Welcome to my garden dear visitor... My name is Zeebee. I'm the sleepy gardener tending to all these beautiful jasmines here... Why is it you ask? Hmm... I don't know. I just feel at peace amongst these fragrant blooms, a sense of belonging. These are all my cherished treasures, hidden in this nook from prying eyes.
Hope this place brings you some joy and comfort :) Please feel free to look around here to your heart's content!
About me and my blog
LADS
Husband: Zayne, Boyfie: Sylus, Dead wife: Valko ❄️🐦⬛🐺
My current project: Aesthetic Moodboards for all Zayne Cards (will be tagged with #gardener's moodboards🎞️)
All my tags in a glance
General rules/etiquettes
Header/banners made by myself. Do not steal.
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato @/fairytopea
Neighbor DILF Sylus is singing sinful songs to me again. @sysjuicebox @deepspacenova This is all your fault 😩
Dilf Sylus who isn't your first - but he's the best.
You've had your fair share of faking an orgasm just to be done with the inexperienced man saying if it was "good for you" after he finished 2 seconds in. Too many.
So when a make out session with Sylus starts getting a little more heated, some part of your brain is still prepared to act. To exaggerate moans and eyes rolling back and the whole nine yards.
The first moan you let out has him pulling away with a rich chuckle, startled by just how pornographic it sounds. "That can't be your real moan, sweetie," he croons, catching your chin between his thumb and finger so you can't look away and hide your embarrassment. "Do you feel like you have to pretend with me?"
You wish he would let you hide, when you feel so stupid being caught red-handed by a man like him. Aged like fine wine and too good to be true. "It's not you," you admit in a mumble. "I just... It just slipped out, I dunno."
"Ohh, I see," he says, drawn out and teasing. "You had to put on a performance for those boys that didn't care about your pleasure, hm? Is that it? Muscle memory?"
You bite your cheek and nod.
He smirks, something deeply satisfied tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let me show you how a man should treat a woman. And no faking. I won't be offended, promise."
He kisses you devastatingly, devouring your mouth. A flick of his tongue, a nibble on your lip, until you're letting out genuine sounds of want and desire. Until you're crinkling the collar of his shirt to pull him closer and claim more. He growls his own approval, rumbling in his chest as he kisses you back into the couch cushions.
"Do you want it here, kitten?" he whispers between kisses. "Or shall I take you to bed properly?"
And there is no parallel universe that could exist where you would ever say no when the way he speaks has chills of excitement running down your spine.
He pulls away and effortlessly hefts you into his arms, kissing and sucking on your neck as he navigates your home. The bedroom door is nudged open and kicked shut. He kneels on the bed as he lowers you into your pillows, and claims your mouth once again.
His hands push up the hem of your shirt. Not enough to take it off, but enough to allow his hands - large and warm and rough - to caress your body, squeezing at the plush of your sides and hips, drawing your back into an arch to press against him. It's utterly addicting. He doesn't touch you with any uncertainty; testing the waters just enough to find what you like before confidently indulging in the feel of you in his hands.
You claw at the fabric of his shirt over his shoulder blades, drawing it up, silently asking - begging - for him to take it off. You can taste the pride on his tongue as you take what you want, letting you go to aid your efforts and chuck his shirt aside.
His mouth finds your neck again. The hot breaths he takes fanning against your skin and loud in your ear, between the sticky-wet sounds of his kisses leaving their mark. You guide his hands in removing your shirt, gliding them under the fabric, over your chest. His breath hitches at the touch of lace he feels.
"Did you plan this?" he breathes with a chuckle. Teeth nibble at your earlobe before he pulls away to toss your shirt aside with his.
"It doesn't hurt to be prepared," you tease back, swallowing your nerves as he looks down at you. Crimson eyes that trace the shape of your body. The cleavage that pours out of the top of the cup, barely held in place by your bra. "D'you like it?"
His eyes snap up to yours then. Seeing into your soul. He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he scoots backward, legs framing yours, hands supporting himself on either side of you, to lay a kiss in the valley between. A glance of teeth, the heat of tongue, as he traces his way over the fat of one breast to the lace. "I love it. You're so beautiful."
When other guys had said it, it felt like a script. Something they had to say if they wanted to fuck you. But the way he says it? It's like a prayer. As though seeing you like this is a blessing from the gods.
One of his hands slips under your back to find the clasp. And just like that, it's undone. You squirm out of it. With a tangle of your fingers in his hair, you guide him to your tits. His hot tongue flicks over a nipple with one of his hands takes care of the other, cradling it in his palm and squeezing as he teases the bud into a stiff peak. He sucks and laps at the other, groaning his delight when he feels you arching into his mouth. He nips at it once, to hear the yelp it produces, before licking over it with that shit-eating grin.
Slowly but surely, he works his way down your body. Further and further until he reaches your pants. He looks up at you for the consent to pull them off, greeted by your eager nod and soft whimpers of "please". He slips them down your legs, caressing over your thighs and eyeing the wet spot on your panties. His own cock, twitching and forgotten in his pants, in favor of admiring how wet you are just for him.
He positions your legs over his shoulders and settles comfortably between them. His hands spread wide, squeezing the fat of your hips as he nuzzles your inner thigh, practically drooling by the time he reaches your clothed cunt. Your scent drives him wild.
