#It kills me seeing so many of my friends struggling in every way imaginable

[kalamity-jayne]

I feel so fucking tired. Like, existentially.

It's just getting real fucking rough out there, everywhere, for trans folks.

Please let the trans people in your life know that you love them.

I've said this many times before but if you're cisgender this isn't a fucking request. You're responsible for this mess so the onus is on you to fucking fix it. You have an obligation to show up for us. No more excuses. FFS there's people out here with major platforms literally calling for our extermination and y'all are just sitting there with your thumbs up your asses.

If you're transgender, just try to keep on doing what your doing. Show up for each other, love each other, love yourself, and do whatever you have to do to stay alive.

[the-orange-solace]

When I was a child, I watched an episode of Criminal Minds where a man had a split personality. A woman who killed other women who threatened the man she formed to protect. I remember her sitting in the dark on a couch, a cigarette in hand beside a lamp, as she spoke to an Agent about why she had to kill them, that it was to protect him. It was her entire purpose for existing.

As a child, I used to pace empty halls in the middle of the night and lay in bed, repeating in my mind that I would be the only being in my body. I will not break into multiple people. I will be in control. I have to be because, at the time, I believed I could break into those monstrous plurals you see on TV. The ones that killed their family after years of neglect, abuse, and wrongdoing. The ones you should be afraid of ever becoming, no matter who you are or your situation.

So I became terrified.

And yet, nearly every night, I'd look up at the sky or the ceiling and beg for something to change—to not be alone. I was stuck pretending I was a different character, a type of escapism that sometimes got out of hand, lost in an identity that wasn't my own. Looking up and imagining being taken away, every character I adored was by my side, caring for me in return. I had to keep going, be them, and exist in a world with them.

I'd made up stories, different realities, and places in my mind to escape to, as well as explanations for things my underdeveloped brain couldn't comprehend in the place I found myself within. I clung to concepts, characters, and situations that reflected my own, and soon, I no longer felt alone—not with all the escapism I conjured up, not with the different identities to help me face what was happening.

But I was in control. I was one being. No matter what. I had to be a single being because that was good. I had to be good.

I would never hurt anyone, and being many meant being bad. I couldn't be bad.

When I was a teenager, I started researching and getting involved in minority and disabled spaces. I loved being informed, the stories, the many perspectives, and the complexity of humanity. So it was no surprise when I shared a plural headcanon with a friend, and they felt safe coming out to me. They were many. They took my hand and guided me through a community I was fascinated with and wanted to aid and represent like so many others.

I spent years learning, staying silent as others spoke, just listening to everything I could. But then, one day, like so many others, I spoke through a different facet, a different identity I had created as a child. The many faces of me represented things I could not be, I could not hold, nor could I handle. I was struggling; some of me wanted to lash out. So she did. She lashed out.

As always, I was faced with kindness, listening ears, and aid that then pushed me more to the surface from drowning. But I never left; just another part of me was lost, right? Of course. People are complex. I deal with my emotions in a complex way. Of course.

My plurally disabled friend watched as I became more comfortable speaking through the identities I had, whether they were facets of myself or characters that helped me. Soon enough, the continuous "role-play" and "emotional processing" developed into normal conversation, a comfort, a relief.

They kindly approached me and asked if I was a system, too. They had never met anyone who spoke to themselves like I do, definitely not any singlets. None of our other friends did, in person or not, not even people in our families. It was just us.

The fear from my childhood arose. I couldn't be multiple; I couldn't be more than one. It was bad. But hadn't I learned about Plurality? All its ups and downs? Its complexities and nuances? I accepted it wholeheartedly; I learned and evolved from the demonized perception I was given as a child. So, why was it still bad?

Because I must be lying; I must be a fake, a poser. It was the only reason, wasn't it? I had seen so many conversations and arguments about fakes, those who wished to be special. Had I somehow become the harm they spoke of? How could I do this to a community I swore to listen to and fight for?

I obsessed over it, forcing the panic, dissociation, habit, and ease of speaking in multiple identities and beings of myself away. I buried it as deep as I could for the betterment of everyone else. The community didn't deserve such harm, and I wouldn't bring it to their doorstep if I claimed it to be something I'm not.

The loathing became so present it formed into tics that caused aches and disruptions in my life. Multiple stressors--along with an identity crisis--will do that to someone. So my shoulder and neck muscles ached from shrugging, flexing, and all the repetitive movements I couldn't stop without crying from the suppression. So I didn't. I let it disrupt and hurt.

Then, one day, someone, some random, unknown system to me out in the world, spoke about how it didn't matter what was real or not; it didn't hurt anyone. Plurality and the belief of it didn't hurt anyone. It hurt no one to discover themselves, to test the waters, to simply pry into yourself and learn. There was no shame in figuring yourself, or yourselves, out. There was no right or wrong, nothing to be ashamed of or fearful of. Just another part of living.

So I did. I poked and prodded. I gave my parts names, spoke to them in the middle of the night, asked questions, got to know them, and learned we couldn't talk through words at first but could emotions and sensations. I realized I couldn't find where my Plurality started or where it ended, that we��oh god, we—the idea was so surreal but...comforting—were so combined, living without specific individuality outside of me that there was no separation in sight. Not that I could figure out. For so long, I believed everything was just me. Only me.

But now it was someone else, too. These things that made no sense, these things that felt out of place or special, unique, and ever-changing could be someone else.

Someone else.

The more I reflected, learned, applied, and prodded, the more things made sense. Until one day, I looked at my friends, held my breath, and spoke. Stated that it like it was a sin for me of all people to say.

I was plural.

No one blinked an eye. No one questioned it outside of boundaries and clarification. It wasn't surprising that their childhood friend was many. How surprising could it be when they used so many different names for different parts of themselves to express hard things?

It was astonishing.

And here we are, years and years later, grown and still learning, living, fighting, but more in touch with ourselves than ever before with so many more sys friends and aquatints. More experiences, a better understanding.

It's not shameful to learn, apply, and reflect. You take nothing from anyone but your time and open-minded exploration of the world and yourself(ves). There is no evil in being human, living life, phase or not. There is nothing wrong with you, any of you, for existing or living. You just are. I embrace you, I embrace us, and I embrace everything that comes with a life of many.

So, if you're struggling, just know you're not alone outside the body. We know, and so do many others. It's going to be okay; you'll find yourself in time. Don't rush it. There will always be time.

[petew21-blog]

Uncharted territory

Danny made sure that he had everything. His costume of Nathan Drake from Uncharted was amazing for this year's Comic Con. He was inspired after he saw his bully dressed as him for Halloween. He needed to be better, but unfortunately he didn't have the muscles to show off. So he went for the shirt.

The bully looked so good. Danny even saved the photo from his instagram and jerked off to it, imagining that he would go to Comic Con as him. He would definitely get a LOT of attention.

He was about to head out to wait for his friend Martin to pick him up. But before leaving he decided to fully use his costume and play one last quick game of Uncharted before leaving.

Danny turned on the play station, excited to start his immersive experience.

The game launched and Danny clicked continue. But something was different. His controller was vibrating and overheating. Something was wrong. Danny felt a force pulling him into the game. He wanted to let go of the controller, but it was too late.

He opened his eyes. Gone was his nerdy room with comic books and a computer set. He looked around to see the jungle surrounding him. He looked down. His Nathan Drake outfit now fit way better then before. But his hands were entirely different. They were strong, veiny and hairy, not like his teen body. His shirt was strechted over his bulking pecs and the buttons of his shirt did a really bad job of covering his hairy torso.

"Oh no" he said out loud noticing the sudden voice change. He put his hand up to his throat to feel the protruding adam's apple. His hand continued and felt the stubble on his face.

"No fucking way" he tried to search for something that would show him his reflection, but the only thing he found was his knife. He pulled it out to take a look at his new face.

"Holy shit. I'm Nathan Drake! No way!" his manly voice was so erotic.

He turned around and grinned.

"I am Nathan Drake. And I am in my own game of Uncharted, with fictional characters and no one who could judge me." his grin was now even more apparent. He immediately ripped off his clothing he had on.

His body was sweaty from the humidity of the jungle, but also from the thrill Danny was now experiencing. He took a whiff of his new armpits. "Ooooh. That smells so... manly!" his hands traced the hairy line of his chest over to his abs. "These are amazing"

He came back to try out his nipples. They were really sensitive. He played with them for a while.

And the jawline! Danny would kill to look like this forever.

Everything was different. No more skinny arms, no more hairless body, no more struggles to grow a beard. No more...

He froze in place. There was one thing he definitely needed to check out

His hand made its way aggresively into his pants. There it was. A beautiful thick meat. Danny felt the weight of it. It was perfect. He never even hoped to be such a stud.

He was ready to enjoy his body fully, but something happened. He started moving through the jungle. His shirt appeared back on his body. His body was moving as if something else was controlling it. There was a background music, which was more and more intense every second. The mission started. He had to fight for his life. But Danny felt as if he had no control of it. And the thing that controlled him did so many stupid mistakes. And then it happened. He died. Danny felt the pain in his body. Overwhelming and liberating at the same time. He closed his eyes.

Danny was forced to open them again. The mission restarted. "What the hell?" someone was playing the game. And Danny was now trapped as Nathan in the game.

The first death was one of MANY. Danny stopped counting after he reached number 28. He just prayed for it to end soon.

Meanwhile, in front of his Playstation sat his body, playing the Uncharted, grinning.

"I'll teach you how to play the game. I'll show you what it's like to die over and over again!"

Nathan was making sure to let Danny Die in his body as many times as possible.

His phone was vibrating.

"Hey. Yeah I'm ready. I'll just close the game and will meet you downstairs." Nathan tried the best impression of Danny to not raise any suspiciouns.

Nathan grinned mischievously.

He ran to the car.

Martin:"What took you so long?"

Nathan:"I had to fix settings in my game. It was too easy."

Martin:"Ok. You ready for comic con?"

Nathan:"Yes, sir"

Danny's struggles unfortunately did not end, because Nathan made sure to leave the game on and not only that. Nathan somehow messed with the settings and the story. Nathan's enemy - Atoq Navarro was now present after every death Danny went through.

What was horrible wasn't his presence, but the fact that he was 3 times bigger and his only goal was to fill Nathan's body with his cum. EVERYTHING was 3 times bigger and Atoq needed Nathan filled up.

Danny:"I hope they come back from Comic Con soon. I'm not sure how many fillings I can take." but Danny knew that he was now a character in the game. There were no limits for his pleasant suffering.

Anonymous request from Inbox

What about a swap between a cosplayer and the character in game? Like someone cosplaying as Nathan drake from Uncharted getting swapped with the ingame character while the ingame character gets put in the real world to play the video game?

[xervn]

like a french girl 🎨

part 1 - paint me | part 2 | art major ellie x dance major reader | ellie photo

ao3 link

summary: ellie had been struggling with finding the perfect model for her art final. that was until she saw you.

18+ MDNI | 2.2k words | tags; college au, pining, only a little explicit, no use of y/n, not proofread

disclaimer: not an art or dance major, don't shoot!

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Scribble, scratch, throw. This has been Ellie’s routine since she moved onto campus.

Why? Her professor told her that she draws the human body like it’s lifeless. Ranting about how they’re too one-dimensional and have no depth, her lines are too sharp or not sharp enough; flat and boring in looks and in feeling. 

Now listen, Ellie has nothing against criticism. She respects her professor and she’s aware that her drawings lack “vitality”. It’s been something she’s struggled with for a while now, an effect of some recent events and overall adjusting to college life. 

Ellie isn’t unable to grasp the anatomy of the body, in fact it’s the opposite. She knows the human body is complex and needs thorough observation. The way the sun hits the skin, the hairs on a knuckle, the creases of a smile. Wide, small, big, tall; no two bodies are exactly the same. 

Really, the imagery is so clear to her, but she finds it impossible to transfer the life and motion of the body onto a piece of paper without truly understanding the person. The way she sees it, every body has a story, and in order to make a good piece she needs to know that story.

Since art school is filled to the brim with inspiring, exciting, and vibrant people, she has, of course, tried to talk with them. She attempted to get to know the models, ask them general questions and hope something clicks. Unfortunately, that has yet to happen. She can’t really ask her friends either without it getting awkward. Imagine, “ Oh, hey guys! Can you guys get naked and pose in one spot for my homework?”   Hear how weird that sounds? Even though she’s sure Jesse would definitely be down, she values her eyes.

 Any “muse” she could possibly ever want was right in front of her, so why was it really impossible for her to find one?

 Well, because Ellie didn’t find anyone interesting enough. She’s not shallow or anything, it has nothing to do with how the model looked, Ellie has had several good-looking models. It was more about how she perceived them. It’s just that she hasn’t seen a model that made her ask questions like: “ How’d they get that scar?”  “ What does that tattoo mean?” Stuff like that.

The last interesting model she had was probably a fucking homeless guy she shared a blunt with outside a gas station many moons ago. Till this day, he might be one of her best pieces. There’s not a lot of moments like that here.

Nonetheless, Ellie saw this developing– extremely lame— personal requirement of hers annoying as shit. It’s holding her back big time, but she couldn’t help it even if she really wanted to.

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It’s practically useless to keep trying. The tiny voice in Ellie's head presses her to keep going, keep failing, but enough is enough. She is seriously burnt out and any more of this might kill her. The only thing that could help right now is a meaty slice of pizza and a blunt as soon as she thought of it.

Ellie clears out her desk, knocking the stack of crumpled paper into a conveniently placed trash can; a placement made from her constant trials and errors. She pushes up, and stretches widely, obnoxiously groaning like an old man by the end of it. She quickly tidied herself up, tying up half of her hair into a ponytail and throwing on a dark-green flannel shirt she had to sniff before wearing over her plain white tee. She takes a quick look into her floor-length mirror, making sure she looks presentable before grabbing what she needs to head out.

Just as her hand reached for the silver knob, Ellie felt this overwhelming urge to look back. God, she knows what she is going to look back at, but she really hopes she doesn’t. Unfortunately, her eyes land on her sketchbook, laid flat on the desk underneath a lamp’s warm light. She shouldn’t.

She needs a break. She knows she needs a break, but there is a twinge of hope, faith, lodged somewhere inside her. The same faith that’s kept her from dropping out every day for the past four months. Ellie groans as she drags her feet to her desk where she whisks up the brown book and shoves it in her tote bag with an accompanying pencil. She swivels back to the door and strolls out, silently praying her mood improves in the next hour.

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The cafeteria was surprisingly crowded, but Ellie managed to get her pizza without saying ‘fuck it’ to the line. Still, the thought of eating between this buzzing mess when she was in such a shitty mood turned her off. Thankfully, she knew that everyone would be everywhere but the upstairs balcony, especially during this chilly time of year. No sane person would eat out there, and she’s not particularly sane. Ellie saunters off to the balcony and sits herself at a small table facing the view.

It only took a glance around before she came to the realization that the view is not really a view. There’s only a dorm a few feet away, directly across. It’s a large brick-laid, generic building with wide windows. If it weren’t for the blinds, the view into a room would probably be good enough to read a label on something. Ellie’s freckled face grimaces at the thought, imagining what it’d be like if someone watched her rage as she messed up her homework over and over from this distance. Despite that, she thought it’d probably be a pretty good spot to live in. It’s close to the cafeteria and probably a lot bigger than her 1x1 dorm.

With a twinge of curiosity piquing her mind, Ellie glimpses over the windows, and for the most part, they are all closed.

All closed, but yours.

Yours doesn’t even have blinds. You’re on the 3rd floor and almost completely unobscured in a black camisole, sitting on your questionably roomy windowsill with a leg perched up. Ellie can see the fairy lights strung up in your bedroom, and a line of succulents closer to the window; ordered by size, which she briefly thought was cute. 

You aren’t facing the window, so she can only see your back. What she could see, though, is you doing your hair, occasionally swaying to what she can only imagine is music. Your room is high, but low enough for her to identify you if she had the pleasure of knowing you. Knowing you, reverberates in her head. Does she know you? Has she met you before? Amongst that babble, there is one more question she is slowly trying to gather an answer to. 

Time passes, most definitely shorter than Ellie would have thought passed. Her eyes have been glued on you the whole time, she even forgot about her, now freezing cold, pizza just so she could gawk at you. She still hasn’t seen your face yet, barely even a glimpse, but she already thinks you are stupidly beautiful just by the way you move.

From the graciousness of your movements alone, she thought there was no way in hell you didn’t know she was watching. At some point, your arms got tired, so you smoothly rolled your aching shoulders back; stretching into an arched, effortlessly perfect posture. Ellie’s eyes traced that slight curve of your back as if you’d disappear if she broke off from you.

There is no way it gets better from that, is what she thinks to herself, only to be shut up immediately after when she sees that perfectness of your back stay as you bend over and shift onto both knees to grab something far away, bringing your shorts in view. So short— so tight , they could easily be mistaken for panties. 

It was unexpected to say the least, Ellie could feel her face heating up and had to look around her to see if anyone else could see what she was seeing right now. Ellie wondered about the practicality of those shorts, wondered what exactly they were supposed to cover, leering at the plush of your ass peeking out. She thoughtlessly lets her jaw drop before muttering out a low, impressed, and barely over a whisper, “Well, fuck.”

You must’ve noticed your shorts riding up, since you quickly pulled them down after you grabbed what you wanted. Ellie clears her throat, internally scolding herself for being so gross— so perverted. Her brows furrow in embarrassment from all the dirty thoughts she brewed up in that moment. But for some reason, she still doesn’t look away. Well, there’s a list of reasons for her to look away, but she feels like ignoring it. 

Then a cold gust of wind bites past her face, clearly a sign from the universe that she should snap out of it, and snap out of it she does. 

What the hell happened to her? What is it about you that she keeps leaning into? Suddenly something clicks in her brain. After months of creative agony, something finally clicked. She has sat here completely fascinated by you and she couldn’t tell sooner?

In all honesty, to say she is just “interested” in you would be an understatement. Yeah, now she thinks you’re the perfect model for her final, but she wants to know you beyond just the drawing. A plus is that you just happened to be hot, and Ellie has never been attracted to a subject before, so the whole thing was new and exciting to her. Just the thought of drawing you made her remember why she loved art so much.  Ellie reaches for her tote bag sitting in an empty seat beside her, pulling out her sketchbook with more enthusiasm than she probably ever has. She sets the book down, opening up a blank page with one hand and tightening her grip on her pencil in the other.

She looks back up at your window, ready to sketch your life onto paper and..  Shit. You’re looking back.

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Today has been a good day for you, your teacher chose  you to teach the choreo you’ve been working on for weeks to your classmates. It was an obvious ego booster for you. You felt good and you wanted to look good too, even if you weren’t going out anywhere. It was just one of those nights. You wanted to experiment with your hair, thinking maybe you’ll do something new before your next practice. Dye it, cut it.. something.

It’s been a while since you started, and after several wrist and shoulder cramps, you were finally finished. You take a look into your hand mirror, peering at your reflection. You’re satisfied now, looking exactly how you’re feeling if you minus the dingy sleep clothes you’re in. 

♫ My heart, I never be, I never see, I never know. ♫

Grimes? Really? You pout, upset that your playlist didn’t magically read your mood. What you need is real 2000’s hot girl music. Britney Spears, Nelly Furtado, or Beyoncé for crying out loud.

“Alexa, skip!” You shout across the room, just loud enough for the device to hear. 

The stupid thing doesn’t even light up, so you call out a few more times but to no avail. Isn’t the whole point of that thing to be voice automated? You sigh and look around for your phone, and seeing it’s nowhere in front of you, you figure it’s behind. You twist your torso to find your phone behind you and luckily you do. As you pick it up, you casually glance out the window without any expectations. 

Did you see a figure in the blur as you looked away? You question your eyes, but you decide to take another look and just find out for yourself.

