#I was a miserable little shit back then so here's to character development | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iwritebigbellies-blog · 3 months ago

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What do you think "caused" your stuffing kink? I'm curious because I can't find any research as to why, biologically, the stuffing kink is a thing. I've had mine since I was old enough to remember, i.e., a toddler - watching cartoon characters eat a lot for a gag and feeling weird about it. I've got no idea what caused it or why my brain is apparently wired this way, especially since (like you, and apparently unlike the majority of the feedism community) it is *just* the stuffing and not wg/etc that turns me on. Just curious about other peoples' (and especially those who, like me, are primarily into the stuffing and not the wg aspect) experiences, I guess.

This got out of hand. Sorry.

TL:DR - I was born this way

Deeper thoughts:

So, when I was very distraught about why I had developed this incredibly inconvenient kink, I did a little bit of looking into paraphilias.

Unlike some other "kinks", this isn't a lifestyle choice (in my case, this is something I need to be sexually satisfied. I do not get aroused without it, I definitely do not cum without it.) It isn't something that is going to "spice up the bedroom" for someone looking for a new kind of fun. It is a flatly non-sexual thing that my brain has decided is hyper sexual. I think a good analogy is a foot fetish. Nobody decides to get into feet for fun. You either sexualize them, or you don't.

I think stuffing falls under fetishistic paraphilia, like the foot thing. There's a prevelent theory that foot fetishism is actually rooted in neurology. The foot section and the genitals sections of the brain are literally just super close together, so a little divergent wiring and boom, the foot is a sexual organ.

This kind of thinking rings the most true to me. Because I can't think of an "inciting incident" or single media that really made an impression on me: I wasn't even allowed to watch tv when I was a kid, so I mostly got my weird feelings from books and comics, and it felt more like recognizing a feeling that was already there than a single jarring experience. Also, because it doesn't feel confusing or traumatic or naughty to me: it's not like I got sex=forbidden, fat =forbidden, ergo fat=sex all jumbled up. There's no feeling of shame in my kink. Just the usual feelings one has about sex things: pleasure, intimacy, indulgence.

I feel like I am just wired different. I truly don't think I could, for example, therapize this away. It feels more like being straight: it is just foundational to my sexuality. It is my sexuality. Nothing made me like this. I just am.

Two tangental things about that:

Look at the people who try to run away from this kink. They always come back. It doesn't change or go away for them. There are a lot of really miserable people in this kink because a) we've pathologized it and b) there has been no real effort to make a welcoming community around paraphilias or fetishes in general. There is no safe space for fetishists. This kind of kills me, because I have talked to a lot of men in this kink and each of them has come at it in a totally different way. They could be helping each other understand this. They should be sharing coping or lifestyle tips. They could be more open about healthy ways to live it or showing success stories with partners and lives. We could all be more welcoming and understanding of the people who wander in here, because this thing isn't going away and we are all we have. We shouldn't be treating it like a disorder or social contagion.

I think being more community-minded would also help with the thing where some of us have "rare" versions of this kink. Cuz, yah, my sexuality is stuffing, not wg. There genuinely don't seem to be many of us. And it isn't cuz I am fatphobic and just want conventionally-hot guys to temporarily fatten up or whatever shit I am being accused of this week...I actually really prefer fat guys in a strictly aesthetic sense. But it isn't foundational to my sexuality. That is a whole different universe.

But because we're treating all of this like a den of iniquity, we're only engaging with each other on a horny level. And if you come at someone horny and they are not equally horny for you (such as when somebody comes at me asking how much weight I'd like them to gain), the conversation ends instantly, often in disgust, and leaves one or the other person feeling shame or guilt.

Those of us with more "rare" fetishes are gonna feel this bounce more than someone with a more conventional fetish. But, dammit, I still need a place, I still need a platform. I need to stand somewhere while I am waiting for the rare person who is actualy on my wavelength. I want to feel accepted and safe as a fetishist, not just horny. I am more than my libido, even as a fetishist.

Gonna throw some numbers out there.

The prevelence of true fetishism in the population is pretty unknown, but some studies have suggested like 11-17% of the male population have fetishistic fantasies, with women reporting in way lower, like 0-10%. But most of those are sort of conventionally sexual people who think it might be hot to have sex in public or with someone wearing cute gloves. The ones who are all-in on being fully fetishy (like me) are more like 0.00125% of the population. Of those, the vast majority are men.

Within the fetishist population, only about 15% are into specific body parts. (0.000002% of everyone, in our back-of-napkin math.) Almost half of those are into feet. There are other groupings: I have never seen "bellies" divided out on its own (though one did single out navels) so we're gonna say we are "other body parts", which is about 13% of body-part fetishists. (Math fails me here... what are we at, like, 0.000000026% or something?) It doesn't even matter at this point, it basically means that, statistically, every person on the planet who is as obsessed with full bellies as I am could fit in a small-town auditorium, and most of them would be men.

(Yah, I know, actual numbers probably much higher because all these studies require people to self-report, and shame/embarassment cuts that way down.)

If this was based on some kind of early conditioning, my feeling is the numbers would be waaaay the fuck higher.

Anyway, I am still mildly obsessed with Jughead Jones. >.>

#stuffing kink #belly kink #male stuffed belly #female feeder #ffa #stuffing #posts like this are why I am single

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potofsoup · 6 months ago

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So.... I kind of accidentally fell into a Batfam fic hole for the past 3+ months and ... ::checks:: read >1000 fics??? Ooops?

Anyway, a fic rec list below the cut -- don't think anything is particularly surprising for anyone who is actually in the batfam fandom, since I stuck to the greatest hits, but in case you're like "Soup, how did you fall into a hole this deep for this long", under the cut are ~20 fics, organized by length. Mostly Tim-centric hurt/comfort because I'm basic like that. ¯_(ツ)_/¯

- Hot Cat on a Tin Roof by Arsenic (4k) This one is super cute -- basically Tim is an omega who has been hiding his heats because his parents were shit and never taught him otherwise, but then Jason finds out and of course mother-hens aggressively.

- phantom pain by envysparkler (5k) A great entry in the category of "Jason finds out that Tim's home life is miserable" -- in this case, he finds out that Tim's dad beats him through an accidental pain transference spell. Tim's dad gets his comeuppance.

- transaction by envysparkler (7k) The one where kid!Tim is touch-starved and goes to pay prostitute!Jason for hugs.

- The Second Stage by nightwalker (8k) Short and full of feels: basically Tim is touch-starved and determined not to bleed on anyone. Unfortunately his family finds out and he gets lots of cuddles.

- Brother Wanted by Vamillepudding (11k) Hilarious one where Tim puts out an ad for a brother and Jason accidentally answers. I love the little!Tim characterization here.

- 1-800-ROBIN by spqr (12k) A great entry in the "Jason Todd finds out and forcibly adopts Tim into the Batfam" category, all told through a series of phone calls. Great Jason Todd voice.

- Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines by SilverSkiesAtMidnight (13k) Tim's parents remain horrible! In this one, they make Tim food-insecure by cutting his food-buying budget and Tim, of course, tries to solve the problem himself. Eventually people figure it out and Tim ends up in a much better place.

- Tell Me I Am by potofrogs (15k) Basically trans!Tim gets kidnapped by Ras and made his "queen", saves himself and comes back to Gotham, and ... manages to recover, confront the Bats and stake out his own life in a generally healthy manner?!! I like that in this one, he doesn't immediately fall back into the Batfam gravity well and instead figures out what he actually wants.

- A Meditation on Railroading by eggmacguffin (25k) Wow this is an amazing fic about gaslighting. It's about Tim being abandoned in Atlanta by his shitty dad and deciding to train-hop his way home. I feel like I understand gaslighting better now.

- The Lone Ranger Never Had to Deal with Bruce Wayne by theskeptileptic (25k) This is a fic where Tim plans to fake his own death and run away to Canada to start a new life. Features hilarious little!Tim logic -- I love how his plans are both very smart but also very stupid at the same time, because he's 11.

- Missed Calls by nightwalker (26k) 5 times that Tim's dad didn't pick up the phone and one time he did. A particularly good rendition of the "Tim's parents are neglectful" trope. A good 5+1 really explores the range of the premise, and this fic delivers.

- His Head is Bloody, but Unbowed by gunpowder_and_pearls (26k) A great Jason POV fic! I love the way this fic captures what Jason's life would be like if he didn't end up getting adopted by Bruce -- the precariousness of trying to hold down two jobs as a 16-year-old and also dealing with a not-healthy home life. (It's okay, he befriends Nightwing and Robin)

- exception by cassiopeia721 (27k) A good character piece where Tim is taught that he's the "exception" -- exceptionally bright and mature, and therefore "kid" rules don't apply to him. Which doesn't do well for his emotional development, of course, as he deals with family neglect and also getting beaten up by Jason Todd.

- a Robin by any other name by redrobin1989 (33k) I love me some identity porn, and in this one, Tim still becomes Robin but refuses to tell Batman who he is. It really does some fun stuff with the "Batman and Tim!Robin is just a professional relationship" premise. (They figure it out in the end)

- Red Letter Day by silverwhittlingknife (41k, 9/? chapters) This is a wip, but deffo worth reading! Basically Dick is trying to be single-parent to Damian and barely keeping all the balls in the air. There's a mysterious calendar date that's marked as super important but he can't remember what it is. He thinks it's for Damian (but it's pretty clear by chapter 2 that it's for Tim). It's got an interesting Dick & Tim dynamic in that they hang out and obviously care about each other, but also there's too many things left unsaid (but Dick is really trying his best!)

- Banshee In A Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee) (43k) In this one, Tim keeps dying and coming back to life. It doesn't leave any emotional trauma around self-worth at all, no sirree. Nor does it feed into Tim's self-sacrifice tendencies at all, either, of course not.

- Dead Boys Don't Scream by Year_of_Summer (49k, 15/26 chapters) Wow I love this fic. Tim feeling neglected by Batfam? check. Tim running off and trying to solve problems himself with an overly-convoluted plan and zero survival instinct? check. Tim making friends despite himself? check. Super cool siren/merpeople mythology? check. All the angst upon Tim's return? check. This fic hasn't hit the comfort part of hurt/comfort, but it's expertly written and I definitely trust the author to deliver! Definitely worth a subscribe.

- The Return by lurkinglurkerwholurks (52k) So lots of fics have this arc of "Tim feels shut out from the Batfam and eventually does something so drastic that the Batfam is forced confront their issues." Which I love! But sometimes I want the Batfam to notice earlier, for them to try to fix things but it's hard and rocky because they're different people with different traumas and hangups. This fic delivers beautifully.

- buy back the secrets by sundiscus (71k, 5/6 chapters) I love the characterizations in this one, particularly Kon! It's a super cute Tim/Kon fic where Kon doesn't know that Tim is Red Robin. Great plotting, too! It only has 1 more chapter to go, so you know things are going to be resolved and okay :)

- Northern Attitude (I Was Raised on Little Light) by theskeptileptic (79k, 16/18 chapters) I absolutely love this writer. Tim is, of course, miserable in this fic (because he wants to be part of the Batfam but his parents basically blackmailed Tim into staying with them and continuing all the child abuse), but everything eventually works out! Tim is a great self-rescuing princess, and my heart of hearts goes out to the AMAZING Jason POV in chapter 20 (which works as a standalone, though it slightly spoils a bit of the plot), where you really FEEL how much Jason loves literature and uses that to guide his life.

