#I've been making a conscious effort to actually write them lately

[macgyvermedical]

Schizophrenia

Hi all, I know I've been a little absent as of late. The reason for that, as you may know if you've been reading my personal posts, is that I got diagnosed with schizophrenia.

Because this blog is ostensibly about medical things, I figured I would come back to that by talking a little bit about schizospec illnesses. What they are, what they're not, and what you need to know if you're writing a character with something on the schizophrenia spectrum.

Schizophrenia is a change in perception and thought that manifests in 3 main ways. The first way is what everyone tends to think of, which is hallucinations and delusions. These are called positive symptoms.

To have hallucinations means you experience things in the world that other people don't. For example, hearing voices (which can be external, as though the person is actually hearing them, or internal, where the voices are coming from inside the person's head, but the person can't control them) is a common hallucination for people with schizospec illnesses. Hallucinations can also be seeing, smelling, or feeling things that others can't.

Delusions are fixed false beliefs. Such as, believing that someone is out to hurt you or that someone is trying to send you a secret message via television, or that other people can read your thoughts, or that you're someone who is particularly important (a head of state, Jesus, or a superhero, for instance). Even when these beliefs are confronted with facts, the person still holds the belief, often able to explain away the facts as not applying to their situation. Some people can know that a delusion is false (or that people would think they were crazy if they said it out loud) and still believe that it's true at the same time.

The next type of symptoms are what are called negative symptoms. This is where it is difficult to think of things, speak coherently, socialize, or express emotions. The person might have what is called a "flat" affect, or where they don't display emotion on their face naturally. They may also experience something called catatonia, where they are conscious but unable to respond to the outside world. Someone who is experiencing catatonia is often hallucinating severely at the same time.

The last type of symptoms are called cognitive. These are symptoms that make critical thinking, decision making, and problem solving difficult. This might be that they're constantly distracted by hallucinations, but it can also just be that the person has trouble making good decisions for themself.

Now, just like autism is a spectrum, schizophrenia is a spectrum as well. In addition to traditional schizophrenia, there are milder forms (often called schizotypal personality disorders), and a combination of schizophrenia and a mood disorder (depression or bipolar disorder most commonly) called schizoaffective disorder.

The "severity" is also different for different people. Some people are able to lead nearly normal lives with the occasional hallucination or be able to work through delusions with skills gained from counseling, even if they don't take medication. Some are well controlled on medication and as long as they take it, they can keep a job and have a nearly normal family and social life. Some may be moderately well controlled on medication, and be able to work part time, but symptoms and/or side effects from the medication make it difficult to work full time or have a normal social life.

Still others may be unable to work due to symptoms or side effects from medication, or the amount of time and effort it takes to manage symptoms or side effects makes having time for a job or social life difficult. Still others may need to live in assisted living or a group home, where someone else is managing food and medications for them, because of the amount of time, effort, and skill necessary to manage the schizophrenia is so great.

Schizophrenia is usually treated with a combination of counseling and medication, just like a lot of mental illnesses. A person with schizophrenia may also need the occasional inpatient stay to more emergently change medications if they get a flair up and are suddenly unable to take care of themselves (or may be a danger to themselves or others) due to severe symptoms.

The medications usually used to treat schizophrenia are first and second-generation antipsychotics. First generation antipsychotics came out in the 1950s and were the mainstay of treatment for a long time. These are often very good at treating positive symptoms, but cause tiredness and if taken at high doses for a long time a movement disorder called tardive diskinesia.

Second generation antipsychotics came out in the 1990's through today, and tend to cause a lot less sedation (my experience is they actually gave me energy) but often cause weight gain and metabolic syndromes like diabetes (though taking them concurrently with metformin tends to reduce this risk).

It's kind of a pick your poison situation.

Also, antipsychotics (especially second generation ones) tend not to completely take away symptoms. They instead make them easier to manage. Usually it is through a combination of therapy like cognitive behavioral therapy for psychosis (CBTp) and a medication or two that symptoms are well managed.

Social support is often necessary too. This can be help with finding housing and health insurance, but it can also be facilitated social events, group therapy, or support groups. Since a lot of people with schizophrenia have trouble making friends in the wild, these can be very helpful in building social and emotional skills safely.

I hope this gave you a good overview of what schizophrenia spectrum illnesses are like. If you have any questions feel free to send them my way!

[hongcherry]

pretty please (stay with me) || c.sc | 3

“After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol’s obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?”

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (f)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst; Unrequited enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, college au

🍒 Warnings: General tws + mention of death, mention of divorce, sugar daddy seungcheol (we love to see it)

🍒 WC: 12.6k

🍒 Betas: Sarah, Indi, Kelly, Freya 💖

🍒 Author’s Note: Already halfway through the series! Thank you for all the support I've gotten so far! (no I won't stop saying thanks bc I'm grateful for you all!). I'm really relieved people like it since I enjoyed writing it a lot ♥️

also read here: AO3 | Wattpad

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

You sit on the edge of your bed, legs bouncing with anticipation.

He will be here any minute, and like before, you’re suddenly self-conscious of your outfit. You didn’t change it as many times as you did last time, but you still thought hard about it. You end up donning a black faux fur tube top, high-waisted black pants, and black heels. 

Your red pumps are an option, but you think they’re too much—a little too dressed up for a simple dinner… But then again you are wearing a top that resembles a fuzzy rug, so the outfit is already borderline “too much.”

And Seungcheol likes red.

Your eyes dart to the discarded shoes in the corner. Does it matter that he likes red—on you, to be more specific? If you wear those, will he think you wore them for him? Do you want to wear them for him?

As the questions tumble into your mind, you barely register your door opening.

“Honey?” your father asks gently.

Your head pops up to see him entering your room. “Yeah?”

“How late are you going to stay out?” he wonders.

You give him a quizzical look. He rarely questions you on your outings, let alone the duration.

“I’m not sure. I can bring home some food for you and Seoah,” you offer, thinking he needs you to bring back dinner since you will be gone.

“No need. I’m going to take her out once you go,” he replies.

You’re never good at hiding your reactions. Your eyes widen slightly before narrowing. This is odd coming from your dad.

“What’s the special occasion?” you wonder. You can’t recall the last time he took you both for food or just out in general.

“There’s none,” he says. You stare at him in silence as you take in his appearance. His usual eye bags are still present, but he looks more freshened up than you’ve seen in a while. It also looks like he put some effort into his outfit.

“Are you dying?” you ask, thinking he is trying to leave a positive impression before he leaves this earth.

Your dad’s eyes enlarge. “No, no, I’m healthy. I just,” he sighs. “Seeing your mother again made me realize I haven’t been very attentive to you and your sister.”

“This isn’t the first time she’s come back though,” you reply, confused as to why this time is different.

“I know. I can’t really explain it right now,” he says. “Are you going out with Dae?”

“Yeah—” a buzz from your phone “—she’s here.”

You stand up from your bed. “We can talk later, if you have time.”

“I’ll find some time,” he says. You aren’t sure if that is really going to happen, but you don’t want to ponder on that now. “Come back safe.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. Talking to a caring dad has your mind-boggling. You want to feel like your father is actually going to be in your life, but he’s been out of it for years, so it’s hard to imagine that changing.

Your father nods and makes his way out of your room. 

A knock at your door startles you from your daze. Before you can overthink the decision, you hastily kick off your heels and replace them with the red pumps. You apply a layer of matching lipstick, then toss the stick in your purse while you jog to the front door. Though what you see isn’t ideal.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ln,” Seungcheol greets respectfully.

“You as well, Seungcheol,” replies your father. You can’t see his face from where you are, but he sounds friendly. Not that he shouldn’t be. He has no reason to be hostile. You just aren’t sure if he’ll try to play the tough dad or not.

Plus, a part of you worries Seungcheol will be able to see past the “perfect family” facade and see all your imperfections.

You gently push your way in front of your dad, turning to face him with your back to Seungcheol.

“I’ll see you later,” you tell him and nudge him inside so you can close the door better.

“Now, just wait a minute, Yn,” he says and looks over your shoulder to Seungcheol. Your body tenses. He is not about to give the whole get-her-home-by—

“—by eleven o’clock. I trust you’ll keep her safe.”

Seungcheol doesn’t appear to be bothered by your father’s little protective speech. Instead, he gives him a reassuring smile. One that a gentleman would wear and one you aren’t used to seeing from him. Normally you get teasing grins.

“Her safety is my top priority,” Seungcheol says earnestly.

Oh God, now you’re stuck between a rom-com conversation.

“Great. Now that you’re both done going through your lines, can we go?”

“Lines?” your dad questions. You aren’t about to waste any more time explaining your lame reference to common daughter-father-date discussions. Not that Seungcheol is your date.

“Is that Seungcheol?!” Seoah’s voice rings behind your dad. Not her, too.

“Yup, it’s slang, bye Dad!” you quickly say, and instead of shoving him back inside as you planned, you turn and shove Seungcheol down the stairs.

“Hey, wait!” Seoah calls out and zips past you to Seungcheol. Seungcheol stands at the bottom of the steps, eyeing you with confusion at your strange behavior. He looks at Seoah when she stands at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Seoah,” he waves at her. 

What did she do to deserve one of his dimple-inducing smiles?

“It’s good to see you back,” she beams, a grin on her face.

“You too,” he chuckles.

“Back?” your father asks.

Your attention zooms in on Seoah, and you hope the silent glare you give her is recognized by her. Her mouth drops open at the realization.

“I mean, it’s good to see your back! It’s nice,” she corrects quickly, gesturing around his body. “It’s, erm, wide and cool.”

“His back is wide and cool?” echoes your father slowly in puzzlement.

That’s enough.

Seungcheol laughs, his obnoxious little deep “ha’s” ringing in your ears. You quickly grab his arm and start to drag him away. 

“Have fun at dinner,” you say to your family while you briskly walk away.

Despite Seungcheol being strong enough to pull himself out of your grasp, he lets you lead him to his car.

“Do you think my back is wide and cool too?” he teases.

You whip around to look at him, pausing in your trek. You’re standing a little too close than you intended. “No, I think it’s mediocre and dull.”

He laughs again at your response. You flicker your eyes to the sky as you take a deep breath.

“Not another word,” you warn before guiding him to his car.

Your hand is on the passenger’s side handle, ready to pull it open, but Seungcheol stops you. He gently pushes your hand off before placing his own on the handle.

“I’m perfectly capable of opening your car door myself,” you grumble, arms crossing over your chest.

The corner of one of his lips raises. His eyes drop to your lips briefly.

“I know, Cherry,” he says, then averts his gaze back to your eyes, “but I’m chivalrous, remember?”

He pulls the door open and nods to get in. You narrow your gaze at that, wanting to challenge him on if he truly is.

“Can you guys stop flirting and get inside? I’m hungry,” Dae’s voice pulls you from your staring contest. You forgot she will be in the car already.

“You heard the lady,” Seungcheol murmurs to you.

“You’re going to get this heel stuck so far up your ass, Choi Seungcheol.”

He chuckles and leans in closer, voice dropping so only you can hear, “Sounds kinky, baby.”

You push down the fluttering of your heart at the pet name because you refuse to let him get away with that cocky reply.

“If you both don’t get in now, I’m leaving you guys and taking the car,” Dae threatens.

You glare at Seungcheol for a second longer before lowering yourself in the seat.

“Finally,” Dae mumbles when Seungcheol climbs in.

“Sorry, there was an… incident that delayed us,” you say and set your purse in your lap. Dae leans forward, placing a hand on your arm to turn you toward her.

“You don’t look sick,” she observes to herself. You scoff and brush her hand off you.

“Because I’m not,” you say.

Seungcheol starts driving as you speak with Dae.

“Are you sure?” she wonders.

“Why would you think I’m sick?”

“Because you apologized.”

You peer back at her, unamused. Dae just smiles.

“She also says please now,” Seungcheol chimes in. You groan at his addition and press your back into the seat. Your feet almost kick like a kid throwing a tantrum, but you hold back that urge.

“Well, now, she’s always done that…sort of. Have you been saying please more? I’m shocked. What about your ‘thank yous’? You haven’t forgotten those right?” Dae asks as if speaking to a child.

You sigh loudly, making it as audible as you can so they know how annoyed you are. Apparently, all Seungcheol’s outings result in your misery one way or another. “I’m not agreeing to any more of your invitations, Seungcheol.”

“I doubt that. You like my company too much to refuse,” he replies. He doesn’t appear to be bothered one bit by your statement.

“Does she now?” Dae wonders aloud. You don’t like where her mind is wandering to.

“Hush it, you two. The only tolerable one here is Yejun,” you huff, having seen him for a second when you glanced at Dae. He was on his phone then, but now he’s sitting back enjoying the bantering between you all.

“I’m honored to hear that, Yn,” he teases.

Even though the car ride consists of Seungcheol and Dae teasing you and Yejun, you’re grateful to get your mind off the troubles you’ve been having lately.

When you arrive, you quickly open the door and step out before Seungcheol can open it for you.

“I beat you this time,” you gloat as Seungcheol comes to stand by you, locking his car once the others are out.

There’s a small bounce to your step when you exit that causes Seungcheol to give you a warm smile, eyes staring at you with tenderness. 

“That you did, Cherry.”

Your elevated shoulders deflate while a pout takes over your features. His reply is too casual. You had expected something more witty.

“While you two do a round two of flirting, Yejun and I are going to go inside,” Dae says before wrapping her arm in Yejun’s and leaving you both by the car.

She walks away too fast for you to reply, so you turn to Seungcheol. He wears a red turtleneck, black pants, and a black leather jacket slung over his arm. The shirt hugs his body nicely; it outlines his muscular chest ever so slightly and makes you yearn to see more. His hair is styled a little to still look natural but gives it a different appearance. He’s really handsome tonight. Red seems to be his color as well.

“You’re not going to wear that?” you wonder while pointing to his jacket.

He shakes his head. “It’s too hot right now.”

“Then why did you bring it?” you ask, eyebrows coming together.

Shrugging, he takes your hand in his. Your first instinct is to pull away—startled at his sudden touch. You’ve never held his hand before. The act seems a little too intimate… Makes you feel a little too warm.

Nevertheless, you keep your hand in his. The feeling is rather nice if you’re being honest with yourself. His grip is firm to make the grasp feel secure but not too tight to be suffocating. It’s as if he’s just naturally used to having a strong grip on things.

“We don’t want to keep them waiting,” he says before making his way to the restaurant. You stay silent as you walk next to him.

“I’m glad you listened to me,” he comments when you are near the entrance.

“Huh?” you ask, glancing up at him.

He gives you another smile and reaches past you to hold the door open.

“Red still looks good on you. Even if there’s only a little of it.”

So he did notice.

You tear your gaze from him at his compliment, heart beating quicker. You can’t keep it steady even if you try. You feel a little proud you decided to go with the shoes after all. 

You mumble a ‘thanks’ before walking inside. He follows behind you, greeting the host. The host gestures to where your friends are all seated before wishing you a good dinner. It almost looks like they are a group of people celebrating something, but you know they aren’t. There are just a lot of you. And of course, the two empty seats happen to be next to each other at the end.

“Hi, Yn! Hey Cheol,” Joshua greets. When everyone notices you, there is a chorus of hellos. The large welcome has you smiling, not used to the friendly attention. 

All the people who are helping you with your project are here, plus a few others. They make you promise not to talk about the show before sitting down, claiming you need a break from it. You want to protest as you can talk about whatever you want, but they have a point. You probably do need a mental breather. Thus, you agree to their conditions.

You sit between Seungcheol and Wonwoo, who you just met. He’s a film production student and like Vernon, keeps mostly to himself. Despite that, he isn't shy to engage wholeheartedly in the conversation if he is passionate about the topic. You also meet Jun and Seungkwan for the first time—Seungkwan being the more outgoing of the two.

Seungcheol’s friends are a lively bunch, and although his business friends can get rowdy as well, their energy just doesn't match this group. It’s more relaxing, carefree, and so easy to slip into. However, a part of that can be because you don’t feel like you’re on defense the entire time.

For the first time in years, you are surrounded by people you thoroughly enjoy—without the stress of being the best, viewed as being the enemy, and the pressure of keeping your family together with tattered strings. It’s all so… alleviating. Comforting.

Seungcheol keeps his arm hung over the back of your chair as you attentively listen to his friends. Sometimes you would feel his hand on your back and would turn to see if he needed something. He always shook his head and nodded back to who was speaking—sometimes it was multiple, and you just picked the closest conversation you could hear.

You’re so used to hearing Seungcheol’s voice that you don’t realize how quiet he can get. At first, you’re concerned, but you realize he’s enjoying sitting back and watching his friends have fun. You don’t know how long he’s known these people, but from the fond look in his eyes, you know the duration doesn’t matter. They mean a lot to him.

You wonder if he’ll ever look at you like that in the future. Like you are someone he cherishes and adores. Suddenly, you want to try everything in your power to achieve that.

Once the food arrives, you figure the noise will quiet down. That isn’t the case. The table is still chatty even though it should be filled with munching. You suppose this is the pros of being with a large group.

Seungcheol had moved this arm so he could eat, but he put it back when he was done. When his fingers graze your back for the nth time, you finally peer behind you to see his hand. You giggle as you realize he’s been playing with the fuzz of your top the entire time.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly apologizes and retracts his arm from your chair. You grab his wrist, guiding it back to where it was.

“It’s fine. It’s nice,” you murmur.

“And cool?” he taunts, referring to Seoah’s attempt to hide the fact that Seungcheol had been to your house before.

You scowl at him half-heartedly before turning away. In spite of the loud environment, your ears still catch his low chuckle behind you.

Not once this night did Seungcheol put on his jacket. He never came close to needing it. Nevertheless, he didn’t hesitate to drape the material over your shoulders when he saw you shiver for the third time. There’s a tiny part of you that wonders if he brought it just for you. Though that’s a reach as he wouldn’t have known what you were wearing. You could have brought your own.

Despite feeling warmer, you miss his hand touching your back. Sometimes it would tickle your bare skin whenever you moved a certain way; it had shivers running down your spine. It could’ve been because of his cold hands, but you knew it was more because of his skin touching yours. You’re tempted to remove his jacket just so you can feel his touch again.

“Hey Yn,” comes a voice behind you suddenly. You glance up to see Jeonghan. He leans on the back of Seungcheol’s chair to look at you.

“Hi,” you greet. He’s sitting on the other side of the table, so you wonder what brings him over.

Jeonghan glances down at Seungcheol, one hand on his shoulder. “Seungcheol.”

“Jeonghan,” answers Seungcheol suspiciously.

“So, I heard you’re paying for some people’s dinner,” Jeonghan trails off.

Seungcheol leans forward to move away from the man.

“Emphasis on some,” he replies.

“One more won’t hurt, right?” Jeonghan asks with an innocent smile on his face; however, you know that grin is more devious than it appears. It means trouble.

“Hm, you’re right,” Seungcheol answers, then glances past you. “I’m sure Wonwoo would love a free meal.”

Jeonghan whines at his reply. “Not him! Me! Pay for mine, buddy?”

“No,” Seungcheol says with a small laugh.

“Seungcheol’s paying?” Soonyoung’s voice rings out from across the table. Their conversation, albeit not loud, catches his attention. Or perhaps Soonyoung just has a keen ear for the words “pay,” “Seungcheol,” and “free”.

“No!” Seungcheol says, louder than before.

“Seungcheol’s paying?” More voices resound this time, all heads turning toward Seungcheol.

“No, I’m not,” the man in the center of attention declines. He sends a glare to Jeonghan.

“Isn’t he so generous?” Jeonghan says, disregarding Seungcheol’s answer, and goes to wrap his arms around Seungcheol. The latter man has no choice but to accept the hug as he is trapped due to the table.

Whoops, hollers, and thanks reverberate from the group.

Your eyes scan the table. It’s covered in plates. Sure, a few meals aren’t too bad, but paying for a table of sixteen is absurd. Perhaps they’re all joking with him. Though, when they all begin to file out of the building without opening their wallets, you know they’re serious.

Seungcheol stays seated as they leave, informing you both they’ll wait outside. 

You stare at Seungcheol in shock. You figure he’d be infuriated, but he looks relaxed still. Almost as if this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

You grab your wallet from your purse, plucking out your card and holding it out to him.

“I can help pay,” you say. Seungcheol glances at your offering. He smiles at you and pushes your hand back.

“I appreciate that, but don’t worry about it, Cherry.” He sounds amused as if you just offered him a popsicle rather than money.

“But this is way too much for you to pay alone,” you argue.

Seungcheol doesn’t let you see the bill and pays for the meal swiftly. However, you don’t need to see the total to know it’s a lot of money.

“Seungcheol,” you scold when he doesn’t listen to you.

He chuckles and slides his card back into his wallet. “Put that away, and let’s go, baby.”

He gestures to your card still in your hand before standing up and adjusting his clothes. It takes you a few seconds to move, still dumbfounded by him actually paying for it all and affording it, and him calling you baby. Despite him only calling you that three times, it still has the same effect it always has.

Not that you are counting.

He takes your hand in his again as he walks out, thanking the host once more.

“There’s the man!” Seokmin greets him with open arms when he sees Seungcheol.

Seungcheol shakes his head in disapproval, but he has a smile on his face. “You all owe me now.”

“You say that every time,” Seungkwan calls out.

“Exactly. You all have a tab open,” he says.

“We were thinking of getting some ice cream, you guys want to come?” Chan asks.

Seungcheol glances at you before saying, “I’ve got to get her home, sorry.”

“What?” you ask. “No, you don’t.”

“It’s almost eleven,” he answers. You sigh and shift your weight.

“You don’t actually have to get me home by then,” you say, remembering your father’s words.

“Yes I do,” he argues. He looks at Dae and Yejun before you can reply. “Do you both want a ride back?”

“Nah,” Dae says. “We’re going to get another one.”

“Alright. See you all later,” Seungcheol raises a hand in farewell.

“Thanks for paying!” Mingyu exclaims, a bright smile directed toward Seungcheol.

“It was nice to meet you, Yn,” Wonwoo says.

“Get back safely,” Jun adds.

“Thanks,” you answer and then peer at Seungcheol. He’s giving his last byes. Dae catches your gaze, giving you a big grin and a few eyebrow wiggles. You roll your eyes at that and send her a small wave as Seungcheol starts to lead you to his car.