You peer back down and your eyes meet with someone else’s. The sudden eye contact between you and this woman instantly mortified you. Your heart sunk, and all you could do was raise your brows stupidly. She was surprised too, even in the dim light you could see her shocked expression boring back at you. Not only that, it went on for way longer than it should have. Any normal person would’ve looked away, but her eyes lingered on you before she hastily turned away. 

You’ve been sitting here, dressing up your hair, listening to your music without a care in the world. Far too absorbed in yourself to realize there’s someone outside your window. You slide off your windowsill and out of sight. Just as your bottom finally hits the wood floor, you feel the coldness of it against your skin and you’re immediately conscious of the fact that your ass was literally out at some point. 

The poor girl was trying to eat her food and you were bending over in front of your window like a harlot. It certainly didn’t help that she looked kinda hot. Did she? You peeked over your windowsill, hoping to get another look to really assess her hotness, but she was already gone. Whatever, maybe she didn’t see? But she looked embarrassed… embarrassed for you probably!

You hide your face in your hands and topple to the side, letting out a fake sob. Oh, god. You can already imagine Dina’s face when you tell her. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that thought. That was humiliating as shit, but it’s whatever. It’s not like you’ll see her again. 

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side note: if you have any tropes you'd like to see w/ this universe pls do drop an ask 🤭

click 4 more!

[honeekyuu]

take the edge off. [suna rintarou x f!reader] chapter four.

>>You struggle with your weight and body image, but Suna extensively and thoroughly undoes all the damage done by other guys.

or

You haven't gotten laid in over a year, and your best friend takes it upon himself to fix that for you.<<

series status: [complete]

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: some time apart only serves to solidify their obsession with each other,,,, featuring me falling a little bit in love with miya osamu

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

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The fall into something more with Suna is easier than you’d thought it be. 

The weekend before he leaves is spent exploring his every fantasy, the dam broken on his hesitation to show you what he’s imagined with you. You’re awoken on Saturday morning to his head buried between your thighs, and you spend the day in every state of undress imaginable, his apartment familiar in a way it had never been before. Sunday is spent much the same, his thoughts of that beach trip come to life and the things you’ve always wanted to try made eagerly into reality.

On Sunday night, you sit in his bed, freshly showered and sporting uncountably many hickies. Suna moves around his room packing for his trip, stopping every five minutes to join you in bed for ten. It easily stretches his 30-minute packing chore into a neat 3 hours, the time spent holding you in his lap and telling you how pretty you are while he kisses gentle comfort into the bruises he’d given you.

You fall asleep that night with his head on your chest, a sleepy admission mumbled into your shirt, so quiet that you think you maybe weren’t supposed to hear it.

“ ‘m gonna miss you. ” 

–

He’s gone before you wake on Monday, but you find a note in his place, his handwriting slanted and rushed.

‘ Stay. You promised.’ 

You linger in his bed with that note pressed to your chest until there’s absolutely no way you’ll be on time for work.

He calls while you’re driving, and you feel a tingly excitement burst in your chest when his name flashes on your screen.

“Miss me already?” You say, leaving him on speakerphone in the middle console.

“ We both know the answer to that .”

You grin, your skin warm. “How was your flight?”

“ Got sat next to a mom and her baby. Baby was cute, mom was not. ”

You grimace, knowing that Suna’s external appearance is not a fan favorite among middle-aged mothers. “‘m sorry, Rin.” 

“ It happens. ” He hums on the other end, and you hear the telltale sounds of airport announcements and people around him while he figures out where to go. After a moment, he seems to decide, because he comes back to you. “ You heading to work? ”

“Mhm,” You start. “Luckily, this cute guy lent me his car, so I’m living the good life this week.”

“ Oh, yeah? What’s he like? ”

“Oh, he’s really something. Ladies love him, moms hate him.”

“ Is that right? Does he know you’ve got a man? ”

“Something tells me he knows.” Your face is burning as you pull up to a parking spot in front of your shop. And then you hear a woman’s voice on the other end, and you’re lifting your brows as you put the car in park.

“ Excuse me. Are you from here, by chance?”

Suna hums in response. “ Does it look like I’m from here? I just got off a flight .”

You shake your head and laugh to yourself at his tone.

“ Oh, well, I’m not, either. Maybe we could be sightseeing buddies? ”

“ Sightseeing–Does that normally work for you? ” He laughs. “ Is that an actual line you use? ”

“ Oh, I just- ”

“ Look,” He cuts her short, and you hear the amused edge in his voice. “ My girlfriend’s on the other end of this call right now, and she will actually kill me and turn me into a mannequin if I don’t stop speaking to you in the next 12 seconds. Is that what you want for me? ”

Your jaw drops, and you’re laughing loudly, knowing he can hear it. The girl he’s with starts to stumble. 

“ A manne-What? Your girl- ”

Suna keeps it up with ease. “ See, now it’s 8 seconds. When she gets to 5, she’s gonna start using forensic technology to track your voice back to your identity. It’s gonna get ugly. ”

“Suna!” You yell, laughing when the girl chokes and rushes off with a panicked ‘ Never mind ’. 

He laughs back. “ That worked remarkably well. I think I just found a new tactic. ” 

“I’m glad you found a new use for me.”

“ You’re very multi-purpose .”

“Suna Rintarou-”

“ Okay, okay! No need for the government name. ”

You’re about to respond, but there’s a harsh knock on the window. You scream, turning, and find Osamu on the other side. He raises an eyebrow while you roll the window down.

“You plannin’ on workin’ from in here today?”

You roll your eyes with a smile. “I get my best work done in Suna’s car, actually.”

Suna bites before you can even realize you’ve put out bait. “ Woah, babe! He doesn’t need to know all that. ” 

Osamu’s face splits in a grin, his pained groan loud despite his obvious amusement. “It’s not even 9am.” 

You just smile back. “Imagine dealing with this 24/7.” 

“ Don’t make me embarrass you, Y/n. I have some very choice memories that would make Osamu’s hair curl-”

“No, thank you!” Osamu crosses his arms, backing away from the car. “I’m very happy in my sweet, vanilla relationship.” 

“ There was this one time on my kitchen counter- ” 

You and Osamu scream at the same time, and you slam a finger down on the End Call button before Suna can get too far.

You and the younger Miya stare at each other for a moment, and then you very awkwardly roll the window up and pull the key from the ignition. When you join Osamu on the sidewalk, all he does is give you a deadpan look.

“The kitchen counter is actually insane-”

“Please don’t,” You laugh, pushing past him toward the shop.

“Don’t you know how unsanitary that is-”

“Samu!” You shake your head, heading back into your office with an exasperated smile. Your phone buzzes while you’re greeting Haru at the bar.

[8:55 AM]

Sunarin : i didn’t get to tell him about the ice cubes :((

You : youre a menace and you need to be gagged

Sunarin : is that a request :))

You : did you know that distance does not in fact make the heart grow fonder?

Sunarin : really? im feeling pretty fond rn

The day passes with a funny little tingling in your veins, one that makes you think of him often and puts a stupid smile on your face, subject to Osamu’s constant teasing. 

Suna texts you repeatedly throughout the day, and you’re reminded of the very first days of your friendship, when he would spam your phone with videos and memes and little else. Now, he sends you pictures of Tokyo – tourist spots and food and trinkets from the street stalls, attached to messages that make that excited tingle in your chest sing.

‘ Come back here with me.’

‘This place has spicy food the way you like it.’

‘This little old lady was making hair ties and stuff, so I got some.’

You scold him despite that wonderful little feeling, telling him he’s only going to fill his suitcase with things you don’t need. He ignores it, sending you more pictures of things he’s buying you. 

You call him when you’re leaving work, the cafe locked up and Osamu waving you off with a knowing grin while he turns in the direction of Yachi’s flower shop.

“ Great timing, ” Suna answers, surprising you. “ Green or blue ?”

“You did not just answer the phone while buying me something,” You say, exasperated.

“ You’re so right, babe. You do look better in green. ” He ignores you, and you hear him putting something back. 

“Suna!” 

“ Stop complaining, or this is gonna be a long week. ”

“You would never buy me these things if we were just friends.” You say it without thinking, too busy getting into his car and settling in. You realize belatedly that you’re the first to really say it, to say it properly and truly and privately, even though it had been obvious to both of you from the start.

That you and Suna are more now.

Your heart stutters briefly, and you wonder why that had been so easy to say. Wonder what he’s going to say in response.

“No, maybe not,” He says, distracted by the store clerk while he pays. “But we’re not just friends, are we?”

Your skin warms under the coo of his voice in your ear – under his mutual acknowledgement, just as easy. “No, I don’t suppose we are.”

“ I don’t suppose we are, either-Thanks- ” He shifts his phone, and you hear the jingle of a shop door. “So I get to do what I want now. ” 

“And what would that be, Rin?” You make your way home, his seat and mirrors and steering wheel all shifted in ways that’ll drive him crazy later. You smile at the thought of these minor, domestic traces of you, left all over his life. 

“ Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out. ”

You bite your lip, your fingers tapping against the steering wheel while you wait at a red light. “Good thing I don’t plan to go anywhere.”

There’s quiet on the other end, and then- 

“ Good thing I planned on keeping you for a while.”

You drive in silence, your very soul aching to see him. After a few minutes, you make a quiet admission. “Gonna be a long week . ”

Suna breathes a soft laugh. “ I miss you, too. ” 

You pull into his apartment and sigh as you put the car in park. “Made it home.”

His voice is teasing. “ Whose home, baby? ” 

You warm, realizing what you’d said and deciding to simply stop talking. He clicks his teeth when you don’t respond, but he doesn’t push.

“ Whatcha gonna do now? ” 

You stare down at your lap, your ears burning. “Cook dinner. Eat on the couch. Go to bed early.”

“ Without me? ” 

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Goodbye, Rintarou.”

“ Send pictures! ”

You hang up, your heart still racing a little, even as you mumble to yourself. “Stupid man.”

You send him pictures anyway – your simple pasta dinner, the book you’re reading while you lounge on his couch. An overhead shot of you in his bed, showered and wrapped up in a bath robe and looking silly.

He sends back a voice note of him screaming incoherently about how pretty you are and then sends an overhead shot of himself in his hotel bed, equally showered and surrounded by no less than ten bags of gifts for you.

You scream incoherently, too, but into his pillow and without his knowledge.

You really, really like this stupid man of yours – more than you thought possible.

–

On Tuesday, you unexpectedly get a bit of good news.

The day starts as warmly as Monday had, with texts already pouring in before you even leave for work. Pictures of the convention venue, a massive room lined with artist booths and a stage in the back for the week of scheduled panels. An awkward selfie of Suna wearing his nametag, brightly colored and labeled ‘ Speaker ’ for everyone to see. Texts demanding to know your clothing sizes, with additional texts warning you against interrogating him for details.

By the time you walk into work, your mood is bright and sunny, and it only improves once you’re in the shop.

“Boss!” Haru’s eyes are bright when he calls for you, waving with both arms despite you being two feet away. Mayuri’s leaning against the bar, smiling fondly at Haru when he’s not looking, and Osamu’s watching from window into his kitchen. 

You stop in the doorway, sending Haru a confused grin. “Haru?”

“I got a job!” He bounces behind the bar, doing a little jig. 

You gasp, rushing to bar to join Mayuri. You know he’s been looking for full-time jobs with graduation so near, but you hadn’t been expecting one to come so soon. “What? Where? When?”

He giggles, and you wonder, not for the first time, how he’s only five years younger than you.

“Apparently, the Jackals need a social media manager.”

You stare, shocked, and drag your gaze over to Osamu. “The Jackals…. Since when do they-”

Osamu shakes his head. “What Haru means to say, is that he managed to convince Tsumu that they need one.”

You stare longer, remembering suddenly that Haru had applied to work with you three years ago not only because he was a broke college kid, but also because he’s a die-hard fan of the current MSBY lineup. He’s deceptively good at hiding it, but it seems the time for his cool exterior is gone.

“He-” You turn to Haru, watching the boy dance and turn and shake his butt in excitement. Mayuri just drops her head into her hand with a smile she’s clearly trying to hide.

You start to laugh, imagining just how easy it would have been for Haru to compliment-bomb Atsumu into agreeing to literally anything.

“Haru, I’m-” You burst into laughter, clutching your sides. “-so proud of you.”

“I start next week!” He yells at the ceiling. “Part-time and then full-time when I graduate!” 

You shake your head, secretly glad he’ll keep working with you until graduation. “We’ve gotta celebrate, Haru. This is great.”

The boy becomes shy now, his dance slowing as he turns to you with warm cheeks. “Oh, we don’t have to-”

“No-” You cut him off with a shake of your head, rounding the bar to deposit your bag. “I was drowning in work before you came in – you literally saved my life. We need to celebrate.” 

He flushes, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor while you compliment him. “Thanks, Boss. That’s super nice of you.”

Mayuri teases quietly, pulling him out of his shell. “Don’t get all shy on us now. We need at least one extrovert in the shop, or the whole thing’ll go under.” 

Osamu cackles as he disappears into the kitchen, and you leave Mayuri with Haru and head to the back, laughing to yourself. You pull out your phone, smiling at the ten messages from Suna, all different items being sold at the convention.

[9:17 AM]

You : haru convinced tsumu that the jackals need a social media manager and now he has a job

Sunarin : thats

Sunarin : SO FUCKING FUNNY

Sunarin : im buying that man a drink

You : we’re gonna throw a party in the shop

Sunarin : good, i can be nosy and watch him and mayuri awkwardly flirt

You : right??? make a move, girl, we all know boys are dumb

Sunarin : excuse you?? i totally made the first move

You : when? when you were jerking off in college?

Sunarin : BRUTALLLLLL

You laugh loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls of your office, and put your phone down with a warm smile. But there’s a knock at your door, one that brings Osamu’s grey hair and a knowing gaze.

“What’s up?” You ask, smiling.

“I have something to propose which was not my idea but will give me answers to all of my questions.”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay?”

“Hitoka wants to go on a triple date.”

You stall, your face warming. Osamu starts to smile.

“So you are together.”

“What?” You laugh, your ears starting to ring now that the words have been said out loud in precisely that way. “We’re… Uh-”

He steps into your office, clearly excited as he sits across from you. “Yes or no?”

“I-” You scratch at your brow. “Yes? Maybe?”

“But it’s not just sex.”

“No…” You avoid his eyes. “It’s not just sex.”

“I don’t think it ever was,” He says, like he’s been waiting a long time to say it. “But you probably won’t agree with that.”

You say nothing, just remembering the way Suna had admitted that things were never as casual as he’d thought they were. That he’d never gotten over you, that he had tricked himself into thinking he was okay with a no-strings-attached arrangement with you. 

That from the very beginning, you’d always secretly felt that starting something with Suna Rintarou would never be nothing . 

Osamu watches you carefully when you don’t answer him. “Oh. It’s serious, then.”

You meet his eyes and look away, your heart starting to flutter and that nervous excitement making its daily appearance. 

“Yeah,” You say, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s serious.” 

He smiles slowly. “So… He would be okay with us setting up a date?”

You swallow, nodding and keeping your eyes away from that smug little grin.

“Yeah. He would be okay with it.” 

Osamu leaves you after that, and you open your texts, typing with fingers that tremble just slightly.

[9:30 AM]

You : samu asked to set up a triple date with tsumu/sakusa

Sunarin : NOT A T S U M U

Sunarin : god theyre so insufferable and gross

Sunarin : how will i ever finish my food

You : im sure youll manage

Sunarin : you hate me, i just know it

Sunarin : wait

Sunarin : did you already agree to it???

You blink, confused by his urgency. Were you not supposed to?

You : …. maybe?

Sunarin : bro

Sunarin : our first date is NOT going to be with miya atsumu in the room

Oh. You hadn’t realized that you and Suna have never been on a date.

You : oh

You : its nbd

Sunarin : it very much is NOT nbd

Sunarin : im taking you out

You : i dont need dinner and a movie rin

Sunarin : i didnt say anything ab dinner and a movie

Sunarin : thats not special at all

Sunarin : thats just a tuesday

You shake your head, trying not to let his words warm you to the point of distraction. You put the phone down and fight the pounding in your ears, the cold tingle in your fingers subsiding the longer you focus on work. 

You manage about two hours of it, your phone forgotten once your head’s in the right place.

Suna succeeds in ruining it in a matter of seconds.

[11:58 AM]

Sunarin : thoughts on getting each others initials tattooed for a first date?

You breathe out a shaky sigh, telling yourself he’s joking.

You : youre an idiot

Sunarin : yeah it’s a bit much

Sunarin : maybe for our ten yr anniversary

Sunarin : lets start smaller

You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

You : i think dinner and a movie is great

Sunarin : no no dont go back on me now babe

Sunarin : not when im so attached to the tattoo idea

You : i dont have tattoos

Sunarin : oh i know :)) i would have seen them by now :)) 

You : you continue to be an idiot

He ignores it, just sending back a photo. You stare down at it, your heart swelling in your chest when you see the cartoon art he’s scribbled haphazardly on a napkin, ink stains on his fingers and a ring of moisture still on the napkin from his drink.

It’s just a fox , you tell yourself. Just a small caricature of the Inarizaki fox, something you could easily get with all your friends.

But the fact that he’d chosen it now – now that things are not what they were at Inarizaki, now that things are more than they’ve ever been. It makes you question how you could possibly have gone this long without falling for him.

You swallow the feeling of permanence and give in to it, knowing there’s no way around it.

[12:02 PM]

You : i would allow you to draw that on my body for a first date

Sunarin : that was a love confession if ive ever seen one

Suna Rintarou is really starting to affect your productivity.

–

It’s on Wednesday night that things get serious. 

The jokes, the passing comments, the unspoken meanings – they all fall away, leaving only Suna’s quiet voice, laced with a hesitation that makes you nervous.

“ I’ve been telling people I have a girlfriend.” 

You forget how to breathe. 

You’d been lying in his bed listening to him tell you about his day, flirty comments shared between you. In the lull between topics, he’d admitted that. 

You sit there in silence, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t – the air conditioner in his hotel room loud between you – you clear your throat.

“That good of a deflection tactic, huh?”

Relief floods you when he laughs under his breath, but you still feel tense, unable to move from where you’re curled up under his blankets. They smell like him, and there’s a part of you that feels you can only handle this silence because of that comfort. 

“ A couple of younger girls came up to me at a booth and said they saw my work on Instagram, ” He starts. “ They asked if I had a girlfriend – I was expecting them to get upset when I said yes, but they just started squealing and asked to see a picture of you. Said we looked good together. ”

You breathe slow while your heart beats fast.

He says the rest to you in words that speak louder than he does. “ I liked hearing that. ” 

You swallow. “So, you kept saying it?”

“ ... Would you be upset if I did? ” 

You stare down at your hands, wondering if he’s saying what you think he is. Your voice cracks nervously when you respond. “ No … I don’t think I would.” 

When he breathes into the phone, it sounds like the first he’s taken in a while.

“ You can say it, too – if you want. ” 

Your fingers start to go numb, and your face starts to burn. “That I’m your girlfriend?”

“ Yeah – if you want to. ” 

“You’d be okay with me telling people that?”

“ Yes. A hundred percent. ”

You swallow, unable to process this conversation. There’s nowhere that your heart isn’t beating right now, and you wish so desperately that you could be with him right now. Just to see what he’s thinking, always written so clearly all over his face. 

“You’d be okay with me introducing you to people like that?”

“ Yes. Y/n, yes. ”

“You’re okay with that title? Suna Rintarou, Y/n’s boyfriend?” 

There’s silence on the other end, and then the cut of the dial tone. 

You blink, your heart pounding in your ears, and stare down at your phone.

He’d hung up.

