#I’m sorry I’m just like. and I’ve been trying to get less stressed about stuff. and believe that maybe things can be ok sometimes!
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orlaunderrated · 2 days ago
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The Edges of Us: Chapter 28
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Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader
Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.
Word Count: 7.2k+
Note: Lets seeeeee where we go from hereeee
xxx
God, I want a coffee.
I step into the café and get smacked in the face by the smell of roasted beans and other people’s ambitions. The door swings shut behind me with a polite clatter, sealing me in with warmth and the low hum of desperation. There’s a line, obviously. There’s always a line. It’s one of those damp, grey London mornings where everyone’s chasing caffeine like it’s a religion.
I am so aware that I stink like shit. I've been for a run, my hair has been needing a wash for 2 days. This cap is staying firmly on my head
I shuffle forward, phone in hand like it's a lifeline. I open and close the same three apps. Glance at the messages I didn’t reply to. Scroll through a feed that makes my life look curated and calm and maybe even enviable. All the while, I’m pretending I’m not replaying last weekend in my head for the hundredth time — the wet concrete, the pleading, the look on his face when I told him to get up.
I tried a new parkrun this week — different park, different crowd. Bit of a change of scenery. In an effort to “expand my horizons” or whatever I wrote in my Notes app at 1 a.m. last Sunday. I got a PB today. Personal best. Fantastic stuff.
On paper, I’m thriving.
I’ve been doing so well this past week.
I’ve been ticking all the little boxes. Pilates. Painting. Baking sourdough like I’m on the fourth season of my own breakup montage. Hating my job only 65% of the time — which, frankly, feels like growth.
What I haven’t been doing is thinking about the way his voice cracked when he said my name like it was a question. Not wondering if he meant it as an apology, or if it was just another messy attempt to clean up the mess he made.
That’s a big fat lie, it's all I've been thinking of.
I order my coffee (oat latte, extra shot; its different every time) and tap my card against the reader with practiced ease. The barista doesn’t even look up. There’s something oddly comforting about that. Like I could be anyone. Like I am anyone.
I step aside to wait, wrap my arms around myself, try to focus on the buzz of conversation, the hiss of steaming milk, the clink of mugs on ceramic. Ordinary sounds. Safe sounds.
But still…
The only thing plaguing my mind is Will.
Last weekend.
Drunk as a skunk — which, honestly, is impressive considering he’d stopped drinking three hours earlier. Then came the spectacle: him on his knees, wet-pavement and slurring, telling me “I’m sorry” like it was a full sentence. Like it fixed anything.
Who does that?
The more I think about it, the less it feels real. Like a fever dream starring someone I used to sleep with.
I pick up my coffee and start to move to the door.
"YN!"
I turn, startled.
It’s Orla. One of Will’s producers. She's tucked into the corner booth by the window, smiling like the sun finally showed up. She's got that effortless-cool thing going — cropped jacket, wide-leg trousers, trainers that look expensive but I bet she got them in a deal. She's beaming.
“Come sit!” she calls out, waving me over like we saw each other last week and not... four months ago? Six?
I hesitate, but only for a second.  Then I head over.
“Oh my goodness, so good to see you!” I say, sliding into the chair on the outside of the booth. And it is. Weirdly, genuinely good.
Talking to Orla is easy. Always has been. We slip into conversation like it’s a coat we’ve shared before — comfortable, well-worn, familiar in all the right ways.
She tells me about the tour — says it was stressful but went well. She and James are heading out on another one soon. Possibly take the tour to Australia. She asks if I know any good venues in Brisbane and starts scribbling them down in her notes app like she actually values my opinion.
I mention, kind of offhand, that someone called Daniel told me Orla had recommended me for a job. She raises her eyebrows, surprised I didn’t take it. “You would’ve smashed it,” she says, like it's obvious. I tell her I was touched to hear Daniel say that, genuinely — especially after everything.
We don’t talk about Will, of course we don’t.
He’s the obvious thread between us, the elephant taking up the whole booth.
We don’t talk about George either.
Before the summer, I was starting to become real friends with Orla. Like, actual friends. She used to text me about gigs and send me dumb memes and ask how I was doing without making it weird. I felt like we were building something that had nothing to do with the guys.
And then… everything got messy.
I really felt like we could’ve been good mates.
Sucks how life gets in the way of that sort of stuff.
She fills me in on what everyone else is up to. James got a No. 1 album — a No. 1 album — which she says so casually I nearly choke on my latte. I laugh and shake my head, and she grins like she’s still a little stunned herself.  
“Ieuan’s up for a photography award too,” she adds. “And get this — Nike bought some of his prints.”
“Nike?”
She nods, proud in that way that’s not boastful — just genuinely happy for him. “Yeah. Mad, right? The one with the storm cloud and the floodlight — you remember that series?”
I do. Just barely. But I nod anyway, and for a moment it feels like we’re back there — late nights and shared playlists and photos taped to their studio's walls.
And Will? Has he told you he flung himself at me last weekend?
I don’t ask it. The question just hovers in the silence between us, unspoken but very much there. She doesn’t mention him. Neither do I.
Instead, I tell her about Ruth. Her and Ruth only met once — in passing, briefly — but they hit it off like they’d known each other for years. It was one of those electric little moments you don’t see coming. They talked non-stop about obscure indie films and somehow ended up deep in a conversation about moss walls. I don’t even know how.
“She asked about you the other day,” I say, smiling. “Said she missed your laugh.”
Orla lights up at that. “She was brilliant. Can’t believe we only met that one time. I heard on the grapevine she’s going out with Arthur Hill?”
I hesitate.
“I don’t know what’s going on there,” I say. “I think they’re figuring it out? To be honest, I’ve got nothing.”
She nods, but doesn’t push.
That’s completely true. Ruth and I talked about her and Arthur the next day over dinner (we ate a cheeseboard and grapes and called it dinner). The long and short of it is that Arthur asked to meet up with her — just a fun, casual thing. And she went to the club to call it quits with him, in person, properly. To explain it all. How she was too intertwined.
Arthur took it well, but he was upset. He asked her not to lose his number, just in case.
And then she got too drunk. He took her home, tucked her into bed, and crashed on the couch like some kind of half-ghosted gentleman. The whole thing was a bit surreal — like something out of a movie, if the movie had less kissing and more existential dread.
She said the gesture made her soul sing but her heart sink. That it was too much and not enough, all at once.
We talked about it, whilst stuffing out faces with brie. I told her — and meant it — that I don’t care if she goes for it. That she deserves happiness. If she wants him, she should take the leap. No judgement. But she’s more stubborn than me, which is really saying something. If anyone could believe it.
Orla smiles at the end of my little Ruth monologue, one of those fond, knowing smiles that feels like being seen.
There’s a beat of quiet while she sips her coffee, eyes flicking briefly toward the door. Then, like it’s no big deal, she says, “I should tell you before it gets awkward — Will’s coming. I’m waiting here for him.”
Of course he is.
Part of me wants to stay. To see him. To watch how he reacts — if he stumbles, if he blinks too long, if he says something too soft, too careful. But the louder part of me — the one that’s been doing the healing — wants to get up and go. Say thanks but no thanks, and leave him sitting in his own silence.
Before I can let that part of me win, Orla grins toward the door like she’s seen something mildly amusing and slightly cursed.
“Speak of the devil.”
And there he is.
Will.
Also in running gear, also vaguely sweaty. Glad I’m not the only one who smells like effort and unresolved tension. But unfortunately — and I do mean unfortunately — he looks… good.
Not “accidentally ran into my ex situationship in a Tesco aisle” good. More like critically acclaimed festival circuit good. Like he’s about to break someone’s heart in slow motion to a Phoebe Bridgers song.
His hair’s damp, his sleeves pushed up, and there’s that stupid familiar calm on his face — the one he always wears like armour. Effortless. Disarming. Dangerous.
He sees us, and his eyes land on me like he’s been expecting me, somehow. No flinch. No panic. Just a slow, deliberate walk to the table like this is fine. Like we’re fine.
He reaches me first.
Doesn’t say anything. Just slides behind me, and—suddenly—his hands are on my shoulders. A gentle squeeze. Warm. Familiar. Firm enough to say I’m here, but soft enough to ask is this okay?
It’s shocking. Stupidly shocking.
I should pull away. I should shrug him off. Instead, I lean into it — like my body forgets we’re mad at him. Like I forgot.
It’s only for a second. But it’s enough.
He lets go, steps around the table, and drops into the seat next to Orla like he hasn’t just short-circuited my entire nervous system.
“Alright?” he says, voice low, trying for casual.
So casual I could scream. Or throw my latte in his face. (Tempting.)
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s it? We’re just opening with ‘alright?’ Like you didn’t go full sad indie boy on your knees in the rain last week?”
He winces — a full-body flinch like the memory physically pained him. “Yeah, I went a bit daft last week… proper drama queen, on me knees in the rain and all.”
Orla, mid-sip of her coffee, lowers her cup very slowly. “I’m sorry—what now?”
Will doesn’t look at her. “Not my finest hour.”
“That’s one way to describe full-blown pavement repentance,” I mutter. “I thought you were gonna burst into song.”
He groans, covering his face with one hand. “Please. Let’s never speak of it again.”
“Oh, we’re absolutely speaking of it again. Probably annually. On the anniversary.”
“I hate that you’re funny when you’re mean,” he mutters, peeking at me through his fingers.
Orla’s eyes ping-pong between us. “Did I miss a mini-series? Why do I feel like I’ve walked into season three, episode ten, and someone just got recast?”
Will shoots her a look. “Sorry, yeah. Bit of... backstory.”
“Backstory,” I echo. “That’s generous. Bit of a Greek tragedy, more like.”
He leans back, mock casual again. “Well, look, if it helps: I’ve been cringing about it constantly. Like, stomach-turning, can’t-sleep-at-night levels of cringe. So. You win.”
“I didn’t realise it was a competition.”
“It always is with you,” he grins. “That’s half the fun.”
And just like that, the tension thins, slipping away like bad smoke. Stupidly, against every instinct I have.
It’s always been like this with him. I steel myself not to say a word, and somehow, within a minute, he’s already melting my walls down. When he disappeared, he never tried to break back in—no calls, no messages, no second chances. It was all stoney stares and half hugs. But now, something’s shifted. The walls are cracking again, and this time, it’s not just the walls melting—it’s me.
Cue the barista—arms crossed, face locked in that universal you’re-not-paying-me expression—as she strides over like the sheriff of caffeine enforcement.
“If you’re not ordering food, I’m gonna have to ask you to move along.”
We all snap our heads up, caught mid-whisper like a bunch of schoolkids frozen under the glare of roll call.
Will blinks. “Believe it or not, this here’s a proper emotional reunion—not just hanging about, honest.”
The barista doesn’t buy it. She glares at us like she’s one breath away from dousing us with a spray bottle labeled Customer Repellent.
“Alright, alright. I’ll catch you lot outside. Gonna grab me coffee to-go.”
I grab my coat, shaking my head but smiling despite myself. There’s still a storm swirling beneath my skin, but… this feels better. Lighter. Manageable.
Will bumps his shoulder against mine as he heads to the counter—quiet. Testing the waters.
He still won’t say what I know he wants to.
That’s fine. Neither will I.
Outside the café, a crisp breeze stirs the fallen leaves along the pavement, their orange and brown hues a sharp contrast against the damp grey stones. The morning sun tries to push through the thick October clouds, casting a pale, soft light over the waking city. The faint clatter of footsteps and the distant rumble of buses fill the air, mingling with the comforting scent of fresh coffee drifting from the café door. Orla turns to me, a curious look on her face, her breath forming small clouds in the cool air.
“Wait—so what happened last week? I’m completely lost here.”
I glance around, the city still holding onto that damp October chill, but the sky’s starting to lighten just enough to promise a new day. “You don’t want to know,” I say with a wry smile. “But I guess you definitely do.”
Orla leans in, eyes wide, a grin tugging at her lips. “Spill.”
“Last week,” I begin, “Will called me late at night, out of the blue, asking me to help get some of my friends home safe after a wild night out. Ruth, actually, and another guy we know.” I pause, watching a leaf tumble across the pavement. “So, he sits with me for a while at the hospital, and then, in the early morning, he tells me everything about why he ghosted.”
Orla raises an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. “I don’t know how much he’s told you, he's literally your boss, but... it doesn’t paint him in the best light.”
Orla blinks, processing. “Yeah, I can imagine.”
“Yeah, and then outside,” I continue, “he’s on his hands and knees begging me to forgive him. Like, literally on the street. Although, I think it was more just a half-drunk ramble where he said, ‘I’m sorry,’ but, like, not for what.” I shake my head, still picturing the scene—him looking totally lost, like a bloke who'd just realized he’d been caught stealing chips from a takeaway.
Orla laughs softly, pulling her coat tighter around her. “You always find yourself in the messiest situations.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “And just when I think I’m out, he pulls me back in.”
She nudges me gently. “I was about to say, you guys looked pretty comfortable in there. Not what I was expecting.”
I smirk, glancing back toward the café door as Will reappears with a tray holding four coffees—two iced, two hot. “Maybe. But right now, he’s got some serious apologizing to do.”
Will spots us and starts walking over, a sheepish grin on his face. “Alrighty then!”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Come on, Shakespeare. Let’s get going before you start acting for tips.”
“What?” Will raises his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just warming up. You might wanna stick around—I’m saving my best performance for the studio.”
