#a little childhood tidbit if you will

[buttercuparry]

It is deeply sickening how even privacy has become a luxury for palestinians who are fundraising on this website. Since October 7th, Gazans have had to document their own genocide at great cost to themselves for no fault of their own;  they have had to risk their lives to show you the bombings; they have had to record themselves bleeding. 

They have had to show the tremendous personal loss they have suffered and their grief of it - all so that the Zionist narrative wouldn't be the only thing that gets peddled around in the digital space. But it seems like the more the months pass, and the atrocities keep mounting - the more people in the online space become desensitized to the suffering, and in fact are convinced that they are owed these documentation to even begin to care ( it has become especially clear after the recent smear campaign that put the entire demographic under horrible scrutiny ). 

It is honestly so disgustingly voyeuristic to me- this demand to be allowed into someone’s grief so that you can be convinced that they too are of flesh and blood, to demand that they put their suffering on display for your judgement on their authenticity, to put the burden on THEM to do the work of breaking you out of your easy apathy towards their suffering.

For months, my friend Siraj Abudayeh ( @siraj2024 ) has tried to protect his and his family’s privacy. For months he has talked of Gaza and given you updates as is his capacity as a journalist. He thought that this would be enough for the people to understand just how much his family has to fight everyday to survive. But it seems like that didn't really cut it for a lot of users on tumblr, because his fundraiser stagnates every 12 hours when his updates stop circulating around tumblr. 

So as much as it pains him to share this with an apathetic audience that may very well scroll past this post- he has agreed to talk a bit about his precious son, Amir, who has fallen sick with an infectious skin disease. 

So don't you dare ignore this!!

You have demanded that Siraj perform; that he prove that he is a real person with a real family to protect- so here is Siraj with a story about his son. It is a reflection of how desperate he feels to willingly give up the privacy he fought to protect for months. So you better pay attention now!

Siraj's son Amir is a stubborn boy. It is impossible to move him from his position once he is convinced of something. This also makes him competitive and Siraj is proud to say that Amir had been on his school’s swimming team. “First level in the swimming course,” Siraj tells me with obvious pride. Amir has an exceptional ability to memorize too- quickly moving through his lessons and thus almost always having a place in the school celebrations of outstanding students. 

Amir is stubbornly kind too. Amidst the bombings - this little boy didn't think of only saving himself. He carried his cat Jimmy all the way from the North of Gaza to the South. In Siraj’s words: He did not leave Jimmy for a moment, not even to take his shoes off, when it tore after hours of walking. 

The two month old cat died a month into their displacement - with no food available, Amir had to watch his beloved pet waste away, desperate and yet unable to help in anyway. Tell me now, is this horrifying tidbit sufficient documentation of Amir’s unchilding? Is this enough? 

Or do you also want to know of the shock Amir received on learning that his cousins have been martyred? Will you make Siraj describe this in all of its horrifying detail too? How his child has lost so much of his childhood to this war when he should be studying, going to school, and playing with his brothers and friends instead?

Their books, their school, their pet, their toys have all been lost in this genocide. Do they have to lay out all the indignities they are facing at your feet, do they have to lose the litle privacy they have left in that cramped, pest-ridden tent of theirs to convince you to not turn the other way?

Tell me what will finally be enough to make you pay attention?? What would be enough to convince you that Siraj’s survival fund is as much an emergency as all the other evacuation funds ?? I will ask him to share and we can all lay it out for you, because apparently some of you need a record of all that suffering presented to you like its a portfolio to give a fuck.

Siraj is tired, his wife Halima is too. Amir and his siblings have lost so much of themselves during these past 10 months. None of them are the people they used to be, and it is something they will carry for the rest of their lives!!

So please!

Please if Siraj has performed enough for you, then fucking donate to his campaign.

He has been fundraising from June!!! He has talked to hundreds of people and has bonded with enough of them to be considered a personal friend of theirs. Many have even agreed to share his story and many others have offered to hold commissions and raffles for him- but despite this, he still hasn't even crossed the halfway mark of his campaign yet!! What can a handful of friends do? When the mass of tumblr population isn't convinced of his suffering!