Your phone buzzes just as you’re starting to spiral.

[7:22 PM]

Sunarin : fuck i panicked

Sunarin : you made me nervous

Sunarin : sorry

You start to smile against your will, your stomach filling with relief.

You : find a better coping mechanism

You : i hate that one

Sunarin : i want it

Sunarin : the title, i mean

Sunarin : i want it

Your heart starts to pound for him, just like it always does.

You : you want to be my boyfriend?

Sunarin : fuck 

Sunarin : yes 

Sunarin : fuck 

Sunarin : sorry, im still nervous

You : youre kind of a mess rin

Sunarin : i know

Sunarin : that was the first time i thought about saying those words

Sunarin : and it fucked me up

You stare down at your phone, watching him fall apart and wondering if this is really, truly happening.

He calls again.

You lift the phone to your ear wordlessly.

“ Hi. ”

You really like him.

“Hi.” 

“ I feel like a fucking teenager. ”

You swallow, laughing tightly. “Yeah. I don’t really know what to do. I feel like I just got hit by a truck-”

“ I really want to be your boyfriend. ” 

Your heart stops in your throat.

When you respond, it’s weak. “There goes the truck again.”

“ I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want this to be unclear anymore. ” He’s starting to ramble in your ear. “ I want to be your boyfriend. And I want to tell everyone you’re my girlfriend. ” 

You press a hand to your chest, leaning back against his pillows and squeezing your eyes shut while you try to breathe.

“ I want you in my apartment, Y/n. I want you in my bed and in my kitchen and on my couch and in my car. I want you everywhere.”

“ Rin ,” You choke, every cell in your body burning.

“Everything I look at reminds me of you. I want to buy you everything. I want to bring you everywhere.”

You think you might cry.

“ God, Y/n, I don’t know what you did to me, but I think I- ” He cuts short, breathing hard.

You stare at the ceiling, your heart stuttering painfully.

“You what?”

You hear when he swallows.

“ I want this. All of it. ” 

You have the distinct feeling that that’s not what he was going to say.

“ Do you… want to be my girlfriend? ” He laughs nervously. “ I guess I haven’t asked yet. ”

You close your eyes, head fuzzy. “I think you ruined me, Rin.”

When he laughs, low and warm in your ear, everything that’s not him falls away from you.

“ Weird way to tell me you love me. ” 

Delirium is the only way to explain why you smile and say-

“I want this, Rintarou. All of it.”

You’re not surprised when he hangs up on you again.

–

The first person you tell, unsurprisingly, is Atsumu.

On Thursday, after a series of morning texts from Suna that leave you blushing like a schoolgirl, you rush into his bathroom, washing up with icy water and trying to talk yourself into a sense of normalcy. And then, when it doesn’t work, you snatch your phone off the sink.

“ This better be good, ” Atsumu says when he answers. “ Because Omi-kun’s lookin’ real scrumptious this morning, and I ain’t above hangin’ up on you. ”

You stare at your reflection when you say the words to someone else for the first time. “Suna asked me to be his girlfriend last night.”

It’s Sakusa’s voice you hear first, muffled and distant.

“ What? When? How- ” There’s a scuffle on the other end, and then Sakusa’s in your ear. “ Say more, Y/n. I require more. ”

You laugh, hearing Atsumu’s complaints in the back, and then you tell them everything. Everything from staying at Suna’s place while he’s gone to finding out how he’d felt about you in the past. Everything from him treating you like more than just a situationship to you falling for him harder and harder with every second that passes. Everything from joking about your relationship to the very moment when it had stopped being a joke.

“ Oh, my- ” Atsumu had taken the phone back at some point. “ Y/n, he’s down so bad for you. I can’t believe ya didn’ realize- ”

“I never claimed to be smart!” You joke, sitting at the edge of the bed. “I was too busy being shocked he could ever be interested in me-”

“ I’ve been watchin’ him follow you around like a lost puppy for years – this ain’t surprising, darlin’.” 

Sakusa’s voice cuts through from beside him. “ It seems like he really didn’t want to ruin your relationship, especially if he lasted all throughout college without making a move-”

“Yeah, that part actually was unexpected, ” Atsumu agrees. “ I had a feelin’ that he was a little sweet on ya, but I thought he just had no idea how he felt, either.” There’s a moment of peace, but peace never lasts long around Miya Atsumu. “ Come to find out he was probably thinkin’ aboutcha in the shower every night- ” 

“Atsumu!” You protest. You hadn’t told them the more private details of Suna’s thoughts in college, only that he’d had some feelings he’d decided not to act on. The fact that you can very much confirm Atsumu’s speculation makes you flush in embarrassment. 

“I gotta go. I have work,” You say, suddenly missing Suna very much, lovesick and awful. Atsumu must hear it, because he just chuckles under his breath.

“ Oh, yeah, I’m sure. Tell ‘work’ we say hi .”

“Shut up, Tsumu.” 

“ Happy for ya!” He yells into the phone just as you’re cutting the call with a smile. 

You get ready for work while on the phone with Suna. His panel’s tomorrow afternoon, so he’d stayed in the hotel today to prepare some general answers and recharge socially. It only makes you fall more, the fact that this perfect man would consider you the exception to the limits of his introversion.

You run through potential questions with him on your drive to work, but you eventually have to cut it short because he won’t stop flirting with you.

“Alright, I think that’s enough of that,” You laugh, rolling your eyes when he asks if you ‘ have any tattoos you’re down to show him backstage ’.

“ Wait, don’t go, pretty audience girl! ” He protests. “ I’ve got so much I wanna show you! ”

“I’m at work!” You yell, pulling into the parking lot. 

“ Come find me after the panel, we can talk in my hotel room-”

You end the call with a bright smile, hating how easy it is for him to get to you. You shake your head, grinning to yourself as you walk into the shop.

The feeling drops when you see who’s sitting at one of the tables.

He looks up from his phone, empty coffee cup in front of him. He’d been here a while, then.

The guy from the party – the one who you hadn’t realized had resembled Suna when you’d tried hitting on him.

“Oh, hey,” He says, laying his phone on the table. He smiles, something smooth and easy and so Suna-like that you actually take a step back.

It doesn’t look right on someone who’s not Rintarou.

“Uh, hi,” You say awkwardly, moving to round the bar. Haru gives you a confused look, and you can see Osamu lingering on his side of the shop, Mayuri shooting him equally strange looks while he wipes an already clean counter down. Osamu just meets your eyes over her head, scrubbing the clean counter like it’s filthy.

The guy stands from the table, sliding his cup across the counter to Haru, who has to fumble to make sure it doesn’t crash to the floor. Haru’s embarrassed flush makes you irrationally angry.

“Can I help you?” You ask, the edge in your voice cold.

He leans on the bar in something that seems effortless and cool, but you already know that’s not how Suna would have done it, so you hate it by default. 

He sticks a hand out in your direction. “I never got your name at the party, so I had to track Bokuto down and get him to focus long enough to tell me where you worked.”

You raise a brow and stare down at the hand, unimpressed. Later, you’ll realize that you’ve adopted some of Suna’s mannerisms in the last few weeks, but right now, you just want this man out of your shop.

“Well, Bokuto’s a busy man. I’m sure he had more important things to focus on.”

He drops his hand easily, but you see the tinge of annoyance in his eyes when he does. “I’m Ren.” He waits while you stare blankly up at him, and then he lifts a brow, smiling teasingly. “And you are…”

“Working,” You say blankly. “Are you here to order something?”

He glances around, taking in Haru beside you. The boy’s pouring espresso shots into a cup, but they’re not for any customer in particular, and there’s starting to be a concerning number of them in that cup. You almost smile at his auto-pilot functioning, because he’s clearly distracted with listening while trying to look like he’s not.

Ren glances to the right, and you follow it. Mayuri’s alone at the counter serving cake to a little boy, and you realize Osamu’s moved only when he literally materializes behind you at the door to the storage room.

Ren meets his eyes over your head, and you look back, finding your friend leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look to you, keeping his eyes firmly on the man across the counter.

“I just came to ask for your number,” Ren says, and you turn slowly back to him with raised eyebrows. He smiles, and you get the feeling that that smile works on girls more often than not. “I didn’t exactly get the chance that night.”

“Lucky me,” You say. “Unfortunately for you, the trip here was pointless, because you will, once again, be leaving without my number.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” He pretends to frown, clearly thinking you’re playing hard to get. “I came all this way.”

“I hope you enjoyed the coffee, then,” You continue to push. “Since that’s all you’re getting.”

You start to turn away and catch out of the corner of your eye that he’s decided to reach across the counter for your arm. His fingers only brush on your elbow, however, before he’s pulling back – Osamu had stepped toward you, suddenly the tallest man you’ve ever seen in your life.

“I wouldn’t,” The twin says simply, glancing down at the hand lingering offensively near you, arms still crossed over his chest and eyes devoid of emotion. He seems to tower over Ren, despite their similar heights. “I really wouldn’t.”

Ren steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets with a hard swallow. He meets your eyes. “Come on, doll, we could have so much fun together.”

You face him fully, his lack of boundaries near-insulting. In your periphery, you sense Haru standing tall – inhumanly tall like Osamu and clearly unhappy with the turn this conversation is taking. You’re warmed by him, by the safety they both grant you. So you make sure to be very clear when you look Ren in his eye and say-

“I think my boyfriend would disagree.”

Osamu shifts behind you, perhaps trying to gauge how much of this is the truth, but you keep your eyes on the man before you. The one who looks so much like Rintarou, yet so, so unlike him all the same.

When he lifts a brow and smiles like he doesn’t believe you, you wonder if punching a customer would be bad for your shop reputation.

“Your boyfriend,” He says, humor in his voice.

“My boyfriend,” You repeat. “You might remember him from the party.”

A look of recognition passes over him. “ That guy?”

“The very same.”

“Right,” He says, nodding very seriously while a smile pulls at his lips. “ That’s your boyfriend.”

You feel your eye twitch involuntarily. You’re painfully glad for the courage that rises when your friends shift in shared annoyance. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you pull up your photos quickly, finding one in particular and holding it out for him to see.

It’s one of you in Suna’s bed, wrapped up in his arms while he naps against you. His face is pressed into the crook of your neck, hair fanning out all over your neck and face. He has an arm curled around you, and it’s clear even from the selfie that he’s holding you tight and pulling a warm smile out of you.

Ren’s eyes drag over it while you stare emptily at him. 

“Would you like me to call him? I’m sure he’d love to chat.”

He meets your eyes and then straightens, brows furrowed. “Whatever. Don’t hit me up when he dumps your ass.”

You call out mockingly while he exits the shop. “Thanks for coming!”

As soon as the door jingles, you sigh under your breath. “What a piece of work.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t even need us anymore,” Osamu says, and you see he’s smiling when you turn to him. “A lot’s changed since high school.” 

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tight. You’re shaking just slightly from the confrontation – the confidence needed to stand tall during that entire ordeal had drained you. Osamu’s familiarity recharges you in the way only an old friend can.

“I’ll always need you.” When he squeezes you affectionately, you admit what he’s dying to know. “Did I mention that I have a boyfriend now?”

He smiles against the crown of your head, mumbling, “ Fucking finally. ” He snatches your phone from you and peers down at the photo of you and Suna. “This is terrible and gross. I love it.”

You both laugh, interrupted when Haru slumps in exhaustion in the corner and holds out a cup full to the top with espresso shots. “Can I assume this is coming out of my next check?”

You pluck it from him, shaking your head as you separate it across three more cups to make everyone a free drink. “This is a heart attack waiting to happen. Mayuri, come yell at him, please.”

The girl appears in an instant, grinning wide. “My favorite pastime!”

Osamu disappears to the back, mumbling ‘ Terrible and gross ’ to himself as he goes.

Later, when you call Suna on your way home, he answers with exasperation.

“I swear to God, woman. ” 

You laugh, surprised. “Hello to you, too.”

“ Did the universe send out some global signal that you’re taken now? It’s been less than 24 hours. ” 

“Oh, I see. You’ve been speaking to Miya Osamu.”

“ You should have taken that guy’s number so I could track him down .”

“I think he got the message, Rin.”

“ And his name was Ren ? What kind of tacky, off-brand version of me- ”

You laugh, accepting now that you’re in a constant state of needing him. “When’s your flight back?”

There’s silence, and then a response so clearly said through a smile. “ I miss you, too. ” 

“Shut up. Answer me.”

“ Monday, baby girl. ”

You warm, pulling into the parking lot with pursed lips. “That’s too far away.”

“ I agree. Want me to come back early? ”

You desperately want to say yes. “No, you shouldn’t. You need to stay and network – this is great exposure for your shop.”

“ You’re annoyingly reasonable. ”

“One of us has to be.”

You talk to him for the rest of the night, pushing down this terrible yearning that you feel. It’s best for him to stay, to speak to people and promote his work. But you can’t help that his bed feels horribly empty tonight, so you ask in a quiet voice at the end of the night if he wouldn’t mind falling asleep on the phone with you.

When he whispers ‘ Anything for you ’ while you’re curling up under his blanket, you think that what you feel for Suna Rintarou might be more than just more , and that it probably has been for quite some time.

–

On Friday, you wake to the sound of Suna groaning sleepily beside your head. You shift, lifting your head to glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s only 7.

You groan back at him. “Why the hell are you awake?”

“ I set my alarm super early just to be sure I wouldn’t oversleep.” His voice is groggy and low – it spreads warmth all over your skin and draws a heat from your navel that you really don’t need this morning. You’d managed to keep it down all week. “ I really regret that now .”

“Your panel’s not even until 11,” You whine, rolling over with every intent to go back to sleep.

“ Great. Now I’m thinking about it. Guess I’m up for the day. ” 

You laugh into his pillow, almost missing when he mumbles the word ‘ cute ’ under his breath. 

“You’re really that nervous?”

“ Terrified. I hate people, and I hate talking. ”

“Oh, man – Can’t imagine talking in front of peopl e, then.”

“ You’re a smart-ass, you know that? ” 

You pull the phone to your ear with a pleased sigh. “It’s gonna be fine, baby. You’re gonna be great, and all of your socials are going to experience viral internet success.”

There’s silence on the other end, long enough to make you wonder if he’d hung up.

“Rin?”

“ Sorry. You made me nervous. ”

“How?” You laugh. “The prospect of your viral internet success?”

“ No. You called me ‘baby’. ” 

Your ears burn, and your stomach flips in that lovely excited tingle. “Well, get used to it. I plan on saying it for a long, long time.”

More silence – and then a soft ‘ Fuck ’ whispered through the staticky connection. 

“ I’m gonna be in big trouble for a long, long time, then. ”

You beam, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Go get ready for your panel, Rin.”

“ Okay, ” He says in a daze. “ Sounds good .” Silence, and then. “ Yeah, yes- I should go. Yeah. ” 

You snicker into the phone, overcome with the urge to scream your adoration for him. “You’re gonna do so great, baby. And then you can come home, and we can celebrate.”

“... Fuck. ”

“ Go, Rin-” You throw your head back and laugh loudly, hearing as it echoes off the walls. “Go. Eat breakfast and get there early and network your ass off.”

“ Yes, okay – yeah. ”

“ Goodbye , Rintarou.” 

“ Okay. Bye – love you .”

He hangs up.

You stare down at nothing, the dial tone ringing in your ear.

Oh.

Oh.

Suna Rintarou just told you he-

Oh.

Your phone buzzes against your ear with an incoming text.

[7:06 AM]

Sunarin : fuck

Sunarin : y/n im

Sunarin : fuck

You swallow, feeling the layer of panic smothering his texts. Your own heart pounds in your ears – that pounding of more, ever-present and painfully clear now. 

You can’t imagine the horror he’s sitting in, not knowing what to do or how you’re taking it – not knowing just how much he doesn’t need to worry about this.

With shaking hands, you call him back. When he picks up, he’s in a mental spiral.

“ Y/n, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, and I- ”

“I love you, too.”

And then you hang up.

It takes a full minute for him to text you.

[7:08 AM]

Sunarin : you fucking

Sunarin : menace

Sunarin : youre so fucking done for when i get home

Friday passes so irritatingly slowly without him, but that little mumbled ‘ love you ’ ringing in your ear is all you remember.

–

“So?” You ask, throwing your keys in the bowl at the door, a wide smile spread across your face. “Tell me everything!”

“ Holy shit, Y/n, it was- ” Suna laughs, and you hear him kicking his shoes off at the hotel door, too. “ I can’t even remember all the people I met – so many names. ” 

“Wait, start at the beginning!” You whine, undressing as you make your way to his shower. “Start over, from the top.”

“Okay, okay.” The shower turns on on his end, too, and you feel your heart swell at your paralleled routines. “So I get there at 9-ish, and people are already coming up to me. I didn’t realize this, but I guess once it was announced that I was on the roster, people who like my work started talking about it all over Twitter, and it kind of blew up-” 

“What?!” You step into the shower, keeping your phone on the sink so you can hear him. “You went viral before the day even started!”

“ I guess?! ” His voice is muffled, and you laugh at the mental image of him screaming over the running water. “ I was bombed with people coming up to me for two hours, and then there was a huge crowd at the panel! There were so many questions! ” 

“Say more, damn it!” You joke, needing every ounce of detail.

You shower and eat dinner while listening to him recount the entire panel – that there were three other artists with him, all in different specialties, and that he’d gotten along well with them. That he’d joked about his social introversion once he’d started getting a long stream of questions, that the entire audience had found that funny and wanted even more interaction with him after that. That people had asked about his background and college experience and future plans for the shop and everything in between.

“ Oh, those girls were there – from the other day, ” He says, both of you in bed now. “ One of them got up and asked if my girlfriend and I had any matching tattoos. I told her ‘Not yet, but we’ve got a tattoo date planned for when I get home’.”

You laugh, chest warm with affection. “I bet everyone loved that. That’s charming and smooth.”

“ No kidding, ” He agrees. “ She has no clue what she started – I had people coming up to me afterward asking about you. ”

“Yeah?” You ask with interest.

“ Asking what you do, what you think of me and my work, how you’ve supported me while I was starting my own business – all of it. ” 

“I like that you got asked about me…” You admit, picking at a loose string on the blanket.

“ I liked talking about you. I think everyone could tell that was my favorite part. ”

“God,” You laugh. “You’re like those celebrities that always talk about their wives in interviews. Everyone loves a guy like that.”

“ You tryna tell me somethin’? ”

“Huh?” You blink, thinking. 

“ I can take a hint, babe .” He jokes. “ We can skip the dating phase if you want .”

You laugh loudly, surprised. “Don’t even think about it, Rintarou. We said ‘ I love you ’ within 48 hours of dating – let’s take one thing slow, please.”

He sighs dramatically on the other end, but you can hear how pleased he is.

“ Fine, fine. Whatcha gonna do for the rest of the night? ”

“Probably just read something. Maybe watch a show.”

“ You’re in bed? ”

“Of course.”

“ Show me. I miss you. ”

You roll your eyes but pull your phone away, snapping a quick overhead picture and sending it to him. You listen to the shuffle of him checking his messages, and then there’s quiet on his end. You wait, a brow lifted. 

“Rin?”

“ Shit. ” 

“...What?” You’d heard the shift in his voice, deeper and heavier than it’d been just a moment ago. You recognize it, and that warmth from the morning – the one pulled from your navel, molten and dangerous – returns.

“ Is that what you’ve been wearing to bed all week ?” 

You look down at yourself. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties, frumpy and simple.

“Yes…?”

He breathes a heated sigh. “ That’s fucking unfortunate. ” 

Your nerve endings start to tingle, a suspiciously familiar electric crackling in the pit of your stomach. “Why’s that?” You ask weakly.

He doesn’t respond, but your phone buzzes with a message.

Your breath catches when you look.

