Oh Lord - Tumblr Posts

wait wait wait but college xiao. college xiao who only focuses on school. college xiao who never needs a partner and refuses to cooperate so it doesn’t mess up his grade. college xiao who sends the text first for you to meet up for your group project. college xiao who mostly definitely has your face pressed into the book case, sweatpants low while he teaches you a new lesson 🤤

college student! xiao + implied pervert! xiao + hard dom! xiao + tension + fucking in his dorm room + backshots + dubcon + creampie + snarky praise + slight degradation + brief breathplay + f! reader

— word count; approx 2.5k words

there wasn't many things that rendered xiao speechless, and it was infuriating that you were the sole reason for every single time his tongue felt heavy and an unfamiliar burn traveled across his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

it wasn't unreasonable to think he had a crush- anyone with working eyes could surmise that. but xiao was also very good at lying to himself, and so you ultimately became his undoing.

and it was not even on purpose, you hadn't done much but be in his public speaking class- sitting real pretty and right next to him, giving him small smiles when you two had to talk about whatever project that was coming up, leaving him with an erratic heart beat and sweaty palms.

it was uncomfortable, having weaseled his way throughout every one of his classes where partnership was needed with alternative projects always worked- but this teacher wasn't budging and not willing to sacrifice his academic standing, xiao buckled down. swallowing his pride and anxiety, with trembling fingers he sent you a text- asking if it was okay for you to meet up with him after class; if it was okay to meet up in his dorm.

the only thing pushing him along to reach out to you was the sole image of you in his space, where he was comfortable- surrounded by his things, selfish and hoping to impress you even if it wasn't much. maybe it was the fact that he would get to keep you for himself for a couple hours, unable to curb a lingering need to have you, wondering how you could slowly unravel every emotion he kept locked down with a closed fist.

once the bubble of your text message pops up mere seconds after he hit send- xiao nearly flings it onto his bed, blinking through the words that you've typed, surprised that you'd be coming over near immediately. the slow buildup of inadvertent frustration slowly boiling over.

the message was sudden, but now waiting for you felt eternal; xiao reduced to a pacing and palms-sweaty mess. he could chalk it up to having another person in his dorm room was the reason for him acting like this- but already having denied his feelings towards you, he wasn’t willing to fight himself anymore.

you came to him with nothing but that smile he’s been dreaming of- stance suggesting that there was an air of trepidation, something heavy lingering between the two of you now that you’d found yourself standing at the threshold of his living space.

this image was something he only conjured up in his dreams- after class when the smell of you still lingered, the image he conjured when his hand had shoved his pants down to his thighs and he fucked his fist to you over and over, cumming all over the comforter you’ve made yourself comfortable on while he turned on his pc.

“i don’t think it’ll take us long.” he murmured- still turned from you, typing the header, meshing both your name and his on the file, just that setting an uneven thumping of his heart.

“do you have any ideas?” xiao asked, finally straightening himself up to look at you- eyes golden and near all consuming staring right at your own.

words that would have tumbled freely were caught somewhere midway up your throat- suddenly shy with no reason to be, you’d known him for as long as you’d taken that class, sat right next to him; but this was something else.

the sweats hanging low on his hips- white band of his underwear making themselves known with any movement of his torso, sweater oversized on his body and hair you could only assume had been ruffled with his fingers prior made him look too good.

“n-not really, no.” you nearly croaked- trying hard to keep yourself from dumbly clenching your thighs together while he had perfect view of you.

“no?” xiao questioned- surprised, “you’re a smart girl. this has you stumped?”

there was nothing that could prepare you to the sound of his lowly voice giving you praise- indirect and a throw away compliment ruining your panties in such a shameful way, flustered still you lifted your shoulders up, shrugging shyly at his question.

and xiao couldn’t believe it, eyes squinting at the way your fingers twirled over and over on themselves against your thighs, thighs he could barely let himself look at; seeing you press your pretty legs together, squishing closed before relaxing once more.

his cock responded in interest the second he realized you were clenching, dick twitching in response. shame would normally roll hotly down his body when he saw your eyes dart downward, looking at the spot he knew his cock just jumped at- but that wasn’t the same burning heat making its home inside of him.

he wanted you, from the first time you sat next to him during class if he was honest- and now the temptation of reaching out, of poking and prodding to see if you wanted him in the same way was too great.

"it's alright." he breathed, sighing in feigned indifference- bringing a hand up to his hair, brushing back multicolored bangs from his face.