When your friends start driving past, waving and shouting goodbyes while they leave the parking lot, you slow to a stop.

“Why don’t we go with them?” you ask.

Seungcheol raises a brow. “You want to go?”

“I don’t see why not,” you shrug. Truthfully, you don’t want the night to end.

“You like hanging out with them that much?” he teases.

“They’re not that bad,” you mutter, “and ice cream sounds nice.”

He lets out a breath as if in realization. He slides his hand from yours, which you are about to protest, and then drapes it around your shoulders.

“I’ll get you ice cream on the way back, okay?” he replies and continues to his car.

Seungcheol keeps his promise, stopping by a place to get you both a double-scoop cone for the drive. Compared to the last time you were in his car, this ride is a lot more relaxing. It’s quieter since Dae and Yejun are absent, but the music on the stereo fills the small space.

At a stop light, Seungcheol fishes his phone from his pocket.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, lifting the phone up at an angle.

You peep up while licking your ice cream. “Hm?”

“Smile,” he instructs and puts his cone in the frame.

Your gaze drifts to his phone, a puzzled look on your face just in time for him to capture a photo. You’re a second too late to understand what he’s doing.

Seungcheol laughs at your unreadiness.

“Hey! That’s not fair,” you whine and nudge him.

“That’s not my fault. I told you to smile,” he says. He sets the device in the cup holder when the light changes.

“But you didn’t give me enough time to do that,” you grumble.

Not wanting him to have the upper hand, you retrieve your own phone. You lift the device, both your faces on the screen but only you are looking at the camera. Seungcheol is focused on the road, so you quickly take a photo.

“Did you—? Okay, that’s not fair. At least I told you to smile,” he laughs when he hears a click, taking a quick peek at you.

“We’re even now,” you smile as you click on the picture in your gallery. Seungcheol’s side profile can be seen in the background. His tongue is poking out to take a lick of his ice cream. That part was unintentionally taken, but you find the candid photo endearing.

“For now,” he replies, lips in a wide grin.

Your hands are sticky after you’re done with your treat, so you dig out the hand sanitizer in your purse. Seungcheol gives you his palm upon seeing the item. You laugh softly and place some in his hand as well.

Everything feels so normal. It doesn’t help that he places a hand on your thigh so naturally that you can’t find an excuse to move it. At some point in the drive, you start playing with his hand, running your fingertips across his skin and toying with the ring he wears. You don’t even realize you are doing it until he slowly pulls away to put the car in park.

“Did you have fun?” he asks quietly.

For once, you don’t shy from the truth with a sarcastic answer. “I did. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Again, it wasn’t just me. They wanted you there,” he reassures with a kind smile.

That’s weird for you to hear, and you aren’t sure how to respond. You still can’t wrap your mind around the fact multiple people wanted to be in your presence. You mean, it wasn’t just yours, but normally people give you side-eyes when you’re near. Or perhaps you just feel like they do.

“I’m glad you came,” he says before turning off his car. “Now, wait while I open your door.”

You watch as he walks around the car and comes to your side. You want to disobey him, just to rile him up, but you decide to let him have this win. In all his chivalrous glory, he holds out his hand when he opens the door.

“Thank you,” you giggle as you take it and climb out of his car. He keeps his hand in yours leading you to your house.

“You don’t always have to walk me to the door,” you say.

“I can’t see the door from where I park,” he replies.

“You don’t need to?” you answer, but it comes out more as a question due to your puzzlement.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. “Of course I do. I won’t know if you made it inside safely.”

“That’s kind of you, but—”

He turns around to face you, stopping you in your tracks

“I meant what I said earlier. Your safety is important to me,” he says, eyes locking onto yours so you can see his seriousness. Heat rises to your cheeks. You try to bite back the smile though it’s no use.

Seungcheol stares at you with gentle eyes.

“I like seeing you hap—” he starts.

A loud noise startles both of you, forcing you to move away from one another. You expect to see Seoah or your dad watching from the windows, but you don’t see any faces hiding behind the blinds.

What was that?

Another loud crash.

You don’t like the doom that creeps into your mind. Worried about your family, you rush to the door—only to find it slightly ajar. That doesn’t seem good.

“Seoah? Dad?!” you call out as you push open the door.

“Yn, stop!” Seungcheol urges and runs after you. He grabs you before you can get farther in. He moves you quickly so you are behind him.

“Get out of my way, Seung—”

“Who’s that?!”

You peer around Seungcheol to see your mother, a random knickknack you have around the house in her hand. Your eyes shoot down to the floor to see shattered glass.

“Are you out of your mind?” your father shouts and snatches the item from her hand before she can presumably throw it.

You shove Seungcheol out of the way. Well, you try to shove him. He stands firm in his stance. You try again, and although he still doesn’t move away, he leans slightly over so you can see better.

“What are you doing back?” you question your mother. She turns to you, eyes puffy and lips curled in a snarl. She looks like she hasn’t slept for a few days.

“Yn, dear. Hi sweetie,” she greets, voice softer than before.

Seungcheol watches her with hawk eyes, but when you push him for the third time, he relents. Though he still keeps close.

“Dad?” you ask, hoping to get an explanation.

“She came wanting her stuff back. I told her we had to sell some of it to afford things, and she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Am I supposed to be glad?” your mother growls as she turns back to your father. “You had no right to do that without my permission!”

“You weren’t here,” you say. Her gaze on you is one of surprise as if you’re supposed to be on her side.

“I was coming back,” she says, shoulders sagging.

“And then leave after a few days. This isn’t your home anymore.”

“You’re my home, baby girl,” she replies and starts to come closer. Seungcheol takes a step forward.

You put a hand on his arm to stop him, telling him quietly, “This isn’t your problem.”

This doesn’t make him move, and you sigh. This is exactly what you wanted to hide from Seungcheol. To hide from the world.

“Who is this? You’re letting our daughter see this disrespectful man?” your mother questions your father. 

“He’s a nice young man,” your dad defends. There’s an annoyed spark in you that wants to ask how he could know that. He met him for five minutes or less, and suddenly he knows Seungcheol? However, you don’t want to ignite another argument.

“Yn, take Seoah with you and go book a hotel room. You can take my wallet,” your father instructs.

At Seoah’s name, you realize she’s been home while all this has been happening. You’re used to her being somewhere else when fights like these occur. 

Without another word, you nod and start toward her room. You don’t get far before you remember Seungcheol. You stop to peer at him. 

You’ve never seen him so mad yet worried.

“Thanks for the meal. I’ll talk to you later,” you dismiss, hoping he will turn around and leave so you can focus on Seoah. You should’ve known he wouldn’t do that.

“Yn,” he says.

“Boy, get out of this house right now,” your mother declares.

“You’re the one that needs to leave,” your father exclaims.

Sighing, you grab Seungcheol’s hand and pull him down the hall. You knock on Seoah’s door. Your parents fighting can still be heard.

“It’s me,” you say. The door creaks open.

“What do y—Oh, Seungcheol!” Her eyes widen when she sees him.

You move in front of him more so she’s focused on you. “Eyes on me. Pack a bag. We’re going to a hotel.”

“Again?” she sighs. “I don’t want to. I can just put my headphones in.”

“It doesn’t matter. Pack. We’re leaving in fifteen.”

“I said I don’t want to!” she huffs.

“I don’t ca—” you hiss, only stopping when Seungcheol places a hand on your hip.

“You can stay at mine.”

Seoah’s eyes light up at this.

“Really?!”

“Absolutely not.”

You and your sister say in unison.

“Why not?” Seoah whines.

“We don’t need his help.”

Seoah stares at Seungcheol for a moment and then at you. Finally, she nods solemnly. “Alright, I'll be ready soon.”

“Good,” you reply, then walk to your room. Seungcheol follows you.

“You shouldn’t have said that in front of her,” you scold as you grab a bag, not bothering to look at him. He quietly closes your door to block out the noise outside, though you don’t hear it shut fully.

“Maybe not, but I meant what I said,” he replies.

“And I meant what I said,” you pause while putting a shirt in the bag, eyes glancing at him. He leans against the wall near your door; his arms are crossed. “We don’t need your help.”

You go back to tossing clothes in the bag in a rush. You kick off your heels and trade them for socks and tennis shoes. You don’t hear Seungcheol move until a hand is gently placed on yours.

“Just stop for a minute, Yn,” he says.

“I don’t have time.” You brush his hand off and go back to your closet. Seungcheol grabs your reaching hands and turns you to face him. He leans in so you can see his face easier.

“Stop,” he instructs, using that firm tone of his. It has you relenting. “It’ll be faster to just stay over. You won’t need to deal with a hotel. They may not even have an empty room.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with us,” you reply, chest jumbling with overwhelming emotions. You were happy with him just minutes ago. Now, you feel embarrassed and frustrated.

He shakes his head. “I want you to come. You won’t be bothering me.”

“Do you have a roommate? What would they say?” you question, thinking back to how some of his friends are rooming with each other.

“I live alone. I have a spare room Seoah can sleep in. It’ll be more comfortable there.”

“What about me?”

“You can have my room.”

“I’m not going to kick you out of your own room, Cheol.”

He smiles, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s nice to know you care about me.”

“I don’t,” you huff. “I just don’t want you to give me a hospital bill from the back pains you’d get from sleeping on the couch or floor or wherever.”

Seungcheol chuckles softly and watches as you take a deep breath. The playful moment disappears as quickly as it came.

You bow your head; wrists still clutched in his hold as you ponder his offer.

Staying at his place rather than a hotel does sound nicer, and he has a point there may not be any openings. Not to mention, it’s the cheaper option. But will this be crossing into territory that you aren’t ready for? You’ve hung out with him enough times to consider him your friend, but even then, that’s new to you. Friendship doesn’t come easy to you. Despite you clashing heads with his business peers, you feel Seungcheol has slid into your life too readily. Like it’s too good to be true, and he isn’t going to stick around permanently. Something in you doesn’t like that thought, but that’s an issue for another day.

Seungcheol places your hands on his chest before moving his own to cup your face. He gently lifts your head up to see you. Your eyes are glossy, not yet crying but can easily if one more thing goes wrong.

For the first time, your veil of confidence lifts.

“Stay with me,” he whispers.

He’s talking about going over to his place to get away from your parents. You know this. That’s what this whole discussion is about. But why does your heart tell you he means something else?

There’s a knock at your door, and you move away reluctantly. Seoah shuffles inside with a backpack on her back.

“He’s still here,” she says, surprised at Seungcheol’s appearance.

You clear your throat. “Yeah, we’re,” you pause as you do one final debate in your head, “we’re going to his place for the night.”

From your peripheral, you see Seungcheol’s lips lift in a faint smile.

Seoah’s sad face brightens at the news. You aren’t too sure why she’s so excited to go to his place, but you figure it’s similar to your reason—it isn’t a stuffy hotel room.

“You convinced her! You’re so clever!” she exclaims to Seungcheol.

“I am, huh?” he agrees to which you nudge him.

“Seoah, will you go grab my toiletries, please?” you ask.

“Hm, fine, but only because I forgot mine,” she replies and hurries to your shared bathroom.

“I’m clever, did you hear?” Seungcheol gloats while you finish packing.

“I’m pretending I didn’t,” you mumble. 

You zip the bag and toss it over your shoulder. As you expect, it doesn’t stay there for long. Seungcheol carefully slides it off your body before putting it on his a few minutes later. You had opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head to tell you not to argue. Sighing, you nodded because frankly, you’re done having and hearing arguments for now.

You meet Seoah in the bathroom, and you all walk to the door. 

The yelling has stopped. 

Your mom is sitting with her head in her hands, and you can hear her sobs filling the room. Your dad is cleaning the mess she made from tossing things around. They are talking, but you don’t stay long enough to hear the topic. The few words you do hear make it sound like they’re talking about their marriage, which is a conversation long overdue.

Seungcheol ends up carrying all the bags to the car. While he sets them in the trunk, you and Seoah sit inside.

“Woah! This is fancy,” Seoah admires, eyes scanning the small space.

“Thanks,” Seungcheol laughs lightly as he drives away.

Seoah talks for a while before eventually falling asleep. You aren’t surprised as it’s late, and she probably doesn’t realize how much the drama took a toll on her.

“You can sleep too,” Seungcheol offers quietly. He keeps his hand to himself this time, and you wonder if it’s because of Seoah or because he wants to distance himself from you. You can’t blame him if he did. Who wants to deal with other people’s problems? He only offered for you to come over out of courtesy.

“I’m okay,” you reply, gaze cast out the window.

As if sensing your thoughts, his hand comes to rest on your thigh again. His thumb brushes against the material of your pants, offering some comfort and reassurance. You place a hand on top of his gently. He flips his over so he can curl his fingers around your hand. You both gaze at each other with a small smile before turning away, hands still clasping in each other.

Seungcheol carries Seoah and her bag once you arrive. He offers to carry your bag too, but you’re stern in your refusal. He’s helping enough. He directs you quietly to his apartment number. After retrieving the keys, you open the door.

His apartment is spacious.

The interior is polished and decorated nicely. Similar to his car, it’s enough to tell you it’s luxurious but not obnoxious to shove it in your face. And man, is he wealthy. From his car, his clothes, the dinner bill, and now his apartment? His pockets are definitely not empty. You’re sure he could rent or buy a house, so why he decided to live in an apartment is unknown. 

Seungcheol leaves to put Seoah in the guest bedroom while you lock the door. You place the keys in a bowl near the entrance. Some of his shoes are left by the door, so you take off yours before walking any farther.

“Cherry?” he calls out. A small smile forms on his lips when you respond to the name. He nods for you to come over, and you follow carefully as if you could break his flooring. You don’t think you can afford the repairs if you do.

“You act like you’re walking on glass,” he chuckles. He watches you with amusement.

“I don’t want to break anything,” you explain.

Seungcheol glances around where you are. The path you take is pretty much empty, but you still act as if you are going through a maze of porcelain vases.

“You’ll be fine. Now walk a little faster, please,” he says.

You don’t listen to him and keep your pace. Seungcheol eyes you as he leans his back against a wall. His head is tilted and his arms are crossed while he waits.

“You’re cute,” he comments when you come closer.

“Be quiet,” you hiss and take a few more steps before stopping in front of him.

“No,” he says defiantly, then guides you to another room. Although you don’t see the room he put Seoah in, you’re positive you have just stepped into his room.

You were so caught up with your family drama that you didn’t think twice about Seungcheol being in your bedroom. Now that you are in his, it dawns on you how much of your life he has seen in a short period of time.

It isn’t a big deal. At least, it shouldn’t be; however, bedrooms are personal. They often described the resident, and you and Seungcheol have seen each other's spaces in the span of an hour.

“The bathroom is over there,” he points out. “You can set your bag anywhere. I’ll be out there on the couch.”

“I should take the couch,” you say.

“Cherry, don’t argue. Not tonight. You’re sleeping here.” His words make it seem like he is tired of your complaints, but he talks so softly that it doesn’t feel like that.

“Fine,” you comply.

Seungcheol rewards you with a smile. “Goodnight then. I’ll see you in the morning,” he says and starts for the door.

“Cheol,” you murmur, reaching out when he comes by.

He stops as soon as he feels your hand grazing his arm. “Hm?”

Your eyes rise to meet his, and the look on his face has you needing to catch your breath. He is worried. Worried about your well-being. Worried about what would happen tomorrow. You don’t want him to stress over you.

“Thank you,” you speak softly, “for a lot of things.”

He chuckles and raises a hand to the nape of your neck, thumb caressing your cheek. “Care to be specific?”

“For dinner. For this. For not… leaving me.” Yet.

“I don’t think I would if I could,” he murmurs.

“You can, though?” you say, skepticism evident in your head tilt.

Seungcheol’s mouth curves into a small smile, eyes searching yours for something you don’t know. “You’ll know one day.”

That doesn’t help your puzzled state, but that doesn’t seem to affect him. Slowly, he leans in. His lips press against your forehead tenderly, lingering there long enough for you to close your eyes for a second. It’s gentle and sweet. You wish it was on your lips instead.

“Sweet dreams, Cherry.”

He leaves without another word, and you’re in such a stupor that you don’t have time to say anything before he shuts the door behind him.

Using Seungcheol’s bathroom and changing in his room is strange. Yet what’s more strange is that it doesn’t feel all that… weird? Not like you thought it would be. 

Is it another illusion you cast upon yourself? 

Seungcheol would stroll through the door, dressed in sweats and a loose shirt… or maybe not one at all. He would kiss your mouth in greeting. His broad body would press against yours, and he’d smile that smile that had you wanting to do anything to keep it there. He’d slide next to you in bed, whispering teases in your ear that would annoy you, yet you wouldn’t want him to stop.

Oh, hell. What is wrong with you?

Irritated at the mini story you conjured in your head, you kick at the jacket on the floor. However, you recall you didn’t bring a jacket tonight. Seungcheol had let you borrow his. You just kicked his jacket.

Oh no.

But it’s just a jacket. Why are you getting upset over it? You can kick it again. It isn’t going to come alive and bite you. Seungcheol will never know you fought with it, but something in you feels guilty about the action. Perhaps because it belongs to him, and you feel responsible for it since it’s under your care.

Shaking your head, you grab the item and hang it over his dresser. You’re losing it. Your marbles? All gone. Rolled off to another dimension, never to be seen again.

You move to his bed, carefully pulling back the covers to climb in. Your body sinks into the mattress, and a sigh leaves your lips at how good it feels under you. It’s comfortable, soft, and way too big for just you. You feel like royalty.

Leaning over, you switch off the night light, snuggling deeper in the covers and taking a deep breath.

Sleeping in his bed is surely a bad idea. His expensive cologne is lingering on his sheets and is a strong reminder of where you are. Nevertheless, you pull the covers closer to you as you close your eyes. You need a break from your tiring thoughts.

The morning comes sooner than you’d like.

You open your eyes expecting to see your pegboard of sewing supplies and instead see a black dresser. It has you jolting up and frantically glancing around. When you spot the black jacket on the dresser, you remember you aren’t home. You’re at Seungcheol’s.

You reach over and flip your phone to view the screen. It’s nearly ten.

You linger in bed, mindlessly scrolling through social media until Dae texts for a favor. You’ll fill her in on what happened later, for now, you’re forced to go to your gallery to send a reference of something she needs. The act has you stumbling upon the picture you took last night.

The stretch of your lips happens involuntarily as you stare at Seungcheol through your screen. Even though the night ended poorly, at least you have something to remember about the good times.

Having caught yourself staring at the photo for too long, you quickly exit the app and send Dae what she needs. That’s enough phone usage for now.

Reluctantly, you haul yourself from Seungcheol’s (beyond) comfortable mattress, fix the bed, and then go to the bathroom. After a quick change, you carefully open the door and pad out to the living room. You anticipate seeing Seungcheol sipping on something warm on the couch, but what you see instead has your heart tightening.

Seungcheol lays on his back, one arm resting across his eyes and the other across his chest. Some of his hair is trapped against his forehead due to his arm, and the rest dangles off the side. His lips are slightly ajar due to the position of his head. The blanket that was once over his body is now situated half on the floor.

You recognize his clothes from last night, and a pang of guilt hits your heart. He could’ve knocked on your—his—door and asked to get a spare of clothes, yet he left you alone. It was a selfless act, and you stare at him with newfound affection.

You shuffle in your spot, unsure of what to do. A part of you wants to be a creep and stare at Seungcheol longer—he looks too cute not to—and another wants to go back to his room until you hear some movement. Neither of these happens when you hear Seoah’s voice.

“Are you plotting his murder?” she whispers, though it’s louder than one.

You snap your eyes to her, feet moving farther from the sleeping man. You scoff, muttering, “No!”

“Then why were you staring at him like that?”

“I was not staring,” you argue. Seoah’s eyes narrow, unbelieving you.

“Were to! You weren’t even blinking.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“And you’re lying.”

You both eye each other down from across the room, sending invisible daggers each way.

“Go get dressed,” you finally say.

“Why?” she questions. “We’re going now?”

“Soon, yes.”

“But it’s so nice here. Don’t you think we should, I don’t know, cook him breakfast for letting us stay here?”

“We can give him a granola bar when we get home,” you sigh. Just once, can she listen to you?

“A granola bar? I didn’t think you hated him that much,” she gasps, overexaggerating her expression.

“You’re right. I don’t. I’ll give you the granola bar instead,” you threaten.

She giggles, and a frown sets on your lips at the sound. “You can’t. They’re all gone. I gave them to Dad.”

There’s a small puff of air somewhere in the room that doesn’t come from you or Seoah. The only other person in the room is… Your eyes go to Seungcheol. Sometime during your bickering, Seungcheol had woken up. He doesn’t have his eyes open or has even moved his body, but his lips were definitely not in a smile a few minutes ago.

“Did you hear that, Seungcheol?” Seoah asks. “Yn’s trying to kill you with granola bars.”

“Hm, I heard,” he chuckles softly, still a little sleepy. He peels his eyes open and leans his head to the side to look at you. The arm that was once over his eyes has shifted to rest on his forehead. 

“That’s not very nice of you.”

You should be irked at being ganged up on. They’re teasing you, yet your mind gets foggy from hearing Seungcheol’s deep timbre. He already has a deep voice, and you’ve heard it go deeper when he’s teased you, but this is different. 

And goodness, do you find it attractive.

“I think we won,” Seungcheol continues playfully and looks at Seoah with a smile.

“I think so too! She doesn’t have anything to say,” she giggles.

You blink a few times and then look at Seoah. “Why aren’t you getting changed?”

“This is why you don’t get invited to parties. You ruin the fun,” she huffs, smile dipping into a frown at your words.

“Parties aren’t fun in general,” you counter.

“Speak for your own parties!” she says.

“What do you even know about them?” you question. Seoah opens her mouth to answer but stops when Seungcheol speaks.

“Seoah, go get dressed, and we can get some breakfast. One that doesn’t include granola bars,” he chuckled.

“Oh?! Okay! Sounds good,” Seoah replies excitedly and turns to go back to her room.

“You listen to him and not me?” you scoff.

She stops in her tracks. “He’s nicer.”

“I’m your sister,” you answer as if that holds more weight.

“Right,” she drags out. “I revoke that privilege!”

She hurries inside the room and shuts the door.

“Privilege,” you repeat with a scoff and cross your arms over your chest.