Amir is in constant pain right now due to the infection- and his brothers are beginning to show similar symptoms as him. They are all very unwell. 

The money would go to helping Amir and his brothers survive!!

I can't tell you how frustrating it is to see this everyday when i personally know just how much Siraj sacrifices to make his presence known here- from braving the 3km route when he can get caught in crossfire- all so that he may have a hotspot connection at an exorbitant price. It burns away the money that might have gone into acquiring food and water.

WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!

SIRAJ NEEDS TO GET TO 40K WITHIN THIS WEEK SO THAT WE CAN BEGIN TO WORK TOWARDS THE LATTER HALF OF THE CAMPAIGN.

THIS IS URGENT. SIRAJ NEEDS TO MOVE ONTO HIS NEXT GOALS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO GET HIS KIDS TO SAFETY!

PLEASE DONATE ANY AMOUNT YOU CAN SPARE, THIS CANNOT WAIT.

Every MINUTE, every  SECOND we delay meeting his goal, it costs siraj and his family more than some of us will ever understand.

Please help him out. It is the least we can do right now-> vetting at 219 on Hussein's spreadsheet.

[glittergoblinzz]

Ghoap (well, Cbf!Soap mainly) asking Afab!Reader to be their surrogate (pt 1)

CW: Talks of surrogacy/pregnancy

-----------------------------------------

The last thing you expected when you came home after work one day was your friend Johnny sitting on your couch. You two have been friends since childhood and have been inseparable, even after he joined the military. You trusted the man with your life and would let him come over whenever he felt like it, going as far as giving him an extra key to your flat in Sunderland.

At first, you thought something bad must have happened since you could see he was clearly stressed about something. You drop your bag down and go over to the couch, sitting next to him

"Johnny, what are ya doing here? Is something wrong?"

He looks up at you with those crystal blue eyes, running a hand through his mohawk.

"Nah, there's nothing wrong per say, but...there is somethin' I need to ask ya, lass. Somethin' big...."

"What is it?"

Johnny pauses, unsure of how to ask this. After a moment, a voice from behind you two speaks up. A deep, gravely voice with a Mancunian accent. The unexpected voice causes you to jump slightly and turn around. It was Johnny's husband, Simon. Johnny had told you about him numerous times but you had never gotten to meet him in person before. His brown eyes bore down at you. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking but from the tone of his voice and how blunt he was, it was clear he wasn't exactly happy.

"He wants to know if you'd be our surrogate."

This makes you pause. They want you to be their surrogate? The MacTavishs? Really? You understand that you and Johnny are good friends and all, but you figured they would have gone through an agency or even adopted instead. You look back at Johnny, who was giving Simon a bit of a look himself.

"Johnny, is this true?"

Johnny turns back to you and his face softens quite a bit before he looks down at the ground.

"Aye...it's true, lass. I know this is a really, really big favour to ask, but...."

Johnny looks back up at you and gently grabs your hand.

"Could ya do this for us? We'll pay ya, take care of ya. Simon's done took a step back from the military for this next part of our lives so you'll always have at least one of us around at all times."

The look of desperation in Johnny's eyes makes your heart break for him a little bit. You knew he's always wanted to be a dad one day, have a family of his own. You fold your arms over your chest and lean back into the couch a bit, thinking it over....

"If I do this for you....how would we be doing this? Do you already have an egg from a donor? Are you just needing me to carry your child for you?"

Johnny sighs

"No. We'd be hoping ya wouldn't mind doing it....the ol' fashioned way...."

"The old fashioned way...? You mean... You'd sleep with me to knock me up?"

Before Johnny could say anything else, Simon interjects.

"No. Not him. I'd be doing it..."

You look up at Simon, clearly shocked. You barely knew this man and here he was saying that he'd be the one sleeping with you. You've only heard tidbits about him from Johnny. Sure, Johnny made him out to be a good man who liked to crack jokes and was a pretty laid back guy but from this first encounter, he doesn't seem like that at all. This made you extremely hesitant to help your friend out in starting his family....