"come and set your bag down, looks like we'll be at this for a while then."

he said it, but made no indication of moving from the spot at his desk- looking at him with your eyebrows raised, waiting for him to give you space.

but he never did, giving you seconds of dumb staring before once again beckoning you over, making it clear that he wanted you right next to him, right in the space of his small dorm pressed against you.

"come." and with already weak knees you listened to the low growl of his voice- one that didn't much match his stature and build, but matched his attitude in leagues.

you made it in a couple steps, trembling while hands set down your book bag- feeling the pressure of him standing pressed against you slowly closing in before his hand reached to touch.

fingers strong and certain in their path wrapping around your wrist as your hand let go of the bag, sloppily placing it on the space of his desk. head turning to look at him, still uncertain of just how close you were to him until the warmth of his breath graced along the outer shell of your ear-

"you listen well." xiao murmured, near purring into your shoulder- hip pushing your own against the edge of his desk, bumping you parallel; slotting himself so easy behind your form, so fast his actions left you gasping, unable to think of anything other than him and how good it all felt.

being perceptive was something he was gifted with, staying quiet and just watch was what he preferred but he couldn't just let you sit pretty, couldn't let you go wanting and with the way you had been clenching your thighs- eyes looking at him like you wanted something?

he thought it was all the invitation needed, purring while you squeaked- shaking against him, same thighs that had given him the invitation to something more slowly opening in their stance.

pressing himself further in and you closer down into his desk, barely lifting himself up to let you talk now.

"is this what you wanted?" he asks, cock heavy and straining against his sweat pants with the heat of your ass nestling it so well- breathing heavy, heart thrumming so hard he could see it in his vision while he looked down at the curve of your back.

"i could see you sitting there- nearly humping my bed. tell me, what's got you riled up, pretty?" he huffed, nearly laughing at the desperate attempt of yours to push back against him, only to be met with strength, hips not budging one bit.

hands coming down to lay flat against his desk, wondering how he had you pinned down in such a humiliating position so fast, tongue heavy and words jumbled in your head you couldn't respond back in the way he wanted you to.

it wasn't good enough for you to beg like this, still wordless and quiet except for select whines- he was going to have you tell him, wanted to hear you agree and indulge in the things he did to your image everyday after class. wanted to not be the only one left horny and desperate.

"no- i said tell me." he nearly barked- stern in what he asked of you, showing that this wasn't a game, wanted to be taken seriously and with swift movements, his palm met the middle of your upper back, keeping you squished down further.

"you! it was you- xiao, please." you cried, strained and muffled- whimpered words between gasps as the first sound of you speaking prompted him to move, letting you know you did good.

"yeah? because of me hm?" he questioned lowly, hand smoothing down the front of his hoodie to reach his waistband, wanting to tell you how he had only dreamed of keeping you like this.

not knowing if this was real, wanting to believe the sight of your ass propped up and his cock now resting along the clothed curve of it was actually happening, angry red and swollen cockhead drooling all over your clothes while he moved his hand back to you- grateful that the clothes you wore made it easy for him to pull down, hooking fingertips into your waistband teasingly; giving you full reign of the situation then, stuttering movements giving you room to stop it all if that what you wanted, but it wasn't and with a shaky reach of your own fingers reaching back to tug the bottoms you wore down he knew it was good to continue.

it was enough for you to tug them down, and with the urge to keep you pretty and complacent he swiftly removed your hands from yourself- cooing laced in a teasing lilt before he reached for your throbbing cunt, thumb swiping up the mound presented to him.

dripping wasn't enough to describe you, you were drooling for him, horny and so willing he knew that sliding his cock inside would be so easy- too pent up to tease any longer he circled his fingers around himself and with a swipe and tap let his head find home.

hoodie tugged up mid stomach, he watched it all happen- eager eyes taking in how your puffy lips stretched around the widest part of his throbbing head, sucking him in once the crown slipped inside; watching at the way your head picked up and off his desk, squirming so badly he thought of returning a palm to your back to keep you down before you gave in, knees knocking together with the first push- wondering how long it would be until his hips pressed against your ass once more, cock bigger than expected.

"that's good-" he groaned, head pitching forward, not caring about the bangs tickling his cheek while he arched forward, his own legs shaking at how tight and wet you were- the heat nearly too much.