He hands Orla one of the hot coffees, and me the other. The lid says Oat FW + 1. “That’s for you,” he says, as if it’s no big deal.
I raise an eyebrow. “How did you know that’s my order right now?”
He shakes his head, grinning like a kid caught red-handed. “You’re so weird that your coffee order changes. But I saw the docket for your first one.”
I blink, surprised by the detail.
“And I know you and Orla usually drink two coffees each in the morning,” he adds, nodding like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.
We stare at each other for a beat—his quiet kindness catching me off guard. I shouldn’t be surprised. He knows everyone’s drink order at the pub. But I am surprised. I'm not exactly his best mate right now.
“Right,” he says, glancing at the tray, “Orla and I have to get going to the studio. Filming day today.” The fourth coffee now makes sense—left in his tray are his and James' coffee orders.
“You’re more than welcome to come, of course,” Will says, with a sly grin, “but I assume you’d want a shower first.”
He’s right, of course.
I roll my eyes, taking a slow sip of the warm oat milk latte. “Hey, says you."  I finish my sip of coffee, "Thanks, though.”
He bumps my shoulder lightly, a small but steady connection. “Anytime, YN. And for your information—I’ve got a shower at the studio. I live the lavish life.”
I laugh, and they both smile and wave as they start walking off in the opposite direction from where I need to go.
Damn.
It's not even 9am.
xxx
Ruth and I have started our Lunches again. On Thursdays now. Ruth works from home on Fridays now, which, as much as she claims it’s "better," is just another excuse to lie in bed and pretend to work. Lame.
That’s how I ended up here, listening to her beg me to go to a party at George's flat. I mean, it’s Arthur’s flat too, so that’s why Ruth’s invited. She’s got this way of making everyhing sound like a great time. The thing is, with her it probably will be.
She wasn’t going to go at first—idiot—making all these “I don't even like him” excuses. But now that I’ve convinced her she needs to get out, she’s convinced I do too. She’s walking a delicate line, and I’m caught right in the middle of it.
“Please come with me!” Ruth practically whines, her hand clutching my arm with a desperation I know all too well. “I don’t know any of these people. You know all of them! You literally have 30k followers on Instagram, you’re one of them!”
I cringe, remembering how I became an Instagram sensation overnight. My follower count’s dropped to 20k, as I haven’t posted anything since the premiere. I deleted the app off my phone months ago because I couldn’t be bothered with the endless scroll and seeing edits of my exes. But of course, Ruth knows just how to get me.
“Ruth, I’m not one of them, I literally don’t have Instagram installed.”
She leans in, eyes wide, practically pleading now. “But if you really don’t want to, I totally respect that. I’ll drop it. And I will also drop Arthur if you tell me to.”
I wave her off—she’s being ridiculous again. I cross my arms, trying to act aloof, but the fact that I’m even thinking about it means she’s winning this battle. I feel the familiar pull of Ruth’s energy, the constant pressure of her need for validation that she’s dragging me into. I’ve always given in because... well, we’re both messed up like that.
"If I go, can’t we go to Maccas afterward?"
She laughs at me, shaking her head like I’m the one being ridiculous. “Maccas? Maccas, really? What is that, some Australian thing? You’ve been here too long to be saying Maccas.” she shakes her head, “Ha. Yeah, sure, we can go to Maccas after,” she mocks, grinning at my accent.
I raise an eyebrow, a challenge in my tone. “Ugh, fine, I’ll go. Only to prove to you it’s not a big deal for you and Arthur to go out.”
She grins like I’ve already lost, leaning in conspiratorially. “Yeah, yeah. I know you’re just trying to be the good friend here. But admit it, you’re low-key curious about Will being there, aren’t you?”
I hate how well she knows me.
And I hate even more that she might be right.
At the mention of his name, my stomach flips—annoyingly. Like it’s got a mind of its own. A tiny knot, right under my ribs, tightening before I can shut it down. I’m not curious. I’m not. I don’t want to see him. I want to be civil with him, maybe eventually—but that doesn’t mean I want him near me. Not at a party. Not around people. Not... like that.
“Will?” I try to sound dismissive, maybe even bored. “What, are we setting up a double date now or something?”
Ruth raises an eyebrow, clearly delighted. “Maybe. Who knows what’ll happen when we’re all in the same place at once? He’s like a magnet, right?”
I scoff, trying to laugh her off. “Yeah, a magnet for bad decisions.”
But the traitor organ in my chest is already thudding a little faster.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll go. But it’s not about him. Just for you, Ruth. Because someone has to make sure you don’t fall headfirst into Arthur’s dimples.”
She shoots me a smug look, and I can tell she already knows—already knew—she’d won.
Again.
xxx
The flat looks exactly the same — still that borderline student-housing feel despite the fact that these boys earn a ridiculous amount of money — but now it’s layered in the chaotic glamour of a proper BYO party. Bags dumped in corners like forgotten parcels. Every flat surface claimed by cans and half-sipped bottles, already sticky with condensation. There's a deck of cards abandoned on the arm of the sofa, and a half-arsed cheeseboard on the table.
I have been to so many flat parties this year it’s verging on comedic. Every one of them smells vaguely of Lynx, cheap lager, and someone’s regrets.
The music’s thumping through the plasterboard, too drill-heavy for me — someone with no business near an AUX has clearly commandeered it. Someone who I don’t recognise on the Bluetooth, nodding to himself like he’s curing world hunger with this playlist.
Arthur spots us first. He strides over with his usual golden retriever energy, and — to my surprise — pulls me in for a hug. It’s warm, genuine. Disarming.
“YN! I’m so glad you came,” he beams.
Then he pulls Ruth in — and that’s where the temperature shifts. The hug lingers. His hand settles on her back, her fingers hook behind his neck, and she just sort of… melts. It's annoyingly tender.
I watch them like I’m seeing something happen in slow motion. She was so adamant, too. No Arthur, too messy, too close to George. But now? She’s making heart eyes like a Year 9 in a school play.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says when they break apart — barely. He grins and laces their fingers together like it's muscle memory, then tugs her away, muttering something about introducing her to his mates. She already knows all their names. I've told her. Probably too many times.
I turn and make my way to the kitchen, pushing a few bottles aside to wedge our drinks into the fridge. Someone’s brought blue WKDs which feels illegal, somehow. I’m mid-fridge-Tetris when Chris appears beside me, popping up like a forgotten puppy eager for attention.
“YN!” he grins, going in for a quick side hug.
Ruth reappears, glowing from Arthur's proximity. She gives Chris a warm hug too, just as Harry appears with the energy of a man mid-three-beer confidence arc.
“I’m Harry,” he says to Ruth, holding out a hand.
They all launch into some chat I half-listen to. Something about comedy club venues and who’s been banned from The Blues Kitchen.
I turn back to Ruth, now that they're all engaged in some conversation. “Hey real quick,” I say, blinking. “Why are we proud of Arthur?”
“Oh,” Ruth says, lighting up. “He sold out his tour. That’s what this is for. The party, I mean.”
Oh damn. “That’s cool.” I say.
“I’m trying to figure out which city to surprise him at,” she muses. “Dublin’s on the list. Never been. He’s doing Paris too but that feels… I don’t know, on the nose.”
I jab an elbow into her side. “And what happened to shutting him out, hmm?” My smirk is obnoxious. Earned.
She shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “Ugh, I don’t knowww,” she whines, drawing the word out like she wants it to disappear into the floorboards. “I think I really like him.”
I want to roll my eyes. To say you’re an idiot, we all know this. But I don’t — because the door opens, and everything in the room shifts.
It’s Will. And James!
James is a surprise. He rarely turns up to these things — bit too clean-cut, too career-focused, too not chronically online. I didn’t even think he and Arthur were that close. Will either, to be honest. But then again, Ruth swore I was wrong. Apparently, Will went on Arthur’s channel recently for a drinking challenge. Which is saying something — Will usually treats drinking collabs like a contagious disease.
Shows what I know.
God, Ruth would make a killer influencer. She’s made for this. Lurking in corners one moment, soft-launching a situationship the next.
“I’m gonna go say hi to James,” I tell her, casually. “Haven’t seen him in months.”
She gives me a look so smug it could be copyrighted. “Sure you are,” it says.
I roll my eyes. Hard.
James is excited to see me, which is nice. He pulls me into a hug, muttering about how he can't believe he didn’t go to the café, as he missed me.
I turn to Will. He's smiling at me. Like a proper, eyes-crinkling smile. “Nice to see you’re still rocking your charity shop boots.”
I roll my eyes. Something I’ve been doing a lot lately. “Nice to see you too, Will.” I want to say to him it’s an op-shop, but I can’t be bothered to open that can of worms.
The party thumps on. I’ve successfully evaded George. To be honest, he might not even know I’m here. There’s no shot of that at all, but it’s a nice thought. I’m catching up with people I haven’t seen in ages. As much as I’ve denounced this whole world, so many people in it are excited to see me.
I’m halfway through telling Reev about how I still have the bedside table he saw for me on Facebook Marketplace when I spot Will across the room. He’s deep in conversation with George, and James is there too. It’s not like a bad conversation or anything—actually, it’s kind of pleasant. But then, James leaves to use the bathroom, and everything shifts. The dynamic suddenly changes, like a flick of a switch. Will’s posture straightens, and George’s tone lowers just slightly.
I can feel it from across the room.
I tell Reev I’ll be right back, giving him the “I need a top-up” excuse. It’s half true. I do need a drink, but it’s not the drink I’m really focused on right now. I move toward the fridge, the hum of the party falling away as I try to make sense of what’s happening.
I stand there, staring at the two of them, trying to look casual, but every move they make feels like it's happening in slow motion. Will shifts his weight, glancing briefly at George as he scratches the back of his neck. His lips move, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. George says something, and Will’s expression changes, just for a moment—more serious, more guarded.
I study them closely, searching for something. Anything.
I don’t know what I want to find, or if I even want to find anything. Maybe I’m waiting for Will to call George a twat, something I can laugh off, some kind of back-and-forth to break the tension. Maybe I want George to step up, to make this weird, unspoken thing between them clear. Maybe I want a reason to justify the knot in my stomach, to give myself an excuse for the jealousy that's prickling up my spine.
But then, something shifts in my brain.
I realize I’m not in some stupid love triangle fanfiction. This isn’t some dramatic scene from a story where everything gets tangled in the most convoluted way. These guys are mates. Even with all the history, with all the tension from before, they’re just—good friends. They’re laughing, they’re relaxed, and maybe there’s less to this situation than I care to admit.
I’m not all that. I’m not the main character in this plot, and this isn’t my moment.
Their conversation ends, George walking off to the other side of the flat. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t catch my eye, thankfully. I would’ve hated that. But Will does. Of course he does.
His gaze is on me instantly, that same damn smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. I know the look. It’s the same one he gave me back in the summer, when we’d sneak off into rooms like this, when we’d pull each other into messy situations and then act like nothing had changed. But now, there’s something different. The air feels thicker between us, and I can’t tell if it’s the remnants of whatever we’ve been through or just the fact that he knows exactly how to make my heart skip.
I’m not sure what to do with the way he’s looking at me. I shouldn’t even care.
But I do.
And now he’s smirking at me. Getting under my skin all over again. Little shit. He knocks his head towards my old bedroom. The one we used to sneak off together to all the time. Well, twice.
And the other times that weren’t at parties.
He’s daring me to go in. Or asking? Or challenging? I can’t tell.
But he wants me in that room.
Fuck.
I turn around, looking for Ruth, but I can’t see her immediately. She’s probably off with Arthur, doing whatever Arthur and Ruth do when they’re left alone. I would say be hooking up in his bedroom, but I honestly couldn’t say for certain. The host gone from his own party is criminal, but I respect Ruth’s hustle.
My gaze flickers across the room, over the tops of heads, and I can’t find her anywhere. I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself to leave the room if I don’t spot her. But she’s nowhere. I glance back at Will—he’s still watching me. His gaze lingers, that damn smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips. The kind of smile that gets to me.
I look away.
Just keep moving. Don’t turn back. I’ve done this before. I’ve left situations that are less complicated.
Right?
I turn back toward the crowd, my feet pushing me in the direction of the door to the balcony. But my hand hovers near the doorframe of the old bedroom, like my brain is suddenly on pause. I know exactly what Will's doing—he’s baiting me, pulling me back into this tangled mess between us. He doesn’t know it, but it’s working. It’s like we’re caught in this weird push-and-pull game.
Is he really daring me to walk in? Or is he just messing with me? Maybe both.
I should turn around. Go outside. I can go talk to Chris or someone. Even Harry. Leave it. Forget that this is even a thing.
But then I see Will shift his weight, that subtle movement that says he’s waiting for me to make a choice.
The room feels closer now. Almost suffocating, as if it’s been pulling me in from the moment I stepped into this flat. I’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him. But I can’t get away from the fact that there’s something still... unresolved.
Fuck it.
I turn back to the door, my decision made without even really deciding. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath this whole time, and now that I’m here, I don’t care how far into this mess I wade. I push through the crowd toward the familiar bedroom door. It's been months since I’ve been in there, it's not mine anymore. Never fully was.
I’m going in.
I turn on my heels, drink still in hand, straight towards my old bedroom. I don’t shut the door fully. I never do.