It’s an overhead of him, too – shirtless and sporting a pair of grey sweats, he’s got one hand on the band of his pants, his silver bracelet glinting in the light. His inked skin looks warm, a slight sheen from his shower still lingering in a way that makes your mouth water. But it’s just below the waist that your eyes are trained.

Because Suna Rintarou’s just sent you a rather compromising picture of himself, one capturing the heat in his eyes and the rather noticeable tent in his sweats.

You swallow hard. “Seems like something needs your attention, Rin.” 

“ That’s too bad. My attention’s elsewhere. ” 

You shift, the needy feeling setting in. “Rin…”

Your phone starts to beep in your ear. You lift it, seeing the incoming notification.

Your face burns when you accept the FaceTime request.

He looks the way he had in the photo – eyes hooded and glazed slightly, distracted. He meets your gaze, a smile pulling at his lips.

“ Hi, pretty girl. ” 

Your eyelids flutter, and your thighs press together involuntarily. “Hi, baby.”

He inhales sharply at the name, tugging the lip ring between his teeth. His eyes drop to the t-shirt you’re wearing. “ Still got that on? ”

You shrink under his gaze. “‘s yours. Wanna keep it on.”

His eyes are sharp when they find yours, and his gaze burns through you. “ Well, when you word it like that… ”

You laugh nervously, seeing in the camera how red your face is. “Still got those sweats on?”

You’re granted the satisfaction of watching his cheeks color at your question, eyes looking away from you shyly.

“ Want me to take ‘em off? ”

“ Yes ,” You breathe, hooking your thumb into your own underwear. “Please.”

Suna throws his phone on the bed, and you hear the shuffle of him removing his pants. You join him, sliding out of your panties and shivering when the cold air hits your heated core. 

His voice wavers when he’s back in the frame. “ Show me? ” 

Your stomach swarms with nerves, but you flip the camera around anyway. You watch in real time how his eyes widen, flicking around the scene of your legs spread open on his sheets.

“ Fuck, ” He groans, training his gaze on the spot that makes you most nervous. “ You look so good in my bed, Y/n. ” 

The only thing that keeps you from turning the camera off in your embarrassment is the way his eyes have changed. His gaze has taken on a slightly unhinged edge, razor sharp and unmoving from that heated spot between your thighs. And when he swallows hard and breathes out an uneven sigh, you remember that this is the only person in the whole world you don’t ever have to be afraid of.

With shaking fingers, you put your hand on your knee and slide it slowly down your thigh. Suna tracks it, eyes widening when you get close to your core. When your middle and ring fingers push down against your clit, circling slowly, his jaw goes slack and his eyelids flutter. 

“ Shit, ” He breathes, and you watch that lip ring disappear between his teeth again. “ I’ve never watched you touch yourself before. ”

The realization of that fact makes you more nervous, but the way he’d said it – desperate, eager – makes you whimper, and you swipe your fingers over your clit again. When you drop them to your folds, sliding through once and then again, Suna groans quietly.

“ You look so fucking good, Y/n.”

The camera shakes with movement, and you realize he’s starting to touch himself.

“No fair,” You whine softly. 

He swallows, blushing, and turns his camera around, too. The sight of his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, has you moaning his name and swiping your fingers hard against your clit.

The strain of his voice affects you more now that you can’t see his face – it sounds more desperate, more needy.

“ Shit. I was doing so well before this. ”

Your stomach flips nervously. “Me, too. I swear I’ve been good all week.”

He laughs low, but you hear when it cuts into a moan as he thumbs at the head of his cock. “ I believe you, baby. You’re always good for me. ”

You shiver, pushing the tip of your middle finger against your entrance while you breathe his words back to him distractedly. “ So good for you. Promise. ” 

He sighs shakily, groaning your name when your finger disappears past your entrance. “ Go ahead, baby girl. The other one, too. ”

You slip your ring finger in beside your middle, sliding both in as far as you can. He moans at the sight, and you echo it back when he finds a pace to stroke himself, flicking his wrist.

“You look so pretty, Rin.”

He groans through pursed lips, laughing roughly as he squeezes tight around the base of his cock. “ You can’t say things like that, Y/n. I’m actually trying to last longer than thirty seconds.”

You giggle, sliding your fingers out slowly and thrusting back in, sharper than before. “Not my fault – you made me needy.”

“ Yeah, well, you’re gonna make me embarrass myself if you don’t cut it out. ”

“I’d love to make you embarrass yourself. You’re real pretty when you blush.”

“ Y/n- ” He complains through annoyed laughter. “ I will start begging. ”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” You smile. “The last time you begged for something, I had an earth-shattering orgasm, so…”

When he laughs this time, it’s heavier and full of desire. “ Keep going, then – maybe I can help you get there again this time. ”

You whine, curling your fingers once before pulling them out. You repeat the motion, feeling the coil start to form in your navel. You keep that pace, fingering yourself slowly while you remain entirely distracted by how Suna’s hand looks around his cock. 

He notices that you’re not focusing after a moment, his voice low when he speaks to you.

“You can do better than that, can’t you?” You groan, arousal flaring in the pit of your stomach. “Not my fault I’m so distracted.”

“ Gotta be stronger than that, baby. I’m really in the mood to watch you fuck yourself.”

Your breath leaves you instantly, and your hand jerks, your fingers harsh when you thrust into yourself. It makes you jolt, and you moan his name involuntarily. 

He sighs, strained, and whispers ‘ that’s it, love ’ when you find a faster pace, one that arises entirely out of you forgetting to keep control. Your eyes roll back, and you whisper his name again and again, on each slam of your palm against your clit. 

He groans low, his own hand matching your pace and sliding against his cock. He’s rough, the same way you are with yourself. 

“ God, you look so good like this. ” His voice shakes, and he groans your name again quietly. “ Show me again when I get home? ”

“ Rin, ” You whine. Your brain is hot with static, your fingers not nearly close enough to how he feels. “Yes. Anything. Yes.” You watch his hand move, the coil burning when you think of how much better this would feel with him here. “ Not the same without you, ” You mumble.

He laughs. “ Miss my fingers, love? ” 

“ Miss your everything. ” 

“ Y/n, ” He breathes, and you watch his pace become a bit uneven. “Miss you. So much. ”

You shiver, the static spreading down your neck and shoulders as you come close to the edge. “ Love you, Rin- ” 

His breath cuts sharply, and yours follows when you realize how that had affected him.

“ Fucking shit, Y/n- ” He says it on a harsh exhale, his cock twitching hard in his grip. “ You gotta warn me- ”

“I love you, Rintarou,” You repeat, stronger this time. He groans loudly, and you hear the sheets shift when he throws his head back against the pillow.

“ Y/n- ” His breath stutters, and he stops moving, his hand shaking. “ I love you- ”

The coil in your navel twists so hard that you gasp as you watch him fall over the edge. 

“ I love you, Y/n, I- ” He moans your name, voice cracking, and his muscles contract as he spills onto his skin.

Your back bows off the mattress when the coil snaps, and you’re following his lead, his name a mantra on your lips when your vision goes white. Everything else falls away, and all you hear is his voice, telling you he loves you.

You come back to yourself some time after he does, your body slumped with exhaustion and your heart pounding hard in your ears. 

“ Y/n- ” He says, panting. “ You okay, baby? ”

You hum sleepily, shivering as you draw your fingers away from yourself. You flip the camera around with half-closed eyes. He’s doing the same, and you find yourself laughing quietly when you see how flushed his face is.

“Hi, pretty boy.”

He rolls his eyes. “ Feel okay? ”

“Mhm,” You nod. “Would have been better with you here.”

“ Why? ‘Cause I’ve got longer fingers than you? ”

You flush hard. “I was trying to be wholesome.”

“ I need at least another minute before I can be wholesome. I have cum all over my skin. ” 

A giddy laugh bubbles out of you. “God, I love you. You’re so dumb.”

Suna’s face burns, and a shy smile tugs at his lips. “ Yeah, whatever. I love you, too. ”

–

On Saturday afternoon, you drive over to your apartment, windows rolled down and music blasting. Summer’s officially made its debut, and your boyfriend is less than 48 hours from coming home – you feel pretty damn good, and you want to do something to welcome Suna home on Monday.

When you walk into your place, though, the first thing you notice is the thick layer of dust on all the surfaces. How long has it been since you’ve properly been here – eaten here, slept here, worked here in your home office?

You can’t remember. You know that Suna would have been here with you – before his trip, you hadn’t slept alone in a bed in weeks, let alone your own bed. 

With a hum, you start to pick up around the house, wondering if you should start looking to downsize. If you’re going to be spending all your time with Suna, there’s no reason to pay such high rent on a 2-bedroom apartment. Maybe you can find a 1-bedroom, or even a studio. Something cheaper, something that wouldn’t feel like such a waste to pay for if you’re only in it once or twice a week.

When you finish cleaning, you start digging through your closet for what you’d come here for. You remember purchasing a few select pieces that you never ended up wearing – a set of lingerie you’d intended for some one-night-stands, months and months ago. Back when you were more confident that you could go out and find a guy on your own – back before you could ever conceive the idea that your best friend might become anything more than that.

Now, as you pull the lacy black set out of your drawers, you’re infinitely glad that the first man to ever lay eyes on it will be Suna Rintarou.

You drive next to the shopping center, quickly slipping into a lingerie shop and buying a few more sets. The one you already have is nice, but you hadn’t bought it with Suna in mind. Now, knowing him – being able to imagine his reaction to every set that you consider – you’re certain about the riskier pieces that you never would have looked at before.

The girl who rings you up looks surprised at what you’ve chosen, and you catch when she scans your body judgmentally. But you just smile back at her, finding that you couldn’t care less what she thinks. And when the girl working next to her sees the sets and just shoots you a knowing wink, you feel confident in your body for the first time in a long while.

Back at Suna’s apartment, you tidy up, cleaning his place until it sparkles and smells like summer. You set the lingerie on the floor by his closet, deciding that you’ll wear a set to bed on Sunday night so that he’s surprised on Monday morning.

And then, after making dinner, you settle into his couch and turn Netflix on, choosing a random movie for the night. You’re swaddled up in a fuzzy bathrobe, donning equally stupid, fuzzy socks, your hair up in a mess. But you feel comfortable in it, warm and comfortable and excited for the morning of Suna’s return while you watch your silly rom-com.

It’s only when you hear a key in the lock of the front door that you think maybe you should have prepared for this – now painfully obvious, given his tendency for terrible decisions – turn of events.

Suna Rintarou steps through the door, fresh off a plane and two days early, and all you can do – in your stupid outfit with your stupid hair – is stare.

He stares back, eyes scanning you as he tries not to smile.

When he finally opens his mouth, what comes out is something that he’s only said once before -- at the dining table in your parents’ house, on a morning full of rain and exasperation toward a strange boy who’d seemed content with walking you to school in silence every day.

“I like your pajamas.”

You can’t help it. 

You run.

[whiteskullofroses]

Baldwin IV of Jerusalem x physician!reader

(Before any of you get mad this is about Baldwin from Kingdom of Heaven not the actual historical figure.)

🩷Imagine Baldwin receiving the medication for leprosy along with a new physician who has to see his face for the first time and makes him feel comfortable about it🩷

"Y/N Y/L/N, is that who you must be?" Sibylla questioned. You had just been preparing to leave for the Palace, in which you'd be treating the King when she rode up to you with her horse. Her confidence amazed you, after all she was quite beautiful.

"Yes, my lady." Looking up at her with a bit of a struggle, since it was a hot summer day, the Sun was high up in the sky causing your eyes to burn when gazing up at her.

"Good. Follow me." She ordered and waited a short while for you to straddle your horse as well. You named your horse Sihara. You felt the need to do so as she was always with you on your travels. You were blessed with the privilege of having a loyal horse, tying her to a tree to avoid losing her was unnecessary. She simply never left you.

After you two left, there was another 15 minutes before you'd arrive to the Palace because the city was heavily crowded. Neither of you spoke much, from time to time Sibylla would as you questions regarding your medical career. It was reasonable of course. Her brothers life, whom she loved regardless his illness, was now at your hands.

This put a great amount of pressure on you. If anything went wrong, the people would kill you. She and her fellow men and women of power would hunt you down no matter for how long you'd hide.

But what could go wrong? All you had to do was apply cream on his open wounds for about 3 months until they'd heal and you'd go on with your life.

~.................~

"This way." Sibylla pointed to a long corridor with two guards standing at each side. There was another hallway on the right before you'd finally arrive to your patient.

The walk was filled with anxiety. You could feel your stomach twisting inside out with every step you took. You've saved many many lives and have helped many many people to gain back their health but this time it felt like it was your first time in the medical field. Like it was your first time keeping one on this Earth.

Maybe it was because this was your first time treating royalty?

But when you reached the doorway and saw the king sitting with his back to you, all worries went away. In a weird way, you could feel his calming and peaceful energy from afar, telling you 'everything will be alright.'

You weren't sure how to announce your presence in the room, but thankfully the King heard you walking and was about to make that clear.

"Come forward." His voice loud and clear. The way he carried himself, as though he wasn't sick fascinated you and had you admire him deeply.

He turned around on his chair to have a look at you, as you bowed.

"No do not kneel." Surprised, you got back up and straightened your back. "I'm glad to meet (your father's name)'s daughter. He was a great friend of my father's"

Baldwin got up from his chair and started walking closer to you. "The Saracens say that this disease is God's vengeance against the vanity of our kingdom." He chuckled and added: "My guesses are you are to remedy this so-called curse casted upon me."

"Certainly, my lord." You gave an innocent half smile and nodded.

The king turned his head towards a table: "Come, sit."

As you walked closer you noticed there was displayed the popular game amongst men of power all over the world. Chess.

The two of you sat down, a servant served you wine and than the serious conversation began: "Y/N, I must ask this. How is the healing process going to affect my duties?"

"Not at all." You answered with much confidence. "All I have to do is apply the medicine on your wounds and areas that have in general been infected the most." Explaining to him as Baldwin leaned forward, signaling for you to go on: "This should last approximately 2 to 3 months."

You could sence that he was nervous. After all he was still so young and probably still insecure about his features, as much as someone with a disease that disfigures you can be.

"My lord, you can trust me. Worrying is out of the question here, after all I've been in the medical field all my life. I promise to you I won't let you down." Your words were full of pure determination to save him, they cut so deep into his heart in the best way possible he could just tear up.

~.................~

As you were mixing up the cream that was soon ready to be applied, the tension in the room was indescribable. Baldwin layed on the bed almost unmoving.

His upper body and legs were exposed. What you could see from the start was that his left arm was most infected, than any other body part.

Besides that he still had his mask on, which he would have to remove at some point to get the full healing process done.

The medicine was prepared. You put on your gloves and went to work.

"My lord, if you feel any discomfort during this, please warn me immediately." You stated.

He nodded and even though you couldn't see it because of the mask, the young man was blushing. So far all his personal physicians were males, and since he was sick he was never really touched by a woman in the slightest, besides his mother when he was younger, so of course he was flustered.

You applied the cream firstly on his left arm, being extra careful and waiting for any signs of nausea from the king. Sometimes treating people who have been infected with leprosy can be quite a pain since vomiting and dizziness are common side effects. Luckily the king was doing just fine and in silence you slowly applied the cream all over him. Except his face.

"My lord, may you now remove your mask please?" You smiled softly at him, really trying to get the young king to get comfortable around you since you'd be doing this for 3 months together.

"Is it necessary?" He hesitated. Feelings of shame and insecurity flooded his mind. He never let anyone see his full face, especially not a young woman whom he learned love to gossip around since his sister and her friends used to do it for as long back as he can remember. But this time it was different, and you wanted him to understand so badly: "I understand you may not feel comfortable doing so, but trust me I wish the best for you. To have this treatment the most affective it can be, I'll need to apply it on your face too." You explained as gently as you could.

After a moment, he did it. And he looked beautiful. His face was decorated with a pair of blue eyes and soft locks of golden hair. His face was of course infected, he didn't have a nose and there appeared to be a quite litteral hole in his right cheek but you didn't care. He was handsome no one could deny that.

So you smiled and commented: "My lord, I really can't comprehend why you were so afraid."

He looked up at you, who was now slowly smearing the medicine on his face.

"Is it really that hard to understand?" He sighed.

"My lord, you look just as handsome as any. Infected or not. You are someone young men should look up to. A true God's warrior."

He took a deep breath in, smelling the healing herbs on him.

When you turned around, he shed a tear.

THE END.

[lavenderhorns]

there's a lot of rage swirling around inside me right now I think, just at how things have ended up where I've done all the "right" things that everyone says you should do, gone to college and followed every bit of resume and cover letter advice, and have gotten literally nothing from literal hundreds of job applications. this feeling of being stuck and unable to move forward in life is certainly not a new one to me but it's been amplified so, so much by the fact that I can't find anything for work and am stuck at my dad's place slowly getting more fed up with him each day. there's a lot of anger in watching all my friends struggling with these same issues, about 3 of my 25-ish friends in town have jobs, previously 5 but two of them just got laid off, one when the entire building of 250+ people was unceremoniously canned. there's a lot of simmering fury in how everyone over 30, from friends to family to strangers to people literally working for the career service attached to the government, that just ignore the labour issues going on not just in general but also specific to my province, yknow how unemployment for people my age without that "2+ years work experience required" is approaching 20%, a number that would cause stammered outrage in any of these people if it actually applied to them, but is just quietly ignored when it only applies to the younger generation I guess. like, what is even the emotion that comes from "jobs are so heavily ingrained in society in capitalism that not having one will kill you in many ways BUT you're not allowed to have one no matter how hard you try" aside from just. I'm so goddamn angry, even though I don't like being angry. and there's really nowhere to direct this anger aside from vaguely in the direction of society and established norms and the government, and there's really nothing I can personally do to drag myself out of this situation. I can apply to thousands of jobs and make the most perfect resume ever, but at the end of the day it's not me who decides if I get the job. it's up to whatever shitty ai garbage program is throwing 99% of applications in the shredder to somehow notice mine which then passes it onto an uncaring hiring manager who just picks the person with the most experience and ignores the other 99 resumes the machine spat out because just about every single job here gets hundreds and hundreds of applications because, get this, no one my age is fucking able to find any work! and throughout all of this I'm just doing my best to deal with the creeping dread of slowly feeling that depression (that I don't like thinking about how close got to killing me back in high school) start to rear its head again because it's getting less and less easy to see any sort of future for myself like this. and this is all on top of the canadian housing market meaning I'm never gonna actually own a home, and every bit of daily necessities has been ruthlessly price gouged to 400% of what it was a few years ago and blamed on "inflation" while rent has skyrocketed because landlords imagined a bigger number, and while just about everyone in the country is angry at the PM because of all this it's terrifying to know that the general population political lean is worryingly conservative, as if that isn't the fucking cause of all this. all while I desperately want to transition more and figure out my personal style and dress the way I really want as if that wouldn't kill any and all chances of possibly making it through a job interview assuming I ever even get one.

and like, things aren't all bad for me right now. I'm not actively going broke yet, I have a wonderful long distance partner, I've been getting better at cooking and digital art and meeting even more local friends (many of whom are trans), and in terms of coming into my own as a person I feel like I've finally been settling into who I am.

but like, it kinda pales in comparison to the job market trying to kill me, yknow?

[boosoonhao]

even death (bows before my feet)

vernon x reader 11k words supernatural au violence and death warning

You sigh, the puff of air visible as it leaves your mouth in the chill evening. The sun hangs low on the sky, a burning, orange orb hiding behind vibrant, green trees. Your heels clack against the concrete beneath your feet. Had your body been able to still feel the bites and nips of cold, you’re sure you would be freezing right now. As it is, it doesn’t matter. It’s only a matter of time before the boy is bound to show up. 