“You should’ve been a lawyer,” Seungcheol says as he stands from the couch. You focus your attention on him, almost forgetting he’s there with how quiet he is being. His hair is sticking in different directions, and you have to force down a giggle.

“What? Why?” you question.

“Because you like to argue.”

“Hmph!” you sound and give him your back. A childish move, but Seoah isn’t here to mock you for it later.

Seungcheol laughs and comes up behind you. He places his hands on your hips, leaning his head to your ear. Your heart begins to race at how close he is. His breath tickles your ear, and you squirm at the sensation. Seungcheol holds you tighter.

“I think you would’ve been a good one,” he murmurs, voice still deep from his sleep. You want to listen to him more.

“Really?” you hum.

Seunghceol’s hair brushes against your cheek when he shakes his head.

“No,” he teases before slowly slipping his hands from you. You whip around to look at him.

“Where are you going?” you ask. Why do you sound so desperate? You don’t need to be near him. It doesn’t matter he’s leaving.

He smiles as he walks back toward his room.

“To get ready. Don’t miss me too much,” he replies, sending a playful wink and shutting his door.

Seungcheol comes back dressed in a simple black short-sleeved shirt and jeans. It’s not a combination you haven’t seen before. In fact, it’s really common, yet your eyes can’t tear away from him.

“Is it stained or something?” Seungcheol questions, glancing down at his outfit as he walks to you.

“N-no,” you reply and avert your eyes from him.

“You know you can tell me when I look nice, right? My ego will only inflate a little,” he says.

He plops down next to you on the couch, swinging an arm behind you and spreading his legs a bit. Your gaze drifts down to his thighs. They’re thick, and you wonder if they will be soft or firm under your touch. Your body instinctively inches closer to him like the temptation is too strong to ignore.

You hear Seungcheol try to stifle his laugh, causing your eyes to move away.

“A little?” you echo when you recall the active conversation. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

He smiles and shrugs. “Well, what can I say? A pretty girl giving me compliments makes my ego grow bigger than usual.”

“Cheol,” you whine, glancing away, wishing he wouldn’t say things that make your heart do somersaults. You had put those thoughts under lock and key because you are definitely not developing an infatuation with Choi Seungcheol.

Seungcheol tucks a finger under your chin and turns you to face him, so he can see your flustered expression clearly.

“My pretty girl,” he murmurs so low you have to strain to hear it.

Silence looms over you both. You swear he can hear your thudding heart. His hand glides from your chin to your upper thigh.

“You gonna’ give me that compliment now, baby?” he prompts lowly while his hand gently massages you.

“You look good,” you reply quietly, fighting to stay calm.

“Only good?” he hums.

“Really good.”

Seungcheol chuckles. “I guess that’ll do for now.”

Your lips tug down when he pulls away from you, making Seungcheol pause and smile.

“Don’t be sad, Cherry. You can compliment me more later,” he says. You have a feeling he knows the true reason for your pout but decides not to mention it.

You’ll have to work on hiding your expressions better. For now, you focus on making sure you and Seoah don’t leave anything before heading out the door. You don’t fight with Seungcheol when he takes your bags again. It’s just easier not to.

As promised, Seungcheol drives you all to a local breakfast diner. It’s lively—filled with all different walks of life. You see couples, friends, families, and some loners who don’t actually look alone. They seem content.

Seungcheol must come here often as most of the workers recognize him. They’re happy to see him with new people this time. You think you catch sight of one of them giving him a thumbs up, but it could’ve been directed to another patron.

“This tastes amazing!” Seoah exclaims, another fork full of pancakes entering her mouth.

“Don’t eat so fast,” you scold when you see her cheeks full.

She brushes you off with a wave of a hand but waits until she swallows what’s in her mouth before taking another bite.

“Is yours okay?” Seungcheol asks from across the table.

You had wanted to sit next to him, but Seoah had pushed you inside the booth and slid in after before you could have a say. Though Seungcheol doesn’t let the distance stop him from giving you affectionate touches. He has been brushing his leg against yours slowly under the table for the past ten minutes.

You glance at him and nod. “It’s great,” you say.

“I’m glad,” he responds before taking another bite as well.

The rest of the meal isn’t anything exciting. You all eat well, and when it comes time for payment, Seungcheol beats you to it. You try to pay, even going as far as trying to distract him, but he remains adamant. You reason he just paid for a hearty meal last time, and the least you can do is pay as a thank you for spending the night. He only shakes his head.

Seoah is much more awake on this car ride. Her mouth almost never stops running. She gives Seungcheol so many compliments on his apartment you figure his ego is bursting at the seams. He’ll be full of them for days. Then Seoah talks about you—well, tries to. You shush her every time she attempts to tell an embarrassing story.

“But he should know how you can’t eat more than three egg rolls before throwing up—” Seoah says from the backseat.

“Seoah!” you huff for the umpteenth time.

“Seriously, Seungcheol, she ate so much one time that her body can’t eat a lot anymore,” she continues. You rest your head against the headrest with a groan. You don’t want to go to jail. Deep breaths.

Seungcheol laughs, taking a quick glance at you. “Fully noted,” he replies.

“Good! You should know this stuff since you’re her boyfriend,” she says. “Well, not yet, anyway. You’re going to ask her out, though, right?”

The question has you holding your breath. You don’t expect him to answer as it isn’t any of her business, but there is still some hope that he’ll respond.

Seungcheol makes a small choking noise while he tightens his hold on the steering wheel, obviously startled by the sudden question. His face becomes flushed, and his ears turn a light shade of red. It isn’t often you see this side of Seungcheol, and you almost let Seoah continue. Almost.

“I—” Seungcheol starts.

“You’re five seconds away from being kicked out of this car,” you threaten Seoah as you turn in your seat to glare at her.

“Seungcheol wouldn’t do that to me,” she protests defiantly.

“There’s always a first for everything,” you smirk at her. “Plus, it’ll build your character.”

She gives you a shove on the arm and pouts.

“Don’t worry, Seoah. You’re safe with me,” Seungcheol says after he collects himself.

Seoah straightens at that, sticking her tongue out at you. “Told you so!”

You mutter a “yeah” at her as you shake your head and glance at Seungcheol. He gives you a lopsided smile before looking back at the road.

That night your mom and dad discussed their relationship.

It’s been delayed long enough, and all that pent-up anger finally bubbled over, resulting in your mom becoming the Hulk for five minutes. You had never seen her so mad, but you’re grateful she was throwing the objects on the floor rather than at your dad or Seoah.

They agreed to break up officially. It’s always been a cloudy subject with them. You didn’t really know where they stood, but it’s clear to you now. Whatever hopes of getting your family back won’t come true. Your parents have some money and plan to file for divorce papers soon. You aren’t sure how custody will work, but you figure Seoah will stay with your dad. Your mother is too busy traveling to take care of your sister. Despite your dad also being busy, at least he’ll be home more. Though, you get the feeling you’ll still have to look after her. 

As promised, your father put aside some time to talk to you. It wasn’t a lengthy conversation, but it was… nice, regardless. He apologized again for not being there for you and Seoah and said he’ll try to be better. He’s honest in that he tells you it will take some time, but you’re grateful he wasn’t feeding you fairytales. 

Two weeks pass by with the same schedule—wake up, homework, class, homework, dinner, sleep. You meet with Dae a few times to work on your project, but that’s all. You have a quarter of your outfits completed for the show, which feels good, but you still have more to finish. You’re on track with your own deadlines, but barely.

You haven’t seen Seungcheol much during the weeks. If you do, it’s only through passing. Texts with him have also been minimal due to your schedules. You should be fine with that. You’ve seen and talked with him plenty that weekend to last weeks, yet you can’t get him out of your mind. 

You’re not sure when you’d grown so attached to the man, and that makes you worry. You’ve only known him for nearly three months. It’s too soon to feel this strongly. To feel like you need him. You need to focus more on something else. Anything but him. You have repeated this in your mind, trying to make it stick. 

Though it isn’t too successful, considering you are sitting on your bedroom floor with Seoah stringing beads as a thank-you gift for Seungcheol. You want to blame this on Seoah, but you had come up with the idea. Seoah is here because you know she has been wanting to do something. However, if you are being honest, the main reason is you need an excuse for why you are making a bracelet for him. The idea is silly, but you found a bunch of beads in your room and needed to do something with them. Maybe this is too childish for someone like Seungcheol. You were going to back out of the plan, though Seoah was over the moon at the suggestion. Needless to say, you couldn’t change your idea even if you wanted to.

“These beads are too small,” you grumble as you try to pick up a bead for the third time.

“You just want to complain,” Seoah replies, having no issue with plucking beads from the container. You glance at her work. She used pink and blue beads only, alternating between the two. There’s also an “S” dangling in the middle.

“‘S’ for Seungcheol?” you wonder. Seoah glances at the letter and then at you.

“No. ‘S’ for Seoah. I want him to know it’s from me,” she explains. You laugh a little. A two-for-one use.

She tilts her head at yours. “Why the cherries?”

Your body warms at the question. It’s simple. Innocent. Nothing inappropriate or difficult to comprehend. Though the answer is more complicated, or at least, it’s too personal to share.

“They matched my colors,” you shrug, acting as if it has no significant meaning, but you know otherwise. 

You want him to be reminded of you any time he sees it. You want to be on his mind as much as he is on yours. It’s only fair. Plus, in a weirdly possessive way, you want to feel like he’s yours. Even if that isn’t true.

“There are strawberries, too,” she points out.

“I just grabbed the first charm I saw.”

“Ah,” she examines the unfinished bracelet. The beads are alternated in a different pattern than Seoah’s. It consists of mainly white beads, a few red and green ones scattered between. “It’s nice.”

As you tie the string, you consider the chance of him not wearing it at all. Is yours too much? Too cheesy? Should you just have given him money and left it at that? Why did you spend an hour planning a design and ensuring the beads you picked weren’t scratched or chipped? Seoah had finished hers minutes ago but stayed watching you.

It’s been a while since you hung out with Seoah alone. You hung out more when your mother was here, but even then, it wasn’t too often. You aren’t as close as you feel you should be. You glance at her once you are done. She’s been growing fast, slowly discovering her personality and interests. You know you will never win the Best Sister Award, but you can try to be an honorable mention.

“Seoah?” you call, fingers toying with the finished bracelet.

She’s staring at your hands, but you can tell she isn’t really registering what is happening around her. Somewhere lost in her thoughts.

Still, she answers and looks up. “Yeah?”

“Do you,” a pause, “want to sleep over in my room tonight?”

It isn’t a big deal. You don’t plan to have a pillow fight and do each other's nails, but you would have company.

She looks happy for a split second and then narrows her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s none,” you shake your head.

“Then why did you ask?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Not quite ready to fight through the awkwardness of a sappy conversation.

“I thought it’d be nice to have some company, but you don’t have to,” you answer and grab her bracelet. You slide them inside a sheer bag you found, pulling the strings to close the opening. You stand up and place it in your purse. You’ll give it to him tomorrow.

“I want to!” Seoah says quickly when she feels like you’re changing your mind. “Let me go get changed.”

“It won’t be like the sleepovers you have,” you warn when she gets to your door. You don’t want her to get false ideas. She smiles at you.

“I know, but I don’t care.”

After you both are ready for bed, you lay staring at your ceiling. She talks about her classes, friends, and even a few crushes she has. She’s a social butterfly; unlike you, people enjoy talking to her. She is quirky enough to put some fun in conversations, but not excessive to come off rude or overbearing. You’re not sure how she grew to be such a good person because she sure as hell didn’t learn that from you or your dad. Whoever it was, though, you’re grateful. You’ve stopped feeling close to your family, so you quit putting effort into getting to know them more. 

Maybe you should change that.

This feels like walking in a tiger’s cage.

You are surrounded by people dressed up in suits and others in plain jeans and a shirt. The majority have neutral colors on, and it’s different from what you’re used to. At least in your building, there are more colors.

There’s no way you’re going to be able to camouflage yourself in your all-pink plaid outfit, so why try? 

You keep your chin high as you try to find the study room, ignoring the many stares you receive on the way. You texted Seungcheol earlier and asked for his location. When he asked you why, you simply said it was a surprise.

Room 526.

There’s a window in the door, and you peer in to see if he’s there. He is. Though he isn’t alone. Hajun, Hana, and Doyun are there as well. They’re silent, heads bowed, as they all work on something in front of them. Seungcheol seems deep in thought.

That is until Hajun makes a comment while glancing at Seungcheol. He smiles, chuckling at whatever she said before they both go back to their work. 

It’s odd to see him in this environment. He acts so casually with the very same people who only spit insults at you. You know Seungcheol has never stopped talking to them. You didn’t tell him to, and they were his friends before you. Yet, there is still a twinge of disappointment that he remained friends with them. 

Dae’s words ring in your ear from weeks ago—he could have left you. Then there is the devil on your shoulder telling you he should have. However, you tried that already. You made that decision for him, but he came back. And you let him.

“Yn?” says a male voice behind you. You jump, turning on your heel quickly and moving from the door.

Vernon stands with his backpack hanging off one shoulder.

“Vernon,” you say, startled. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles shyly. “I’m late for a study group.”

“I thought you were changing majors?” you question.

“I am, but I figured I’d stick it out for the classes I have. Don’t want to waste any more money than I already have by withdrawing,” he chuckles sadly.

“It’ll be worth it once you find something you like,” you reassure.

“Thanks,” he replies and gives you a toothy smile. He looks so young with that grin. “I should go in before they text me again.”

You step aside as Vernon moves.

“Hey, can you tell Seungcheol to come out?” you ask quickly before he opens the door.

“Sure,” he replies.

“You took your time,” Hana teases when the door opens.

“It’s not my fault my phone died overnight. I didn’t hear my alarm,” he pouts. There are a few chuckles that echo in the room.

“Oh, Cheol?” Vernon says. There’s silence for a second. “You’re needed outside.”

“Why?” Seungcheol asks; he sounds distracted.

“Yn’s here.”

“Yn?” Hajun questions, surprised. “What is she doing here?”

“I’ll be right back,” Seungcheol says as you hear the sound of a chair scraping the floor.

“She’s probably just here to recruit you for her stupid project. You don’t need to help her. Let’s just get back to work,” Hajun reasons. “Vernon’s here so we can get done faster.”

“I’m sure you can wait five more minutes,” he says. You listen carefully as his footsteps become louder. The door squeaks when it’s pushed open more.

You look up at the noise and meet Seungcheol’s eyes. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. 

His hair is pushed off his face, a few pieces hanging down deviantly. He wears black slacks and a tucked-in white button-down. The tie around his neck is loosened and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. 

His once-stressed face soon brightens as he lets the door shut. He moves closer.

“Hey, Cherry,” he smiles.

“Hey,” you reply, a little breathless from having held your breath.

“It’s good to see you,�� he murmurs, leaning a forearm against the wall. You notice he’s keeping his distance, and you’re unsure if it’s purposeful. Perhaps you’re just overthinking again.

“You too,” you reply. Your eyes take one more quick sweep of his attire. How he makes a simple fit look so remarkable is beyond you.

“I can tell you want to give me another compliment,” he haughtily says.

You huff, trying to disguise your panicked expression with faux annoyance. “Not when you tell me that.”

“I can wait,” he says and disregards your comment. He lays his head against the arm that’s on the wall as if he’s taking a rest. You want to wipe that smug smile off his lips.

“You’re insufferable,” you whine.

“No, baby, I’m patient.” He speaks slowly as if to emphasize his statement.

You glare up at him but soon relent with a huff. “You look good.”

“Oh, come on, you used that last time. Don’t you have another adjective? Maybe one that rhymes with pot?” he smirks, an eyebrow rising in challenge.

He wants you to call him hot.

You aren’t going to at first, but then you decide you’re done with him having the upper hand. You recall his shocked and reddened face at Seoah’s question in the car. It would be nice to see that again.

You close the space between you, hand grabbing the end of his tie. Slowly, you wrap the material around your palm. His smug smile slowly disappears with each inch you tug him closer. He pushes his forearm off the wall and sprawls his hand on it instead. His other hand grabs your hip so he can’t tumble forward.

“I’ll say something even better,” you purr lowly. Your faces are so close to each other that you can faintly feel his breath. “You look very sexy, Seungcheol.”

The hand on your hip squeezes you, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob from his harsh swallow. It feels good to put him on the other side for a change. You smile triumphantly at his reaction before letting his tie unravel from your hand.

Taking a step back, his hand slips from your body, and you dig into your purse for the jewelry bag.

“Here, I came to give you this,” you explain and hold the bag up. His eyes drop from yours to the item. He still looks a little dazed.

“It’s a thank you for letting me and Seoah stay the night.”

Seungcheol takes the bag, flipping it over in his hand. He brings it closer and examines it through the sheer material. His lips slowly tug up. Before he can say anything, you hastily continue.

“It was Seoah’s idea. You don’t have to actually wear them, we—she just wanted to give you something.”

Seungcheol starts opening the bag, and you swiftly put a hand out as if to stop him. “You don’t have to open it now, you can do that la—”

He takes out the two bracelets, twisting them until both charms are facing him. You drop your hand and start playing with the strap of your purse, resisting the urge to tap your foot as you stand in silence watching him.

“T-the ‘S’ is for Seoah, not Seungcheol,” you explain. You’re not sure why you do it in the first place. It doesn’t really matter what the ‘S’ really stands for.

“And the cherries? What do they represent?” he questions, eyes flickering to you with a faint smile.

Your heart hammers in your chest. He doesn’t need to ask that. He knows what they represent.

“They’re just cherries. Don’t think too muc—”

“That’s not true and you know it,” he scolds gently. Your eyes focus on his hands as he carefully slips both bracelets on his wrist. They fit around him perfectly. They aren’t too tight to dig into his skin, but they are loose enough to allow a finger or two to slip through.

His gaze moves back to yours. When he notices your averted gaze, he leans in to catch your attention.

“What do they represent?” he repeats, a hint of sternness to his voice.

You meet his eyes reluctantly. “Me. They r-represent me.”

“Yes, they do,” he says, finally letting his smile show more. Seungcheol slips the bag into his pocket. “They’re nice. Tell Seoah thank you.”

“I will,” you answer, clearing your throat. “I’ll let you get back to studying.”

“Don’t you want your thank you?” Seungcheol chuckles and takes a small step forward.

Your body freezes in place. “I don’t need one.”

“Hm,” he says. He takes a quick glance at the study room’s door before cupping the back of your neck gently. Warmth spreads from that area to the rest of your body. You stare at him with wide eyes.

“Thank you, Cherry. Really,” he murmurs and then kisses your forehead for the third time since you met him.

You truly aren’t keeping track. Definitely not.

“I’ll text you later?” he says, though it sounds like a suggestion.

“Okay,” you agree with a small nod.

“You going home?” he asks and slowly walks back to the door, hand grazing your skin as he leaves.

“No, I have a class. Do you have a test or something?” you wonder, recalling how serious he looked earlier.

“A presentation,” he says. That explains his attire.

“Ah. Good luck,” you wish.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you quickly added, “Oh, and Seungcheol?”

His hand is pressed down on the door handle when you call. He turns his head to you, waiting for your reply before he goes inside.

“You do look sexy.”

Seungcheol laughs, less flabbergasted about your compliment this time.

“Thanks, Cherry. You look beautiful.”

He says it as if it’s as easy as breathing. There’s no hesitation or delay in his comment. You wonder how long he’s been thinking that.

Seungcheol pulls the door open before you can reply and slips inside. As the door is closing, you hear Hajun ask, “Goodness, was she trying to get in your pants? You took forever!”

“Enough, let’s just...”

The door clicks close as Seungcheol speaks. You’re tempted to press your ear against it to hear the rest of the sentence, but you remember you’re in public. You inhale slowly, pausing for a few seconds before exhaling gradually. 

Why does every conversation with Seungcheol leave your heart racing?

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

A/N: brb swooning 😪 also if i knew how to draw well enough, i would def conjure up the pic mc took of cheol bc in my head it's just SAUR CUTE D:<

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

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[moonferry]

fsioy chapter 14? boy, you're gonna scream!

I CANT BELIEVE IT. i finally finished it. here it is - the "big one" i've been forewarning for days now. it's finally finished and possibly even more angsty than i anticipated. this may be the most gut-wrenching thing ive written for this fic. once again, nothing i say can accurately prepare you for what will happen. all i can say is that i'm truly sorry. also this would be a good time to mention that i have - unfortunately - began taking college classes so updates may be more sporadic but i will push through and keep going with this fic . trust. i've invested too much time and effort into this to just abandon it now. and - like i promised - i will be writing a short fluffy oneshot (and it will feature danny and lee !) as recompence. this one is going to be LONG and a doozy so strap in, folks!

warnings: CORPSE MENTION/BODY DECOMPOSITION, SPRAINED ANKLES, BROKEN BONES, AMBUSH ATTACKS, GUNSHOTS/ GUN FIRE, HAULICINATIONS, BLOOD, GRIEF, DEATH.

summary: kent leaves the medical tent in search of lee. lee is racked with guilt and convinces kent that the two of them need to bury the woman, just to ease his conscious. kent agrees and the two venture out into the town. the two manage to find the woman and begin the process of the burial, however, they are soon ambushed and run into a nearby building for shelter.

word count: 9283

other chapters: chapter master list

ao3 link: here

Kent nodded at Willy’s words and watched the older man leave the tent. Rest did seem like a good idea, but Kent had just woken up and felt particularly wired up. He glanced around, making sure the nurse was busy with another patient, before carefully standing. He winced as he used his arms to push himself up, but kept going anyway. Kent silently crept out of the tent. He wasn't sure where he was going or what he planned to do, but he needed to leave that tent. He needed to find Lee, anyway, so that was as good of a place as any. 

Kent squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness outside. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it appeared to be quite late. He continued walking in the direction that he saw the left figure exit towards earlier, hoping he was going in the right direction. 

Kent approached a small tree and was overcome with a small dizzy spell. He leaned against it and tried to avoid falling down. Now that he thought about it, leaving the medical tent when he had just been gravely injured probably wasn't the smartest idea, but it was too late to turn back now. He had to find Lee. 

However, it was Lee who found him. Lee opened the door of the nearby building - squinting at the nearby tree.

“Kent?” Lee asked, slightly confused. “Is that you?” He asked again. Lee didn't wait on an answer- instead, choosing to cautiously approach the tree. When he arrived underneath the branches and confirmed that it was, indeed, Kent, Lee let out a small sigh of relief before frowning. 