It’s different in here. All the shit is gone. No more exercise bike or a box labelled "Wires??". George has clearly made this room his streaming spot. There’s soundproofing cubes on the wall joining his. Wish I had that when I was here, for both of our sakes.
I walk to the end of the room, and take it all in. I couldn’t even walk this far back. It feels so big. It’s a little bit like when a restaurant you used to work at has been gutted and it’s a new one. Like, so much of my life happened in here, and you'd never know.
Although the desk is the same one that was in here. It’s a little tatty compared to the nice swanky new furniture, but if it ain't broke don’t fix it, I guess.
The door clicks shut behind me. I turn to see Will.
He looks unreal as always.
His hair is the perfect length right now, his mullet curling at the base of his neck, styled effortlessly in a way I know took a lot of effort. He's wearing an oversized black t-shirt, a large jacket, and a string of pearls. Classic.
We’re standing quite far apart. He’s at the door, near where my bed used to be. Last time, we couldn’t have even been this far apart in here if we tried.
"We have to stop meeting like this," I say.
"Oh but we're so good at it." He smirks, looking around the room. "It’s no longer your shitty graveyard," he says.
"No more tripods for you to knock over."
"Shame," he says. "I was hoping to practice. Goal is the Olympics in 2032."
I smirk at that. He knows those Olympics are going to be in Brisbane. He always finds a way to drop in that he actually listens.
The silence between us stretches, thick and heavy, the space between us charged with a thousand unasked questions. His hands, buried deep in his pockets, are the only thing holding him together. I can feel the weight of everything unsaid, the history that clings to us like smoke, wrapping itself around every movement, every breath.
I want to ask him a million questions. Why did you get on your hands and knees for me? You weirdo. Or Why didn’t you fight for me? Was I not worth it? Or even can you come fix my coffee table? You put it together like shit.
But I say none of that. I can’t. Not yet. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Like I’m a goddamn puzzle he’s trying to fucking solve. It’s always that look. Am I that complicated?
Of all the questions I muster, I ask him.
“Last time we were here, when you blanked me all night,” he looks at his feet as I say it. “Would you have snuck in here after me, if I came in?”
“I was hoping you would,” he says, lifting his gaze, his eyes meeting mine. “But you didn’t, and I can’t fault you for that. I was being a right bellend.”
“Too right,” I say back, my arms crossed. My heart sinks, a familiar ache threading through my chest. Ugh. I should’ve just done it. Regret is a terrible thing, especially when it’s about something that happened three months ago. “What would you have said to me?”
He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I would’ve told you to give it a right shot with George, that you deserve happiness, and I have a feeling he likes ya.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I would’ve told ya I’m so sorry for ghosting your flat-warming dinner, that I was a coward.”
“Really?” The word tastes strange in my mouth. Did he really just say that?
“I’d like to think not,” he mutters, almost to himself, eyes drifting to the floor. “I like to think that I would’ve told you everything, that I was sorry for going ghost for a month, but explained everything and maybe you and George wouldn’t have had to happen.” He sighs, a long, drawn-out thing, his fingers brushing the back of his neck again. “But you didn’t come in.”
My breath catches. I could’ve come in. I could’ve walked through that door, into the mess of feelings and confusion, and maybe we’d be in a very different place by now. I want to argue, to say it wasn’t just me — but I don’t. The words fall heavy in the space between us.
“You could’ve just said all that,” I murmur, my voice unsteady. “It didn’t have to be specifically in my old bedroom.”
He nods, looking up at me, his eyes clouded with something unspoken. His head hangs, his hands pressing into his pockets as if he’s trying to hold himself together. “I know,” he says, his voice a quiet admission. “I know.” He takes a big sigh in, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it.
The air between us thickens, almost suffocating. Every second feels like a fragile thread, stretched too tight, about to snap. I want to speak, but the words feel lodged somewhere between my chest and throat. The tension crackles in the room, sharp and palpable, but neither of us dares to break it.
“Uh, well. I- uh,” he stammers, looking at his feet for a moment before meeting my gaze once more. “I wanted you in here to say, uh, clearly. From my performance a fortnight ago, you can tell that I’m sorry, and that I, uh—miss youse.”
What.
“And I was, uh, wonderin' if you wanted to maybe...” He breathes in, almost like he’s bracing himself, his words taking on a nervous edge. Then, a slow whistle of air escapes his teeth, and he looks at me. “Go on a proper date with me. Dinner and a movie? Or an arcade or something.”
What do I even say to that? My mind stalls, completely blank. Is he serious?
“In daylight even,” he adds, his voice softening. “Proper date stuff.”
I stare at him, still processing, still unsure if this is all real. He’s standing there, in my old bedroom, with all this history swirling between us. There’s nothing but him and the weight of his words in the air, and my thoughts are scrambling to catch up. This isn’t how I expected any of this to go.
I look at him, trying to make sense of his quiet plea, his sincerity practically crackling in the space between us. He’s not rushing me, but it feels like time is bending under the weight of the silence.
He’s giving me an out. A chance to run. A chance to not have to face whatever this is. But I can’t move. I can’t say no. I don’t want to.
I clear my throat, pushing out the words before my brain can catch up. “I’d love that,” I say, surprising myself as I let the words slip out before I can second-guess them.
A warm smile breaks across his face, like the sun finally cracking through clouds. It’s genuine, a soft exhale of relief. “Brilliant.” His head cocks slightly, as if he’s still trying to read me, make sure he hasn’t missed something. “See you tomorrow evening. I’ll pick you up at 7.”
I’m still reeling. My mind is racing, but somehow, it feels like a weight has been lifted. It’s like the air in the room has shifted, some invisible force relaxing around us. The tension that had been simmering for months, maybe years, is suddenly gone, and I’m left standing here, dazed and unsure of what to make of it all.
I think maybe this is the part where we make out, against the door, like we used to. The same door we’d sneak off to, away from prying eyes, letting all of our friends notice we’ve disappeared.
The familiar warmth of his body against mine, the closeness, the urgency, the way he’d always pull me in like he was starving for me—every one of those moments floods back, each one sharp and clear in my mind. The times we’d lock ourselves in here, no words spoken, just the sound of lips meeting, breaths shared in the dim light because I couldn't be bothered to turn a lamp on.
 The way his hands would slide under my shirt, the way he'd press me up against the wall and then laugh like we were two kids getting away with something. The feeling of him—daring, bold, reckless—and yet somehow always so damn gentle with me, as though I was the most fragile thing in the world.
It’s funny how time works like that. One minute, I’m locking eyes with him, feeling the intensity of the moment settle between us, and the next, he’s standing there, motionless, waiting for me to make a choice. It was always like this, wasn’t it? A game of give and take. We would both always push just enough to get what we wanted, but never quite enough to make us crack open. He wanted me close, but I never really let us get too close.
But this... this is different. There’s no push. No tension in the way he looks at me anymore. Just that soft, lazy smile. and a promise to pick me up tomorrow at seven. A date. A proper one. A part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. We can barely get through one conversation without the ground shifting beneath us, but now he’s asking me out. Like it’s that easy.
But he doesn’t even step towards me. He steps back. A deliberate, almost final motion that signals the end of whatever it was we were about to do (we were about to do nothing, im delusional. Were stood 3 feet apart). Back into the living room, back into the blur of bad drill rap, back into the noise and the mess of the party. Leaving me standing here, still breathless, still unsure if I’m ready to face whatever comes next.
I blink, still trying to comprehend it. He’s gone. Just like that.
I stand there a moment longer, trying to fight the disappointment gnawing at me. It’s stupid. I don’t even want this. But it’s there. And I hate how much it stings.
I'm upset my ex-situationship asked me on a date and left it at that. Didn’t make it weird or complicated. God I'm so pathetic. Especially for him.
And I’m left with nothing but the sound of drill music and the slow hum of my own thoughts.
What. Even. Just. Happened.
TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @luvnarthur @capnjosh @ellouisa17
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atimelessheaven · 3 months ago
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could u write some dating paige headcanons where the reader has depression/bpd??
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PAIGE HEADCANONS
sorry this took me forever to finish, i’ve been traveling, and never made headcanons before. i hope you like these. if not let me know and i can retry!
thank you @yailtsv for help with this, and for the header!
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• always making sure to take care of you whenever you aren’t capable
- “baby open up, i gotta keep your pretty smile pearly white” paige would say as she brushed your teeth for you on the days you couldn’t get out of bed.
- “here pretty girl, i have a new hoodie, and shorts for you. do you need me to help you change?” paige would always kindly ask so you know she’s there to help you, but also not feel pressured in your most vulnerable state to show yourself, even in a non sexual way.
- “sweet girl can i braid your hair please? i don’t want it to get tangled. i know how much you love your hair.” always being so considerate of what now you couldn’t care less about, but what the future you’d be devastated about. knowing you loved your hair, and felt prettiest with it done, paige always made sure it was managed.
• paige always set small goals for you to accomplish them brought the day/week so you could feel proud of yourself. never failing to praise you for reaching them, and uplifting you when you can’t, or need a little help to.
- “baby i’m so so proud of you! i know getting up to wash your face is a challenge. i’m so happy for you!”
- “sweet girl it’s time to take your meds again” paige would always say to remind you. you hated taking them. “i already took them today.” you said very confidently. “aww baby i’m so proud of you! i know how much you hate doing that. i’m so happy for you! i knew you could do it.” paige said smiling so hard and going to give you a hug.
- “woah baby don’t cry. what’s going on?” paige said concerned seeing you crying with your computer in hand. “i can’t do this assignment, and it’s due tomorrow morning, and im already stressed out, im going to fail. i promise i was trying” you said sobbing. “i believe you baby. i know you’re trying, and im so unbelievably proud of you for trying. can i try to help you?” she always knew exactly what you needed to hear, and always was perfect about helping you.
• always making sure to reset your room when you were forced to leave your dorm for class, and also making sure you left your room at least once every three days outside of class.
- “aww paige you really didn’t have to clean my mess. i was going to get around to it.” you said tearing up looking at your now spotless room, that was once an accurate depiction of your brain. dull, lifeless, and a mess. “i know you would’ve. i just wanted to help you out. it was really no problem. i do this stuff for you because i love you.” she said pulling you onto your bed with her so she could hold you.
- “baby girl i know you really don’t want to leave your room, but i think you need some fresh air. how about the gas station? you and me. a ten minute walk. we get some snacks, come back and watch a movie?” paige said trying to convince you to leave your room after you were adamant for the last 20 minutes you didn’t want to. “fine. but i want peach rings.” “i think we can make that work”
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toudan · 5 months ago
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hello!!! The 'calling them by their real name' was so cute, gave me butterflies 💗 could I request how they would react to being offered a massage (or other pampering) for gekko, Sova, and iso? ;w;
pampering them
FEATURING Gekko, Iso, Sova (separate) | gender-neutral reader, female reader in Iso's; established relationship, fluff, softness all around. | wc: ~400 each
ao3. masterlist. request rules. | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!
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“Long day?”
Gekko drops himself down on the bed with a sigh, the fatigue from the day catching up to him. He’s been training with Harbor recently, learning about firearms and combat, and it would seem that Harbor is an active teacher. A little too active, perhaps. He looks exhausted, cheeks flushed and body weary from the labour he had to do. You spin around on your chair to face him, an amused smile playing at your lips. He rarely ever complains—he’s a determined person, but you can just tell from looking at him that he’s sore all over.
“We did endurance training today,” he says, his head thrown back against the pillow. “I swear he’s a monster.”
“Well, it’s Harbor,” you reply, making your way over to him. “Do you want a massage?”
He blinks. “You’d do that for me?”
“You look like you need one.” You chuckle and cup the side of his face, looking down at him with a tender gaze. “It might help with the aches.”
“Okay. Sounds… Sounds good. So how do I…”
“Turn over.”
He complies, rolling onto his stomach with a grunt. You make quick work of straddling him and reach for his shoulders, pressing your thumbs down on the stiff muscles and rubbing them in soothing circles. The action makes him let out a sigh of relief, his head dropping into his arms as you begin to relax the tension in his body.
“I’ve been learning with Sage,” you explain. “She said it’s important to stretch and massage our muscles when they get sore. Improves blood circulation and stuff.”
He giggles under his breath. “It tickles.”
Impulsively, you jab his sides, making him laugh out loud and squirm away. You wiggle your wingers against his skin, grinning when he tenses up and blindly swats you. His shoulders shake with laughter as he scrambles into a sitting position and playfully pushes you back with a huff.
“I thought you were gonna help me relax!”
You snicker. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Lay back down, I’ll do it properly this time.”
“I’m just gonna take a warm bath,” he huffs. “You’re evil.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You feign disbelief and shrug your shoulders, giving him a look of confusion. “I’m just trying to help.”
Before your hands can reach him again, he gets up and points an accusatory finger at you, still laughing. “I’ll get you back for this. Just watch!”
“Sure, baby. I’ll be waiting.” You breathe out, content with the outcome. Sure, you might not have helped that much, but he’s looking a lot less stressed than when he first came in. That’s still a win in your book.
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“You do this every weekend?” he asks, peering up at you through his lashes. He’s seated in between your legs, a clay mask on his face as you massage his scalp gently, easing his tension. There wasn’t any special occasion. You just saw a video online of couples doing self-care day together and wanted to try it out. Surprisingly, he agreed, and now here he is, being pampered by you.