Infamous softie Joshua Hong shows up in a loud car and with a jacket he almost seems to drown in. He stops a few feet away from where you’re standing, closes his car door with a lot more force than necessary when he exits his vehicle. You’ve heard rumors about him, about the man who rescues people and demons alike, who only kills in self-defense. Even your people hold some distant, quiet sort of respect for him. Leaving him alone is an unwritten rule. 

Not so much for his companion. There’s not a lot of softness left on Joshua’s face now. 

“You want to resurrect your friend,” you say by way of greeting. Small talk doesn’t seem like much of a necessity. You both know the purpose of your meeting. You both know how many rules you’re breaking. 

“Can you do it?” He asks, sees as little a point in dawdling as you do. His hands are clenched at his sides, the syllables that drift out of his mouth stiff and tense. It’s a wonder, really, how much humans seem to care about mortality, considering their short, insignificant lives. 

“No,” you tell him earnestly. Well– mostly earnestly. You can, of course, if you pull the right strings and make the right deals. You’ve made some sort of preparations, so to speak; found the dead boy’s location and made sure the wrong creatures do not sink their claws in him. You’d rather leave the rest up to someone else. Joshua opens his mouth, probably to complain about deceit and waste of time, but you silence him with a swift palm raised in his direction. “But I know someone who can.”

~~

“And you’re sure this Hoseok guy is going to help?” Joshua asks, for the third time in as many hours. You tap a long finger impatiently against the fogged up window to you right, try not to let it show that you’re uncomfortable in your seat. You can’t really remember the last time you rode in a car, but you remember – quite vividly – where your reluctance to do so came from. Your whole body feels off-kilter, shaken and rattled by every hole in the road and by the ever present thrum of the motor. 

“I’ve already told you,” you mutter, struggle with how thick and clumsy your own tongue feels in your mouth; nausea pushing at the back of your throat. The man’s fast and careless driving does little to alleviate your motion sickness. “He owes me one. He’s going to help.” The memory of a city in flames drift to the forefront of your mind, an unwanted sort of nostalgia tickling at your bones and pulling the edges of your lips down just a fraction.

Joshua hums. There’s something discordant and unpleasant about the sound, despite the man’s soft, low tones. “And you demons sure do love your debts, huh.” 

There’s a sort of bite to his words that you deem wholly unnecessary, that makes you want to bite right back. For centuries, you’ve been content with letting the war between demons and hunters wage on without getting involved, only stepping in when it was asked of you and retreating as soon as your tasks were done. Somehow, you had not imagined that your re-entering into that feud would be on the side of the weak, temperamental humans. 

“You should be grateful,” you tell him, try to keep the poison out of your tone. You might not be human, might not be bound by the same emotional whims as the man next to you in the car, but you still remember the sting off losses of your own, and despite your reputation you’re not an emotionless, unsympathetic creature. To some extent, you do feel sorry for the guy. “Our love of debts is in your favor this time, after all.” You hope the air-quotes you can’t find the energy to physically make is visible enough in your voice. 

Joshua doesn’t respond, but when he glances over at your stiff form, his gaze has softened. You smooth your thumb over the scar along your thigh, and you swear you can feel the bumps of hastily done stitches that left protruding, circular scars on both sides of a thick, ugly line even through the fabric of your pants.

“We’ll see,” Joshua says, and you suppose you will.

~~

“Well, isn’t this an unlikely duo?” 

There’s something about Hoseok that never fails to make the back of your neck tingle. His voice might be pleasant and his expression might be bright, but there’s a distinct sense of mockery that never strays too far away from his lines and his octaves, and even as far as crossroad demons go, he might be the one who makes you the most uneasy. 

The demon in question claps his hands together over his chest, red eyes glowing almost ominously in the pale light of the morning. The hints of a sunrise peeking through the trees gives his tangerine hair a glow that reminds you, uncomfortably, of flames.

“It’s been a while, Hoseok,” you curtly reply, keep your distance as you step out of the car on wobbly legs. Joshua follows suit, stands at your side. You wonder how the demon-friendly boy is feeling now, stuck between two red-eyed monsters. “I hear you’ve been keeping yourself busy.” 

A grin spreads on Hoseok’s lips, slowly and sharply and with the distinct feel of threat reflected in his sparkling row of teeth. You remember when Hoseok was nothing but a simple deal-maker, when his antics were limited to fooling desperate humans. It’s apparent, by his square shoulders and his confident stance, that he enjoys his newfound infamy. 

He waves his hand in your direction, a low, rolling chuckle slipping past his lips. “Oh please,” he says, without an ounce of humility. “We’re not here to talk about me, I hope.” Joshua shifts, takes a step forward. You quickly put a hand on his shoulder, try not to cringe at the way his entire body seems to stiffen. You can’t really blame him, you suppose. 

“I’m here to cash in on that favor you owe me,” you tell the crossroad demon, taking great care not to let the uncertainty slip through your teeth and into the tones of your voice. Hoseok’s eyes seem to grow in intensity, and the air seems to crack as he disappears, reappearing right in front of you. His breaths fall against your nose, and somehow the demon smells like death. 

“Ain’t that interesting,” he tall man whispers, leveling you with a searching gaze that feels heavy against your skin. “I don’t suppose that favor has anything to do with this charming young man’s deceased companion?” There’s a glowing glint to his eyes that makes it blatantly obvious that Hoseok already knows about your recent visits to the underworld. Your jaw tightens, and you have to force yourself not to fold under his glare. 

“How do you know about that?” Joshua pipes up from your side, suspicion dripping from his soft voice. Your hand is still on his shoulder, fingernails digging into the fabric of his thick jacket. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your fingers twitch. 

“He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies,” you mutter, not without disdain. Hoseok takes it in stride, of course, a sort of wicked pride tugging at the edges of his mouth. 

“I do love pie,” he supplies with a jovial shrug. He takes a step back, and your stance relaxes a fraction. You never liked Hoseok much, even before he got chummy with the scum of the underworld. “I’m surprised, though,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “That you’d use your get out of jail free-card on this human boy.” 

He’s fishing, you know, trying to dig into your head in that twisted way he does. Hoseok doesn’t just peddle in deals, and he is not above using your secrets against you if need be. You’re not about to give him any freebies, so you keep your mouth shut and in a thin line. 

“But then,” he murmurs, his voice gentle in a way that makes you feel profoundly uncomfortable. “You always had an affinity for humans, didn’t you?” 

You feel Joshua’s eyes on you. You ignore it. There’s complete silence dominates Hoseok’s crossroad, and it feels like the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. The crossroad demon’s lip twitches. 

“Not in the mood for catching up, I see,” he says with a sort of sharp intake of breath through his teeth, as if to just accentuate the awkwardness of the silence. With a crack, he’s disappeared and reappeared back in the middle of his crossroad. A waterfall of flow-y smoke falls from between his long, pale fingers, and he produces an intimidating silver knife. He drags the steel across his own palm, flicks dark, almost black blood in your direction. It splatters across the ground, sizzles and burns holes in the asphalt. 

“Twenty-four hours,” he tells you, dropping all of his playful pretenses and letting his true, low tones slip through his teeth instead. Somehow, Hoseok scares you less like this; seems far less threatening in his husky voice than in his fake pleasantries. “I hope you know what you’re doing, sweetheart.” 

And, well– that makes two of you.

~~

“I told you,” you sigh, breath fogging up the window as you lean your forehead against it, hands gripping at the plush of the passenger seat. “Twenty-three hours and you’ll have your boy back.” Joshua breathes harshly through his nose, keeps his eyes on the road. His hands grip at the steering wheel. 

“Yes,” he observes, with considerably less enthusiasm than you’d expected. “You’ve certainly made some powerful friends since the last time I saw you.” 

He addresses you as if he’s your father; as if he’s disapproving of your boyfriend or your new circle of friends. It’s strangely intimate for acquaintances, and you don’t really know how to respond to the accusation, such as it is. “I wouldn’t go that far,” you settle on, shifting your legs awkwardly in the cramped space of the car. “Anyways, I hope you didn’t have your friend cremated, otherwise this trip is completely wasted.” 

You think about the few hunter customs that you know of, of funeral pyres and of drowning your sorrows in revenge and booze. Joshua seems to have forgone all of that, but then, he’s not really a hunter, is he? He taps his fingers along the rubber of the steering wheel, eyes squinting as if he’s looking beyond the landscape rushing by and into some distant memory. 

“It was my fault we were at that river in the first place,” he says, as if he totally missed your jokey comment about cremation (which, to be fair, might have been for the best). You feel an emotional story coming, and you brace yourself. Joshua Hong might not be your least favorite human, but this trait that humans seem to all possess, this need to share, you could be without. “We were on our way to visit his sister, and I just had to stop and look for fucking rocks.” 

You blink at that, mystified by the nonsensical notion of stopping by a river to look for rocks, until you remember that the boy had, the last time the two of you met, had a collection of small, colorful stones in the pocket of his jacket. He had told you at the time, with a needle sticking into the skin of your thigh and a bottle of vodka on the ground next to him, that he needed something to collect, something to keep him grounded in all the crazy he was surrounded by. 

“He was gone before I even managed to pull him out of the water,” he says it with the sort of detachment that only someone who has spent too much time agonizing over a tragedy can manage. No wonder he looks like he hasn’t slept since; you’ve seen river spirits before, know how violent and ravenous they can get. People give demons and vampires flack for killing without a reason; water spirits kill for sport, feed on the look of pain and fear in their victims eyes. 

Truth be told, you’re not sure what to say. You’re not sure why you’re even still with the  boy, why you’re enduring yet another horrid ride in his vehicle from hell. The young man had given you a sort of glare that seemed to tell you to get in the car when Hoseok had disappeared from the crossroad, and for some reason you’d just followed along. He’s lonely, you figure; desperate for interaction after the loss of his friend. 

“There’s no use in obsessing over it now,” you tell him, for lack of a more comforting thing to say. Joshua hums, as if that’s just what he expected you to say. His hands grip a bit tighter around the wheel, but his face remains unchanged. “It’s fixed now anyways, isn’t it? You corrected whatever mistake you think you made.” 

Joshua hesitates, looks like he wants to argue, but ultimately he settles on chewing on his bottom lip and muttering a sort of quiet and demure ‘thank you’, and the rest of the ride passes in silence.

You’ve never seen anyone awaken from the dead before, though you have heard the horror stories. Most of the time, they involve vampires, and their semi-barbaric ritual of making their ‘newborns’ claw themselves out of their graves as sort of a test to see if they’re strong enough to be accepted into the coven. 

The graveyard is quiet, bathed in a soft, orange light that illuminates on top of shimmering gravestones. Birds hum in the distance and despite your inability to feel cold, goosebumps erupt along your forearms. Then again, maybe that’s just the tension from what’s about to happen.

‘Hansol Vernon Chwe’ the gravestone reads; elegant, golden letters against smooth, grey stone. The sound of dirt being shoveled distracts you from being too caught up in the solemn mood of the place, and when you level your eyes squarely on the growing hole in front of you, you see that Joshua seems to have finally hit the casket. 

“Fancy funeral for a hunter,” you remark, forget to even take into consideration that humans tend to be a lot touchier about death than demons are. Joshua stops digging, gazes up at you from his deep hole. It’s actually a bit impressive, how competent of a grave robber the pretty boy would’ve been, had he not had such a spotless moral compass. He squints up at you, and you grimace. “Sorry. Graveyards make me uncomfortable.”

“His parents didn’t know,” he supplies, kneeling down to dust dirt and pebbles off of the surface of the casket. You take a step closer to the edge of the hole to look down. Even the wood of the casket looks expensive, you muse. “They think it was some freak accident.” 

You wonder if that’s really true, or if it’s just another case of humans pretending to believe things because it’s more convenient. Whatever the case, you choose not to voice that suspicion, deciding to instead address an equally important question. “What’re you gonna tell ‘em now, then?”

Joshua exhales through his nose. It’s a long and exhausted sound, the kind of elongated sigh that sounds like it strains the lungs. When he looks up at you, a thin layer of sweat covers his forehead. “Well, you’re called the memory stealer, aren’t you?”

A muscle in your jaw twitches, and you have to fight back the urge to bite your own tongue just to keep yourself from coming with a scathing remark. You hate that name, hate the implications of it, hate that someone as soft and careful as Joshua Hong knows about it. Most of all, you hate that you can’t deny it. You don’t respond. It seems he doesn’t need you to. He pushes back up into a standing position, massages his own neck with a dirty hand and glances at the watch strapped around his wrist. It looks almost like he’s regained some gusto you didn’t know he possessed, his movements more energized, more confident. 

Humans tend to need some sort of purpose, you suppose, some goal to work towards. No wonder he’s been so obsessive in his quest to revive this ‘Hansol’. 

“I need you to help me open up the casket.”

~~

A lot of things seem to happen at once. You take hold of the roof of the casket, feel the wood resist against your pull. The clock is ticking, and by the time you get the top of the casket off, the wood creaking in pain at the forceful handling, twenty-four hours have passed. 

The boy emerges from the soft, plush inside of his not-so-final resting bed like an abused animal from a cage that’s just been opened. He flings himself over you with a force you’d be impressed with had you not been so caught surprised by it. He brings his fingers – bony and stiff with inactivity – around your neck, knocks his long, skinny body against you and makes you fall over against the walls of the hole. Dirt and grime drizzles down your face, your body, and once you’ve got your head straight again, you raise your hand to blast him back. 

“Vernon,” Joshua half-whispers, half-yells from somewhere in front of you, his voice coated in something that sounds like a bizarre mix of relief and panic. You spot the man as he puts his hands on your attacker’s shoulders, his knuckles whitening with the forcefulness of his grip. “Stop, you’re safe. You’re back.”

His grip loosens, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, fingertips still digging into the base of your neck. That, at least, is a good sign; that he at least still have some semblance of sanity left. He stares you down, breathes so rapidly and loudly that it sounds like it must hurt his throat. Recognition flashes in his eyes. His hair falls down his forehead, pale brown and greasy against his skin. 

“I know you,” he says, and his voice feels like being hit in the face; too low for his pretty face and too raspy for his smooth features. He lets his arms fall from your neck to hang stiffly at his sides. Joshua shoots you a suspicious glare. “You were there.” 

He doesn’t even call it by name, doesn’t need to. The mere mention is enough to send shivers down your spine. It runs through your body, makes you feel the flames lick at your skin and the screams of pain echo in your head. At least he doesn’t look as ragged as he had done down there. You wonder if that sense of victory that blooms in the pit of your stomach is anything like whatever possesses Joshua to keep doing what he does. 

“What the fuck is going on, Josh?” Vernon twists his head and upper body to face his friend, the detached, almost angry tone of his voice making the other man frown. There’s a stiffness to his body that you don’t think comes from having been dead, and you think back to the stories you’ve been told about people being brought back to life. About the man who lost his daughter, who sold his soul to get her back, only to discover it had been to late, that her sanity had been broken months ago and all that was left was a body. Not even a demon, or a ‘zombie’. Just a rabid, scared little girl. 

Hansol – or Vernon, as Joshua had called him – doesn’t seem to be quite there, but he does seem to have lost something, still. There’s a lack of an inflection when he speaks, a robotic sort of tenseness to his movements, small as they are. You wonder if, if you strip him of his black blazer and his neat, white shirt, you can still make out the wounds and scars from the razor sharp, metallic whip that the demons of the underworld seem to favor. 

“I’ll explain everything,” Joshua promises, puts his hand securely around Vernon’s upper arm. “But not here. Not right now.” His voice is hard, echoes with authority. You’re starting to realize that Joshua’s reputation as a soft, peace loving pacifist might not be completely accurate. 

He did, after all, just disobey one of the most basic laws of nature. 

Joshua clumsily helps Vernon out of the hole, both of their outfits getting smeared in filth in the process. The sun is starting to rise dangerously, and the time until they’re undoubtedly caught digging up graves is closing in on you all. Usually, you’d take this risk as your cue to leave, but somehow the blank, disinterested look on Vernon’s face and the low, terrified tones of Joshua’s voice has you hesitating. 

“Go back to the car,” you tell them both, cracking the muscles in your fingers as if to warm yourself up. The art of manipulating time and space is not an easy thing, never a pleasant experience even for you, who has all the practice in the world at it. “I’ll take care of this mess.”

It seems to dawn on Joshua, then, that he had not thought things completely through, that he didn’t really have a plan for covering up this particular mess. You try not to roll your eyes, settle instead for a raised brow and a knowing look. Cleaning up after humans seems to be a byproduct of dealing with the species. Joshua nods, and you turn back to look at the mess. You inhale. And then you work.

Getting the dirt and the soil back in it’s original place is no task at all, truly. Just a matter of some levitation and a bit of willpower; even the newest, less experienced demons with an ambition in time and memory work could do something as simple, something that basically comes down to gardening. The fact that the grave was new, fresh to begin with works to your advantage, no need for grass to sprout on top of the soil once it’s put back in it’s spot. 

Changing the inscriptions on the tombstone is a bit harder, makes the back of your eyes prickle as if someone’s poking you with needles. You replace the name with the first name that comes to mind, a name that never got a proper tombstone or a proper burial. You pretend to convince yourself that the sting in your chest comes from exhaustion. 

The last part of the spell – as people has called it – the part that fills your mouth with a coppery taste and that has blood dripping out of your mouth, is the lingering, long lasting field of manipulation around the grave. You can’t completely erase Vernon’s existence, nor the actuality of his death, but you can confuse people coming to his grave enough to distract from it.

“Neat trick,” you hear from behind you, the voice so unexpected it makes you jump. You’re faced, unsurprisingly, with Vernon’s distinct features and tired eyes, his gaze not focused on you but on the tombstone behind you. “So do I just not exist anymore or what?” 

You frown, twist your hands around to loosen the tension in your wrists. “Don’t be silly,” you tell him, more than a little bit uncomfortable with being alone with the dead boy walking. “For that I’d have to eat the heart of a newborn.”

Vernon blinks, but his face remains otherwise blank. For a moment you’re not even sure that he’s caught on to the fact that you were joking, and you suppose that’s on you for trying to crack jokes over the grave of a boy who’s been alive again for a whopping ten minutes. “Funny,” he supplies at last, but his voice is devoid of emotion. He shifts on his feet in clunky steps, looks back as if to make sure no one’s listening in on your conversation. 

“Are you going to do that to my family as well?” He asks, and normally you’d be able to gauge what response someone was looking for by the way they asked the question. Having lived as long as you have, human behavior becomes sort of predictable, after all, but Vernon doesn’t move, doesn’t raise his voice, and all you really manage to do is nod. “Good,” he mutters, and that’s that. You wonder if he’ll have the same opinion on the matter once his emotions return – if they ever do. 

“Did you tell Joshua? About Hell, I mean,” He goes on, surprisingly talkative for someone so dull and rough around the edges. There’s a raspy quality to his voice that you doubt is supposed to be there, and when you tell him that no, you haven’t talked to Joshua about Hell at all, Vernon looks the most relieved that he’s done since coming back to life. “Don’t. He doesn’t need to know.”

You don’t tell Vernon that you hadn’t intended to anyways, that you’d rather not talk or think about the underworld ever again. That’s not their business, just like Vernon’s decision is not yours. Vernon turns back to retreat towards Joshua’s car, and after one lingering glance back at the masked tombstone, you follow. You swipe your hand at the drying blood right above your lip, and you brace yourself for phase two.

(The mind is a fragile thing, vulnerable to impressions and attacks in all forms. This is true for all sentient beings, even those who dabble in memory curses and manipulation. For as easy it is to shape the mind as you want with your skills, it’s dangerous, not to mention draining, taking much more energy out of you than connecting made up memories to a place or an object. It’s a risk every time you do it, and you suppose that is how it has to be. 

