do that

#astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astrology observations #placements #astro notes #venus #ascendant #neptune #Pluto #sagittarius mercury #mercury #aries #taurus #Capricorn #uranus #Saturn #moon in the 11th house

[moonit3]

I see that request is open...

Sooo, i wonder what would happen if the reader/darling feels like something is wrong with Axel. Like, his personality felt almost fake. Like he did it as for the money,,,,

Bonus points if Axel actually about to ask the reader/darling to be his significant other! And reader/darling having moments of doubt which makes it harder for him to confess.

Like geee, i wonder why the reader/darling is like that- /sarcastic

another sequel for our boy axel! im glad that he receive some recognition as he is one of my favorite of the blog (о´∀`о) and today we have a continuation from the two previous segments.

A BREAK

➥ warnings/notices: yandere male, obsession, insecurity from reader’s part, angst (?), axel being insensitive sometimes, reader cries but nothing too much, not much yandere stuff on this.

➥ yandere! rent-a-boyfriend x gn! reader

➥ synopsis: after dating this new guys for a while, he makes a proposal that you might not accept.

➥ a/n: soooooooo this is quite short compared to my other projects (sorry anon…) as i had some struggles on writing this for some reason such as a temporary writing block, an incoming test and my insomnia. but no worries, i promise this one is a good one despite not having much yandere stuff on it, so enjoy it!

“do you want to make things official?”

“official?”

“yes, we should start dating real, without any contract between us.”

today was a little different than the usual dates with axel. instead of being you to call him to a date or send a text message to the enterprise that you wish to see him, he was the one who sent a voice mail to you, asking if you could meet him without needing to pay him.

at first, you believed that he just wanted to hang out with you as friends and maybe getting to know each other for real, but it seems he wants to take things further than you expected.

“you sure?” your finger began playing with each other, a way to calm yourself down and relax your mind with the words that came out of his lips. this wasn’t what you’ve planned for the day, but now you will have to endure axel for the afternoon. “i mean, i think things have been going well between the two of us like this…”

his eyes notice how nervous you’ve become and despite wanting to get close, to assure things will go well, axel just stay on his side of the bench. “you’re right, but don’t you think things will get better when we get together? like a real couple.” his hand moves to hold yours, but you move it away in the last second, making you getting further away from his touch. “what is wrong? you look more lost than usual, did something happened?”

you nodded. “i-it’s just that I’m scared of you leaving me.” the way your eyes seems to lose some sparkle when you speak makes axel’s heart drop. “i had a bad experience prior you and i don’t want this to happen again.”

right. you haven’t forgive that incident when you are dating the ‘first axel’ and it’s look that you won’t be forgotten about it anytime soon, specially as he had humiliated you in a intimate moment like that. but you don’t this ‘axel’ is the same one that broke your heart and he hopes to continue like this.

“yeah, there was that guy…” he fakes a smile, trying to keep his posture up and to not show any signs that he knows the subject more than you’ve told him before. “…he sounds like a horrible person from what you’ve said to me.”

“indeed. he was the worst.” he mentally agreed with you, back then, he had a terrible personality. “he was the worst human being, a horrible person and he deserves death.” oh. is that what you’ve thinking? killing him and trashing him? honestly, he can’t blame you.

as you continue to ramble about the fiasco of your first experience with the rent-a-boyfriend guy, axel caresses your hair. the thoughts inside his head are running wild, mostly of it are questioning himself if what he doing is right.

he is lying at you. pretending to be someone who he isn’t just to praise and protect you from his own actions that made you question if trusting someone is right or wrong, axel is responsible for making you crying numerous night. however, he doesn’t feel like to tell you the true.

when you ended your little speech of how terrible he was, a smile grows on your face when you look up to see his eyes. you look happier than usual now, compared to just a few minutes ago. are you going to say yes? take his words into consideration and be with him for real?

“can we stay like this? like, not a real couple for an extra time. im still not ready for a real relationship, axel.” you said, removing his hand away from your hair and hold it gently closer to your heart. “i do have feelings for you, but there are a lot of things that are making me feel trapped in the past, like i’m not ready to move on from it and you have been so distant in the recently days.”

so you did notice that. but how much do you truly know what he is hiding?

“i know that you have other clients other than me, but you are always looking at your phone when we are out together,” axel is making sure that you won’t receive another match from the app, resulting you on be his only. “and you don’t even reply to me when i ask something.” his voice keep failing as he didn’t got used to the lower tone.

he removes his hand away from yours, despite wanting to feel your touch on his skin. he needs to find an excuse, “i got busy with the enterprise asking me to help them at the financial sector.” is that a good one? “so they keep sending me multiple messages, but that is no excuse to my behavior in the recent dates we had.”

your lips curves into a smile when he said that, but it didn’t change the fact that you still suspicious of his behavior, you can feel something off. “i understand it, axel. but i think we should take a break.”

what?

“it will the best for us, axel.” you caressed his dark hair, smiling at his face. “i need to be by myself for a time, to get things back together and to prioritize my health as my work is getting harder in recently days. im sorry this might hurt you, but i really need to be alone—“

“it’s okay.” he smiled. “i know things have been hard to you and im going to be here to help you, at any distance.” his arms wrapped around your body, bringing you closer and leaving no other option than hugging him back.

your face rest on his chest, he can feel that you are crying against his shirt’s fabric, but axel doesn’t say nothing to ruin the moment. he knows that you have been working hard and even with you wanting space from him, axel will take care of you as he will keep his presence unknown to you in the future.

@moonit3 writings

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #yandere headcanons #yandere male x reader #yandere man #yandere boy #yandere headcanon #yandere hcs #yandere x gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert #my oc axel #➥·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ moon writings

[thelightsandtheroses]

One: I was just coasting until we met

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. When a ghost from your past threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Word Count: 2.5k

Overarching Series Warnings - 18+ blog - minors do not interact, unexpected friendship, developing relationship, idiots in love, flangst, typical TLOU content, references to cults, references to past manipulation, references to past violence, references to PTSD, single parent reader, some secondary original characters, etc. No use of Y/N, any further warnings to be added as appropriate. No specific age for reader, but range is implied in later chapters (minimum of 30s but not specified any further than that) Notes: This idea has been going around my head for months and I’m so excited to actually do something with this and share it. Also, a special thank you to the lovely @darkroastjoel for encouraging me to write this weeks ago when I wasn’t sure of the concept. The chapter title is from I’m With You by Vance Joy. 

One: I was just coasting till we met

Series List | Next

Jackson, WY, 2024

There’s nothing but stars and night sky ahead of you. If you look behind you, you can see a few sparse lights illuminating houses in Jackson, but ahead of you there are no distractions, just the trees and the sky and vastness of the world around you.

The air is cool and smells fresh; a mix of woodland, of the night. You adjust the thick woollen cardigan around your pyjama top and faded sweatpants. There’s no one around at this time of night so you haven’t made a real effort to get dressed or worry about your appearance.

You’ve come here many times before but it never fails to take you aback. The vastness, the stars, the way it makes you feel insignificant but not in a negative way. The only sounds you can hear are the insects and wind blowing through trees.

It’s peaceful, or as close to peaceful as exists these days. For a while, you could forget about the world you live in, convince yourself the last twenty years have been some sick fever dream instead.

In the two years you’ve lived in Jackson, this has become your spot. It’s where you go when you can’t sleep. It’s where you go when the past gets to you, when you either wake because of creeping nightmares and ghosts, or after hours of lying in your bed in a restless, anxious state wishing for slumber. 

You only ever come here at night. It’s as if there’s some sort of magic in place that would either ruin or remove the bench in the daytime. 

When you first came to this town, the idea of wandering around in the middle of the night seemed preposterous, downright reckless after living in Kansas QZ. 

However, one night you hit a breaking point.

You’d been lying in your bed, restless and unable to relax. Every time you thought you might finally drift into sleep, your heart would race and your throat would be so dry that you wondered if you were dying. You would become irrationally concerned you might just stop breathing if you did fall asleep at all. It was a pattern of insomnia that had followed you for years, from before Kansas and beyond. When you did finally sleep, you’d have nightmares, but most of your nights were shaped by restlessness.

That night, as you desperately tried not to wake anyone else up, hating them all for being able to sleep, you felt like you were going to finally break. You had to get out, just clear your head a little. 

You discovered the bench that night, perfectly positioned to watch the sunrise, to take in the world around you without distraction or worries.

It’s a special spot; serene and soothing. It’s your sanctuary.

 Sometimes you don’t need to come here, your record is a week and half away - an achievement you only reached a few days ago, but inevitably, and usually at least twice a week, you’ll end up back on your bench waiting for the sun to meet you and wash away your ghosts. 

There’s the crunching sound of boots on gravel behind you and you turn around cautiously, one hand clinging to the edge of the bench. You’ve been complacent, you chastise yourself, you don’t even have a weapon with you.

Joel Miller stands before you; a battered brown coat buttoned up to his neck, torch in one hand, with the other jammed into a jacket pocket, and a bemused expression on his face when he sees you sitting there.

You’ve heard enough of him from the other locals since his arrival; he’s Tommy’s older brother, Maria isn’t sure of him, he settled here with a teenage ward a couple of months ago. Some of the other locals have said Ellie, the girl, is almost feral. Your impression of her from fleeting visits to the library is that she’s curious, she’s haunted, not used to a community like Jackson (and these days, who would be?) and perhaps the most honest person you’ve met in years. 

”May I?” he asks, indicating the empty space on the bench next to you. You almost want to laugh at the Southern lilt to his voice, the polite manners he’s showing you. 

‘May I?’ is not a phrase that belongs in this world anymore. People take, some people give, but most take. When the world ends, manners fade. When the world ends, you ask for forgiveness and not permission. 

It’s why your instinct is to say no, to say ‘Actually fuck you, Tommy’s brother, and go find another insomnia bench, this one is mine!’

You don’t do that though. Jackson brings back those manners, or it’s trying to at least. And even if you think it belongs to you, technically it’s not your bench because this is a stupid commune. 

So you grimace and nod, frustrated about the interruption as Joel Miller sits next to you. 

It’s the first time you’ve had a chance to look at Tommy’s brother this closely.  While you can see the familial similarities, Joel’s different. His greying dark hair is far shorter, almost messy at the moment like he’s just woken up and walked here. It’s almost endearing.

There’s a scar on the right side of his temple, the one closest to you, and you try and take in every detail of him, to analyse and evaluate just who this person next to you could be. 

You expect to feel uncomfortable at his presence, to feel on edge and ready to flee or pounce, but you don’t.  

“It’s uh, a good view from here,” Joel says after a moment. 

You nod noncommittally and clasp your hands together on your lap. 

“I’ve seen you around Jackson. I’m Joel,” he continues. His voice is surprisingly soft, gentle as though he wants to put you at ease. It shows a level of consideration you didn’t expect, one that makes you more honest in your reply.

“It’s a small town, I know who you are, Joel Miller.” 

“Oh really?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow and for a second something else flashes across his face. “What have you been told about me then?”

“You’re new, you’re Tommy’s brother. I think that’s about it. Heard you and Tommy are good on patrol.” 

“Oh yeah?” Unlike most of the men in Jackson, he doesn’t seem to puff with pride at that compliment. He looks at his hands, wringing them together then before asking, “So, that’s me. What about you then? What’s your name?”

You introduce yourself, taking in the way he repeats your name - how it sounds on his lips.

“I haven’t seen you around town much before,” he says after a moment.

“Would you have even noticed?”

“Someone like you? Most definitely.” You look at the ground in surprise, certain that you’re misinterpreting his words. 

He’s just being polite.

It’s just the insomnia. 

“It is a good view. You’re right,” you say quietly, keen to shift the conversation away from yourself and back to this moment. “It’s a really great spot for the sunrise.”

“I know,” he says calmly.

You pause. Has Joel Miller been using your bench when you haven’t? Is your bench essentially cheating on you?  You’ve always believed this was your secret, your place, but perhaps it’s a timeshare instead.

For some reason, the thought of that upsets you more than you expect.  You try and shake it off though, to be polite and good and everything someone who lives in Jackson is expected to be.

Perhaps you can share the bench … today. Just for today.

“How are you liking Jackson so far then?” you ask.

Joel scoffs quietly to himself and you look over with raised eyebrows. 

“Been asked that a few times already, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Why am I not surprised? Well, we don’t get that many new arrivals and you’re Tommy’s brother. People were bound to talk. They’ll settle down when something else comes along.”

“‘S been weeks now. Besides, I thought you just said you don’t get many newcomers, how long exactly is this going to last?” he asks, leaning forward for a moment, his arms crossed on his knees and head down.

You smile to yourself, wondering if you should admit how long it took for people to stop asking your group how you were liking Jackson, how long it has really taken to be seen as a resident and not a new arrival. 

“Well, there’s a new litter of puppies due soon, and I heard a rumour that there’s going to be another dance again in the next few weeks. Your arrival will become old news before you know it,” you say with false sincerity.

He chuckles to himself. “This really is like a small town, huh? That uh, -“

“Nosiness? Lack of privacy? Gossip mill?”

“All of the above. So, you think puppies will help?”

“Everyone loves puppies, Joel Miller. Probably even you do.”

He smirks. “Really, do I look like that to you?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice, mischief in what you can make out of his eyes in the dim light. 

“Sure you do.”

“So we’ve just got to wait for a bunch of puppies or some town dance for me an’ Ellie to be old news? Okay, here’s hoping.”

A silence falls between you but unlike before, it feels companionable, calming even. 

“So, you said ‘I know’ when I said it was a good spot for the sunrise. Does that mean you’ve been out here before then?” you ask as your curiosity finally wins out. 

Joel looks over at you with a smirk, “Why, is that really bothering you, huh? A couple of times, sure.” He shifts his weight slightly, places an arm on the bench and turns himself so he’s facing you.

“I just haven’t seen you out here before, that’s all.”

“You come out here at this hour a lot?” Joel raises an eyebrow that you can’t tell whether conveys being impressed or incredulous.

“Sometimes,” you say lightly. Most times.

“How long have you been out here then?” Joel asks.

“On this bench? About an hour. In Jackson? Two years, give or take.”

 “An’ how are you likin’ Jackson so far?” he asks, a mischievous spark in his eyes that even in the dim light takes years off him, makes him look lighter. 

You laugh before you can stop yourself. 

“Touché, Joel.”

“Couldn’t resist.”

“Do you know what? Honestly, I didn’t believe it at first,” you say after a moment. “Places like this - they don’t work, okay? Someone always wants to be in control, power abhors a vacuum and then power corrupts, right? We were watching that play out before cordyceps, and if I’ve learned anything these last twenty years …  so when we got here, I didn’t want to stick around too long. I guess that I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop? Only now, now I’m still here and I guess this place, maybe it just works. It shouldn’t, but it does.”

You’re not sure what makes the truth spill out of you like that. Perhaps it’s because it’s the middle of the night, or it’s the power of the bench, or more likely, it’s because you know Joel is probably out here for a similar reason to you. 

You can see it in his eyes, in the way he’s sitting. 

“That’s what my - my - I’ve heard that before.  That this place actually works,” Joel says. “I know what you mean though. You see enough of all that in the QZs. Is that where you were before here?”

“Before Jackson, I was in Kansas for a while.” 

“Oh.” 

“Huh, I take it you’ve heard the stories then?” 

Kansas had a reputation amongst all the remaining QZs. FEDRA had been brutal there; ruled the city with an iron fist and realised every nightmare of a brutal regime.

 It was no surprise the fireflies had been so present there at one point, the symbol of hope and rising up against tyranny. Only they had abandoned Kansas years ago and it was down to those who stayed to try and fight back. You remembered Michael, who had tried to lead a movement against FEDRA, a man who was working towards a peaceful rebellion, as if such a thing could exist.  The QZ had gone dark months ago though. It didn’t bode well and you’d heard the whispers that perhaps Kansas was no more. 

“I uh - passed through on my way here.” Joel shifts awkwardly.

“It’s gone, isn’t it?”

Joel pauses and regards you carefully before he replies.“Yeah.”

“I take it that FEDRA and Michael’s group just - it doesn’t matter actually.” They’re all dead anyway, you think, the facts won’t change that.  

Flashes of years pass you. 

Violence. So much violence. Then those moments between, the ones that managed to burrow and bury themselves beneath your skin.

Your ex-boyfriend and you kissing in the kitchen of your crappy apartment  …

Your birthday - singing to that cheesy rock song in the living room and dancing to an old song with Sean and his sister.

Marking Gabriel’s height each birthday on the kitchen wall because it felt like a normal thing to do, a new line each year, each growth spurt measured.

Your ex-boyfriend and you arguing over the system, over the possibilities for Kansas. You wonder how long he lasted after you left Kansas - if he was there for its end.

Separations … losses …  too many deaths … pockets of hope and continued disappointments.

You okay?” Joel asks, a reluctant expression on his face.

“I’m fine. Left there for a reason.”

“Right.”

“It’s fine.”

Kansas had never really been home. You can’t make a home in a place you’re constantly on alert in, where you subsist on fear and anxiety. You could exist there though and at least in Kansas it was clear who was running the show, clear who was in charge. 

Jackson is the closest to a home you’ve found in more than twenty years, and even here you feel halfway out of the door. 

Joel’s still looking at you though, his brow furrowed like you’re a map he can’t read, an unfathomable equation.

You shrug and resume staring ahead at the forest ahead, at letting every sound, smell and sound around you just soak in, to create an illusion of peace.

After a while you steal a glance at Joel. He’s still on the other side of the bench; the hand on the arm leaning on the bench now pinching the space behind his brows, his eyes momentarily shut.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes like this but soon the darkness fades and dawn rises to greet you with the promise of a new day.

You stand up, brushing imaginary dirt off your clothes and meet Joel’s gaze. “See you around, Joel Miller.”

“See you,” he replies lightly.

As you walk down the hill, you turn around and notice Joel’s still sitting there, focused on the horizon ahead.

This isn’t going to be the only time you find Joel on your bench, you realise. Suddenly, your lonely but peaceful sanctuary has an addition. You know the two of you will find yourselves on this bench again in the middle of the night.

If you hadn’t spoken to Joel, the loss of that solitude would be devastating, but it’s not. 

 So, you think to yourself, it turns out you’re not the only insomniac wanderer in Jackson.

Tag List

YHIM: @orcasoul @pedropascalsbbg @yoursoulsunbreakable @iamskyereads @genetics4life @everyth1ngfan @frickatives @perennialdoll247

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk

If you want to be added to (or removed from) one of the tag lists, let me know or you can get notifications for @thelightsandtheroses-fics if you prefer. If you do not have an age or age range showing you are over 18, I will not add you to this list. I block ageless and blank blogs.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #your hand in mine fic

[dionewrites]

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄. ˚₊ HEADCANONS // ft. Lucifer 1.1k words · GN!Reader · SFW · Feel-good & Fluff ♛ Masterlist | Request Guidelines

⚠ Content Warning: Mention of his demon form, implicit threat and possible death, and reader being sick, stressed, unhappy, experiencing insomnia, and gaining haters. ✎ Note: This is the first work I wrote and posted here on my blog. I’ll be writing for all the demon brothers with this scenerio as well, so please look forward to it!