"fuck, its so good." xiao coughed out, clenching his teeth, reaching to grab at your top- thumb finding the hem of it, and slowly bringing his finger tips up into the neckline, bunching it in his fist and using it to bring you forward onto him, sealing his dick into your pretty cunt.

he didn't know he was this talkative- balls deep in the person he'd been fantasizing day in and day out, watching with the first pull out of his dick; vision spotty at the sight of his cock wet and nearly dripping.

"please!" you mewled, exhaling finally- clipped words all you could manage, any ability to form coherent sentences stolen from you, trying to find rhythm when he began thrusting, finding it easier to just lay there- indulging in the unspoken way he was taking care of you.

every touch of his rough but soothing your involuntary twitching- huffing out heavy words of praise mixed in with snarky compliments, telling you easy how pretty you looked, how sinful your cunt was, how easy you were.

eyes cross by the time he picked up pace frantically, balls tensing, already feeling so full- ready to empty everything he had for you, but needing you there with him.

once more he leaned in, mouth close by your ear like when it all started, his other unoccupied hand reaching to hold your throat- letting you know he was there.

"wanna come with me? c'mon- wanna give it to you." xiao keened, squeezing the sides of your throat, lips tenderly brushing over your cheek every time he could, every time his hips met your own, jolting you forward more and more.

he could nearly hear you drip down onto the floor, a high whine shaky and sweet leaving in response to his words and still pistoning cock, open hand slapping down onto the desk desperately before bunching up into a shaky fist, coughing out a-

"cumming! 'm cumming- xiao, im cumming." the first clear utter of his name sending tingles right down the base of his spine; air sucking out of his lungs with your clenching pussy, warmth like he's never known ruining the grey of his sweats while you came so sweet.

and just like he promised- he followed, no longer giving you long thrusts, settling for desperate humps of his cock, barely able to slide out more than a couple inches with the vice of you wrapped tight; balls bumping into your twitching clit so good that it was nearly too much.

swelling and constricting with each spurt of cum, his shoulders shook, eyes squeezed tights- pretty lashes sweeping along his cheeks while he stood, sheathed all the way. trying to regain his sanity and grow accustomed to the feeling of his thick and heavy cum painting your pussy and his cock.

letting himself indulge in it before letting your shirt go, awkward hands turned gentle with their movements to sooth your shaking body.

it was all sweaty and sticky, his own hoodie felt heavy and too much on him but he could ignore that for now- choosing to attend to you, touching your body in all the ways that now seemed to come natural and make sense, no longer clouded by lust and thoughts far from pure and normal.

"you did good-" xiao cooed, wincing at the way his cock softened, letting the heavy load he'd given you spill past your puffy lips- swallowing heavy in attempt to keep himself back under control, the control you were so good at crumbling down.

"pretty girl." he stated, only saying the obvious- watching with golden eyes at the way you pressed your cheek against the desk, tired and worn out- a happy smile reaching your lips.

"mm, am i?" you wondered, knowing what you did to him- happy that he finally picked up all the temptations you'd laid out before him.

"yeah, you are. real pretty." xiao repeated, beckoning for you to stand, wanting nothing more than to hold your body in his bed- surrounded by his things.

knowing the paper could wait until you two wanted to come back to it- you were a smart girl after all.

Dark Royalty couples:

Kimi/Seb

Mark/Fernando

Kevin/Nico Hülkenberg

Stoffel/Nyck

Sam(OC)/Mick

Carlos/Charles

Caelian(OC)/Arthur

Daniel/Lando

Alex/Guanyu

Pierre/Yuki

Lewis/Max

not submission. I really hate the "My OC, my rules" thing. Cause like, no? Just because they are your oc doesn't mean you can do whatever you want with them. If you want to make your oc suffer and not like them get help, you deserve to lose rights over them. Especially if you only do that stuff to purposely trigger people. Once you do that, your oc no longer belongs to you. they belong to the public who will take better care of them instead

Making a comment to get this to post.

If I was a fictional character, how would the fandom misinterpret me?

All I want is two people making a decaying country manor fit to live in again, where one of them is introverted and sad and wounded, and the other one is optimistic and making the best of it (and also secretly wounded), and also the manor is in fantasy magic italy and maybe they’re in an arranged marriage? Anyway the important thing is there is Sun and Obscure Family Regrets and agonised lingering touches when they both accidentally put their hand on the same place on the drystone wall but know the other one doesn’t want to touch, and one of them makes a home and the other one reclaims the landscape of their past and by this time they realise they really need to kiss.

and idk. probably also a comedic goat.