Which is why you tell Joshua to join you as you stop the car in front of Vernon’s parents’ house, why reluctance bites at your skin as you get out of the car. When you turn to look back, Vernon himself is staring unblinkingly at you from his seat. 

His family is just what you’d expect from someone with such a bright and warm home, from someone who cared enough to put so much money into their son’s funeral. They greet Joshua like he’s one of their own, gentle hands and tight hugs making the both of you uncomfortable. They do not ask questions, do not put you on the spot, and for the first time in many years, you feel a pang of genuine guilt at what you’re about to do. 

Stealing memories from a person feels sort of like sucking all of the air out of the room and into your own mouth. There’s a taste to it, in a way, a flavor of longing and love and pain tickling the roof of your mouth with each emotion, each thought that fills your body and occupies the space in your head. You can’t remove Vernon’s existence completely, not when there are so many objects that tell of his presence in his family’s life, but you can remove the hurt, the death and the funeral. That doesn’t make it un-happen, doesn’t make the pain erased from the world, only moves it somewhere else.

Your heart is heavy with each thought, with the memories of black clothes and high pitches crying that forces itself into your mind, and though you do not know the boy more than you know of his presence in the car right outside, you mourn his passing as if you’ve known him since birth. You want to cry, you want to yell and throw things around, and distantly you feel a sort of self-loathing for things unsaid, words that aren’t even your own but that feels undeniably true in your heart.

The last thing you recall before the spell is complete and you fade into unconsciousness is a strong, overwhelming thought of ‘why couldn’t it have been me instead’. And then everything goes black.)

~~

When you wake up, you’re in an unfamiliar room, lying in an unfamiliar bed. The remnants of emotions and memories that aren’t yours linger in the back of your mind, makes the hair at the back of your neck stand. Your vision is foggy, your body hot and cold all at once.

”You’re awake,” comes the easily recognizable, raspy sound of Vernon’s voice from next to you, and when you twist your body around to follow the sound, you’re met with red cheeks and plump lips, pale brown curls that look a lot less lifeless after – you assume – a thorough shower. He looks down at you, looks considerable more alive than he did when you first un-buried him, but his gaze is still, for the most part, blank. That much is to be expected, but somehow, with the new surge of memories connected to the boy, it hurts to look at him. 

”Joshua’s grocery shopping,” he explains, rolls his shoulders almost as if he’s uncomfortable. You hum, let your gaze follow the lines of his face and the arch of his neck before you sit up and stretch. Outside, the sun is high on the sky; you must have been out for at least a few hours. “We’re at a motel. He said you needed rest.” 

”So you’ve just been creepily staring at me while I was sleeping, then?” you mutter, fingers clutching at your tense shoulder, nails digging into skin. Vernon exhales through his nose, drags a hand through his hair. He leans back in his chair, head slightly tilted as he watches your movements. 

”Joshua’s acting like I’m gonna burst into flames any moment,” Vernon says without really looking at you, seems to fall further into the plush of his chair. “It’s driving me crazy.” Somehow, you’re not sure if he really understands how unsettling that sentence is, considering. “Besides,” he continues, leaning a fraction closer to your spot on the bed. You feel strangely exposed, put on the spot by the sudden closeness. “I feel less dead when you’re here. Why is that?”

The confession, blunt and careless as it is, sends a shiver through your body, makes you feel off-kilter in a way that’s both completely too familiar and strange all at once. It makes you mourn for him, in a sense, to know that he still feels dead after being resurrected. It’s one of the prices you have to pay, you suppose, when you play around with something as important as life and death. It’s unfair, really, that he had to pay it, as little as he had to do with the resurrection itself. 

”I don’t know,” you tell him, leaning back on your arms for support. Your shoulders feel heavy, weighed down by the intensity of Vernon’s glare. It’s apparent that the boy’s not as easily swayed and endeared to dark creatures as his companion is. “I’m sure it’ll pass.” 

Vernon hums, a surprisingly soft sound that vibrates through his closed lips as he turns his gaze to the open window at the end of the tiny bedroom. “Isn’t it kind of funny? You’re the demon, but I’m the one who seems less human.” 

He doesn’t sound like he finds it funny at all. The inexplicable need to ease up the lines of tension in the lines of his face makes your fingers itch. 

”If it makes you feel any better,” you start with uncertainty coating your tongue and making it feel awkward in your mouth. You’ve never really been good at comfort, never been put in a position where you’ve felt like you have to consider your words and mind your tones. Vernon looks fierce, looks strong; his jawline sharp and his features more defined with the hours he’s spent back above the earth, but somehow his presence feels fragile, like a string pulled too thin. “I ripped open a casket and defiled a tombstone. As far as humanity goes, I think you’re still in the lead.”

Vernon’s lip twitches, tells in low whispers of a secret sort of smile that almost breaks out on his face. It’s a start, if nothing else. “It doesn’t,” he murmurs, with a distant sort of warmth to his low tones. “But thank you for trying.” 

The floorboards creak in the hallway, and when you snap your gaze in the direction of the barely open door, you see the flash of a figure disappearing from the opening. 

It’s hard to care about the fact that Joshua’s been eavesdropping when Vernon’s eyes shine as bright as you’ve seen them.

(The third night of your stay at the motel, you hear a garbled sort of scream coming from one of the connecting rooms. You jolt up in your own bed, sit up with your hands clutching at the sheets and your eyes squinted in an attempt at looking around the room. Your first thought is that someone’s found you, someone who does not approve of Joshua’s attempts at playing God. 

The aforementioned man himself appears in the doorway to your room, hair sticking out in every direction and face coated in a mixture of sleep and panic. 

“He’s having a nightmare,” he explains, and the organ in your chest relaxes a fraction; at least that means no demons or monsters are knocking down your doors yet. “I can’t–” he cuts himself off, a layer of shame taking over his expression. “I can’t wake him up.” 

There’s a tinge of resentment there, but underneath it you can hear the underlying tint of a question he’s reluctant to ask. You inhale, drag yourself out of the bed. Inexplicably, embarrassment burns at the back of your throat as you follow Joshua out into the hallway, the screams increasing in volume, it seems, with every step you take. Joshua pushes open the door to what you assume to be Vernon’s bedroom. 

The boy lies in his bed, knuckles as white as the sheets his fists are clutching to, and his skin shimmers brightly with a thin layer of sweat. You shoot Joshua an uncertain look, only moving into the bedroom when the man nods, presses a gentle hand to your shoulder blade. You chew on your bottom lip, approach the screaming boy and put your hands on his face. His skin feels like fire. 

“Vernon,” you murmur, realizing only after the fact that it’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud. He tries to wrestle his face out of your grip, but even in his sleeping panic, he’s got nothing on your inhuman strength. You dig your fingernails into his cheeks, force his face in your direction. You repeat his name, louder this time, more authoritative and with the barest tint of persuasive power slipping through your lips. “Wake up,” you tell him, more a command than anything else. 

When he obeys, it’s with a sharp intake of breath and a jolt as if he’s been struck by lightning. He stares at you as if he doesn’t quite recognize you, and for a moment you worry he’s about to start hyperventilating; his chest rising and falling a tad too rapidly. When at last he murmurs your name, it’s with a softness that makes you feel off-kilter and strange; not entirely an unpleasant feeling. You hear the door close behind you, and then it’s just the two of you in the darkness. 

“It was just a nightmare,” you tell him. A presumptuous statement, considering you know first hand how real dreams can turn out to be. Vernon grimaces, and when you make a move to remove your hands from his face, he moves quickly, hand coming up to grip at your wrist, keep your hand there.

“Was it, though?” He asks, eyes hooded. You feel the vibrations of his voice against your palm, and it almost makes your breath hitch. 

An affinity for humans, Hoseok had said. You thought you’d ridden yourself of that quality ages ago. The warmth that spreads through your body as Vernon sleepily leans against your palm tells another story. 

“You should sleep more,” you tell him, opting to ignore his question. He lets the hand that’s holding onto you fall, but does not loosen his grip, making your own arm fall against the mattress with it. “It’s still dark outside.” You hope he doesn’t notice the uneven quality of your voice. He falls back against his pillow. When you try to push yourself back up from your kneeling position next to the bed, his grasp around your wrist tightens, nails digging crescents into your skin. 

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t say anything, but somehow his eyes tell you everything you need to know; fear and shame battling for domination in his expression. You sit back down against the cold floor, lean your back against the side of the bed, and only then does he let go of your wrist.

You spend the rest of the night listening to the discordant song of your heart beating in your chest, almost, sort of in tune with Vernon’s breath as it evens out and he falls back asleep.)

~~

A long time ago, when you had a companion of your own, you were often told of how you carried yourself as if you were a cold, cynic being of the underworld, but that underneath you hid a myriad of too strong emotions. You used to vehemently deny this accusation, scrunch up your nose and make some sort of scathing remark.

But now, weeks into your new companionship with a makeshift doctor for demons and humans alike and a recently dead boy, you can’t really find it in you to deny it anymore. 

Vernon is starting to act more like a human being again, chuckles at your throwaway jokes and chides Joshua for his hovering with true emotion coated in his voice. He still has nightmares, still clutches at your skin after every one of them. You’ve started renting only two bedrooms at the motels you stay at. Joshua looks at you with suspicion in his otherwise gentle face, but he says nothing.

“Sometimes I still feel the lashes across my back,” Vernon whispers, his breaths hitting your face with each syllable. Joshua might keep quiet, might keep his emotions masked and his true thoughts unheard, but Vernon– Vernon talks like he’ll cease to exist if he doesn’t. He tells you about his nightmares, about how he can’t be sure whether they’re just that– dreams, or if they’re suppressed memories from his time in the underworld. You want to assure him that they’re the former, want to reach out and smooth out the wrinkles of stress on his face, but somehow the sight of him steals away your ability to move and all you can do is listen. 

You’re not sure if he even notices how touchy he becomes once he’s grown used to your presence next to him; his fingers running absentminded lines and shapes over your exposed skin, pressing into your flesh when he recalls something especially uncomfortable. It’s a strange shift, when he goes from that unintentionally restrained nonchalance that drifts over him sometimes during the day, emotions seemingly not the default setting in his brain, to that wide open, vulnerable and genuine being he is when the sun disappears behind the trees. 

You think Joshua might be jealous that Vernon somehow feels more comfortable opening up to you than he feels towards his oldest friend. You want to tell him it’s just because he wants to spare him of the gruesome details. It’s easy to think, with just one glance, that Joshua is the protective one out of the two; the truth is that the boys seem to share a bond that’s so genuine and so fiercely loyal that nothing even comes close, least of all you, the newcomer. 

So maybe, then, you’re the jealous one. 

“I want to try something,” Vernon says quietly, voice barely above a whisper and almost not loud enough to pull you out of your train of thought. When you focus your gaze back up at his face, there’s open hesitation visible in the soft lines of his face. His fingers stop at the edge of your shoulder, plays with the hem of your t-shirt. You can’t be sure if the way his gaze drops for a moment, seemingly lingering at the bottom of your face, is a trick of the light or an actual thing. Whatever the case, it makes you heart do a weird sort of jump in your chest. “If that’s okay with you.” 

“Sure,” you whisper, try to keep your voice steady. The exhale that leaves Vernon’s mouth if nothing if not relieved. And then he’s shifting on the bed, his hands coming up to rest against your cheekbones in a scene at almost perfectly mirrors the one that had started your shared living situation in the first place. At first you think that might be all he wants to do, to press his fingertips into the flesh of your cheeks and rub his fingers along the edges of your lips, but then he’s leaning closer, his eyes falling shut, and you forget how to breathe.

You’ve been kissed before, of course; by multiple people and in multiple circumstances. Some of them were slow and meaningful, others just a means to seal a deal. None of them felt quite like this. Vernon clutches at your face as if his own actions terrifies him, as if he’s not wholly sure that he should be doing what he’s doing. He breathes through his nose, sharp huffs of air against your skin, and for a moment all there is to it is a press of lips against lips. It’s nothing, all things considered, but somehow it feels like it’s everything. His pulse feels like a drum against your skin.

Somewhere between the tenth and the fifteenth beat of your heart, he seems to gain confidence, pulling at your face as if he wants to consume you, lips moving just enough to make your own hands grasp at the front of his shirt. Every inch of your body feels like it’s on fire; the feeling too much, too overwhelming, too pleasant for you even to consider what that means. When Vernon pulls his face away from yours, something that sounds partly like an exhale and partly like a giggle escapes his mouth, and your heart literally soars.

“Did you figure it out?” you ask breathlessly, head swimming and skin itching. Your lips feel cold, wet without his own pressed against them, and an impulse you barely manage to fight back urges you to lean after him. Vernon swallows thickly, his hands not leaving your face.

“I’m not sure,” he says with a sort of wonder coating the tones of his voice. He sounds more like himself, like the image of him that you stole from his parents, than he has ever done before. His gaze falls back down to your lips and he murmurs, “I think I should try again.” 

You put your fingers gingerly at the back of his ears and you pull. You let him try again. And again. And again and again until you can’t even remember what the purpose of it all was in the first place.

~~

More weeks pass, and somehow you fall into a routine. The routine consists of you telling yourself to withdraw yourself from the previous duo of two human boys, to leave before things get messy, followed by doing the exact opposite. You let Vernon tangle his fingers with your own in quiet, unnoticed moments, let him trail kisses along your jawline and press his fingernails into your hips, and you pretend that you’re not getting completely swallowed up by a boy who’s still learning how to feel again.

(Joshua, on the other hand, does not pretend not to notice, though that would’ve been the – in your opinion – more polite, less annoying thing to do.)

When two weeks pass without incident, without nightmares, you tell yourself you’re going to stop sleeping in the same bed as him. Joshua squints, glares intensely at you when you interrupt him at the counter of the next motel and tell the manager that you’ll need three bedrooms rather than two. Vernon almost doesn’t look nonchalant. 

He comes into your room later that night, whispered words of apologies and worries eager to tumble out of his mouth. Has he done something wrong, he wonders. Has he made you uncomfortable, forced his intimacy on you without caring about your wishes? He’s careful not to speak of feelings, but there’s a distinct undercurrent of the thing, nonetheless. 

(”Listen,” Joshua says, pulling you out of your clouded mind and troubled thoughts. When you look up to meet his gaze, there’s a sort of hardness to his expression that makes you feel oddly put in place, even before he’s opened his mouth. “We need to talk about you and Vernon.”)

“No,” you tell him, truthfully, with a heart that hammers too hard, feels to exposed. “I just thought, you haven’t had any nightmares lately. Figured you’d want to try sleeping on your own again.” You’re careful not to talk about your own wants, or your own wishes, scared of something you’re not ready to voice slipping through your gritted teeth. 

“And if I don’t?” He asks, as if it’s a challenge, as if he’s revealing his cards just by virtue of the question. “Will you keep sleeping with me, then?” The phrasing catches you off guard, makes your skin feel hot and your palms sweaty. His own eyes widen, his face clearly reddened even in the darkness. He mutters, almost reluctantly, “You know what I mean.” 

(”What about me and Vernon?” You ask, as if the notion of the two of you put together in a sentence is absolutely ludicrous. Joshua’s gaze sharpens, and somehow you think you’ve said the wrong thing. Unfortunately for you both, you’re not known for folding against a challenge. You put your chin in the palm of your hand, stare back at him with venom that mirrors his own harsh expression.

“Vernon’s still learning how to be alive again, he doesn’t need you confusing him,” Joshua says, and at least you can give him credit for putting it bluntly and not beating around the bush. The accusation stings, more than you expected it to, and for a moment you can’t muster up any sort of response. “I don’t mind having you here, but if you’re just playing games, you should leave.”

There’s finality in his tone, and for a second you entertain the idea. He’s right, of course, in that you should leave. Hanging around humans clearly isn’t good for your mental health, and certainly not for your reputation. But the sight of Vernon’s smile, still awkward and kind of uncertain, drifts to the forefront of your mind, and makes your breath come out as a shudder.

“You have to stop babying him, Joshua,” you murmur, attempt to make your voice as soft and smooth as possible. “Vernon’s more resilient than you think.”)

The smart thing to do, you think, is to tell Vernon to go back to his room, to get used to sleeping alone. There’s no need, really, for the two of you to share quarters anymore, and you’re sure that the reason he’s so reluctant to do so is that he’s gotten used to the shared warmth of two bodies in one bed. You tell yourself this, force yourself to believe it, because any other line of thinking undoubtedly only leads to heartbreak. But the mind; the mind is such a treacherous thing, and the thing that comes out of your mouth instead is: 

“Of course.”

You move over, make space from him on the mattress, and when Vernon climbs in with something that sounds too much like a relieved sigh, lies down and pulls you against his chest, you can’t do anything but chastise yourself for letting yourself so wrapped up in the boy that refusing him seems like such an impossibility. His arm feels heavy over your waist, his feet cold as they tangle up in your own, but somehow, sleep has never come more easily.

~~

The first time you sleep with Vernon, it’s an accident. Sort of.

You’re both more than a little buzzed, empty cans of beer littered over the floor and air hot with tension. Joshua has disappeared off to god knows where – something, you notice, he seems to do a lot these days – and the two of you are, more than ever, alone.

Vernon’s eyes are hooded, but his gaze is full of intent as he stares in you direction on the other side of the table. You try not to feel scrutinized, busy yourself with finishing off your beer. He reaches for your free hand where it lies with fingers spread over the brown wood of the table, intertwines his digits with your own and pulls. “Come here,” he murmurs, voice laced with the uneven notes of someone who’s had a tad too much to drink to be completely sharp in their pronunciations. 

You comply, pushing yourself to your feet and walking around the small table to stand in front of his own seated form. He stares up at you with a sort of twinkle you can’t be sure if comes from the dim lights in the roof of the room or from something else entirely. He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls, wraps his legs around yours and presses the side of his face to your stomach. 

It’s somehow both an oddly innocent and intimate action all at once, his fingertips slipping past the hem of your shirt to lightly skim over the skin of your back. He exhales, the sound stutter-y. When he speaks, the words vibrate against your stomach and you place your hands at his shoulders, if only because you think your feet might give out if you don’t. 

“I somehow imagined a demon to have cold skin,” he tells you, affection blatantly present in his voice as he presses his fingertips along your spine. He twists his head, his nose poking against your ribcage. The feeling makes you squirm, but it’s not wholly unpleasant. “You’re warm,” he whispers, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt. “You have a heartbeat, too.”

You clutch at his sweater, try to stop yourself from shivering as you look down into his mess of curls. You could tell yourself it’s the alcohol that makes your heart rate speed up, that makes you want to press your thumb against the pulse in his neck and lean down to hide your face in his hair. But in this; in this honest and semi-drunken moment of intimacy, you allow yourself to be candid, if only to yourself. 

You really are falling for this silly, strange human.

“It’s just the benefits of a human host,” you murmur, not without humor, tangle your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp in a show of affection you’ll probably berate yourself for later. Vernon hums, and you feel the upwards curve of his lips against your stomach even with the layer of fabric between your skin and his mouth. You wonder how it looks, feels a bizarre need to see how each and every sort of smile paints his face. “There’s still a scary, dark creature hiding underneath my skin.”

“Interesting,” he muses. Then he’s staring up at you, chin pressing into your stomach. His fingers inches upwards along your back, scrunching up your shirt as he goes. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he confesses, cheeks red with more than just alcohol. The moment feels heavy, life-changing, somehow. His fingers inch higher, plays with the strap of your bra. “Like you’re just indulging me because of the whole… being dead thing.” 

You feel like if you were ever going to admit that you often feel the same way, that you fear that you’re abusing the soothing effect your presence seems to have on him, it would be now. That if you were going to confess that your heart seems to skip a beat every time he as much as looked your way, this would be the opportune moment.