“What are you doing out here, man?” Lee asked, disapproval crossing his features. He crossed his arms and looked at Kent the same way a mother would look at their naughty child. “You're supposed to be in the med tent - you know, resting,” He scolded. Kent rolled his eyes.

 “You're acting like my mom, dude,” Kent joked, shaking his head with a small smile. Though, Lee didn't seem to react to Kent’s joke. His expression remained serious and Kent cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Um.. anyway. I actually came to find you,” Kent explained. He watched Lee raise an eyebrow, his friend's eyes darting around and inspecting Kent’s condition skeptically. 

“I wanted to see if you were alright,” Kent continued. He looked up at Lee, his lips forming a small, sympathetic line before he added, “After, y’know, earlier. You seemed pretty shaken up back there..”

Lee sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you want the truth, Kent?” He asked, looking up to meet Kent’s eyes. Kent nodded. 

“No. I'm not alright. I don't know if I will ever be - after what happened today,” Lee confessed, shaking his head. He paced around anxiously, fidgeting with his hands as he spoke again, “I keep thinking about that woman, Kent. About what I did to her.” 

Kent nodded once again. He didn't know how something like that felt personally, but he could assume it wasn't a good feeling. He tried to comfort Lee, “It's alright, man. You did what you had to. If.. if you hadn't been there, I don't even want to think about what would've happened to me.” 

“No, it's not ‘alright’,” Lee spoke, shaking his head. He buried his face in his palms and let out an upset groan before adding, “I.. I hurt someone. Actually, even worse, I killed someone, Kent. That goes against everything I believe in. And you're going to sit here and tell me it's ‘alright’?!” Emotion coated his voice as tears welled up in his eyes. 

“I'm sorry.. I was just trying to hel-” Kent spoke, though he was soon cut off by Lee. 

“To help? Kent, you can't help me. I don't care if it was ‘justified’ or ‘self defense', I went against everything I believe in. Everything my grandmother believed in,” Lee spoke, angry tears now pouring down his cheeks. His breathing hitched as he mentioned his grandmother. Oma would be more than disappointed in his actions. She'd be furious. 

Another sobbed racked his chest and Lee slumped down, his back scraping against the rough bark of the tree. “The sad thing is, I didn't even hesitate at the time. All I was thinking about was saving you,” Lee admitted sadly, wrapping his arms around his knees. He glanced down at his shoes.

Kent’s lips formed another thin line, though he gave an understanding nod. He looked at Lee and exhaled a small sigh before moving and sitting next to him. 

“I, for one, am grateful you saved me, Lee,” Kent offered. He looked at the slew of bandages that covered his arms, his brows knitting together as he thought about how much worse it could've been. He spoke once again, “I mean, sure I'm a complete wreck, but at least I'm alive. I wouldn't be if you hadn't arrived.”

“I know you feel guilty, and I completely understand, but you have to admit,” Kent spoke, turning to look at Lee. He slowly raised his arm - trying his best to avoid harming himself further - and placed his hand comfortingly on Lee’s shoulder. He continued, “the thing you did today? That took serious guts, man.” 

Lee looked up, meeting Kent’s eyes. He tilted his head slightly - letting his friend’s words soak into his brain. He looked at Kent’s bandaged arms and thought about his own actions. Had he not done anything, Lee probably wouldn't be having this conversation with Kent right now. On the other hand, he had to choose between two people - two lives. 

“I don't think anyone should have that sort of responsibility,” Lee started, a small frown forming across his lips. “Playing Yoba, I mean. No one should have to choose between who lives or dies. No one needs to have control over whether someone survives or not.” 

“I mean, that woman - she probably had a life before this damned war. And now? She’ll never get to experience something like it again,” Lee spoke as he continued mulling over his thoughts. He sighed once again and looked down at his hands. Lee swore he saw the palms stained with a dark crimson - reminding him of his actions. He closed his eyes and added, “And it's all my fault. As always.” 

Kent frowned as he listened to Lee’s words. He knew Lee felt guilty, but he didn't like Lee blaming himself, especially this much. 

“You're always so hard on yourself, Lee,” Kent said, his expression drooping, before adding, “I don't get it. Why do you blame yourself for everything?” 

Lee pursed his lips, rubbing the back of his neck and debating how to approach the question. He could easily lie, blame it on his bad luck, or he could tell Kent the truth, admit his childhood wasn't the best and that took a toll on him. Lee looked at Kent - noticed how judgment free his friend’s expression was, how open minded and accepting Kent was - and nodded to himself. 

“Have I ever told you why I hate my name?” 

Kent shook his head. He turned his body towards Lee and eagerly listened to his friend’s words. 

“It all started with my father,” Lee began. He spent the next few moments recalling times from his childhood - explaining why he hated his name, his father, and even why he hated violence or arguments.

 He recalled the moments where his mother would blame him for her life or his father's choices. He spoke about the relief he felt when his mother remarried, about the sadness and guilt he felt when she didn't take him with her, and about how he spent several nights wondering what he did wrong. 

 He talked about how grateful he was to Oma for taking care of him and teaching him everything he knows. About how those moments stuck with him and shaped who he was as a person. About how he was so quick to blame himself when something went wrong, because that's all he's ever known. He had been told countless times that something he has no control over was his fault. 

Lee talked about how he had acquired so much guilt, so much parental disappointment, so much misplaced anger. As he spoke, Lee’s chest began to feel lighter. He had been holding these feelings inside for years - afraid to seem ungrateful if he ever spoke about them. Afraid to be scolded for feeling these things. Afraid to be punished for everything wrong with the world. Afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing because, somehow, it would all be his fault. 

“Wow.. I didn't know that,” Kent spoke once Lee finished speaking. He looked his friend, wondering what he could possibly say to offer support. “I hope you know that none of that was your fault, Lee. You were just a kid, after all.” 

“I know, but I can't help feeling like I caused everything to turn out the way it did,” Lee spoke, a small sigh slipping past his lips. He continued, “my parents were only together because my Ma was pregnant with me. My father tried - for the most part - until I was five, then he realized he wasn't ready for a kid. He left and I was just a painful reminder to my mother, since I shared his name, y’know? It makes me wonder, if that never happened, would she have resented me so much? Would she have taken me with her that day?” 

“I don't know, man,” Kent admitted, shrugging before he reached over and wrapped his arm around Lee’s shoulders. He spoke once more, “But I do know that I would've, if I was your mom. You're an amazing person, Lee. I'm sorry you had to experience that.” 

“It's okay,” Lee replied as he leaned into Kent's arm, draping his own arm around Kent’s waist. “I don't blame either of them, I guess. I just wish things turned out differently sometimes,” he admitted. 

The two sat in silence for a moment, letting the previous points in the conversation sink in. Lee mulled over his thoughts and his guilt began to slowly creep back in, covering his consciousness with images of the poor woman’s body as it slumped over - the red splotch growing in her chest. Lee needed to do something or he’d be racked with guilt for the rest of his life. 

“Hey, Kent?” Lee asked, glancing up at his friend. 

“Yeah, man?” Kent replied. He tilted his head curiously, waiting for Lee’s next words. 

“Do you think I'm a bad person?” 

Kent went silent for a moment, thinking over Lee’s question. Did he think he was a bad person? No, not really. In fact, quite the opposite. He thought Lee was the nicest and most thoughtful person he's ever met. If he was in Lee’s shoes, would he have reacted the same way? No doubt about it. Kent thought it was admirable that Lee felt the consequences of his actions - even if it was a “necessary action”. There were some people in this world who wouldn't have felt even a twinge of guilt or shame about taking a life, but Lee was not one of those people. Lee was amazing and forgiving - almost too forgiving at times - and Kent couldn't imagine having to make a choice as drastic as that. 

“No,” Kent replied. He turned and looked at Lee, giving his friend a compassionate look before adding, “I think you're a good person who was given bad circumstances. It's important to know the difference, Lee. You are more than whatever you think your actions mean. The fact that you feel guilty is proof of that.” 

“You really think so?” Lee asked.

Kent nodded before smiling at Lee and speaking, “Yeah, man. I've said this before, but you only did what you had to. I fully believe you wouldn't have done something like that under normal circumstances.” 

“Kent, I can't stop thinking about her. I feel awful thinking about how we just.. left her there, you know?” Lee mumbled, fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform shirt. He frowned as the image of the woman filled his mind once again. “It doesn't sit right with me. I.. I think we need to go back. Just to give her a proper burial.” 

“Would that help ease your mind?” Kent asked as he thought over Lee’s proposal. He wasn't going to deny Lee, especially if this was something that might help him. Kent wasn't sure if it was a great idea - especially since it was quite dark and now late at night, but he was willing to go through with it for Lee. 

Lee nodded, “I think so.” 

“Okay, then let’s do it,” Kent agreed. He carefully stood up and motioned for Lee to follow him. Lee quickly stood and began walking behind Kent. 

“Uhmm, Lee, I know this is probably a bad time, but..” Kent started. He turned back towards his friend and nodded his head towards the weapons shack, “I think we should take one of those with us, just in case something goes wrong.” 

“I know.. you don't really like them or like using them, but it would make me feel safer. And.. since I can't exactly use my arms right now - especially with something like that, you.. might have to be the one to carry it.” 

Lee’s expression fell and he shook his head in protest as he spoke, “Kent, I.. I can't.” Kent looked at Lee, noticed how distraught the idea had made him, and sighed. 

“Okay,” Kent replied, giving a small curt nod, “If it makes you feel better, we won't bring one.” 

Against their better judgment, they decided to forego the weapon and the two boys headed towards the survey location from before. The only thing they took with them was a small, dimly lit lantern. It was amazing they could see where they were going - as the lantern looked like it would burn out at any moment. Along with this, neither of them were particularly great with directions.

As they walked off, a figure stepped out of the shadows - he had been anxiously listening to the boys’ conversation and disapproved of their lack of responsibility. 

“Those boys,” The person muttered, shaking his head with a small sigh. “I guess I better follow ‘em, just to make sure that nothin’ bad happens..” He added with a small grumble. 

Willy - being reasonable - managed to snag a weapon. He had experienced enough war to know that nothing good came from being unprepared. He grumbled to himself once again, mentally scolding the boys, and silently crept behind them as they walked. His pace was agonizingly slow, as he was trying his best to avoid crunching any stray leaf or snapping a twig so as to not alert Kent and Lee, and he kept a nice distance between himself and them. Willy squinted, searching the darkness for the faint light emitting from the lantern. 

Kent and Lee slowly approached the outskirts of the town and stopped. Lee turned to Kent, a curious expression crossing his features. 

“Hey, Kent,” Lee started, anxiously looking around at the array of similar looking buildings. They all had the exact same drab exterior - as if this was once a suburb or some sort of cul de sac. It was impossible to know which one was the “right” building. “You wouldn’t happen to remember where the building was, would you?” He asked with a small gulp. There appeared to be way more buildings than there were this morning. It would take them ages to find where they needed to go. 

Kent shook his head sadly. He barely remembered anything from this morning - let alone which of the buildings he entered. A small, frustrated frown formed on his lips - though the sagging motion of the skin caused a slight jolt of pain through his wound. 

“We could always pick one at random,” Kent suggested. He held up his hand and pointed towards a building in the middle of the row. “Like that one, for example...” 

“It’s worth a shot, I guess,” Lee replied, shrugging his shoulders. They cautiously approached the building. Lee held the lantern as Kent peered inside. 

“Nothing,” Kent said, removing his head from the doorway and turning back to Lee. “Let’s try some more. It has to be one of these.. This area feels too familiar for it not to.” 

The boys continued to look into the row of houses. Their frustration grew as they came upon yet another empty building. Eventually, however, Kent peered inside the correct building. He gagged as his nostrils filled with the putrid scent of decay. His eyes scanned the room before landing on the body in the middle. The scene was quite grotesque: the corpse had begun to bloat and sag with the summer heat, the flesh now swollen to the point it was barely recognizable as human. The pool beneath the woman had congealed into a jelly-like substance and its color had meshed into a deep, almost black, crimson. A large mass of flies swarmed around the formless blob of plump flesh, near what was once the woman’s face. The loud buzz of the insects was quite contrasting to the quiet stillness of the night that surrounded the scene. It made Kent feel uneasy - and like he was going to vomit. 

“This is the one, alright,” Kent called over his shoulder at Lee. His friend opened the door, reaching his free hand up to shield his eyes. Though, as the scent of death wafted towards him, Lee almost wished he’d covered his nose instead. 

“Yoba, that’s awful,” Lee exclaimed, his eyes watering as the scent threatened to fill his lungs. He grimaced, having to finally move his hand from his eyes to prevent more of the stench from latching onto him. Lee surveyed the room and his expression dropped further as he looked at the state of the woman’s corpse. He felt awful. The guilt began to creep in once again. He closed his eyes before exhaling a small sigh and speaking, “Let’s make this right. She deserves a proper burial.” 

Kent nodded before following Lee into the building - slightly reluctantly, but he wanted to be supportive of his friend. Kent grimaced as he thought about having to move the bloated corpse and looked around for something to wrap around it to avoid making direct contact. Luckily, there was a small tablecloth in the corner of the room. 

Unluckily, it was riddled with moth-eaten holes, making it threadbare, and was only big enough to cover one person's hands. He inspected it, thinking for a moment. He could easily give it to Lee, though that would mean he'd be the one left with that feeling forever burned into his finger tips. Or, he could keep it for himself and pass the suffering to Lee instead - but that would make him selfish. Neither option seemed like a good choice. He pursed his lips together, his finger resting on his chin thoughtfully. Eventually, he had an idea: they could place it beneath her and use it to drag her around.

Kent carefully unfolded the tablecloth, shaking it and accidentally stirring up a cloud of dust. He cough and used the tablecloth to fan away the dust cloud before gently placing it on the ground. 

“Lee,” He called out, motioning for his friend to approach. He pointed at the tablecloth and then the woman before explaining, “Help me roll her onto this. It'll make the body easier to move.” 

Lee looked skeptical, though he approached Kent and crouched down. The one thing Kent hadn't accounted for was exactly how they were going to get her onto the fabric. Guess we’re doing this after all, he thought to himself. So much for trying not to touch it. Kent cringed and extended his hand. He recoiled as his hand pressed into the squishiness of the fleshy mass. The feeling coated his fingers as the skin bulged and confirmed to his touch. He glanced over at Lee, who appeared to be having just as bad of an experience as he was, and nodded - signaling it was time. 

“Okay, on three,” Kent instructed. He took a deep breath, trying to get the awful feeling out of his mind before counting, “One, two.. three.” At three, the two boys gave a firm push and watched as the woman was turned onto her side - now laying directly on the fabric. Her head bounced as the impact jolted through her body before finally coming to a lull and hanging to the side. 

“Ew, ew, ew!” He protested, his face contorting into a distressed expression. Kent stood up and frantically wiped his hand against his uniform, making various noises of disgust as he flapped his hand violently. 

“That was so disgusting,” Kent whined, an uncomfortable look crossing his face, “It was all… squishy, and… and slimy.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me, please,” Lee pleaded, his own face turning green at the thought. He added, “I already feel like I’m gonna barf..”  

He looked at their handiwork and moved to stand beside Kent before speaking again, “Well, I guess it’s time to bury her.” 

Kent gave a small nod before reaching down and gripping the bunch of fabric closest to him. He and Lee then exited the building - dragging the tablecloth behind them and silently hoping it didn’t hit a rock and send the poor woman rolling down the hill. That would not be a fun experience for anyone involved. They slowly - but surely - made their way towards the nearby cemetery and started digging a shallow hole. It was shoddy work, but it was the best they could do, given how dark it was and how little time they had left. Just as they began lowering the woman into the pitiful excuse of a hole, they were met with a distant sound of shuffling leaves. 

Kent glanced up, holding the lantern near his face to aid his vision, and tried to determine where the sound was coming from. Another sound rang through the quiet night: a thundering crack - as if someone had stepped on a twig and snapped it in half.

“Kent?” Lee called, peering up at his friend from inside the hole. Lee was currently removing the dirt, trying to ensure that it was semi-decent. A look of concern crossed his face. When he didn’t receive a response, he spoke again, “Is everything alright up there?”. 

   Kent held a finger towards his lips and gave a small “shh”. He strained his ears, desperately trying to find the source of the sound. He was greeted with the faint sound of more rustling, followed by the crunch of dead leaves. He turned to Lee, wide eyed. 

“Do you hear that?” Kent whispered, panicked. The sounds slowly grew in volume, as if whatever - or whoever - was out there seemed to be approaching their location. If Kent was uneasy before, he was anxious now. Something about their excursion thus far had seemed too easy and Kent was honestly quite worried. They hadn’t encountered another person - or even any animals, for that matter - and Kent wasn’t eager to get caught playing around in a cemetery, his friend standing in an open grave and a body two feet from them at most. He knew it seemed too good to be true. 

“Kent, you’re worrying me,” Lee replied, a small frown forming on his lips. From where he was standing, he hadn’t heard the slightest hint of noise - other than the sound of dirt plopping behind him. 

“Whatever you do,” Kent warned, his expression turning serious, “don’t move.” He watched Lee freeze in place. Kent peered out in the direction of the sound and held his breath, intently watching and listening for any sign of movement. He heard the same sounds as before, though they seemed much closer than they were previously. He glanced at the empty tree line, his pulse racing. A brief flash of moment occurred and Kent felt something whiz past his shoulder. He turned to look, only to find a small rock that had plopped into Lee’s dirt pile. Confused, he glanced back at the forest entrance. His eyes widened as he looked at the once empty - save for a few sparse trees and greenery - lot, which was now teeming with vicious, glinting eyes. 

“Oh, shit!” Kent exclaimed. He turned towards Lee and frantically approached his friend. “We gotta go man, come on!” He extended his hand outward and hastily tried to pull Lee over the wall of the hole. 

“But we didn’t even bury her yet!” Lee protested, motioning to what was once the woman.

“We can worry about that later,” Kent scolded, his voice rising in fear. He glanced back at the mass of eyes - which appeared to have grown in size - and gulped. “We have bigger problems. We need to go - now!” He urged, finally pulling Lee over the edge and onto the soft, squishy ground beneath his feet.

“I don’t see what you’re so worked up about,” Lee sulked, a protesting frown crossing his lips, “You heard some noises, so what?”

“That’s what,” Kent replied harshly, snapping his head in the direction of  the growing crowd. Lee’s expression soon changed from reluctant to afraid. He gulped as he glanced towards the edge of the forest, his face paling. 

“Good idea.. We should get out of here,” Lee suggested, turning back to Kent. The two nodded towards each other and sprinted away from the forest. As they ran, dozens of bullets whizzed past them and they had to strafe on their paths to avoid being nicked. They managed a few feet before Lee glanced over his shoulder - checking to see if they were still being followed. Unfortunately, they were and the followers appeared to be gaining ground. Even more unfortunate, however, was the fact that Lee’s glance caused him to take his eyes off the path. He tripped over a jagged, misplaced stone. He stumbled before hitting the ground with a loud thud. Pain rocketed through his entire body, but seemed to stem from his left ankle. 

“Lee!” Kent called out as he approached his friend. He looked around warily before squatting down and speaking once again, “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Lee confirmed, pushing himself up with a groan, “I think so.” His nose was bleeding from the impact, but other than that he seemed relatively fine - excluding a few scuffs where stray pebbles dug into his skin. That was, until he attempted to stand, of course. As Lee attempted to put weight on his left foot, a fiery pain scorched his body and he let out a pained yelp. Kent frowned at the noise.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, not believing Lee. He watched Lee cringe as the boy once again tried to put weight on his foot and failed. “You don’t look okay,” Kent said, concern layering itself in his voice. 

“I’m fine,” Lee said, gritting his teeth as he once again attempted to walk. Kent attempted to ask once more but Lee dismissed him, “We can’t worry about me right now. We have to get out of here - you said it yourself.” 

“Lee,” Kent pleaded, another frown forming on his lips. He glanced down at Lee’s ankle before adding, “At least let me look at it.”

“Fine,” Lee conceded. He rested against a nearby rock and allowed Kent to examine his ankle. Lee’s ankle was swollen and appeared to have some deep purple bruising from the impact. Kent sucked in a breath through his teeth and shook his head disapprovingly. 

“Yikes, it looks sprained,” Kent explained. He looked at Lee and pursed his lips together, preparing to deliver even more bad news, “I don’t think you can walk on that - at least for a while, and especially not for long periods of time.”

“Oh, Yoba,” Lee exclaimed under his breath, letting out a sigh of frustration. Of all the times to be clumsy and injure himself, it had to be now, didn’t it? Of course it did, he thought to himself with a shake of his head, after all, why wouldn’t it? 

Kent glanced around, exhaling a deep breath as he noted the position of the approaching crowd. They appeared much closer now - maybe a few feet away at most. He gulped and turned his attention back to his friend.

“We can’t stay here,” Kent began, tapping his finger against his chin in thought. He paced around, wondering what options they had. It would be too far to try and make it back to camp and going the way they came was out of the question. Kent surveyed their surroundings and noted they were quite close to the building where they had found the woman. That could work, Kent thought to himself. But how would he get Lee there safely? He turned back to Lee, wrapping his arm around his midsection and helping him stand before speaking, “We’re going to do something stupid, okay? We’re going into that house again. I need to get you off that ankle.” 

Lee gave a half-hearted chuckle, “Stupid is my middle name.” 

Kent carefully began walking - ensuring Lee’s bad ankle stayed elevated as long as possible. Lee slowly limped beside him, leaning into Kent and trying his best not to complain too much. They were now approaching the door, though the mass of people behind them seemed to be closing in. Kent looked around, slightly panicked. 

“We can make it, Lee,” Kent assured his friend, who was now slightly lagging behind - his limp becoming more evident the longer he walked. Kent had to frequently stop to avoid causing Lee to stumble. He looked at the distance they had to go and spoke once again, “We just need to do a slight sprint. Can you handle that?” 