[and two bonus super long ones:]

- Liminal Space by Calamityjim (77k) Oh man this fic series has such great comics-style plot! There's inter-dimensional travel, time travel, an utterly manic!Tim who comes up with the best/worst plans. I also ~love~ the YJ!Bart from a dystopian future who uses "crash" and "mode". Oh, and Tim is deeply flawed (and should not be allowed to do dimensional travel), but he still finds a loving, supportive family. (Warning: if you do go further in this fic series, the last fic of the series, "Collapse", is aggressively NOT kind to Clark Kent.)

- Finding the Line by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday (130k) In this one, Dick actually catches Damian trying to kill Tim, and as a result, actually gets Damian and Tim to reconcile before Tim runs off. Then the Batkids basically work together to bring Bruce back, find a magical macguffin, defeat the League of Assassins, and stop a complete re-write of reality. Great characterization and a fun comic plot.

#fic rec #batfam #help how did i get here #these last 3 months have been a blur of 'barely getting enough work done in-between mainlining 100k word fics'#i'm slowly clawing my way out of this fic hole though #it's just that the hurt/comfort and found family vibes here are so strong #each robin is broken in their own special way #and their respective issues can either make each other worse or build each other up #such a fine line to walk #such good feels

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cinamun · 7 months ago

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I love reeading comments on the story and it makes me wonder how much time do I spend reading this story cus I see some reduce all that DJ did was the "cheating " Incident (even tho he himself regrets it says it wasn't worth it) and moaning different girls name and feel bad for him and I'm like.. are we forgetting he repeatedly kept going to Amaya's school and was acting entitled that she can atleast say hello or get a sandwich with him and couldn't take no for an answer for a bit? Cus Amaya says, and I quote, "You don't even go here Darren! Why are you always here?" (Italics included) Ooorrr?? He even said he was mad with Jay for helping her transfer (so she wasn't in a place where she felt miserable.) As if his brother in law owes him not helping her! And then his solution to some shit Isa did was go scream at his momma as if this is her fault he can't just say a 3 letter name! DJ is a growing young adult making mistakes, and that's what makes him a good written character. We're seeing him actively fuck up and getting called out for it. It shows how carefully crafted he is and the work put into him. Darren is gonna make him realize where he fucked up. And he recognizes where he did a little bit but now has to face it. He's growing. And that's a damn good thing!! Idk maybe it's me. I don't feel bad for him, especially if he's actively recognizing where he fucked up. I'm more so intrigued how he's gonna figure himself out, and see him grow.

Damn nonny, no lies told! Even went back to UBrite with it!! There are layers to this and lets keep it a buck: this is our first real introduction to DJ going through some shit. Right?

Some call it ✨character development✨, but haven't we seen how Hope deals with adversity? What about Dira? DJ not so much, until the gawk heard 'round the simblrverse and bro still hasn't replaced that couch.

Anyway....

Y'all want part 2 of Sr. vs Jr. tomorrow or Sunday?

#story stuff #tfa spoilers

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sassykattery · 1 year ago

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Dollface, Pt. 2

CW: Main Character is afab, uses she/her pronouns. Profanity. Someone being pervy.

The main character is afab, uses she/her pronouns. This story is meant to be somewhat curvy/plus-sized reader insert, but the main character is given a physical description, but it's not crucial to the story or mentioned often after Part 1.

Themes: Romance. Magic. Adventure. Suggestive content

Characters: Main Character. Diavolo.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Masterlist

Over the next couple of days, he learned her routine pretty quickly, as habitual as she was. She often woke early in the morning, played music while she did her makeup, and then took her backpack with her to what he presumed was class, since she stopped taking him out of the house. A couple of times a day, he would hear voices from others, one woman that sounded similar to his new caretaker, and a gruff-sounding man. He learned that they were her parents.

Diavolo tried to sleep when she slept and stayed awake when she was gone, but with little to do but stare at the ceiling or whatever direction he was facing, he got bored quickly and often slept to pass the time. She often left him to lay on the pillow next to hers, which he thought was far better than sitting in that office wrapped in plastic all day. Sometimes, she even left the TV on, giving him some entertainment while he waited on her return.

One afternoon, he perked up when he heard the door open to her bedroom, but she left the light off. Moments later, she was crawling into bed without even looking at her phone or talking to herself. He could hear her gently sniffing, light sobs coming from her direction.

Oh? What's wrong? He thought, desperately wanting to ask.

Her hand slowly reached out to him, gently grasping his body in her palm and pulling him towards her. She tucked him under her chin, and he felt her heartbeat against the top of his head, warmth coming from her neck, chest, and the hand that held him.

"When will I be good enough..." she muttered quietly.

What happened?

"I just feel so stupid. They were right, I'm not smart enough," she muttered, burying her face in the pillow.

That's not true. I've listened to you, you're very smart.

"I'm crying to a doll right now... Pfft, I'm pathetic... but I'm glad you're here," she mumbled, rubbing her thumb over his back.

"A doll that is listening," Diavolo huffed.

She froze then, hearing a low tenor voice right in her ear that was most definitely not her imagination. Right?

"You... you can hear me? Wait, I can hear you?" She whispered.

"Wait, can you hear me?" The masculine voice called out again.

She shot up and looked down at the doll speaking to her now, and brought her face closer again to look at it in the dim light. It still laid there motionless, eyes and mouth remaining still.

"Hello," he said to her, still not moving.

"Oh fuck you're talking," she swore in a panic.

"This is a new development to me as well. Please, don't be alarmed," he tried to calm her, failing as he did.

"I bought a haunted fucking doll!" She yelped, scrambling to get away.

"Please! Wait! I promise I'm not haunted. I'm actually cursed," Diavolo tried to reason with her. Again, miserably.

"No shit!" She bit back.

"No, I think you misunderstood. I'm a real person that has been cursed to be a doll," he explained. She was silent then, so he took it as an opportunity to continue. "My name is Diavolo. About a month ago, I was cursed to be a doll by accident. I'm not sure why I'm able to speak now, but I've been aware this entire time."

She remained quiet a little bit longer before speaking, "You said you were cursed. Is that, like, magic? Are you magical?"

There was a lilt to his voice then, like he would be chuckling in that moment. "Indeed. I have a human form, but I'm technically a de–" he paused, realizing it might scare her to tell the truth.

"A demon?" She finished the sentence for him.

"Yes, a demon," he confirmed. He noticed how she didn't seem terribly frightened by this information, that she was more scared to have a doll talking to her than for that doll to be a demon at this point. "I don't mean any harm unto you," he added for good measure.

"Oh... um... good..." she trailed off as she slid a hand under him to pick him up. "Well, hello."

"Hello. It is lovely to actually speak to you. It has been rather frustrating to not be able to respond to you," Diavolo replied.

"I suppose so. So, um... what do you know so far? About the curse... or me?" She asked with a head tilt.

"I actually know nothing about this curse. I touched a cursed book and found myself on the floor, only to be picked up by random people and ending up here with you. I tried to undo it with my own magic, but this curse is rather powerful and has locked my magic out of my use," he answered.

"I see."

"How did I come to be in your possession?" He asked in return.

"Oh, um... god, this sounds odd, but I found a listing for you on the internet and thought you were cute, so I... bought you?" She sounded more like she was asking a question than a statement.

Diavolo chuckled warmly at how she worded it. "I see. Well, as for you, I've been able to put together bits and pieces about you from what I've seen while observing you," he said, and then went on to explain how he knew her name and some of her interests.

"Okay. Well... What do you want to do? How can I help you?" She asked quietly.

"I appreciate your willingness to help, though I'm not entirely sure how you can. It might be that this curse is broken over time, given I wasn't able to speak before now. If you could, I would appreciate your help in safeguarding me until we know more or find help," he responded.

"Well, I can do that. I won't take you to class anymore, I'd hate for you to get lost. You should be safe in here," she stated, looking him over.

"Very well. Thank you."

"Is there someone you want me to call?" She inquired.

"Yes, but I'm not sure how you can get a hold of any of them. We were in another country when we got separated. And our communication devices aren't the same as yours, so calling won't work," he replied.

"Oh... Well, I guess I could search the internet for your friends," she offered.

"I'm not sure if you will be able to track them down that way. They are demons as well, and we try to be inconspicuous when we visit your world," he said. "But we can try nonetheless."

She nodded in understanding. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke up again. "Are you, um... Hm," she looked down at him curiously. "Do you get bored? I'm sorry you've been stuck doing nothing."

"Ah, that's kind of you to consider me. I will admit, I do get bored waiting for you to return," he answered thoughtfully.

"Do you like movies? TV? I can put on something for you. Music, too, if you'd like. I'm sure I'm not that entertaining," she offered, looking for the remote.

"You're very sweet," he replied, which made her side-eye the doll. "But I have to say, you're quite entertaining, really. I've heard you sing and listened to your little rants and thoughts. But I've also seen you draw and write, and quite honestly, I'm always enthralled to see what you do."

"You're... being too kind," she said suspiciously.

There was a knock at the door, and she looked down in a panic, "Don't say anything!"

"Honey, who are you talking to?" A woman called out.

"Ah, it was a video, on my phone, Mom," she answered.

"Alright. Dinner will be ready soon," the other woman replied, closing the door.

Waiting a few moments, she looked back to the doll. "I don't think my parents would understand, so let's try and stay quiet. Keep this between us."

"That may be wise," Diavolo replied softly.

She then laid down on her side and faced turned him to face her on his pillow.

"That reminds me, do you get hungry?" She asked curiously.

"Fortunately, it seems I don't," he answered.

"Okay. Well, I guess let me know if you need anything... And you're welcome to talk to me. I'll keep you company," she added, slightly smiling at him.

Sweet, indeed.

"I'd like that, thank you," Diavolo replied.

---

"So this is your favorite movie? Intriguing," Diavolo declared. She had them set up to sit on the recliner in front of her TV that evening after dinner, with the demon in his doll form sitting up against the middle console next to her arm.

"Yes, it's a whole universe, essentially, where these movies are interconnected because of the two paranormal investigators who were also married. They took calls from those who were experiencing paranormal phenomena to determine the true cause. Sometimes, there was a natural explanation, but on occasion, it was truly paranormal," she answered excitedly, reclining her seat back as the movie title showed.

She then turned and looked at the doll of the demon prince. "Are ghosts real?"

"They are," he replied.

"And do demons... possess people? Or objects?"

"They can."

Her eyes went wide as she turned to face forward again, now feeling uneasy about what used to be her favorite movie franchise, wondering if these things could truly happen now, knowing demons and ghosts exist.

After finishing three movies, and it was quite late, she yawned and switched off the TV.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit tired," she informed the doll.

"Ah, please, go to sleep. Don't stay awake on my accord. I usually sleep when you do anyway," he replied.

Scooping him up, she stood and walked them both to bed, sliding in and placing him on his pillow. Once she was situated, she rolled over to face him as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Are you okay like that? I can move you around," she inquired.