But you never were the most courageous of demons, so instead you tell him; 

“As if a weak human boy could take advantage of a powerful demon like me.” 

Vernon laughs at that; a true laugh, a laugh that starts in his stomach and erupts out of his mouth as if it can’t help itself. It makes his mouth spread in a smile that is too wide, that makes his upper lip nothing but a thin line and that shows off a beautiful row of white teeth. That makes your heart do a strange wallop and that makes unbidden words curl your tongue in your mouth. 

Vernon stands up, his face light with humor and your shirt inch even further up your body. He takes a few steps, his face tilting slightly to angle itself against yours. “Is this okay?” He asks, pulls at your shirt as if to emphasize. You take hold of the bottom of your own shirt, pull it off in one swift movement, and once the garment is discarded, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into perhaps the first kiss between the two of you that you’ve initiated. 

He exhales through his nose, digs his fingers into your skin and blindly guides you in the general direction of the bed in the other end of the room. You both fall down on the hard mattress, the air knocked out of you for more reasons than the impact, and when Vernon situates himself between your legs, grounds his pelvis against yours in such a forceful, needy motion that it makes your breath catch, you can’t even muster up the will to feel bad about your choices.

(The pendant you always wear around your neck – a gift from a friend from a long, long time ago – is nowhere to be seen when you wake up to an empty bed the next day. It reappears, though, around Vernon’s neck when you find him outside chatting with Joshua. He looks at you like you’ve hung the bright, yellow sun in the sky and you can’t make yourself ask for the piece of jewelry back.)

~~

“I want to apologize to you,” Joshua says, seemingly out of nowhere, while the two of you raid the dairy aisle at the local 24 hours mart near the newest motel. The sincerity in his voice makes you pause, squinting in his direction as if you could decipher what he’s talking about if only you stared hard enough. 

“What for?” you relent at last, unable to summon up some sort of mind reader abilities out of nowhere. Joshua shrugs, grabs a carton of milk from the nearest shelf, looks around as if he’s  about to reveal some big secret. 

“For what I said about your thing with Vernon,” he tells you, and the mere mention of your… ‘thing with Vernon’ makes your face heat up. Suddenly, the laces on your shoes become intensely interesting, and you can’t quite look up from the floor. 

“Yes,” you reply, dragging out the vowel and making your tone carefully blank. You take care not to play into the confession you can tell he’s trying to drag out of you, responding instead with your natural instinct; to make a joke out of it. “I was sort of offended that you doubted my nanny-ing abilities.” Even to your own ears, the quip falls flat, and you grimace, grateful that you can’t see the look on the man’s face. Joshua hums, as he so often does whenever you’ve said something he finds interesting or telling for some reason.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he allows, a sort of playful edge to his voice letting you know that he does not fall for your attempts at dodging the subject. He clears his throat, shuffles on his feet, and you can tell, without even looking at him, that he’s about to spout some typical human sincerities at you. “I see how the two of you look at each other. I’m sorry for misjudging you, that’s all.”

You’re about to reply, to follow up with another obviously dodgy joke, when Vernon appears from somewhere behind you, carrying a basket full of beer and snacks. He stops just a step too close for comfort following the conversation you’ve just had with Joshua, and when he presses a hand to the small of your back your neck tingles almost uncomfortably. “What’re you guys talking about?”

Joshua, to his credit, seems to catch quite quickly that you’re not wholly inclined to indulge more into the subject and lifts up the carton of milk instead, shaking it lightly with a pleasant smile on his face. “Milk,” he says, his tone so ridiculously bright that it must be the most obvious lie in the world. 

“Riveting,” Vernon replies, his thumb traveling along your spine in a slow, almost tantalizing line. Joshua rolls his eyes, strides past the both of you with a knowing look sent in your direction.

“Let’s get back to the motel,” he says, and then he’s walking towards the cashier as if he can’t get out of the store quickly enough. Once he’s out of sight, Vernon stares you down for a moment, before pressing a quick, casual kiss to your lips. It’s the sort of kiss you imagine couples must share; an afterthought more than a statement, but meaningful nonetheless. It makes you think about Vernon’s worries about taking advantage, about your own thoughts in that direction. 

You’ve dawdled too long, you conclude, watching the two men’s backs as you all retreat out of the store and back to the car. You barely even feel sick when you ride it anymore. Unease grips at your bones as you make a decision. 

It’s time to go back to your job as the memory stealer. Somehow you didn’t imagine you’d ever be your own client.

~~

You find Vernon at the top of a hill a few days later, head tilted back and with a beer in his hand. Once you step closer, you see stars reflected in his wide open eyes, his expression relaxed and neutral as he taps absentmindedly against the metal of the beer can. Your heart feels heavy, head buzzing with exhaustion and pulling at the frayed edges of reality; it’s already hard to distinguish what is real and what isn’t.

“I need to tell you something,” you say by way of greeting, stopping right next to him and making yourself comfortable on the grass. The vibrant, green strands tickle against your skin, but somehow the feeling just makes you heavier. Vernon turns his head to the side, looks at you with worry in the creases between his brows. 

“Something wrong?” he asks, and not for the first time you’re impressed with how far he’s come in terms of reading the mood. It’s easy to forget that just a mere two months ago, he barely even knew what a joke was, could not sleep without being overwhelmed by night terrors. You shrug. 

“There was a boy once,” you start, deciding to just jump right into it. You try remembering when you told this story last, when you muttered the name that now resides on a gravestone that used to read ‘Hansol Vernon Chwe’, but you come up empty. “His name was Jihoon. He was a human, too.” 

Vernon watches, his mouth pulled into a tight, carefully blank line. He does not speak. 

“We were kinda like you and Joshua, I guess; companions on the road. He hated me at first,” there’s some nostalgia there, some fondness hidden beneath all the hurt. It had been an unfortunate – not to mention ridiculous – curse that had brought you together at first, that had forced you and the temperamental, small human to travel together. By the time you found the cause of it, a bond had already formed. You tell Vernon this, explain your whole history in short, stunted sentences.

Your words start cracking once you get to the part with the vampires, with Jihoon begging you to let him die, to make sure he didn’t turn. To the part where you disregarded your friend’s – because you do not call Jihoon your lover, even if that might have been the more accurate term – wishes out of your own selfishness. “I haven’t seen him since.” 

“Sounds like you cared about him a lot,” Vernon says, his voice somewhere between understanding and something far less pleasant. He brushes his fingers along your knuckles, seems to hesitate with really touching you. “Where’s this going?” You frown, take a deep breath. No point in stalling the inevitable, you suppose. 

“I’m a curse,” you tell him, fingers grasping for strands of grass as if you need something to keep you grounded. Vernon makes a joke about being surprised that demons are superstitious, and had the mood not been so somber, you might have been proud that he seems to have adopted your penchant for cracking jokes when things get too serious. You take hold of his face, make sure to keep eye contact. “I’ll just get to the point. I’ve made Joshua forget about me.”

Vernon’s already large eyes widen almost comically. He tries to wrestle his face out from between your hands. It’s a futile attempt, of course, but you applaud him for his effort. “What the fuck?” He sputters, his fingernails digging into your wrists forcefully enough to hurt. You wince. 

“You don’t need me anymore,” you tell him, and suddenly you wish you had some sort of pre-rehearsed speech ready. The absolutely horrified look on Vernon’s face makes you feel sick, makes you want to disappear. “And I wasn’t supposed to stick around this long in the first place.” 

It’s a lie, of course; nothing but a shallow, selfish excuse. The truth is that you’re scared. That you haven’t felt something as strong as whatever it is you’re feeling for Vernon since Jihoon, decades and decades ago. And at this point, you’re not sure if it would be worse if he reciprocated those feelings, or if he didn’t.

“What the fuck does need matter?” Vernon hisses, his voice almost poisonous in his growing anger. He tries, once again, to force your hands away from their steel grip on his face. “I want you here. Joshua wanted you here. You have no right to fuck with our memories.” Your eyes feel wet, and you ponder at how long it has been since you last cried. This part, you prepared for; this part you have a response to, cruel as it might be.

“Just like I had no right to fuck with your parents’ memories?” you bite back, every word feeling like a dagger to your own chest. The scandalized look on Vernon’s face does little to help the situation. But still, you keep going. “There’s no moral high ground in these matters. This is my job.” There’s heartbreak open and visible in the lines of Vernon’s face, so genuine and so real that you almost believe in it. 

“I’m so stupidly, irrationally in love with you,” you tell him, press a dry, simple but undoubtedly meaningful kiss to his down-turned lips. You feel a strip of something wet run down your cheeks, feel the taste of salt at your bottom lip. “And I can’t stand it. I have to go.”

Vernon’s eyes turn blank, and you know that the continuous force of energy you’ve forced upon him has finally taken effect. You give him simple instructions, enough to make him get back to Joshua and the motel, but not enough to make his brain go haywire. 

And then you leave, disappearing in a cloud of smoke. For the first time in decades, you feel the taste of ashes on your tongue.

(The necklace Jihoon gave you used to be that one thing that anchored you, that made you feel real when memories tried to overtake you. The only thing you feel now when you put your hand up towards your neck is the bone at your collar and the distinct feel of loss. I love you I love you I love you echoes in your head, forceful as a punch to the face. 

It doesn’t echo in your own tone of voice.)

~~

Six months later, you get your first customer since your prolonged leave of absence.

At least, you assume it’s a customer, because only someone who comes to your new house with the right code in the form of four precise presses of the doorbell knows who you really are; The Memory Stealer. 

You’re sleepy, dizzy as you push yourself off of the couch and take the mandatory steps towards the front door. Your back complains in the form of a stinging pain with the less than ideal position you’ve been sleeping in these past few months; somehow you can’t quite get yourself to sleep in a bed.

All of that is completely forgotten when you open up the door, a familiar face greeting you on the porch. There’s something more human about his features than you’ve ever seen before, something more innocent and questioning, but the person standing in front of you is undoubtedly, heartbreakingly none other than Vernon Hansol Chwe. 

“Hiya,” he says, his voice light and airy and unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. He smiles in that way you’ve preferred to remember him; his lips stretched too thin and his teeth almost blinding. For a moment, you falter, stuck in your own lingering emotions. But then he says; “You’re the one they call the memory stealer, right?” and the bile in your throat seems to soothe, the pain in your chest lingering, but not overwhelming. ‘Right’ you murmur in response, and then he’s pushing past you, entering your home with all the gusto of someone who doesn’t know what fear feels like. It’s as heartwarming as it it frustrating.

Vernon twists his head from side to side, takes in the empty walls and the non-decorated home you live in. He turns back to look at you, tilts his head in a way that reminds you of precise kisses and whispered words.

“You sure took a long way to track down,” he tells you, fiddling with the hem of his own jacket. You try not to lean into the pleasant tones of his voice, try not to remember how much you’ve missed Vernon and his soft, plump mouth. 

“Is that so?” you reply, the question detached and not really a question. “What did you come for?”

Vernon stares at you, sizes you up and down as if he wants to fight. Then he’s grasping at a thread around his neck, and a pendant you recognize all to well appears from underneath the neck of his sweater. “Do your recognize this?” he asks, and all at once your body seems to shut down; your legs wobbling and your breath hitching so loudly and so quickly it rasps against the walls of your throat. 

“I’m so mad at you,” he says, taking a few measured steps to end up right in front of you, staring you down. He cups your face, and only then do you realize that your cheeks are wet. Vernon’s thumbs rub against the innermost parts of your cheekbones, and you feel so holy, so heavenly that you fear you might actually burst into flames.

“You’re lucky I’m so stupidly, irrationally in love with you,” Vernon says, and his smile is wide enough, bright enough to put the sun itself to shame.

[running-with-the-feels]

I'd like more drunk kaui liang pls if that's okay

That is delightful!

Koala Bear Kuai Liang has a reputation among the defenders for how cuddly he is, and while Hanzo is the one usually bearing the brunt of that, other characters have too.

Jax once had to deal with Kuai Liang hugging him for a full five minutes in dead silence

Frost has been picked up in a bear hug and swung about, much to her confusion (and joy bc lets be real, bbygirl is touch starved and craves affection)

Imagining that Liu Kang and Kung Lao never died (bc f that), Liu Kang once had to deal with Kuai Liang hanging off of his back like a cape (made difficult by the fact that Kuai Liang is about 7 inches taller than Liu Kang in my hc)

Kung Lao and Johnny have both made out with a drunk Kuai Liang (while also being drunk themselves and y'all, I got drunk headcanons for the whole roster if you want em, just say the word) and maintain that it was a heavenly experience

Kung Lao's exact words were "if I didn't know that Hanzo would burn me alive for it, I would be at Kuai Liang's doorstep begging to bed him.

Johnny has bedded him and seconds that sentiment

Kuai Liang is also a surprisingly good dancer when drunk, like no matter how many he's had he can still bust a move with the best of them (then he tries to walk normally and trips and falls on his face)

Tipsy Statue Kuai Liang also has a reputation, with there being an entire gc dedicated to pictures of him standing still and unblinking as he tries to hide the fact that he's tipsy.

Also gonna sneak my Autistic Kuai Liang headcanon into here bc I will die on this hill, but once he gets chatty he will infodump on the nearest person. Out of all the defenders, Sonya is the one who tolerates it best bc she's used to it from Johnny. Hanzo obviously is a close second, and only in second bc he keeps getting distracted by how pretty Kuai Liang is when his brown isn't constantly furrowed.

Further into the Autistic Kuai Liang headcanon, always has the urge to run his hands through Hanzo's hair as a stim but restrains himself. Until he gets drunk in which case his hands rarely ever leave Hanzo's hair

bless him but Hanzo is Struggling with that

Kuai Liang doesn't tend to do shots, But, he will if it is part of one of Johnny's games (I hc that he gets all the defenders together at his mansion every now and again as "team building")

his favorite shot is a jaeger bomb and his least favorite is tequila

He refuses to drink cocktails, not bc he doesn't like them but bc Johnny makes them strong enough to kill a man and the last time Kuai Liang drank one he very nearly made a Bad Decision (almost slept with an equally drunk Erron Black)

Slightly sad drunk Kuai Liang hc: the way he behaves when he is drunk is very similar to the personality he would have had if he had never been kidnapped by the Lin Kuei, like if he had lived a normal life he would be something like that. At least, that is how he thinks of it, even if the reality is somewhat different.

Side note: I might make a tier list of all the people Kuai Liang either has/will/would never drunkenly made out with if anyone is interested in that? lemme know

Whenever Kuai Liang drinks, he is around friends too, like that's not something he does on his own or in public for him it's only ever social. After a while, all the defenders kinda get to know how they all are when they're drunk so they look out for one another.

For Kuai Liang this usually means he's gently guided towards a bed whenever he starts looking sleepy, usually by Hanzo, and bc he's super tactile whoever it is has to hold his hand until he's fully asleep or he'll cry

It is, in fact, the only time any of them have ever seen him cry and they all hate the sight of it now and will avoid it at all costs.

I'm sure I can think of more later, so lemme know if you want them. I've also seen ppl on tumblr do a thing where they answer asks in character, I have no idea if I'd be good at that or if anyone wants to see that but if you have any questions for drunk (or sober) Kuai Liang, feel free to send them over?

[marshmallowprotection]

It got me thinking in Saeyoung's AE when Saeran said Saeyoung can have obsessive tendencies ik it's a dream but does that mean Saeyoung does have them

Saeyoung's initial After Ending that you unlock after his route is a manifestation of his subconscious. It's nothing more than a dream where he imagines a happy ending with his friends and family, and that means while everything feels warm and fuzzing, it also feels a little uncanny because Saeyoung's subconscious doesn't know how to engage with an older Saeran.

He doesn't know what Saeran is like and his mind cultivates an image of his mind's idea of a perfect happy ending until he jolts up in a cold sweat, realizing it was just a dream. So, we have to take anything in a dream with a grain of salt. However, what I can tell you is what I'm so sure of when it comes to Saeyoung. I won't call it obsession, I will do one better and call it what it is.

Saeyoung suffers from PTSD and acute paranoia. His mind believes he needs to be prepared for war, even if there's no reason to fight a single soul. It's a byproduct of hypervigilance in an abusive home, on top of the years he spent in the agency, living in fear that someone in the group would kill him, or worse, someone he pissed off would cut off his life before he had a chance to see his brother "happy".

So, this majorly shapes how Saeyoung engages with this. Even at his best, his fears control him. He is at risk of losing everything at every step of the way. That's what his mind thinks, and if you pay attention to him enough, you get to notice a lot of little patterns and quirks on the way to loving him that shows just how difficult it can be for him. We know his fears are often justified, but that doesn't mean it's good for him to live that way.

Saeyoung is a smart man, but he will act rashly when he's afraid of losing something. A good example is when he yanked Saeran out of the hospital in the Secret Ending. He knew that was wrong, and that his brother needed medical attention, but the fear that any slip-up in that place could draw attention from Saejoong made him act. He did not think twice. He stole Saeran from the hospital, thinking that was the only way to save his life.

Poor choice.

Saeran needed help.

But, the risk/benefit analysis in his head told him that Saeran could never heal if Saejoong killed him, and leaving him in the hospital at his worst when Jumin warned him that they couldn't cover up these things with his brother forever was never going to pan out in his old head. So, would I say that Saeyoung could be obsessive when he's in a place where he acts out of paranoia and fear?

Kind of, but that's not the word I'd use like I said. He isn't a "yandere" which, I feel like a lot of these questions tend to ask that without the word being used. He doesn't want to control you so you never leave. It's not about that.

It's the fear that if he doesn't marry you or get to experience being with you "like normal guys get to do in relationships", he might lose you. Like, you'll get killed by someone and he'll live in misery alone forever because you were his only love and he never got to see you with a ring on your hand. Or, you break up with him because he's just not good enough and he accepts that he ruined a good thing. He is insecure and fearful, my friends. But, not toxic intentionally.

Controlling is a better word. He means well but that doesn't mean it's the right thing. I think people need to think about how Saeyoung struggles because as his MC, you and Saeran are the ones who will have to deal with Saeyoung's paranoia. That doesn't just go away because Saeran is with you. Saejoong is still a threat and so are many people he pissed off in the agency.

Saeyoung will be... well, at his worst, controlling and pressuring. Take this tracker with you, call me if you leave somewhere alone, let me go and make sure you're safe on the CCTV, let me know where you are and how you're doing throughout the day, and so on and so forth. He lives in a secured bunker, too. Do you know how many locks are on it and how long it takes to crack?

It's safe but it could end up feeling like a prison.

I don't get to talk a lot about Saeyoung since the guy is my brother-in-law and people don't ask me about his mental health or what's going on in his head. His paranoia is the tip of the iceberg, I haven't even unpacked how he was parentified and how that affects the way he interacts with Saeran!

[sheischerrybomb]

The other night I had a dream of V finding a way to get Johnny his own body so he can live again. It’s purely synthetic but he feels totally real. His body has warmth, put your head to his heart and you can hear a beat.

(My V is female so I’ll be using she/her pronouns when referring to V)

Imagine the first time V wakes up, because the surgery to get the Relic out of V’s head was a danger all on its own so now she’s recovering, she sees Johnny but is so blurry in the head she thinks he’s still just in her head before going under again.

Then it’s one of those in and out of consciousness segments CP77 does when V is Going Through It. She sees Johnny struggling to walk, looking at himself, going to a mirror, then she blacks out for the longest point and when V wakes up she sees Johnny sitting right next to her trying to talk to her.