I've been busy 'cause of school, so Terzo without makeup is the best i can offer to y'all at the moment, sorry 💜

I drew a birb man 🙃

Was originally going to be my oc and Hawks/Keigo but I decided to "grace" the people with y/n insert art cause I don't feel like there is enough. (I may not be looking for it very well, idk)

I know it's not very polished, I tried to keep it as a sketch. I don't care if it doesn't look the best cause look how happy he looks! Ma happi boi!

Cant wait to see what happens with this

Divus Crewel

I wanted to experiment with some different brushes and such

1,337

okay but. like. how many people do you all follow 'cause i follow 58 blogs and everyone keeps being stunned by that fact??

okay okay okay

so what are your thoughts on skz with a very sensitive partner

like one that moans super easily, gets super squirmy during sex, one that’s very reactive to small touches and has a tendency to babble about how good it feels, etc…

-😇

short reaction blurb incoming!!

i think chris would be so weak for it, in a very adoring sense of the word. he'd coo every time your expression twists in pleasure just from the soft touches. he's absolutely smitten and he falls so deeply in love with the way you react to just his hands brushing over your skin alone - don't even get me started on how doting he becomes during sex.

minho would take full advantage of it and probably torture you just a bit by being rough so that you reacted quite a bit to him. he'd finger you a little harder than normal or he'd nibble and suck at your clit to get you to really wriggle for him. he loves it.

whole heartedly believe changbin would be in the same boat as chris - he adores the way you react to him so much. especially - ESPECIALLY, YALL HEAR ME? - if you push through the shy pleasure and wiggling and whatnot to touch him, too. he LOVES when you run your hands over his arms and grip at the muscle and wrap your legs around his thighs because of how good he feels under your fingers. by GOD please appreciate this man as much as he appreciates you.

hyunjin would love it. just love it. he'd use his fingers the most to get a rise out of you because he craves the way you writhe when he reaches the deepest parts of you with his index and middle fingers. he'll feel over your walls and pump them in and out of you so slowly, dragging it out so you have to whine and cry for him.

jisung is so. desperate. to hear you. he's going to be whimpering just as much as you are, kissing you and drooling into your mouth and whining out "please, please- please, oh my god, fuck yes-" against your tongue because he can't help it. you're reactive to his cock, he's reactive to your sounds - and then you're both just crying and choking back screams and gasps.

felix craves you. period. he wants to taste you, he wants to feel you. he wants to never leave your side and when he's on top of you? he never wants it to end. he's obsessed with the way his cock drags against your walls and how you tighten up on him any time he gets so close to kissing your cervix, and the way you tear up every single time he bottoms out???? he's weak.

seungmin is a bit indifferent to it - but not really. he acts like it doesn't do much to him but in reality, he gets so fucking hard it hurts when he hears you babbling under your breath. and he will make you speak up about it. he wants to hear how good it feels, how you're whining ''m gonna come- gonna come, please- don't move, i'm gonna-' but of course that's not going to stop him. he was planning on making you orgasm more than once anyway.

i just know jeongin is a sadistic mf in bed. its either soft virgin innie or desperate horndog innie and rn we're going with that one, bc i fully believe he's the type of guy in the bedroom to shut you up with his hands. either he'll clap a hand over your mouth and whisper for you to keep quiet or you'll get caught, or he'll gag you with his fingers and watch the way that really makes you squirm and thrash. eventually he figures out that if he ties your wrists to the bedposts, it'll keep you still! so that happens often.

Reblog if you're shorter than 5'8.

I don't remember the last time I drew handsome chinese men((

I’m so impressed rn

Que esconde el conde…

he kisses you and eats you out like he is a starved man i’m sure of it

need to stop staying up till 5:30 in the morning bc when it hits 4am i think these things

ok guess Im not gonna refund this game now

i’m gagging. excellent work.

ai-less whumptober; day eleven

@ailesswhumptober 11 — hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?” ↳ the refuge, circa 1896 word count; 1.8k

cw; drugging, mental health issues, caning, abuse, catholicism

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morris honest to God doesn't know what Oscar had done. He hadn't been involved, not remotely, hadn't even been told about the plan — whatever it was, whether it was planned at all. Whatever had been done, he hadn't seen. Hadn't heard. He doesn't know.

But Snyder doesn't believe him.