There was a chuckle to his voice again. "You really are considerate. I'm fine as is, unless you would feel more comfortable a different way. I understand if you are uneasy knowing I'm aware," he replied.

"No... Well," she started to say. She reached across and turned him on his side so she could see his face.

"No, it doesn't bother me. I just didn't want to bother you," she stated.

"You're no bother," Diavolo replied. She looked away and chewed on her lip. "Might I ask you a question?"

"You may."

"Earlier, you came in seemingly very upset. Would you like to talk about it? Or are you alright?" He inquired.

"Upset... Oh, that," she mumbled. "Um... I don't want to dump my trauma on you."

"It's not dumping. I'm genuinely asking you if you would like to maybe talk about what happened with someone who's willing to listen," he replied diplomatically.

"Well... I haven't always been treated well throughout my life. On occasion, when I'm reminded of the people who have mistreated me, I start to doubt my self-worth and my own talents or accomplishments. I wonder if I'm just a phony or delusional to think I can be anything more than an idiot," she explained.

Diavolo listened carefully to her choice of words. Clearly, she was trying to describe what was happening without sharing too many details.

"I believe you're a touch hard on yourself," the prince replied. "Though, I know what it's like to have a lot on your shoulders, I've heard you in class. You're very smart. I'm rather impressed with you, even with not knowing you long." He paused for a moment. "I am saddened to think someone as kind as you has been abused in such a manner."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately in this world, kindness is often a weakness viewed to be used for gain by others," she answered bitterly.

"I find your kindness to be an endearing and honest quality," he retorted softly. It made her look away again with doubt. "Though it's easier said than done, I should hope that, with time, you come to find these intrusive thoughts to be untrue and unworthy of your time and attention."

"Now you're being kind," she replied, looking back at his doll form.

"I hope you don't believe I'm being facetious," he added. "I'm being completely honest. I haven't been with you long, but I can see rather easily that you are far more than you believe about yourself."

"... Thank you," she finally replied.

"Of course."

That night, the human got ready for bed and slid in after a hot shower, taking her medicine and slipping into an oversized shirt. When she got dressed for the day or undressed after class or for the night, he tried not to look, knowing it was an invasion of privacy. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of her in just her bra and sweats as she leaned over the bed and over him to reach her phone, and he was rather fond of her shapely figure, so full and curvy. He had come to appreciate her beauty in the short time they'd spent together. Sometimes, his mind wandered to less than appropriate thoughts, like what she felt like, sounded like, or looked like under the hands of pure pleasure.

But now, she clearly stayed out of his field of view as she changed clothes, aware that he could see her. She tried to stuff down the embarrassment she felt, wondering just how much he's seen of her.

As she settled in bed, covers thrown over her head, she took hold of him and pulled him in close, this time right next to her face and held in her small palm.

"Can I ask you questions, Diavolo?" She asked quietly.

That was the first time he had heard his name grace her lips, and he'd be damned to not hear it again. She said it so sweetly, it was like it carried new meaning when she said it.

"Yes, go on," he agreed.

"Where exactly do you come from?"

"There are three realms in our plane of existence. The human world, the Devildom, and Celestia are the three. I essentially live in a plane congruent to your world. In the Devildom are where the other demons live. Angels come from Celestia."

"And what do you do in the, um, Devildom?"

"Ah, well, I'm technically the prince and de facto king of my realm," he answered casually. Her brows shot up and she absorbed this information.

"Do I need to call you Your Highness or Majesty? I'm sorry if I was rude," she replied worriedly.

He chuckled then. "No, please don't. Usually, I'm referred to as Lord, but I ask you continue to just call me by my name," he stated.

"Okay. So, you rule the Devildom. Can you tell me about that? What is it like?"

"Hm, well, I suppose it can be like your human governments, like a monarchy. I make any and all final decisions when it comes to my domain, but there are others who help me, too. I have a butler and then seven brothers who were named Lords of Hell."

"Seven? Are you talking about the Seven Deadly Sins?" She asked curiously.

"Indeed. All seven of them live there and assist in a variety of ways with government proceedings and work for me. We also have a school that we all help run. I'm like a headmaster, I believe is the equivalent to your world. We make up the Student Council of the school," he informed her.

"How interesting. Schools and education are typically instituted as ways of creating a civilized society and creating more complex hierarchies to give people opportunities to learn broader skills for the betterment of the entire society," she rattled off.

"Precisely. I created the school as a way of diversifying my people," he affirmed.

"So demons aren't heathens that kill people?" She was chuckling then.

"Well, I never said that, did I?"

Her eyes widened, and she scooted back slightly, eyeing the doll.

"We try not to do that, but we are demons, and I won't lie to you. We still on occasion use those methods for handling things. But from what I understand, some humans do as well, right?" He added.

"I see... No, you're not wrong. Humans do, too. But that doesn't make it right," she answered. "Tell me what you like, Diavolo."

He sat there for a moment, mildly surprised by the request and sudden change in subject. Was she interested in him, truly?

"Well, I'm partial to sweet things, like candy, cake, and tea made by my butler. I enjoy cycling or jogging in the mornings. I am particularly fond of animals, any and all kinds," he responded.

"I like animals too, and I'm partial to sweets, except I'm not supposed to have very much," she mumbled sleepily.

He took in her sleepy expression, watching as her eyes started to slowly close.

I love being here, he thought fondly. As much as I miss home and I'm sure it's been chaos without me, I'm glad I'm at least in a place where I'm needed most.

"I know it's silly, but I'm glad you're here. Thank you for listening," she murmured sleepily, almost like she heard him. "Good night."

Good night, sweet girl.

"Of course. Now, rest well," he replied.

---

Diavolo stirred awake again as he felt the bed shifting constantly, feeling as though he was facing upright. It was completely dark in her room, and he tried to listen and look carefully in the vicinity he could see it. He started to hear her mumbling, soft whines, and what sounded to be her in distress.

"Are you alright?" He called to her but received no reply.

An obvious sob finally sounded out. He realized she must've still been asleep and was having a nightmare.

Poor girl. I wish I could help her.

He waited a while; he wasn't sure how long, when the movement stopped and he couldn't even hear her breathing or strained noises.

Finally, she rolled over, and seemingly in her sleep, she pulled him in closer, holding him tight and tucked under her chin. He could feel her erratic pulse, and he was rather surprised by the action. The demon also noticed her little hiccups and realized that she was crying as well. It tore at him, he realized, to have her be this upset and not be able to console her, even in her sleep.

Damn, I wish I could hold her instead of her holding me.

His mind wandered, as it did sometimes at this point, what that would be like. He wondered how soft she would feel in his arms, given how plush her body was. How her hair and skin might smell as he buried his face against her to breathe her in. He wanted to comb his hands through her hair, to feel its softness as well. He wanted to make her feel better, to be a source of comfort for her, maybe more intimately than he could at the moment. At least he was in a place where she could find solace in him, even if she was unconscious for it. He wanted to hold her against him while he hummed a soft tune, maybe a lullaby, to calm her down. He wanted to feel her chest rise and fall against his, slowing as she went back to sleep. Maybe he could watch her sleep, too, just in his arms, and that would be more than satisfactory to him.

It hit him, then, how he could feel this strongly about her. He was able to learn so much about her in such a short time; he felt like he's known her for a decade. From one evening of talking to her, he saw himself being around her longer. He started to think about if this curse lifts, is there a way he could keep her around, just stay a little longer with her, or until she sent him away.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

Post made by sassykattery. do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @delphi-dreamin @itsmeninerz @themythicaldisaster @marvelous-maniac @attic-club-sandwich @bite-sized-devil @flemmingbamse

#obey me #obey me shall we date #sassywrites #sassystories #obey me fanfic #obey me diavolo #dollface fic #diavolo x femoc #diavolo smut

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 1 year ago

Text

Heart. Sick. (m, cold)

clearly the clicky clacky keyboard helped my writers block because here I am, back to churning out a 5k fic in one day lmao. this is a Greyson-centric one, and tbh it's a lot of exposition, and a lot of character development. but don't worry - Greyson is plenty miserable throughout 😅 I hope you guys like these ones that are a little more plot-driven! I honestly set out to write fluff but it wanted to be a drama fest. classic. enjoy!

Cw: male, cold, some mess, coughing, sick character galavanting about instead of just going to bed, implied contagion

“What is your problem today?”

Greyson’s head snapped up at the sound of his boss’s voice. He raised an eyebrow and put down his knife; this seemed like the kind of conversation that required his full attention. “What?” he asked, brilliantly.

Elijah crossed his arms. He had been leaning against the prep table, but straightened up to his full height when the chef regarded him. “You’ve been here for an hour and you haven’t even stopped in the office to say hi,” he said. Did he hear how lame and codependent he sounded? Yes. But that was their friendship – lame, codependent, and most of all consistent. Greyson always made the office his first stop when he got in; they checked in with one another, mapped out the day, traded stories from the night before if one of them had been off. Not having his morning gossip session with Greyson made Elijah feel like he was living in a weird, wrong, nega-dimension, and he didn’t want that to become a thing.

The chef huffed out a laugh. “Seriously?” he asked, picking his knife back up. “I have a lot of shit to do today, Lij,” he said. “Matt called out.”

“Oh,” Elijah said, immediately feeling stupid. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am telling you,” Greyson said, looking pointedly up at his boss. “Right now.”

Elijah bit his tongue; this was exactly what he meant. Greyson wasn’t himself today. Matt calling out was obviously stressful, but the chef never let things like that make him angry, or short, or snippy. Something was definitely off – he didn’t know what, but it was definitely something.

“Did he say why?” Elijah asked as Greyson continued to chop. Greyson stopped short again and looked back up.

“Why what?”

“Why he called out.”

“Who?”

“Jesus Christ, Greyson,” Elijah threw his hands in the air. “Did you smoke a bowl the second before you walked in today? Matt. Did Matt say why he was calling out?”

“Oh,” Greyson said, turning once again to his prep work. “Yeah, some sort of flu thing. I said if he has a fever he can’t come in.”

Ah. There it was.

Greyson and Matt were what everyone in the restaurant affectionately called the plague rats – that is to say, they were the ones who brought any illness that was roaming around New York City into the restaurant, ad infinitum. They were the partiers, the club kids (though Greyson, at thirty-one should have reached the end of his club kid stage years ago), the chronic sleepers-around, and the past few months, it had gone from going out a couple times a week, to going out every single night. Hardly a month went by that the two of them weren’t complaining of a sore throat, a cold sore, a stomach bug that they’d been gifted by one of their many nights out.

And, of course, they never went out partying without one another.

“Did he seem okay last night when you guys went out?” Elijah asked, the question so pointed it may as well have been an accusation. Greyson shrugged, covered up the last of the prepped vegetables with plastic wrap, and slid them into the reach-in cooler below the prep station.

“Maybe a little off,” Greyson said. “He didn’t mention anything.”

“What time did you guys leave?” Elijah asked. Greyson gave his boss an incredulous look.

“What are you, a cop? I don’t know, mom, one or two? What difference does it make?”

Elijah recoiled a bit at the chef’s snappiness. “Christ, sorry, just trying to suss out whether he’s actually sick or just hungover.”