Seeing the look of worry on your face, Johnny clears his throat causing you to look back at him again.

"Don't mind him, lass. He's just a bit....protective. Simon doesn't feel comfortable at the thought of me sleeping with someone else. I hope ya can understand that? And don't worry, like I said before...ya don't need to say yes now. Ya can give your answer later on, after you've spent a bit of time with Simon and have gotten to know him better. I wouldn't want ya sleeping with someone ya barely know."

You slowly nod. You could understand that. You and Johnny have known each other for much longer and it wasn't a secret he had a crush on you in the past....so Simon most likely felt the relationship would be threatened if Johnny was the one to sleep with you, worrying that would rekindle the old feelings he had for you from your younger years. Giving a slight sigh, you smile at Johnny and slightly give his hand a squeeze before letting it go.

"Yeah, okay. I'll give it a shot for you, Johnny. I'll try to get to know Simon better before I make my full decision..."

Johnny's face lights up and he immediately leans in to hug you tightly. He pulls away after a moment with a huge grin on his face.

"Thanks, lass. I promise Simon isn't normally like this. He just....has a hard time trusting people he doesn't know. He'll warm up to ya eventually."

This earns a scoff from Simon as he turns his head away from you two. Johnny laughs and gets up from the couch, moving behind it towards Simon.

"Lighten up, love. I know ya two pretty well....I think you'll get along in no time at all..."

He looks at Simon lovingly as he brushes his hand through Simon's short, black hair before giving him a kiss on his forehead. Simon frowns a bit, some of the scars on his face becoming more prominent; especially the ones on his upper lip and cheek.

"Really, Johnny? In front of her?"

Johnny only laughs in response, nodding.

"Aye, in front of her. Now come on, we should probably let her be now..."

He didn't need to tell Simon twice. The Brit immediately started heading towards the door without another word, only stopping in the doorway to wait for Johnny. Before leaving, Johnny turns to you again.

"Again, thank you. This really does mean a lot to me, and especially Simon....even if the brute doesn't want to admit it..."

Another groan is heard from Simon, who's barely...just barely....got a slight upward curl of his lips going on.

"...So I'll text ya soon with some dates and times so we can all get together and hang out a bit, so you can Simon can get to know each other better, yeah?"

You nod, smiling as you stand up and give Johnny another quick hug.

"Yeah. Sounds good. See you later, Johnny. Simon."

You give a slight nod to Simon, who hesitates before giving a slight nod back. Johnny turns and walks to Simon, taking Simon's hand in his before the couple leaves your house.

[palmettoshenanigans]

Is this an unpopular opinion? Is this a hot take??? I don't know if it is but I'm going to say it anyway,

I've read several AU!AFTG fics where writers try to mimic Neil's cut throat tongue lashings. They try to create their own "You know, I get it moment" whether with existing characters or OCs or whatever

Rarely do they pull it off. In fact, most miss the mark by a mile.

And it's not because they're bad at writing insults, they aren't. They can craft insults just like the rest of us, with varying degrees of success and scathing derogatory language. It's that the insults they use are generally applicable to most people and get their punch by being rife with curse words.

That's not how Neil does it.

Neil's insults are bespoke!!! (A bespoke suit is one where fabric isn't even cut until we know your exact measurements, this suit is for you, so let me write down every tidbit of relevant information about you and your body before I even start picking out thread)

Neil basically psychoanalyzed someone, noticed all their strengths, weaknesses, fears, hopes and dreams, complexes and traumas that he could get his little hands on, and honed the perfect sentence to bypass all their surface layer feelings and find their Inner Child like a fucking sniper and shot that crying baby in the forehead

That's why it hurts!!! Neil wouldn't call some one ugly as an insult even though that's an insult that has a wide AOE - it'll hit lots of folks. Neil would only call some ugly if it would strike home at their inner most traumatic childhood issues - Neil would call you ugly if he knew your mother called you ugly since birth and told you your only chance at earning love is by becoming hot and your dad told you you were so unskilled you couldn't even make a supermodel pretty if you tried giving them a makeover cus you're just that useless at making change. Yeah, Neil would call you ugly at that point.