It’s quite a sight. Former assassin of the Scions of Hourglass, wearing a rabbit headband and holding a stress ball instead of a gun. There’s a reality show playing on the TV, courtesy of you and your insistence of “having girl talk.” It’s really just an excuse to gossip about the obnoxious people in the show, but sometimes this silliness is exactly what you need. Iso won’t admit it himself, but you know these shows are his guilty pleasure. He’s not good at hiding it. You always feel him watching behind your back with your hands on his hips, fully invested in the drama unfolding only to walk away when you turn to look at him.
It’s adorable, really.
“Not every weekend. Just whenever I feel like it,” you reply, moving to massage his neck. “I bought new stuff and wanted to try them with you.”
“But you don’t have anything on.”
“‘Cause this is about you.” Your hands move to his shoulders now, pressing hard against the stiffness and slowly undoing the knots with your touch, earning a quiet relieved groan from him. “You’ve been working really hard lately. I thought I’d treat you to something nice.”
“And this headband was necessary?”
You snort. “Very necessary. We need to keep your hair out of your face or it’ll get stuck to the mask.”
Not convinced by your reasoning, he narrows his eyes at you. “And?”
“And I thought you’d look cute in it.”
He leans his head back against your lap, eyelids fluttering shut as your fingers move back to his scalp to massage his temples. He’s sitting comfortably, squeezing the stress ball from time to time while he tunes out the rest of the world, only feeling you. Just to see what he’d do, you suddenly stop your ministrations and pull your hands back.
His eyes snap open. “Why’d you stop?”
“I wasn’t sure if you like it or not,” you lie half-heartedly, biting back the teasing grin threatening to stretch across your lips. “I’m tired.”
He reaches for your hands and brings them back to his head wordlessly, tapping twice as a sign to continue. You chuckle at his response and resume what you were previously doing, letting out an exaggerated sigh. He’s cuter than he realises.
“What a bossy client.”
He huffs. “Then do your job.”
And to think he was so indifferent when you first suggested this activity… your Iso is a total softie.
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You hum a soft tune under your breath as you wrap the towel around Sova’s hair and gingerly squeeze, drying it off the water from the earlier shower. It’s still early in the evening—the sun has just gone down—and since he’s finally off work, you decided to treat him for the time being. He’s sitting on a chair in front of you, eyes trained on your form while you work. Feeling his gaze on you, you meet him in the mirror, slightly flustered from how intense it was.
“You okay?” you ask.
Hanging the towel elsewhere, you pick up the hairbrush and begin to comb it through his hair. The bristles glide through his soft strands with ease, the movements smooth and painless. He’s practically melting into your touch, his chest rising and falling with a breath of relaxation. You gently tilt his head back and lean down to press a kiss on his forehead, earning a small smile from him. 
“I like when you do this,” he says. “It feels nice.”
The corners of your lips curl up, heart fluttering at his honesty. “I’m glad.”
With a generous drop of oil in your hands, you bury them in his hair and massage his scalp, evenly spreading the substance across his strands. He doesn’t generally do much to it outside of using shampoo or conditioner, but with how sunny it’s been lately, you wanted to make things a little easier for him. 
“Your hair’s so nice naturally,” you hum, placing your hands on his shoulders and squeezing affectionately. “I’m jealous.”
“But you’re beautiful too, angel.”
Heat rises to your cheeks. You playfully swat him, pretending to clutch your chest in pain. “You can’t just say that, Sasha. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
He gently tugs on your sleeve. Taking the hint, you step around to take a seat on his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. His hand comes to support your waist, sliding up your shirt and caressing your skin lovingly. You rest your head on his collarbone with a content sigh, comfortably curling into him. You softly smile at him upon meeting his gaze in the mirror. He looks so much more domestic compared to his usual demeanour. With freshly combed hair and a loose sweater on his frame, you think he looks perfect—so handsome, so completely yours. 
“Let me take care of you too,” he murmurs against your temple, lips brushing against it in a chaste kiss.
Unable to stop the smile from growing wider, you nod eagerly. “Okay.”
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snowyquokka · 1 year ago
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Hey I saw that you wanted ideas for some angst, thought I would shoot my shot. What if one of or all of them idk you choose the boys calls reader clingy and reader gets insecure about it. It's okay if you don't feel like it tho. Take care of yourself and drink lot's of water❤️❤️ I'm new to your blog but I really love your work hope to see more of it in the future❤️❤️❤️
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CLINGY
cw - non idol!minho x gn!reader, angst (😈), swearing, fluffy ending, hurt comfort kinda
wc- 1.1k
a.n - IT’S DONE !! i am exhausted but hey it’s out 😭😭 anyway i’m sorry for being a bit MIA lately, i’ve been having a bit of a rough time but it’s getting better. i’m not sure if i like this piece or not tho :((( I LOVE YOU MUAH <3
AND I JUST REALIZED THIS IS MY FIRST LINO FIC OMG THIS IS A MOMENT IN HISTORY
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All day, the silence in the house seemed to echo with Minho's absence, each tick of the clock stretching the worry tighter across your mind. The morning had started off on the wrong foot, with Minho oversleeping- a rare occurrence which in turn threw off his whole routine. The rushed breakfast, the hasty goodbye—everything felt off-kilter. It was unlike him to be late, especially for his job at the veterinary clinic, a place he often described as his second home, where he could merge his passion for animals with his skills in care and healing. The hurried departure left a cold space in the wake of his frantic energy.
The argument from the night before added layers to your concern. It was one of those disagreements that seemed trivial in the light of day, yet in the shadow of the night, it had grown into a monumental barrier between you two. It wasn't just the words exchanged or the silence that followed, but the unresolved tension that lingered, making the air heavy with unsaid apologies and unexpressed affections. The fact that Minho had been irritable even before the argument didn't help, it only amplified the discomfort, casting a shadow over his usual bright demeanor.
As the day dragged on, you found yourself glancing at the clock, counting the hours until Minho's return. The thought of him dealing with the stress of work on top of everything else weighed heavily on you as guilt settled in. It wasn't just the worry for his mental state, but also the longing for reconciliation. You knew the importance of mending the rift, of clearing the air with conversations that bridged the gap between hurt and healing. The thought of him walking through the door, the opportunity to start anew, to offer a smile as a peace offering, became a beacon of hope in the slow march of the day. But as you continue to relive the argument you can’t help the pang of sorrow that strikes your heart like lighting, complimenting the storm of emotions whirling about your being. 
The dispute sparked when you casually asked him about his day. To you, it was a simple question, but Minho perceived it as intrusive, deeming you "too clingy" and expressing his exhaustion with what he viewed as your constant nagging.Since then you’ve been running yourself into the ground trying to get as much stuff around the house as you can. If Minho comes home to a clean house, you think, then there’ll be one less reason for him to be irritated with you. 
The sound of keys jingling faintly outside the door interrupts your thoughts. You had just finished cooking dinner and were plating it just in time as Minho to strolls in. 
“Mm,“ he hums in approval as he wraps his long arms around your waist, gently tugging your back to his front. He rests his chin on your shoulder as he speaks, “Smells good, baby. Thank you.” You hum and nod, not sure what to do. He was just complaining about you being clingy but here he is, swaying you side-to-side. Minho clearly sensed your apprehension and pulled back with a sigh. “Why am I getting the silent treatment?” 
You aren’t sure how to respond to that. You weren’t purposefully trying to ignore him, you’re just confused and you don’t know how to voice that. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” you turn around towards him and lean back against the kitchen island, using your hands to brace yourself.
Minho hums and folds his arms over his chest. He raises a brow, wanting you to continue. You huff and tip your head back for a moment before looking directly at him. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to come off too clingy.” Your tone came off a little harsher than you’d planned and you watch as his expression shifts into something more serious, guilty even.
“Shit, baby I- I didn’t mean it, you know that. I shouldn’t have said it and-” You shake your head, effectively cutting him off. 
“It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s just-” 
His eyes begin to soften as he inches back into your space. “Hey. Hey,” Minho murmurs as his hands find purchase on your shoulders in an attempt to provide at least some semblance of comfort. He’s always been the type to have some sort of contact when talking to you like this. It makes it feel more personal, more sincere, especially when he ends up apologizing. “Don’t do that, you know I hate it. I’m the one who should be sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I was just stressed and I know that isn’t an excuse.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed you, I made you upset.” 
Minho shakes his head. “I want you to ask about my day, I want you to show that you care. It makes me feel important. You make me feel important.” You pull your lip in between your teeth, a nervous habit you picked up as a child. 
"Are you sure? Because I will-" Minho clicks his tongue and leans his forehead against yours, his brown eyes sparkling.
"I never want you to feel insecure about anything I say, regardless of what it is. I understand I can be hot-headed, and I'm working to fix that, but I want you- I need you- to tell me when I’m doing something that’s upsetting you. I love you and I promise you I didn’t mean any of it.” He presses a soft, chaste kiss on the tip of your nose with a smile. The action makes your stomach erupt with butterflies and you know everything will be okay. You’ll always bounce back and find your way back to each other. 
Minho looks down and locks his pinkys around yours before looking back up at you. “You okay now?” You nod and lean against him further with a content sigh. 
“I love you too, Min.” Minho begins to open his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. 
“Even if you’re a dick sometimes.” You say with amusement laced in your tone and a grin.
“I guess I’m lucky you put up with me then.” 
“Now you’re getting it,”
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tags: @godslino @seungseung-minmin @myseungsunglove @azuna-sz @kaiyaba @solisyeah
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juliaia · 10 months ago
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Rainy Nights in Hell's Kitchen
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Summary: You’ve been dating Matt for about a year—you always sleep better when you’re with him.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!reader
Warnings: Swearing, nightmares, fluff, overuse of em-dashes.
A/N: This is super short and sweet, but I wanted to try writing for Matty. Totally feel free to request stuff if you enjoy, but I post fics at random whenever the urge strikes, so I’m not like an “official tumblr fanfic person” or whatever—but I sure am here!
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It was a dark and stormy night—and usually you wouldn’t mind that. The rain is pretty peaceful, and with the windows open you can catch the cool night air and the smell of petrichor on the breeze.
But today has been long and tiring, and lately you’ve been having really vivid, unpleasant nightmares.
You’ve kept them mostly to yourself, tying them to the general stress of day-to-day life and maybe a dash of unresolved trauma—but they’re just nightmares. They’re silly, and you are definitely not afraid to go to bed tonight in your own room in the dark, with the occasional, startling boom of loud thunder in the background.
The fact that you immediately answer a much too eager, “yes”, when Matt asks if you want to stay over at his apartment is totally unrelated.
So now, you’re sitting in the bathroom with Matt, getting ready for bed.
He looks so damn pretty in the slightly dim lighting. His face is cast in a soft glow, his bare chest is looking like a very warm, very comfortable pillow, his sweats are fitting him very nicely and making his butt look exceptionally cute—but to be fair, he always looks sinfully good. You’re pretty sure you could watch him just exist for hours on end.
You see a grin creep onto his face as he feels your eyes on him.
“You’re staring, sweetheart.” He says, pushing his hand through his hair as he turns towards you and holds out a hand. You take it, and he leans in to kiss your forehead.
“Just watching you. You’re pretty.” You say. His grin softens to something less mischievous and more fond and sweet, and he leans in again, this time planting a soft kiss on your lips.
“You’re prettier.” He murmurs—he’s got this shamelessly lovesick look on his face. You chuckle and roll your eyes.
“Says the blind man.” He gives your hand a playful squeeze.
“I can still tell you’re pretty—ready for bed?” He asks. You hesitantly nod.
“Uh, yeah, alright.” He raises an eyebrow.
“…You’re usually more enthusiastic about sleeping.” You sigh, the two of you walking over to settle into bed on top of the cool silk sheets.
“I’ve just been having weird, bad dreams.” You explain. Matt’s face goes all soft and sympathetic.
If there is one thing Matt is, it’s protective. Which is usually sweet, but occasionally overdramatic to the point of hilarity. For example—two weeks ago, you got a papercut while opening a package (one of those awful cardboard-paper-cuts), and the moment Matt heard you let out that little hiss of frustration and pain, he came rushing over to fuss over you, face painted with concern as he took your hand and frantically examined the wound. It’s especially funny considering how he insists you don’t need to worry about him when he shows up at 3 in the morning after patrol, bleeding from a stab wound in his side, or on the verge of passing out from a concussion.
So, you mention the nightmares, and Matt goes all soft, pulling you against his chest, holding you close, kissing the top of your head.
“Oh, angel, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks. You shrug.
“Eh, you’ve got other stuff on your plate—they’re just nightmares.” Matt shakes his head, nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply.
“They’re upsetting you, and ruining your sleep.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head.
“Matty, babydoll—“ He cuts you off by pulling back and pressing his forehead against yours, his warm eyes unfocused and unseeing but somehow still so damn emotional.
“Sweetheart,” He says. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you, please?”
Dammit—Matt and his stupid puppy dog eyes. That sweet soft sad look he gives you, the pleading, pouty face, his pretty pink lips and big dumb wet eyes. You relent, sighing in defeat, and he grins, pulling you into his arms, kissing your cheek, and dragging you to bed, laying down with you.
“I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You grumble, folding yourself into his arms, smushing up against his chest. He rubs your back, holding you close. “Nothing gets to ruin your sleep except for me.” He says. You snort, giving his bicep a squeeze–oh those wonderful thick arms of his.
“Dork.” He pulls you over, tucking you against his chest for a cuddle. He nuzzles his face against the top of your head.