“Who gives a fuck?” Greyson asked, pushing his hair back into a small ponytail and tying it with a rubber band Elijah knew came from a package of asparagus. “He’s not coming in, that’s all we really need to know, right? Are we gonna track him down and fire him if he’s hungover?”

“You are on one today,” Elijah said. “No, we’re not going to fucking track him down, Jesus Christ.” This time, Elijah went for an honesty-is-the-best-policy approach. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re in a mood because you have extra work to do, or because you feel like shit.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and breezed past Elijah. He yanked open the walk-in and stepped inside, his boss hot on his trail. The chef grabbed two heads of cauliflower and a few bunches of radishes and nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to see Elijah practically on top of him. “Stop following me,” he growled, pushing past Elijah again.

“Greyson,” Elijah said to the rapidly-closing walk-in door. He pressed the red button to let himself out, and once again tailed the chef to the prep table. “Greyson, I just want to know if you’re alright,” Elijah said, keeping a healthy distance. Greyson took a deep breath and put down his knife.

“I am fine. Matt will be back tomorrow. Please, let me do my work. Ple – hh...hhNGSTHH-uhh!” Greyson crushed the sudden sneeze into his shoulder, picked up his knife, and continued his work, not acknowledging it at all. Elijah bit his cheek.

“Bless you,” the older man said, accusatory.

“Elijah,” Greyson said, not looking up, “leave me alone.”

Elijah nodded, not that Greyson could see it while he chopped. The GM turned, walked back to the office, and pulled out his phone to text Matt.

Hey, he typed into their chat. Heard you’re sick, hope you’re getting some rest.

Thx boss, Matt typed back almost-instantly. Should be good by tomorrow.

Elijah paused before sending his next text, but then did it before he could question himself too much. Just wanted to ask...was grey acting weird with you last night? He’s totally on one today.

It took a minute or two for Matt to text back – the three bubbles popped up and went away at least three times, as though Matt was trying to figure out what to say but kept second-guessing. Finally, the text came through.

Wait, is chef there today? He told me he was going to call shelly in.

Elijah cocked his head at the phone screen; Shelly, the sous chef Greyson had brought on a month ago, was scheduled off today. Why would he call her in?

No, it’s just greyson today. Why would he call shelly in?

This time, it took Matt no time to respond.

That asshole, he said he was going to take the day off.

I’m lost, Matt. Why would he take the day off…?

Another minute of bubbles popping up and going away ensued. When the text did come through, Elijah felt his face flame. That motherfucker, he thought, slamming his phone down, screen-up on the desk and stalking back to the prep kitchen.

On his open phone, the text from Matt: he gave me this shit. We literally went and had one drink, then he said he had to go bc he felt like trash. Fuckin greyson.

Fuckin’ Greyson. That was for damn sure.

***

He knew he was coming down with something on Monday, but it was one of those excruciatingly slow-to-come-on illnesses that made you wonder if you were actually just crazy, and this whole thing was in your head. A sneeze here, a rogue cough, the sore throat that came and went with several long drinks of water – for three days, Greyson gaslit himself, told himself he was imagining it, took Emergen-C and chalked it up to allergies.

“Morning, boss,” Matt had greeted him.

By the time Thursday – yesterday – had come around, it finally hit him properly. Greyson woke up with a heavy feeling in his chest, his head throbbing, and a lump in his throat to match the one in his stomach. He sighed as he got ready, loaded up on dayquil, and headed into work.

Greyson had returned the greeting with a rough, “HNGSTHH-ue!” and a sharp sniffle. Matt winced as his boss unpacked his knife bag.

“Yikes,” he said, “I guess that girl from the bar last night wasn’t just doing a lot of coke, then?”

“More like the guy I stayed the night with on Saturday didn’t just have a naturally deep and husky voice,” Greyson said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “It’s the world’s slowest-to-come-on cold, I swear. I’ve been almost sick since Monday.” He coughed into his sleeve for what felt like a long moment, came up to see a water bottle placed in front of him. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” Matt said. “That makes sense, though,” he continued, “because I can definitely feel it coming on. Thought maybe it was allergies.”

“Sorry, kid,” Greyson said. “We’ll get you outta here early.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “If you’re here, I’m here, boss,” he said. The two of them had prepped in near-silence for awhile, before Greyson seemed to realize something was off.

“Has Elijah come back here yet this morning?” he asked, and Matt shook his head.

“Isn’t he off today? I think Mark said he had some sort of appointment.”

Greyson flashed Matt a little look and the sous chef blushed – Matt and Mark were very recently a thing, a fact that was clear to everyone in the restaurant and that the two of them were attempting to hide, as if any fling that took place within the confines of these walls was anything other than obvious. Greyson figured now wasn’t the time to bully his muse.

“Thank god he’s not here,” he said instead. “Elijah, I mean. I’m so sick of him giving me shit every time I have a stuffy no – NGTSHH-uh! Hh...HTSHH-ue! Fuck.” Greyson slunk away from his prep area to blow his nose, cough again, and wash his hands.

“Bless,” Matt said when Greyson made his way back to his station. “To be fair to Elijah -”

“No,” Greyson stopped Matt by holding up a hand. “We’re not talking about this.”

“I was just going to say, I mean, you have been out a lot since the whole… breakup situation.” The way Matt trailed off made it obvious that he immediately regretted bringing this up. Greyson sniffled, stayed silent for a few moments, and then sighed.

“You're one to talk. And besides, I don’t know how it’s my fault that every club in a five-mile-radius is a cesspool,” Greyson muttered, a lame attempt at a joke. Matt took the bait and huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t think Elijah blames you for the general grossness that is the midtown club scene,” he said. “I think he’s just worried about you.”

Greyson wasn’t so sure. Maybe it had started as worry; worrying was one of Elijah’s greatest passions, after all. But it had been six months since Greyson and Collin had broken up, and in that time worry had turned to annoyance, which had led to what felt like resentment. A month before, Greyson had been laid up with strep throat, thanks to a girl who he swore was trying to steal his tonsils with how deep she shoved her tongue into his mouth, and Elijah didn’t even try to hide his distaste.

“Seriously, Grey?” he had asked when the chef stumbled into the restaurant sweating, shivering, and unable to speak. “Who over the age of twelve gets strep throat? What’s next, mono? Chicken pox? Run the gambit of diseases kids get from putting their hands in too many people’s mouths?”

Greyson knew it was stupid to go out drinking and partying every night; he knew he was too old, knew it was irresponsible, he knew he should be processing the breakup instead of drowning every feeling he had about it in booze and sex. He knew. But he just couldn’t do it. Collin was the first person he’d ever really loved; getting over the coldness with which his first love threw in the towel that was their relationship was easier said than done.

He certainly wasn’t going to tell Elijah of all people that. He loved the man; Elijah was his best friend, his business partner, the guy he called first when something amazing or devastating happened, but this was not his strong suit. Elijah was basically a nun when it came to all things partying; he prided himself on never having more than two drinks when they went out, never sleeping around, and being married to the restaurant. Greyson loved Elijah, but he knew that the GM just wouldn’t get it.

So, the reprieve from being harassed about his near-constant menagerie of illnesses was a welcome one. He and Matt had prepped, passing a box of tissues between them the entire time, they’d gotten through a relatively slow service and, like every night the past few months, they’d ended the evening at a bar a few blocks from Elliot’s.

Greyson wanted to want to be there, truly he did, but he didn’t have it in him. Maybe it was the thought of being the only chef in the next day – Matt was well and truly coming down with the cold Greyson had come in with – or maybe it was just that the constant barrage of illnesses was starting to wear on his body, but the thought of staying awake for another minute, let alone another few hours, made Greyson’s head pound.

“I’m gonna call it,” Greyson said, shooting back his whiskey and placing a twenty on the bar top. “Take the day tomorrow, alright?”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “What about you?” he asked, coughing into the back of his hand. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Greyson said, elbowing Matt playfully. “I’ll call Shelly in, okay? I’ll take the day, too.” It was a lie; Shelly wasn’t ready for the responsibility of running a Friday night, not even a slow one, but if it made Matt take a day off, it was worth it to lie.

“Alright,” Matt said, wary. “Well, have a good night, Chef. Feel better.”

“Same to you,” Greyson said. “Tell Mark I said night-night. Give him a little kiss for me, too.”

Matt’s face turned bright red. By the time he’d collected himself enough to respond, his boss was gone.

***

“Greyson!”

Elijah stomped his way through the kitchen, on the hunt. He reached the back kitchen before Greyson could hear him, and the chef was blowing his nose into a rough paper towel looking caught, like a deer in the headlights.

“You fuckin’ asshole,” Elijah said, “why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“I’m not sick,” Greyson said, sniffling and tossing the paper towel. His eyes, Elijah noticed now, were rimmed red, and his voice was low and gravelly. “It’s allergies.”

“Right,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “Contagious allergies? Allergies you passed along to Matt? For Christ’s sake, Greyson, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you lately, but you need to get it together. If Matt’s sick, that means Mark is going to get sick, then my entire front of house team gets it. What do you think you are, twenty-three years old? You can’t go out every single night and sleep around with anything that has a hole and also have an eighty-hour-a-week job. You’re not a kid, Greyson. This behavior? It’s childish. And I’m fuckin’ sick of it.”

Greyson stood there and took it, his mouth in a hard line. “Okay,” he said after a beat.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated. “You’re right. I’ll – hh! HhhIGSTZH-ue! Huh! HuhhESTCHZUE!” The chef sneezed painfully into his elbow, cleared his throat, and righted himself. “I’ll stop. It’s childish. Okay?” his voice was nasal, hoarse, and tight, as though he was on the verge of tears. All the fight Elijah had brought to the back kitchen was rung out of him like a washcloth at the end of a long bath.

“Um,” he said, “okay. Good. Now, go home. I’ll call in Shelly, I’m closing the books, it’ll be an easy night. Go rest so you can be good for the weekend.”

The chef just nodded, not making eye contact. “Heard,” he said, packing up his things. He didn’t beg to stay, didn’t insist that he was fine. He just picked up his bag, nodded at Elijah, and said, “See you tomorrow.”

Elijah was so in shock, he didn’t even respond until Greyson was out the door. “Yeah,” he mumbled, blinking. “See you tomorrow.”

***

The pulse of the music thumped in time with Greyson’s headache; it was oddly soothing, if a little disconcerting how in tune the two were.

“I’ll take andother,” he called to the bartender as loudly as he could muster. The bartender nodded, brought the bottle over, and topped him off, smiling seductively all the while.

“This one’s on the house, love,” he said in a faint British accent that Greyson couldn’t decide was real or fake. “What’s your name?”

“You’re very cute,” Greyson slurred, all levity out the window three drinks ago. “But I’mb sick as a dog, and I’mb ndot trying to pass it around any mbore than I already have.”

The bartender laughed. “This job is worse than a daycare when it comes to germs,” he said over the thrum of the crowd and the bass of the music. “Pretty sure I’m immune to just about everything at this point.”