Lucifer is an ideal partner that certainly comes with a host of benefits. However, this demon is pretty private and keeps some of his cards close to his chest, so it’ll take time for him to fully open up. More so, showing his affection for you shamelessly.

He prefers to keep things on the down-low, so it’s not distinctly apparent that the two of you are dating, but as he falls more deeply and intensely in love with you, he becomes more comfortable and bolder in displaying his affection and declaring you’re his. Still, if one does not have eyes like a hawk, one will likely not notice those subtle cues, such as the shared pecks on the cheeks or lips when no one’s looking, the three love taps on the back of your hand to express “I love you,” his frequent stroke on your arm, hand, or shoulder blade, and how his hand is always resting on your thigh whenever you’re sitting beside him.

His most blatant public display of affection is when he spreads his wings in his demon form and wraps them around you on one side. When he’s in an excellent or sunny disposition, he’ll hold your hand and gently squeeze it from time to time, which he cutely does unconsciously, all the while entwining his fingers with yours.

He calls you “honey” or “my dear” as an endearment, but only in private. He still sticks to your name in front of others, excluding his brothers, Diavolo, Barbatos, and the occupants of the Purgatory Hall. After all, aside from gloating a bit that he’s the one you chose over them, he doesn’t really see the need to restrain himself to that extent around them.

He takes care and prioritizes your well-being around the clock. When you feel unwell or tuckered out to function for the day, he excuses you from your classes and requests a work from home for him to Diavolo to look after you. If given permission, he spends most of his time in your room and usually settles himself down, presumably working, on an armchair positioned slightly distant from your bed, just enough not to disturb your rest. This demon might seem to give off an air of calm and relaxed composure, but you bet he’s been a bundle of nerves throughout your bedridden hours. The heaps of glances he casts on you every minute are enough to reveal his uneasiness about your condition.

However, if there are very crucial matters he needs to personally manage immediately and, unfortunately, can’t be granted approval for work from home, he finishes his work as early and quickly as he can or goes back and forth between RAD and the House of Lamentation to check on you and make sure you are eating and take your medications at the right time.

Once you feel better, he teaches all the lessons while assisting you with the assignments and activities you’ve missed. He takes additional precautions to ensure you’ll not get sick again by closely monitoring your daily habits, food intake, and health condition. It may sound annoying and constant nagging, but taking extra care of your body and health is the top priority.

He can give succor and handle most of your concerns and worries. When someone wrongs or attempts to hurt you, if it requires immediate action or you want him to lift a finger, they’ll be dealt with straight away and make sure they’ll never trouble you again, though it’s a mystery whether they’re still alive…

When you feel overwhelmed and stressed, he does his utmost to reduce the task and burden placed on you, which he usually does without your knowledge. After those long days, he’ll take you on a date or short vacation (with or without his brothers) to unwind.

When you feel distressed and down in the dumps, he instantly drops whatever he’s doing, regardless of how swamped he is with work, to let you vent on him, listen to you (plus offer advice if you ask for it), and takes you into his arms while giving you slow and soft kisses or caressing your back to soothe and reassure you that you always have him and everything will be okay before long.

When you experience insomnia, he plays the musical pieces he composes for and about you on the piano. This demon has several irons in the fire, so there’s no doubt it’s surprising he has the time to spare—but little do you know, he only spends a short time composing the majority of them because, for some reason, everything easily falls into place just by thinking about you. His works are brimming with emotions, much of which focus on his deep affection, admiration, and devotion toward you.

He makes time for you. Despite having a lot on his plate, it’ll not become a serious issue because he consistently makes a special effort to be around you and involved in your every day, no matter how exhausted he is. On some days, you can see him pushing himself too hard that you’re the one who ends up canceling your plans and dates to force him to rest because he’ll never will.

He’s honest with you and won’t hide anything from you unless necessary and has a good reason for it. Even though you’re not asking or prying, he informs you about every demon, incubus, witch, or other species he meets and has a business with. Many take pleasure in spreading rumors and gossip about him, so he tells you about them to prevent misunderstandings.

His love languages are physical touch and quality time. His favorite time of the day is when he finally gets the opportunity and leisure to stick to you like glue. This demon can’t keep his hands to himself but will never verbally admit how touch-starved he is every day (unless he imbibes demonus). He always wants you to be physically close to him and enter your physical spaces. He loves how it feels to hold and be held by you. He longs for your presence and to simply spends meaningful time together.

Dating Lucifer makes others hold you in even higher regard and esteem. This is the avatar of pride we’re talking about, who’s immaculate and excellent in almost all aspects. Naturally, their respect for him is significantly extended to you. However, it’s also inevitable for many to feel envious and resentful of you, gaining numerous rivals and haters who are wishing and waiting for your breakup. Still, it’s best to feel and embrace that great pride for having him, just as much as he does for being with you as well.

#♛ | writings #♛ | in mind's eye #obey me #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me fluff #om! shall we date #om lucifer #obey me lucifer #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer headcanons #obey me mc

[fluff-n-cookies]

I think that Aizawa would have a hard time trying to sleep without having you within arms reach. especially when he first started to become a [platonic] yandere, his insomnia just worsened. no matter the sleeping pills, the various sleep tutorials, heck he even went to the doctor he just couldn't. The poor man just wants to be sure his baby is okay. now if you're his biological child (5 years old), he would probably have you sleep in his room, he knows it's probably not the healthiest situation but hey you're happy he knows you're safe, it's fine. buuuuutttt a couple mommy blogs later he decides to try and have you sleep in your room. now on your part, great, no problems at all, you got to eat some cookies then brushed your teeth Aizawa read you a bedtime story, and then tucked you in. nice, simple, sweet. and then Aizawa proceeded to have the worst night of sleep in his life. but really it's something he grows into. has you share a room with Eri at some point since it gives him even more peace of mind. NOW if you are a student he makes SURE you get the sleep you need, don't argue with him go to your room and sleep, he knows how hard it is with training and test and grades, but your well being is even more important, hell he even put mild sleeping pills in your dinner, it just is so much easier to simply do it, than negoiate with your stubborn ass, please just let him help you it better for the both of you.

#shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #bnha fluff #bnha headcannons #bnha x child reader #bnha x reader #bnha #platonic yandere #child reader #aizawa #shota aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Hiya! I love your works so I have a Halloween request for Bennett. His bad luck usually means that gets absolutely zero play, but things start to take a turn for the better when he begins getting nightly visits from a sleep paralysis demon reader. Bennett is semi-conscious and unable to move himself while reader has his way with him. When Bennett wakes up in the morning it all seems like a crazy dream but the evidence left on his body is very real.

Sleeping Benny

Pairings: Bennett x reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sleep paralysis demon!reader, sub/bottom!Bennett, soft noncon (Bennett enjoys it pretty quickly~), some fluff at the end

Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot

Author's Note: Oough I love this concept, anon! As usual, Bennett is 20+ here~

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

It was no secret that Bennett was terribly unlucky. Always winding up in strange and dangerous situations, it was a miracle that he survived some of the things he'd been through... and though he often wore a smile and tried to see the bright side of every situation, his constant bad luck did affect him mentally

Bennett was rather prone to horrible nightmares, causing frequent insomnia and even paranoia throughout the daytime. He did his best to hide the symptoms and, for the most part, he was successful. Lately, the nightmares had become much worse, jolting him awake at all hours of the night in a frenzy

Then one night, after yet another brutal nightmare, Bennett was once again scared awake. His labored breathing and racing heart were telltale signs of that, but this time he didn't bolt upright. His back was still pressed flat against the mattress and the only thing that could really move of their own accord were his eyes, which quickly darted around the dark room as he tried to get his bearings. Something felt very wrong this time, a strange sensation of panic flooded all of his senses at once and Bennett tried to scream...

...Yet no sound came out. It was as if his vocal chords no longer worked. He tried to move his arm only to find that he could not, his entire body felt like it was made of lead as another wave of panic washed over the restless adventurer. His arm remained draped over his stomach as it rose and fell at a frantic pace

Bennett's stare was fixed on the ceiling above him, shadows cast from all sorts of things from the single nightlight amidst the darkened room that he resided in. A new sensation caused his eyes to widen; what felt like someone's hand trailing its fingers up his legs. Fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs caused him to whimper, squeezing his eyes shut while the groping continued. It moved upwards, brushing against his member that was tucked into his pajama shorts and pulling a whine from him. The sensitive area between his legs being untouched both by himself and other people

Bennett glanced down in the direction where the strange feeling was coming from, expecting to see a person, but instead what he saw was nothing more than a shadow. Except the shadow was oddly shaped like a human...kind of. The edges of the shape were blurry and fuzzy, somewhat similar to static. It was impossible to make out any features or details, he wouldn't have even assumed that it was supposed to be a person if it weren't for the obvious feeling of being groped where the shape was positioned

-

The man laying below you looked in your direction, his wide eyes staring at you fearfully, though you knew he wouldn't be able to tell if you were truly there or not. Just a fun perk of your nature; being incomprehensible to humans in this semi-conscious state that you lure them into. Especially humans that had any conditions that affected their ability to sleep, even short-term things such as pulling an all-nighter once. Anything was more than enough to fuck with them and invade their consciousness for a little while

Long enough to feel their cute little body up, for example. And boy did you find such a perfect little thing. Someone who has yet to be touched at all, who's sensitive to even the gentlest of gestures, someone who would be fun to ruin.

So, that was your plan. To slowly work the poor thing up over a couple nights until his body was desperate for something– anything to fill up his virgin hole and grant him the pleasure that he so desired

Night 1 had already begun. The first step was to litter his body in teasing touches. That's all. Just touch every sensitive part on his small body so that he would crave more, subconsciously thinking about these feelings tomorrow. Sliding your hands along his inner thighs and up into his shorts, just barely brushing past his dick but never touching it directly. Dragging your nails back down and squeezing his thighs once more while the human let out a soft moan above you

Surely the little thing was confused right now. Grappling with the thought of being touched by someone or something, to his mind, that he didn't know. But also something that he wasn't even sure was real. To him this seemed like a dream, a hellish nightmare that he would eventually wake up from. All of this was terrifying and yet.... the way your hands glided across his skin, groping his thighs and rubbing up to his chest, it felt...good. It was pleasurable. He didn't know why he felt the way he did, he just knew that his body was all tingly and warm now. As someone's hands roamed his scarred frame the desire for more crept in, causing lewd sounds to fall from his lips unwillingly

Just as quickly as you had appeared, you left him. Alone with the lingering feeling of fingers caressing his thighs and nipples, Bennett couldn't help the way he tried to move his hips, attempting to buck into touches that were no longer there. Still unable to move, he resigned to his fate. Sighing before closing his eyes and eventually succumbing to sleep

Night 2 came rather quickly, and you were excited to tease your new plaything once again. Waiting patiently at the foot of his bed until his eyes shot open and his breathing sped up, taking in his surroundings a little less frantically than last night. You went to work right away, repeating your teasing ministrations of squeezing his thighs, but this time going a little further. Spreading his legs a bit so that your face would fit in between them and licking his sensitive skin, the new sensation caused Bennett to gasp suddenly. He was still immobile, the only things that could move slightly were his eyes and mouth once again, though he could not speak. Only noises such as whines and gasps could slip out

The noises enticed you to keep going, biting his thigh gently before trailing soft kisses up towards his hardening member, licking and sucking on the fabric that covered it until it was visibly wet. Your hands went to work on his dick next, wrapping around the length and pumping him roughly. The sudden movement resulted in a beautiful moan from the human, if he wasn't paralyzed by your powers surely his back would have arched for you

You continued stroking his clothed member harshly, abruptly stopping whenever you thought he was close to an orgasm. The repeated edging caused him to pant, sweat rolling down his warm skin as you toyed with him. Next, you decided to work Bennett's pretty hole open. Pulling his boxers down and eyeing your goal deviously, you gave his dick a few more pumps, making sure to collect as much precum as you could before returning to his entrance. Using that bit of precum and your spit as lube while you pushed one finger inside

He was tight. Impossibly tight as his muscles clenched around your digit invading his body, moaning like a whore above you the entire time. Bennett didn't know whether he wanted to push his hips down so that you'd go deeper inside of him, or pull away because this felt really weird...but also really, really fucking good. A part of him wanted this to keep happening, the new sense of pleasure was like a new adventure. Exploring something that he'd never known about before

Just as Bennett becomes used to the feeling of one finger prodding inside of his hole, you add another one, stretching him open a bit further. Thrusting into his wet hole and curling your fingers until you found his prostate, pushing against his sweet spot to pull more choked noises of pleasure from the poor thing

And once again, just as quickly as you'd fingered his virgin ass open, you pulled out and left. Leaving Bennett to lie there motionless as his chest heaved from the excitement, his little ass clenching around nothing as he was left to feel empty and alone... But once again, he remained immobile until he awoke the next morning, going through his day on edge from your cruel....well, your cruel edging

Until the third night finally arrived. Bennett was almost too restless to fall asleep in the first place, secretly hoping that whatever had been exploring his body would come back again. He wasn't ready to admit it quite yet but...he had begun to unlock his inner whore, thanks to your help of course

After a while of tossing and turning, Bennett finally settled in to fall asleep. Turning on his side and huffing as exhaustion crept in, causing his eyes to become heavier and heavier until he succumbed to that drowsiness. Not long after is when you showed up, twice as eager for the things that you had planned for tonight

Eyeing your prey from your position in the corner of his room and bathed in the pitch black darkness that covered the area like a blanket, you slowly stepped closer to the bed where Bennett lay. His breathing was shallow and his muscles were noticeably tense, a sign that he was already awake and well aware of your presence. Staring at the wall in front of him while your shadowy form crept closer and crawled into the bed with him

An obvious shifting of weight on the mattress confirmed your presence to Bennett, gulping while you spooned him from behind. Even though he couldn't see you, he was sure that you were the same being from the past few nights. A familiar heaviness in his chest was one of the many giveaways, besides the fact that he was basically paralyzed until the next morning...

Nonetheless, you slid one arm under the human and wrapped it around his torso, pulling him back against your body. You were solid enough that he could recognize the feeling of a body behind him, yet it still felt off. There was no warmth emanating from you at all, no heartbeat either. Just the vague shape of a human body pressed against his sensitive back, holding him close while your other hand lifted his leg and draped it over your own. Keeping his legs spread so that you could do whatever you wanted and he wouldn't be able to close them or move away, not that he wanted to though

Bennett's body trembled, both in fear and excitement, as you wasted no time touching and groping his delicate flesh. His underwear had been discarded before he even crawled into bed, another testament to that eagerness of his. Since you removed them last night, he figured that you'd probably just do the same thing again tonight, so why not do that part for you beforehand?

This was much appreciated on your end, able to jump right into the action after feeling up his squishy thighs that you had come to so adore. Immediately going to stroke his soft cock while the little thing moaned at every touch, his eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss.

Bennett wished that he could move on his own for some things. Sure, on one hand not being in control made this whole situation more fun, left to your mercy and unable to even scream while you did anything to him. But on the other hand, he so desperately wanted to buck his hips into your hand, the slow stroking that you were currently doing just wasn't enough...he needed more...

Of course, you already knew that. Which is why you kept up a slow and steady pace, teasing his sensitive tip occasionally to build up that desire. When Bennett was fully erect, you stopped stroking him. Once again using his own precum and spitting into your hand to lube yourself up, jerking off until you were hard too. Then you stretched his ass open just as you had last night, working in three fingers in total so that his hole was fully prepped to take your length

Finally the moment that he'd been waiting for had arrived, you were going to be inside of him and corrupt his innocence. His virgin hole would stretch around your thick cock and he'd become your little bitch, just a warm hole for your pleasure. Swept up in his fantasies, Bennett didn't notice the drool pouring from the corner of his mouth while he imagined such a thing, too lost in the fantasy of becoming someone's cock slut to pay attention to reality. Well, until you penetrated him, that is. The burning stretch of something entering him for the first time pulled his hazy mind back into his present

He hadn't anticipated how much it would hurt at first, though the pleasure that soon followed made it all worth it. The feeling of a fat cock stuffing his little ass was so much better than Bennett had imagined...and when you began thrusting slowly? Easing him into a steady rhythm and molding his insides to fit you perfectly? That's when he truly let go. His body went slightly limp as he relaxed into your hold, eagerly accepting your dick like a good whore

As your thrusting became rougher, Bennett was reduced to a moaning mess in your arms. A dumb smile plastered onto his face while you railed him, grunting next to his ear from the way his ass clenched around you. The way his warm, wet hole squeezed your dick finally sent you over the edge, shooting a load of cum inside of him and biting down on his delicate neck while your eyes rolled back into your skull

While you finished emptying your cum inside of him, you went back to stroking Bennett's dick, eliciting cute whines from the little human as you brought him closer to his first release. Speeding up your movements cruelly until he came all over your hand, his first orgasm hitting him hard as his limp body twitched in your arms. Taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't move, you gathered some of Bennett's cum on your fingers and shoved them into his open mouth, taking pleasure in the way he gagged on them and couldn't do anything about it. He would have to accept whatever you put into his mouth, forced to taste his own cum while you smeared it onto his tongue, forcing your fingers down his throat again just to hear him whine and choke on you

When you were done playing with him, you removed your digits from his mouth, slowly pulling out of his ass afterwards and letting him relax completely. Bennett's mind was still pretty fuzzy even as his heart rate returned to normal, quietly drifting off after a few minutes. But for once...you stayed. Instead of the usual ‘leave immediately after getting to the good part’ you continued to cradle your newest plaything. You weren't entirely sure why, it just felt right to linger for a while and feel someone's heartbeat against your empty chest

-

When Bennett awoke the next morning everything seemed like a dream. Sitting up in his bed, he ran his hand through his messy, white hair, taking in his surroundings through eyes still partially blurred by sleep. The sun peeked through the curtains a bit, shining rays of light on the wood floor and his adventure's attire thrown off halfheartedly. Everything seemed normal until Bennett noticed the slight pain in his shoulder. He crossed an arm over his chest and found a bite mark left on his skin, probably bruised by now based on the pain when he pushed on it

It was then that the memories of last night flooded back into his brain. It wasn't a dream. That was all real...that really happened. He thought, remembering the way you made him choke on your fingers, the way you jerked him off just before that, and the way you fucked him like a toy even earlier... every last detail crept back in, sending a wave of warmth throughout his body as his hips involuntarily humped the sheets still covering his lap

He had hoped that last night wasn't the end of this new adventure.... craving your rough grip on his hips and thick cock stuffing him again. Whining at the thought of becoming your permanent cocksleeve and hoping that whatever had done this to him felt the same...

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

#my writing #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #bennett #genshin bennett #sub bennett #bennett x reader #male reader #dom reader #top reader #halloween specials 🎃 #requested #demon au #oneshot

[dwaekkilinos]

wind and water (pt. 1) | lee felix

summary: People always had a way of looking at you as if your skin were composed of paper mâché and your heart was made of glass. They just assumed you were kind of like a weak bird . . . but Felix Lee looked at you like you still had some flight left.

pairing: lee felix x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | surfing au, childhood friends to lovers, slice of life, angst, fluff, eventual smut word count: 15.7K chapter summary: you're in the wind, and felix lee is in the water. both of you are sons and daughters of no one anymore. warnings/notes: ok so! i originally posted this on my main blog but then i decided that'd be too confusing so it's getting uploaded here hehe (i also decided to split the chapter up to make it short but i can't promise that for future chapters), this fic is literally just hurt comfort with smut like i have no excuse, moving on: explicit language ahead, probably many typos, character death (reader's mom and felix's parents) fictional names for chris's family, hyunjin and jisung being the absolute best besties, forced proximity aka reader and felix have to share a room, mentions of death and everything surrounding it, grief, extreme coping mechanisms (reader goes a little insane and that's ok), insomnia, and i think that's it for this part but if i missed anything let me know, ok ok hope you enjoy <3

chapter one: this house is haunted ( next → )

Look for me in the wind.