He meets your eye over the length of your body, lids heavy and cheeks flushed with arousal. "How many times have you had to fake an orgasm, sweetie?"
You watch him inhale deeply. He has to control himself, kissing at your thighs to stave off burying himself into your warmest spot and devouring you whole. You tell him the number, as best you can remember, from every time a previous lay ended with disappointment and dissatisfaction.
He makes a sound low in his throat. The tip of his defined nose presses against your panties, tracing up along the slit. When it reaches your clit, he knows, in the way your breath catches - half-surprised he could find it - and the subtle clench of your legs around his head. He looks like the cat that caught the canary as he says in a deep rumble: "It will be my honor to make up for every time you were left wanting."
Man idek if anyone remembers/knows about this game, but I thought amidst this shitshow, why don't I go pick one of my older favourites. And guess what I found? The author of this game passed away about 2 years ago 😭 Man...that's another thing I'll be mourning for besides our wolfie ig 🫠
For those who don't know, it was a "choose-your-own-adventure" game called Magium. At one point I was pretty interested in choice based games ig and I don't think I've seen anything else comes close to how good this one was 😿
I'm curious, since I see this topic get brought up a lot now on my twt timeline, since we're approaching the end of july... what are the odds of infold not addressing us by the end of the month / beginning of august?
because I see valid points to consider for both cases.
why infold should make an announcement on end of july:
their revenue / numbers of downloads, probably DAU has gone down significantly due to our boycott. this, for a live service game, is not something they can just ignore for months on end. they need to fix this somehow.
I've seen the rhetoric going around that there are people (idk how many so I'm not going to throw in my guess, but there ARE people) who will completely lose their trust in infold if they don't address things / acknowledge our efforts. rightly so, honestly, I'm not blaming anyone. mental and physical health has been greatly affected by their fuck up, and frankly, I understand that some are just fed up being ignored and will just not play the game anymore. I've also seen some state that they will stay away from this game even IF valko will be released in the future. that, obviously, will not bode well for the company's longevity either, for obvious reasons, losing trust of their players (and spenders).
if they proceed as normal / release raf's myth in the midst of things, it will only add fuel to the fire and will, again, give us the impression that infold is NOT listening. which will, again, just make people lose trust in this company entirely.
iirc, ALL our goals were achieved with this boycott. we are loud, the game's app store rating is LOW, their revenue is in a freefall, valko has been trending for the entirety of the boycott, infold has lost a lot of followers on their official plattforms. we have EVEN cleared valko's name, with older articles being deleted or corrected. from what I know the current consensus on lads from cn media news is not focused on valko at ALL, his name and image has been cleared, there were no violations found within his story. now, media seems more focused on the antis, the rumors that spread like wildfire without any factchecking and that minors are playing a game made for 18+. NOTHING to do with valko. so there really isn't a reason NOT to drop him, right? hell, cn media even acknowledged that global players need to be considered, we make up 40% of the revenue, ignoring us would not only tank infold's reputation, but potentially all other live service games originating from china.
so, at the very least, imo, they need to address the elephant in the room and openly communicate what their plan is to us. I don't think many would have a problem if valko were to be delayed, IF, and that's a massive fucking IF, infold were to communicate this as such. ofc, best case scenario is that valko were to be reinstated in game by the end of july or beginning of august, and that is what I'm hoping for myself, but I could maybe wait for longer IF infold told us why they can't release him now, and if they give us a release date / month.
now, reasons I saw why infold might not address the boycott / valko entirely and will try to proceed as normal:
the biggest reason is probably that they're trying to keep a low profile, still. reinstating valko will likely cause another outcry and another wave of massive hate from antis. reminder, that antis were not shying away from stooping as low as to send cow dung and posing a physical threat to infold and their employees to the point that police had to be called, so I don't think infold would be that happy for it all to start again.
while not confirmed to be directly linked to lads and what has happened, there are investigations ongoing about cyber harrassment, water armies, coordinated hate on the internet etc in china. personally speculating, I'm going to assume that they're investigating the antis that have spread reputation-damaging rumors and bombarded infold with hate, given the time the announcement was made about the investigation. maybe infold will wait things out until these investigations are over / or at the very least start to bear fruit?
then again, if these were to be the case, I think refusing to even acknowledge us would be the stupidest fucking thing infold can do at this point, no matter the reason. they can't stay silent for almost a month and expect us to be fine without any form of "we hear you" especially not if they promised to do better with communication and listening to player feedback (although that might've just been corpo speak)
if you couldn't tell, I'll be FUMING if infold chooses to NOT give us any statement at all, and I am choosing to believe this company isn't completely dumb to ruin their reputation, revenue and future growth like that.
besides, I'm pretty sure that delaying valko is not the move infold might think it is. it might keep the antis happy for a while, but does infold really think they won't start throwing a tantrum again the moment infold decides to release valko, even at a later date? they don't want him in the game point blank period, so obviously whatever "calming down" might've happened in the span of time would just become void and they'll explode again not to mention that the momentum is NOW, and the momentum is fragile. so they will not only anger the antis again by reinstating him, but also the people who were patiently awaiting for valko's rightful return might not be around anymore.
however, IF infold really were to still ignore us... well. I'll still proceed with the boycott lmfao.