Greyson let a sloppy smile paint his face. “Mbust be ndice,” he said, taking a swallow of his drink, then turning to his elbow to cough. “I work in a kitchend, it’s just about as bad but I haven’t seemed to gain any immu – immu...huh...hhINGTZHH-ue! HTSHH-ue! HRSHH-ue!” Greyson pulled his white tshirt over his nose and mouth and ducked almost completely under the bar to sneeze. He swore under his breath, sucked in through his nose, and sat himself upright once again. The bartender tutted in sympathy.

“Poor thing,” he said, smiling slyly. “You should be in bed.”

He wasn’t wrong; after Elijah’s blowup, Greyson had certainly thought about doing the right thing, going home, crawling into bed and actually attempting to get better. It had only been noon when he left the restaurant, and if he didn’t have to be in til noon the next day, that was almost a full twenty-four hours that he could spend doing nothing except relaxing, resting… being alone with his thoughts…

Yeah, that wasn’t about to happen.

Instead, Greyson had walked forty blocks to Greenwich and had lunch at one of his favorite spots. He’d moved on to a coffee shop from there, writing in his little black notebook recipes that he wanted to try out at Elliot’s. After that, he’d stopped into a CVS and bought them out of dayquil; three or four swigs later, and he was on his phone rapidly texting anyone he’d slept with in the past two months to see if they wanted to hang out. They did not.

The failed attempts at a hookup sent him into a darker place than he’d like to admit, so Greyson decided four pm was late enough to start drinking, and he took a cab back to midtown to begin his nightly spiral. The bar with the cute bartender was stop number four of the evening; at stop two, the dayquil had worn off. By stop three, he was coughing every time he took too deep of a breath. This was the stop where he’d given up the facade of health and just allowed himself to be the grossest person at the bar – much to everyone but this bartender’s chagrin.

“Yeah,” he said to the bartender, “you’re probably right.”

The bartender winked and turned back to the other bar patrons, leaving Greyson to sit foggy-headed and cold, alone with his whiskey. He looked at the clock on his phone – 11:45PM. The restaurant was probably empty by now. He wondered if Elijah was still there, finishing up paperwork; he thought about texting him, then remembered the blowup again. Greyson put his phone away, pulled a fifty out of his wallet, and ducked out of the bar.

It was cold outside; it was barely September, but Greyson could definitely feel that fall was in the air. He didn’t realize until now that he’d forgotten his jacket at work. Fuck.

Greyson shoved his hands into his pockets, shivering – there was no way he was going to make it back to his apartment without a jacket. The chef looked up at the street signs and realized he was only a block or two from the restaurant. Fuck it, he thought, sneezing into his exposed elbow. I’m getting that jacket.

***

It had been a long shift.

Shelly was great, really – she was just young, and a little bit scared of the enormity of running a restaurant. Elijah had figured that out at about seven pm, when she was nearly in tears with just six tickets on the board. But they had gotten through it, with Elijah taking over expo and Shelly running inside middle. It was fine. Long? Yes. But fine.

At eleven, the restaurant had emptied and with it went the servers, cooks, and junior managers. Elijah finished up his paperwork, locked the front door, set the alarm, and sat down at the empty bar with a glass of whiskey – just him, the thrum of the heater, and the restaurant.

When he was feeling really low, Elijah would spend hours like this; just sitting at his bar, looking out into the dining room, reeling in what he had created. This space was his, a place that he had spent his entire life clawing upwards for, despite the drone of older restaurateurs telling him he was too young, or too poor, or too talentless to own his own place. Elijah hadn’t grown up with money, or support, or any kind of nepotism that would have propelled him into this field, but he’d grown up with something most people hadn’t – drive. Passion. An absolute need to succeed, despite it all. Sometimes he needed to remind himself of that.

He knew that no one could really understand his reasons for being as anal as he was about everything in the restaurant – not even Greyson, though his counterpart came close. Often, Elijah felt like he spent his life explaining himself; explaining why he wasn’t married or even dating at thirty-nine, explaining why things had to be done a certain way so that appliances and tables and chairs and glassware and plates would last as long as humanly possible; explaining why people should care about his restaurant, his vision. Sometimes, Elijah wished he didn’t have this fire inside him. This passion for his work. He knew damn well his life would be easier if he didn’t.

Elijah looked at his phone as midnight approached, thinking about the day, thinking about Greyson. He wished things had gone down differently this morning, but he know Greyson could be like a kid when it came to arguments – quick to forgive, quick to forget. Sometimes that made Elijah feel even worse; he wished the other man would scream back at him, give in to his baser desires like Elijah was so wont to do when it came to arguing. Greyson saved those more carnal instincts for after work, Elijah supposed.

It would be worked out by tomorrow, whether Elijah wanted it to or not. He sighed, drained his glass, and went to turn off the lights behind the bar – when the alarm began blaring.

Elijah froze in his tracks. Who the fuck was breaking into the restaurant?

The GM burst through the doors to the kitchen and ran towards the back, absolutely nothing to defend him in his hands. If he was defending his restaurant, he was doing so with his bare hands; he’d figuratively clawed his way up to this position, he would certainly literally claw someone’s eyes out if they attempted to take it from him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Elijah heard someone at the back door before he saw them. He slowed his pace when he heard the voice. Greyson.

“Grey?” Elijah called, turning the corner and seeing the chef clumsily attempting to turn the alarm off. Greyson was wearing just a tshirt and jeans despite it being near-freezing outside, and the way he was fumbling with the alarm system meant he was almost certainly wasted. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Greyson turned to his boss and smiled, lopsided. He looked like shit; he was as pale as his shirt, his nose was bright red and running so much that he had taken to swiping a hand under it every few seconds, and Elijah could hear the wheeze in every breath he took. “Oh, thangk God,” he said, moving out of the way so Elijah could turn the alarm system off. “I thought if that back was opend, I could just sneak in. To grab mby jacket.” Greyson coughed away from Elijah, an angry, productive sound that made the GM flinch. “Sorry,” Greyson said. “It’s cold outside.”

“I’m well aware,” Elijah said, turning away from the now-silent alarm. “What are you doing out? You’re supposed to be at home. Getting better. Remember, I sent you home twelve hours ago? What have you been doing, out partying? You’re sick, Greyson.”

“I kndow, I kndow,” Greyson said, yanking the rubber band out of his hair and letting it fall wildly around his shoulders. “I just… I… hh… huh! HuhhhIGTSZHH-ue! HTSH! HRSHH-uh! Fuck – HNGSTHHZUE!” The sneezes wrenched themselves from him, rough and painful-sounding. Greyson stood, post-fit, and pushed his hair back with a hand. “Sorry,” he said, his voice wavering.

Elijah sighed; it was too late to fight. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s go sit for a bit. I can’t send you home like this.”

He led them both back to the bar and, despite his better judgment, poured them each a whiskey. Greyson coughed and took a swig of his before Elijah even sat down. “Thangks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it.” Elijah drank his whiskey slowly, trying to decide what to say to the chef. After a moment of silence so tense it could be sliced through with a butcher knife, both Elijah and Greyson attempted to start a conversation at the same time.

“Grey, I -”

“Lij, it’s-”

They both stopped, smiled at the absurdity, and Elijah motioned to the chef as if to say the floor is yours.

“Ndo, you go ahead,” Greyson said, sipping his drink. “Besides, I cand barely talk.”

Elijah couldn’t disagree with him there, so he let out one forced little laugh and then sighed. “Grey, I’m sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Grey,” Elijah said finally, turning towards his friend, “what’s been going on, really? You’re… something is wrong. You’re not… you.”

Greyson shrugged. “I shouldn’t be bringing every disease kndown to mban into the restaurant, but here we are,” he said, coughing into his fist. Elijah laughed in earnest this time, and the two of them lapsed into silence once again.

Greyson pursed his lips, downed the rest of his drink, and cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. I’mb ndot.” The chef sighed and turned his barstool towards Elijah. “It’s… it’s the whole Collin thing. It’s beend… a lot harder than I thought it would be. Getting over himb.” Greyson sniffled; Elijah was unsure if it was illness-related, or if the other man was crying. He was quickly given an answer when Greyson wrenched to the side – “HGTSHH-ue! Hh! HhhNGTSHZ-ue!” The chef wiped his nose on the back of his hand and cringed. “Sorry,” he said.

Elijah shook his head. “Dude,” he said, “you could’ve just told me you were taking it harder than you expected. You know I’m always here if you need to talk. I thought we were friends.”

“Lij, we are friends, but like… I don’t kndow. It’s weird talking to you about this shit because you don’t… I don’t kndow, fuck up. You take everything in stride, like it all rolls off your back. I’mb ndot like that. Plus, you literally ndever date - I’ve ndever kndown you to have a single girlfriend, let alonde break up with someone, and we’ve kndown each other for years.” Greyson pressed his hand into one of his eyes and groaned. “Fuck, I thingk I’mb getting andother fuckigg sindus infection,” he muttered. Elijah gave his friend a pointed look.

“The fact that you know off the top of you head exactly what that feels like definitely says something about these past few months,” he said, prompting a sharp laugh and the middle finger from Greyson. Elijah smiled. “You’re right,” he said, after a beat. “I don’t date. There was a girl, a long time ago – before I bought this place. I thought we were going to get married one day.”

Greyson’s eyebrows shot up, headache clearly forgotten. “Ndo way,” he said. “You’re shitting mbe. You? What was her name? Do I know her?”

Elijah laughed. “You don’t know her,” he said. “She was actually a chef, too, at this vegan brunch place in the Financial District. But she wanted kids, she wanted me to have a job where I could be home in the evenings…” Elijah shrugged, a fingernail digging into a groove in the bar top. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Dude,” Greyson said, placing a hand on Elijah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.”

Elijah shrugged again, and looked back up at Greyson. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “But I mean – I do get it. Heartbreak, that is. You can talk to me about anything, Greyson. And I’m not some let-it-roll-off-your-back, take-it-in-stride monolith, either.” He smiled, attempting to break the tension. “Obviously I get pissed all the time so just… talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

The two of them sat in silence once again, neither really knowing the right thing to say next. Finally, Greyson’s body broke the tension: “HNGTSHH-ue! God, fuck,” the chef reached across the bar and attempted to blow his nose in a cocktail napkin – to no avail.

“Bless you,” Elijah said, and Greyson nodded.

“Thangks,” he said, slowly lowering his head to the bar top. “Fuck, I feel like such hot garbage. The going out every ndight thigg is definitely ndot for anyone over thirty.”

Elijah couldn’t help but cackle. “And you wonder why I have a two-drink-maximum hard line? I’d be dead on the floor if I drank like you and Matt. Welcome to old age, bud.”

“Yeah, you mbight be on to something there,” Greyson said, closing his eyes. “Definitely ndot gonna be hooking up with anyone under twenty-five anymbore, either. They’re all cesspools. HGTSHH-ue!”

“Bless,” Elijah said again. “Want me to drive you home?”

Greyson opened one red, watering eye. “In a mbinute,” he said. “I just ndeed to...rest mby eyes.”

Elijah pursed his lips to keep from laughing at the spectacle that was Greyson; mouth-breathing, whiskey-smelling, chest-crackling Greyson. Heartbreak didn’t look good on anyone, but on him it was especially rough. Within moments, the chef was snoring.

Elijah shook his head, stripped a table of its clean white cloth, and placed it over Greyson’s shoulders. Rest was rest, he figured. Elijah poured himself a rare third drink and sat next to his ailing friend.