There’s something people like to say at funerals. It’s stupid really, maybe even a little self-involved, but when the forsaken bell tolls and some poor soul in a casket rolls around, some sorry sucker will without a doubt preach that when people die, they’re never truly gone. It’s supposed to be comforting. It’s supposed to lighten the mood. It’s supposed to make things better; make you better; make you feel better that this person you once knew . . . that this person who had been in your life day in and day out was now gone, sure, but their memory was still there.

That’s supposed to make it better . . . right? It’s OK that they’re dead and gone—an empty cavity with nothing but bones and stitches keeping their flesh from sliding off—because at least they have someone to remember them.

It’s supposed to be OK.

It’s supposed to be.

But it never is.

Nothing is ever OK again. Because the truth is, when people die . . . they’re gone. Dead is dead, and dead is gone. They’re gone.

They become nothing once again. But that's the tricky part, isn’t it?—the fact that they were something once.

And it’s never easy letting go of something that still exists in some nature; because an abandoned house is still a house even with no heart, and a body is still a body even with no soul. Both have the bones to keep them standing for a little longer. Both can withstand a great deal more. And both will.

But they’re still . . . less. The house will never be a home again, and the body will never be a person. They’re just there, not fully present and not fully gone. They exist in this limbo, and it is this in-betweenness that makes letting it all go so . . . hard . . .

How do you put something like that to rest?

But . . . dead is gone, right? Dead is dead and dead is gone, so, fuck! Why was it so hard? She was gone. She was gone, gone, gone . . . but . . . but . . .

Look for me in the wind, was what your mother had told you the day she died. It was something you knew others in the hospital would kill to hear instead of a forced goodbye before a surgery everyone knew would fail. You supposed that should have brought you comfort: that your mother had left you with something irreplaceable.

But it didn’t, because you knew what it meant.

It meant that the rumors were true. When people die, yes, they’re gone, but a part of them is left behind. Only for you, it was the part of her you didn’t want to remember. You didn’t want to walk the streets of New York, always cold and windy, and think of your mother’s dying words.

Look for me in the wind, she had said and hours later she was gone.

When people die, they might not be truly gone, but that didn’t mean you weren’t left with memories you’d rather have died with her. And now . . . now all that you were left with were her final months.

It only reminded you that she was still dead. Even if her memory was there . . . she wasn’t.

You supposed it left you feeling a little . . . lost.

OK . . . maybe lost was a bit of an understatement.

It just . . . it didn’t take long after your mother’s death to figure out she had been the thread holding your family together. And when she died, everything fell apart . . .

It started with your father. At first, you, neither your sister, Erin, saw it, until three shoes by the front door turned to two, and he stopped coming home for dinner, insisting the two of you were grown adults and could fend for yourselves. But you knew what that meant. You’d always known it would happen, too, but your mother would never have allowed it. But you knew. God, you’d known since you were seventeen and you saw the messages on his phone.

Your father had found someone else, and quickly, it seemed. No . . . not quickly. She had always been there. Ever since he went away on a business trip one year after his mother’s death and came back with a secret and a request for a divorce. Your mother never allowed it of course, and they stayed together.

(You supposed you should’ve known he’d stay with her, too, and . . . wait.

Which he did, right? Congrats, dad, you were patient enough to fuck someone else two minutes after mom was shoved in the grave!

Class act, your father.

Whatever.)

So, your mother was dead. Your father was already planning a new family. And you and your sister were stuck in your childhood home, sitting opposite each other at the dining table while the empty seat with an equally empty plate resting on one of your mother’s special placemats, haunted the two of you. Because well, that wasn’t your father’s seat. No, the two of you stopped setting a plate for him the first day he didn’t show.

This seat used to be your mother’s, and that plate was for her . . . or her ghost, you guessed. (It was Erin’s idea. Obviously . . . )

Neither of you had mentioned it.

Neither of you planned to.

Neither of you would.

. . . This went on for a few more weeks.

Then . . . it was August once again. Fall semester was starting. It was going to be the start of your senior year at university. You were almost there. Almost.

Your sister left two days later. Back to Texas. Back to her husband and his kid. Back to her life. Back to normal.

She was twenty-nine and had a life, you got it. You were only twenty-one, just shy of turning twenty-two, and had no clue how to navigate . . . anything.

So . . . you . . . you stayed stagnant in that house.

Now, it was you who sat at the dinner table, not a soul in sight, just you and the empty seat where your mother used to eat when you were growing up. The plate was still empty, maybe even a little dusty now, because no one dared to touch it. Yours was always half-finished. You could never stomach more the second your eyes locked on the empty seat where your mother should have been.

And every night, you’d toss your half-eaten dinner in the trash, glance toward the still-set plate waiting for your mother, wait a few minutes . . . just to see if her ghost truly would take the seat, and when no ghost showed, you’d turn off the lights and head up to your childhood bedroom for the night.

Until . . . it was the night before the first day of the semester, and you realized it would be back to your apartment, and the house . . . her house . . . would be left empty for who knew how long. No more childhood, no more falling asleep on the couch and waking up to your mother carrying you to your bed, no ice cream as dinner, no nothing . . . not even a whisper from . . . her . . .

And like her body that you knew was rotting away day by day in her grave, her house would no longer be a home the second you stepped out the door and returned to the life you had made for yourself. It would stand, bones and all, days passing it by while it slowly rotted away without a single hand to dust its edges and sweep its floors. And so, it, too, would be taken to the weeds, leaving behind memories no one wished to remember. (Perhaps those memories would rot with it, too.)

It all just made you think, and the longer the gears in your brain turned, the more this sliver of rage grew inside of you.

A house with no bones, it would slowly become.

A house with no bones. A house with no heart. A body with no soul. A child with no mother . . .

Your mind just kept spinning and spinning and . . .

You supposed that was when you went a little . . . off course? Downhill? . . . Crazy, maybe? Well, perhaps a little more than that. Maybe like . . . utterly insane. (You were being generous, of course.)

Unbelievable, you say?

Well . . . sit down, buckle up, let’s just see what you have on the checklist.

Trash your childhood home, destroying all evidence that your mother even existed, but obviously leave the plate on the dining table just in case she comes back? Check.

Block everyone you know on . . . everything? Check.

Only show up to class in your mother’s clothes, wearing her makeup the way she used to, asking to be called by her name, basically becoming . . . her . . . ? Check, check, check, and . . . check.

Flunk all your first and second exams? Check, of course.

Midterms come around and your average for all of your classes is about hmm a good forty-six percent? Check.

Eventually withdraw from all your classes, dropping out of university entirely? Yeah . . . check.

The news somehow gets back to your father via bank statements, because how else would he get in contact with you? Oh, and then when he does finally find out about it, he decides that maybe you’re not OK after your mother just literally, oh you don't know, died. And does this mean letting you stay with him and his girlfriend for a little, maybe some therapy and a hug? Maybe? Well, no, of course not!

This means calling up your mother’s childhood friend, practically begging her to take in his delinquent child (AKA you) because well, obviously, you just need to feel connected with your mom again, so duh, that means shipping you off to your homeland or her homeland whatever same thing . . . which is P.S. another continent (Australia of all places . . . yeah) for like their summer or whatever and then you’ll be cured.

. . . Um . . . anyway . . . check!

Yeah . . . you supposed you really fucked yourself with that one.

. . . Whatever.

That was what you kept repeating, at least. Whatever this and whatever that. What else could you do? It wasn’t like anything mattered anymore.

Whatever, you muttered to yourself as you boarded the plane, with not even a second glance. No one was in the airport to bid farewell to anyway. So, whatever.

Whatever, you groaned as you finally landed in, you guessed it, Hell’s hotspot: Sydney, Australia. Whatever, you huffed as you caught sight of the Bahng family—Irene and Monty Bahng and their two kids Chris (one of your childhood friends . . . apparently) and Grace—waving to you. (Supposedly another member of the family was missing—Felix, one of Chris’s friends who you were, once again, supposedly supposed to supposedly know from childhood. He was apparently living with them since last year for unforeseen reasons that no one bothered to mention. But. He didn’t show due to more unforeseen reasons.)

You forgot to groan out another inner whatever the second you stepped into the backseat of their minivan, too wrapped up in your own head to care. Grace kept mentioning this and that, saying how excited she was to have another girl in the house because it was so horrible living with two adult boys. (She was fourteen, interested in being older than she was, and curious about the world. You got it. You used to be that young.)

And Chris, well, he was three years older than you and, as you would like to reiterate, apparently one of your best friends from childhood before your family packed up and moved just before junior high. You remembered little about him, but it wasn’t like it mattered. (You were just glad he kept Grace at bay, telling her to leave you be.)

Irene and Monty were fine, too. They kept asking you how your flight was, if you had eaten, and blah blah blah which you hated and responded with quiet hums as an answer, but . . . whatever. It didn’t matter if they were nice. You were stuck there and you hated it. You hated being back home, too. You hated everything and nothing mattered, so . . . whatever!

You remained silent the entire rest of the way to their house in their shitty, hot, no-WiFi-bearing town from Hell. Your silence carried on even as they ushered you out of the car, taking it upon themselves to carry your bags in without even a single hand from you, claiming that you should walk around the property while they got your room ready so you could get used to . . . everything. And you simply nodded without another word because . . . well . . . just because . . .

The Bahng’s lived atop a hill in a small bungalow with yards and yards of land which overlooked the ocean. You didn’t exactly know which ocean because you’d never cared to learn anything about anything. You’d been a biology major, and you hated it, so it wasn’t like you particularly liked learning. You had just put up with your degree to make your mother proud, and now that she was gone, well . . .

You swallowed hard. Never mind.

It was pretty. You’d give Southhaven that. But that was it.

This wasn’t your home. It never would be. You weren’t sure if you even had a home anymore.

. . .

With a soft sigh, you slightly tilted your head back, eyes closed as you faced the sun. Its heat beat down on you, and for once, you let it touch you. You let it caress your face, desperately trying to warm you, but you had never felt so cold.

And when it seemed your blood had almost frozen in your veins, you felt it . . .

. . . the wind.

In response, your jaw twisted so tight you wondered if it’d be enough to crack a molar. But the slight breeze in a world full of heat nudged you forward, causing your hair to slap your face.

Begrudgingly, you flicked your hair out of your face, forcibly tucking it behind your ears. But the wind persisted, seemingly tugging you toward the edge of the property.

You didn’t want to listen. You wanted to shove off the wind and stalk toward the house, but like the call of your name from your mother’s lips, you couldn’t turn the other way. No, instead, you followed the wind, you followed her voice, and approached the edge of the property where the ocean resided in the distance.

And only then, when you were overlooking the water below, did the wind seem to subside. Like a current, the tide had come in. No more whispers in your ear, but you could still feel it, just . . . in the distance.

You wondered what it meant. You always had. But how could you question the wind? How could you call out to it and beg for its presence?

Swallowing hard, you nearly attempted to question this intangible thing, until something caught your eye.

As you stood atop the hill, quietly questioning its existence, the suddenly wind returned, whipping through your hair, as the image of a man below on the shore stalked toward the ocean, surfboard tucked under his arm. His hair was blonde and wet as if he had been at this all day. His skin was marked with redness and small scratches, showing evidence of his advances. And he had this way of holding himself that just told you he not only held this . . . resentment but also . . . fear toward the ocean.

The wind whispered in your ear once more. You blinked. It was almost as if the wind were telling you to keep watching, to listen and hear the pounding of his heartbeat from up there.

Could you hear how loudly it was beating as he stared down the ocean? Or was it your own heart that you heard?

Was this man even real? Were you?

But that didn’t matter. Real or not, you couldn’t tear your eyes from him. You watched in silence, you and the wind atop the hill, as he paddled out into the water, positioning himself perfectly to catch a wave.

You watched as he waited and waited. You watched as wave after wave became big then small then nothing, and he was left still waiting. And when a good, strong wave did come, he tried and tried, but . . . failed.

And time and time again, the waves kept coming but . . . they seemed to elude him. He missed every single one.

Frustration seemed to consume him as he smacked the water before tugging his hands through his hair to push back the wet, blonde strands. And as he continued to battle with the waves, you could see his anger mounting. The more he missed, the more his frustration grew. You watched him take deep breaths, trying to calm himself, but it seemed even that couldn't bring him the solace he sought.

Finally, you watched as he breathed in sharply through his nose, tilting his head toward the sky as the sun beat down on his face. Just like you had done moments ago, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to soak in the warmth. It seemed . . . it seemed; however, even that couldn’t help him, his brows furrowed and his mouth in a permanent frown as the wind twisted through his wet hair, causing him to shiver even in the sun.

And you began to wonder . . .

. . . Did the wind haunt him, too?

“He’s good, isn’t he?” you suddenly heard from beside you, but you didn’t jump, you didn’t even turn to greet the person. You already knew who it was anyway. Chris, of course. (You supposed his parents had made him become the spokesperson for the family given the fact that the two of you had been friends a million years ago. Or maybe he was just that . . . out there.)

Whatever.

“Hmm?” you hummed out, remaining as silent as you could.

Chris gestured to the vast ocean below, toward the boy (No, man? . . . ) who still sat on his board, eyes now scanning the waters before him once again. “Felix,” he restated.

Oh. You bit the inside of your cheek.

That was Felix.

“You remember him, don’t you? Taught you how to keep your head above water. You had quite the trouble getting a hang of your sea legs.” Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “I remember you’d cry any time you’d get salt water in your mouth.”

“No,” you murmured. “Don’t remember. Doesn’t seem like he was a very good teacher either. Hasn’t caught a wave once.”

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to meet his gaze. Still, it seemed Chris was hard to turn away. He, like you in the wind, stayed stagnant, solid as stone as he stood beside you. Not even the brisk air could turn him away, even when it seemed to get colder the closer he stood to you. You’d thought maybe he’d catch on; to the fact that in all of Southhaven, the coldest spot was right next to you. But he didn’t. He stayed put, and then . . . then he spoke.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral,” he spoke softly as if he were talking to a child.

Your heart plummeted, and the sliver of rage grew inside of you once again. A wildfire now, it had become.

Sure, he was a few years older than you, but he didn’t have to treat you like . . . that. You could handle things. You handed your mother’s death for god's sake, so why couldn’t he talk to you like you were an actual person and not some fragile—

“I won’t try to understand, because I don’t,” he continued, knowing you wouldn’t respond. “And I won’t try to make you feel better. I know it doesn’t work that way, but Felix . . . “ He sighed, before breathing in sharply. “He lost his parents a year ago. I won’t try to understand, but he . . . he already does.”

Your eyes snapped in his direction then. But your lips remained sealed.

Chris took this as his sign to continue. “Just—“ he wet his lips, brows raising— “don’t be too harsh on him. If there’s anyone who understands how you feel . . . it’s him.”

Remaining silent, you could only swallow your thoughts, your feelings, your words. You shoved it all down and continued to stare, eyes surely unwelcoming and dull.

But he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Maybe . . . maybe he was used to it.

“Anyway—“ he huffed out with a growing smile— “come on, your room is ready.” He reached forward to grab the bag you still held in your hands without another word. “You’ll have to room with Felix, but I promise we’re trying to set up the shed for one of you. It’s just a little fucked between Dad’s workshop and Grace’s many, many, many abandoned projects . . . but we’ll get there . . . promise. But, hey, you get your own bathroom and—“

Of course, his blabbering didn’t stop there as he began to lead you toward the house, but you couldn’t spend more energy trying to listen to him. It was all useless anyway. You had a room. There were bathrooms in the house. Food. Everything else you’d need to survive.

But . . . your thoughts were elsewhere. Your gaze landed on the boy . . . Felix . . . once again, watching as he remained still, almost as motionless as the sea that surrounded him. It was almost as if he were waiting for something. Even if he caught a wave, it seemed he’d remain there until that something came around.

Quickly, you began to wonder, would it ever? Or would he remain in that water forevermore?

. . . Would . . . you remain stagnant, too?

And amid it all, the wind returned, whistling in your ears . . . and then . . . then you began to hear a faint voice calling your name. You knew it was Chris, but you didn’t care. You were so deeply immersed in your own thoughts, so consumed by despair, that the sound seemed distant and muffled. It was as if a thick fog had settled over your mind, clouding your senses and preventing you from clearly hearing anything other than that cruel wind.

The calls continued, but you remained trapped within the confines of your own mind. You were rendered deaf to the outside world, and you yearned for a moment of clarity, a moment where you could hear . . .

. . . a moment where you could hear . . . her voice again . . .

Chris called your name again, and you squeezed your eyes shut. It wasn’t her. He wasn’t her. It was his voice that called out to you, not hers.

She was gone, the wind serving as a cruel reminder of this.

And finally, you forced yourself out of this haze, shoving out the thoughts of your mother as you tore your eyes from Felix, who still resided in the ocean, and faced reality; faced Chris.

“You good?” he questioned once your eyes were on him again, and you could finally hear him.

But you didn’t respond.

No, instead you hurriedly approached him, snatched your bag from his hands, and stalked off toward the house, leaving everything behind.

But the wind followed, consuming your senses, and you realized it always would.

When you were a kid, you had a hard time making any friends. You were awkward and kept your mouth shut at all times. The messages in your yearbooks would always be directed toward how nice you were, but they didn’t know you. You didn’t have a kind soul. It took a while to realize that. It took even longer to accept it—that you were a miserable child who grew into an even more miserable adult.

Boys didn’t like you. Girls didn’t either. Some days you wondered if your parents even liked you. Sure, your mother loved you (albeit, she’d loved your sister more, but that was a given), but some days you wondered if she even liked the person you were.

And your father . . .

You were sure your father was trying to cut ties with the life he had made with your mother the moment they met. (And as time would see it, as soon as she was gone, the love he claimed he had for you and your sister went too.)

So if someone were to ask you if you had been a lonely child . . . You wouldn’t have known what to say because the truth was: if you’re alone all your life; if being alone is all you’ve ever known, then how do you know if you’re lonely?

Was there a checklist for that, too?

Now, yeah, sure, you knew people growing up. Sure, you talked to people throughout junior and high school. But nothing ever carried on outside of the school grounds. Everything had always just been surface-level with you. (At least, from what you remembered, which . . . wasn’t much.)

Being alone wasn’t so bad either. It was just normal. Your normal. So it hadn’t really bothered you when your birthday “parties” consisted of just you, your sister, your mother, and—sometimes, perhaps, maybe if he had the time—your father.

But it wasn’t until university that you realized what it would feel like to lose something.

It wasn’t until the one random art credit you signed up for managed to fall under the same time you had decided to move the rest of your shit into your dorm, leading to you racing to the Creative Arts Center (which was, by the way, located across campus) just for you to end up being the very last person to storm into the classroom, meaning yes, there was only one seat left, and yes, you had to awkwardly claim it with everyone’s eyes on you. But! But! Well . . . the open seat just so happened to be next to Hwang Hyunjin, who would very quickly become the only friend you had ever really had.