He'd watched, just a while earlier, as Oscar had been dragged from the bunk room — kicking and screaming the way he does when he's guilty — and sat and waited for him to be returned. He had no idea what his brother was in trouble for, but he was sure he'd find out when Oscar was tossed back black and blue, suitably (to the Refuge's standards) punished for whatever slight he'd commited against Snyder.

But Oscar hadn't come back. And then they'd come for Morris.

He kneels in Snyder's office now, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, back lit up in bright agony from his neck down to his tailbone, torn open with what was surely a hundred thousand strokes from one of Snyder's rattan canes, each one — and each strike from Snyder's bare hand, his polished shoes — intended to draw a confession from Morris. Honesty, Snyder says. But Morris can't be honest about what he doesn't know, can't confess sins he isn't privy to — and he wails that sentiment again, face inches from the rich maroon rug that spreads across Snyder's office floor, as Snyder's cane cracks down on him again.

It only earns him another kick to his ribs.

"Give it up," Snyder spits, voice cold and vicious in a manner Morris rarely hears, usually reserved for Oscar or Jack. Snyder is gentler with him. Snyder likes him. But right now he is looking at Morris like he despises him, like Morris has spat in his face. A traitor. "You could bring an end to this, Morris. Immediately. All you have to do is confess." Another hit, and Morris howls. He doesn't even really remember what the question was anymore. Perhaps Snyder had never really asked one. Perhaps there isn't one.

"'m'sorry," Morris sobs, just in case it was him. Just in case Snyder, like Da, had just felt the need to hit him, an irresistible target for violence. A lamb for the slaughter. "'m'sorry, 'm'sorry, Sir, p'ease, le'mme…le'mme…"

Let me make it better. Let me atone. Whatever I did to deserve this.

"Have—have mercy on me, O Lord, for I have sinned. Have mercy on me, O God, according to your love; according to your abu—bundant mercy, blot out my tra'sg'essions—"

The cane is tossed down sharply beside his head, and Morris flinches hard but continues his prayers, reciting the atonements and verses that Da and Snyder each have made him memorise. Even as Snyder walks away, shoes a sharp rhythm against the floor, his figure so imposing that Morris can feel him without needing to see him. Over his own voice, Morris hears a cabinet open, hears things being moved against rich wood.

He assumes another cane is being fetched. Or something worse. A knife, a whip, a flame—

"My Lord, forgive me, forgive me, I will withdraw the thorns from my way of life henceforth, my wickedness kept the crown of thorns on your head—"

"Quiet," Snyder says.

Morris goes silent.

He keeps his bleary gaze on the rug beneath him, the dizzying twists of patterns and swirls that seem to suck him in like he's drowning. It's just as hard to breathe. But then Snyder's shoes step into his vision — immaculate polished black leather — and Snyder is crouching, seizing Morris by the chin and lifting his head.

He's holding a handkerchief. One of his own, neatly embroidered, monogrammed.

"If you are so reluctant," Snyder tells him quietly, "To enlighten me, even as I carve you open. Then I have other methods to procure the truth."

The handkerchief is held suddenly to Morris' face, over his nose and mouth, and the air he breathes turns sweet and cold, like mint. He meets Snyder's eyes over the handkerchief in his vision, and Snyder only stares back, eyes dark, expression severe — until Morris' vision blurs only moments later. The world tilts and his brain seems to start to spin in an instant, faster and faster and faster, an endless whirlpool that vies to pull consciousness away from him.

And then Snyder pulls the handkerchief away, sharply.

Morris is left spinning, nauseous, tethered to reality only by Snyder's hand gripping his jaw. It's a feeling he can only liken to waking up after being beaten unconscious, a dazed battle for consciousness that he's losing. The chill of menthol sticks to his nostrils, the back of his throat.

"Morris," Snyder says lowly. "Where did your brother get the clothes? The food, the blankets?"

Morris can't find his tongue. It feels like an impossible task to locate it, to make it do the correct movements to say words — but Snyder slaps him across the face then, so Morris tries.

"I don'…" he slurs. "Wha'…clo's…"

"Morris. Your brother, through methods unknown, brought contraband into my facility. Clothes and food. How did he get them."

Morris wants his mamaí. His head is still spinning, eyes unable to focus on anything, and it doesn't…hurt, nothing hurts, pain feels as if it's a distant memory. But it's scary. He's scared. He wants his mamaí. Doesn't want this man touching him anymore, that awful grip on his jaw that means he can't move at all, can't turn to focus on the blurring figure over the man's shoulder.