“Sleep well, Chef,” he said, and took a long pull.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snzblr #snez #male cold #male snz #contagion #another long one gah sorry guys #if you made it this far i hope you liked it!!#& prompts are always open im always looking for inspiration #❤️❤️

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legy · 1 month ago

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media tag 2024

#42. Mouthwashing

mouthwashing is good in a way that im shocked it developed the fandom it did. its a dark, moody, atmospheric horror game with themes that broadly speaking are well handled. much of the visuals of the game are extremely inspired and WITH SOME VERY BAD EXCEPTIONS the actual gameplay is minimal but engaging enough to keep playing.

THAT SAID.

full spoilers for mouthwashing and tw for a frank discussion of rape and suicide

i talked myself into liking the cannibalism as a, like, wanting to become captain and have a slice of the success and fortune Curly had so bad you end up literally taking a slice out of him

but the way the game handles rape is just fucking miserable. completely unnecessary plot element. anya gets so little screen time compared to the other four characters and she's defined solely by being miserable and useless. and it doesn't even successfully utilize the dogshit trope of a woman's sexual trauma to further the narratives of the men around her bc Jimmy basically does not give a shit or even acknowledge it AND he probably would have snapped and driven into the asteroid either way

and it Sucks that anya is portrayed as "med school flunkie" when by just looking at her accomplishments on paper. she managed to keep a guy alive for five months despite needing to amputate all his limbs and his skin and face. she managed to keep Herself alive to third trimester of a pregnancy in a doomed dwindling resources situation (no indication that she miscarried outside of physically not showing at 6+ months). she's like working miracles here

when the game is good it's really good. I really like how the game does framing, sometimes, like how it shows Jimmy distancing himself from Daisuke's death by having you physically back away down a hall, but holy shit there is so much padding in a 3 hour game

the Daisuke's death bit would hit much harder if you didn't periodically break out of Jimmy's pov in contexts that have far less thematic substance

also the game showed its hand SO early on Jimmy being a piece of shit

if I were script doctoring mouthwashing I would probably combine anya and daisuke into one character

Anya is a plucky new intern who replaced their established medic at the last second and is completely in over her fucking head

the sexual assault subplot would suck less if she got any characterization at all. and I think we don't lose That much from folding swansea apprenticing daisuke and getting him to become mouthwash alcoholic into anya who is long game trying to overdose and kill herself

also i think the developer of this game is really scared of horses and decided to make it everyone else's problem

#media tag 2024 #mouthwashing

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ozziyo · 1 year ago

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please tell me your doctor who thoughts xx

I assume this is about my human nature/family of blood thoughts specifically, and I am aLL TOO READY TO TALK.

I might miss some things because I only watched those episodes once about eight years ago and got so angry because of their missed potential and poor treatment of Martha that I could never bring myself to watch them again 🩷

I’m also DEAD certain I’m not the only person who thinks this and I’m sure other people have said it before!! But anyway. My Thoughts are that John (ten’s humansona) should have fallen in love with Martha during these two episodes. He just should have.

What they give us as it stands is “the doctor has a little romp around in 1913 England and gets a little crush (tehe) and then he goes batshit later on. Martha is belittled, subjected to racist bullshit, and is just generally mistreated by the people around her, including her friend/the man she loves and the woman he’s got a big fat crush on!!”

Like what do these episodes do for Martha, as a character? What do they show us about her that we didn’t already know?? Sure her bones of the hand scene shows us how smart she is and how she doesn’t take any guff but we already know these things about her, and that moment didn’t need to come about through the object of John’s affections speaking down to her and disparaging her. (And on another note like. we’re supposed to feel bad that Joan and John can’t live happily ever after?? After that display??? I don’t care about you bitch, you disrespected Martha. Die sad you crusty racist.)

Martha has a shit time, being treated like garbage while she’s looking after John and protecting him and just waiting for him to turn back into the Doctor so they can run off together again. It’s a miserable experience!! And frankly the entire thing adds nothing to her character or to the overall narrative.

If John had fallen in love with Martha, it would’ve been an entirely different experience. Because here’s the Doctor — not the Doctor, not her Doctor, but almost him — smitten with her. Looking at her adoringly. Wanting the same things she wants and has wanted for months at this point. And that’s a MASSIVE ball of moral and ethical and emotional mess. And of course, OF COURSE, because she’s Martha Jones, the best of them all, she would still tell him who he is when the time comes. Because that’s who SHE is. She’s selfless and brave and loving. She puts everything else before herself.

Like. We could’ve had Martha doing her best to keep her distance while simultaneously having to protect him and keep him safe, we could’ve had John making romantic gestures that she would LOVE to enjoy but can’t because she knows it’s not right and it’s not him and it’s not fair, we could’ve had the aBSOLUTE AGONY of John’s “falling in love didn’t even occur to him?” speech but without it being accusatory against Martha. Like picture that for a moment. Picture that instead of “you watched this happen and that makes you as bad as him and I am so sad!!! hold me, racist gf”, we got a heart wrenching, pleading speech to the tune of “I love you and I want to stay here with you, like this, forever”

That would have HIT. It would have hit so hard. It would have said so much about Martha as a person, it would have shown her character and her morality and her selflessness, and it would have made those episodes SO good. We didn’t need some random woman inserted into the plot, we had Martha right there!! An intelligent, beautiful, kind woman who the Doctor cares about already, and who John sometimes dreams of. Literally why would he NOT fall in love with her if he woke up human, with no memory of anything??

And then we’d have everything that comes after. Ten remembering, all of it, being in love with her, with MARTHA, with this woman who put him before her own feelings. We’d have the potential fallout of that — does he develop feelings as himself and keep them secret, or does he not develop feelings and it’s simply a layer of guilt and tension for the rest of the series? And whatever the answer is, it just makes it all the more painful when she leaves. Maybe it even changes the way she leaves!! Whatever the case, fUCKING OUCH!!!

This is not at all coherent but if you read this far, bless you. I hope you’re also mad about these episodes now because I will be for the rest of my life.

#don’t fuckin @ me I’m right and you know I am #asks #doctor who #for those who may have it blacklisted idk

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ambrossart · 1 year ago

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Hi, me again. I hope you’re having an amazing July thus far! I know you’re busy, so only answer if you have the time, but I’m just dying to ask. How are you so good at writing Patrick and making me, as a reader, root for him despite all his wrong doings. As we know, he has solipsism disorder…. and for me that’s difficult to understand so I’m genuinely so impressed how amazingly you write him. Like can you share with me how you approach that kind of character. There’s so many layers and yet somehow you’re successfully writing some sort of story with him as a love interest (I don’t think it’s possible for Patrick to truly love someone). You’re amazing!

Boy, that’s a really tough question to answer. I don’t even know if I can answer it, but I’ll try:

I’ve said this before, but writing Patrick Hockstetter as a love interest is the most difficult thing I’ve ever attempted. It’s like walking a tightrope. Obviously, I have to soften him a little by introducing some element of sympathy, but I can’t lean too far into that; otherwise, Patrick becomes unrecognizable as a character. On the flip side, I can’t lean too far into his dark side because then he’ll be completely unromanceable, especially for someone like Evelyn. She would never date a murderous psychopath who thinks he’s the only “real” person in the world, not unless she saw a glimmer of something more. That’s why I don’t think of Patrick in those terms. I’m not approaching him like I’m writing a psychopath or even a villain. In this story, he’s not any of those things. He’s just Patrick.

The solipsism is tricky to fully grasp, so I had to break it down and put it back together in a way that makes sense to me. I’m departing a bit from canon here, but the way I’m approaching it is, Patrick feels seriously detached from the rest of the world. He was born that way. Nothing he can do about it. Because of this, he sees himself as the only fully conscious being. Other people may be alive in the sense that they’re living/breathing, but he doesn’t recognize them as thinking, feeling creatures like himself. They might as well be insects to him. Like all the dead flies in his pencil case. That's why Patrick doesn't care if he hurts someone. Why would he? Most people squash a bug without giving it a second thought, don’t they? In his eyes, it’s the same thing.

As we know, this mindset opens the door for a lot of dangerous behavior, but it also reveals a very sad, lonely existence. Because Patrick’s so disconnected, he gets little to no pleasure from everyday things. All food tastes bland to him. Music might as well be radio static. Setting his violent tendencies aside, that's a pretty miserable life.

That's where Evelyn comes in. She's a very emotional, empathetic individual. Patrick describes her as colorful, and that's a huge compliment coming from him, probably the best, most genuine compliment he can give a person. He's not gonna call her beautiful because he doesn't care that much about traditional beauty standards (Patrick's sexuality is incredibly complicated, but we'll get into that later), but calling her colorful says a lot about how he views her. Up until now, Patrick has only experienced "color" when doing/observing something violent and cruel, so for him to experience a similar sensation with her... that's a pretty big deal.

But can someone like Patrick love? Eh, I think that depends on how you define love, but I do think he can develop strong attachments toward certain people. Are Patrick and Evelyn at that stage? No. Right now, I'd say they're in the mutual fascination stage. Patrick is fascinated by her color and she's fascinated by his lack of color. There's an emptiness there that she's undeniably drawn to... probably because she wants to see what, if anything, is on the other side.

Holy shit, I just fell even more in love with this pairing.

And I'm rambling ��

I don't even know if I answered your question. If I didn't, just throw me a follow-up question and I'll try to clarify.

#patrick hockstetter #bowers gang #it stephen king #it 2017 #it fanfiction #answered asks #thanks for the ask!#paper men #ambrossart

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tamelee · 2 years ago

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Pleaaaseee there is a tier list on ships from Naruto would love to see that one!

Okay I found a decent list to fill in, here you go:

There were many ships that are completely random so I just threw them all into one category..

About the last category

SakuLee.. I actually thought they were going to be a thing when I first saw the show because no way Sasuke was ever going to give in to her advances. And I was right about that last part because he didn't. And gradually Sakura was little by little being a bit nicer about Lee when she decided to visit him at the hospital.. and wow!! For her, that's amazing development because at the time and even now her entire character is based on that selfish love (Kishimoto's words not mine) she has for Sasuke. And so she even said to Ino that the flowers she brought with her weren't just for Sasuke- it was explicitly stated in the Manga- so that visual AND text said a whole lot about her... buuuuuut then that went down the drain real fast too. And so, no this ship doesn't make sense but I think it could've been if x, y and z..

ObiRin!! Okay, I know I have KakaRin in the category where I get that people ship it, but not ObiRin- why? Because Rin loved Kakashi and not Obito. And so shipping ObiRin for me doesn't make sense since I am also against other one-sided ships. Rin to me however is an entirely different character from.. let's say Sakura or Hinata and so are the dynamics between them within Team Minato. Rin genuinely cares for both Obito and Kakashi equally, but she doesn't love Obito in a romantic sense. She also didn't chase after Kakashi rabidly trying to get him to like her back, that's why, although Rin showed many gestures towards Obito that really shouldn't be underestimated, I wonder how it would've played out with Kakashi under different circumstances. His resolve and beliefs were already swaying during that mission thanks to Obito- if they succeeded, perhaps Kakashi grew up learning to love that way. Perhaps that would've been Rin. (Or maybe not.)