“I’m here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. No nightmares.” He says. You smile, hand finding his, fingers lacing through his own.
“I don’t know if you have any control over what I dream about, but I appreciate it anyway.” You say. Matt yawns softly, kissing your temple.
“I’m just gonna hold you so tight the nightmares won’t be able to get you.” He loves having you so close, loves being able to protect you and cuddle up with you to sleep. He presses his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, letting out a happy growl. You reach back to ruffle his hair.
“Thanks, Matty.” You murmur. He nods, kissing your cheek.
Curled up in his arms, you fall asleep easier. The rain falls outside, soft pitter patters on the window panes as Matt’s steady breathing lulls you to sleep.
When you wake up at two in the morning, hands gripping the sheets, Matt wakes up with you, pulling you closer and kissing your temple, hands coming up to rub your shoulders.
“Hey angel, you’re okay. I’m here.” You push yourself further into his arms, body shaking slightly as you wrap your arms around his arm, holding it against your chest. “I’m here.” He rubs your chest, hand drawing soothing circles against you. “What can I do to help, hm?”
You just push yourself closer to him, and he settles you into his lap, shushing you gently and kissing the top of your head. He holds you tightly, hand gently rubbing over your racing heart in a gesture he hopes is grounding and comforting.
You tuck your face against his warm neck, inhaling the scent of him, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. He chuckles, hand coming to cup your cheek, his face tilting down and his nose nudging against yours. You wrap your arms around him, too tired and shaken up to be embarrassed about seeking him out for comfort. He cuddles you against him, laying back with you against his chest.
You’re quickly lulled back to sleep by the soothing sounds of his breathing and heartbeat, and after that, you sleep solidly through the night without any issues. Matt’s warm arms wrapped around you, blankets cozy and soft, the rain and thunder outside becoming gentle background noise.
In the morning, Matt wakes you up with a few soft kisses on the temple, stirring you to consciousness, drawing a little grumble from you. He chuckles, rubbing your back gently.
“Sorry sweetheart, I couldn’t resist.” He pecks you on the lips. You hide your face against his chest, trying to block out the light from the window. He kisses the top of your head, throwing his leg over your hip to pull you closer. He’s so warm, and he smells so good, and he’s cuddling you close like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “Did you sleep okay? Aside from the bad dreams?” He asks, hand resting on your back. You nuzzle your face against the crook of his arm. You did sleep okay, you felt safe and warm in his arms, held close in his arms.
“Mhm. Slept better with you.” You say. Matt grins, face flushing as he snuggles you closer, squishing you against him.
“You should stay over more often. Move in with me, so I can keep you safe from all the nightmares.” He says, fingers brushing through your hair. You smile softly.
“…Shit, are you asking me to move in with you?” You ask. Matt kisses your forehead.
“Depends…would you say yes if I was?” You chuckle.
“Yes, yes I would.” Matt smiles, nuzzling his nose into your hair.
“Then yes, yes I am asking you to move in with me.”
“And I’m saying yes.”
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sapphicideas · 5 months ago
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kind of a vent and you can just ignore this if you want. I’m a college age bi tgirl who’s been having a bit of a rough time of it. I’ve done my best to be picky but it feels like all the worst people just throw themselves at me. From emotionally manipulative girl, to boy who blatantly cheated on me when I didn’t want to have sex right away, another girl who after I turned her down decided to try to rape me, just to name a few. Every time I feel like it’ll be different, like I’ve sifted through and found someone who is genuine and then I just get fucked over again. Either they only want me for my body to fill their fetish, or the leave once they find out about it thinking I’m gross, or they just want to try and manipulate me and get upset when I try to stand up for myself, or maybe I’m just a novelty and they get bored and leave. It just kind of feels like at this point this is just what I deserve I guess. I don’t know where I’m going with this I think I just wanted to try and get it out of my system. It’s just exhausting feeling like no matter what I do I always get fucked over.
first of all, i want to say that i am extremely sorry you're going through that. college alone is extremely stressful and situations like this just make that even worse.
you don't deserve any of this. i know it might feel like you do because after enduring so much of this bad stuff, our mind starts to believe that no matter what we do, it won't make a difference. it's like our brain just gives up on trying to fight it and just learns to accept it, instead of realizing the situation could change. bad coping mechanisms are probably feeding this negative thinking pattern too, so it's very important for you to start working on your self esteem and the way you deal with these kinds of situations. if you don't, it will eat you alive.
each time you experience that kind of self doubt, i want you to immediately shut down that negative thought and replace it with a question instead. something like 'assuming it's not my fault, what other explanation could this have?' for example, in your case you said 'i guess it's just what i deserve' which is wrong. i want you to ask yourself that question and realize that you are not at fault. the answer should be 'this person overstepped my boundaries, made me feel bad and hurt me. but i'm not at fault, i can't control other people's actions'. remember, you can only control how you react to the attack itself. if you still don't fully believe that, think about it as if it was a friend or even a complete stranger. blaming someone for getting hurt or used doesn't sound nice, does it? i'm sure you would never do that. so why would you do that to yourself?
you need to treat yourself the way you'd treat someone else, have some self compassion. you don't deserve anything bad, and you're not stupid for not realizing someone's intentions beforehand. people can be really manipulative, and that's not your fault. it's okay to feel hurt, and it's okay to realize someone didn't have good intentions with you. none of that reflects your true worth. you're not less human for not being able to anticipate someone's deceiving behavior. believe me, it's hard for everyone, even for me. and i'd say i'm pretty good at reading people.
i like that you're being picky, i want you to keep having hope. even if that means stepping away from the dating scene for a bit. focus on healing first. keeping that hope intact is what matters the most, not giving someone a chance just because 'they're nice' or 'i think they're treating me okay'. set boundaries, step by step. and don't give up, you're so strong, pretty girl. if you have to stop talking to someone who makes you feel bad, do it. it might hurt in the moment, but in 2 years you won't ever remember their name, i can assure you that.
you don’t have to have it all figured out today or tomorrow, maybe not even next month. it takes so long to unlearn bad habits, even longer than it takes to learn new ones.
sorry it took me this long to reply, i completely missed this ask. and i'm sorry for the actual bible that this response has been, my god. but i figured that if you didn't come back with another ask, i'd just lay the whole thing out there. stay strong, you're loved and worthy of respect. that's the bare minimum, take care princess
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xmads-omensx · 8 months ago
Text
I'm here
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Pt 2 of It’s Okay To Let Go
Masterlist
Word Count: 1,990
Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader
Content Warnings: swearing, slight angst, fluff, comfort, crying, mentions of grief (in the context of a friendship ending), mentions of anxiety and stress
Summary: Noah supports Y/N through a friendship ending
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The pain came and went.
I had made the difficult decision to move out of the house I shared with Lily and Jay. It was hard. It broke my heart.
My childhood best friends were no longer going to be a part of my life and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
Emotionally, I had already checked out of that friendship.
They used me.
They lied to me.
They treated me like shit.
Noah had helped me move my essentials into his place. All my clothes now hung up in his closet. My socks, underwear and pyjamas were now neatly folded in his drawers. My shoes took up the rest of his closet space and the shoe rack by the front door.
Jesse and Jolly were more than happy for me to move in.
They said it made Noah less annoying.
Plus, I was the only one who knew how to unblock the dishwasher.
Over the last week that I had been living with them, I had already noticed how much better it was than living with Lily and Jay. They included me. They pulled their weight with chores. I had been sleeping better. I had been laughing more.
It felt like a cinder block had been lifted off of my shoulders.
“I hate to kill the mood.” Noah began. We were curled up on the sofa together re-watching Attack On Titan. “But, when do you want to go get the rest of your stuff? I just don’t like the fact that they have access to your things while you’re not there.”
I sighed.
I had been trying to ignore the fact that I still had to pick up the rest of my things.
I really didn’t want to have to face them.
“I mean, obviously I’ll go with you. Jolly and Jesse can help?” He added.
“Sure.” I sighed. “I guess I may as well get it out of the way.”
“Exactly. And when that’s done, you can just forget about it and move on.” Noah replied, squeezing my shoulder.
“Well, I can’t because I still have to pay the rent. I can’t just move on, Noah. That’s eighteen years of friendship down the fucking drain!” I exclaimed, standing up abruptly from the sofa.
“Baby, I know. I’m sorry. But I’ve already told you that I’ll help you out with that.” Noah said calmly, reaching out his hands to rub my thighs gently.
“But I don’t want you to Noah! I don’t want to be financially in debt to you! What if we break up? Huh? Then you decide that you want your money back? I’m not going to be able to do that.” I shouted, frustrated.
“Don’t you ever say anything like that again. We are not going to break up. I love you. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He said sternly. “And I would never make you pay anything back. If it’s that you’re worried about, I’ll only help you out with half the money. Then you’re still paying something?” He suggested.
I sighed again.
“I just don’t want to think about the money right now.” I said, my eyes beginning to water with frustrated tears.
“That’s completely fine. One thing at a time.” Noah comforted. “Hey, look, it’s almost time for Levi and Kenny to fight.” He exclaimed excitedly, gesturing at the TV.
A small smile appeared on my face as I gave into Noah and curled back into his side.
He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.
“It’s gonna be okay bub.” Noah murmured into my hair.
I tilted my head slightly to offer him a soft smile, which he returned before placing a soft kiss on my lips.
“I love you.” I replied before nestling my head into his chest and returning my attention back to the TV.
“I love you too.” He whispered.
The next day, we woke up early, around 8:00am, and began to get ready to pick up my things that were still at the ‘Evil House’, as Jesse had dubbed it.
The four of us were heading over in Noah’s car and Jolly’s car to try and shove all of my things in and make a break for it, with the hope that I wouldn’t bump into the ‘two witches’, as Jesse had dubbed them.
I was thankful for Jesse’s ability to find some form of humour in my shitty situation, as it lessened the pain I was feeling slightly.
Initially, Noah had been against Jesse’s jokes, but after seeing that it made me laugh, he began actively encouraging it.
Jolly had helped too, showing me his favourite recipes to cook, his favourite books, and had even began teaching me rude phrases in Swedish simply because it made me laugh.
The task of picking up the rest if my belongings was daunting. Terrifying even.
The chance of me bumping into either of them was high. Neither of them went out much. They didn’t have any friends besides eachother.
Part of me felt guilty for leaving them like that.
But the rest of me felt that they deserved that.
They both deserved eachother.
I hadn’t slept great the night before. Instead, I practiced what I would say to them if I did, in fact, bump into them.
Would I confront them about it? Would I tell a half lie and just say that I was moving in with Noah?
I hadn’t reached a decision yet.
All I knew was that hopefully they would bump into one of the guys and they could handle it. Noah would be too angry at them. Jolly would probably just state that I don’t like them with a deadpan tone and God only knows what Jesse would do.
We piled into our respective cars and began the journey.
Noah and I sat in silence.
No music.
No talking.
Nothing.
I was far too stressed to even entertain a light-hearted conversation with him.
Putting music on would just overstimulate by already racing brain and make me implode.
Noah let me do what I needed to and didn’t try and fill in the silence like the other two would have done. He knew that I needed silence. I needed to mentally prepare for what was about to happen.
We pulled up at the apartment complex with Jolly and Jesse hot on our tail.
The cars were quickly vacated as we all made our way towards the entrance.
We ascended the stairs, still in complete silence. When we reached the door, I hesitated slightly. Was this really happening?
Noah placed his hand on my lower back, letting me know he was there if I needed him. I took a step back and handed him the key. Lily and Jay never liked Noah, so if he went in first and they were there, they wouldn’t interact with us.
The door opened slowly, and we were greeted with silence. They must be in their rooms.
I had checked Life360 on the way over just to see if they were home or not. They were. But I was holding onto hope that they had left.
My heart began to race slightly as the prospect of confrontation crept into my mind.
Noah gently took my hand and led me to my bedroom. The plan was that Jesse and Jolly would handle my section of the kitchen, and Noah and I would take the bedroom and bathroom.
There wasn’t much left in the room that I needed. I was leaving the furniture as that was there when I moved in, but we still had to strip the bed.
The packing itself didn’t take long. We worked in silence. But I was still terrified of bumping into them.
A creaking from the room next to mine startled me. It was Lily’s room.
Noah watched me warily as I dropped the trash bag in my hand onto the bed, spilling spare pillowcases onto the mattress.
“Y/N, it’s okay. I’ll do the talking if she comes in.” Noah reassured me in a hushed tone.
I gave him a grateful look, still hesitating to resume packing.
Noah rounded to my side of the bed, before picking up the trash bag that I was previously holding and putting the spare pillow cases that had fallen out back inside.
After that, we finished bagging up the rest of my possessions. Still not seeing either Lily or Jay emerging out from their respective rooms.
My heart still raced with fear of seeing them despite this.
Once the cars were loaded up, Noah ran back into the apartment to take photos of my bedroom and kitchen area to prove to the lettings agency that I had left it clean and undamaged.
The drive home was also silent, except this time a feeling of relief hung in the air.
Unloading the car was chaotic, but quick.
The guys helped me unpack, with most of it ending up in storage in the garage as it wasn’t stuff that I needed, mainly just spare bedding, winter clothes and things like that.
It was late in the evening when we were finished, and Jesse had ordered all of us takeout to have as a reward for our hard work. Really, I think he just really wanted Mexican food, but wanted a reason to justify it.