Now . . . Hwang Hyunjin wasn’t a tough nut to crack. While you were slightly off-putting and quiet, he was kind and always had something to say, with this odd warmth radiating off him wherever he went. He just seemed to make people . . . better.

His art was that way, too, but that was a story for another day.

Anyway . . . you didn’t exactly remember how the two of you became friends. You supposed it kind of just . . . happened, but one second you were alone, then the next it was where he went you did too, and vice versa.

And halfway through that October, when he introduced you to his dormmate, Han Jisung, the two of you quickly became three, and the rest was three years of history.

It was only then, in those three strenuous years, that you realized that now, for once in your life, you had something to lose. (You’d be a liar if it didn’t keep you up some nights. You’d be a liar if those nights you didn’t cry yourself to sleep, mourning something that had yet to happen. You’d be a liar.)

That was the thing: you always thought it would end. You never thought that this thing you now had would ever last for longer than a few years.

So . . . when you lost your mother, you supposed something in you decided that this was it. It was time to give them up, too, because now that you had lost something, it was time to lose everything, you supposed.

But what you hadn’t accounted for was that Hwang Hyunjin, the poet he was, did not believe in endings. He believed things happened for a reason. He did not believe the two of you met for nothing, and he would be damned if he just let you slip through his fingers like . . . that.

You really did try, too. You tried to avoid him. You tried to lock yourself in your apartment and let the world just . . . fall away. But Hyunjin never gave up; whether it was dropping food off at your front step so you wouldn’t starve, to forcing you to let him and Jisung inside the house just for the three of you to watch a movie in silence, because at least then you wouldn’t be alone. (You were also positive the reason why you even had like a thirty-seven percent in Ecology was because Jisung did your homework and his.)

Somewhere down the line, you realized sometimes you meet people and the rest is history. No matter how hard you tried to push them away like you had done to everyone else in your life, they refused. There was no without with them.

Some things were meant to stay even when you’d already lost everything else. And nights when it felt like you truly had nothing and no one, there would always be a text on your phone from their group chat.

(Some days you wondered if you would even still be here if they hadn’t pushed their way into your life . . . and those days you cried yourself to sleep.)

You supposed there was no more time for that as you glanced behind you, eyes locked on the twin bed situated across the room from yours. There, this Felix, would sleep, the two of you forced to share a room with a bathroom connected to it, sure, but . . . you’d only shared a room your first year at university in the dorms, and that was enough for you. And now . . . this . . .

(You would’ve rather taken the casket next to your mother’s.)

A whiny call of your name tore you from your mind, forcing you to leave behind the past as you turned back to your phone. The faces of Hyunjin and Jisung met you immediately as Hyunjin squinted his eyes at you, taking in your odd demeanor while Jisung tapped away on his phone in confusion (a constant state for him).

Oh, you thought, blinking slowly. You had forgotten they were on the call.

“Hmm?” you hummed, but didn’t speak a word further.

A twitch of confusion tugged at Hyunjin’s brows. “The guy,” he reiterated, trailing off as if waiting for you to chime in and cut him off. But you never did, and for a brief second, you saw him bite the inside of his cheek (something he did when he was worried) before he quickly covered it up by shaking his head and opening his mouth to speak once more. “What’s he look like?”

Before you could get a word in, Jisung clicked his tongue as he lowered his phone. “Do you have to be so cryptic all the time? I get it’s part of the whole tortured artist bit, but—“ he cut himself off with a wave of his hand.

Hyunjin was glaring at him in a heartbeat. “Tortured—“ he scoffed— “Tortured artist? You’re crazy.” He drilled a finger into Jisung’s shoulder. “You sound crazy, know that?”

“Crazy?!” Jisung retorted, fully putting his phone down on the coffee table now. (This was for an ulterior motive, of course, as the next second he was eyeing something out of your sight, which resided on that same coffee table.) “Give me that sketchbook.” Quickly, he bent over and snatched the sketchbook, wasting no time flipping through it. “What have you been drawing, huh? Porn?”

Hyunjin nearly pounced on him. “What the—What is wrong with you? Who even says that?” he grumbled out, trying to pry the sketchbook out of his friend’s hands, all the while, Jisung fought him off long enough to flash you a few of the pages. “It’s called—“ he finally ripped his sketchbook out of Jisung’s grasp and secured it under his arm with an exhale— “figurative arts. Something you’d know if you ever cared to come with me.”

Jisung leaned back, sinking into the couch as he spread his legs for a more comfortable position. “Why the fuck would I wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to go draw naked people with my roommate?” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Roommates go on coffee runs together, not draw dicks, which, might I add, you have to pay for?”

“Because it’s art.”

“It’s porn.”

And with that, Hyunjin tapped out. With an exasperated scoff, he sent one more glare Jisung’s way before he was flipping through his sketchbook, trying to access the damage done, all the while, muttering under his breath in his native tongue. (Something about Jisung being an idiot, of course.) Jisung caught onto this, too, and sent you a sideways look before he began to taunt and mock the older boy.

Only then when you felt yourself laugh under your breath, did you realize you had been fondly smiling at them the entire time. But that was just how things went. They were always like this, being roommates for all of university, and it never ceased to fill you with a sense of belonging. (It also never ceased to fill you with a sense of dread . . . because if your suspicions were correct and you did end up alone . . . then this . . . this would be something you’d miss about them the most.)

But until then . . . you’d mourn quietly. You had to . . .

Clearing your throat and head, your smile slowly fell into a straight line as you glanced between the two boys. “Are you two done?” you heard yourself ask before you even felt your lips moving.

“Yeah, when he’s six feet under,” Jisung retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed his friend up and down.

Hyunjin nearly rolled his eyes. “Like you won’t be buried right beside me just out of spite.”

“Well . . . I hadn’t thought of that, but now that you mention it . . . “

This time; however, Hyunjin did roll his eyes. “Shut up, would you?”

And at those words, Jisung’s mouth hung open with the click of his tongue. He eyed you as if to ask if you had heard the same thing, but you only shook your head at the two of them, trying desperately to bite back the stiff smile spreading onto your face.

As your smile flattened out into the same thin line, you shifted atop your bed, laying on your side with your knees pulled up to your chest as you held your phone in your hand. “I haven’t met him yet,” you muttered out the next second, before either of them could continue this little ruse they had going on (you knew what they were trying to do anyway . . . (Whether they admitted it or not, you could see the change in the way they acted around you after everything . . . happened (now everything was done to get even a smidge of a smile out of you.)))

Jisung quirked a brow, glancing at Hyunjin with his lips pursed as he asked, “Who?”

“The guy,” Hyunjin vaguely explained as he pointed at you through the screen, or rather the bed behind you that could slightly be seen in the camera.

“Oh,” Jisung hummed with a snap of his fingers, “the one you’re going to fuck?”

Hyunjin pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is wrong with you?”

“Listen, I’m always right,” Jisung exclaimed, glancing between you and his roommate. “The two of you can fuck off. It just makes sense. You’ve known him since you were a kid, right? So, a little reunion blah blah blah, you have to sleep in the same room, you’re drunk, you’re horny, you fuck. It’s the circle of life.”

Silence.

Then . . .

A snort from Hyunjin. (You were sure he’d called him an idiot under his breath, but the connection cut out toward the end.)

And you sighed. “OK, Ji . . . I haven’t seen the guy since I was, like, ten,” you explained, trying to explain to your friend all the one-hundred and one reasons why you were not going to sleep with this . . . this stranger. And then, your mouth opened before you could stop it, and words, words that didn’t even sound like your own fumbled from your tongue . . . “Plus . . . he seems like a nutcase. He didn’t show up at the airport because he was apparently busy . . . but when I got here, he was just surfing . . . not even actually. And that! That was five hours ago. He didn’t even come up to eat. I mean that’s crazy, right?”

Shuffling further up the bed, you grabbed the pillow to hug, while awaiting your friends’ responses, but . . .

“Crazy, huh?” you heard a deep voice question from behind you. And this wasn’t a voice you had heard before, which led you to one solution . . . Felix . . .

Fuck.

Hastily, with your eyes wide, you slapped your phone face down as you shot up in your bed, gaze immediately snapping toward the door.

And there he was.

Felix stood in the doorway, towel in hand as he dried his wet, blonde hair (no doubt dyed a month ago guessing by the appearance of his dark roots peeking through). “Didn't realize I was being analyzed today,” he muttered in a soft chuckle.

But you remained silent. It seemed you’d become more afraid of your voice in recent months anyway, so speaking really was rare, but this . . . this had you speechless for an entirely different reason.

In your silence, you let your eyes wander, and noticed Felix only had one foot in the room, the rest of his body lingering in the hallway as he glanced from your face to your phone to his dresser. It was almost as if he was . . . afraid . . . ? No, hesitant. Yes, hesitant to walk in this space that the two of you were now expected to share as if you hadn’t seen each other in a decade or so.

Because the thing was, yes, you remembered him, but not in the same way you’d remember something that happened a long time ago, but rather in the same way you’d remember a childhood pet. There was warmth there; a certain fondness that you could only place when you truly saw him face to face like this. But it was lacking—like you couldn’t remember why or how you felt this way, you just knew you did.

What you could remember felt like a dream. It didn’t feel like it had actually happened. And sure, nothing ever did lately, but this . . . this was different. You knew him. God, you knew him but you just couldn’t . . . place it. You couldn’t remember anything about him. Just those freckles that adorned his sunkissed cheeks, a wide, toothy smile with dimples, his laughter kept floating through your head as you stared at him.

You could remember a boy around the age of eight, and he was laughing. A soft giggle with eyes that smiled too. Then . . . colors. Sunsets. The feeling of floating. The bitter taste of seawater and . . . oh what was it (?) . . . taffy! Yes, the taste of Cherry Cherry saltwater taffy. And . . . (you swallowed hard) . . . the warmth of a hand in yours . . .

Had the two of you really been friends or was that just something your parents said? . . . How close had you been?

Slightly, you shifted on your bed, body inching toward him as if you were dying to say something . . . anything. But no words left your lips and you remained staring at him, and him at you . . . only he wasn’t looking at you in the same way. No . . . he . . . he was just staring at you, his eyes empty; it was like he wasn’t even there, his thoughts carrying him elsewhere while you remained grounded, wondering who he was and why he had meant something to you if you couldn’t even remember him.

Did he not remember you either? Or—

“It’s silent. Is he gone?” Jisung whispered (well, if you knew him, you’d know that his whispering just meant yelling in a hushed tone . . . so really . . . ).

You remained silent once again, unable to tell your friend to keep quiet. Your eyes just stayed on Felix, taking in the way his drenched shirt clung to his body, evidence of his day’s endeavors. And then you began to wonder . . . did he finally catch that wave?

Swallowing hard, you eyed the small scratch on his cheek. The waves, it seemed, had fought back against the punches he’d thrown them earlier in the day. Had they thrown him to the sand? Or had it always been there?

“Well . . . he’s got a voice on him, yeah?” Jisung piped up again after a minute of no words from you or Hyunjin or . . . him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt your face grow hot. And it seemed Hyunjin knew this would happen, too, as you heard the sound of him slapping Jisung on the arm.

Jisung cried out in retaliation, “What? What?! Tell me he doesn’t sound hot? No, no, Hyunjin, look me in the eyes. Look me in the—“

But this time you were one step ahead. Instead of letting your face grow warmer, you haphazardly snatched your phone and hung up on the two boys before Jisung could say any more.

And then . . . it truly was silent, only the sound of the wind whistling outside mixed with the crashing of waves in the distance could be heard. (That and probably your heart hammering in your chest. (You forgot to mention that you didn’t take well to . . . embarrassing . . . moments.))

You glanced at the scratch under his eye once again as you shifted on the bed, pulling your legs to your chest.

Now . . . you’d like to defend yourself . . . the thing about you was the very fact that you did not do well with people. You never had and you didn’t think you ever would.

For a long time, you tried to claim it was because you simply just didn’t like them, but you knew better than that. What you wouldn’t admit was the fact that you just didn’t know how to talk to people.

You’d always known why people didn’t like you. Even as a kid, it had been obvious. You just . . . didn’t know how to be like them. You didn’t know how to view things in moderation. You didn’t know how to enjoy things. You didn’t know how to talk to them or laugh with them. You supposed you just didn’t really know how to be a person.

And everyone saw this, too. That was why you graduated high school with no one to celebrate it with. That was why you went home every day after school and just sat in your room. That was why you had always tried too hard to fit in, only resulting in looks being sent your way. That was why you had always been alone, waiting for everyone to eventually leave. That was why you still wondered why Hyunjin and Jisung hadn’t given up on you yet.

That was why you now sat in front of someone you once knew; someone that you should recognize; someone that meant something to you but you just couldn’t remember why . . . and now . . . now you couldn’t even utter a word. Because . . . you didn’t know how to speak to people; to him . . .

That was why you had always been alone. And that was why you were alone now.

You were sure he could sense it, too. You were sure he wouldn’t want anything to do with you even if he could remember what you couldn’t. You were sure he’d ask the Bahngs to let him sleep somewhere else as long as it wasn’t next to the odd girl who—

“You must be the American,” Felix suddenly sighed out, stealing you from your own mind. “Can’t say I remember you being this . . . charming.” He sent a glance your way as he finally entered the room, heading straight toward the dresser on his side.

With careful almost fearful eyes, you watched as he rummaged through his dresser for some clothes. “You weren’t meant to hear that,” you found yourself mumbling out, barely audible and hoarse. Quickly, you cleared your throat, and repeated the words once more, this time clearer and a little louder.

(This kind of thing used to happen to you all the time as a kid. You wouldn’t talk for so long that when you finally did, it was like your voice wasn’t even your own. It was like the longer you’d go without speaking, the closer you were to losing your voice altogether.)

Felix laughed under his breath. “Mmm, but I did,” he commented as he glanced over his shoulder at you with clothes now in his hands.

However, when you only stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights, he sighed. Felix ran his free hand through his wet hair, pushing it out of his face as he fully turned around to face you, leaning on the dresser for support. “Look . . . it’s OK,” he hummed with a small smile . . . one that showed his dimple but only for a second. (Only long enough for you to remember that same dimple from your younger years.) “I don’t mind. Don’t sweat it. Swear I’m used to it.”

Your brows twitched in response, waiting for the ball to drop. When would the flip switch? When would he exile you like the rest?

But nothing ever came.

Felix simply just sent one more tight-lipped smile your way before he headed for the bathroom door attached to the room. And you watched in shock, still waiting for him to say something . . . anything that would send you wallowing under your covers for the rest of the night.

Still . . . even as he stopped in the doorway, nothing came; instead, he mumbled out, “Let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’m gonna hop in the shower. It’s all yours after that.”

And then he was gone. The sound of the shower came a few seconds later, while you stayed stuck on your bed, staring in shock at the place where he once stood.

When you were a kid, you had a hard time making any friends, and it seemed some old habits never died, yes, but . . .

This was different.

This was a boy from your childhood. This was someone you once knew. This was someone who meant something to you once. You knew that. You knew he had to have meant something.

When you were a kid, you had a hard time making friends . . . except, it seemed . . . for him. Only . . . you couldn’t remember why or how or . . . or . . or anything.

With a defeated sigh, you fell back onto your bed, memories of sunsets and a warm hand in yours playing on repeat in your mind.

The next few days went like this:

Day one: wake up to the sun shining through the curtains, nearly blinding you; realize the view out your window isn’t the busy city streets of New York, but rather a just about deserted beach; rot in bed until three in the afternoon when the thoughts of your mother’s face finally become too much; quietly greet Irene in the kitchen before heading outside with a piece of toast in hand; find Felix surfing just below on that very same deserted beach; watch him miss wave after wave until the sun goes down; dinner, blah, blah, blah and suddenly you’re in bed again, trying not to look across the room where Felix lays; eventually let yourself sneak a peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and when you do, you realize he’d fallen asleep with his lamp on, his face the picture of innocence and yet . . . a pinch in his brows catches your eye; quickly and quietly turn his lamp off before slipping back into your bed and falling asleep with questions of what was playing on his mind.

Day two: wake up, groan at the sun, hate the heat, and stay in your bed until two this time; sit in the living room with Grace (she’s preoccupied watching whatever’s captured her attention on the TV, while you get to work in your sketchbook (something you’ve picked up since that first art class)); dinner, wash, bed; Felix climbs into bed an hour after you have and you realize you’ve subconsciously stayed up, waiting for him; stay silent as he mutters a quiet goodnight to you before the lights are out; stay up an hour more, wondering if he caught a wave.

Day three: Grace wakes you up before it even hits twelve (and you let her because . . . whatever); let her, along with Chris, show you around town as she drags you from store to store, telling you how Abigail Newton would so totally buy that hat but would hate that belt when she passes every mannequin; eventually buy her that very hat so she can tell this Abigail to shove it because . . . whatever . . . ; head back and let her convince you into watching her show with her for the rest of the day; smile once . . . or maybe twice because, of course, you have to indulge her (and that was it); try not to make it obvious you’re staring when Felix comes waltzing into the living room, seemingly coming from his room (your room?) (and not from outside; not from the ocean), plopping down on the couch opposite of you, claiming he just loves this show (but you know he says it to make Grace happy); wonder and wonder and wonder why he’s given up surfing for the day.

Day four: ah, day four, yes . . . manage to wake up at ten (only because Grace told you to the night before); get dressed, touch the locket your mother gave you for your sixteenth birthday for good luck . . . but wait . . . where’s the locket . . . fuck, fuck, fuck; proceed to freak out for the next half-hour, tearing up the entirety of your belongings in hopes of finding it, only to find absolutely nothing; freak out some more, maybe cry a little, and just when you’re about to literally pull all your hair out, there’s a knock at your door and in comes Felix . . . with your locket in his hand; nearly trip over everything just to grab the locket from him, desperately trying to put it back on, but your hands are shaking far too much, only for . . . Felix to gently put a hand on your shoulder before taking the locket back from you; let him brush your hair aside and clasp the locket around your neck; remain frozen in shock as he mutters something about how it must have fallen off your neck last night while you were watching TV on the couch . . . and then . . . he’s gone, and you’re still there.

Day five: Felix is gone; he’s been gone all day and by night, there are people over . . . it’s a cookout apparently . . . spontaneous one, too; awkwardly stand in the corner of the yard, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone because this is too much (everything has always been too much); try not to lose it . . . repeat: try not to lose it; swallow your tears and stay stagnant even as this person who you only know as one of the Bahngs’ family friends comes up to you and starts . . . talking; and then:

“We were so sorry to hear about your mother. She was a good woman. . . . How are you holding up, honey?”

Those words were spoken and you felt your blood run cold. The world caved in a second later. You felt small. Small and worthless. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Get to your room. There won't be anyone there. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn’t. You wanted to but the memories of the night your mother died kept rushing in, paralyzing you. You could hear the monitor beeping. You could feel her hand in yours, oddly cold. You could see the nurses and doctors and whoever else scrounging around you, desperately trying to bring her back while someone pulled you back. You could hear your own voice, screaming out for her, screaming for them to put you down, screaming for them, it, whoever to take you instead of her. You could hear her whisper, look for me in the wind, and then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed space. You needed to get inside; to get to your room.