I won't be logging in, I sure as hell won't be spending a dime on the game until valko is back (maybe not ever, who knows), I will still be talking about valko in a positive light on social media and I WILL be annoying as hell and bring him up on every social media post, if they were to start posting again.
"Say Dada," Sylus coaxes gently, seated together with her daughter in her playpen. She's busy grabbing building blocks, inspecting them, and placing them on top of a very unstable tower. "Say Dada, princess."
His daughter spares him a glance before piling on another building block. The tower sways precariously, leaning heavily to one side. But she doesn't care; drawing up building plans is not a part of her job.
Sylus chuckles, the glance she gave him so similar to the one you give him. She truly is your daughter—maybe that's why she's insisting on being so stubborn.
"You know your tower is wobbling, right?" He tells her, pointing at it. "There’s no solid groundwork. No proper foundation. Where did you go to school for your architecture degree?"
"Babababa," she babbles conversationally and Sylus nods in understanding.
"That is an excellent school. I'm sorry for questioning your credentials."
"What are you two talking about?" You ask upon entering the living room, your daughter's bottle in hand. "Is he bothering you about your building credentials again, baby?"
Your daughter squeals happily, turning to slam her tiny hands down on Sylus' knee. He's a wonderful actor, shouting in feigned pain as he falls to the ground. You watched, amused, as your daughter begins hitting tiny fists onto his chest while Sylus groans in fake agony.
"That's right, sweetie," you cheer, climbing over the playpen's fence. "Show him who's boss!"
Your daughter squeals louder, adorable giggles bursting forth and Sylus can't help but join her. She squeaks in joy when he scoops her up into his arms and lays her softly on his slightly sore chest. She beams down at him and Sylus melts, his eyes softening.
"Say Dada," He tries again and your daughter blinks before giving a toothless grin.
"Mmmama!" She babbles and Sylus huffs, smiling.
"Traitor," he says, carefully lifting himself up into a seated position so he can take the bottle you hand him. "You're breaking your father's heart, my love."
You shift to sit beside him, resting your head on his shoulder as you watch him feed her. His head comes to rest upon yours after he places a kiss on top of it.
"I heard her say Dada yesterday," you tell him with a tiny laugh. "She was missing you and you were at work so she called out for you." Your hand comes up instantly to caress his thigh, easing the pain and guilt you know is already eating at him. For being away from you and her and not being there when she called. "So I think she's just messing with you."
"Sounds an awful lot like someone I know," Sylus partially teases and you roll your eyes, playful.
Your daughter, perfectly content in Sylus' arms with warm milk in her tummy, pulls away from the bottle's nipple and coos:
"Dada dadada!"
Sylus freezes, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, while you beam at your little bundle of joy.
"Well done, baby!" You praise excitedly before gently nudging Sylus. "Goodness she has excellent timing—oh Sy, my love, don't cry!"
thinking about zayne who has never tried popping bubbles before having them for the first time. the way his eyes would open just a bit wider in surprise when they pop in his mouth would be so cute.,,, ohmygod.. my cutieful doctor,,,,,
You scroll to another video, and another, and another. Mindless, numbing stimulation that steals your attention span and rots your brain. That's where Sylus finds you; sitting on the couch, stuck doing something you don't really want to be doing.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" he asks, wrapping his arms around you from behind the couch.
You grumble, scrolling again and again. "Stuck."
"Mm. Physically or mentally?"
Scroll. Scroll. "Mentally." You bury your face in the crook of his elbow with a frustrated groan, one eye still peeking at your screen. "I can't... can't do what I need to."
"What do you need to do?" His lips brush your temple as he speaks. You can't see his face as he watches the videos that've been algorithmically calculated to keep you addicted to this endless hell. Maybe it's better that you can't.
You sigh as you list out your planned tasks for the day. Clean out your closet, pack stuff away - anything that isn't being glued to this couch.
He puts his hand behind yours holding the phone. You stop scrolling to watch him back out of the app. He's humming lightly as he slides over to the camera and takes a selfie, kissing your cheek. You snicker despite your agitation; he loves capturing you at your worst angles.
You can feel the curl of his lips against your skin, mirroring the camera's point of view. He clicks your phone off and kisses you one more time, before he comes around the couch and tugs you up by your arms. "C'mon, kitten. I'll stay with you while you work. Will that help?"
You nod. Finally, albeit slowly, you can feel the shift of gears in your head, beginning to stir back to life and pump motivation to your feet to move. But first, you step closer and hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. He greedily hugs you in return, curling himself around you, stroking your back and rocking from side to side. "Thank you, Sy. My brain didn't wanna cooperate today."
"That's why I'm here, sweetie. To help you over the walls your mind creates. Every time."
Find all other reports here!
Current protest info here!
Join the Discord!
Good evening everyone! I'm all settled into my hotel, so that means it's report time. Shoutout to my Doordasher Charles for the bomb ass ramen.
I'll be in an appointment tomorrow morning, then driving again, so I will most likely be posting tomorrow's report in the evening as well!
What's your favorite LADS feature?