SakuHina.. just put them together and let them be miserable together? I see many benefits from this tbh. Two of the most selfish characters to have ever existed if not the most selfish characters ever- lump them together, never bother anyone else- problem solved.

SaiIno.. I don't really have a problem with this ship but.. Sai is really gay. I'm sorry but what is he doing with Ino? He found her ugly and they're pretty much together for the sake of.. well kids/next gen stuff. For Ino I think it's fine, Sai sorta looks like Sasuke so it makes sense for her.. but Sai being in love with Ino, canonically? Weird. I know, SaiIno shippers will fight me on it, that's fine, you people have great art though, I'm not complaining.

Jiraiya/Tsunade.. I haven't really seen them being shipped together other than places like IG and Reddit. And some of them were really protective of them- Jiraiya would've always put his WoF above Tsunade which she accepted... why is this a good ship? I don't have much to say for this other than my surprise of their popularity..

Choji and Karui.. apparently their relationship was "explained" in filler novels. Choji simply said he was "interested in her". So they married and made a baby for 'Boruto'. Although 'Boruto-canon', this shit makes no sense.

ShikaIno, look I shipped them. I mean, I used to when I first watched the show because I liked their team-work and I thought Ino's very extra behavior balanced well with Shikamaru's more calm nature. I mean, if anything, he had misogynistic thoughts which he sometimes voiced out loud.. so perhaps a bit ignorant at the time, but I thought Ino was the one helping him with that development partly because of her appearance (since well.. the genre..) instead of Temari, but alas. And I think this is better anyway.

KankuSaku.. LISTEN! Hear me out~ Ship makes no sense at all. BUT. She came all the way from Konoha, saved his life just in time, playing doctor in a way where she didn't need to be all worshipped as a Mary Sue in some weird- godforsaken jail (ESAKA TAKE NOTES), but actually was useful because she learned, developed and took action- then bonded with Chiyo which Kankuro also somewhat has a relationship with- whom he then takes care of the puppets for after she dies.. there are connections and things that can be used to have them bond over. MISSED OPPORTUNITY OKAY- that's all I'm sayin'.

Most of you know how I feel about Sakura, but one of the scenes where I think she DID very much shine (as most of her fans think she so much deserves for some reason)- is when she tried her best to befriend Sai who actually was pretty rude at the beginning. It was Sakura who asked him what he was drawing when she went out to find him and what it meant to him. It was Sakura who tried to figure out more about him to see if she could help him (and their case) somehow- which surprised me pleasantly!! She for once didn't do this for selfish reasons. Now, both Sakura and Sai don't really grasp situations well especially when it comes to Naruto and Sasuke, but they sorta bonded over it a little. Sai while genuinely wanting to understand and Sakura while genuinely wanting to deny. It's not a ship, nor a really good ship- Because Sai.. and Sakura.. but I still wanted to point it out.

*-* anyway- there is too much to say about so many of these, I'll think I'll try to keep it short 💕

#asktamelee #random naruto talk #naruto fandom #I've seen the other asks about tier-lists too!#I'm trying to find a good one #most of them don't have all the characters :/#I HAVE TO ADD THAT #WITH “SURE” I MEAN #I don't ship it #but it's believable lol

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snowblack-charcoalwhite · 1 year ago

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Quick thoughts after watching The Last Kingdom 2x2 (and some rambling on the side)

I love Hild

Uhtred`s eyelashes are something else

Halig`s 'Do you need to shit or not?' is one of the funniest lines in the series so far. The delivery`s just 🤣

Uhtred and Gisela have a nice chem, I quite like them together

Sihtric is SO likeable

I LOVE HILD

Beocca is breaking my heart (also a little throwback: I didn`t expect him to say THAT to Skorpa back in S1 but YAY)

Uhtred`s got PRESENCE now! Good for you, man

I missed Alfred`s fam💜 Yes, even Aelswith:) Eliza Butterworth, you ARE a queen

I haven`t really formed my opinion on Gisela`s character yet. She`s well-loved in the fandom from what I understand but I`d rather reserve my judgment for later. I mean, she IS likeable, but given how utterly brilliant the majority of TLK characters are she`ll need to be more than that to stand out (speaking of: did I mention I LOVE HILD?)

Disclaimer: nothing in the previous statement implies that I ship Uhtred with Hild and want Gisela to get out of the picture so they could be together or something like that. I just LOVE Hild, ok?

During the episode: Guthred is getting on my nerves. I mean, he`s a good character, completely human and all that, but I`d really like to smack him with a wet rag. After the episode: You know what, dude, I checked the number of the episodes you`re in and let me tell you I`M NOT SORRY IN THE SLIGHTEST YOU MISERABLE RAT

But also: slavery? Finan? FINAN?!

Odda the Younger: dies in Season 1. Me: Oh, who am I gonna hate with a visceral passion now? Abbot Eadred:

Sidenote: I`m 100% with @lonnson about TLK being superior to HotD. Like don`t even try to compare them (not that I`m actually trying to forbid someone to do this but come on). As much as it pains me to say that (because I`m way too invested in this damn dragon show for my own good), IMO the only truly great things about HotD are:

the acting, and TLK is still superior here because absolutely EVERYONE is giving their all, no matter the screentime and the degree of character development. Meanwhile in HotD: Baela? Rhaena (right, they were butchered by the script, but still)? Adult (sorta) Jacaerys (Harry, I expect more from you next season)?

dynamics between certain characters, and once again TLK beats the absolute crap out of HotD here. Plus the best dynamics in the latter are THAT compelling mainly thanks to the acting and not the script

the score. Well, this is the one aspect where HotD prevails for me. TLK score is amazing as well, very organic and atmospheric, but I just can`t resist Ramin Djawadi`s magic, I guess

#the last kingdom #tlk #hotd critical

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kjmsupremacist · 2 years ago

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map and constellations (chan/felix)

After their senior year of high school, Chan and his closest friends decide to go on a road trip together to close out their time as children before they move on to college. Though Chan’s excited for the trip, he knows the pressure of the next stage of their lives looms bigger on the horizon every day, and he’s not sure how well they’re all going to handle the transition, especially because they’ll be scattered across the country in the fall. Even more pressing, however, are the feelings he’s developing for his best friend, Felix.

Chapter 5 | prev next mlist

Characters: Felix, Chan, the rest of skz

Genre: romance, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, coming of age, growing pains, getting together

Pairing: Chan/Felix

Warnings: mild angst, swearing

Rating: Teen & Up

Length: 3.2k

listen to the official playlist here!

Luckily for Chan, the next few days pass without incident. They hit a few national parks on the way back down the state, which means a lot of hiking, which means being too exhausted every night for Chan to even be tormented by thoughts of Felix, never mind have another dream about him since he’s not dreaming at all.

It doesn’t stop him from running his mind in circles about Felix during the day, but at least then he’s distracted and it’s mostly background noise. It’s a small mercy, but Chan’ll take anything he can get if it helps him cling to sanity a little longer.

They’re spending the last couple of days in Long Beach before finally heading home, so they’re out in the water a lot. It’s good, feels like a “real vacation” (Hyunjin’s words) instead of something more tedious. Chan reminds Hyunjin he’s not the one that’s driving for multiple hours a day, but Hyunjin just sticks his tongue out at him.

It’s the last day before they head home, and Chan is diligently laying their things out on the sand when Felix comes up to him with a sunscreen bottle in hand.

“Help me get my back?” he asks sweetly, and Chan sets down the bag he’s unpacking and holds his hand out for the sunscreen.

Felix turns, facing out to the water, and Chan shakes as he squeezes some sunscreen out onto his palm, as he presses his hands to Felix’s shoulders. His gaze wanders lower, down Felix’s back. He can’t help but admire him, admire the softness of his skin, the way his shoulders narrow into his waist, the feel of his muscles under Chan’s fingertips, all so enticing. How did Chan not realize it before? He’s in love with Felix because of course he is, because Felix is beautiful and perfect, and Chan wants to kiss him and Chan wants him, and—

“All done,” Chan says quickly, patting Felix’s back and stepping away, dropping the bottle of sunscreen on the beach towel at his feet.

Felix gives him a weird look over his shoulder, but chirps, “Thanks!” and runs down the water where a few of the others are already playing.

Chan’s body flashes hot and cold with shame as he watches him go, heart hammering in his chest. I can’t believe I let this happen, he thinks miserably. Felix splashes into the waves and the breeze carries his laughter up the shore. I should live in salt for the things I’ve thought. Because Chan knows Felix would think it’s gross and weird, and that sends waves of disgust crawling across Chan’s skin. He could never deserve Felix, even before, but especially not now, not after all the quiet ways he’s betrayed Felix’s trust—and still, here he is, helpless.

And he knows Felix. It’s not like he’s making shit up, he knows what he likes, knows his type. He’d lent Felix an ear so many times during all his relationships in high school, offering advice, keeping secrets. Chan knows everything. He had accepted each piece of information as it came without question. He regrets it now. It’s like a court case in his head, already built and perfected, proving why Chan can never have him.

To make matters worse, he and Felix are sharing a room alone in their Airbnb. Sharing a bed, too, and Chan doesn’t have an excuse to switch. And since it’s almost time to go home, Felix has gotten much more snuggly, whiny and almost petulant when Chan tries to get him to go to sleep at a reasonable hour because he doesn’t want the trip to be over. Chan was patient with him last night, but he’s really hoping Felix will be way too worn out tonight and he’ll be able to knock out into blissful unconsciousness as soon as possible.

But of course, he’s not so lucky. Felix is waiting in bed when Chan gets out of the shower, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on top of the covers, his tiny sleep shorts riding up and exposing the pretty skin of his upper thighs. He looks up when Chan appears and tips his head to the side, smiling softly after Chan when he pads over to his suitcase to dig around for his moisturizer.

“What?” Chan asks when he looks up to pat the lotion into his skin and catches Felix’s gaze in the mirror over the dresser.

“Your hair’s nice when it’s wet,” Felix says. “All curly ’n’ stuff.”

“Thanks,” Chan says, confused, giving him a quick smile before finishing his skincare. When he turns, Felix is watching him rather seriously. “What?” Chan repeats.

“You’ve been avoiding me, I think,” Felix accuses softly. “Like just now. Barely met my eyes. And on the beach today. The only time we talked was when you were helping me with my sunscreen. And last night, when we were going to sleep. And when you woke up in the middle of the night a few days ago. You’re being weird.”

Chan freezes. “Um,” he manages. “I just—have a lot on my mind right now, Lix, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I know,” Felix says. “But it’s something else. It’s about me, and you can’t lie and say it isn’t because I know you, and you’re acting different. So what’s going on?”

Chan hesitates, then sits down on the bed with a sigh. He tries to come up with something to say, something that isn’t stupid and isn’t true. But his mind is all panicked white noise, and nothing he can think of feels right. The harder he thinks, the more all he can think about is how he’s never once run out of things to say to Felix. Until now.

“If I did something,” Felix continues, tone growing more serious still, “just say so. Or if there’s—something you want to talk about. Just tell me.”