By the time it was time for bed, I could barely keep my eyes open, and I could tell that Noah was in a similar position.
We both shrugged off our clothes, Noah crawled into the bed in his boxers and passed me the shirt that he had just taken off, which I then put on and followed him into bed.
Yawning, Noah pulled me close into his chest.
His heartbeat relaxed me, lulling me closer to sleep.
He cared for me so much. It felt abnormal.
How could I take up so much of his heart?
It wasn’t a small thing to help someone else completely pick up and move their entire lives.
But he had instantly put together a plan and helped me without any hesitation.
Completely overwhelmed with emotion, my eyes welled up with tears as I buried my face further into Noah’s chest.
He didn’t say anything, instead simply pulling me closer into him and kissing the top of my head.
“Shh.. Shh.. You’re okay.” He whispered into my hair.
“I- I- I- I don’t know why I’m crying.” I blubbed.
“That’s okay my love. You don’t have to know. Just let it out.” Noah comforted.
“B-but I-I don’t want to cry.” I replied, a sob wracking my body.
“I’ve got you bub.” He whispered, rubbing comforting circles on my back.
We lay like that for a while. Me crying and Noah rubbing my back, offering a kiss to the top of my head every few seconds.
“I just feel empty.” I whispered after my sobs lessened.
“Empty?” Noah whispered back.
“Yeah. Like a part of me is missing.” I sighed.
“They were a huge part of your life babe.” Noah replied. “Of course you’re going to feel a bit of you is missing.”
“Yeah.” I sighed again.
“You still have Jesse and Jolly, the rest of the guys too. And Alana.” Noah went on, a small smile appeared on my face as I though of my new friends that I met through Noah. “And of course you have me.”
I smiled at that and placed a gentle kiss onto his bare chest.
“You’ll always have me.” He whispered into my hair, placing another kiss on the top of my head.
With that, my eyes re-filled with tears, but this time it as happy tears.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” Noah whispered. “I’m right here.”
My heart burst with love and adoration for the man who held me in his arms.
He held me so securely that I knew he would always have me.
No matter what.
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dailyfigures · 5 months ago
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Hi there, I was wondering if you (or any of your followers) have any tips for selling figures? I’m under a lot of financial stress rn so I’ve been attempting to sell off a lot of my figures (a ridiculous amount tbh) for about three or four years now and it’s been extremely slow going & I’m not making enough to make a dent in the debt Im dealing with. I have ads up on eBay & I’m starting to cross post on Mercari but that’s it. I don’t really know how to sell on MFC so I’ve left that alone. I’m not sure if I’m underpricing or overpricing but most of the stuff I have listed is way less than I paid for. I’m sure it depends on location/what’s being sold but I was just wondering if you happened to have any tips as the financial stress is impacting my health. Thanks again.
oh i'm so sorry to hear that! it can be difficult for sure, especially if the market/fanbase for the figures you're selling isn't as alive as it once was (or just never was alive to begin with). i also feel like selling is difficult in general nowadays, people bid very low and just aren't even willing to spend half the price that something is worth. not really anyone's fault, a lot of people are struggling, but it's very frustrating as a seller.
in my experience websites with an instant buy option (so no need to message back and forth, like ebay, vinted, etc.) cost way less time than websites without an instant buy option (way more messaging back and forth, getting ghosted, etc. like facebook market place or any other (local) marketplace). i used to use instagram, fb marketplace and a local marketplace app to stell items but i just do not have the time and energy for that shit anymore. they did work for sure, it just takes so much time and ofcourse i'm unsure whether you have that. i personally only use vinted rn but that's not available everywhere sadly. i do use mfc sometimes too, but i've never used their ad system. i just go to the page of the figure and comment "selling her in europe, good as new with box!" or something and sometimes people will reply or dm you if they're looking for the figure.
if you'd be okay with it, you can share your ebay and mercari with me and i can take a look and if you'd like i can share it on here so my followers can take a look at your items! i'm really sorry things have been tough for you, i'd like to try to help!
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justanothersyscourse · 11 months ago
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oh hi it’s -flower anon
I mostly was sending the asks in since I have moral OCD and the uncertainty and genuine horrible things I’ve seen very much conflict.
I’m only anti-endo due to the very, very cultish nature of a lot of it and have fallen for too many cults already.
(I was groomed into a online cannibalism gore cult at a very young age and still deal deal with the consequences of that, fell for way too many death cults, and almost was lost to way too many other hateful things)
so when the Moral OCD kicks in I trust it, it’s only lead me out of these bad situations.
I know my opinions are probably very uncommon, but too many cults and cultish mindsets I’ve fell for.
honest to god, I was at one point ready to kill myself because I thought overpopulation was real And those accelerationists got to me.
so for wholehearted honesty it’s too much for me, personally I believe fully in cultural and spiritual multiplicity.
But most endo/tulpa/willo spaces aren’t that, and that uncertainty of if- “is this person saying that ‘hey this is just a cultural and spiritual thing’ or is this person not any of those what are they I don’t wanna get into a covert cult again”
but as the current state of endo/willo/Tulsa spaces are, it’s so so cultish that it’s triggering me.
Everything sets off so many alarms in my brain that I trained myself to recognize,
so that’s why I was worrying and asking about it.
you’d too if you had fallen for so many dangerous cult stuff.
Too many death cults man, too many online death cults.
Hi flower ❤️ I hope you're doing okay. I've been sitting on this draft, debating if what I have to say would be helpful or damaging.
You came back, though, so I feel that I need to respond in some way... I'm going to be honest, I'm scared to make this post, this is a very polarized topic in the system community. But... maybe what I say can help someone.
I hope you'll read through to the end. No matter what, whether you disagree with me or not, I genuinely hope you're okay and that things get a bit easier for you. It probably doesn't help, but I know what you're feeling.
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I have bad OCD myself. I'm lucky in that I don't struggle with that specific type anymore, but I feel for you 🫂
I'm also very sorry to hear about what you've been through ):
Before I talk, know that this response isn't to change your mind. My only goal is to try to help settle some of that stress.
I want you to feel less stressed by this entire thing. It's okay.
When I was still very heavily anti endo, I felt the exact same way. I'm not just saying that. I also run sysmedsaresexist, and I'm pretty sure I have posts calling the pro endo community "cult-ish" in nature. I probably did it a number of times. You're not alone in that view. I was worried that doctors were going to fall for it, that innocent people were getting dragged into believing they were systems, all of it. Been there, done that.
However, as I slowly moved from anti to critical, I realized BOTH sides display the EXACT same behaviors. The antis were just as bad, once I stepped back to look at it.
To the point that if you put the posts next to each other with identifying characteristics hidden, it could come from, and be about either side. Here's an example.
Either both sides are a cult, or cult is not an appropriate word to be using for syscourse.
It's the latter, I've learned over the years.
And once I got over myself and actually spoke with endo systems... I swear to you, I promise you, with every fiber of my being, that most of what you hear is fear mongering.
Most.
But the same can be said about anti endos. Endos are terrified of antis, but that's because they only hear other endos talking about their HORRIBLE experiences with antis. Some of it is true, most of it isn't, most is... more than a little bit exaggerated.
It just is. Endos think you, specifically you, flower anon, send death threats.
Do you? I'm willing to bet not, but you're lumped into that group whether you like it or not, whether it's true or not.
While syscourse can feel TERRIFYING, like life versus death (trust me, I know), I promise it's actually okay.
It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay.
The medical community is going to be okay. Your resources will be okay. The endos will be okay. The antis will be okay.
I am still actively involved in clinical circles, and I promise you, doctors know the difference between CDDs and plurality. Doctors ARE talking about endogenic systems, but try to give them a bit more credit.
Did you know that the multiple theory of self is as old as the ToSD? But it's a concept based in philosophy and the discussion of consciousness. These are two totally different things that are both valid. The issue is overlapping language. But if we're mad about "system" being shared, why aren't we more mad at IFS? Does "computer system" dehumanize CDD systems, too? That's dumb. No it doesn't.
Radqueers exist in every single community, and so do people who don't like radqueers. For every radqueer endo, there's another endo squinting hard at that and complaining to their friends. There are radqueer DID systems. They exist. It happens. It's like saying lesbians are bad because there's radfems and radqueers in that community, too. The intersection of multiplicity, sexuality and gender is VERY confusing, with more moving parts than you can count. Obviously there are going to be people with very wide and very narrow views about it.
(That said, I don't bother with radqueer stuff very much, I have NEVER participated in that discourse because I don't feel that I understand the nuance of it enough to have a fully informed view of it.
Wouldn't it be nice if more people could acknowledge that they don't understand things enough?
Anti endos, I'm looking at you)
Your ability to see cult tactics in things is something that has protected you, but that doesn't make it healthy. Do not try to overcome or change that part of you without the help of a specialist. That's not what I'm saying.
Seeing the world as dangerous, and signs of danger in the world, is what protects everyone, but for trauma affected people, this ability is broken. It's hyperactive. That's something that we all approach in therapy, eventually. You don't need to change right now, but one day you'll want to be able to see the good in things, and that takes so much more practice and guidance than you could imagine.
An easy way to start, though, is empathy and introspection-- not just into your self, but into your community. To recognize the double standards and be able to critically put aside those fears and concerns without someone else making the decision for you.
I can tell you that isolation is a major tactic used by cults, and it's the antis telling you to do that, isn't it? They say, don't even hear the other side out, I'll tell you what they're saying, and you can just believe me.
Isn't that what @number1-syscourse-blog was telling you to do? And it's only the pro side saying you can be friends with BOTH sides-- not just other pro endos, but telling you that it's okay to be friends with antis and pros. That it's healthy and good to surround yourself with differing opinions and form your own conclusions. I don't know if you can see the number of people telling number1 syscourse what a bad response that was. Not just me, SO MANY PEOPLE! They're all blocked and hidden now.
Because the full picture is a beautiful thing.
Making your own choices and drawing your own conclusions is a powerful thing.
And the picture is not as ugly or scary as number1 syscourse would have you believe.
My suggestion to you is to just... not talk syscourse with your friends. Just be friends. Talk about the dumbest shit and remember that you're both just human, trying to understand the world around you.
For fun, and to settle minds, let's go through, just to drive the point home. It's going under a cut, just in case, but be aware, I'm critically tearing apart both sides for being ridiculous.
Pros and antis, cult edition
Characteristics of a cult:
Absolute authoritarianism without accountability
Now, neither side has a leader, so to speak, but we can talk about how members of each community can say whatever they want without any accountability. We have people on both sides wishing death on the other, and no one is stepping in to say, "yo, wtf?" No, those posts are instead spread further by people reblogging their friends, because 🌈 brand loyalty 🌈 rather than any kind of critical thought.
Yes, both sides do this. No, that's not up for debate. It's happening. If you think it's not, you're either being willfully blind, or you've fallen into the isolation trap.
DNIs aren't shields against shitty behavior, just like free speech doesn't allow for hate speech, but people sure do love hiding behind DNIs. Like, they'll post a GOOD ask, with great points, and respond with a womp womp, can't you read my DNI, and it's like... maybe you should have read more than the first line, my dude. Free publicity for the other sides' ideals, because you literally can't be bothered to read anything.
Honesty, I think the block feature is the downfall of humanity. There are anti endo blogs posting misinformation on DID that can't be corrected because they've blocked everyone that knows more than them. I've tried to correct a lot of them, I'm blocked.
It's an echo chamber, much like how you view pro endo spaces.
Zero tolerance for criticism or questions
Come on, do I actually need to talk about this? See the DNI point again. Good asks with good points with a nonsense response because, OH GOD, anon dared to have a slightly different belief on something. Endo neutrals, people trying to ask questions and learn, aren't even allowed to interact with most blogs, even just for questions.
Lack of meaningful financial disclosure regarding budget
Another way that "cult" isn't an appropriate term, though we could talk about TPA here. I really, really don't like the TPA.
Unreasonable fears about the outside world that often involve evil conspiracies and persecutions
Hey, pot, meet kettle.
A belief that former followers are always wrong for leaving and there is never a legitimate reason for anyone else to leave
Hey, that's what happened to me when I left the anti side!
Abuse of members
Yeah, they abused me pretty bad for trying to correct misinformation on @antimisinfo's (an anti endo) post. People are constantly being ostracized and kicked out of their community for looking too hard at the other side. God forbid you hear them out, for curiosities sake.
Records, books, articles, or programs documenting the abuses of the leader or group
Not really?
Followers feeling they are never able to be “good enough”
Maybe if you squint?
A belief that the leader is right at all times
Who would the leader be? Science? Because science does support endos, and antis won't read a single word of it.
A belief that the leader is the exclusive means of knowing “truth” or giving validation
Again, if we call science the leader... but again, that only applies to antis.
The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader(s), and its members
I can see it, I guess. Mostly out of antis claiming the elite title for trauma.
The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society
Both sides have this problem.
The group teaches or implies that its supposedly exalted ends justify whatever means it deems necessary. This may result in members’ participating in behaviors or activities they would have considered reprehensible or unethical before they joined the group
Again, see the point about friends reblogging other friends wishing death on the other side.
The leadership induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and/or control members. Often, this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion. Members are encouraged or required to live and/or socialize only with other group members.
This would be like saying you're betraying your side for talking to the other side. Huh. Kind of like what happened to you.
Just because the word cult CAN be applied to things doesn't mean it should be. Especially in syscourse, where one side has such a dark history with cult activity, it feels very... inappropriate to call pro/antis in syscourse a cult.