Your eyes darted to the sliding back door, and knew what you had to do. You forced her legs to move as you tried to make it to the door. But you never made it; a hand grasped your arm and you whipped around to face the same woman once again.

“Honey, what’s going on? Are you OK?” she questioned, concern clear in her eyes but you didn’t care.

She couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see that when a child loses their mother, they lose everything. Your mother. Your mother. Your fucking mother. It didn’t matter if you had fought or if some days you didn’t like each other. It didn’t fucking matter. She had been your mother, and she was fucking gone.

Fuck! She couldn’t see it. Unless she did. Was she doing this on purpose? Who even was she? Had she hated your mother and that’s why she was doing this to you? No, you were thinking too much into it. Fuck, fuck, you had to throw up. No, you had to get to your room. You couldn’t be here. You had to get away from this, from them, from everything. You had to be alone as you always had been.

And then you were gone, running inside before taking off through the house, weaving past all these people until you finally caught sight of your bedroom door. You were going to throw up. Fuck, you were going to throw up. Your pace sped up and then you were there, hand on the doorknob, swinging it open and slamming it shut behind you before you lunged for the bathroom.

Another swinging of a door occurred as you whipped the bathroom door open, hand already on your mouth to stop yourself from vomiting all over your clothes. You didn’t register anything else as you slapped your hands down against the sink, instantly peeling over and spilling your guts.

And only when you were done, did you realize where you were, what you had done, and who was staring at you in the mirror.

In silence, you wiped your mouth on your hand, realizing you’d have to take a shower after this anyway, all the while, your eyes remained locked on the person staring back at you in the mirror. Regret and horror filled you, because none other than Felix was standing behind you, chest bare, but with pajama pants on and hair that was still slightly damp from the shower that he had most likely just taken moments before you barged into the bathroom unannounced, and vomited all over his night routine.

Felix still stood in confusion, and perhaps concern, with a floss-pick hanging out of his mouth while he took in your appearance. And while he stared, you lowered your gaze, finding it too hard to maintain eye contact.

“What—” he began, but you quickly cut him off.

“Food got to me,” you muttered out, throwing your hands up with a quick laugh. “Hamburgers’re too rare for me, I guess.”

Felix remained silent, tonguing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he murmured, eyeing you one last time before tossing the floss-pick in the bin and exiting the bathroom with his white tee clasped in his hand. And as he turned you watched him quickly tug the tee over his head, but not before something caught your eye.

“How did you—“ you found yourself saying before quickly holding your tongue. But it was too late, your words had already got to Felix.

He glanced over his shoulder, slowly turning to face you again. “Hmm?” he hummed, searching your eyes with that same consuming gaze.

You only shook your head. “Nothing.”

A beat of silence.

Felix didn’t move, as if still waiting for your question.

No question ever came.

You were sure a minute had passed before you cleared your throat and pointed to the shower. “I’m gonna . . . “

Felix blinked, his eyes widening. “Right,” he mumbled, clearing his throat now. “Sorry.” And then he was gone, closing the bathroom door behind him, and leaving you to your reflection in the mirror.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to face . . . well . . . yourself. Your steered clear of your reflection, your mind too dizzy to comprehend anything other than what you had seen . . . because as Felix had turned his back to you, you had caught sight of a large, deep scar starting from the tip of his shoulder and ending just above his waistline.

Perhaps you couldn’t remember much about him, but you were sure you’d remember something as drastic as that. It seemed dark too, not quite new but not old in the slightest.

And then you began to wonder . . . what had happened to him to cause a scar with such brutality . . . ?

On a dreary day of a random Tuesday, you were born to a room of only your mother and aunt. Your father had never made it, due to his new office job, and Erin was forced to wait outside of the room with your grandmother because she was only four at the time. And amid shock from her labor, your mother named her baby girl.

Rosebud was to be your name.

Your mother recalled her little girl coming out of her womb with a small port wine stain on the side of her neck. You were red like a rosebud, she used to tell you as a bedtime story when you were little. Rosebud was to be your name, and it had been.

The little girl was named Rosebud and everything was blissful behind the cages of your household. And all was actually well and right until Erin started jumping up and down at her little sister's bassinet, calling you by the name she’d chosen, not Rosebud. She'd cheer your name over and over again, refusing to call you anything else even when your parents scolded her.

But nothing ever stopped Erin. Back then, she could never be confined by her parents, even in the simplest of terms. To her, her little sister was not this Rosebud.

And eventually, after a few days of Erin refusing to call you anything else, your parents gave in. Their newborn was to be named by her older sister. Not Rosebud or anything else your mother had written down.

Luckily, the papers hadn't been signed or anything of that sort, so their little girl was to be named by none other than your very stubborn, now very stern, older sister.

(Your mother, as stubborn as she was, did get her way by gifting you with the middle name of her name. (You sometimes thought this was your mother's way of branding you, like naming you after her was her way of inserting herself into your soul. (If only she had known she’d forever be etched across your entire being just decades later.)))

Anyway . . .

There was the kicker: you didn't just come to be. Your sister had named you, and thus, a very long and very strenuous name for a very angry and odd girl was born (Sometimes nicknamed Rosebud).

In the past week you had been with the Bahngs, you wondered how little Rosebud ended up alone on the other side of the world. It had been on your mind ever since you arrived and saw how this family acted. It was as if you were witnessing a real family for the first time in your life.

When you were a kid, you’d sometimes see other families while sitting in the stands for your sister’s soccer, basketball, lacrosse (etc . . . ) games (as well as her student council lectures and her flute recitals . . . including that one time she joined the school play for Romeo and Juliet (she got Juliet . . . obviously)) . . . Whatever . . . you’d see how other families acted towards each other at these . . . electives. Some were like yours, but other . . . other had this genuine warmth that you just . . . you just couldn’t wrap your head around.

Those were the times you wondered if your family was normal. If mom and dad fighting every day was the same for everyone else. If sisters battling against each other to be the best . . . the most loved was . . . normal.

You’d learned later that it hadn’t been, but truly seeing it every day in and out like this . . . it was . . . well . . . you were sure there were pieces of your heart beginning to wither away further and further and . . .

The Bahngs (plus Felix, if you were being honest) were a family. A real one.

And there you were, always watching them like something out of place.

It made you wonder . . . had Rosebud been the beginning of an end for your family. Was the day you were born, the day the love in your house died?

Had you screamed too loud? Had you been too fussy of a baby?

Had you drained the love from them, sucking it all up because you were just so desperately greedy for it? Were you still?

. . . If overstayed your welcome; if by the end . . . would you end up draining the Bahngs, too . . . ?

“It’ll pass . . . “ the words suddenly echoed throughout your ears, and you almost thought it was your own mind tricking you into hearing things, but then you realized . . .

You realized where you were. You realized you werent seven or thirteen or even eighteen, still being your family’s shadow. No, now you were twenty-one, left in a strange country with no overbearing mother, no absent father, and no perfect sister. You were alone, yes, tucked into your bed in the Bahng household, but you weren’t entirely alone, because on the other side of the room laid someone you used to know; someone you couldn’t quite remember; someone who was now staring at the ceiling with you.

The lights were off save for your lamp which you had your hand resting on for probably a while now as your mind drifted somewhere . . . else. While . . . Felix endured the light, kind enough not to bother you until . . . now.

It’ll pass, he had said, and you knew what he meant.

When you first arrived to Southhaven, Chris had told you Felix was living with them because of what happened to his parents; because he had lost them a year ago. You never asked what had happened. You never planned to, but given that . . . and him being witness to you literally puking your guts right in front of him, you could guess he knew your mother was gone, too, and you weren’t exactly . . . handling it well.

It’ll pass, he’d said, but what did he mean? What would pass?

You could never get over this if that was what he meant. You weren’t strong like that. Your sister was. She could handle this . . . but you . . . nothing was every temporary with you. Once you’d experienced something, once you’d had something; once you felt it . . . it all stayed with you. Even your first heartbreak . . . you didn’t have to still be in love with him to remember what it had done to you; what it had made you become. The thing was: there was no without with you; everything stayed and you were always changed, never the same again.

“Let me guess . . . “ Felix began again once he realized you weren’t going to respond, or rather . . . couldn’t respond.

You swallowed hard, awaiting.

“They asked if you were OK?” he asked, his voice a little softer now.

Your brows twitched. “Yes.”

And you could have sworn you heard him sigh across the room as if . . . as if the question bothered him, too. And then: “Fuckin’ hate when they do that . . . Threw up the first time, too,” he murmured. “You’re not alone.”

Oh . . .

You hadn’t expected that. You knew he must have felt what you were feeling once, too. Maybe he still did, but . . . It’ll pass, he’d said, but no! No! Losing your parents . . . It was like losing everything you had ever known, including yourself.

You’d been so rude to him, too when you knew how this felt. You knew how immobilizing it was. You knew what it did to a person, and you had still said those things.

And yet . . . there he was . . . comforting you . . .

Only then did you turn to face him, finding that he was still staring at the ceiling. “Felix?”

He turned, eyes meeting yours. “Mmm?”

Wetting your lips, your eyes searched his. “Thank you.”

Felix smiled. It was small . . . lacking, but . . . there. “Room full of orphans,” he nearly whispered, the smile still there. “Gotta’ stick together, right?”

And then . . . you began to smile, too. It was small . . . lacking, but . . . there, just like his. It was enough. It was all you had. Perhaps it was all he had, too.

The lights were out a second later, leaving the two of you in the dark silence. You knew you wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon, and you wondered if he was the same.

There was a period after your mother’s death when you couldn’t sleep.

It started with just a few less hours of sleep where you’d just stare at the ceiling, listening to your old clock tick seconds, minutes, hours by while you just laid in silence. You’d never known it could be so loud—the silence—until she was gone.

That should’ve been comforting, right? How even in the silence no one is ever truly alone, but it always managed to make you feel . . . worse . . . small. It made the world seem so much greater than you or your family or anything you had ever cared about. It made her death seem like just another number to add to the end of year tally.

It made everything seem meaningless.

So you laid awake . . . and listened . . .

Eventually, you’d let yourself blink just for a second of nothingness, and then you’d roll over, letting sleep take you. Until it was two weeks after your mother’s burial, and you began to realize it had been two days since you’d slept.

Two days of continued nothingness; of being in that house without your mother; of breathing when she no longer could.

You supposed that was when it started—when you began to hear her voice in the wind; when you convinced yourself that you were seeing her out of the corner of your eye; when you started wondering if maybe just maybe there was a chance you’d see her again in some form or another.

When you finally did sleep that following night by some miracle, you dreamt of her. You dreamt of her at the kitchen table with a plate stacked full of all the foods she loved. You dreamt of her warm smile. You dreamt of her gentle hand brushing the tangles out of your hair. You dreamt of her . . . and when you awoke, your eyes were sore and your cheeks were damp.

You supposed you should’ve talked to someone. Your sister, perhaps, but . . . your family was never one for . . . talking. (She wouldn’t know what to say anyway. Erin was perfect, yes, but she had no bedside manner.)

So the sleepless nights went on.

And when the semester started up again, two nights of no sleep turned into three, then four, until you stopped taking note of what nights you slept and what nights you didn’t.

You tried to ignore the depersonalization. You tried to ignore how you clung to your mother’s clothes, wearing them to class and even when you slept. You tried to ignore the need to be called by your middle name . . . her name. You tried to make it seem normal . . . but . . .

Then the hallucinations started.

At first it was in your bathroom mirror . . . then more whispers in the wind which turned to straight up conversations you thought you were having with her. And then . . . then you started to see glimpses of her on campus. In the beginning, it was people you didn’t know—people you’d just pass by while walking to class . . . but as the days and the nights became longer, you’d see her in your roommates, your friends . . . Jisung . . . even Hyunjin.

And you weren’t proud, you weren’t even sure if it even happened, but you’d been in the library one day, and you’d seen . . . her, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

. . . Apparently, you’d attacked someone in the library, screaming at them to tell you what they wanted from you. (You didn’t find this out until you woke up in Hyunjin’s bed the next morning and he’d explained the entire thing . . . not leaving out the fact that you’d passed out immediately after, but maybe that had just been in your imagination, too? Right? Because you really couldn’t have done that to someone? Right . . . ? . . . )

Between the attack and your failing grades, the news reached your father in no time. You’d take fault for the grades. You’d own that . . . but the attack; the sleepless nights . . . you didn’t want to know you were capable of that. (But the sleeping pills that were forced down your throat every night after the attack were proof enough that something wasn’t . . . right.)

You knew what this meant. You knew what that made you, and you didn’t know how to accept that. (You supposed you didn’t know how to accept most things.)

Sleeping was easier now, albeit, the dreams you had were just as excruciating as those days you’d hallucinate seeing her on the street . . . but at least you knew what was reality and what was not. (There had to be an upside in that. There had to be.)

It had been a month since then. The end of December now. In Southhaven where your winter was their summer and the weather was gentle, not the harsh rain and snow you were used to.

Now you could sleep, and dream of her, yes, but you’d wake up every morning and she wouldn’t be in your mirror. Now you woke, turned to the side, and glanced at a boy who seemed to be holding onto just as much as you were, and you’d be a liar if you said that didn’t interest you.

Because you wanted to know; you wanted to know if losing yourself this much after losing someone was . . . normal. Because truly, either everyone felt this way even just a little bit, or you were completely and utterly alone . . . and you were sure that would be the thing to kill you.

But there was no way you could admit this; there was no way you could ask him what he meant by his little ‘It’ll pass’; there was no way you could ask him when it would pass. So, for the time being, you watched him in silence as you had watched everyone growing up.

This was normal for you anyway. When you were a kid, drifting through middle school and high school alone, you used to watch the people around you. You used to watch how they acted around each other; how their social media posts matched . . . how their smiles matched in them, too. You used to yearn for that—to be liked like that; to have people like that; people that wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with you.

It didn’t help that your sister always had someone over, whether it was friends to boyfriends. You used to watch her, too. You’d sit in the armchair while she chatted with her friend on the phone, lying horizontally on the couch. You’d hang around in the kitchen when she’d have her friends over for pool parties, sleepovers . . . whatever . . . and she’d always shoo you off, but you wouldn’t go far. No, you’d wait on the staircase, tucked behind the railing as you listened to them laugh.

And when you’d finally asked Erin if you could join them next time . . . she declined. We are sisters, not friends. Get your own friends, and stop scaring mine away, she’d said, and you understood.

You never did end up finding any friends, of course (well, at least not until university but . . . you know . . . ); instead, you figured out how to make yourself invisible. And so . . . a shadow you became, learning how to communicate with other people through conversations that weren’t your own.

You learned how to read people; how to tell them what they wanted; how to know what to do when no one else did. (You supposed it all went to shit when your mother died and you realized you could watch people and watch people but you’d never be able to figure yourself out; you’d never be able to help yourself.)

Whatever . . .

The point was: learning about people from afar had always been familiar to you, and when it came to Felix, you decided it was better to watch him in silence than speak with him. He was just that type of person, you had gathered.

Now, you knew how it sounded, but people watching wasn’t like flat-out stalking (Ok . . . you could admit it wasn’t exactly the sanest thing to do but . . . whatever.). Listen, listen, you just so happened to end up waking up when Grace would call you, letting her drag you wherever she wanted because maybe she had grown on you a little over the past few weeks. And most of the time, Grace would take you down to the beach where her brother and his friends apparently liked to surf (well, where everyone in this town preferred to surf) and sometimes Felix would join.

So, were you keeping a close eye on him, curious about everything that he was and who he had been to you in the past? . . . Yes.

And the days he wouldn’t show, you wondered where he’d go. No one ever mentioned it. He never said a word about it, and you were left wondering.

Maybe he was off to that sandy beach just below the Bahng residence. You just didn’t know . . . and that bothered you more than you wanted it to.

And those days that he didn’t show, you’d taken to drawing in your sketchbook. God, fine, you’d taken to drawing him. But, but, listen, the only reason you were was because of what you had seen your first week in this godforsaken place—his scar.

Perhaps that was what had entranced you. Or maybe it was the past you knew which included him but couldn’t quite figure out the rest of the pieces. Or maybe . . . maybe it was him who intrigued you.

Fine . . . like Hyunjin had said on the phone last night . . . maybe you had a small crush on him. Like . . . maybe . . .

You couldn’t help it. He was just so . . . so . . .

. . . you didn’t even know.

Whatever . . .

Anyway . . . today was different. Grace woke you up early, yes, but when you finally stepped outside twenty minutes later, you found the entire Bahng family dressed and ready to go. Irene was busy trying to shove all the beach bags and surfboard and towels and sunblock into the trunk of her minivan, while Monty was already dabbing Grace’s face with sunblock and Chris . . . well . . . he was in the front seat, waiting for everyone to hop in so he could drive.

And you, you stood stuck in the doorway, watching this family be . . . a family while you . . . you had . . . no one. You could have sworn you heard your heart break a third time in your life, but before the floodgates could open, a hand had clasped your shoulder. You turned, in shock, and there he was—Felix.

With a squeeze of your shoulder and a small smile, he nodded toward the minivan, gesturing for you to follow him. And with that, you, and Felix, who was seated behind you in the very last row, climbed into the car. He sat there alone, too, and you couldn’t help but watch him out of the rearview mirror the entire trip, wondering why he had taken the back seat and not you.

That . . . that was about an hour ago. Now . . . now you were the one sitting alone on your beach towel, sketchbook in hand and a pencil in the other as you drew the scene in front of you. While you drew, you desperately tried not to throw your pencil down and flip to the page where you had drawn Felix’s scar.

A call of your name tore you from your sketchbook as you glanced up finding Grace just a few feet from you, holding up a rather large seashell and waving it around to show you. You couldn’t help but smile at her. A real smile, too. Wide and toothy and just like your mother used to get out of you.

Because you couldn’t help it; not when you looked at Grace a little too long and found that she was only a fourteen-year-old kid and reminded you a little too much of who you used to be at that age.

So you smiled, and she grinned back wider before going back to shell searching. And you . . . you watched with that small smile on your face before your eyes slowly flicked back down to your sketchbook and you began to draw the scene before your eyes once again.

Only this time, as you were about to shade, another voice drew you from your mind. Only this time, the voice was much deeper and coming toward you. Only this time, it was Felix calling your name. Only this time, you quickly slammed your sketchbook shut before he could catch sight of what you had been drawing. Only this time, you looked up in horror, trying to act normal but completely failing as you made eye contact with . . . him.

It seemed Felix had caught onto this, too, but instead of mentioning it, he only bit back a grin. And you swallowed hard, shifting slightly as you realized he was going to sit beside you on the towel.

His hair, blonde with dark roots, was wet, and he was wearing a rash guard this time, unlike the first time you saw him. But he still looked . . . good. You could admit that, because well, he just had this . . . way . . . about him . . . but . . . whatever . . .

As he sat down beside you and released a gruff sigh, a few water droplets flicked onto your own bare arms, catching your attention immediately. You blinked at it, unmoving.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“Gracie seems smitten with you,” he mumbled your way.

Your eyes finally snapped from the water droplets sliding down your arm to your lap where your sketchbook lay. “I guess,” you muttered back, fingers playing with the edges of the sketchbook.