The hurt in his voice pierces through the immobilizing fog of fear in Chan’s brain. He looks up, finds Felix’s eyes, finds them wide and scared. “N-no, Lix, there’s nothing… I want to talk about. And you haven’t done something, I promise. Things are just… weird right now, I guess.”

Something sour flickers behind Felix’s eyes. “Okay,” he says flatly, dropping his gaze to his lap. “Fine.”

“Felix—” Chan reaches out and squeezes his knee. He wants to hold him, wants to cradle him into his chest and explain that things are different, that he’s sorry, that he still loves him—but he can’t. He doesn’t understand how this has gotten so difficult, how it happened so fast. Since when was there distance between Felix and him? But it’s here, proof—Chan’s hand laying light on Felix’s knee, and nothing more. “Hey. I—I’m not trying to shut you down, okay? I just don’t know what you want me to say. If there’s something you want to talk about, let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t want you to say anything,” Felix replies. “It’s just—something feels off, and I want to know why, and I want—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “But that’s just it, I guess. It’s not your fault. You’re right, it’s just everything.”

He has to know, Chan thinks to himself. There’s no way he doesn’t know. He wants me to admit it, but he’s too kind to actually force it. Because what else could it be? His stomach turns uncomfortably.

“Let’s just—let’s just go to sleep for now,” Chan says. Anything to be done with this conversation, though he knows his mind is going to keep him up for hours. “We still have to drive home tomorrow, and I don’t want us to get back too late or our parents are gonna be worried. We can—we can talk more once we’re home, okay?”

Felix’s eyes flick up to Chan’s. For once, Chan can’t read him. There’s something dark and stormy swirling behind his expression, only Chan doesn’t know what it is. But Felix just nods and pushes the covers back with his feet. Chan stands to get the light, then returns to the bed, sliding in next to Felix. They don’t touch.

“Night, Felix,” he says softly, uncertain.

“G’night, Chan,” Felix replies, just above a whisper.

Despite his worries, sleep finds Chan almost instantly. But his dreams are full of fear and confusion, and of Felix. By morning, he’s dreamed of confessing to him a hundred times, and he’s still exhausted.

* * *

He and Felix don’t speak when they wake. They wash up in silence, pack in silence, double- and triple-check their room in silence. Down the hall, Chan can hear the loud, happy voices of their friends, but they seem a world away. He wants to say something, but the words all get stuck in his throat. What would he say, anyway? I’m sorry, I love you? There’s nothing else for him to say at all, really, but he can’t say that, so he keeps his mouth shut.

They join the others in the kitchen for breakfast. The sun is coming through the windows, bright and cheery, but Chan hardly notices it. All he can see is Felix, out of the corner of his eye, quiet and brooding, just like him.

Eventually, though, Chan notices that a couple of the others are giving them weird looks, so he shakes himself and puts on a smile. He’s still on his vacation with all his best friends, the people he loves the most in the world, and just because things are weird between him and Felix doesn’t mean everything has to be weird. He passes coffees down the table as Minho pulls their leftovers from the microwave, and they all sit down for breakfast.

Soon, breakfast is eaten, the dishes are cleaned and put away, and everyone is piling their belongings into the cars and getting ready to leave. It’ll be a short drive, so they have the time to go over the rooms a couple times to make sure they aren’t leaving anything behind. It’s just as well, because Jisung finds a pair of his underwear “and some other stuff” in the bathroom of the room he shared with Hyunjin. Chan doesn’t ask.

Seungmin and Jeongin chatter happily as they pull out onto the freeway at last. Chan tries not to tap the steering wheel nervously, watching Felix out of the corner of his eye. He’s still quiet, face buried in his phone, body turned toward the door. Chan presses his lips together and refocuses on the road.

If Seungmin and Jeongin notice anything is off with them, they don’t say anything, though Chan hopes they just assume he and Felix are tired from the trip. Things are awkward enough already; getting more people involved would only make it worse. The last thing Chan wants is for their entire friend group to be splintered right before they have to part ways.

He drops Jeongin off first, then Seungmin, and the car goes silent save the music playing faintly through the speakers for the ten minute drive between Seungmin’s neighborhood and theirs. Chan opens his mouth to say something a couple of times, but nothing feels right. And besides, they’re stuck in a moving vehicle together. It’s probably not the best time to have a heart-to-heart.

Chan pulls into Felix’s driveway where his parents are waiting.

“Thanks,” Felix says, unbuckling his seatbelt.

There’s a beat of silence. Felix doesn’t reach for the handle of the door. Chan doesn’t reach for his keys.

Chan looks at Felix, the way the late afternoon light catches his eyes and turns brown into honeyed gold. The soft curve of his lips. The constellations of freckles, each picked out with diligence and named with care. By him. And now, for the second time in his life, Chan doesn’t know what to say to Felix. He feels lost, untethered.

“I should go,” Felix says at last, shifting in his seat.

“Let me help you with your things,” Chan says immediately, and his chest feels tight when Felix just nods. He unbuckles his seatbelt and crawls out of the car, stiff joints shouting in protest the whole way, and goes around the back to make sure Felix has everything.

“How was the trip?” Felix’s mom asks, holding her arms out for her son.

“Good!” Felix chirps, dropping the bag he’s carrying on the sidewalk and accepting her hug. “We had a lot of fun. But I’m really tired.”

“I bet you are,” she says, laughing. “Chan, too, huh? All that driving.”

“Oh—I’m alright!” Chan tries to keep his tone light. He doesn’t know how well he succeeds. “It was easy.” His body betrays him, and he has to pause to yawn. Both of Felix’s parents laugh. The sound rings hollow in Chan’s ears, but he laughs along with them to be polite. “Okay, maybe I’m a little tired.”

“I think both of you need a home-cooked meal and a nice, long rest in your own beds,” Felix’s dad says. “Go on, Chan, we’ve got him from here. I’m sure your parents are eager to see you.”

Chan nods. “All right,” he agrees. “Have a good night!” He hesitates, then adds, “See you soon, Lix.”

“See you,” Felix tosses over his shoulder.

Chan ducks back into his car and drives it the very short distance across the street to his own house. His mom opens the front door as soon as he switches off the engine, and Chan’s little siblings squeeze out past her to help him unload.

“You were gone forever,” Lucas accuses, tugging on Chan’s arm. “And Hannah stinks at Minecraft.”

“I heard that!” Hannah calls.

Chan smiles. “We’ll play a bunch tomorrow, yeah?” he offers. “Hey, Mom.”

“Back in one piece,” she observes, sounding genuinely impressed. “Though you look exhausted. Did you guys sleep at all?”

Chan stifles another yawn. “A little,” he says, passing his stuff inside and then following, closing the door behind him.

“Well, dinner’s almost ready, so you can eat and go straight to bed if you want,” she says. “Dad should be home soon—sent him to the store to pick up dessert.”

Chan nods absently, letting his siblings drag him away. He wants to be present with his family, but he can’t help it—he’s thinking of Felix. There’s a weird feeling in his stomach, and he plays back that last conversation in his driveway.

It almost felt like goodbye.

* * *

Chan does get good sleep that night, and wakes up late, long after his parents have gone to work. He hears his siblings downstairs and rolls over, stretching as he reaches for his phone.

No texts from anybody. He supposes they’re all taking the day slow. Still, a strange anxiety rises in his chest. He told Felix they’d talk when they got home, but suddenly the idea of seeing him seems daunting. It’s never felt like that before.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a loud clatter, and remembers that leaving a twelve year old in the kitchen with a nine year old is only safe for so long. He drags himself out of bed, pulling on a random pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, and shuffles downstairs to see if anything is on fire.

Luckily, the clatter was just Hannah dropping a plastic plate, and Chan helps them reach the top shelf of the freezer so they can have Eggos for breakfast. He makes coffee for himself and pours juice for the other two, and makes them help him with the dishes when they’re done. The routine of it is lulling in its familiarity, and he finds himself relaxing a little. Maybe a few days apart will help his feelings for Felix and make it easier to talk about when the time comes.

He plays Minecraft with Lucas as promised, and then they set up a Switch equipped with Mario Kart and spend the rest of the morning screaming and laughing on the couch. Hannah wins every round though Lucas is never far behind, and it only ends when Chan has to wrestle them apart because they’re both trying to tickle-sabotage each other mid-race.

They all collapse on the ground, laughing. The sound warms Chan, and though he’s weak from laughing, he feels better. “I missed you guys when I was away,” he admits breathlessly. “How were things here?”

“Bor-ing,” Lucas replies. “D’you have to go to college?”

“Unfortunately,” Chan says, craning his neck so he can see his little brother. “I wish I could stay right here with you guys. I wish everyone could stay. But… that’s not how things work, I guess.”

“Can I write you letters like how they used to do in the old days?” Lucas asks, melancholy already forgotten.

Chan laughs. “I’ll have Mom give you my new address, yeah?”

“Well, I can’t wait for you to fucking leave, because then the house will be mine,” Hannah says from his other side.

“You’re literally already the queen of this house,” Chan points out. “Also, watch your language! Where’d you learn that word?”

“What word?” Hannah asks, snarky, though she’s fighting giggles. “Fuck? From you!”

“What’s—” Lucas begins.

“No,” Chan cuts him off. “Don’t let Mom and Dad hear you saying that, it’s a bad word, and we shouldn’t say bad words. Okay, Lucas? Whatever you think you heard, forget it.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Chan,” Hannah continues blithely. “I can say what I fucking want.”

Chan deflates into the carpet. “I give up.” Lucas and Hannah laugh brightly. Lucas’s stomach then lets out a very loud and very pointed grumble, which makes all of them laugh again.

“Okay, let’s see about a snack, huh?” Chan says, peeling himself up off the floor and offering a hand each to Lucas and Hannah.

They all head into the kitchen. Lucas entertains himself with some toys he has lying around, and Hannah settles onto a stool on the breakfast bar, watching Chan cook.

“Oppa,” she says quietly when he’s done washing the fruit. “Are you… okay?”

“Uh,” Chan says, thrown off, nearly dropping the apple he’s holding onto the floor. “Yeah, why?”

“You just seem kinda sad,” she replies, tracing the lines in the granite of the countertop with one of her index fingers. “What’s up?”

Chan heaves a sigh. “I dunno how to explain, kiddo,” he says. “It’s, um. It’s Felix, he and I—we’re just kinda going through a rough patch, that’s all. I’m… not really sure how to fix it.”

“What happened?” Hannah asks.

Chan is silent for a moment, trying to think of a way to avoid telling her the truth without lying to her face. “There are some things I need to tell him,” he says finally. “And I think he knows that. And I think he won’t like them.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Hannah says earnestly. “You guys have been friends since way before I was even born. I think you’ll manage it. You can’t just stop being friends now, not after all this time. That’s not how it works.”

“I hope you’re right,” Chan says, passing her a plate of fruit with a weak smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome to my wisdom anytime,” she replies with a grin, and Chan exhales laughter through his nose.

“Want anything with that?” he asks. “Peanut butter? Caramel? I know you want caramel,” he adds when Lucas pops his head up from the floor.

“Yes, please!” they both chorus.

Chan finds his heart a little lighter. Maybe Hannah is right. What he and Felix have runs deep. If anyone can get through something like this, it’ll be them. Right?

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