Lee nodded. He waited for Kent’s signal before attempting to run, still leaning against his friend for support. Pain continued to shoot through him, but Lee simply gritted his teeth and kept going. They were so close - he could almost taste the comfort of safety.Only a few more feet to go and they would be fine, he assured himself. And then he suddenly stepped on another stray rock, sending himself tumbling forward once again. He instinctively pushed his arms forward to stop himself, though the weight of his body was enough to jolt his entire arm and push it to the side with an uncomfortable and sharp resounding snap. He let out a low groan of pain, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Oh, Yoba,” Kent exclaims. HIs eyes widened as he looked at Lee, inspecting his friend for any more injuries. He grew nauseous as his eyes landed on Lee’s arm - which was now disfigured and pointed at a harsh angle, the faintest shard of bone peaking through the skin.

“Lee, your arm,” Kent spoke, horror filling his voice. 

“What?” Lee asked, he lifted his head from the dirt and glanced over at Kent - noting his distressed appearance. “What’s wrong with my arm?” Lee asked once again, fear washing over his face.

 Undoubtedly, Lee’s adrenaline had kicked in - overtaking the pain. Lee felt incredibly numb and only seemed to notice the distant throb of his ankle and a faint tingle in his arm. Kent pointed a shaky finger at Lee’s arm. Lee followed his gaze, his own eyes landing on his right arm. His eyes widened. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m left handed then, right?” Lee joked, a weak chuckle slipping past his lips. It was clear, though, that a layer of panic was hiding in his voice. He appeared to be in a state of shock, unable to register the pain that was likely coursing through his body at that very moment. 

Kent peeled his eyes away - desperately trying not to retch. He clamped a hand over his mouth and tightly closed his eyes. After taking a few seconds to compose himself, Kent opened his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. 

“Okay,” He started, slowly looking back at Lee before continuing, “We need to get you inside. I don’t want anything to get worse.” Kent crouched down and carefully helped Lee up once more before walking at the fastest pace he possibly could while still supporting Lee. They managed to make it to the house - just in time, too. As soon as Kent slammed the door shut, several fists pounded against the door and attempted to gain entry. Kent yelped and pressed his back against the door, desperately trying to keep it closed as Lee looked for something to dress his wounds - maybe something they could use as a tourniquet. Kent heard several voices outside the door - all of which yelled out taunts and tried to urge the boys to leave the house. They were circling the building now, by the sound of it. It was still far too dark outside to see (and be able to accurately tell) but Kent listened to the shuffle of footsteps as they rounded the corner of the house - approaching the door once again. 

“This is for Misha!” A voice exclaimed from outside. Kent wasn’t sure who Misha was. He looked at Lee, confused. Before he could ask Lee his question, though, several rapid gunshots sounded. 

Kent yelped, ducking down and covering his head with his forearms. He silently hoped Lee had done the same. The piercing sound of the gunfire made Kent’s ears ring. He clamped his hands over his ears and tried his best to keep his breathing even. He couldn’t freeze up, not now. Not when Lee needed him to be strong enough for the both of them. Not when there were hoards of angry enemy soldiers surrounding this very building. Unfortunately, the sound was too much for him. His mind flashed images of a few days prior - to the distinct sound that still haunted his ears; the sound of the sharp bang that resulted in Danny’s death. Kent was crying now, rocking back and forth until the gunshots slowly dissipated. 

Even after the last shot was fired, Kent found himself unable to move. Unable to check if their attackers were truly gone. Unable to do anything. Except to sit there with tears streaming down his face, his hands still tightly clamped over his ears. 

“Kent, are you okay?” Lee called out. He cautiously approached his friend and crouched down to his eye level. 

“It’s all my fault,” Kent muttered, continuing to rock back and forth. “It’s all my fault,” He repeated. Lee noticed Kent was breathing much heavier than before. He pursed his lips together and debated what to do. 

“I don’t know what ‘it’ is, but it’s not your fault, man,” Lee spoke, attempting to cheer up his friend. Kent seemed unresponsive, as if he was trapped inside whatever was happening in his head. Lee racked his brain for anything that might help in this situation - had Oma mentioned what to do when your friend was in this state? She mentioned what to do if someone made something that tasted awful but you still wanted to be polite, however, that wouldn’t help much in this scenario. 

C’mon, Lee, he thought to himself, think. For once in your life, think. He let out a groan of frustration when his mind remained empty. He decided he would try and get Kent’s attention. He waved his hand in front of his friend’s face and even snapped a few times. Still, nothing. Not even a twitch or eyeroll.  He took a deep breath and slowly reached his hand towards Kent’s shoulder - silently hoping he wasn’t making a horrible mistake. He knew you were not supposed to touch someone who was experiencing panic - as you might make it worse - but he was running out of options. Lee carefully placed his hand on Kent’s shoulder and waited. The touch seemed to cause Kent to stir. He slowly snapped out of his daze and looked up at Lee, the panic still vivid in his eyes. 

“Kent?” Lee asked. He waited a bit, attempting to see if Kent would respond, before speaking once again, “Are you okay?” 

Lee’s words seemed to slowly seep into Kent’s mind and Kent gave a hesitant nod in response. Lee let out a sigh of relief, releasing a breath he wasn’t sure he was holding and gently squeezing Kent’s shoulder. 

“Okay, good,” Lee acknowledged. He glanced around - noting how suspiciously quiet it all seemed now. There’s no way they would have given up, just like that, was there? It didn’t sit right with Lee. He had a twisting feeling in his gut, as if it was all a trick. He turned back to Kent and explained what he intended to do, “I’m going to check if they’re really gone, okay? You stay here.” Kent replied with another shaky, slightly hesitant nod. 

Lee took a deep breath before pushing himself into a standing position. He gently scooted past Kent and slowly opened the door. He peered outside. To his dismay (and relief), the crowd seemed to have disappeared. Unfortunately, it was still rather dark and Lee no longer had a light source - the two had abandoned the lantern in their rush for safety and it lay discarded on the ground near the site of Lee’s latest fall. He grumbled as he looked at it. It would sure make things easier, as it was getting incredibly hard to see as the night progressed. However, leaving the safehouse seemed like a bad idea. 

Stricken with indecision, Lee pursed his lips together. If they had the lantern, they could properly tend to his wounds - both of which were starting to transition from a dull ache to a throb. He decided that the pros outweigh the cons and carefully stepped out of the building - wincing as he stepped onto his left ankle. He slowly hobbled towards the lantern - which looked closer than it actually was, Lee realized - and silently hoped it wasn’t another trick. He managed to approach the lantern and scoop it into his uninjured arm with ease and began his trek back to the safe house. 

However, a lone figure watched from the shadows. Their piercing eyes shining with rage as their gaze followed Lee - watching him as he slowly trekked towards the entrance of the building. Lee seemed to match the description Misha - the woman who attacked Kent - had described in her final moments. A barely contained rage bubbled beneath their skin, theri fingers twitching with anticipation - itching to avenge their fallen lover, but they waited. They sat patiently - noting the visible limp in Lee’s gait and the awkward angle at which his arm hung. As Lee edged closer to the entrance, they brought the scope of their rifle towards their eye - lining up the shot. 

He stepped one foot over into the entrance of the building and called out to Kent, “I think they’re gone.I even got our lantern back! Everything seemed o-” His words were abruptly cut off as one final bang resounded. The gun fired from somewhere behind Lee and the bullet traveled swiftly. It lodged itself into his side. “-Kay,” Lee continued with a gurgle, a small stream of blood trailing down the corner of his mouth. He swayed forward, collapsing with a distinct thud. As he was laying there, Lee couldn’t help but think about how if he could’ve ran a little faster or gripped the door with his right hand, he would have been able to safely close the door behind him. He would have been alright - for the most part. But there he lay, a fiery pain piercing through his side and coursing through his entire body. He let out a low groan, gritting his teeth. 

“Lee!” Kent called out, looking up upon hearing the sound of Lee falling against the floor. He snapped out of his stupor and rushed to his friend’s side. A small, surprised gasp slipped past his lips as he noted Lee’s state. His own adrenaline seemed to kick in and Kent used all his strength to pull Lee inside, promptly shutting the door behind him - likely ripping the stitches on his arms in the process. He let out a small grunt of pain but continued pulling Lee towards him - propping his friend up against the wall. 

“No, no, no,” Kent protested as he inspected Lee’s side, his stomach churning at the redness that was seeping into the fabric, staining Lee’s jacket. “Not again. Please, not again.” Kent desperately tried to keep himself calm, placing a hand on his chest and trying not to fall into another moment of panic-induced inaction. He paced around the room and tried to think of something to do. He couldn’t lose another friend. Kent was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of another resounding gunshot from outside, followed by a frantic pounding on the door. He yelped, his eyes widening - had they come back to finish the boys off? Kent hoped not. 

“Open the door,” A familiar voice called out, pounding on the outside once again before attempting to jostle the handle and speaking again, “It’s me, lads. I’m here to help ye.” 

“Willy?” Kent called out, skeptically. 

“Yes, lad!” Willy spoke, his frustration growing the longer the door remained closed. “Let me in an’ I’ll explain everythin’.” 

Kent cautiously approached the door, cracking it open the slightest amount to check if it was actually Willy. When he confirmed it was, he let out a small sigh of relief and opened the door - allowing Willy to enter before closing it once more. 

“Willy,” Kent started, gripping the older man by the sleeve of his shoulder, “I’m so glad to see you. Lee’s hurt.” He explained as he motioned to Lee, who was reaching across his body and clamping his uninjured arm over his side, his face slightly pale and nauseous as he tried to stifle the bleeding.

“Ah, I was worried somethin’ like this would happen. That’s why I followed ye, boys,” Willy replied, a small grumble present in his voice. He approached Lee, crouched down, and asked Lee to move his hand so he could inspect it. He grimaced, sucking air in through his teeth.

“Aye, that one’s quite nasty, lad,” Willy spoke, his voice sounding solemn. He fished around in his pocket before pulling out a small cotton pad and a general antiseptic. He turned back to Lee and sighed before adding, “This is going to sting.” 

Lee gave a small nod and gritted his teeth. Willy’s words, however, didn’t prepare him for the intense wave of pain he received as the antiseptic was placed against his side. He let out a loud, pained groan and attempted to jerk away from Willy’s grasp. It felt like his entire body was on fire. Lee had always been clumsy and managed to injure himself. He - more often than not - squirmed as his grandmother placed antiseptic on his cuts, but this was nothing like a small scrape on his knee. He let out another pained cry, tears causing his vision to blur. The pain seemed to overtake him. 

Lee tried to distract himself from the pain by glancing over at Kent. However, Lee noticed a faint silhouette behind him. He blinked, trying to focus his vision. Lee wasn’t sure if it was delirium or if what he was seeing was true, but he could’ve sworn that the silhouette resembled someone…familiar. He searched his brain, trying to place their name, but his mind wasn’t able to form a coherent thought. Instead, Lee watched the figure shift - the edges of their form seeming to wisp and reform every few seconds - and took in their appearance. Dark, shoulder length brown hair, a permanent frown and deep worry lines, and the faintest trace of stubble littering across their face. They wore a uniform similar to Lee’s own and had something gently clasped in their hands. A bouquet. Recognition washed over Lee and he let out a surprised gasp.

“Danny?” Lee whispered, extending his hand outwards in the direction of the figure. Danny smiled. Tears began streaming down Lee’s face once again - though this time they were tears of happiness. He waited for me, Lee thought to himself. He glanced over at Kent, noting the worried expression on his friend’s features. 

“Kent, look!” Lee called out, pointing in the direction where Danny was standing. “Danny’s back. He’s.. he’s alright.” 

Kent turned and looked, though all he saw was an empty corner of the room. There was a blank wall, the faded wallpaper peeling off at the edges, but no person. 

“Lee, what are you talking about?” Kent asked, his brows furrowing together in concern. He glanced back at Lee and shook his head, “There’s nothing there.” 

How can he not see him? Lee thought to himself, a frown spreading across his lips, he’s right there. He glanced back at the spot where Danny had been moments before and found it jarringly empty., He desperately scanned around - searching for where Danny might’ve wandered off too. He’s here, I know it, he thought to himself once again. Lee’s eyes landed on a spot closer to him and Danny came into focus once again - his smile comforting and inviting. Danny’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Lee narrowed his eyes, trying to determine what was being said. By the looks of it, it was his name. Danny tried once again, still mouthing the same word over and over. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. Lee. One after another, constantly. 

“Lee!” Kent called, waving his hand in front of Lee’s face and causing him to shake out of his stupor. Lee looked at Kent, confused. 

“Oh, thank Yoba,” Kent spoke, relieved. He let out an exasperated breath and added, “I’ve been calling your name over and over. It’s been like… five minutes, dude.” He paused and looked at Lee - noticing how he kept staring at a distant point just beyond his shoulder, “Are you alright? You seem…distracted.” 

“Yeah..” Lee mumbled, though he didn’t meet Kent’s gaze. He kept staring intently at the corner of the room, as if he was watching something. Kent turned to look once again and still found nothing. After some time, Lee spoke once again, “Yeah.. yeah.. I’m fine.” 

Danny smiled at him once again. Lee smiled back. Danny slowly approached and rested a hand against Lee’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the curve of Lee’s nose before landing on one of his dimples. His touch felt cool - too cool and almost alien. Lee felt the hairs on his arms stand up, a shiver traveling down his spine. A small part of Lee’s brain understood that it was highly unlikely, but that part was outvoted by the larger part that missed Danny more deeply than Lee knew. Lee wanted to believe it was real. He closed his eyes and leaned into Danny’s palm. However, when Lee opened his eyes, Danny was - once again - no longer present. 

Lee was brought back into the present by another wave of pain coursing through his body. He let out a low groan, gritting his teeth. Despite Willy’s best efforts, the wound continued gushing everytime Lee moved - and Lee was now thrashing, trying to pry himself out of Willy’s ironclad grip. 

“Son, you are not makin’ this easy!” Willy scolded, placing his hand on Lee’s shoulder to keep him in place. He glanced at Kent before motioning towards Lee’s legs, “Kent, help me out, lad. He’s goin’ to hurt himself worse with all that movin’ around!” Kent’s eyes widened, though he scooted closer and desperately tried not to get kicked in the face. He carefully clasped his hands around Lee’s ankles before trying to calm his friend down.

“Lee, I know it hurts,” He started, looking at Lee pleadingly before adding, “But you need to stay still, okay? Willy knows what he’s doing.” I hope, Kent thought, leaving that thought unsaid. He trusted Willy, and he knew the man had experienced things similar to this all the time, but there was a nagging suspicion that Willy was just flying blind and doing whatever he thought might work. He gulped and shook that thought from his mind. It’s better not to think like that, he decided. 

Lee groaned once again as his lifeforce soaked through the cotton pad, slowly seeping on the surrounding skin and fabric. Nothing seemed to be working and Kent was quite worried. He squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled a small prayer to Yoba - begging for everything to be okay - but he didn’t feel the familiar comfort of the deity. Kent once again remembered that this was outside of their domain, their control. He sniffled. When Kent opened his eyes, it appeared that Lee had calmed down and ceased his escape attempt, though he was once again staring at the corner of the room. Kent frowned. He couldn’t fathom what was possibly so interesting about it - it was just a boring corner, filled with dust and spiderwebs. Whatever Lee saw seemed to comfort him, somehow. 

Everything seemed calm for a moment - far too calm. Kent knew something was wrong. His gut twisted and nagged at him. Just then, Lee started violently coughing - more blood dribbling down his lips, staining the skin with a deep red pigment. 

“No, no, no,” He protested. Kent reached out and used his sleeve to wipe away the spillage, tears of protest threatening to pour down his face. As he touched Lee’s skin, Kent noticed it was burning - as if he had developed a fever. Kent bit his lower lip, sniffling as he looked at Lee once more. He couldn’t believe he had been so preoccupied with Lee’s behavior to notice how faint he looked or how feverishly warm his skin had gotten. He frowned, though panic began rising in his voice as he spoke again, “Not again. I can’t lose you, too.” 

“Kent, I’m fin-” Lee tried to reassure his friend, though he was interrupted by another coughing fit, the blood bubbling in his throat and spilling from his lips with a low gurgle. Kent shook his head in protest, wrapping his arms around Lee and hugging him tightly. Lee’s skin was on fire now - and it felt hot enough to burn Kent’s own skin - but he couldn’t bear to pull away. 

Lee allowed Kent to hug him, though he glanced towards Danny once again. The boy gave a small, solemn nod before extending his hand. Oh, how Lee wanted to reach out and grasp it - to feel Danny’s skin press against him once more. He missed Danny terribly. Lee glanced back at Kent, a small frown slipping onto his lips. Part of Lee knew that this would be it. If he reached out and took Danny’s hand, he wouldn’t come back. Would it matter though, he wondered. His time on this planet would always be limited, so why prolong it? At this very moment, Lee knew.  He was dying. Yet, he didn’t seem afraid. In fact, quite the opposite. Lee found himself comforted; comforted by the fact that everything would be alright - eventually -, comforted by the fact that he’d see Danny again, and even comforted by the fact that he knew - even if it hurt in the moment - Kent would eventually forget him entirely. 

“Hey, Kent?” Lee spoke as he continued looking at Kent, though Lee’s own frown seemed to disappear.

“Yeah, Lee?” Kent replied shakily, glancing up at his friend. 

“I’m not going to sugar coat this but,” Lee started, his expression turning solemn as Kent met his eyes. He took a deep breath before continuing, “I think I’m dying… and.. I want you to have these.” Lee used the last of his strength to remove the chain from around his neck - the one that contained the I.D. tags of Danny and himself - and gently shoved it in Kent’s direction, forcing his friend’s fingers to clasp around it.

“No!” Kent protested, shaking his head. His voice rose as raw emotion coated his next words, “You’re not dying, okay?” He gripped the necklace and tried to return it to Lee, however, he was met with a disapproving head shake. Lee pushed the necklace back towards Kent.

“Keep ‘em,” Lee instructed firmly. His voice softened as he spoke the next words, “I won’t be needing them anymore.” 

“You aren’t dying, Lee. Not on my watch,” Kent spoke once again, though his words came out shaky and uncertain. He gulped, trying not to believe what was right in front of him. He began rambling, mostly to try and convince himself, “You’re going to be okay. Willy and I.. we’ll carry you back to camp ourselves if we have to. You’re going to make it back. The nurses are going to patch you up - everything will be fine.” 

“Kent,” Lee spoke, interrupting Kent’s ramble, and shook his head sadly. He spoke once again, a small, knowing sigh slipping past his lips, “No, Kent. I’m dying, I know it.” 

“No,” Kent protested, though, deep down, he knew Lee was right. He shook his head, as if that would make the reality of the situation any less truthful. “I won’t let you. I need you to stay with me, Lee. Please.” 

Lee smiled at Kent’s words. He glanced over Kent’s shoulder once again and noticed Danny giving him another nod and a warm, inviting smile that read “Come with me, Lee.” He gave a small nod in response to Danny before turning back to Kent. 

“I’ll say hi to Danny for you,” Lee replied. As the words slipped past his lips, Lee relaxed into Kent’s arms. Kent watched his friend, tearing up as Lee’s eyes unfocused and the light behind them began to dim before extinguishing completely. 

Kent sobbed and pulled Lee close to his chest, cradling his friend's body as the warmth began to slowly disappear. Tears streamed down his face once again and he let out a low, guttural cry of deep rooted agony - as if all of Kent’s grief and sorrow that had been slowly bubbling beneath the surface since his father died combined and pushed itself out of his system in one swift motion. He gripped Lee tightly, his arms shaking as he desperately tried to hold on to what little life was left in his friend. It was a fruitless effort. 

Willy watched the scene, his own expression growing solemn. He turned to Kent, placing a gentle and caring hand on his shoulder before speaking, “He’s gone, lad. I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t believe that! Not for once second,” Kent protested. He gently sat Lee down and tried to perform CPR, more tears streaming down his face. “Come on, Lee. Don’t leave me. Not like this. Please,” Kent pleaded, pumping his hands against Lee’s chest harshly. Lee didn’t respond. 

“Come on, man,” Kent pleaded once again. He closed his eyes before speaking again, “When I open my eyes, you’re going to be fine. This will all be one of your stupid jokes and we’ll laugh about it.” Kent opened his eyes and glanced at Lee’s still figure. The stillness was the most jarring thing about this whole ordeal. Lee had never been still, always bouncing around and teeming with energy and life. Stillness didn’t suit him. Another sob racked Kent’s chest, causing his whole body to shake with emotion. 

“Kent,” Willy spoke, his voice full of compassion. He extended his arms. Kent crawled into them and buried his face in the crook of Willy’s neck. He gave a small sigh, wrapping his arms around Kent protectively, before speaking once again, “He’s not comin’ back, son.”

[desultory-novice]

Have you ever just looked at a unimportant character no one cares about, and you just go

“They could have so much depth”

- the necrodeus anon

...I've been passively trying to come up with a compelling backstory for Brobo of all characters so yeah, I do...

Jokes aside (though I was being serious about Brobo!) I sympathize, Necrodeus fan! Some people might notice that I don't ever seem to draw the Dream Team as a whole? Or even all that much indidivually.

It's not because I don't love them. In contrast, I love them all sooooo much! But I also know that as a fan-artist (1) I don't NEED to do anything for them. They're so important to the, err, "brand" that I'm going to get my daily dosage of Kirby and others being cute by checking Twitter for merch announcements!

King Dedede, who is not as well loved by merch as the other three, gets a lot of fan-made content exploring his backstory, relationships, traumas etc, so I'm feasting on his majesty that way! (...I-is that phrasing too weird?)

--

It might seem weird to position myself like I'm some champion of giving minor characters depth when I draw a lot of Magolor and Marx, characters who are also showered in love and attention. But as much as I love jester boy, I know that for a variety of reasons, Marx is still in the exact same tier of cameo character as Daroach is, regardless of the difference in merch-love and fan content for the two. Neither of them are going to top the list for "characters to make important in the next Kirby game." That's just facts.

That's why, instead of producing a whole bunch of Meta Knight content, even though I do have ideas for him, I lean towards characters who were important once and are likely never to be important again. (The exception is Magolor, who has been made so important lately, he's likely to stay a reoccurring character. My excuse there is just that I'm biased. (2) Though even I start to feel his spread too much lately? He's trended on JP Twitter twice this last month and I don't even think it was for anything special.)

I LOVE Elfy but I didn't have much for them in the wake of FL's release because Elfy was everywhere I turned. A year later the fire has died down somewhat and I'm ready to write and draw more about Elfy in a relatively collected way. It's weird but sometimes hot news characters can turn into unimportant characters?!