“Chris won’t say it. He’s too fixed on you being, like . . . different or whatever . . . but . . . just . . . thank you for being kind to her. I know she comes on strong, but that’s—“ he waved his hand in the air, exhaling sharply— “The kids around here are . . . “ he swallowed audibly that time, and sighed once more before continuing, “awful, so . . . keep up the good . . . work?”

And that time, as his words left his lips, you could have sworn you saw him grimace at what he’d said. And that . . . that got a small, barely audible, barely even noticeable, laugh out of you.

But when he glanced up to meet your gaze, unsure of if he’d heard you correctly, you quickly covered up your amusement, wiping the grin off your face. Instead, when his eyes met yours, you only nodded in response, giving him a small, tight smile.

Felix, however, had caught your little laugh. You knew he did, and he knew you knew. So it was a no-brainer when one side of his mouth tipped into a half-grin as he shook his head. “You don’t say much, do you?” he mused, scooting a little closer, but not close enough for it to seem deliberate.

Wetting your lips, you mumbled, “Not much to say.”

Felix nodded, leaning away from you once again, and you thought you’d lost his attention, but then: “Do you like the ocean?”

You blinked. Why was he so interested? Had he found out about your drawings? Was he taunting you? No, no, that . . . that was stupid. But—No.

You quickly shook your head, then released a sigh. “Um . . . I guess,” you said, nearly under your breath as you shrugged. “I haven’t been this much since I was a kid.”

“Is it weird being back then?”

“I don’t know.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, not in a menacing way or anything like that but almost as if he were considering your response. But he didn’t dwell long as he switched the conversation. “What’s it that you’re drawing anyway?” he abruptly asked, gently tapping your sketchbook.

You blinked . . . again. Shocked . . . again. “Nothing,” you quickly tried to cough out, “just . . . nothing important. It’s shit.”

His brows twitched, his head tilting to the side as he took you in. “Nah, you’re just—“ he cut himself off, shaking his head, but his eyes never left you. He continued on searching your face as he spoke. “We’re our own worst critics, you know?”

You glanced at his nose, then his cheeks, and finally at a freckle that oddly seemed to resemble a heart before you decided that yes, you would like to draw this next—him like . . . this. “Just a realist,” you hummed out, still completely in your own mind as your eyes danced over his features.

“OK, maybe you are,” Felix said with a shrug. And then he was leaning in again, chin in the palm of his hand. “Draw me then. It’s my face. I know it well. If it looks like me, you pass. If not, you gotta hand over the pencil.”

Oh . . .

You swallowed your words.

If only he knew . . .

But instead the words that spilled from your lips were: “And if I don’t want to draw you?”

Felix shrugged, unbothered. “Then . . . draw yourself for me.”

Your brows raised. “And if I don’t want to do that either?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, Felix laughed through his nose. He was staring at you again, kind eyes and a small smile on his lips. “Alright then . . . What do you love, sad eyes? Hmm?” he asked, his voice low.

What do you love?

You didn’t know anymore.

But you had loved something once. You knew you had.

Sunsets. The smell of sunscreen. Sand under your fingertips. Sea water on the tip of your tongue. Cherry Cherry saltwater taffy. And a hand in yours.

“Got it?” Felix asked again, tearing you from a past you couldn’t even remember. “OK . . . now draw that.”

Sunsets. A hand in yours.

You sighed, your next words shocking even you, “What if it’s something . . . intangible?”

“Then how can you draw it wrong?”

How can you draw it wrong? he’d asked you, but you couldn’t respond, because you didn’t know. You didn’t even know what the memories meant. How could you even begin to draw them?

And just as you were about to write him off again, the sound of Grace’s soft laughter echoed throughout your ears. Without any forethought, your head snapped in the other direction, eyes quickly finding her . . . and . . . Chris and . . . Monty . . . even Irene.

It seemed that Monty and Chris had snuck up on Grace, grabbing her before she could realize it, then taking off into the ocean, their laughter in the air. All the while . . . Irene stood where the water met the land, a wide smile on her face as she softly chuckled at their antics.

And you realized something else then. That is what you would’ve drawn. That is what you loved.

Your family had never been a good one, but it was yours. Even your father hadn’t been so bad when you were younger and unaware. You still felt loved by him when you didn’t know the world. And back then, when you thought their fighting was normal, you still came together at the end of the night and watched movies as a family.

That was the last time you remembered being truly . . . happy, and you couldn’t quite place when that all stopped . . .

You thought you’d miss it forever. And you knew that . . . that was what you loved most in the world—a family that didn’t exist anymore . . . perhaps a family that never did.

And yet here were the Bahngs, and they had what you wanted most in the world. They had it effortlessly, too.

Fuck. You swallowed the quickly forming lump in your throat, realizing a little too late that your body and your mind were too many steps apart. Your hands had begun to shake, and before you knew it, that queasy feeling in your stomach was back. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed to get out of there.

That was your motive. You quickly stood to your feet, sketchbook still in hand as you tried everything not to look Felix in the eyes. “Sorry, um . . . “ you stammered out. “I have to go. I have to—bathroom.”

And then you were gone, stalking off toward the minivan in hopes it was, by some chance, unlocked. You just needed a minute alone. You just needed to be alone like you always had been.

Alone, you repeated in your head as you finally made it to the minivan, your breathing uneven and shaky. Alone, you begged as you grabbed onto the door handle, pulling repeatedly. Alone, you all but cried as you realized there was no way the door was going to magically unlock just for you. Alone, you knew as you fell against the car, silently crying into the crook of your arm.

It could have been hours that you were standing there, silently mourning a family you could’ve had and a mother you never would. It could have also been seconds, but you did know that you wished you were back home with Hyunjin and Jisung and New York with its cold weather and noisy traffic. At least then you wouldn’t be reminded of the family you didn’t have.

And once you had finally calmed your breathing, you glanced up at the sun, your eyes swollen from crying, and sighed. Is this what your life was now? Is—

The clearing of a throat tore you from your mind, but you didn’t jump. You already knew who it was. You could tell by just the sound of his voice.

“You don’t have to stay, Felix,” you sighed as you remained facing the sun, not wanting him to see you like . . . this. You just wanted to be alone like you had always been. You just wanted him to leave, but then . . . you refused to tell him this. You refuse to tell him to leave, and perhaps . . . perhaps you wanted him to stay or perhaps you were truly going crazy again.

“There’s no bathroom here,” Felix mumbled after a minute, his voice lacking as he ignored your previous words.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you nodded. “Yeah . . . “

With that, Felix stayed silent, just watching you as you wished for the ground to swallow you whole. But it didn’t and you stayed put, realizing this someone you used to know was seeing you at your very worst—tears, snot, and all.

And with a heavy sigh, you let it happen. You let everything fall away just for a second as you sunk to the ground, eyes closed as you leaned with your back up against the minivan.

But what did surprise you was the fact that a few seconds later, you heard Felix step toward you, and then . . . then he was sitting down right beside you.

You didn’t dare look at him. You weren’t even sure if you could. Instead, your eyes fluttered open, small tears rolling down your cheeks as you quickly brushed them away, keeping your gaze trained on the sandy parking lot.

Felix didn’t speak either, and you quickly realized he was waiting for you to say something first. He was waiting for you to do it yourself when you were ready.

And when you finally were ready, you clutched your sketchbook closer to your chest, before you spoke. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry by the way,” you found yourself saying before you could come up with a different response. “For that day; the first day we met. It’s not right . . . but sometimes I just say things. I don’t know why. I never mean it.”

You knew it was almost a month too late. You knew he probably didn’t give a shit now, but you had a habit of clinging onto things, and well, it had never left your mind.

So the words you said, you meant, and you hoped he knew that. You hoped he could feel it in your voice.

And when he didn’t respond, you glanced up, brows pinched upward, only to find he was already looking at you. But only when your eyes met his, did he smile, and you realized he had still been waiting for you.

That was when he spoke—when he had your eyes on him. “And I told you, it’s alright,” he hummed, his voice deep yet . . . soft. “There’s the American way, then there’s the better way . . . Australian. So this . . . this is my way of showing you a little bit of Australian hospitality. Water under the bridge, yeah?”

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t even nod. You couldn’t. How could he be so . . . so . . . kind?

No one had ever been so . . .

No one had ever . . .

No one . . .

Felix seemed to catch onto this with just another glance at your face. “Look . . . “ he began, his features contorting into questioning, “if you need it to be forgiven, it’s already done. It’s—”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you couldn’t help but ask, cutting him off for the first time. “It doesn’t make any sense. You don’t even know me.”

A deafening beat of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Was that your heart or his?

Beat.

Then, a sigh from Felix. His brows twitched, his eyes squeezing shut and he tongued his inner cheek. “There are certain things no one should have to go through alone,” he slowly began, his words slow yet still so . . . so soft. His eyes fluttered open a second later, and you saw his words before he spoke them. “Losing your mother is one of them.”

Your body became limp at his words, your sketchbook falling to your lap, but your hands stayed locked firmly around it. Felix noticed this, his eyes flicking down to where the black sketchbook lay. He pursed his lips, then nodded, and you waited, knowing he knew.

“You draw dead things . . . “ Felix mumbled a second later, his eyes still trained on the sketchbook in your lap.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you knew there was no running from him now, because he knew. He knew.

Grief made people do tricky, sick things, and you knew this well. It had turned you into another person, and in your downfall, you’d taken to a new . . . hobby—drawing dead things.

You didn’t quite know why, you just knew that when you’d stumble across those poor pigeons hit by cars or those squirrels and moles and mice that cats liked to leave on your doorstep, you always took pictures of them, later drawing them in your sketchbook.

It was the only thing that managed to make you feel better, because there it was—death.

Death had taken your mother, and it would surely take you, too, but if you drew it maybe you could have something over it. Maybe . . . maybe if you made death into art then . . . then you wouldn’t cry every time you heard your mother’s voice in the whispers of the wind.

And at the beach, you’d heard your mother’s voice, you’d felt the wind, and then you’d seen the poor fallen seagull as the current carried its lifeless body to and fro. You couldn’t stop yourself from sketching it while everyone else was busy in the water. But Felix had caught a glimpse of it when he approached you on the beach. Now, you knew he had.

Your sick little secret was no more. Felix . . . had been the only one to uncover it.

That you couldn’t run from.

So, instead, with a heavy sigh, you released your tight grip on the sketchbook, and whispered, “Yes.”

With the release of your words, you couldn’t help it, you grimaced in preparation, wondering when he’d leave you, too. Because he would. That was just how things went.

But . . . it wasn’t disgust which he met you with. No, instead . . . instead, he shifted in his spot and then you saw it—his hand was now resting on his knee, palm up with his fingers spread, and you finally realized what he was offering you.

You glanced at his hand, fully now, and swallowed hard. He was holding out his hand for you to grasp.

But you stayed frozen, unmoving, unsure.

Until . . .

“You don’t have to . . . but . . . “ Felix began, his deep voice a little hoarse now. “When I was a kid, I had problems falling asleep. Nightmares, you know . . . kept me up half the night. And my mom . . . she’d stay up with me trying everything. Glass of warm milk, counting sheep, whatever. Most of the time we’d just stay up watching TV until I eventually knocked out. But there were times when nothing would work . . . so eventually she’d put me to bed and say that she’d be there the entire night, holding my hand, so even if I had a nightmare, it’d be OK . . . and . . . every time . . . I’d wake up and my hand would still be in hers.”

Finally, his eyes met yours.

Your brows twitched, eyes searching.

“I was able to sleep after that,” he mumbled once more, offering up a small smile. It was lacking but it was there, and it meant something. It meant something. “No more nightmares. I guess I felt . . . safe.”

A beat of silence.

Or maybe it had been your heart pounding in your chest.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Then . . . you shakily placed your hand in his. Warmth at your fingertips. Sunsets. Cherry Cherry saltwater taffy. A hand in yours.

With a complacent sigh, you let the incomplete memory in as you slowly threaded your fingers through his, securing your hand tightly in his.

Sunsets. A hand in yours. His hand in yours. His hand.

#lee felix #lee felix smut #lee felix scenario #lee felix x reader #lee felix x y/n #lee felix fic #lee felix fanfic #lee felix fanfiction #lee felix stray kids #lee felix skz #felix x reader #stray kids #skz #kpop #skz au #stray kids au #lee felix au #lee felix series #lee yongbok smut #lee yongbok x reader #lee yongbok x y/n

[hexjulia]

i was looking for a way to learn russian not because i have any reason to or expectation of ever becoming fluent but because i have insomnia and need challenges to occupy myself with at night without those things having anything to do with anything i try during the day.

ok now i feel like an annoying cooking blog giving an essentially unrelated story before the recipe, but this motivation probably determines what i look for in language learning resources: no organisation necessary on my part. accessible online. capable of keeping me entertained while half-asleep.

found this!

"The "textbook" for Ме́жду на́ми is this website. It is a free resource that requires no special password or registration. It provides the story line, vocabulary, grammatical explanations and cultural context that will guide your study of Russian. You will also use a set of printed workbooks called Ра́бота в аудито́рии (Classroom Activities) and Дома́шние зада́ния (Homework Assignments).

The program is organized into nine уроки (units). Each one starts with a list of goals so that you know what you will be learning to do in Russian. You should plan on checking yourself regularly against these goals as you work through the material. They will help you keep track of what you know well, and the areas in which you might need some additional work. Each unit divided into three ча́сти (parts), with each часть (part) sharing common thematic and grammatical content. These parts are divided into episodes that advance the ongoing story line and provide new vocabulary, grammar and cultural information. Each episode begins with a текст (text), which you should plan to read multiple times. Listening to the audio, looking at the illustrations, and checking the mouse-over glosses for words and phrases that may be hard to figure out from context will aid your understanding of the text. If you cannot recall the meaning of a word you have seen before, you can look it up by checking the Слова́рь (Dictionary).

After reading and listening to the text several times, you should move onto the Вы всё по́няли (Did You Get All of Тhat?) section, which provides comprehension questions with automatic feedback to help you to check your understanding of the text and to learn new vocabulary. These activities are crucial preparation for the in-class work, which is designed to help you use this new vocabulary and to examine new grammatical constructions.

As you work with the classroom activities, you will read and re-read the Немно́го о языке́ (A Bit About Language) section, which contains information about Russian grammar and usage encountered in the episode. Be sure to make use of the activities with automatic feedback to see if you have understood the new concepts being presented.

#put the rest of the explanation from the site itself behind a readmore simply because it's long and that's annoying to scroll past

[spiritualclaymore]

💛 ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ!

This post will include some information about me and a short testimony. Thanks for checking out my blog!

💛 ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛ & ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ

Howdy! I'm a Christian artist from the southern US who enjoys creating stories & characters that glorify God and share the gospel! 🔥⚔️ ✝️ I like anime and various comic styles. I'm currently working on my own style. I’ve enjoyed creating various OC's of humans, animals, anthro, and hybrid varieties!

sᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ: I can be found just about anywhere and have compiled everything on my carrd. I am also accepting commissions, my carrd will have more information. I may compile and post commission information on tumblr in the future, Lord willing.

carrd

💛 ғᴏʀᴍᴇʀ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ sᴀᴠᴇᴅ ʙʏ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇ

It's surreal to be here after taking a long hiatus around 2021. I'm used to having "missing e", a dozen extensions, and all of my pretty post formatting. It seems tumblr has tidied things up to make formatting easier. Back then, I used to copy/paste blank spaces, pretty symbols and emojis, indent all of my paragraphs, and then use a bunch of key commands to select and make my font size small and neat! Haha! I don't have any problems with people who do that, it was a style choice for writers and roleplayers.

“The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness and wickedness of people, who suppress the truth by their wickedness.” Romans 1:18

jaegerbombed | warpathpanther | blacklightburns | rubmyrosary

(CONTENT WARNING: above blog archives have explicit and/or adult content and are TESTIMONIES of what I used to write, portray, and how i lived my life. the last one is referring to a satanic voodoo cult character and I do not endorse the rosary/catholicism.)

I was part of the tumblr roleplay community and many other rp communities across the internet, including Gaiaonline, jcink, and proboards. I was doing this hobby for about 16 years before I started to take my faith seriously in 2021. To clarify faith, I was never really a believer or follower of Christ until I was BORN AGAIN in January 2023! Hallelujah! Note: I am not saying Christians cannot role play or enjoy writing as a way to develop characters, stories, etc. As long as it's not used to write content that would make you sin and it's not becoming an obsession.

Before that, I hyperfixated on horror genre, supernatural and horror anime, tv series, including video games, movies, stories, and more. I had gender dysphoria, went by 'khan', or 'khanivore'. I internalized a lot of it and would act out by doing drag king stuff and drag cosplay IRL.

I idolized playing hypermasculine male characters in the roleplay communities I was a part of. I saw many friendships made, torn apart, and savagely destroyed due to the toxicity of the community. Without Christ, people unhealthily hyperfixate on their idols and become jealous of other people writing better, portraying a certain character better, seeking all types of 'shipping' relationships that don't go well.

Wrote hundreds of thousands of words portraying s*xual fantasies with males & females. I obsessed over becoming male characters; thinking their thoughts, living their lives, not my own. I became oppressed by demons while playing songs that made me think of these characters, obsessively studied their dialogues and did some crazy forms of method acting. These characters had their own birthdays & astrology signs that I celebrated.

I had deep loneliness & despair, a void within me, & I filled it with video games, p**nography, alcohol, cosplay & role playing. When the convention was over, I felt like my heart was being burned alive & there was nothing to fill that void. I had insomnia from late nights living my double life. I was hateful, rude, condescending, competitive, swore all the time, & angry.

But JESUS set me free! He had been knocking on the door of my heart. I did not seek Him, I wanted to live in my filth, I loved my sin. But HE sought after me & my heart slowly softened. My eyes began to open. I don’t share this testimony to glorify myself; don’t want the wrong attention, nor things my old self would have gloated over. I share this testimony of where I WAS, to show where JESUS SET ME FREE!

Seek Jesus - He isn’t religion, He’s a real person, the son of God, who was sent to die for our sins. Someone who wants a relationship with you. He wants to set you free from pain. He can give you answers & true identity; not the CULTure.

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.” Romans 8:1-2

#christian #chrumblr #christian artist #✝️umblr #christian testimony #my testimony

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

hello! i checked your blog and couldn’t see anything but i apologise if i missed it! do you have any tips on writing regret? for example character a does something to upset character b and now character a is dealing with the aftermath of that

Tips on How to Write Regret

Characters make mistakes, but sometimes it can be difficult to write how they're feeling in the aftermath of those mistakes. Here are some tips and tricks on how to write regret!

These are what I personally try to take into account when writing regret, and I definitely can't cover everything, so feel free to add in your own tidbits of advice!

1. Measure the Regret Based on the Mistake (and your character!)

Regret is a spectrum. It ebbs and flows, rising up to be absolutely suffocating at some times and fading into the background at others. Depending on the mistake your character made and the way that your character personally deals with the knowledge of making such a mistake, their regret is going to differ in intensity.

The reactions of your characters to regret are an incredible way to make them more three-dimensional--especially when the regret (seemingly!) doesn't match the mistake.

Why are they so apologetic and remorseful over something as simple as breaking a mug?

Why do they not seem to care at all that a civilian has become collateral damage?

A character's supposed overreaction or underreaction to certain things can be a great source of tension between your cast.