Photobooth
Playtime
Desk decorating
Home system
Battles
Secret Times 😼
Remaining time: 5 hours 14 minutes
7/22/2026 Report
First of all, let me reiterate this once again because I've had several people message me about it. The banner post on TikTok that includes all 6 LIs was never taken down. I check their socials everyday and have been since the 30th. It has always been there.
One of MY X posts has somehow gotten popular? 😭 I posted on here a few days ago about messaging Nici and they got back to me this morning!
Valko is ALL over the LADS Supertopic on Weibo.
LADS ranking on CN iOS App Store:
LADS CN revenue. Massive yikes. iPad revenue has PLUMMETED (top right graph). Wonder if the minors stopped using their parents' card...
Apparently, even LADS customer service workers are reaching out to big-spending players Actual insane behavior. Creds to the CN girls for holding the line.
"Um, um..! I want to tell everyone 😆 no 🐺 no 💰 is really super effective!! There really was a customer service rep who proactively reached out to a big-spending player begging them to come back, looks like YZY Games really cares about the revenue 😎🫶🏻🫶🏻 But this young lady made it very clear! She only has one demand: Give us back our little wolf!! We have to keep pushing, guys 🫶🏻"
This user confirmed the information. The reps aren't asking people to spend money, but they ARE contacting whales and asking them to come back to the game.
"All right, I have heard back from her directly.
Translation: Sis, ever since customer service added me, they’ve only been apologizing to me. They never said anything trying to persuade me to come back to the game or encouraging me to top up (spend money) again.
The idea that they were ‘trying to persuade players to return and continue spending’ is really just speculation that many dissatisfied players came up with based on the fact that customer service re-added former whale (big-spending) players as contacts.
But at least in my chat history with customer service, they never expressed anything like ‘please come back to the game and keep playing’ or ‘please continue spending money on our game."
ANOTHER article, this one on Toutiao (Jīnrì Tóutiáo), ByteDance's news platform. This X user already provided the big points, so I'll paste them here!
➺ The article states clearly that LADS is a game designed for adults 18+. Age-appropriate governance should block minors from accessing it, NOT water down the content for adult players.
➺ It directly proposes a governance cycle: discover the problem, rectify within a deadline, re-evaluate, restore service. It argues that after a company completes rectification and passes review, it should have a clear and predictable path to resume normal operations. Simply removing products is not a mature solution.
➺ It acknowledges that during the LADS controversy, there were concentrated posting campaigns, mass complaint mobilization, and escalation from product issues to attacks on the company and player groups. And it raises the possibility that minors may have been pulled into these coordinated attacks as participants, not just as victims of inappropriate content.
➺ It states that protecting minors means BOTH keeping them away from inappropriate content AND preventing them from being used as tools to attack companies, creators, or other users through online group manipulation.
➺ And it says game companies deserve a normal operating environment free from false information, cyberbullying, and abnormal mass reporting.
Post
(don't know why this link is being stupid, but anyway)
The Sina article was reposted by another CN news outlet. From this user on X (their summary is very similar to my own):
A new article from the Chinese business media outlet *China Civil & Commercial Network* addresses the controversy surrounding *LADs* within the framework of China's "Qinglang" campaign, aimed at combating malicious online manipulation. (Yes, I found it and verified the information).
The article examines the evidence dossier compiled by players regarding the events that occurred between June 29 and July 1. It notes that many of the original posts subsequently became inaccessible, though the exact cause has not been confirmed: whether due to the author's decision, platform actions, privacy setting changes, or other reasons.
It also indicates that documentation has been submitted to the competent authorities and that courts have admitted civil lawsuits for processing, although definitive legal conclusions have yet to be reached.
The article does not claim that the existence of an organized online "army" has been proven. However, it maintains that factors such as the use of similar phrasing, the concentrated posting of messages, the repetition of content across different platforms, reposting after deletions, mass reporting, and moralistic labeling constitute serious red flags that warrant investigation.
Its primary concern lies in how criticism of a product can quickly escalate into attacks on the company, its creators, and entire communities of players.
According to the preserved screenshots, one post amassed 462 reposts, 875 comments, and 9,396 "likes" in just half an hour; from there, the debate escalated to demands for sanctions against staff and service shutdowns, in addition to labeling the company and its users with extreme moral tags.
The article also focuses on the economic damages stemming from this type of pressure. Canceling content that is already nearly complete means wasting development costs, launch opportunities, and user attention, while invalidating the work of scriptwriters, artists, programmers, voice actors, localization teams, and other personnel.
Moreover, this situation can push companies toward creative self-censorship: not only are truly problematic ideas eliminated, but innovation itself becomes viewed as too risky. The broader economic context is relevant.
In the first quarter of 2026, China's domestic video game market generated approximately 14.3 billion dollars, while overseas revenue—from games developed in China—reached 6.33 billion dollars, representing a year-over-year increase of 31.76%. (These figures cover the entire video game market, not just *LADs*).
The author argues that video game companies must compete based on technology, original content, service quality, the strength of their intellectual properties (IP), and global operations, rather than through generating negative traffic, mass reporting, repetitive labeling, or manipulated outrage.
The article takes care to note that legitimate criticism, consumer opinions, and media scrutiny must remain protected. Its target is false information, decontextualized snippets, amplification that appears coordinated, online harassment, and pressures that supplant fact-based investigation.