I wasn't here for this, but Daroach was an important figure in two games, back to back! Imagine at that point, he must have seemed like frickin' Magolor to people! Isn't that wild? And the Animal Friends too! They WERE Kirby's friends, allies, family, supporting cast! They were Kirby's everything! ...Fast forward to the years between 64 and Star Allies and it's like... who?

And even then, trying to "spread the love around" is something I have to make a conscious effort to do, and I still know I'm WAY lacking in this department! I'm sorry, my other precious blorbos! Someday I will give you all each the visual masterpiece you are deserving of!

--

A thought struck me, as I watched a longplay of Kirby's Pinball, Kirby's Blockball and Kirby's Dream Course (three games I didn't play because even as a Kirby fan, young Dess avoided anything that reminded me of "sports.") that there are more "tiers" of Kirby characters than I typically think of!

If you love even the non-Dedede and non-Magolor last bosses or if you love the Dream Friends, you're still eating good. Because in the early games, our "supporting cast" to develop were things like the Poppy Bros, Squishy, Broom Hatter, and Kabu!

And I LIKE those guys! I like the Helpers! I like Wheelie and I like Bonkers! I mean, Chilly, right?! We all love Chilly! These guys were actually treated as kinda important in the older games! (The older manga gave focus to them too.) They didn't have compelling narratives out of the box, but they were staples in Kirby's world!

Have I ever drawn something for them? Have I ever stopped to think up a story about Simirror or Gim...? I'm not trying to guilt anyone or myself. After all, they really don't have compelling narratives, and I think you'd have to do some serious stretching to come up with one. (It might be a little easier for Gigant Edge and Bonkers and Mr. Frosty since they all spent time in the Forgotten Land...)

--

I think what I'm getting at is that we, who love characters who were important, if only for a single game, are kind of blessed to have that experience. Even if it's only for the length of the Milky Way Wishes sub-game or Mass Attack's main campaign. Our favorites were the shining stars with their own arc: triumphant rise and downfall.

So of course we want to plumb their depths! We got attached! And we're still better off than the Brobo fans or... dare I say it... the GRYLL FANS who dearly love a tough as nails last boss with a great design and... that's it...? We Gryll fans (because I am one of them) have pretty much had to make up their character whole cloth.

(On that note, even Gryll being non-binary is not a 100% canon thing. Gryll's just a character who we know so little about, even their gender is "unknown." There are artists all over the world who have settled on either a strictly fem or strictly masc interpretation for our onion witch. Though I prefer enby Gryll and am actually pretty confident that should they make a future appearance, the official localization will go that way themselves.)

For a long time, what informed Gryll's character was "Gryll introduces themselves with the same line that Marx does. Marx Soul and Drawcia Soul share the same attacks. All three use magic. Maybe these three who have never interacted know each other?!" That is, as far as I'm aware, the "origin" of the semi-popular HC that Marx and Gryll are friends/rivals/pseudo-siblings and both of them know/respect/fear Drawcia.

When Magolor came along and hinted he knew Marx, suddenly that lent some credence to all the magic-users knowing each other. Then Taranza came in with some weird hints of his own about knowing Magolor, and then Drawcia started to get pushed out because she was a little bit less "fun" seeming than the others...?

But I want to highlight that this is all made up!!

And I think it was made up because of people like us. People who still hold fondness for the characters that sparked their imagination and, because they were never likely to appear again, started making connections between other benchwarmers.

:cough: currently in the middle of a lengthy comic connecting Adeleine and Dark Matter Swordsman :cough:

--

I'm not going to say that we "keep the fandom going" or are somehow more important than people who just draw gorgeous fanart of Kirby. Everyone please keep doing that, btw! (Although it's funny that prolific Kirby fanart master, Suyasuyabi, will often draw these bottom-tier no-personality characters alongside Kirby. We don't get to see what motivates Chip or Blipper but we do get gorgeous visuals of them just living their lives) But our weird little hyperfixations are valuable and do have a purpose!

Still, if we want depth for the non-tier 0 characters, we will need to act on it. We can be helped along by inspiration from other people via weird, off-hand ideas that will make you think "Oh my god, wait what?! Oh, that's PERFECT!"(2) but your brain is going to be the one that makes the most fulfilling connections to you. Thus, my "compelling Brobo backstory" quest.

(I'm currently thinking he could be made by King Dedede? His majesty has a way with robots, after all. Or DOES he? What if there's a person or a place or a Weapon Shop Waddle Dee or Planet Mecheye that his majesty goes to to make his golf robots, blockball robots, and rocket hammer??)

-

Have I mentioned this about myself? As everyone knows by now, I'm one of the oldies. Not old as in I've been in the fandom forever. I've only been here for like, a year or two? But I am physically older than the rest of the people I know here, at least. But I only started drawing a few months before officially joining the fandom. (I did write fanfic when I was much younger but I hate all of it. Whee!)

Part of the reason I started drawing at my age was when it finally hit me that I would have these utterly brilliant ideas for cool things! "Oh my gosh, this would be SO perfect for X!" And I would patiently wait for someone to make this same connection and draw or write something for it that I could then love...!

:insert crickets chirping:

And...yeah... This could basically summarize my participation in my last fandom. Now, I actually wrote a lot of essays/answereds some ask questions. I didn't just sit quietly in the corner. But no matter how much I emphasized "This is a really cool thing more people should do something with!!" no one, outside of my one fandom friend, ever did.

I began to despair that maybe no talented artist/writer would ever come along and wave their magic brush/magic pen and fill me up with serotonin in accordance with my dreams. And it's a good thing I realized that because, oops, that's actually kind of true?!

Anyway, not to hammer on Dess's Philosopy of Fandom: that you should make the works you most want to see, regardless of how poor a job you do at the beginning but... yeah, actually. That.

Anyway, keep giving depth to characters! In whatever form you can!

I want to say once more to everyone who follows me and likes my art that I learned all this in like... two years. It just takes obsession :cough: dedication. But yeah, also obsession.

Also insomnia and sacrificing your free time to devouring every piece of beautiful art you come across and dissecting it lovingly. You can do the same with fiction, if you lean more towards writing. Not that I am recommending anyone pick up my regemin...

...Regemen? Regimin? RrrghI JUST looked up this word the other day. How could I have forgotten how to spell it so quickly?!

Aha! It's "Regimen."

...Wow. That's not how I pronounce it at all.

--

--

(1) Note that I seemed to talk a lot about drawing fan art up above, because to me, that IS giving them depth. When you draw a character participating in a hobby, enjoying a certain food, or talking with another character, you are giving them depth! You're rounding them out and making them feel whole!

(2) Another reason I draw a lot of Magolor is that I follow a bunch of obsessive Magolor fans on twitter who seem to do almost nothing but speculate on things that could have happened to Magolor all day(?) Just the other day, someone wrote something like "What if Magolor didn't immediately threaten to take over Popstar in front of Kirby et al? What if he just calmly took over Halcandra on his own and then realized too late that he couldn't take off the crown?"

I found that idea so compelling that five minutes later, I was scribbling this script down...

So, yeah. I want to apologize because for all of my nattering up there, it really isn't all that fair across the board when you like an unloved, unimportant character because the popular characters ALSO get talked about more, which leads to more sparks of inspiration and opportunities to explore ideas and plumb their depths. And that does suck. It just does. It can drain the inspiration you have to work on growing your favorites and make you feel alone and unloved yourself until the love you once felt for your beloved fictional muse is more like a heart-shaped hole in your chest...

...On the bright side, sometimes you can use another character's popularity to grow the less important characters too! I saw another gorgeous and scary comic (in JP) the other day about Magolor and the Master Crown that treated Dark Nebula as a cruel, dangerous, highly intelligent and threatening rival to both of them!! How awesome was that?!

So yeah, try riding the coattails of popular characters to make your favorite blorbo more interesting! Merry Magoland as much as confirms that Magolor has interacted with a stunning amount of Kirby characters. Use the squishsy wizard egg's popularity for your own benefit! (You could argue that's what I do with Marx all the time! Use Magolor's constant appearances to loop Marx into his activities and keep Marx relevant/give him stuff to do...!)

So, what WOULD the fandom's darling think of X canon character we don't see enough of? Or King Dedede. Or Meta Knight. Make connections between the characters that everyone is devouring up content for and draw people's attention that way!

--

This is a bit of a silly thing but... my Dark Matter + Adeleine comic-in-progress? The actual base comic did really CRAZY numbers! To the point that it's not even a month old and it's almost as popular as my most popular post! (That being my "moon's haunted" meme I drew when Forgotten Land came out - and oh.my.god it looks so bad?! I want to redraw it just to wipe off the shame... I feel that way about a couple of my more popular pieces tbh...)

Legitimately one of the reasons it became so popular initially was because it featured King Dedede in a sympathetic role. So it got boosted by certain Dedede fans and, not to diminish my own talent, spread way further than it would have on my art/storytelling abilities alone! (To which I'm thankful. And also, I love Dedede myself and love seeing him in serious roles, so it all worked out.)

Anyway, I hope that proved entertaining and maybe a little hopeful?

[v-bits-fits]

Hello out there, future me or otherwise

Happy New Years! Hopefully whoever is reading this got to do something fun. I went to a brewery with my partner, and it was pretty cool. Most of the people in the brewery left before midnight, I'm assuming to go to other places to celebrate. Bad news for the bar, but I honestly prefer it when the bar isn't super packed.

I'm don't usually make New Years resolutions, but I have some things that I have been working on that I want to prioritize going forward into 2025.

I have been going to the gym more often. I've always been a pretty active person. I like to run, I love riding my bike, and I'm a pretty avid yogi. However, I have always felt super self-conscious at the gym. Especially when it comes to lifting weights. I can't really put my finger on what has happened, but recently that has changed. Lately when I go to the gym, I don't really care what the people lifting around me think. And as I go more, I get less self-conscious. Not necessarily because I'm getting stronger (though I am), but I'm realizing that nobody actually cares about me [at the gym]. Just like I don't care what workouts they are doing, they probably do not care at all about what I'm doing. Also, I'm noticing that most people have terrible form. So, who are they to judge? lol. In 2025, I want to keep going to the gym somewhat regularly. I'll probably get bored eventually and move on to something else that is physically stimulating. But even if I decide I want to go back to doing yoga 3 times a week or I want to increase my milage on the bike, it'll still be nice to add weight training to my repertoire of workouts.

I also will be going on more trips in 2025. Me and my partner already have several events planned, including a concert in March that I am SUPER excited about. We decided we want to plan things to look forward to. I find when I'm stressed at work, thinking about a trip I have planned or a band I'm going to go see helps me to not feel so miserable.

But more than anything, I have been trying to find ways to feed my creativity. I was always very artistic as a teenager, and I think everybody around me thought I was going to go to art school. I ended up getting a STEM degree. While I definitely don't regret it, I do miss just...being creative. I miss being given a prompt and creating something out of it. I used to do film photography in high school, I used to sew, I used to paint. But as I got older, I got focused on life and left a lot of that behind. So, in the latter half of this year, I've been really putting an effort into fueling my creative side, whether or not it's profitable. I've been drawing just to draw, I got into digital embroidery so I can make my own patches, and I've been making my own holiday decorations. My uncle is even sending me one of his film cameras, and I'm super excited about the idea of getting back into film photography. My laundry room has no windows and a utility sink, so I'm tossing around the idea of using it as a dark room. And of course, this fanfiction is part of that too. I've never been big into writing, but I have always wanted to be. I'm definitely guilty of buying extravagant journals, just to leave them on my shelf and never writing a word in them. Even though this is fanfiction and not my own intellectual property, I'm having a lot of fun writing my story.

On that note, I will probably not be writing anything today. I'm a little hungover, so me and my partner are spending the day lounging around the house and not being productive. I have the weekend off (and my partner works all weekend) so I will probably get a lot of Chapter 6 written then. I think after reading Chapter 5, y'all know where we are headed on the map. I'm not sure if we'll get there in Chapter 6; Gladys has some prepping she needs to do. However, we will definitely get there by Chapter 7.

Thank you to anybody reading my story. Whether it's just 3 people, or 300 people, it means a lot to know that a few people are taking the time to read something I have written. I hope you kind people have a great year!

[keefwho]

August 11 - 2024 Sunday

10:43pm

5/10

Another mid day. I did the usual dog routine. I made a potato and sardines for breakfast but I made the potato in the pan instead of the oven because of how inconsistent it's been. They came out better this way. I didn't have cheese to eat with it though, except for swiss but it got all crumbly because my fridge got cold enough to freeze it at some point. The first thing I did this morning was add to and tidy up the bubble charts I've been making for therapy, but I still haven't gotten to show him yet. I did the same for my therapy homework. For a bit I joined BR and them in the server while they were playing a new Pokemon modpack for Minecraft. Its not my thing but I asked to join anyways and I got on their server. At first I was directionless and I just don't care about pokemon whatsoever but AE invited me to join their area/town so I did. I had the idea to go back to my minecraft roots and build a big, largely nonsensical castle. I kinda just make a simple tower and add to it in a bunch of ways as I feel inspired. I think it'll be good because it takes minimal planning but is still an exercise of my creativity. I did that for a bit until DV responded to my message earlier in the day so we could play the Jetski game in VR. I actually got very heated, but not in a bad way. We were in a public lobby and there was this super huge asshole that I started trying to beat, and did. I had to leave racing for my therapy appointment.

The appointment was rocky at first, he was about 15 minutes late and had a TON of technical issues because his internet was experiencing an outage. It didn't really affect me at all since he moved his next appointment back so I could still get my full time. I felt bad for how stressful it must have been for him though, we disconnected 5 times and he was bouncing between his PC and phone. It was still a good session though, but we didn't talk about my trauma like originally planned. We went over my homework which was identifying problematic behaviors and figuring out how I could change the pipeline. I actually learned more than I thought I would and I have some things to write down about how I can behave differently in certain situations. Its a conscious effort. At the end of the appointment, we set up a very small appointment for next week so I can discuss that trauma along with a normal appointment the week after. And it was very very affordable.

After therapy, DS asked to get in VR so we did. I got to hear about how her weekend went with her friends and we bumped into BD by chance in that shitty furry world. I also showed her what I did for my book club world. This guy joined on me and stuck with us the entire time but I don't like him, I don't even remember where he's from. All I know is his association with GS. He kept interrupting and being annoying. We got off to do puzzles and chat a little bit.

After she went to sleep, I popped back in to BR's server with DR and VN and did a little stone collecting in Minecraft. I was having trouble at first with the server's resource pack crashing my game but DR helped me. He confuses me because he really seems like a huge ass sometimes but helps when it's needed I guess. I remember the first time I was trying to play Minecraft with them and how difficult he was to work with to get me on the server since he owns it. It seemed like he was being a petty form of protective since I was kinda new.

I had some anxiety/loneliness throughout the day but I coped and did what I think would help me. Going forward I'm trying to keep a tight grip on the awareness of my relationships and how I can treat myself better in them.

[purrincess-chat]

57 and 74 for the fanfic asks

57. How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

Depends on the fic. A lot of my older fics I just kinda winged it and sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn't. Most of my bigger projects now I put far more effort into planning and making sure the story flows, is well-paced, that the character arcs are meaningful and accomplish what I want, etc. That process usually includes planning things like foreshadowing, symbolism, moral-of-the-story type things to make sure they land the way I want them to/land in a way that makes them a more effective device. In Mdcsp and even more so in Mdcspr, I put a lot of effort into comparing and contrasting certain characters throughout different parts of the story to emphasize certain arcs or foreshadow things that were to come down the line. I think it's a very tricky aspect of writing, but to me it's one of the most rewarding when you do it right and see the pay off.

So, idk pretty conscious I guess? But again, it depends on how involved the project is and what my overall goal is for the story. A lot of my fics that I've been plotting lately are super involved (which is why I haven't written in so long, lots of pieces to put into place) and deal with pretty delicate subjects, so there will be a lot that goes into those. I also have some fics planned that are shorter and don't matter as much too. I think it's good to have a balance 🤷‍♀️ I've actually been considering making a post about how I outline projects bc it's been game changing for me and quite an involved process, so if people wanna see that I can do it.

74. Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

Yes, it's my ladrien not-so-enemies AU 🥺🥺 it's on pause rn bc I broke the outline and need to fix it, but it's coming back I swear! And the ending will be happier than the one I had planned originally bc I listened to feedback on my original ending (mainly that it wasn't fluffy enough), so I'm fixing it! Slowly. When I have time 👀

[selormohene]

day 36 (tuesday, august 8th 2023)

(Posting this late on Wednesday)

Saw another one of those "if you don't enjoy small talk there's something wrong with you" posts and figured I might as well write up why I don't like small talk, because I've had the ideas floating around in my head for a while and figured I might as well write them up.

I've never felt like a particularly gifted conversationalist. I think I'm pretty interesting to talk to when I'm in my element, and that I can be funny and even have a peculiar charm around people I know well and connect to, but for various reasons (including my personality, and past experience, and the fact that the inhibitory, self-conscious part of my brain is always on, etc., etc.) it's still not something that comes as naturally to me as I'd like. Moreover, I feel like I can't help but put effort into conversations — into listening to what people say, taking it seriously, and trying to respond with something that will repay the effort I'd hope they were putting into the conversation in turn — and I don’t like being judged for being boring or awkward or charmless. And I feel like the default situation of most casual conversation — when you're talking to someone you don't know very well, don't know how much you have in common with, and presumably want to like you — raises both the difficulty in and the stakes of being interesting in a way that just doesn't come easily to me, given the nature of casual conversation.

Over time I've learned to become relatively comfortable with not being a small talker, or at least relatively comfortable with the discomfort that attends not being a small talker. I've learned that I don't have to bend over backwards to seem interesting, that it's okay to stay quiet when I don't have much to say, and that I haven't done anyone wrong if I don't have anything to say. Obviously I'm also working on opening up and relating to people in situations where I actually do want to relate to them (as opposed to situations in which I feel compelled to perform), but still. But I think that because I've had to deal with awkwardness all my life, I've developed a relative immunity to it that other people haven't. And as I've learned from experience, normal people really hate you for making things awkward. As far as they're concerned making a situation awkward seems to be just as bad as insulting a close relative, or something, and awkward people are to be avoided just as ardently as serial killers or something. In fact I've often heard comparisons along those lines made, where it's suggested that the sort of social inexpertness that makes someone bad at small talk or unable to engage in it is supposedly meant to be an indicator of some sort of sinister personality, an "inability to follow social norms" or whatever.

The problem is that a lot of people's idea of "small talk" is saying low-effort things about the weather or whatever, or asking insincere questions to which you're supposed to give scripted answers. These are costly to put effort into listening to, and yet you're expected to take them seriously, or at least to appear to do so, and to give engaged, interesting responses. But it takes me a lot of effort to not only listen and respond, but to pretend to be engaged and to give a response that will engage them. It’s the fakery, and in particular the enforced fakery with social penalties for not engaging, or not wanting to engage, or verbalising not wanting to engage, that I don’t like. I don't enjoy having to say "yeah, totally!" to "We should get lunch soon, it's been a while," or "I'm okay" to "how have you been?" when people have no intention of actually seeing me again or don't care how I've really been, especially now that we live in an increasingly isolated world where what most of us need is in fact people who want to have lunch with you and who care how you're really doing. But I especially despise the insinuation that these constant performances of ritualised insincerity are actually manifestations of a prosocial orientation and not being willing to play along indicates that there's something wrong with you. I also despise the idea that you would somehow be bad and stupid to do something as ridiculous as responding sincerely to these things.

People who defend the necessity of small talk often say that its "point” is to test boundaries, or to build trust, or to show that you're capable of going on in polite society, or whatever. But that doesn't really make much sense to me. First of all, why should the implication therefore be that we should enjoy it? Why on earth would a ritual whose supposed purpose is having to make sure the other person won't kill you be enjoyable, rather than a regrettable necessity? Second of all, it strikes me as rather strange that people genuinely believe that trust is built from being able to make inane conversation about the weather or whatever. The idea is supposed to be that we're just making meaningless sounds at each other while we're furtively monitoring other people's demeanour, body language, etc., etc. But the problem is of course that this penalises people who are otherwise perfectly okay but aren't very good at the game of making meaningless sounds, which is only a proxy for prosociality (as the defenders of this interpretation themselves admit). But it also rewards people who are good at the proxy but not what it measures for. For me, personally, given that I'm someone with a nonstandard social presentation (and having encountered many people who were socially efficient but actually terrible people, the fact that someone is able to navigate glib surface-level conversations does not in fact make me trust them more, precisely because there’s nothing to glib surface-level conversation. Which is not of course to say that people who are capable of navigating deep conversation aren’t capable of showing you, just that small talk is not somehow a better indicator because it shows that you’re capable of navigating social norms. It’s an instance of werey dey disguise in fact; it selects for normal well-adjusted people and terrible people who are slick enough to disguise how bad they are.

I'd rather say that the capacity to engage in deep conversation *and* respect boundaries at the same time is probably a far more robust indicator of quality of character, but I get the impression that some of the small-talk defenders equate the depth of conversation with the erosion of boundaries. This is another reason, I think, why people don't like it when you don't like small talk; they don't have a strong enough sense of their own boundaries or the ability to enforce them. So if you're sincere about something, or you ask them about something they don't want to talk about, then they get triggered and take it out on you. Whereas for me I prefer to just get to talking about what one wants to talk about, instead of pretending to be interested in things I’m not interested in, but part of what allows me to do that is that I have learned how to say “I'm not comfortable talking about that” or “That's personal” or even "I don't feel like we're close enough that I'd be comfortable sharing that" and so on. But again this is something which hurts people's egos to hear, even though everyone has things they're not comfortable sharing with certain people and they will let you know in any other way but saying so explicitly. You're just not supposed to say it or else you're the bad guy. People associate small talk with a removal of obligation to be confessional, but don't realise that it also imposes an obligation not to be honest about certain things.