Just be sure that an overreaction/underreaction to a situation matches your character's personality...or, if it doesn't, make sure the moment counts!

A reader is going to be incredibly jarred if the normally stoic character breaks into tears over a mistake, or if a normally emotional character is cold in the face of a tragedy, so you'll want to save these moments for points of high tension or importance!

2. Pace Your Regret Carefully

Sometimes regret isn't as simple as an apology and resolution. Regret can linger, which is why it's important to pace your character's regret carefully if it's prolonged throughout the story.

If your character's regret is coming from an unresolved argument with another character, you may want to avoid dragging the argument out in a dramatic, constant unwarranted miscommunication kind of way; many readers have started turning their backs on the miscommunication trope, so be warned! Instead, you can have it simmer and fester rather than exploding in bursts, forcing the characters to come to terms with this wall between them as they try to rebuild their relationship.

(Also, make sure you don't completely eliminate apologizing from the equation! Sometimes an apology and resolution can be better for your plot than a cycle of miscommunication; there's nothing more potent than the big "I'm Sorry" scene!)

If your character's regret comes from past mistakes that can never be corrected, you may want to explore the healing process, and how certain people cope with long-term regret.

3. Some Symptoms of Regret

Rapid or unsteady heartbeat

Shaking (hands, legs, etc.)

Chills

Insomnia/Fitful sleep

Rumination

Ruthless criticism of oneself

Perfectionism/high expectations

Crying

Embarrassment/shame (and all the things linked to that: i.e. face feeling hot, wanting to hide, wishing you could melt into your shoes)

Avoiding talking about the mistake

Constantly going over the mistake in their head

Short temper from stress

Defensiveness

Denial

Headaches

Resentment

Queasiness (since regret and guilt are linked to anxiety, they're often described as "a pit in your stomach" or "a bad feeling in your gut" so play around with ways to talk about this feeling)

At times, your character may forget about their regret if they're occupied, which is why regret often hurts the most when they're alone with their thoughts. Either that, or another character brings it up or there is a trigger of some kind to remind them of their mistake.

4. Ways that People Cope With Regret

Therapy/talking about it with others (the healthiest way!)

Refusing to think or talk about it at all

People pleasing and approval-seeking behaviors/attempts to make up for their mistake

Inability to say no (especially to someone they've wronged)

Convincing themselves that they were in the right

Over-apologizing or refusing to apologize at all

Turning to alcohol or drugs

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

#writing #writeblr #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #creative writing #writers #tips for writers #advice for writers #help for writers

[ddejavvu]

Could you write something where Eddie comforts a reader with PTSD? Mines been going brrr lately and I just need the comfort.

Also, I found your blog pretty recently and omg ilysm, everything's so beautifully written :') <3

come celebrate 5.7k with me!

i'm sorry your ptsd is acting up, baby! i hope this helps, and i'm so so so glad you enjoy my writing :) i love you too <33

--

Your room is stuffy, the curtains draped over the window and gathering dust while you keep them closed. There's nothing outside that interests you, but there's really nothing inside that interests you either. Your room is boring, but there's nothing better to do than to lay down, sleep having escaped you for days.

You wish you were capable of functioning normally. But anytime you try to engage with people it's like your eyes glaze over, and your brain shuts itself in and refuses to contribute to your life.

So you're left motionless in bed, despair weighing heavy on your heart.

That is, until someone knocks at your window.

You panic. You're scrambling off of the bed in seconds, the sheets tangled around your legs and coming with you. Whoever it is hears the telltale thump of your body hitting the floor and curses, but the voice is familiar enough that the panic in your chest dies down.

"Eddie..?" You realize he can't hear your breathless whisper from outside, so you rush to the window, throwing the curtains open. Thankfully, it is the boy you'd met only weeks prior, his hair frizzy and slicked to his face with sweat.

He looks relieved to see you and pries helplessly at the edge of the window. You tug it open for him, tucking an arm underneath his own and helping haul him into your room.

"Eddie," You repeat, this time to him, "What.. what are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Eddie deflects your question, brushing a stray leaf out of his hair from the tree he'd climbed, "You're supposed to be in school."

"I haven't been in a week." You groan, burying your face in your hands, "Why would I go today?"

"Yeah let's talk about that," Eddie perches on the end of your bed, his eyes drifting over an array of crumpled up tissues on the floor by your trash can, "You sick or something?"

"Or something." You sigh, sitting beside him on the bed. There's space between you, but only as much as your small mattress allows, so not much.

Eddie isn't sure what to say, and you hate that he's glancing around your room, probably noticing the cups stacked on your nightstand and the dirty socks strewn about.

You deflect his attention, "Again, what are you doing here?"

"When someone's missing in action for one out of the four weeks you've known them, it's a little freaky." He levels you with a stern glance, "No one knew where you went, man!"

"I haven't been sleeping well." It's not a lie, it's just not the full story, "I don't really feel up to a day at school.

Eddie hums sympathetically, "You take melatonin? That shit knocks you out if you take enough."

"Anything will," You scoff, "But yeah. No luck."

You hesitate to tell him that it runs deeper than simple insomnia. That sleeping scares you, both the images you see while your eyes are closed, and the possibility of them becoming a reality again if you let your guard down like that.

He seems to put the pieces together, though, from the disarray your room is in. You're well aware that you look like sadness personified, a t-shirt you haven't changed in four days wrinkled against your chest and loose shorts hanging low on your hips.

"Have you tried, like, listening to music?"

"And rain, and ocean sounds, and birds chirping, and a heartbeat." You list off the white noise you'd enlisted for help, each one of them failing miserably.

"A heartbeat?" He looks intrigued, glancing at you from the side of his eye.

"Yeah, it's supposed to, like, remind you of being inside the womb." You explain, your hands shifting to accentuate your point, "It's comforting, I guess. Just not comforting enough."

"Right." He nods, trailing off into thought. You're not sure what you're supposed to do, because being upright for longer than two minutes to use the bathroom is now foreign to you, and you kindly prompt him to make a move.

"Well I'm fine, so you don't need to worry." You offer him a careful smile, and he surveys you with the same disbelieving look that he'd given you before.

"You're crazy if you think I'm leaving you here." He scoffs, cautiously glancing at you again before he swallows. You watch his adam's apple bounce, but your eyes flick back to his own as he finally speaks.

"That.. that heartbeat stuff. That really works?"

"Well it didn't for me," You remind him, "But I dunno. Maybe it's better on babies or something."

"Or like.. with a real person?"

"I guess?" You shrug, "I'm not, like, an expert on white noise. There could be some weird specification for- what are you doing?"

Eddie's arm curls around your shoulders, tugging you closer to him across the mattress. You stiffen in his grip and your eyes widen, your hands pinned at your sides as he crushes you to his chest.

"Shut up," He mumbles, "Put your ear on my chest."

"Eddie I don't think-"

"Just do it," He huffs, "I'm trying to do a nice thing for you."

You can't argue with that. You press against his chest first, slipping out of his awkward grip and readjusting yourself so that you're leaning comfortably over his lap. He settles against the wall behind him, the window still open on his other side, and your head comes to rest just above his heart.

You have to admit, the warmth that he radiates is much more soothing when paired with his natural heartbeat than your cold pillow is with a simulated one. Cold against your skin doesn't bother you as much, though, when it's the metal bands of Eddie's rings pressing into your back, just beneath the hem of your shirt that's ridden up. You hear the light thunk of his head against the closed portion of your window, letting out a deep sigh as you both decompress.

"Did I miss anything at school?" You ask idly, your eyes fixed on the frayed strings on the knees of his jeans.

"Uh, yeah. Like, a week's worth of work." He teases you, his fingernails digging into your skin lightly. You would be panicked, but you know he hasn't done it either, so you brush off his condescension.

"That's not what I meant," You berate him, "Like, anything interesting!"

"Some cheerleader got into a fight with her boyfriend in the cafeteria yesterday." He recalls, "And we all dared Dustin to eat one of the fries she threw at him 'cause it landed on the floor."

"Did he do it?" You feel bad for the poor boy, but the image of him succumbing to a stupid dare does make you giggle.

"Of course he did," Eddie laughs, "It was gross. There was, like, hair on it."

"Ew!" Your face wrinkles into a sour frown at the information and Eddie's chuckle reverberates through his chest, his hand pressing tighter into your back, "You guys are so mean to him."

"Hey, you were laughing too!" He reminds you, "Hypocrite."

You fall silent after his biting remark, but not out of hurt. It's more out of a sense of serenity, the first genuine bit of happiness you'd felt in days. You're reluctant to admit that his heartbeat is soothing you, but you're certain it wouldn't work if it was anyone else. It's not his heartbeat that's soothing you, it's his heartbeat that's soothing you, and you don't know how to tell him that without sounding like you like him.

And maybe you do, you realize, as your eyes flutter shut slowly against his chest, maybe you do like him. But you'll have to ponder that later, because he's murmuring a soft, 'Sleep for a bit, babe, then we'll get you some food.' and you're following his instructions to the letter.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one-shot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson hc #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson dialogue #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fanfiction #eddie munson angst #mei's 5.7k celebration!!

[pardis-dhyai]

Hihi!! I got so excited when I found ur blog, I love your headcanons so much and I can never get enough chubby!reader content, ur out here doing gods work fr 🙏 could I please request wanderer, xiao, venti, and tighnari wearing/putting on like one of chubby!reader's hoodies or smth when they're away and reader finding them wearing it?? Could be fluffy or spicy, I'm not picky 🤭 thank you so much!!

hello hello hello!!! thank you so much <3 we deserve more love dammit! and this is an adorable request. I am on it! hope you enjoy!

wearing their chubby partner's clothing

characters featured: wanderer/scaramouche, xiao, venti, tighnari

pronouns used: none--second person perspective.

warnings: mentions of alcohol in venti's, but...i think you figured that would happen.

notes: written with a chubby reader in mind. still perfectly readable if you aren't chubby. assumed modern au!

wanderer/scaramouche is lonely. he would rather DIE than admit it, but he is. he misses you, your touch, your voice...and you've only been gone three hours. he sighs to himself, grumbling as he makes his way over to where you store your clothes and grabbing a hoodie he's seen you wear countless times. no matter how many times you wash it, it always smells like your soap, and you come home to find your boyfriend curled up with his nose snuggled inside the collar, peacefully snoozing away wearing your sweatshirt. he almost reminds you of a feral kitten finally starting to become socialized. he wakes up when you take a picture. he instantly starts swearing.

xiao finds himself getting cold at night. he already struggles with chronic pain and insomnia--he does NOT need to be shivering through the night to make his life even harder. so, one night as you both are getting ready for bed, he simply grabs one of your fuzzy pajama sets from the drawer and pulls it on. when you pause brushing your teeth to question what he's doing, his face just goes scarlet. "I've been getting cold, and your clothes are comfortable and smell nice. this is a normal thing partners do, isn't it? it's not a big deal..." he somehow blushes even harder when you comment on how cute he looks in them. he can't say he hates the attention...maybe he'll do this more often even when he's not cold.

venti is prone to mixing up your clothes when hungover. dude is a stumbling bumbling mess who hates mornings on top of the likely liver poisoning, so it's actually pretty common for him to grab one of your shirts and wear it out like it's no big deal because he didn't even notice it was yours, sending you a text halfway through the work day with a video of him giggling in the bathroom pointing it out. he's even the type to go all in styling them--and he will always ask you first before he actually modifies any clothing. wearing clothes too big for him does not help with the "being mistaken for a child" issue he has going on, though...because people assume they're hand-me-downs from some older sibling he doesn't have. "This is my PARTNER'S! I know I have skin as soft as a baby's but I'm not ACTUALLY one!"

tighnari is a horrible, horrible sweatpants stealer. because of how your pants fit on him, he can actually get his tail inside the waistband comfortably so it doesn't snag on things. it's not uncommon to find him curled up on the couch with a documentary on and in your sweatpants. he does not give a single shit if you catch him, either. "well, they're comfortable, and I like wearing clothes that belong to you. if you don't like it, I'll stop, but...I really don't want to." if you tell him you like it, he'll just grin, patting the couch cushion next to him so you'll join him watching whatever nature documentary he found this week.

#tighnari #venti #xiao #genshin impact wanderer #scaramouche #genshin x chubby reader #genshin impact x chubby reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #house of daena

[thelightsandtheroses]

Two: there goes the fear again

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. When a ghost from your past threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Word Count – 4.3k Chapter Warnings - 18+ blog minors DNI, description of a nightmare, insomnia, mentions of Salt Lake City, reader had a backstory and her age is not specified but an age range is lightly implied in this chapter, secondary characters and ocs, reader is a parent. Notes: Thank you so much for the kind feedback and comments so far - I’ve been honestly quite blown away by it all. As it's Joel's birthday today, I wanted to push myself to get this chapter out. So happy birthday Joel, sorry about the outbreak? 😂 Chapter title is from There Goes the Fear Again by Doves.

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The memories come back to you in flashes, framed with distorted static like an old VHS. They usually start in the years Before, nostalgia tinged memories that lull you into a false sense of security that tonight may not be so bad.

Sometimes you welcome it, the reminder of your family and life before. It was normal, it was filled with love and normality and peace. You had problems, like anyone else, but schoolyard bullies, your roommate and class assignments seem so trivial compared to what the world is now.

You’re by the beach, listening to the soothing rhythm of the waves, watching Sean surf as you pretend to study, scrunch your toes in the sand. You can feel the heat of the sun of your skin, the way you scrunch your toes in the sand and want to soak in every moment of this summer. You daydream of what’s going to happen once you start college. Will Sean still be your best friend as your paths start to digress? Will anyone even like you there?

You were still agonising about those trivialities on the night that the world ended right in front of you. In hindsight, you’ll notice the signs in front of you that day that something was coming, something was wrong. It was just a normal day though. The last one. You remember it all. So much loss, so many mistakes, so much fear. The memory of your family; of the last conversations you had with them, of how unsatisfactory that was.

Then it’s you and Sean and his little sister, Isabella, and you’ve got to find a new path. College feels like lifetime ago now.

It’s here the replay of your past becomes distorted; all black and white static and poorly compiled edits after that, time jumps and skips and sequences completely out of order. 

You’re in the woods and there’s blood stains on your clothes and you’re running and it’s never going to be far enough, it’s never going to leave you. It doesn’t matter how far you run; it’s buried under your skin now.

And then your mind goes to that place. To every nightmarish thought and the memories you avoid. It’s too much.

The blood. The flames. The shame.

It’s the fact you’ve bought a child into a world where monsters are real and you don’t know if you can keep them safe.

More memories.

Then it’s the fear; the unspoken terror that one day soon you’ll lose everyone, that you’ll just watch it unfold in from you. That you’ll be the only one left, doomed to loneliness and emptiness. That you’ll watch as everyone you love is taken from you; by illness, or violence, or such an innocuous looking fungus.

You’ll be left all alone and then they’ll find you.

Tendrils of anxiety twist around your body, constricting with each thought, each memory, each possible future, until you feel like you’re suffocating and your heart is racing and surely you can’t wake up from this.

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Joel asks placidly as you walk over to the bench, your rucksack casually slung over one shoulder. It’s clear that he’s been here for a while already but he’s left one side clear and ready for you.

“Just here for the view,” you say calmly, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you try and push away the lingering unease from your sleep.

“Aren’t we all?”

You sit next to him, playing your bag by the edge of your feet.

It’s been more than a week since he first came to your bench and since then you’ve had more run-ins with Tommy’s brother.  The two of you have seen several sunrises together in a wordless peace. Neither of you have truly acknowledged each other outside of the bench, nothing beyond polite nods in the community hall at mealtimes and the pleasantries you both would surely afford to any other member of this community.

You’ve spent each night on the bench observing Joel. You’ve quietly noticed his features; the freckles and sun marks, the way his eyes warm when he smiles or and the depths in them when he’s avoiding a subject.

There’s a lot you still don’t know about him.

Neither of you have talked much about the substance of your lives before Jackson. It’s to be expected though. These days, it’s safe to assume that if you’re still alive, it came at a cost and perhaps you don’t need to dwell on that.

You know Joel a little more now - each of you have given small hints about the person you are. Not a lot, not everything, but it’s just enough that Joel feels more real to you.

“I heard it was a rough patrol yesterday,” you say after a moment. Beau had told you all about the horde of infected they’d bumped into. He told you that him, Bonnie, Tommy, and Joel had almost been surrounded at one point.

Sometimes you almost forget about the infected. For a little while anyway.

For the past twenty years, most of the true terror you’d felt was at the hands of humans, not cordyceps. Were you frightened of losing people to it? Of course. Had your few encounters with clickers or runners been terrifying? Yes. Were you terrified of the world you’d leave your son one day? Naturally.

It was just in the QZs, in the worlds you’d moved in between then, you always encountered more humans than infected. The outbreak had changed everything and it had amplified so much; there was no court of law now, no shallow allusions of propriety no order outside of dictatorial QZs, so in some places, the anticipated lawlessness and loss of humanity was your true fear.

Jackson is an exception.

Joel looks down for a moment after you speak and you wonder if you shouldn’t have bought up the patrol at all.

“It was fine,” Joel says gruffly.

“Okay.”

“Do you go on a lot of patrols?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” you say. “Only when it’s my rotation. I’m mostly based in the library and sometimes I help Sean in the greenhouses too.” You pause and wonder if you should add more that you’re good with a bow and arrow now, but you still freeze in close contact.

After a while, as the breeze reaches your fingers and you regret not packing gloves, you reach down and pull a thermos out of your rucksack. You take a long sip, savouring the hot liquid and warming your fingers on the container.

You look over at Joel and then down at the flask in your hands.

“It’s just chicory coffee,” you say, offering the thermos to him politely. “A little dandelion root too I think.”

He looks at you curiously.

“Why?”

“I’m getting chilly, and it seems rude to sit here and drink coffee and not offer any to you.” Jackson has burrowed its way under your skin now; there’s no way you would have done this a year ago. Or perhaps it’s the bench, the magic of this place in the middle of the night. It’s like the rules you’ve built over the years can ease slightly here. The air feels just minutely lighter.

“Thanks.” Joel accepts the battered thermos, takes a long look at it, and then takes a tentative sip of the drink.

“Still nowhere near as good as the real thing,” you say wistfully. “And it’s caffeine free, but sometimes I can pretend it isn’t.”

“Better than nothing, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

“Where do you get it from? I know FEDRA had regular supplies and they grew it out in one of the QZs.”

“It grows wild around Wyoming and Sean’s cultivated a patch of it in the gardens too. Esther, in town, she makes it all. Esther’s definitely a good person to befriend if you want to keep a supply of it. She’s nice too.”

“Yeah, Tommy mentioned her.”

You smirk, imagining exactly the nature of the conversation between the two brothers.

“What’s that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure it is. Just you really seem to be settling into Jackson now.”

Joel shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t you start.”

“Okay, I won’t. So, how’s Ellie? I saw her in the library today, well, yesterday now,” you say lightly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh, she’s going through our space section pretty quickly. We’ll have to see what we can find on patrols.”

“Yeah, she’s really into space.” You can hear the affection in his voice; the deep love he has for her and that sense of pride that he knows this about her, knows about her interests.

“If any new books come in, I can put them aside for her.”