That awful piece of cloth, stuffed over his face again to make the slowly fading dizziness reignite like a flame. As his eyes blur once again into oblivion, for a moment he is able to see the figure. A smear of pale skin, dark curls, a long dress.

"Morris," Snyder says. It echoes in Morris' head. The handkerchief is pulled away again, and in its place a hand begins to stroke his matted curls. Brushes them carefully out of his face. It's nice.

In his mind, through Snyder's words — whatever they are this time — washing through him, he finds a memory.

"Cowboy," he mumbles. And Snyder seems, for a moment, to light up. His touch gets gentler. A reward. "Kelly," he breathes. "What did he do?"

"Was…was talkin' to Os. When. Before," it's hard to remember, but Morris wants to be good. His gaze keeps sliding like he's being spun around, but he fights to find his mother again, focus on her. He wants to be good. He doesn't want to be hit again. "'Fore he left last. Cowboy said. Told 'im that…that he'd. Bring. Give…"

"Kelly brought them here," Snyder says. "He got them to Oscar."

It sounds right, maybe. Morris can't do much else but nod, eyelids heavy, mind still swirling like a bathtub filled with water that he's drowning in.

He wants his mamaí. Swears he can see her above the water, staring down at him, not moving as it all falls away.

He wakes up in a bed.

"Mamaí," he mumbles immediately, as soon as he's found his tongue again. "M..mm…m'mmy…?"

"What?" Oscar says, from beside him in bed. His voice sounds strange, deep. It's dark, and Morris can't see. His eyes will barely open. It's freezing cold, like it always is in the farmhouse.

"Mamaí," Morris repeats.

Oscar releases a breath that seems to shake. "Christ," he breathes. In the narrow bed they share, he shuffles closer. "She ain't here, Mo."

That doesn't make any sense. Not only because Ma is always here, but because Morris had only just seen her. She wouldn't have left. She never leaves Morris.

"Jus'," Morris slurs. He scrunches his eyes shut hard and opens them again, but all he can see is a muddle of a room that's much too crowded for their bedroom. "Jus'…mamaí was jus'…"

She was just here. Morris fights to sit up — doesn't understand why Oscar seems instantly so panicked at him doing so, hands hovering around him — and looks around the room. Doesn't recognise an inch of it, but he immediately recognises his mother again, as vague a figure as she is, all the way on the other side of the room. She's wearing her long cardigan, has her hair up in an untidy pile of dark curls. Morris tries to go to her, but his legs don't seem to work, and Oscar keeps a firm hold on his wrist, tight enough that Morris is sure it should hurt. But it doesn't. Nothing does.

"I wan' mamaí," he urges. Oscar's grip gets tighter.

"She ain't here, Mo."

Morris can feel his eyes start to burn, fighting to keep them on his mother, but his vision twists and then she's gone — moved somewhere else, a figure in the corner of his vision that he can't seem to catch. "Can see her—"

"No, you can't—"

"I can—"

"Mo, she's dead. She ain't here. She's dead."

The world seems to stop.

And then it starts tilting again — in the other way this time. Like Morris had reached the apex of a leap and began to fall.

"No," he whispers. His stomach is turning, vision blurring more, but this time it's with tears. "No, she…why…why would you even—say that?"

"Fuckin'—'cause it's true, Mo. Ma's dead. You know that. You—" he stops himself suddenly, like he'd been about to say something that he thinks it's best Morris doesn't hear. He swallows. Morris starts to cry. "Jesus. Fuck. What the fuck did Snyder do to you?"

It's a rhetorical question, asked to the air, but Morris' chest still aches because he doesn't know. He can only sob, feeling as if everything is suddenly crumbling around him, and as it crumbles, his back begins to burn like a fire catching. His jaw begins to ache, fingerprints bruised into it. He weeps as Oscar pulls him carefully back into the bed and lays beside him, pulling a blanket around them both, just like he did when they were really on the farm. When Ma was really alive.

"'m'sorry," Morris sobs. He still doesn't really know where he is, but he knows Oscar is here. Knows Ma isn't. Oscar pulls him closer like they're kids and wraps an arm around Morris as tightly as he dares when Morris' back is an open wound.

"'s'okay," he whispers back, voice scratchy and soft. Deep like he's more a man than a boy. "I got you, Mo. 'm'here."

Morris falls back into oblivion and dreams of nothing.

yeah.

"How to look good in a dress" or, you know, whatever you want to wear!

(I am definitely not the best person to talk about this, but here we are.)

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