Moreover, I feel as though the "small talk actually serves an ulterior purpose" defense is self-defeating. The moment you have that self-conscious view of a social ritual, the moment two people enter a conversation with that mutual understanding of what they're doing as “you have to navigate this elaborate performance where we’re faking interest in the object-level conversation for the sake of this meta-level figuring out each other,” the conversation sours. The interesting thing is that the people who are best at small talk are almost always those who are not self-consciously using it as a tool for ulterior motives, but who appear to generally enjoy talking about light stuff, and who have a way of doing it in such a way that you will enjoy it as well. Those people almost never give off the vibe that they’re using it to slowly build trust or test boundaries; people who approach small talk that way give off "wounded animals warily circling each other” vibes. Incidentally it strikes me that the sort of defense of small talk I've been arguing against often comes from people who are former oversharers or autists who were burned by people who trod on their emotional boundaries, and who are now rediscovering or reinventing normie social norms, but they’re reverse-engineering those norms with ridiculous self-conscious explanations instead of being naturally attuned to them, which has the annoying side-effect that they can’t see the limits of those norms. So they come off as sanctimoniously enforcing what was previously a spontaneous social norm. I’ve never met a conscious advocate for small talk because of the ulterior purpose it serves who was any good at it, because very often these people aren’t good at actually communicating their social-emotional needs, they just expect you to play along with whatever game they’ve decided in their heads is necessary to satisfy those needs, and if you don’t they beat you over the head for it.

[fluffyllamas-23]

Day 5: Insomnia - Keith

This is set at the beginning of season 3.  I don’t think there are any spoilers, but just a warning. Also, I’m really not sure of the timeline of events, so I’m making it up

I really like this one, I was getting so emotional writing the beginning, omg

Keith finds himself wandering the castle at three fifteen in the morning again.  Again.  

It’s going on four months since Shiro went missing, two months since Keith took over Shiro’s position, and he doesn’t sleep anymore. He tries, he really does - he’s exhausted and run down, and knows he needs sleep, but he just can’t.

Not when Shiro is missing and everyone expects him to be the leader.  He’s not cut out for it.  Shiro is the leader.  Shiro has this...innate sense for leadership.  He’s born for the role, not Keith.  Keith is a fuck up.  Keith screws up everything he touches.  Keith drives people away.  That’s why he tries so hard to keep everyone at a distance.

Shiro disappearing is just a stark reminder that everyone leaves.  Everyone leaves, and he can’t let himself get close to anybody else, because he looks up to Shiro so much and now he’s just so broken because his favorite person in existence is gone. No matter how much Keith tries, he can’t find Shiro.

Each time he lies down, he feels his body twitch with desperation and anxiety. Shiro’s face is behind his eyelids and in his dreams, and while it should be a comfort, all it does is make the hurt run deeper.  His chest has been aching and there’s been a lump in his throat since the moment they realized he wasn’t in his pilot’s chair, and Keith doesn’t know if he can take it anymore.

He needs Shiro back, he needs it like he needs air, because he’s a mess.  He’s okay when he’s with people, but the moment he’s alone, that’s when the gravity of the situation weighs on his shoulders. It’s too much.  It’s too much, and Keith isn’t sure how much longer he can handle it.  

He cries every night, to his dismay - he really hates crying.   

At this point, he’s gone two months without sleeping more than an hour or two a night and he feels dead on his feet.

Keith isn’t paying attention to where he’s going until he finds himself standing at Hunk’s door.  

He blinks heavily, swaying on his feet.

God, he’s tired.  

His body is screaming at him to rest, but he can’t.  

Hunk is suddenly in front of him. “Keith?”

“Oh, hey,” Keith says, shooting Hunk a very tired, worn out smile.

“What are you...it’s three thirty...why are you awake?”

“I...um...I couldn’t sleep,” Keith whispers, “did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s-”

Keith’s eyes fills with tears, “I’m sorry.”

“No! No, no, it’s fine, I’m thirsty anyways,” Hunk lies quickly when he sees Keith’s face crumple.  “Since you’re up, come with me?”

Keith swipes at his cheeks, “yeah, okay.”

Hunk knows that Keith isn’t sleeping...everyone knows Keith isn’t sleeping, and they’re all worried.  Nobody's quite sure how to broach the subject though, because the lack of sleep is making him snappy.  

Hunk takes a moment to study Keith’s face, which he can just barely see in the dim lighting.

Keith’s eyes are bloodshot and glassy, and beneath them are bags and deep purple bruises.  His face is void of any color, and Hunk pieces everything together.  

He’s sleep deprived, yes, and that accounts for a lot of his behavior recently. It can’t, however, fully be to blame for how slow and clumsy his movements have been, or how much he’s been struggling to process conversations.  Keith is low energy, and has been sounding increasingly run down, and Hunk finally realizes that Keith is definitely coming down with something.  

“Sit down,” Hunk instructs, pointing to one of the chairs at the counter. “Want anything?”

“Water?” Keith croaks out, grimacing at how dry his throat suddenly feels.

Hunk nods slowly, watching as Keith crosses his arms and sinks lower in his chair.  His eyelids droop, and he nods off briefly, but jerks awake a moment later when his head drops forward.

“Here,” Hunk says, placing a glass of water in front of him.

Keith stares at it for a full minute, blinking slowly before he shakes his head and looks at Hunk.  “Thank you.”

“Are you ready to go back to bed?”

Keith shrugs, “I think I’m up for the rest of the day.”

Hunk chews on his bottom lip, “How about we watch a movie, then?”

Maybe a movie will lull him to sleep.  

“Yeah...that sounds good,” Keith nods.  He sniffles and rubs at his nose that’s suddenly doing an impressive imitation of a faucet.

*

It’s six am, and Hunk’s plan didn’t work.  

Keith keeps nodding off, and is slumped against Hunk’s side. Each time Hunk thinks he’s asleep, Keith jerks awake not long after.  

Initially, Keith was on the opposite end of the couch, but as he began to feel worse and worse, he inched closer and closer to Hunk until he’s pressed into his side.

Hunk’s wracking his brain to think of ways that will get Keith to stay asleep, because Keith really needs to get a decent night’s sleep.

Keith curls into himself as he goes into another chesty coughing fit. He shivers, and Hunk reaches for the blanket that’s draped on the back of the couch. As soon as the blanket is on him, Keith tries getting warmer and presses himself closer to Hunk.

“Are you alright?” Hunk asks.  He brushes his fingertips across Keith’s forehead and grimaces as Keith’s skin burns beneath his touch.

“M’tired.”

“I know...you have a fever.”

Keith is silent and then offers a weak, “Oh.”

He sits up, but he’s suddenly so exhausted that he can’t hold himself upright, and he drops down onto Hunk.  Keith grips his shirt tightly, eyes filling with tears.

“I don’t...I don’t feel good, Hunk.”

“Yeah?” Hunk frowns, “I didn’t think so.  Is there anything specific that’s bothering you?”

“I-I...I j-just...I d-don’t f-feel well,” Keith whimpers, sniffling miserably.

His entire body is aching and heavy, which Keith isn’t sure if it’s because he’s running a fever, or if it’s from sheer exhaustion. Everything hurts - head, throat, muscles; his sinuses are throbbing, and he can feel the congestion rattling around in his lungs with each inhale.   He needs to sleep.

“You want me to see if there’s anything that’ll help you sleep?”

“I have to find Shiro,” Keith mumbles, his tone verging on desperation.

“What does that have to do with sleeping?”

There’s a beat, and then, “If I sleep...I won’t be able to find him.”

“Keith, you can’t find him like this.”

“I know,” he moans, bursting into tears, “I’m useless.  I’ll never be a good leader, I can’t even find Shiro, why would black pick me?”

“Keith,” Hunk breathes, wrapping his arms around his feverish, emotional teammate. “Black picked you because you’re going to make a great leader, you’ve just gotta have a little faith in yourself.”

Keith says nothing, his face buried in Hunk’s chest. “But is that why you haven’t been sleeping? You think sleeping will stop you from finding Shiro?”

He stops crying after a few minutes and tightens his grip on Hunk’s shirt. “I try to sleep...but I can’t. Everytime I close my eyes, I see him.  And then I do fall asleep, and I have nightmares about him...I’m so tired...I just want to sleep.”

Hunk thinks for a few moments, “I’ll be right back.  I’m going to go get you something that will help with that.”

Hunk is gone and back before Keith is able to process their conversation.

“What’s that?” Keith frowns when Hunk hands him two small pills.

“Sedative,” He says. Keith shakes his head, the movement jerky and uncoordinated and it makes his head spin.  “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t...I can’t sleep,” Keith says in a small voice and grips Hunk’s shirt again. “What if something happens? I’m the leader...I have...I have to be alert.”

Hunk smiles softly, “You’re not going to be alert if you don’t get some rest.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Nothing will happen, and if it does, I’ll handle it.  You just need to sleep.”

Two minutes after Keith takes the pills, Hunk feels his grip on his shirt loosen. Keith’s hand falls limply to his side as he finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[inkysandwich]

I've been trying so hard to be good and focus on my actual work for once (and I did okay, I haven't ranted in almost 2 weeks! Though I can't say the same for reading what everyone else is writing, please never stop 🖤), but I can't stop thinking about this:

And this:

And the surprising lack of blush lines that have been running rampant through almost every point of contact in the recent chapters.

Zheng Xi looks like he's making a conscious effort to flirt with Jian Yi--because that's definitely what Xi's doing there, wordlessly pinching JY's side, not even sweating at the contact (and why would he? He's been touching his wet ass and naked body all weekend.)

My boy looks so focused. On stirring the pot, of course.

Jian YI's pot 😏

He knows what he's doing. He's been doing it a lot lately and getting nothing but positive feedback.

Everyone's said it: ZZX is top husband material, and now he gets to be the best dad--cooking a meal for his weathered, delinquent sons while his partner dotes on them as they patch up.

Now I just need them to walk in on HT and MGS so Jian Yi starts getting ideas. Just all of them, joking around and dancing, maybe we'd even get a laugh out of the grumpy kitty before Jian Yi inevitably steps on his toes. 😾

[stinkrascal]

I wanted to let u know ur not alone! I got a very late autism diagnosis and it’s devastated me, I’ve also made my main favorite oc autistic as a way of coping and showing myself that it’s fine. I always knew I wasn’t the same as everyone else in some way but since I couldn’t see the nuance.. y’know..

hey thank you so much for sending me this msg. it's been a really huge change you know, it's weird bc like when i was a child i felt very different from everyone, and i was always mocked for my intense love for fandom and being annoying about only wanting to talk about a few specific things, but ive also grown up writing, and part of my writing process is observing people and learning about them, so i feel like by the time i was 17/18 i became REALLY good at masking and mimicking other people because of it, even to a point where i was somewhat liked in school despite the fact that everyone knew i was extremely quirky and strange because of the many years worth of strange stories they heard about me and how i acted until that point lol. but like, there was a brief period in time where i distinctly remember being treated so much better than i had been my entire life, because i FINALLY cracked the code on how to act Normal and Sociable, so it never seemed like a problem to me. but especially since the pandemic happened and ive isolated myself for idek how many years at this point, my ability to mimic people disappeared as i stopped surrounding myself with people and it really made me realize how different i am from others, how much of a conscious effort i had to put forth to be perceived as "normal." and it's weird bc when i got the diagnosis i was like, oh! that makes a lot of sense actually! like everything became really clear, but it still hurt you know, bc i've been mocked my entire life for Being This Way and i've always had to put a really strong effort into appearing Normal, and for a short while i was perceived as Normal, so it kinda sucked to put a name onto why i am the way i am and why people treated me weird growing up and why it took 17 years to get the approval of my peers. but it's been a good thing too, i understand myself a lot more now than i did growing up. i still have a very long and exhaustive process to go thru in terms of healing, but at least i have the answers i didn't have before you know?

thanks again for sending me this msg, i was really nervous to talk about this stuff but it feels really nice knowing there are others who can relate to me! that was my biggest struggle growing up, feeling like such an anomaly who cannot relate to anyone no matter how hard i try. you'll never know how comforting it is to know that, actually, i'm not this strange little weirdo with experiences unique to myself alone. there is a whole world of people with experiences similar to mine, and that feels really great to know. ily

[hxnmantii]

Draken and Naoto comforting their s/o

tw: fluff

Requested by: @cryingblueogre

A/n: I’m really nervous posting this ngl since this is my first time actually posting for Tokyo Revengers as well writing a drabble so creative criticism would be very much appreciated! Reblogs are appreciated! I hope you enjoy!

tagging: @kazutoraholic

Draken (Ken Ryuguji)

Rain was a natural indication, encouragement to stay and cuddle with the person you love but it had the opposite effect on you, seemingly pushing you further into your unforgiving head. You stare at your computer in a daze, a mass of considerable useless information flowing past your eyes and ears as your attention is really focused on your cruel thoughts. Of course Draken noticed, he always did. He noticed the little sighs, and the dark circles, the new over/under sleeping schedule and the constant “I’m fine” s. He noticed all of that and trusted that with time and patience, you would come talk to him. But today, right now, It was very apparent that you were not going to, so Draken had taken initiative to “ask” about it. He treads lightly to your sitting figure, draping himself along your back like a cover before kissing your forehead softly. His arms tighten around your waist essentially pulling you closer to his chest so he can put his head in the crook of your shoulder and rub your tummy. You hum, acknowledging his presence but other than that you sit in silence, a comfortable norm for you guys. He sighs softly. “Whatever’s happening right now, whatever you’re going through, just know you’re not alone. I'm here with you so let me help you.” He says softly. One hand interlaces with yours, the other grabbing your chin so he can place a sweet kiss on your lips, hoping that it conveys how much he loves you.

The kiss took your breath as does all of Draken’s kisses and with the pitter patter of the rain, it felt as if you were melting in his embrace, fully soaking in his abundance of love and trust for you. But as soon as he pulled away, the day dreamlike state disappeared and you were brought back to reality of your current problems on this dumb computer. “Thank you for worrying about me but honestly i’m okay, Ken so don’t worry about me.” He stays silent for a couple of minutes before moving back and standing up, walking away to whatever. The lack of warmth really makes you realize that even the love of your life couldn't possibly understand what you were going through, a fact that only made you feel more alone. You wrap your arms around yourself and continue to look at the computer screen when a cup slams down next to you. You look up to see Draken holding his old cardigan and a cover, dropping it on the couch behind you and crouching to your level.

“Is everything on this computer backed up?” he asked

“Yea why-”

He slams the screen shut before you can even finish your sentence, chucking it into you guys’ bedroom.You look at him with a frown on your face. “Can you not? Break my laptop please?” He ignores you, placing his cardigan on you. His smell fills your nose and makes you at ease. Draken picks you up before flopping on the couch, setting you up comfortably on his chest before he once again wraps his arms around you, dragging a cover over your body. His smell, his warmth, his strength, the effort he puts in to make you comfortable, you can't help the smile that adorns your face as you snuggle closer to this chest.“You had that same expression,,,,,you don’t think I would understand what you’re going through. I might not but how do you know if you wont tell me? We’re supposed to be in this together, aren’t we? Let me help you.”

“Thank you Kenny. I will tomorrow, okay?”

“Yea, that’s fine but for now relax, sleep, play on your phone, I don't really care what you do but you’re not leaving until you feel better.” he says, not knowing that you were already feeling x10 better thanks to him.

Naoto Tachibana

Y/n, I’m home”

Naoto walks through the door, briefcase in one hand and cup of barely warm coffee. He looks around, expecting a vibrant you to be mobing him at the door with a smile brighter than the sun like you usually do. He sets down his belongings and walks briskly to the bedroom, a strong sense of worry feeling his chest. It only gets stronger when he sees that you haven’t moved from the curled up position he left you in, 7 hours ago. He sits down by your side and gently rubs up and down your arm. “Y/n, love what’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?” You groan and roll over, away from him. He was too loud and you didn’t need him judging you over your problems, not that he ever actually did so but your thoughts were cruel.

“I’m fine, baby. Don’t worry about it.” You can feel him get off of the bed so you close your eyes and pull the cover over your head to fall deeper into your thoughts. Except he doesn’t accept this answer and walks around the bed to face you again. You feel his presence without him having to say anything and peek from the comforter to see your boyfriend hovering over you, arms crossed and a frown on his face. “Naoto what’s wrong? I said I was okay?”

“You can’t fool me y/n, you’ve been in the same spot since I left for work. C’mon get up.”

“No” you say, throwing the comforter back over your head. Your dark, warm coven suddenly gets a lot brighter when Naoto rips the blanket off your body. “You play too much, give it back.

“I’m serious. Let’s go take a walk, it’s nice outside and i've doubt you’ve eaten so we can just get something while we’re out.” You groan again but nonetheless get up, swinging your legs over the bed and putting on the first clean pair of clothes you can find. He’s already by the door with his hand held out, an invitation to hold hands. As soon as your hands connect, you guys are out the door and into the fresh air. At first you guys walk in silence, the first goal on his mind is to find you something to eat and when that’s checked off the list, he’s finding a bench right in front of the sunset. He’s not the funniest person, he knows this but he tries to tell you stories of this little blonde kid who used to be obsessed with handshakes to the point where he had accidentally held his hand, reaching for his sisters. His objective wasn’t necessary to divert from the main subject at hand but to make you more relaxed to talk about what’s been bothering you although his heart still soars with pride when he sees you let out a little smile.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” he says, his eyes filled with uncensored adoration and a slight tint on his cheeks. He turns his attention to the sunset although he’s very conscious of your reactions and movements. “I’m worried about you. I know lately, it seems as if life, itself, has been against you but it gets better, I promise. There’ll be a time in the future where you’ll be happy and successful and you’ll look back at this stage of your life and realize you were worrying for nothing. So trust the process and focus on your goal, love. It will work out, it always does.” he places a soft kiss against your hand before interlacing them once again before sitting in silence, a comfortable silence. In that moment, you were not only able to soak in the sun’s ray but his unconditional love and respect for you. “Thank you, Naoto.” you whisper. He doesn't respond but you see the little smile on his.

[solarishashernoseinabook]

do you describe a character’s appearance all right away or in pieces?

thanks for all the asks! I'll combine them into one long answer for ya :3

1. do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road? I like to have a vague idea of where it ends at least! I planned The Treewalkers out chapter by chapter and I'm doing the same with its sequel, but otherwise I like to keep the middle flexible so I can rearrange or add or delete things as needed. There's been some one shots where I don't know the ending before writing, tho

3. on a scale of 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story? Depends on if I set out to include romance in it. Unless I start from the beginning with the express purpose of putting romance in a story I typically won't. When I do add romance, tho, I tend to enjoy some established romances bc it's fun writing characters being tender with each other. So maybe a 7 or 8?

of course, if you ask fans of The Royal Ranger, that number would be -5 bc there's been almost zero romance in it so far slghlgh

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son I have not actually! I tend not to associate music with characters or projects because my brain doesn't interpret music in any specific way, it's just kinda there. I'll often turn on instrumental music if I need to write (or at least music that's not in English) so I don't get distracted by words, tho

9. in an ideal world where you’re already super successful and published, would you want to see a tv or movie adaptation of your work? why or why not? A TV adaptation might be interesting, because it could develop things better with a longer runtime than a movie would. But with the state of the movie/TV industry at the moment I'm not sure how well it would turn out, it seems like everything is all-or-nothing in terms of whether or not it's considered a success and everything gets extended past when it should in the interest of making more sequels so I don't think I'd want that any time soon lol

16. where is your favourite place to write? I love writing outside, but ultimately as long as I have some natural light I'm good :D

38. how many stories do you work on at one time? Thaaaaaat depends! If it's one shots I'll work on one at a time. Now that I've got two massive canon rewrites on the go, tho, I work on alternating chapters of them. But if I get a one shot idea I'll typically write that before working more on my multi-chaps because I can get it done quicker

39. are you an avid reader? Yup!! I've been making a conscious effort to get back into it lately and it's been super relaxing

41. what is the weirdest story idea you’ve ever had. Either the Ranger's Apprentice log driver AU or librarian AU 🤔

51. share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet Halt goes back to Clonmel with Will and Horace to see Sean, and meets Sean's wife and daughter. But this won't be a simple family reunion, because there's trouble in Clonmel that threatens the throne...

58. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it? I googled where pike lived for one of my fics! Other than that I'm very regularly googling Irish names or words for things, but I can't remember which of those I did more recently slhgg

64. what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written? I'm quite partial to The Royal Ranger, but that's cheating slightly - in the Ranger's Apprentice fandom, the book The Royal Ranger (book 12) is quite divisive with a lot of people really hating it or disliking how it handled certain things, so when I decided to write a fic that the title technically worked for I just went with it lmao. As for original titles, I like The Ward Ghost - it was hard to come up with and I thought up and discarded several titles before settling on it

73. how do you visualise scenes? do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow? Thaaaaat also depends! Sometimes I'll get a very clear image of something in my head, but often the faces of characters in the scene are blurry (I suspect I'm mildly faceblind). Often it'll be like witnessing something while a narrator explains what's going on. For most of my life that was how I interacted with the world - going about daily tasks, but narrating in my head as though it was a book - so my writing is just kinda an extension of that

80. do you try to put themes, motifs, messages, morals, etc in your writing? if so, how do you go about it? Hmmm sorta? I've mostly been doing it with The Royal Ranger, through Halt being autistic. The recurring message regarding him - or, well, regarding characters who interact with him - is that the good characters accommodate and make efforts to understand him, while the bad ones brush off his difficulties and make him mask heavily. I show this with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer (i.e. Halt is shown to be unhappy when forced to mask and happy/relaxed when he can be himself). I don't pay much attention to any morals or themes or anything but if anyone has noticed any, I'd like to hear about what you took away from my works :3

95. do you describe a character’s appearance all right away or in pieces? Mostly right away! Sometimes I'll give a basic description early on and then flesh it out a ta time when it flows better in the story, tho

Link to the ask game if you want to play!

[rewolfaekilerom]

dear diary #3

Oh, hey, long time no talk. I've been busy, and I'm sure you have been, too.

Among my many, many excellent excuses for not keeping up with this is this charming one: I took on too many crochet projects and then Nintendo dropped the ACNH 2.0 update trailer immediately after I restarted my island, so I've had a lot of weekend projects to keep up with and writing just didn't fit in my oh so busy schedule. lol.

Honestly, though, that's how I've been spending the majority of my weekends lately. I also started rewatching Dawson's Creek, which I think says something about my mental state; I'm just not sure what it says. Am I trying to recapture my youth, now that I'm on the brink of 31? Am I still young? I feel like I'm still a child, so there's that.