Kevin didn't try to strangle Neil cus he called him a slur for disabled people, it pissed him off but it didn't really strike a nerve.

Kevin tried to strangle Neil cus he called him a "deadweight has been" and that struck all his nerves.

If you wanna write your own "You know, I get it" you can't just be insulting. You gotta be traumatizing. You can't just be mean to an adult being an asshole. You gotta be mean to a little kid who's already crying.

Only a couple of fic writers have pulled it off as far as I've read.

[chilschuck]

Can i request for chilchuck react to reader who like to daydream and after he tell the reader he is married, the reader keep spacing out more often out of sadness and they also try to avoid interacting with him much so she can move on. But laios and the other think it's normal since she always avoid interacting with people ( the reader interact with chilchuck more after falling in love with him )

Do you think he will notice? (ಥ﹏ಥ) (ಡ‸ಡ)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ WAHHHH ANON this is such a good concept and made my heart hurt…… i ended up adding some comfort to it because if you’re like me, you need it after reading angst!! :”)))

— OF COURSE: chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw + hurt/comfort! might be a lil ooc, lol.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 941

✦ i hope this turned out okay!! i made it shorter than my other drabbles by accident but it felt good to end it where it did. i kind of changed the prompt a lil but only because i wanted to give you guys some love from chil still. (;;;w;;;) i’m honestly worried this turned out bad…. hhhhh. i’m so sorry if it’s not what you wanted. ;;; i still hope you enjoy!!! <333

He knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t difficult to see that you had started avoiding him. Even your gaze refused to meet his own for longer than it had to. Your constant spacing out and stares at the floor said all he needed to hear: you were upset.

It only seemed to get worse when you overheard his talk about reconciling with his wife, any hope you had shattering into a thousand pieces in front of you. From then on, you didn’t smile unless you felt you had to. The thick silence you left in your wake was suffocating, and Chilchuck wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

The other members in the party took it as if you were being your usual spacey self, and didn’t draw any attention to the issue. This only made Chilchuck feel worse; he definitely noticed the change.

You used to hang back with Chilchuck and talk with him constantly, sharing little tidbits about yourselves or chatting mindlessly. Things seemed to come easily when it came to you... Too bad he only realized this now.

The smiles you gave him, the eyes full of affection, the lingering touches… It stung that they were no longer a part of his everyday life. Instead, the sadness that ate at you only bled through to your face, into your actions, and into your silence. It was unfamiliar and unbearable at the same time… Especially with the way you’d closed up further.

Chilchuck wasn’t stupid; he knew you harbored some sort of feelings for him. He wasn’t sure if that made this hurt more than it would otherwise. You were obviously distancing yourself from him, further proving his point that inner party relationships were trouble. Yet, there wasn’t any anger or resentment in his chest towards you. If anything, this was a misunderstanding between the two of you.

Calling your name, he approached you almost apprehensively. The recoil you gave made that familiar sharp pain in his chest reappear. Blurting out an excuse, you made your presence scarce. And just like that, you left him alone again.

Of course he noticed. If anything, he hoped that it was all some sort of miscommunication. Sure, he wanted to reconnect with his estranged wife, but… That’s what they were: estranged childhood sweethearts that grew apart. Along with their love, their relationship changed. Things weren’t something he could fix, and his old flame knew that too. But he hoped more than anything they could sort through their differences and still be at least friends.

Of course you didn’t know. There was no way for you to know, or have known his true intentions. Like everything else he tried to bury deep down, you were fading from his life. Chilchuck couldn’t seem to let this one go, to let you go.