Really, it's just a bunch of people screaming that they're more right than the other side, and using fear mongering to make points that don't actually matter.
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yan-may-fire · 2 years ago
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ive struggled with art block for years and feel very discouraged because im already 19 and feel really behind so many people. im really stuck and dont really know what to do to get out of it and try and improve. as an amazing artist, do you have any tips on how to kind of start from scratch? like how do you learn ... stuff
I’m really sorry that you feel stuck, it’s not a pleasant feeling and I’ve experienced it myself many MANY times. First, let me preface, that your age is not that important. I’m turning 26 in a couple of months and I know there’s still SO MUCH I can improve on, I know artists who are younger than me and can do breathtaking art. I also know artists who didn’t even start drawing at my age, who started drawing a little later in life because they felt like doing art. So, who are you competing against? Why are you competing? Is self expression not goal enough? I’m not a professional artist, I don’t want to adhere to some industry standard, and most of all I don’t want to feel behind in an area that is so, SO personal to me.
Now, to the feeling stuck part. I’d love to say that in art, you’re always improving. Well, it’s not exactly the case. There are artists whose work doesn’t change for years and they feel content in what they do. Are they stuck? Not really — they feel fine. When you feel stuck in your art, it means that your brain has caught up to your physical ability and went beyond, it starts seeing flaws you haven’t noticed before. You’re very young still and have PLENTY of time to work up the pure handcraft of visual art. What I recommend is, start analysing what your hands are doing. Find an artwork in which you admire the skill of the artist and try to replicate the way their brushstrokes or lines work. Find a screenshot with really good colours and try to make little thumbnails with the colours and the shapes that you see. Don’t go for actually replicating screenshots, define a goal and don’t worry about the rest. If it’s the creative part you feel stuck on, my go to advice is always — stop and take a break. Go outside and look at your surroundings. Watch a movie, go down the rabbit hole of YouTube tutorials on how to restore a night stand (not obligatory), go to your local museum and just. Look. Let your brain wander in how beautiful mundane things are. How pretty are the faces of the people on your bus. Love what you see and with love comes art.
Now on to the learning part. This one is way less poetic because, well, the theory behind art is an academic field and I’m not an expert in it. There is a sea of decent art tutorials on YouTube, ranging from colour theory to multiple point perspective. If you have an artist who’s very skilled and happens to have a YT channel, watch them and really think about what they’re doing and why. I can’t stress this enough, if you want to actively learn something, you have to watch critically. If you have any spare money, you can invest in an art basics course too, god knows my brain expanded 40 times when I finally attended one, and I’ve been drawing for years before that. If you don’t have the finances for that — don’t worry. First, learning is a process and attending a class just sometimes accelerates it. Second, attending a class later in life does NOT mean you missed an opportunity. Rounding up, outside of any means of formal education you can still learn some useful things. Start with the basics, with the “boring” stuff (and I use parenthesis because drawing boxes is really fun actually), with “how to draw a straight line and what is line weight” and not “upper limb anatomy” or “advanced colour theory”. You’ll get there eventually, I promise. Just like I mentioned all the way in the beginning of this awfully long reply: it’s not a competition!
I hope this was useful in any way and I wish you lots of luck and patience. And love what you do, regardless of what other people do.
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itsaspectrumcomic · 2 years ago
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hii :) first of all, your comics are so relatable and wonderfully drawn, you’re such a good artist!
but i guess i’m just wondering if you could help try and answer some questions i have, it’s alright if not though of course :]
i’m like 99% sure i have autism, i relate a crap ton to people with autism and just experiences commonly had by autistic people
but what i’m wondering about is 1, i don’t think i’ve shown or felt any signs of it up until i turned around 12 maybe, and i’m thirteen now
the only thing i can think of is most definitely having special interests, like i cannot be interested in something casually and it’s been that way my whole life
but now, the past year, i’ve been having so many signs of it, i’ve had meltdowns and go nonverbal when i’m stressed and have been stimming and stuff (i’m tired so my descriptions aren’t going to be good sorry lmao)
and the second thing is that i can understand sarcasm and things pretty perfectly, of course there’s the occasional misunderstanding but i don’t think i’ve ever really taken things too literally, if anything the opposite because i’m very sarcastic and figurative myself i feel
of course it’s a spectrum but pretty much everything i’ve heard about autism is that almost everyone has some level of difficulty with taking things literally and sarcasm
idk man i got <5 hours of sleep last night
sincerely,
sleep deprived confused child
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Hi sleep deprived confused child! 😁 Don't worry I understand!
I also didn't think I showed autistic traits as a child at first, until I started talking to my mum about how I used to act, reading old reports, and viewing my memories through an autistic lens. A lot of the stuff I thought was 'normal' turned out not to be. For example, I thought everyone found crowds terrifying and music at events painfully loud, and I didn't realise tapping my fingers constantly could be a stim, and although I thought I was sarcastic (turns out saying things plainly/bluntly can come across as sarcasm) I didn't always get it when other people were.
Also, your traits can get more obvious as you get older and have to deal with more complicated problems. At age 12 there's the weird transition from child to teenager, maybe changing schools, or more complicated homework, or more responsibilities at home, different types of relationships etc, which can all add stress and force you to find ways to cope you might not have needed before.
THAT SAID, there's a lot of overlap between autistic traits and other things like ADHD (eg you might have hyperfixations rather than special interests - they're similar but change more often), or PTSD. While autism and ADHD are generally only diagnosed if you've had the traits from a very young age, things like PTSD and other mental health issues can show up later. And they can all be comorbid to make things extra complicated.
Obviously I am not in a position to diagnose you with any of these! I am definitely not qualified so please talk to a professional about any concerns or suspicions.
Sidenote: have you tried taking the RAADS-R or AQ50 tests? They're generally considered reliable and are often part of assessments, so hopefully they can help answer your questions!
I hope you have a good day and continue to be less sleep deprived :)
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my-castles-crumbling · 1 year ago
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helloo i’m so sorry because i feel like you get this sort of ask all the time but i wanted some advice on how to come out or even if i should come out to my mom
for context- my parents were super into the right-evangelical church scene when i was really young. my dad is still that way, but my mom has shifted more to the middle road. it’s less middle road and more like “you live how you live, i’ll live how i live, i have bigger problems”. im an adult, but i currently live at home when im not at college and will continue to do so for quite a while. i hadn’t even really planned on coming out, because i know my dad would react badly and although i know she wouldn’t tell him, i dont want to stress her out more. i figured it would only come up if there was a long term girlfriend, but that really isn’t in the cards anyway because of my states increase in homophobic legislation
but recently at my parents church, there’s been an increase in casual homophobia/transphobia too, and the sermons are more often than not about avoiding “worldly beliefs” and “correcting” the idea that homosexuality is okay. i’ve always kinda known they were like this, but since i’m also somewhat spiritual/religious, it’s jarring and turns to guilt spirals really fast. because i live at home im expected to go, and if i don’t it upsets my mom and i really don’t like making her life harder. but last week i had a panic attack at work over the guilt spirals, and my mom is trying to figure out what’s causing it. we’re really close, so she knows when im avoiding something and she doesn’t believe any of the half truths ive given her so far. i don’t know how she’ll react though. she’s supportive of my aunt and her wife, and she kinda fought my grandma after she made a “at least she’s not gay” comment about me after i got my first boyfriend, but she’s also called bi and nonbinary people “confused” and has said stuff about traditional marriage being the expectation.
i don’t know if coming out would help, and i dont think i could handle the conversation going poorly. but i dont know what else to do
Hi! God, this sounds awful.
First, please remember that there is nothing to feel guilty for. You are absolutely perfect just the way you are.
When you said you don't know if you can handle the conversation going poorly, that made me nervous. So I'm wondering, is there a way to avoid going to church without coming out? Maybe say you have a lot of schoolwork to focus on? Even say you want to go to a different church? Because I'm thinking, if your parents get mad about that, at least they aren't upset about your identity, they're mad about a made-up reason.
I don't think coming out to your mom at some point is a horrible idea. But I think you should wait until you're out of the house and you have a more secure grasp on the fact that you are allowed to be unapologetically you.
Let me know what you think! Naming you church anon!
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discoverywriter · 1 year ago
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20 Questions For Writers
Didn’t actually get tagged on this, but it looked like a fun one. 🤣
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
AO3 says I have 24. Huh.
2. What is your total AO3 word count?
288,626 since I started in 2021, which seemed like a lot to me until I realized 179,551 of those belong to the second thing I ever wrote, a massive 4 part series covering from Rio’s resurrection to their inevitable HEA.
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Veronica Mars brought me to AO3. The Punisher (Kastle) made me think for the first time about writing prompts, but it was the Good Girls (Brio) fandom that finally got me to put the proverbial pen to paper.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
1. Even If It Hurts (Part 3 of Walk Through The Fire series)
2. Sanctuary (Part 2 of Walk Through The Fire series)
3. Get Your House In Order (Part 1 of Walk Through The Fire series)
4. By My Side (Part 4 of Walk Through The Fire series)
5. What Would Elizabeth Do?
5. Do you respond to comments?
Yes! I try to, at least. Sorry if I’ve missed any, sometimes I lose track of the notification emails.
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Ooh, definitely Enemy of My Enemy. Hardest fic for me to finish. Not fluffy. No HEA. Rio is aaaaaangry.
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Hmm… there’s a lot to choose from cause I looooove a soft, fluffy Brio. If you can slog through the 4 part series, it covers the most ground, ending years after the show. It’s loosely based on canon to start, but veers off.
8. Do you get hate on your fics?
Hmm… Not really. Luckily just one I can think of. A vague accusation that all my ideas were suspiciously like a lot of other ones on AO3… except those other writers did it way better. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I blocked them and figured if anything, it meant I’d finally “made it”. 😂
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I try to. I aim for the kind I think people will enjoy reading, but I often alternate between worrying it’s either a little too cheesy, or over the top.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
I don’t, but I would never say never. There are some I would *love* for other people to write, though. Karen Page (Punisher) and Steve Rogers (Captain America)… Intrepid reporter interviews national hero after the Battle of New York. Neither are looking for anything, but sparks fly. Anyone? Anyone??? 🤣
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
I don’t think so?
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
No, but wouldn’t it be awesome if AO3 had a button that would do that automatically?
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Again, no. I won’t say it would never happen, but I’m a bit of a lone wolf writer. Strict deadlines, etc are tough for me, so I think I’d find a co-writing situation very stressful.
14. What’s your all time favourite ship?
It has to be Brio. 🥰
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
This is a tough one. I don’t tend to release fics until they’re finished, so I don’t have any orphaned stories out there crying out for a happy ending. I do have a dozen or so ideas that are in various stages of completion. Some are almost done(ish), so I suspect the ones that are less likely to get finished are the ones that are literally a sentence fragment… barely a complete idea. I mean, they’re great random scattered thoughts, but… Yeah.
16. What are your writing strengths?
I’ve been told my Brio characterizations are good.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Hmmm… Dialogue and smut. My descriptions aren’t bad, but my writing style isn’t as “flowy” as I’d sometimes like.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
I’m not bilingual, so if I include another language in a fic I tend to keep it fairly short and straightforward to lessen the chance of getting it wrong.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Good Girls. First and only.
20. Favourite fic you’ve written?
I don’t mind rereading (most of) my own stuff. I have a special soft spot for ones where Brio interacts with the kids, like Smarter Than Your Average Gang Friend (Rio gets shown up by the Jane), and In Sickness (Jane’s sick and Rio shows Beth an uncharacteristic kindness).
Not tagging anyone in particular. Please, jump in!
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callsignspark · 2 years ago
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holding hands during a stressful situation for the intimacy prompts with Mary and Bradley!!
hi anon! thanks for sending this one!! I got the best idea for this and I loved the way it turned out!
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surprise?
pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)
warnings: 18+ minors DNI, mentions of cancer, pregnancy, alluding to abortion, this is set once they’re already together, so many goddamn pet names, also you don’t need to read Mar[r]y Me to read and understand this but you should anyway
word count: 1.6k
note: I'm wandering somewhere around Boston at the moment, but please enjoy this! I'll be lurking when I can so please send stuff! I’ll see you on Monday!
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“Honey, please sit down.” Mary is trying her best to be comforting, even as she feels the annoyance creeping up in her chest.
I know you’re scared, but I’m fucking terrified. Is what she wants to yell at him; it’s been a tense week, and his pacing is not helping her anxiety.
But she doesn’t.
She knows how stressed Bradley has been, how stressed he is. He’s kept a brave face on for the girls, but now that it’s just the two of them, she can feel his emotions bouncing off the walls.
“Okay, so based on what you’ve told me, I think our best course of action is to run some tests and see what’s going on.”
“Could it be cancer?”
“Mr. Bradshaw, I won’t speculate on what it could be, there are several things that-”
“I’m just asking if it’s a possibility. Her family doesn’t have a history of cancer, but they’re also not the best at going to the doctor, so who knows.”
Doctor Hong leans back on the stool, crossing her arms over her chest. She must see the terrified look in his eyes because she softens. “Mr. Bradshaw, like I said. It could be several different things that are causing these symptoms. I won’t lie to you; there is a possibility that it could be cancer. But we don’t want to worry about that until we officially have a diagnosis. Other than her recent problems, Mary is very healthy, and I’m confident that we’ll be able to handle whatever is going on.”