I'm still in the midst of my ongoing effort to shed the nonsense habits I developed in grad school. My current self-frustration is the waves of anxiety I keep feeling about things that simply aren't worth worrying about--or, worse, the waves of anxiety I feel for literally no reason at all. I guess that's what's difficult about anxiety, right? Sometimes you just feel worry, tension, stress, whatever for absolutely no reason--nothing caused that particular wave of stress, nothing led your brain to start spiraling, grasping for something tangible to attribute that sinking feeling to. I was just lying in bed the other night, staring at the ceiling feeling worried about nothing in particular. And then my obnoxious brain decides to start searching for something to attach that worried feeling to. Rather than just letting the worry go, I inadvertently created things to worry about. It's the most frustrating thing! And I don't know how to stop it! I rationalize these worries, neatly fold them up and put them onto shelves of "things that don't need to be worried about" and "things that you can worry about in 6 weeks, if you need to worry about them at all." At least I'm beginning to be able to do the rationalizing--that's a massive step from even six months ago. But now I'm getting to the point where I'm becoming frustrated with myself for worrying. I think it's getting better, but I get frustrated that it's not getting better at a faster rate.

My main anxiety focus seems to be work. I worry about whether something will be back to me on time, what I'll have to do if something isn't on time, what will happen if I make a mistake that's only caught after something has been submitted, who will be mad at me if I do something wrong or misinterpret something, etc. And then I'll have this moment of clarity where I'm like, "yeah, okay, these are things to be aware and conscious of, but you also can't control them. You literally cannot control what someone else does, and it's not like you'd deliberately make/leave errors in things, so you can't worry about that. You can only do the best you can do."

Instead of just sitting there worrying, I've tried to redirect those worries to think more about why I have those types of worries in the first place. I can't blame it all on grad school habits and culture--I've always been a bit of a worrier. I distinctly remember worrying about whether I'd turned the heat down in the basement when I was finished in the computer room for the night. Any time some big change was approaching, I'd fixate on some other aspect of my life--some imagined ailment, for instance--instead of just allowing myself to be worried about the thing I'm actually worried about. It wasn't until the third or fourth beginning-of-the-semester cycle of worry (in high school, I think?) that I started to realize that this was something I just do. Now that I'm no longer entrenched in a semesterly schedule, my worry cycles seem to operate a little less regularly--or, maybe I haven't recognized the pattern quite yet. It feels like I just always have a baseline of worry and anxiety that spikes and peaks around specific times in my work cycle (which tends to divide the year into quarters).

I do know, though, that much of this worry cycles phenomenon is the product of habitual thinking in grad school. I worried so much about the fact that I could not control the future, and so did not have any idea what the future would hold, that I'd obsess over trying to do everything perfectly in order to maybe be in the right position to have a few different options. I'd worry about not making mistakes, about not doing enough, about not saying yes to enough things, about not keeping everyone happy, about not being happy enough myself, about ... everything I couldn't control.

I know there's no point in worrying about things I can't control, but sometimes I slip into old habits and do it anyway.

One of the best solutions I've found is talking about my worries. Unfortunately, I feel like a lot of the time I end up dumping my worries onto the two people I share those worries with--my parents. We're incredibly close, and I feel lucky to have them in my life. I worry (lol), though, that I'm not able to stop worrying on my own. Am I so dependent on them as my sounding boards to say "yes, you're right. it's not worth worrying about" that I can't tell that to myself (and have myself accept it)? I hope not, but I think it's something I need to be more conscious of.

I'm also beginning to recognize what triggers me to worry. Working on certain types of work projects in the afternoon--after, say, 2:00, when my brain starts to get a bit tired--will set me up for a night where I just can't unwind. Certain types of emails also spark my anxiety, but I can't control when those come in or what they say. I can, though, control how much--if at all--I access those emails when I'm not on the clock.

Speaking of which, being "on the clock" has been a challenge. I work pretty much on my own schedule, but I try to stick to 9-5 or 8:30-4:30. That said, I check email pretty much immediately when I wake up, which I know is a thing you should not do--experts have been saying that for years. So, some days I'm answering emails--or at least drafting them in my head--as early as 6:30 or 7am. And then I'm checking my email well into the night--like, 7, 8, 9pm. And then I'll answer if something important comes in! That's like a 14-hour workday, really, but I can't set boundaries! And I blame grad school for a lot of that thinking and impulsiveness. It always felt like not checking email, not responding quickly would mean you risked missing out on something important--even if the requirement to get that important thing depended on something as unfair as a random, unexpected email from some uni higher-up about some opportunity no one even knew would arise that year, let alone that week or that month. I think social media and email and just our generally technological society is largely to blame for this, but I know for sure that the way it manifests for me is a direct result of habits and ways of thinking/behaving I developed and depended on to succeed as a grad student.

I feel immense guilt for taking a break that's too long, or for focusing on something other than work for a little bit on a work day. And that's even though I make myself available and perform work tasks on weekends, holidays, after hours, etc. I can't blame my job for any of this--it's entirely my own doing. My job and my boss are fantastic--my boss takes off weekends and holidays, doesn't email me after hours unless it's something really important, and has never expected me to do anything outside of normal business hours. I put that pressure on myself, and I can't help but attribute that partially to the habits I developed in order to make it through grad school. I needed to do those things and behave those ways in order to make it, I felt, because I never thought of myself as on the same level as a lot of my peers. I always felt like I had to work way harder than a lot of my peers to produce the same quality of work. And then when I realized that some people were turning in lower quality work, it was too late--I'd already shown my capacity to produce this high-quality work, so I was stuck. I'd be penalized--I was penalized--when I didn't produce something that was of the same quality as something I'd produced before. It felt like there was no margin for error, no time when it was okay to slip up or make a mistake without it having disastrous consequences. Or at least that's how it felt. Those disastrous consequences never really materialized, but by the time I realized that, I was too far into the spiral of perfectionism where I simply felt lucky that disaster hadn't struck that time--as if I'd somehow skated past by the skin of my teeth.

In retrospect, I know that's not the case... at all. I know that a lot of things--most of the things--I feel are dire emergencies are actually just things to be aware of and casually plan to avoid. It's not like I'm saving lives with the work I do, so there's no point in worrying at the same level one might if one were performing that type of life-saving work.

But tell that to my brain, my stomach, and everything else that just spirals.

I wish I had a happier or more resolute way to end this. All I can say is that I know I need to stop worrying so much, and I need to look for better ways to channel anxiety--regardless of whether it's attached to something tangible or simply a free-floating feeling that's plaguing me. I've wasted a lot of time and energy worrying, and I'm not sure worrying ever got me anything. I think that's a thing to remember.

xoxo, you know.

[spicycreativity]

Fanfic Appreciation Week Day 7: A Place Where I Can Breathe

Yes, folks, I'm appreciating my own darn fanfic for the final day of Fanfic Appreciation Week because I worked really hard on it and it was a labor of love for/with one of my QPPs, my roommate, the man who got me into Sanders Sides: @\cadeorade-powercade (That's him in the aesthetic board)

Allow me to present the director's commentary for A Place Where I Can Breathe:

Content Warnings: All content warnings mentioned in the fic apply.

Chapter 1: I actually wrote this fairly late in the game. It's meant to serve as a prologue and orient the viewer in the universe, s opposed to staring on Chapter 2, which just throws the viewer in without context. I think it was a good choice, as it also allowed me to introduce the concept of the Sides having power focuses early on.

The Premise: Cade is a Virgil stan and he was getting frustrated looking for Virgil fic. He was finding a lot of stuff written without nuance by young authors, a sort of "by teenagers for teenagers" type deal. We are not teenagers, so we both have a hard time relating to that kind of teen angst fic, as we're not the target audience. So he asked me to write him a Virgil fic and we worked together to identify what plot he wanted, what the Mindscape looked like, and what quirks the Sides have. So a lot of this fic is quite gratuitous and self-indulgent

The Title: Lizzie McAlpine has a song called "Apple Pie" which includes the lyric "I've been running around trying to find a place where I can breathe." Apple Pie SCREAMS Moceit to me, and I had taken notice of the lyric and wanted to use it as the title for a Moceit fic. I didn't really have an idea beyond that, and when Cade asked me to write this fic, I realized it was actually perfect and summed up Virgil's inner struggle quite nicely. So cheers to "A Place Where I Can Breathe," the Moceit Fic That Wasn't

-Cade asked me specifically to include Virgil having a spider and I wrote nearly the whole fic without doing so, then had to go back and sprinkle some references in. I think I managed 2 total.

Chapter 2:

"Uh, how about I hold off on that until I actually see my room?" Virgil stared expectantly at Roman, who bounced on his toes. "Lead on, Macduff."

"That's not the line and you know it," Roman complained, but he turned to lead Virgil to his room. "It's ' lay on, Macduff,' and--"

-This fic was originally supposed to reach a climax with a confrontation between Remus and Roman, and "lay on, Macduff" would come back as a brick joke. Unfortunately, the original ending was a result of me getting tired and lazy, so I had to go back and fix it, and we lost the Roman-Remus confrontation.

It was hard for Virgil to not shudder at the sudden heat and weight on him. With his senses already open and taking in more information than his brain seemed to want to process, touch was an added stressor, more unwanted sensory input.

-Virgil being touch-averse is a direct shoutout to Cade, who is also touch-averse.

Roman had already transformed the living room: metallic streamers of purple and black stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and shiny balloons spelling out A-N-X-E-I-T-Y hovered above the TV.

-Upon first writing, Virgil had already given the upstairs crew his name, so the banner spelled out "VIRIGL" which is way funnier than "ANXEITY." But then his name reveal became a plot point so I had to go back and change it.

-Let! Virgil! Be! Mean!

-Virgil's line about hearing refrigerator noise when Roman talks is another shout-out to Cade, who has leveled that accusation at me

A small, cruel part of him protested at the idea that he would need special treatment and desperately wanted to throw it back in Patton's face. He wasn't a sweetheart, he wasn't a baby. He didn't need to crawl into a blanket fort with Dad just because he was a little stressed.

-Remus calls Janus "Janus Geminus" because I was tired and couldn't come up with a pun. "Geminus" is one of the Roman god Janus' epithets; another is "Pater" meaning "Father." That led to a conversation about Remus deliberately confusing Patton by calling Janus "Daddy," but I couldn't think of a clean way to fit the explanation into the narrative, so I stuck with "Geminus."

Chapter 3:

"There's nothing normal about that! " Roman stared in horror at the coffee massacre Virgil had orchestrated. What had once been a respectable (if not very tasty) cup of black coffee was now part of a 1:1 coffee to milk suspension, the liquid a tasteful shade of tan suitable for business casual trousers or a show-ready chihuahua.

-Cade is a certified Nightmare Man and came up with Virgil's horrifying coffee order after I asked him about it. Keep an eye out for Janus' equally horrifying coffee order later in the fic.

1) Shouts out the fact that Janus is canonically a Dostoevsky fan

Chapter 4:

Janus smiled at him. "Where reason fails, the Devil helps." He fussed with his gloves and straightened his capelet. "It's showtime."

-I fucking love Crime and Punishment. Look at me. Look at me. I fucking love Crime and Punishment. Janus' quoting Raskolnikov serves multiple purposes:

2) Lampshades the fact that Roman just conveniently happened to be alone in the living room, because I didn't want to waste time getting him there. That makes me, the author, the Devil

3) Foreshadows the impending disaster. When Raskolnikov says this line it is because he had planned to commit axe murder. The axe he was planning to steal had been moved, but he finds another, different axe to use. Raskolnikov messes up the murder and ends up killing an innocent witness in addition to his intended target. Janus messes up his manipulation attempt and ends up murdering Roman's self esteem

-I was going to include a reference to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (Remus' line "debauchery and vomit" was originally going to be "blood, love, and rhetoric") but I didn't because... Uh... Hm. Why didn't I do that. Maybe I just forgot about it???

-Roman is too stubborn to manipulate for long and that is a fact.

"I was pretty much done anyway," Remus said. "There's only so much debauchery and vomit you can fit into one story."

-Cade specifically ask me that nobody cry in this fic, but after I had Janus eviscerate Roman I knew he couldn't not cry a little. I kept it to a minimum because there's already a billion fucking fics about [literally any Side] crying on the shoulder of [literally any other Side] and it's really just not interesting to either of us.

-It didn't come up because it doesn't matter, but Thomas dreamed he was participating in the exact Dionysian orgy that took place in The Secret History because it's my fic and I said so.

Chapter 5:

He just sat back and watched and tugged at his hair while Janus spooned mound after mound of crisp white sugar into his mug and Virgil poured his customary eight fluid ounces of milk into his own mug.

-Cade strikes again. Virgil's coffee order is equal amounts milk to coffee; Janus' is equal parts sugar to coffee. He had asked me to include a scene where Roman catches Janus massacring his coffee and is appropriately horrified, but I uhh... Didn't write it. I still might include it as an omake someday.

-I imagine that Roman feels really strongly about dragons vs wyverns, and Remus just pretends to give a shit because he thinks it's funny to wind Roman up. Fortunately for me but unfortunately for my sense of realism in writing, I can't relate because I adore my sister and we get along perfectly almost 100% of the time.

"You shut us down every chance you get!" Remus said, baring his teeth. "How would you like it if your pens never wrote, hm? What would you do with all those thoughts in your head?"

-I do wish I had developed the concept of power focuses a bit more, established rules and such. Basically, Patton is always on the prowl for wrongthink and actively represses it, which in turn breaks or sabotages the Dark Sides' power focus.

Chapter 6: This chapter really should have been Janus and Roman but I was really tired and didn't want to bother with it. Plus, you know, Moceit. This chapter was meant to demonstrate how the characters would get along without Virgil nannying them. There's friction, but everyone is making a conscious, deliberate effort to get along because they love Virgil, and love is a series of choices you make.

I chose "Leo" as the answer for the answer to the crossword clue instead of "Virgo," because my other QPP is a Leo. She'll never read this fic, but I did it anyway because I love her. (Trivia: My sign is Virgo, so it was really a choice between shouting her out and shouting me out, and the last chapter is self-indulgent enough, thank you).

Chapter 7: I was gonna write a fic where all the Sides watched Cats the Musical because I was going through a phase. Then Cade requested this so I combined the two ideas. By this point I was fucking exhausted, and that's the only thing that saved you and the rest of the world from me writing the Sides riffing on the movie scene-by-scene. I could come up with snarky commentary for almost every, if not every single song from the movie.

Most notably, I cut a Patton-Remus interaction where Remus declares his love for Grizabella and Patton gets all staryy-eyed about Remus connecting with the idea of rising above rejection and being loved and accepted only for Remus to shoot him down and explain that he just likes that she got to die in a tire fire.

Other cut scenes include Janus quietly pretending not to go feral over Mister Mistoffelees, Patton full-on fucking sobbing over Grizabella and the kittens, and Logan experiencing a deep, soulful kinship with Munkustrap during Of The Awefull Battle of the Pekes and the Pollices (and henceforth introducing the phrase "like herding cats" into his regular vocabulary

[rivkahstudies]

Hi, i've been having big troubles with wanting to be better at academia and stuff but im not really sure how to get started... i sorta feel like an imposter a lot but im trying to not let it affect me but sometimes i just have moments of excruciating executive dysfunction where i can't move because I want to do so many things and my body is fighting against me... Idk if i even have a question really but it feels better to tell you this... i really look up you a lot and have for a long time...

Hi nonnie! It’s incredibly brave of you to drop this in my inbox. Yes, even anonymously. It takes a lot to even type that kind of honesty out. So thank you, and I hope you take a moment to thank yourself.

Secondly, thank you for touching my heart by your kind words. I hope you realize as you look up to me that I have the same kind of feelings, as do many studyblrs–and I’m dedicated to being honest about it so you don’t feel as if you have to live up to a perfect (and impossible, and fake) standard. I go to therapy regularly despite being in a lot better place than I used to be, because it’s almost like going for a mental check-up or gym session, and my therapist helps me sort through even tiny things so I can build better habits and mindsets. But I still remember feelings of dysfunction well, and I still battle with imposter syndrome!

The most important key ideas here are attainable goals and self talk. Both of these ideas don’t come easily, they do take work, but they’re tools that make other difficult things easier over time, with persistence.

When your body is fighting you (and really, more than anything with executive dysfunction, your mind is fighting you and making your body less functional), even baby steps can be difficult. For you, it could be anything from exercising to studying to eating to showering. Big or small, it’s totally valid that you may or may not struggle with it, and it doesn’t make you desperate for attention, or fake, or pathetic.

Let’s take your desire to “get better at academia.” That could mean a lot of things, so I’m going to latch onto one facet of it as an example. If it doesn’t apply with that exact example, that’s completely okay! Just alter it to apply to what you are struggling with, or desiring.

1. Big, abstract goal: to get better at academia

2. What that means (for this example): developing better study habits

3. What kind of things constitute that? That’s still a big, abstract goal that sounds quite formidable and unattainable. List out as many things as you can that you are striving to do or would want to try. Not everything might work for you!

Managing time better

scheduling study time

being accountable via apps or with family/friends

being efficient or effective (i.e. not getting distracted 

Finding study habits that work for you and for the class’ requirements

flashcards

typed computer notes

handwritten computer notes

handwritten paper notes

infographics

youtube videos

interactive online exercises

conversations with classmates, tutors, or professors

podcasts

mind maps

journal entries

presentations

self-made study guides

practice tests (self-made or provided, online or on paper)

Feynman’s technique–writing a summary of what you’re studying, and then comparing it to the actual material. Whatever is missing is what you need to focus on, because my mantra is that it will always appear on the test.

ranking the subjects or topics by what you know most to least and studying from the bottom up. I can post a more detailed guide to this if you want! just hit me up again.

Also changing the way you treat and care for yourself

setting a stable routine

eating better (this means different things for different people–maybe you need more Vitamin C, so you should focus on more fruits in your diet, or iron, so vegetables, etc… consult with a doctor or registered dietician, not a nutritionist since they don’t have to have a degree or certification)

going to bed at a routine time

if you have to choose one, make the wake up time set. that way, if you do go to bed late but wake up at that time, it’ll reset your body clock to be sleepier earlier the next day. it’ll eventually even itself out. 

drinking more water

setting up or revising your skin care routine

taking measured and unmeasured breaks away from studying to allow the information to set in your brain and to give your mind and body a much-needed reprieve

setting limits on how much screentime you want yourself to add

Self-talk

This is the big one I want to impart on you before this post is over.

You can’t just try to implement these better habits. You also have to focus on what you’re thinking when you’re doing or not doing them, and how you’re psychologically treating yourself. This isn’t easy! It takes a lot of time. And that’s okay. You aren’t going to be free of this stuff overnight. I’ve been working on this stuff actively since I was about 17 and I’m still struggling with it. But I’m also much better at addressing it than I was almost three years ago.

Be aware

Recognize when you’re treating yourself harshly. Acknowledge those times you say “I’m not good enough” in the very back of your mind. Because a lot of times we aren’t even fully conscious of how much we say “I hate myself” or “I’m stupid” or “I can’t do this.”

Once you’ve done that, start calling attention to it.

Hold yourself accountable. If this were someone hurting a friend of yours, you would likely be calling them out for the whole world to know their cruel behavior isn’t acceptable. It’s the same thing for yourself! Those awful thoughts in your brain might live there from self-doubt, mental illness, or other reasons, but you do get to decide if they pilot your actions and your mentality, even if they’re whispering awful things about how you don’t have a choice but letting them be in control. 

I will freely admit on here that I’m attending therapy, because I seek to destigmatize it. I’m not at rock bottom. I’m not pathetic. I just noticed some things about me that I need to change, heal, and/or improve, and I wanted a professional to help me! Much like if I sprained my ankle or got a cold and needed to see a doctor. And one of the things that my therapist told me was as much as my anxiety felt debilitating, I am the one piloting my body and I am the one who gets to decide whether my self-talk is going to change.

And do it gently.

Not “you’re an awful person for saying these things about yourself.” You don’t solve bullying with bullying, and you definitely don’t solve putting yourself down or feeling like an imposter but doing more of the same. Instead, show compassion to yourself. 

Have a conversation with yourself.

“Why do I feel like this?” 

“Where is this coming from?”

“What makes me say that?” 

“What can I say instead?”

“What would make me feel better?”

“What could change my mindset about this problem?”

The choice is up to you how you do it. But pretend you’re pulling someone who is misbehaving or acting cruel aside, and instead of reprimanding them, you just gently put your hand on their shoulder and say, “I’m here. What’s going on? What’s causing this behavior?”

Do the same exact thing with yourself! Offer that compassionate hand. If you’re anything like me, your imposter system is probably coming from undue pressure on yourself, self-doubt, previous bad experiences, fear of failure or rejection, insecurity, anxiety, or any number of other things that could make you doubt your beauty, your talent, your work ethic, your ability to succeed.

And a lot more people have it than you think! Just don’t compare yourself to others when, even if you know them well, you can’t know them 100%. I’m sharing my experiences because I want you to know that you’re not alone. And I also want you to know that you can only fix yourself, you can only control yourself, and the same goes for others–they have no business (and probably aren’t thinking of having any business) judging you or controlling you. If they are, screw them. Your job is to take care of and focus on yourself.

Once you know where it’s coming from, start substituting the language.

You can’t do this. “You may not be able to do this yet, but with some effort, you’ll be able to–or, you’ll be close to being able to.”

You’re a failure. “Everyone makes mistakes or fails. It doesn’t define you.”

It was just luck that got you this far. “It was hard work, passion, and effort. Keep hanging onto those things.”

You’re not good enough. “You are enough, and you don’t exist for others. You exist for yourself.”

People will get bored of you. “You don’t exist to entertain or please others.”

There’s a million more I could go through, but hopefully these examples are enough for you to apply it to your own doubts.

This might be a good exercise to journal. Because then you actually have to get the thoughts out instead of them staying scrambled in your brain. Feel free to do a bulleted guide for yourself like this one!

Etc, etc, etc… Any one of these single bullets could be an entirely distinct post, but I hope this is enough to start you off, nonnie. I want to apologize for taking my sweet time responding, but I really hope you’re still out there, somewhere on tumblr, and you see this post. You are loved, nonnie, especially by me, and I’m always here if you need something. If you message me again, call yourself something, like “self talk nonnie,” so I know I’m still talking to you.

You are all loved! You are all enough! You are all valuable and beautiful as long as you stay true to yourselves.