Overall, the article leans toward the idea that the controversy surrounding Valko may have been amplified by harmful mechanisms of the digital environment, rather than reflecting the genuine opinion of the entire market."
Things are looking good for us, friends! Especially considering INFOLD EMPLOYEES are asking players to come back. Does that seem a little pathetic to anyone else?
Let me remind you that we aren't working towards a deadline—we're working towards a goal. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Pace yourselves!
It'd be easier to realize you were a wolf in sheep's clothing, clinging to the loyal dog that tended to the flock.
pairing: Caleb x Fem!Reader/MC
wc: 4.5k
tw/tags: codependency, obsession, possessiveness, self-doubt/insecurity. MC frequently described as unsettling. judgment/gossip from outside characters about MC. brief mention of violence (caleb towards side character). angst. brief suggestive themes.
a/n: this is really a character study of MC and her relationship with caleb while growing up alongside him. I'm fascinated by the idea of her being seen as unsettling, based on anecdotes on how she used to be a blank slate in the lab. this fic digs into dark themes and explores MC's doubt around her place in Caleb's life, so be warned if those things may upset you <3
cross-posted on ao3 || masterlist
Something has always been wrong with you.
You feel it. Deep in your soul, coiling through the blood in your veins, thrumming under your skin. You hope it doesn't show in the unblinking nature of your watchful eyes, in the way your teeth bare a little too much when you try to smile like the other kids do.
But they see through it. They all do.
The whispers follow your steps down the school hallways. You hear that something's missing in the hushed cadence of Grandma whispering into the phone's receiver.
You sit on the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows, knees pulled to your chest as you wonder what weight those soft words carry. What silent statements are being exchanged when looks are shared between your teacher and your guardian at school conferences.
"She has some of the top scores in her class. She's a smart kid," they say, and hesitate. "Just…quiet."
Gran nods, and smiles down at you. A tight-lipped smile, with almost enough reassurance in her eyes to outshine that assessment, that disappointment. Trying to figure out what was wrong. How to fix it.
On the playground, you draw circles in the sand with a stick. The kids take wider circles around you. A large berth to evade that vacant look in your eyes, in case it was contagious.
Maybe it was.
Who knows? Maybe they'd catch it if they got too close.
If one of them touched you, maybe they'd be like you. All empty eyes and unsettling smile.
Or maybe you'd just suck all the life out of them. Maybe—
"Pipsqueak!"
Your head lifts, eyes finding your sun.
There he stands, at the center of everything, with scraped knees and a band-aid across a lightly freckled nose. His hair is in desperate need of a trim, a smudge of dirt on his cheek from roughhousing with the other kids, the ones closer to his age. The ones who Gran encourages him to spend more time with.
So he does. Because if he doesn't, he'll have scheduled playdates. He'll be taken away from you for an afternoon, or a whole day.
Instead, he gives it ten minutes of playtime. You feel listless, floating in empty space, but you wait. You try not to count the seconds in your head until he returns, tugging you gently back into his orbit.
His fingers wiggle out towards you, and your eyes—too expressionless, too empty, too wrong—flash down to his hand, extended to you this whole time.
Waiting for you to drain his life too.
You hesitate.
He catches it, the slight shift of your smaller body away from him, and he frowns. His other hand rests on his knee, leaning towards you, hand thrust right in front of your eyes. He keeps waving it right there each time you try to turn away.
"Pips, c'mon," he encourages, poking you in your round, freckled cheek.
A smile catches on his face when you huff, and your lips feel like they're tugged up by gravity in return. You think about blaming him for using his Evol, but it's not that. It's just him.
Your Caleb, easing that baring of teeth into something softer. Something less wrong.
He'll catch it, you think when you lift your hand. You stop. He'll catch all that wrong if you're not careful.
That's what all the other kids say. They talk about it when you're in the back of the class, not noticing you in the dark, waiting for your sun to return.
Poor Caleb, they say. All that light with the shadow trailing behind. His brilliant galaxy eyes mirrored by the wide, unblinking stare peering around from behind him. Couldn't get rid of her if he tried.
The gentle call of your name has you looking up again to see him crouched in front of you. He's frowning, so you're frowning, because you don't like it when his smile goes away. You don't like it at all when clouds try to make him a bit less bright. You want him to shine, always, and you want to always be the one to see it.
His hand is still there, inches from yours. His fingers are a bit longer; always have been, and always would be.
He could just take yours if he wanted. He could tug you after him, make you play. It's not like you would complain. You would do whatever he wanted.
But your Caleb was always like this. He always wanted you to choose.
And you always wanted to choose him.
He'll catch it.
One day, your golden boy would catch all the darkness curled up inside you.
You hesitate again. Then you look up and oh, no.
Now his eyes are big and wet, the purple shining all glossy like the gazes of those puppies in the sad commercials on TV, the ones that make you run from the living room when they play. It reminds you of something else, something you can't name, and it makes your skin crawl and you hate it.
Seeing it on Caleb was even worse. Too real, too much like that unnameable thing.
It hurt.
Your fingers land in his, and his despair at you not wanting to play with him anymore evaporates like puffy clouds. You relish in the sunshine of his gaze fully focused on you, feeling the warmth of it in your chest when he holds onto you tight, pulling you up after him, and away.