He looks at you with an unreadable expression. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.” You pause. “I think I get it. I never had a space phase, but I spent several months really fascinated with deep sea exploration when I was a kid. We moved to the coast and suddenly it was right there and I’d never thought about it before. I mean that I get where she’s coming from.” You have no idea where this sudden burst of honesty came from and you feel your face heat at what you’ve said.

“We’re a long way from the coast now,” he says softly. “Don’t think I’ve seen a beach in years.”

“No?” You smile sadly. “Me either. We’ve mostly only travelled inland since - well, since everything and sometimes I really miss it. Sean and I, we’ve been friends since we were kids and we used to just spend every weekend by the water.” You remember the start of your dream and fold your arms around yourself.

“What about you?” you ask, eager to change the subject and curious about the man beside you. “What was your thing?”

“I um,” Joel pauses as though he’s genuinely bewildered by being asked this question “I was into, uh -” He looks away from you. “The usual stuff, football and uh, all that.”

“Really? Just football?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joel asks, folding his arms.

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

He exhales and stretches his long legs out on the bench more. You follow the line from his feet up to his body and eventually his face. He looks uncertain, as though there’s something he wants to add, but he’s not sure.

“I wanted to be a writer, or to work with books, or words in some way. Had all these ideas about being an investigate journalist, or an editor, or just ... I think I just wanted to make art of some type. It’s probably why I’m so focused on the library now.”

“Music,” he whispers. “I was really into that.”

“So, you played … something? Guitar?” You look at him and decide he was most definitely a guitarist. He has the look, might even have the hands for it.

“Maybe,” Joel says,

“Please tell me you were in a terrible garage rock band at one point?” You smile at the image this conjures of the broad and elusive man next to you.

“In high school, for a brief moment. Then uh, things changed for us all and I - I had other priorities in my life than music.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It was the right call.”

“Still, if you loved it … it’s never too late? Did you know, they sometimes do open mic nights at the Tipsy Bison, but it’s … ropey, some of it.” You grimace at the memory of the last one that Sean and Beau had dragged you to a few months ago.

“You’re really selling this to me, sweetheart.”

“Hey, until you’ve heard Seth sing karaoke, you truly haven’t hit rock bottom.”

Joel scoffs, a small smile on his face that crinkles his eyes and warms every feature.

You thought you would hate sharing your bench, or having an intrusion on your solitude, but you don’t.

Over time, you’ve perfected sneaking back into this house. There’s a way to shut the back door just so to prevent anyone hearing you wander in. You avoid the bottom stair which creaks, and the other creaky floorboards on the landing.

Every time you do this, you feel like a teenager again. You grew up reading books and watching movies where teenagers snuck out to and from parties, but that had never been your life. You were studious, deferent to the rules. Your focus was singular; college, success, making a name for yourself. Sean used to try and persuade you to join him at parties or even just when he and his friends would hang out at the beach in the evening after surfing. You had thought you had time.

The world had different plans for you all though.

By the time you’ve crept back to your room, changed, and got ready for the day ahead, you can hear the familiar sounds of cupboards being opened and closed in the kitchen below.

“Mornin’ sweetie,” you say, squeezing Gabe’s shoulder as you walk into the kitchen.

Your son squirms but smiles lightly when he meets your eyes. The last twenty years have been an unending endurance test, painful and exhausting, but now you have Gabriel. You weren’t ready for him; you felt too young, too scared, too everything. He means everything to you now though.

He wears so many of your features and mannerisms, or features you remember seeing in your family. You find it uncanny; that mix of uniqueness and familiarity all at once.

“Is anyone else up yet?” you ask, stifling a yawn as you scan the kitchen for additional cups or plates, any sign the others are awake.

“Beau’s still asleep but Sean said he’d be down in five -”

“Which means he’ll be down in ten,” you both say together.

You were offered separate houses when the four of you first arrived in Jackson. There was an entire house that Maria told you could just be for you and Gabriel.  After almost a decade of living in a small, crapped apartment in Kansas with too thin walls and continual threats it had seemed unbelievable. Sean and Beau had been offered the house opposite you too. Maria had recognised how close you all were.

There’d been too much death along the way though; too much loss. You and Sean had been together so much of it all too. You were close friends before the outbreak and now hopelessly and hideously co-dependent on each other. Even back in Kansas, your apartment had been next to his and Beau’s. For more than a decade, you haven’t had more than a single wall separating you.

The idea of being so separate, of being more than a wall away, in a new community prettified you. You were frightened about what Jackson really could be; what it could be hiding, how quickly you may need to run. You felt like a deer in the headlights, a wild animal being stalked by prey. For the first weeks in Jackson, the town itched your skin and filled you with anxiety. There had to be a dark side, it couldn’t be that simple. You all needed to be ready to run.

The four of you had decided to stay together, to stay close, just in case. It was meant to be temporary.

It’s been two years now.

It also means you never have to worry about Gabe when you sneak out at night, it means your son has his uncles in his life every day. It means you’re not alone throughout everything.

They’re only people you have left now - the family you both found and made. They are the ones who have shaped the last twenty years of your life.

You take a sip of your tea and smile at your son.

“So, small bit of news I asked if Uncle Beau could take me on patrol next week,” he says quietly after a moment. “He said yes.”

“No. Gabriel, you’re -”

“I’m sixteen.”

“I know.” You swallow and look at him carefully. You remember him being so small you could hold him in one hand but now he’s sitting opposite you and he looks both so young and like a man all at once. Patrols? That’s normal for him now, that’s the way of life in Jackson. He’s still so young though.

You hear a creak on the staircase and listen carefully as your son continues making his case.

“It’s time I started learning about this and Beau will watch out for me if you’re worried. He said the route next week is the best to get started with,” he says, brow furrowing with concern at your reaction. “I’m ready though.”

“I’m sure you are. I know Uncle Beau will be there with you, I’m glad of that.” It’s better if he goes with Beau. You know him, you trust him and he will ensure that your son is safe.

“So how do you feel about that, patrol? Is this your idea or have you been volunteered?” Your son starting on this path is one thing if it’s his choice, but if he’s only going along with this because he thinks he’s supposed to, or because of teenage peer pressure? Well, the consequences are a lot worse in your son’s world, than chunky highlights or double denim could ever have been.

“It’s my idea. I’m fine with it,” he says quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You put your cup down and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Ergh, look, okay Jesse did his first patrol last week. Please - I can do it, I know I can. I want to.”

You’re tempted to reply, ‘and if Jesse walked off a cliff, would you?’ If you say it out loud though, there is no way you can deny you are turning into your mother, so instead you take a long sip of your drink.

It feels like a losing battle. Patrols are part of normal life in Jackson. However, if he’s with Beau then maybe that’s okay.  If you know anything about Beau it’s that he is fiercely protective of the people he cares about. These days, that’s pretty much only Sean, you, and Gabriel.

“If you feel you’re ready and if Uncle Beau agrees and it’s a sensible patrol route … It needs to be in daylight, and just a short one.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

He beams in response.

“I’ve got classes, I better go.” He stretches and stands up, downing the rest of his drink.

“Okay, I’ll see you later. Love you. ”

“Yeah, you too, mum.” he says quickly, looking around as if one if his friends could secretly be listening by the window. He looks back at you and his face turns softer before he quickly moves away. “Hey Uncle Sean,” he says as they cross in the doorway.

“Morning Gabe.” Sean looks over at you and says good morning to you, says your name with a cheerful smile as he pours himself a tea and then sits down opposite you at the kitchen table. 

“How much of that did you hear?”

“I started eavesdropping when Gabe mentioned Beau and patrols. I thought you handled it beautifully, by the way.”

“You’re only trying to make me less mad at Beau.”

Sean raises his hands in mock surrender and then leans back against his chair.

“Anyway, are you going to tell me about where you went last night?”

“Where I went?”

“Heard you leave, sweetie.”

“I … shit. Sorry, I thought I was quiet.”

“You are.” He sighs heavily. “So, where’d you go? Got a late-night Jackson booty call I don’t know about?”

For some unknown reason an image of Joel fills your mind, his unruly hair particularly. He often comes to the bench with mussed up hair from where you imagine he was in his own bed, trying to sleep. You imagine other ways his hair could get messy like that; your hands in his hair as he ...

No.

No.

Absolutely not.

“You do have a hook up?” Sean asks incredulously.

“No. No. I don’t. I just go for a walk is all.”

“Alone?” Sean waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

“Yes.” Technically you walk to the bench alone and then you and Joel only walk back together so that doesn’t count … and his house is before yours anyway  It really doesn’t count, right?

“Okay,” Sean says, frowning. “Are you having nightmares again? Do you need to talk about it?”

You shake your head, biting your lip. “Do you?”

“I’m okay.”

You and Sean have been friends since you first moved to the beach town you spent your teenage years in. The bond between you is irrevocable. He’s your brother, your best friend, one of the people you love most in the world.

You share scars.

The same turmoil and trauma and ghosts have buried under both of your skins in different ways. He’s been there through it all for you. You’ve been there through it all for him.

He’s the only person in the world who will ever understand the parts of you that you keep locked in boxes you can never open. And for him? For him, you know the secrets that he hasn’t even told Beau.

“Gabe … he’s been asking me and Beau about … before. He’s asking questions again,” Sean says after a moment, looking around the kitchen carefully and speaking in a low voice. “I wondered if this patrol thing was about that at first, about what we all said and … it’s getting harder to not give him any specifics.”

“Me too, but I think it’s because Jesse went on his first patrol recently.” That’s what you’re hoping anyway.

“Huh, how about that? Look, it doesn’t matter because this isn’t going away. He’s going to keep asking.”

“This all seemed so much easier when he was a baby.”

Sean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I remember sixteen years ago, I wouldn’t say any of it was easier back then. It’s just the kid believed whatever we said with no questions.”

“Sean, tell me he still thinks …”

“Yeah. He just needs some details, honey. I know it hurts to talk about, but you have to give him something. He’s almost a man now and he’s got valid questions. I can - I would have been the same, so would you.“

You swallow and look out of the window. “I’ll handle it, Sean.”

You don’t flinch when you hear the crunch of Joel’s boots. You’ve come to expect it, anticipate the sound.

It makes you smile.

The bench doesn’t quite feel the same without him anymore.

“Howdy,” he says, the slight twang of his southern drawl more pronounced than usual.

You wave for him to come and join you on the bench.

“I didn’t see you here yesterday,” Joel says softly.

“Oh, I uh - was wiped out and I - I guess I just slept?” You notice how surprised your voice is there; you’re surprised you had a good night’s sleep for once, and you’re surprised that Joel noticed you weren’t there. In fairness, you had been due a night’s sleep as the exhaustion from your insomnia finally won out over your overthinking and anxiety. Gabriel had been on patrol with Beau that day and you’d worried yourself to the point of complete exhaustion.

Joel noticed though. He noticed you weren’t here.

“Were - were you here?”

Joel nods.

“Guess I’ve got sorta used to you being here too now.”

“I mean, it’s more the other way around. This was technically my bench first.”

“Really?” he says your name in a low, teasing voice. “You really wanna go there, huh?”

“I’m just saying. I’ve been here longer, technically and I’m saying this as a mere technicality, I have dibs on this bench.”

“An’ here I thought no-one truly owned anything in Jackson.”

“Benches are exceptions, everyone knows that.”

The two of you laugh, it’s light and somehow more soothing to you than the cup of herbal tea you’d drank before bed in the hope of repeating the night before and sleeping for once.

“I’m willing to consider joint custody or a small timeshare though,” you say.

“Oh wow, I’m real lucky.”

“I know. I wouldn’t bestow that right on just anyone.”

“I hope not.” Joel smiles and oh, you love it when he smiles. It’s so captivating.

“It got me thinkin’ though-“

“Sounds dangerous.”

“You know it. Anyway, I was thinking,” Joel looks away from you, towards the horizon and he wrings his hands together. “I guess it reminded me we have this whole world outside this bench.”

You’d thought the same thing, but you can’t say it. The words fall heavy on your tongue, your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.

“I wondered if maybe, you wanted to get a drink one day?” He’s not looking at you. “It’s a stupid idea.”

“No, no, it’s not. Why? Why would you want that with me?”

“Maybe I just want a drink with you,” he says.

You pause. Deflection is your standard response to something like this. The idea that Joel could want to spend time with you outside of your insomnia ridden nights surprises you. Why would he want that?

You can’t lie to yourself  though; there’s something about Joel that draws you in. He’s easy to talk to and despite appearances and town mumbling, you can tell he’s not a bad person. He’s kind to you, thoughtful and you’ve thought about him.

You’ve thought about him a lot.

“Technically we’ve shared my thermos of coffee multiple times now,” you say weakly.

“That doesn’t count, sweetheart.”

“Wow, now you’re spurning my chicory coffee now, huh? That’s not good enough for you?”

“A real drink.” You can hear the meaning behind his words and it doesn’t fill you with the caution you would normally anticipate.

“And does this drink happen to be served somewhere this isn’t this bench?”

“As long as it ain’t karaoke night.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Joel Miller.” You pause for a moment, tilt your head in mock contemplation. “Okay, a drink.”

You meet Joel’s smile this time.

Tag List

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #your hand in mine fic

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Connected ch4

pairing: chan x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: ~1.3k

warnings: none

an: this is a repost from my recently deceased blog hyunjins-orange-slice. may she rest in peace.

masterlist * previous chapter * next chapter

the nightmares returned that night. it was a never ending cycle of falling asleep, waking up crying, reaching for your phone to text chan, not wanting to bother him, and falling back asleep. when it was time to get up for work, you were exhausted and miserable. the thought of calling in crossed your mind, but then what would you do? sit at home all day and stare at your phone? you needed to go to work. you drug yourself out of bed and got ready.

“are you sleeping?”

his message came through as you were grabbing your keys to walk out the door. you were running a little behind and didn’t have time to contemplate whether you should answer him or not. so you shoved your phone in your pocket and headed on your way.

work was almost as miserable as your dreams and you couldn’t wait for it to be over. but at the same time, you had nothing better waiting for you at home. at least at home there was your bed, and music. so when it was finally time to clock out and you grabbed your bag and headed to your car.

“you busy?”

“i just can’t fall asleep.”

now you had nothing to do, so there’s no hiding from him. do you answer? last night you had convinced yourself that it was best if you just left him alone, didn’t bother him anymore. but these messages sounded as if he needed someone and you didn’t want to leave him all alone. you knew too well how that felt.

“no im not busy. just getting off work.”

“sorry you can’t sleep. can’t turn your brain off?”

you tossed your phone on the passenger seat and drove home. immediately upon arrival, you collapsed on your bed, pulling your pillow close to your chest, hugging it tightly. your phone vibrated against the sheets.

“too many thoughts.”

you understood that. there were some nights where you wanted to sleep so bad that you were brought to tears, unable to slip into unconsciousness. insomnia is rough. your heart broke for him.

“anything i can do to help you? want to call?”

‘that was brave’ you thought. normally you would never be the first one to suggest such a thing, but you really just wanted to help him.

“can we video call..? or is that too much?”

your stomach dropped. a video call? the thought of him being able to see you.. was terrifying. this is what you get for being brave and asking if he wanted to call.

“a video call is fine.”

your stomach was in knots, you were afraid you may be sick.

“okay but don’t make fun of the way i look. ㅋㅋㅋ”

you rolled your eyes. this man. but it made you feel a little better. it was comforting to know that you weren’t the only one who was nervous about the way they looked.

your phone started buzzing in your hand, ‘incoming video call’ filled the screen. you held your breath and accepted.

and there he was.

he was clearly in bed, surrounded by covers, his natural curly hair falling in his eyes, his bare face peeking out at you from behind the blanket. he was so cute. he looked so cuddly and sleepy.

“you look comfy."

he laughed. his laugh had quickly become one of your favorite sounds and you were discovering that it was even better when you could see his face. it made you smile.

“so do you.”

you realized your posture almost mirrored his, but instead of peeking out from behind the blanket, you were peeking out from behind your pillow.

the silence filled the room.

“i’m nervous.” you confessed.

“me too.” he said, chuckling.

“i’m sorry you can’t sleep. i know that really sucks.”

“that’s okay. you’re helping me.”

“are you saying that i’m putting you to sleep?” you joked.

he smiled and shook his head. “you’re relaxing me.”

“am i boring you, chan?” you laughed.

he was quiet for a moment, smiling. “do that again.” he said.

“do- do what again?”

“laugh like that.” you blushed. “i’ve always really liked your laugh. but it’s somehow better when i can see you.” he confessed.

you didn’t know whether to cry, throw your phone, pass out, or all of the above.

“your cheeks are red.” he pointed out. you hid behind the pillow. “hey hey, don’t hide.” he laughed. “i think you’re adorable.”

you could feel the warmth radiating off of your face. you decided a change of subject was necessary.

“so.. you’re coming to america?” you asked.

“yeah. here in a couple months. not for like a tour or anything but for a photo shoot and a couple interviews.”

“oh that’s cool. so i guess you won’t be here long then.”

“i’m afraid not. we’ll only be there for like 2 or 3 days and then we fly back.”

you just nodded. unsure of what to say next.

“i.. i uh.. i asked if we could make a pit stop in chicago.” he says, nervously. he was avoiding looking into the camera, suddenly finding a loose string on his pillowcase very interesting.

“really?” your face was hot again and your stomach was doing gymnastics.

“yeah. i thought maybe if you weren’t busy..” his sentence trailed off, never reaching its end.

“you want me to come to chicago?” you asked.

“only if you have time. only if you want to.” he said quickly. “no pressure or anything.”

“and all of the boys will be there..?” you asked, suddenly nervous. meeting chan was of course nerve wracking in itself. but meeting all eight of them? and the staff? you weren’t sure if you could handle that without a panic attack.

“yeah. but you don’t have to meet everyone if you don’t want to. you don’t even have to come if you don’t want to.” he cleared his throat a little. “i just.. i just wanted to meet you and the opportunity presented itself.. so i thought..”

“i would love to meet you, chan.” you reassured him. “but meeting you is scary and meeting everyone.. i think might be too much.”

“it can just be me then. you can meet every one else some other time. no need to be scared, i promise.” he smiled, his dimples making an appearance and you silently swooned. ‘get it together’ you told yourself.

“okay. just you sounds perfect.” you smile and fight the urge to kick your feet and giggle. what even is your life? what is happening?

“great.” he yawns. “i can’t wait.”

you chuckled. “are you sleepy?”

“mm” he answered, nodding.

“i can let you get some rest. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.” you suggested.

“no!” he said quickly, afraid you were going to suddenly hang up like last time. “don’t go. tell me about your day. how was work?”

you smiled. you settled deeper into your mattress, cuddling closer to the phone. “work was work.” you started. “i kind of hate my job.” he was quiet, so you continued. “i guess it’s not the job i hate, it’s the people i work with. they’re just not very nice.”

he was still silent, his eyes closed, his breathing deep. “chan?” you whispered. you were answered by the cutest softest snoring sound. he was definitely asleep. you couldn’t contain your smile. “goodnight, channie.” you whispered. but instead of hanging up, you placed the phone down on the bed and closed your eyes, falling asleep in the middle of the day to the soft sound of his breathing and his occasional snore.

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#bang chan #stray kids #stray kids bang chan #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan hurt/comfort #bang chan fluff #bang chan stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids hurt/comfort #connected series #hyunjins orange slice too