Her words during Monday’s appointment had done little to comfort Bradley. He had spent the entire week with his eyebrows creased. It’s Friday, and Mary is starting to worry that it’s going to be a permanent expression on his face.
They both took the day off, leaving the girls in the care of Grandma and Grandpa Mitchell before heading to the healthcare complex. Mary had spent most of the morning going through the tests Dr. Hong had ordered.
Blood pressure.
Urine test.
Blood work.
Pap smear.
Abdomen ultrasound.
Then, she was released and informed that the doctor would review her results that afternoon and call them if anything urgent showed up.
Her phone rang halfway to the house.
Bradley made the first u-turn he could legally make, tires squealing, and now they’re waiting in an office. Mary’s leg bouncing as Bradley paces up and down, across the carpet and back, tenser than she had ever seen him.
“Please come sit with me.” The shake in her voice finally getting him to stop.
“I’m sorry.” He mummers, grabbing her hand and squeezing. “I’m just scared.”
“Me too, Bradley. But it’ll be okay.”
“You can’t promise-”
“Honey, we’ve handled a lot. We’ll get through whatever this is, okay? Because it’s us. We made vows to each other, and I’m not done with you yet.” Her voice cracks on the last part, tears springing to both of their eyes.
“Fuck, I’m supposed to be comforting you, baby doll. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad husband this week.”
“I get it, honey, it’s okay. It’s a bit too similar to your mom for comfort.”
“But that doesn’t make it okay! Shit. I wish I could talk to my parents about this. Dad wasn’t there, but I know he would have been so much better about this than me!”
Mary pulls him in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Breathe, handsome. We don’t know what’s going on yet.”
“Baby doll, I don’t want to sound like a paranoid asshole, but them calling us less than twenty minutes after we left can’t be good.”
Dr. Hong enters the room, cutting off any further worrying. “Hi guys, thanks for coming back in so quickly. Just let me get your file pulled up, and we’ll go through the results.”
It’s a tense few minutes, the clacking of the keyboard grating on the couple’s nerves, before the practitioner turns to them and folds her hands on the big oak desk.
“I reviewed your test results, and everything came back normal. We did find something on the ultrasound.” Bradley’s hand starts to crush Mary’s. “But it’s nothing to worry about. If you could just look at the screen right here.”
All three heads swivel to the monitor on the wall, a grainy black-and-white image showing up. “So everything looks healthy in here, Mary. The only thing we found was a baby. Congratulations, mom and dad! It looks like you’re about-”
Dr. Hong keeps talking, explaining how far along Mary is and what the baby's due date will be, but it’s white noise to the Bradshaws, blood rushing in their ears.
“I’m sorry, wait.” Bradley croaks. “She’s pregnant?”
“Yes, it looks like you’re about 13 weeks along. And everything is very healthy.”
“I don’t- I- I don’t…” Mary trails off, her heart racing at the news. “A baby?”
“Yes. If my interpretation of the scans is correct, you’re thirteen weeks pregnant.” Dr. Hong talks slower, used to patients’ shock at unexpected news.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Bradley can hardly catch his breath. “I had a vasectomy last year. I did all the follow-ups and was cleared. How is she pregnant? I mean, we’ve been having a lot of sex, but I’m shooting blanks.”
She’s heard a lot of things in her time as a healthcare professional, but for the first time in her career, Stacey Hong is unsure how to proceed. Mainly because if she opens her mouth, she’s afraid she’ll start laughing at the horrified look on her patient’s face. She has to bite her tongue when Mary slaps her husband’s arm, hissing his name as her face turns red.
Breathe. Don’t laugh. These are some of your nicest patients. Don’t laugh at them. Breathe.
She pushes through, ignoring the last part of his question and addressing the real issue. “Vasectomies are a very effective form of birth control, but unfortunately, they aren’t 100% effective. About 1 in every 1,000 vasectomies fail, and that failure usually reveals itself within the first year following the procedure. So you’re right in that timeframe.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Bradley bends over his knees, running his fingers through his hair before bouncing up like a Jack in the Box. “Mary? How are you feeling? You okay, honey?”
“I’m- I… I don’t know. So, all my symptoms were pregnancy-related? This is not how I was with the twins.”
“Every pregnancy is unique, so it’s not unusual that this time would be different than it was with your girls. We’ll have to wait for the results of your pap smear to be completely sure, but I’m fairly confident that we can attribute everything - including the exhaustion - to your pregnancy.” Dr. Hong stands up. “I’m sorry to rush you, but I do have another appointment to get to. I’ll have Ashley set up a follow-up appointment and get you set up in the system for this pregnancy. They can print off some ultrasound photos at the front if you'd like them. I’ll see you soon; congratulations again, you guys!”
They move at a snail’s pace, slowly making their way to the front desk in a daze. Mary stuffs the informational folder in her purse and grabs Bradley’s hand as they walk to the Bronco. They sit there staring at each other for a few minutes before Bradley pulls the ultrasound photos out of the folder.
“Another baby…” He stares in awe at the low-quality screenshots. “How are you feeling? I know we decided we were done after the girls, but this obviously changes things.”
“Are we too old to have another kid? We were already older when we had the girls, but we’re really gonna be old when this one comes.”
“So we had kids a bit later in life.” He shrugs, shuffling over the bench seat towards his favorite person. “We’re still the cool parents in our forties.”
The laugh she lets out is wet, tears streaming down her face. “Hey, are you okay? If this isn’t what you want, we don’t have to do this, Mary. I’m happy with either way.”
“No, it’s not that, Bradley. I know it’s not what we planned, but now that we’re here, I absolutely want this.” She squeezes his hand. “It’s just hitting me again that I never thought I’d get this life. A wonderful husband who supports me so much. A little group of kids.”
“Still no dog, though.” He mummers, kissing her tears away. “You think Lily will accept a baby brother instead of a puppy?”
“You think it’s a boy?”
“Yeah, I just have a feeling. Do we still have that list of baby names? We’re gonna need it again.”
“Mav is gonna cry again, huh?”
“Give me a minute, and I will be too.”
The kisses they exchange are tender, identical to the ones they shared after they found out she was pregnant with the twins. Happiness radiates through the car.
“There is just one thing I need you to do.” Mary pulls back, smiling as Bradley presses kisses against her face, excitedly whispering about how they’re going to be parents again.
“Anything for you. Whatever you need, mama.”
“You have to call Dr. Lewis on Monday and schedule another vasectomy. This has to be the last one, or we’ll be 60 and still popping out kids.”
“You’d be so sexy as a pregnant 60-year-old.”
“Bradley…”
“I’ll call first thing, baby doll. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She kisses him with all the love she has. “Let’s go tell our family we have a new member coming to join us in February.”
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@gretagerwigsmuse | @bobfloyds | @hangmanbrainrot | @notroosterbradshaw | @princessphilly | @roleycoleyreccenter | @thesewordsareallihavetogive | @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby | @katieshook02 | @hellojameshowyadoin | @aristotles-butthole | @atarmychick007 | @whatislovevavy | @kmc1989 | @sometimesanalice
fic tag | Mar[r]y Me masterlist | credit for dividers here
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hush-writes-preg · 1 year ago
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i’ve been wanting to say this for a while, and im still not sure i’m gonna say it right, but i really appreciate your blog. i’ve been having issues with my ovaries for a while and it’s still not clear if i’m fertile or even gonna get to Keep my ovaries much longer. it’s been really stressful, because i really want to be able to get pregnant, and i might never be able to. but one of the worst parts is that i’m transmasc, and a lot of people- including my own family- can’t wrap their heads around being a man and wanting to be pregnant. even other transmascs seem to think i can’t actually be trans and genuinely want this. people pity me cus they think Society is what made me feel this way, and they have to “help” by convincing me this is something i don’t actually want.
you and all your followers have been the opposite of that. seeing so many other transmascs who openly (and sometimes desperately) want to experience pregnancy has made me feel like so much less of an other. seeing people who aren’t transmasc but have transmasc friends/partners being so encouraging and supportive when this is something they want has felt so validating. it’s such a positive and welcoming environment here, and it’s so comforting.
so i guess the main takeaway is everyone should keep being horny, because there’s at least one person who really appreciates it.
Hey there, Aster! Thanks for hopping into my inbox with your kind words! 💖
I've said it before, and I'll continue saying it long into the future for old and new followers alike-- this blog exists because I believe that everyone deserves the opportunity to feel appreciated, validated, and seen in regard to this kink. I don't care what parts anyone was born with, what parts anyone has now, or what anyone's age(18+)/gender/sexuality is. Anyone can feel the desire to be pregnant or to impregnate someone else, and that feeling should be celebrated.
I'm sorry to hear that you've had so much trouble with your original plumbing, Aster, and that you aren't sure if you'll be able to conceive. That's a really shitty situation to be in when you actually want to get pregnant. I've known a few people on Tumblr who are in similar health-related situations, and I just wish I could give all of you a big hug (if it's wanted). It's really not fair. The universe is pretty shit for allowing that to happen in the first place. But you're not alone, okay? I don't know how much comfort that offers you, but there are folks out there who commiserate, understand what you're struggling with, and hope that you'll be able to eventually find happiness regardless of what happens.
And yeah... family and society can suck big time sometimes. OFC you can't be male and want to carry a child, right? /s In my opinion, those people are nothing more than gatekeepers who have no business being involved in your body and business. The knowledge that these kinds of opinions are so commonplace really pisses me off. The desire to procreate is a ridiculously ordinary (though not universal) part of being human, so why shouldn't anyone be allowed to use the parts they have to make a baby if they want to? Or be allowed to find other reasonable ways to make it happen? :throws-table.gif:
Ugh. I'll get off of my soapbox now.
All that said, if the space I'm nurturing and the community we're all building is one of support, encouragement, and affirmation, then that's a dream fulfilled for me. We may be stuck feeling like an Other elsewhere thanks to societal stupidity, but not here. Here we're all as incredible and sexy and fertile as we wish to be, and I refuse to hear otherwise.
You're awesome, Aster. Try to stay positive, do what you can to take care of your troublesome bits, and love yourself the way you are. And if you ever need to vent about this stuff, my DMs are open, okay?
I adore all of you horny, breedable fuckers. 💖 Don't any of you forget it.
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theskee · 7 months ago
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hi! i dont know if you answer asks or anything, but i just wanted to write in and say i love your works so much. i’m not sure if you’re on hiatus, if you have writer’s block or if you’re simply just busy — but ever since i’ve read your works my standards for fanfics have been raised to a point where it seems like nothing even compares.
i think you’ve moved on from writing them but i really miss your jotajosu fics, i was ADDICTEDDD and i might even go back and reread a few but im at a point in my life where i associate nothing but happy times with your fanfics because that’s how much joy they brought me when i read them. i downloaded bluesky just for you when you moved, but i barely use it, and i even check your ao3 periodically and i get a little sad when there arent uploads. but i hope you’re putting yourself first and doing well.
if your comms are open i would love to commission you for a jotajosu fic, i miss my boys so much and the fandom is dying. :(
WITH MUCH MUCH LOVE AND THE HIGHEST REGARDS!! ♡
I do answer asks! I always try to answer any asks or comments or messages I get. I'm just slow sometimes as life is very busy lol. I do not have the free time I used to. First of all, I'm very grateful you took the time to send such a kind message about my Jotajosu fics from a couple years ago. The time I spent working on them was something I really valued and treasured. I learned a lot in the like. Almost two years I spent working on fic after fic. There were like 50 of them and over a million words. And that's just the stuff that I wound up publishing lol. To know that it was enjoyed is nice, especially since positive feedback got really thin on the ground toward the end of my time with the pairing before I ultimately decided to leave that fan space. I have been less than active for a good chunk of the year as I was going through a lot in my personal life. I didn't exactly intend to go on hiatus but I guess it kind of is an unintentional one. I burned out hard after my time with Jotajosu and life has certainly done a good job of keeping that burnout rolling. I am trying to work on fic again, slowly but surely poking away and new stuff now that I've moved on completely from jotajosu. I am sorry to hear that my lack of activity is a bummer. Trust me, it bums me out, too. But fanwork is one of those things that I use to de-stress and it requires the right balance of inspiration, free time, and motivation, which has been hard to come by this past year. I'm very very tired lol. And yes, I have definitely been putting myself first. I have been writing fanfiction and original work since I was 12, so the better part of 21 years at this point. I live and breathe the creative craft, but I go through periods of rest that tend to be pretty long stretches at times. My AO3 upload history will speak to that lol. To know my work touched people, entertained, and provided a joy that brings back fond memories, is the highest compliment I could possibly receive. I hope to one day make original works and get published. That's the real dream, for sure. I no longer do any kind of commissions, I simply don't have the time. And I wouldn't be able to deliver the same kind of quality of writing if I made myself write in spite of this. I've got a lot of distance between myself and Jotajosu now, and the spark for that particular pairing has definitely died out. I don't even really discuss the pairing in private with friends anymore. There's a lot of love there for the time I shared and the people I met. The friends I made. But the pairing itself is one that definitely has passed me by. I'm more focused on other things now, and most of them are writing projects I'm doing in private with a good friend for the sake of just, writing without limitations or boundaries or concerns for an audience. It's been really healing. But I do hope to get back into publishing fanfiction again soon. Thank you again, for your kindness. It means a lot to me. I hope you take care, anon. x Skee
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