Let me tell you the second they have physical contact, the absolute moment V feels Johnny touch her arm or her face and feels his warmth she is going to launch herself at him. Johnny not into mushy shit might try to talk V down (because she also just woke up from a surgery that had a HIGH chance of flatlining her) but he caves into the emotions and sentiment and hugs V back- no

No he fucking holds her. This is the woman who had him in her head as a ticking clock thanks to the Relic, a woman that put up with all his nagging and bullshit (don’t forget in the beginning how you wanted to kill and hijack her body Johnny, don’t forget that). Then after all this time you two grew a bond, became friends, then became more than friends. Wanted more but Johnny was just a bunch of cancerous code in V’s head. Every day she was getting close to death’s door with no happy way out. Either V died, or Johnny vanished. (Obvi excluding some endings but stay with me here)

Neither of them would accept that answer, so they found a way. They found a fucking way and that how and why Johnny is able to hold this incredible fucking woman.

Fuck yeah Johnny lets a few tears slip, he's a big ol' softie under all that Rockerboy grit. Fuck yeah he holds V closer, able to feel the sensation of her hair and the warmth of her skin. He’s alive again, really alive. And it’s all thanks to V.

~

Or conversely, it’s Johnny who wakes up. Maybe he thinks this is a dream, or that he’s taken over V’s body, or perhaps a memory (because c’mon this guy has absolutely woken up in a hospital or Ripperdoc’s clinic many-a times before). He’s looking around, feeling strange, then he sees V standing nearby with her arms crossed, they meet eyes and she quips at him “well look who finally woke up”. Her head has bandages, the Relic was successfully removed.

Johnny is trying to process everything, he’s sitting up and feels. Feels the bed underneath him, feels the sheets, feels how fucking weird his body-

His Body!!

That’s when he looks at himself and sees he has a body again, a synthetic with no spare of detail (Yes all details. The First thing that man would do is check his impressive co-) no one would be able to tell the difference. That man would motion for V to come on over, sit by his bed, and she does. The first thing Johnny noticed were the bandages, he moves his hand to touch the gauze only to change his mind at the last second and touches V's cheek for the very first time. No longer a ghost, no longer in her head, he is here with her. He feels the soft warmth of her cheek, the wisps of her hair that tickles the back of his hand. That man pulls V into a kiss so quick they almost clash teeth but do either of them care? Fuck no! That ticking clock of doom that hung over their heads is gone. No longer does V need to race death, no longer does Johnny have to see V struggle, suffer, and stumble every time the Relic was malfunctioning and pulling her closer to death's door. They were told Death was inevitable, but they found a way to beat that motherfucker. Cyberpunk loves to use the arcana for a lot of theming. So the name for this ending? The Lovers. (Which is the trophy you get from stealing the Relic) OR Since Cyberpunk already uses the Lovers as a trophy The Devil Reversed.

[herunswithscissors]

Friends of ours lost their 22yo son to suicide recently. He was struggling, but kept the depth of it hidden. There are no words of comfort to give, only grieving alongside those who have lost one that they love.

A good friend pointed out that in the midst of this weeping, while it does not diminish the grief, perhaps something good might come out in that those who are similarly struggling with thoughts of suicide might get some perspective that their lives matter beyond the tiny world mental illness traps you in. Your life matters and is worth living.

Our brains are a precariously balanced mix of meat, electricity, and chemicals. Sometimes because of our experiences and/or biology our brains begin to lie to us. It withholds joy and pleasure. "It’s like trying to laugh at a joke that isn’t funny. Trying to smile for a photo you don’t want to be in. It’s like waking up in the morning and hating that you actually woke up. It feels like someone is just draining the energy out of you all the time, every moment you are awake." Doing anything requires immense willpower. Just plain old staying alive becomes a conscious choice made over and over again. You are just so tired and everything is just too much to deal with. The constant state of suffering leads one to try various ways to feel something positive, feel anything, or just escape the emptiness. It's why depressed people try so hard to bring joy to others and help others- they want to prevent others from suffering too and it allows them to feel some happiness vicariously.

The inevitable diminishing returns on the attempts to feel better, feel anything, or just escape eventually lead to the conclusion that there is only one way out of this hell. And depression shrinks our awareness of our own meaningfulness and inner world. The void is all we can perceive. The knowledge that we are loved, cared for, or important is lost. We can sincerely believe that our loss will not so drastically affect our loved ones and escape through death is a viable option.

These are all false of course. Falsehoods our sick brain tells us with honesty, because suicide is quite reasonable given what we are perceiving.

If you are feeling like you don't want to be here, wishing you would not wake up, desiring an accident, imagining about killing yourself, drugging yourself into oblivion, or seriously thinking about if or how you might kill yourself, you need to talk to someone. I got lucky. Someone who loves me more than I love myself saw me spiraling into self-destruction and made me get help and continues to support me in spite of myself. I spent years where my full-time job was not research or teaching, but just keeping myself alive. It's still my job now and then. But the difference now is that after many years of therapy and prescriptions I know that feeling is temporary and false.

I'm sorry it hurts so much right now. When you have some distance from these feelings (I hope that you will give yourself the chance to), I hope you can see that your life is worthwhile and important because you are.

But the only way out is through and that requires talking. I hope you have people nearby who love you you can talk to. If you do, talk to them. If you don't, this will be harder. Either way, you should also get into counseling. A good counselor will help you find ways to survive, build better mental pathways, & develop tools for processing emotions.

Brutal honesty- American mental health treatment system is shit and difficult to navigate. We have far too few professionals in many areas and online is often the only option. But you are a fighter. Look at you all alive and shit when depression has been trying to kill you 24-7. Live a little bit longer. You can do it. And if you are going to live a little bit longer, counseling can help you live it a little bit better.

[fatherlybeast]

how are you gay in turkey? are they not homophobic as fuck? did they try to kill you? or you dont live there anymore?

Hello,

I obviously can’t speak for every LGBTQ person living in homophobic countries, but my experience as a gay dude in Turkey hasn’t involved fear for my physical safety. No one has ever tried to kill me, to answer your question. Have I faced challenges because of my sexual identity? Definitely. But I've never had to fear for my life. Maybe it’s because I’m straight-passing, or maybe I’ve just been lucky. I know people who’ve had it much worse—brutal experiences, even. So, that's a thing for sure.

Does this mean there aren’t extremist people here? Not at all. There are people who believe in a "gay agenda," thinking that LGBTQ people are part of a secret organization sent to attack family values or other conspiracies. These individuals often mock and ridicule the LGBTQ community. Some Pride parades have been shut down by the police, and there have been many hate crimes as well. So, as I said, I’m just speaking from my own experience.

By law, every citizen—gay or not—is protected from mental or physical harm. But how does that translate into daily life in Turkey? LGBTQ people, especially those who present more "fruity", if I may, often face discrimination and bullying. Turkey is a large and diverse country, and depending on where you live, people can be more accepting. Some will see you as just a person who happens to be gay, rather than reducing you to just being gay or as a threat to the continuity of society and it's "values". That’s not the common experience, especially in rural areas, but it’s been my experience since my early 20s.

Before that, I had friends who turned their backs on me or said things like, "You’re just doing it for attention." They were teenagers too, so in hindsight, I understand that they might not have fully grasped the situation. Still, it was hurtful at the time. Ouch!

After high school, I left my hometown and met my then-boyfriend. With him, I could be out and open—we’d go to cafés, restaurants, the movies, hold hands, kiss—just do normal things every other straight couple does. I didn’t need to hide or feel afraid. Of course, it was young love, you know? You feel like you can do anything because you have someone by your side. Even if someone harassed us, I felt like it would be okay. That experience was life-changing for me. Before that, such things were only something I saw in movies or TV shows or imagined in my head. So in regard to your question, this is also something a gay guy can experience in Turkey.

Weirdly enough, I feel like nowadays gay people take such connections and relationships for granted. But that’s a different topic.

From my observations, younger LGBTQ people (born in the 2000s and later—and I’m not that much older than them, which might explain some of my luck) are much luckier when it comes to finding supportive friend groups or safe spaces in general. I’m in the final stretch of my 20s, and almost two decades ago, when I first hit puberty, I realized I wasn’t just into girls, but I didn’t even know there was a name for what I felt. "Being gay" wasn’t something you could just ask about or learn easily. I really had to claw my way into being understood and accepted, in a way. And such psychological struggle does affect a person deeply. So you are right, it is not easy. -But in a way, these experiences are also how we mature. -

All I knew was that it wasn’t "okay" to be this way. There were no TV shows, discussions, or Netflix series about it—nothing. Some shows featured LGBTQ characters, but they were rare and hard to find, and never in Turkish. It was easier to come across endless porn than any genuine representation. I remember discovering the movie 'A Single Man'—you have no idea how happy it made me back then, even though the movie itself has a tragic story. It taught me one simple thing I simply didn't know before: men can romantically love each other. Before that, feeling constant terror and uncertainty because of the urges I had was my reality . I thought I was some freak of nature for having crushes on other fellow boys.

Imagine this: back then, as a kid who had just hit puberty, all I had was a Wikipedia page titled "homosexuality" that I read countless times to try to make sense of myself in secret. Then I found chat rooms down the road, which were often predatory in nature and unsafe for teens. But many teens, including myself, ended up in those spaces because we wanted to feel like we belonged. My experiences there weren’t great, but I also made my first gay friends and had my first encounters that way. But that’s a whole other story.

This question found me at a strange time I suppose, and I guess I could go on and on about it all.

Imma stop jabbering real quick tho lmao

To summarize, Turkey isn’t the best place to live as an LGBTQ person, but experiences can range from terrible to fairly chill, depending on where you are, given how diverse the country is. That said, I believe future generations will have an even easier time accepting themselves, finding safe spaces, and creating better environments for themselves and others with different identities. At least, that’s what I hope for them.

Thanks for asking, it made me think about things I hadn’t in ages. xx <3

[rahleeyah]

who had "genderbent olivia benson" on their "things that make leah feral" bingo card

under a cut bc it's a lot, tw: at the beginning for brief discussion of SA wrt Serena and Olivia

this is cut and pasted from discord so forgive the way it jumps around but:

Sorry I just distracted myself with "Olivia would've been a man" bc like. Can you imagine them doing the "I'm the product of a rape" storyline for a man? I really can't see anybody doing that bc the challenge that would present to the character's masculinity is so complex I can't see anybody having the balls to do it

(god but the alternate universe in which Olivia is a man and Elliot falls in love with him anyway.... I'm vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass) 

Bc in many ways Olivia internalizes her mother's trauma and acts as a victim, as if she herself has been raped, she empathizes as a woman, as a fellow member of an oppressed class, but if it's a man, and he is of the same class as the person who hurt his mother, he can't claim her injury as his own and instead of taking the place of the victim he takes the place of the perpetrator which is also fascinating wrt the Serena/child relationship

He would not be named Oliver also I'd have to sit with this for a minute to come up with an appropriately elegant and literature inspired name for him lmao

And he is still doing penance, by joining svu, not bc he has inherited his mother's pain but bc he has inherited his father's shame

Ooof and when he meets Simon.....

Oooof and when Elliot wakes up from a dream about [his name] sucking his dick

...kathy being less threatened because its another man tho

kathy being like 👀

I'm losing my mind about this actually closet bisexual Elliot Stabler who struggles to form solid attachments with men (if you think about it he works best with women and that goes back to Joe and Bernie) developing this intense codependent relationship with another man for the first time and Kathy is at first just happy he has a friend but as time goes on she has. Questions. Especially when Elliot starts preferring to hit from the back 

God Kathy trying to tell him he's in love with this guy and Elliot having an existential crisis

Ok but what is his name. Some suggestions:

Alexander (the great)

Patrick (bc she couldn't call him Patroclus)

Jason (and the Argonauts)

Marcus (Aurelius)

Or maybe she went generic. Sean/Ethan/Evan/David

oh i like Marcus

And maybe he goes by Mark but Serena always called him Marcus

YES.

Maybe Elliot switches back and forth between Marcus and Mark

But Marcus at one point killing someone or hurting someone and being like "I'm just like him!" meaning his dad and Elliot grabbing him by the back of the neck and being like "you're nothing like him" all fierce

fj;sldfj;sladjfsalkfj;sdf FUCK

what if its mark most of the time and "Marcus" when Shit Gets Real

YES EXACTLY

Also "you're nothing like him" making Elliot realize Mark is nothing like Joe. That Elliot has approached almost every man in his life as if they are his father - dangerous, not to be trusted, not safe to be vulnerable with - and then realizing he is safe with Mark

Oh wow I am on my knees at the moment thinking about their physicality actually like. Still touching too much still standing too close still finishing each other's food and sentences, but also some hand wavy plot excuse for them to get as close as EO did in the "are you ready for me daddy" scene and also. Since they're both men. Way more seeing each other shirtless/naked in the locker room and what that does to Elliot

The question is tho what does Marcus look like 🤔

Still dark hair and big dark eyes I think

God what if Marcus is like an out bisexual (he still fucks both Alex Cabot and Trevor Langan) and the way that would force Elliot to confront his own desires and the way the lightbulb would go off in his head when he finds out about Trevor and realizes Marcus is Available and Elliot wants him to be and what that does to Elliot. The shame and the desire

Closet bisexual Elliot Stabler is very important to me. Elliot lying awake at night thinking about Trevor and Marcus and when he imagines it he keeps replacing Trevor's face with his own

And Olivia is really interesting bc so much of who she is is tied up directly in her relationship to womanhood (and the audience's response to her is deeply connected to the audience's perception of womanhood, either as women themselves or as people observing women)

So what does that do to us when Olivia is no longer a woman?

[imtrashraccoon]

Thanks for the tag @snowcoffeee ! I'm all too happy to talk about my favourite hobby!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

At the moment, I have six.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

281,816. Yikes, I didn't even know this was a statistic until now.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Undertale right now.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Have Some Empathy, Dear - the series I did for Bad Sansuary.

The Hand We've Been Dealt - the first fic I posted on AO3.

Swarmed By Sirens - the most recent fic I'm working on.

The Nightmare of Apathy - my pet project.

Raccoon's Undertale Related Oneshots - this one shouldn't really count as it's just a collection of my works.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Every single one! I really enjoy engaging with the people who like my work and it gives me ideas.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oof, I don't like angsty endings so I can't say that I have any. In the past, I wrote a oneshot with one of my OC's in Horrortale though. That was...angsty. It's also really bad compared to what I write now lol. I don't think I'll ever post it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

At the moment, Have Some Empathy, Dear is the only complete fic. So that one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, at least I haven't yet. I did get one comment ages ago where someone was annoyed that Korinna (MC from The Hand We've Been Dealt) just went to live with the Fell brothers after they killed her when she was a human. She didn't know that it was them though, so the comment didn't make sense? Admittedly, the plot for that fic is a bit weak...

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nah, I've been tempted to, but I'm not comfortable making that sort of thing. I allow minors to follow me anyways, so if I did, that would have to change.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

AU's don't count as a crossover I suppose. So, no, I don't write crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd be honoured if anyone wanted to!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Again, no. I have chatted with friends about fic plots but never for the purpose of creating something together. That could be fun!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I'm more of a self-shipper and pretty much always have been OC x Canon as well. I do like Soriel. The way some people write their dynamic is adorable and even if they aren't in a relationship, I love seeing their friendship. I don't really ship anything else though.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pretty much everything with my old Undertale OC's and my old Star Wars OC. My reasons are that I've changed my interests and created better characters now. I'm not entirely opposed to ever posting these online but the state that they're in at the moment makes me cringe.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Definitely describing environments and worldbuilding. I have a strong imagination and so whenever I write a scene I try to put myself in the character's position and describe what they see. Worldbuilding is also enjoyable since it gets my brain working.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. I struggle to make characters sound natural at times and my earlier writing suffers lot from stiff dialogue.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I love this! I don't really know any other languages myself so my own attempts are limited, however I love seeing it in other people's works. I do like to include ASL where I can since it's a language I have some familiarity with.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars actually. I had a Jedi turned Sith character in a years long message board roleplay and multiple times I attempted to write down a backstory for her but I never finished. After being convinced to join the Sith, she was an Inquisitor for a bit before being promoted to Sith Lady and training a few apprentices. She briefly became Sith Empress but stepped down when the war with a faction of Mandalorians turned ugly. She hasn't been seen or heard from since... Yeah, no, I just lost interest in the character and SW in general with Disney's takeover.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I love pretty much all of them! I think my favourite is Have Some Empathy, Dear but I do wish I had more time to flesh parts of it out at the time. Otherwise, it's The Nightmare of Apathy.

[hnbka]

does anyone care I CARE

my cousin made me watch descendants w her again and those movies could have been sooo good if they cared at all

like the isle of the lost could have been a politically greedy landscape where malificent and jafar and other power hungry leaders led groups of villains with other deisres (mother gothel, evil queen, gaston etc). as their oldest children are nearing twenties, theres new players on the field.

how would evil queen who has sworn allegiance to maleficent have reacted to mother gothel providing her with the ability to stay young and beautiful forever? how would the two feel when their children became best friends?

and then the children, sent on missions for their parents. the seeds of allies, friends, rivals-- uma and mal, the enemies of the isle of the lost, and uma's best friend, harry dating mal??? oh give me a prequel of them before descendants PLEASE

not to mention how good that would make the payoff of descendants two??

(if you dont care about shipping scroll till you see HADES?? in really big bold text ok thanks)

and then when they get there, they don't throw the boys away as dumb plot devices but give them relationships and arcs and goals? i know, shocker, but tbf they represent women in every disney movie prior to 2009

kill off the fairy godmother's daughter dating carlos and mulan's daughter dating jay plotline i don't want it. let's bring in jay literally falling in love with gil BECAUSE IT IS REAL AND IT HAPPENS IN THE THIRD MOVIE I DONT KID

PLEASE WATCH THIS CLIP ITS PERFECT IN EVERY WAY

and carlos rip cameron boyce ❤️ i dont think he really had a personality but his fits were super solid

i dont want to talk about evie and the dwarf's son other than to say EVIE AND MAL WERE PERFECT

you can find me in the space between YEAH NOW DELETE THAT SPACE BETWEEN YOUR LIPS

and dont talk to me ab ben being left behind because he had uma and/or harry LIKE THATS THE LOVE TRIANGLE I WANT TO WATXH and i no longer feel weird ab wondering if that could have worked as a throuple vibe because riverdale did it w four people so i dont think anyone cares anymore. about anything

if youve never seen descendants and/or your very confused as to where these conclusions are coming from:

dove cameron says she ships evie and mal btw so haters can sit down

and honestly mal and uma work too like truly every ship that wasnt what they did worked so perfectly. and im not even putting a photo for them you and i both know they work

okay i swear this whole thing isnt just ship bait THERE IS MORE

one!

HADES???

why are YOU here? you are the god of the underworld, you have duties! the physics of this doesn't make sense because if hades is real, all gods are real, which means, well i don't know, can't the gods help remove him from this random island? can you imagine the beast trying to bring hades down to the isle of the lost, power struggle, and then finding out mal is his daughter BOOM PLOTLINE

and the beast is not that powerful! which brings me to my next point

why would ben have the beast's superpowers? the superpowers of the beast were a curse and removed. and why would the beast be the king of auradon? he's kind of useless. i think it would be cool and show that the heroes aren't perfect if other people wanted to rule

like not mulan or tiana thats out of character but maybe jasmine and aladdin or elsa and anna??

and where are all of these people from?? how can there be so many students if its js heroes? are there just a bunch of nobodies? why do we never see them this is honestly classist

and your telling me theres a dog but hes not related to the tens of disney dog movies that exist??? hes just some dog?? how can there js be some dog but no some humans?

and last. this is js. jay's adopted. look at him. search him up. he's not south asian, that boy is not related to jafar thanks

GOD, if a single producer there wanted to not just feed children mind numbing gunk in the shape of mid to did i mention songs and toys with dyed hair and a blindindly signature color, descendants could have gone down in history or at least to me as not just the show that killed off my beloved ever after high but a worthy opponent of it

also harry and gil kiss was cut