Away from the kids who sneer, the adults who whisper. Away from what you know you should be but can't, have never been able to be.
Each step away, and you feel a bit lighter, a bit warmer. Each time he squeezes your hand and smiles back at you, you feel less wrong.
He'll catch it.
You feel bad, because you feel good. Because he makes you happy, he makes you forget, he makes you normal.
You feel bad, because you know he's taking the darkness from inside your heart to give you his sunlight. You know he'll succumb to that emptiness, that darkness, too.
You don't want him to lose his light.
You just want to be as much a part of him as he's a part of you.
It's not as bad once you're a bit older, a few years down the line.
The feeling is still there, that unnameable yawning chasm in your chest, along with the heart that flutters and struggles to beat.
But you've buried enough of what's unsettling that your smiles aren't all sharp teeth, ready to tear into flesh. Your lips are shut tight to hide them, and the smiles are small, but it's better.
Even better when Caleb's gravity pulled them from you.
Those smiles were real. Those ones had you fighting to keep the points of your teeth hidden, had you smiling wider when he poked and tugged at your cheeks until the points of your canines showed.
He never looked scared. Never looked like he would do anything but offer his own skin to your lips and say, here. Bite down. I'm not afraid.
Caleb never did say it, but you saw it. It was in the gentleness of his gaze, the way his palm always found yours when he walked you home after school.
It was there in the way he pinched your cheeks, poked each freckle to count them instead of counting the stars when you stayed up too late, gazing out his window. So close to your sharp bite, and never flinching.
He would let you bite if you wanted to. He'd let you do it until you had enough, or until you got tired. He wouldn't shake you off, even then.
You knew. He knew you knew.
And you did bite, a few times. It got worse in those years when he started going to a different school than you.
You'd look at the marks left on his hand, and you wouldn't feel bad. He'd look at them too, and wouldn't hide it.
He'd just smile, ruffle your hair, and buy you candy from the corner-store with the money he'd earned with the little jobs he did around the neighborhood. He could do that now (older, bigger, one step ahead), and he'd always spend it on you. For your happiness, for your smile.
You wondered if it was an obligation. You wondered if it was just habit.
But your smile would make him smile, too, and it was so bright. So, so bright, and all for you.
And sometimes you think that maybe, just maybe, he revolves around you too.
Kids don't shun you as much, once you and Caleb are in the same school again. But you're still weird.
Your eyes aren't as wide and empty, but there's something just a little bit off. Practice doesn't quite make perfect after all.
So they still don't really like you—but they don't hate you, at least.
And of course, Caleb does help. Because if he likes you so much, if he truly adores you, then there must be something about you to like.
So some of them try and talk to you. Except you don't really know how to talk. Not to them, not to anybody that's not your Caleb.
You know very well, at this point, you're way too old for this. You've grown too much, your body changing and shaping in the places that tell you that you need to be your own person. You need to stop being his shadow.
Gran said he wouldn't want you to tag along forever.
It made Caleb mad when she said it.
He hid it well, with a smile as charming as ever. But you saw the flash in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. The twitch of his fingers around his fork, holding on too tight.
Anger looked wrong on him, like how a smile used to look wrong on you.
You liked how it looked.
You felt wrong again, for liking it.
You felt worse, knowing that you liked him not just angry, but angry for you.
Like you were really part of the flock. Like he was really made to look after you, to guard you from harm.
To protect you from the wolf, from yourself.
"No one's gonna take me away from you," he tells you when you sneak into his room late that night.
Both your backs rest against the foot of the bed, knees bumping together. Your head finds his shoulder, and his head rests on yours. You always fit like this. Comfortable. Right.
The well-loved apple plushie rests between your arms, his longer fingers idly picking at a small hole worn into the red fabric.
"How do you know?" you ask, and he frowns deeper, brows pulled together.
You like the anger less when you know something you said brought it back.
"I just do," he mutters, and looks back at you. His irritation is gone so fast with one look at you, replaced by a bright smile. "It's gravity, Pipsqueak. We don't gotta worry about it."
Smiling back is a new, happy habit now.
You find that you like it more than the anger, when your smile makes his own just a bit brighter.
You keep growing older, and so does he. You're tall, but he's taller. He's bigger, stronger. Pretty growing up, and even prettier now, in a way that makes your throat tight and your heart hurt, more than it usually does. Different than it usually does.
He's always just a bit ahead of you. Always reaching back with a smile.
When he walks you home after school, on the days he doesn't have practice for some sports team or another, the other girls giggle when he passes them.
Sometimes you want to giggle, too.
When he looks for you after scoring a point in a game, eyes lighting up when he finds you cheering for him in the crowd. Fingers even longer now, rougher, pushing back the hair from his sweaty forehead before waving with a grin.
Your classmates sigh around you, and you feel the same flutter in your heart that they must when you get to be the one who waves back.
One of them leans over to you, daring to steal your attention after Caleb scores another point. You frown when you have to look away from Caleb's searching gaze again, denying you the rush of it meeting yours.
"We're all heading out to the lake this weekend." The girl in your class, whose name you don't even know, smiles at you. Even as she glances towards where you were supposed to be looking right now. "You should totally come!"
"I—"
The buzzer sounds, cutting you off. You frown, glancing around the gym as people start to rise. Caleb must still be on the court, and your gaze cuts through the busy crowd, searching for him as surely as he searches for you.
"Bring Caleb!"
You flinch as the words land next to your ear, a command more than a question, with another giggle that makes your stomach turn.
Why would she want Caleb?
You stand, pushing your way out of the bleachers, following that familiar instinct, that tug of gravity to him.
You find him with all the others pulled into his gravity, helpless but to be drawn to him. His friends slap him on the back in approval of his winning point—the one you'd missed, your nails biting into your palms at the realization.
Girls are there, too. Pretty girls, older than you. They smile up at him, and bat their eyelashes and giggle the way that you want to giggle, and you dig into your palms even tighter.
Why do they all want Caleb?
It's a stupid question, really. Of course they want the sun to shine down on them, to warm their skin, to light up their days.
Your sun.
"Caleb!"
It's selfish to call out to him.
You know it is, when his universe is bigger than yours, when he deserves to explore all it has to offer.
When you know he'll come running right back anyway just at the first call of your voice.
And here he comes. Running, bright-eyed and eager, smile splitting across his face so wide it looks like it hurts.
"Did you see that last one, Pipsqueak?" He asks as he leans down towards you, another clump of sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes.
Surrounded by all that approval, that praise and worship, and he only sought yours.
You smile and push the stubborn strands of hair back from his sunset eyes before he has to.
You realize belatedly, when his lips twitch higher at the brush of your fingertips against his forehead, that he didn't even try to fix it himself. He knew you would.
And then you remember the answer to his question.
You remember you're not the only one circling him. And that maybe you're just the one that he's used to.
Obligation? You remember those questions that used to linger, like the indentation of your teeth in his skin, back when you both were smaller. Habit?
And there it is again: your name, falling softly from his lips. Like he was never meant to say anything else.
No matter what he called you, you'd look. You loved whatever he did call you, whichever nickname he latched onto, the affection that laced through each syllable.
But your actual name, any slight variation of it—that's what always brought you right back, with an inexplicable force that nearly had you crashing into him.
Or wanting to.
Your mouth opens, and closes. You struggle in resisting his gravity, in knowing you were just another speck of cosmic dust floating around in it. Knowing you shouldn't be selfish.
Knowing how selfish you'd always be.
Why did they all want your Caleb?
"Hey." There's a gentle tug on your chin when your gaze wanders again, callused thumb turning your face back to him. Clouds cover the rays of sun in his gaze again. Because of you. He'd catch your wrong. He'd lose his light. "What's up?"
You suck in a breath, feel it piercing your lungs, and the words rushing out feel like knives in your tongue.
"Want to go to the lake this weekend?"
You hated the lake.
Watching as they all flock to him, tugging his precious attention away every time it barely started to drift back to you.
You hated this.
They laugh at something he said, and he smiles at them.
You hated them.
In one of the longer lulls where he can't glance back at you—somebody clinging to his arm and taking all the attention that was your birthright, with another two giggling—you sulk off to the little public bathroom nearby. You pull your legs up on the closed toilet seat in the stall, staring at the graffiti on the door, words spelling out crushes and curses alike.
They all had crushes on Caleb, didn't they?
And you—
"Did you see that look in her eyes?" Laughter between a couple girls echoes into the empty bathroom with the bang of the opening door, and you hug your legs tighter. "It's scary."
"Haven't you heard about when she was younger?" You watch their shadows pass on the ground, stopping at the sinks. "She's always looked like that, but it used to be worse."
"Worse?" A sharp laugh, and your skin crawls, because you know. You know what they laugh about. You've always known. "How could it be worse?"
"She looked soulless. And when she smiled, she just showed her teeth—like this!" More laughter, and you hug your knees tighter. Nails digging into your skin, chills down your spine. "We thought she'd bite us."
"Did she?"
"No, but Jake said she bit Caleb."
"What?"
"I mean, we don't know if she did. But he saw the marks once."
"Ugh, poor Caleb." You don't like how they say his name. Don't like how they draw it out, how they sigh the string of letters meant for your mouth. "He's stuck with her. Couldn't get rid of her if he wants to."
You feel it again.
"Do you think he wants to?"
Laughter echoes.
You feel the wrong under your skin, thrumming. Coiling. Aching.
He's your Caleb.
"Wouldn't you? She's like a ghost! God, could you imagine living with that?"
He's your Caleb.
"Oh, man! Waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her in the mirror—"
Your feet slap against the floor, the world burning too bright when you slam the stall door open.
The screams that echo when you glower into the reflection they're vainly gazing into is far too satisfying.
They stare, petrified, as you walk up between them to wash your hands.
It doesn't make you feel better. Doesn't wash away the feeling of wanting to rip their throats out any less.
You shake the water off your fingers, feeling the points of your teeth grate together when they yelp and jump back at the flying droplets.
You don't remember walking out. You don't remember how far you got from the lake before he was there; arms around you, voice urging next to your ear.
"Pipsqueak?" You don't stop moving, not even at the press of his warm palm against your heated cheek. He pokes gently at the freckles that didn't fade as much as his, the ones he used to count like stars. "Pips, hey. Hey. Slow down."
You do, because he doesn't make you. Because he always gives you the choice.
Is it because he's always known what your choice will be?
Your head shakes.
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if he knows. It couldn't change the truth that he's your world, that he's all you've ever wanted.
Your hand isn't even halfway reaching for him when he's already taken it.
"Let's go home, yeah?" Caleb murmurs, brows knit together in concern. It warms that hollow feeling in your chest, and you sink into it.
It's only when you nod that you feel the streak of tears dripping off your chin.
What you hate most about the lake is how it changes things.
How it changes you.
Suddenly you're much too aware of Caleb's place in the universe. How he has wings untested, never stretched to fly, because he's stuck on the ground with you.
You are selfish, and he lets you be. He loves you so much that he lets you take and take, and you love him so much that you don't want to. You don't want to be that selfish. Not anymore, not when he can have everything.
So you try to grow some distance between you, even as it tears you apart.
It's easier when he graduates high school. Easier to tell yourself he's got that whole wide world, that he deserves for it to all be all his.
Easier to realize you were a wolf in sheep's clothing, clinging to the loyal dog that tended to the flock.
You learn better, how to pretend to be normal. You get so good at smiles and burying the thrumming and aching so deep below your skin that you start to feel normal.
The wolf still adores what it cannot be, what it cannot have. You still adore your Caleb. Still bask in the sun when it returns home.
You still have your moments when you want to sink your teeth in until he stays, until he forgets about ever leaving again.
But you get better at being better.
Or just better at pretending, you think whenever you feel his absence again. Readjusting to it, aching with it so deeply that you think you might die.
Eventually, you're so good at what you've become that you start to really believe it.
You get your own life, you make your own friends. There's a dream you've always had stirrings of, one you start to believe in.
You throw yourself into college, then a career, and you find purpose within it until you're circling farther and farther out of his orbit. Until you feel like you're finally what they've all always wanted you to be.
And your Caleb flies higher, and higher, until he doesn't come home.
Until you realize he wasn't the sun, but had gotten so close to it that he came crashing and burning back down.
Darkness returns.
It is all you know.
And when he comes crashing back into your own orbit, he doesn't bring the light back with him.
There's a look in his eyes that you don't recognize. The face you had memorized like the back of your hand twists in ways that make your heart stutter, make your mind spin, your stomach turn.
He says the things you used to feel, things that you realize you still feel. It's easier to accept, when your obsession and desperation are reflected back at you. When it's even darker and hungrier in him than it had ever been in you.
You sink deeper into it. You sink your teeth into that longing, drunk off every taste you get of being his center of gravity.
You don't know what's changed, exactly.
You don't even know if anything had changed at all. The longer you circle each other, the more times you come dangerously close to crashing together. And the more you wonder how it couldn't have always been this way.
And it's addictive, when you finally fall apart, to fall back together.
The touch of his lips against your aching skin; the sweet, desperate call of your name from them.
To sink your teeth into your entire world; to feel him do the same to his.
To feel him be the same. To know you had always been the same.
One night, tangled up in the sheets and in him, you hear his quiet whisper of confession. One of many sins committed in your name, finally revealed into the dark.
"Remember when you had just started high school?" Caleb's fingers trail up and down your spine with the words, tracing each notch, reverent in how it made you. "And that kid asked you out as a prank?"
You rifle through your memories, thoughts sluggish under the warm comfort of his touch.
"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment when you've found the mental image. "I didn't know you had come up behind me until he and his friends ran away. Must've been some glare you sent them, but you were just smiling at me when I turned around."
"Yeah," it's a deep sigh, still husky in the evidence of how you'd come together. His arm wraps around your waist, dull nails gently scratching at your soft skin, and you shiver when they dig in. "I broke his nose."
You freeze, fingers pausing where they trace circles over the rapid beat of his heart through his heated skin. "You...what?"
"It was so easy," he mumbles, voice taking on that new shade of darkness. Emptiness so familiar in yourself that it makes you shiver in pleasure you'd never voice out loud. "All it took was an extra twist of gravity when he tripped during a track meet. Fell forward just a bit too hard, enough for it to snap."
You swallow thickly, wrapping your arms around him tight. Pressing your skin to his until you could never be apart again.
Caleb's eyes meet yours in the night, searching for fear.
He smiles, hesitant; then sinking into relief, adoration, when he never sees it.
Another night beckons another confession. Another moment where gravity bent so easily under his fingertips, just for you. Even if you never knew.
What nearly drives you crazy is that you were never supposed to know. He would've kept himself as your sun forever, leaving you happily oblivious of the black hole he'd created as a buffer around you.
He slowly combs back through your memories. Happy memories with him, overshadowing the things he did in the dark. All in your name, all to protect you.
Sometimes you trace the familiar lines of his face, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, and wonder, was it really always there? His darkness always lurking, always lingering, just as sure as yours.
Or perhaps his obsession ran even deeper than yours. Sinking into the marrow of his bones, as crucial to his bloodstream as his love for you, rushing through his veins to keep his heart beating.
Were you truly too dazzled by the radiance of his smile to notice his teeth were as sharp as yours?
What if I told you I was always like this?
Maybe you had just been too blind from gazing into your own sun to see all the darkness the light cast on his own.
Too in love with one side of him to see both, to see that you were never the only wolf hiding among the flock.