So he chased after you. For once in his life, he decided to not swallow these feelings down. He knew there was only so much he could bury, only so much he’d want to bury. You didn’t deserve that, and he needed you to give him those smiles again. To give him those gazes full of adoration and those tender but fleeting touches…

You didn’t pull your hand out of his immediately. Instead, when he called your name again this time, you turned. Chilchuck swallowed.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Surely there was a better thing to ask at this moment, but your lip quivered nonetheless. A deep sigh leaving you, your gaze met with the floor again.

“…So it’d stop hurting.” Was all you replied, the weight of those words knocking the air out of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“This is for the best... I hope you understand.” Your voice used to never sound so broken. It was soft in a way that he’d never heard before. You had truly given up on this, and he can’t say he blames you. He’d have given up on himself, too.

But he can’t let himself fall into that same cycle of self-pity. Not again, he assured himself, reaching up to grab a fist full of your top and pulling you down to meet his eyes. “Let me explain this to you. Please. I… I’m not going back to her because of the reason you think.” Chilchuck hadn’t heard himself this pleading in so long. He felt pitiful, and he suddenly remembered why he doesn’t like being vulnerable.

You couldn’t stop your head from nodding a yes to his request, that spark of hope trying to ignite once again in your chest. Trying to snuff it out, you waited patiently for him to continue.

And so he did. Baring it all to you, he decided this would be another step towards being more open with himself. Maybe you’d see him as pathetic for this, but he tried to piece the words together as congruent as possible. The feelings he had for her distinguished with the years spent apart and even some of the time spent together. This whole time he’s been sure that he just wanted to right the wrongs he did, and move on. Hopefully with you, when all this was over.

Of course you said yes. You listened, and with every word that left him, the flame within you rekindled. You weren’t sure what to say for a moment, besides giving a light laugh in relief. Even Chilchuck exhaled a brisk chuckle, scratching the back of his head in nervous habit. He’s not sure he could ever get used to this whole “telling your true feelings” thing.

But for you, he’d try.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <333

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I just remembered this tidbit from my childhood, and as you are the only person from outside the US to ever interact with me on here, you get to hear it. When I was in the fifth grade (10-11 years old) it was “parent career day”. You know, bring your dad in and he talks to the class about being an electrician or doctor or whatever. Anyway. Classmates dad was a police officer in our town, and he was talking about his day to day and then asked us if we had any questions. I raise my little 5th grade hand and say “when you shoot somebody, do you ever aim for the leg or anything to avoid killing them and just remove the threat?” And he looked out to the room full of 10 year olds and says “no. I always aim for the head. Always go for a kill shot if you have it.” And I think about that every time I see a cop. I also think about it every time I play call of duty….

When I was a little kid I was considering joining the Federal Police when I grew up and I spoke to a friend of the family in the AFP. Aussie cops don't have to shoot people all that often but he said that if you do have to shoot someone, you should do your best to kill them no matter the circumstances, because permanently injured targets are lawsuits waiting to happen, but a dead victim can't sue or testify and on the extremely rare chance that something like that does become a legal issue the police force will almost always win against a dead body.

He also said that aiming for the head on your first shot is an idiot move, though, because it's a small and probably mobile target. A handgun isn't a sniper rifle; unless there's a clear reason not to, aim for the centre of mass. So my cop and yours would probably disagree on just how to kill the person they've decided to just up and kill unnecessarily.

[sleeplesssmoll]

Vertin's personality and traits based on in-game context.

Contains Spoilers.

Will update when I find more tidbits about our beloved Timekeeper.

Updated: March 15 2024

Vertin sucks at math.

Not much to say here. Although, this is another difference between her and Sonetto, who loves math. I hope they do something with this later because it'd be fun.

Vertin is 16 confirmed

While this isn't a personality trait, I did see some debate about her age since it wasn't officials stated until now and it was assumed through context. Prisoner in the Cave explicitly confirms her age. Vertin became Timekeeper when she was 12 and has been the the TK for the past 4 years.

Vertin is a pianist and a painter.

You can see a piano in the back of her office in the Suitcase by the window. It makes sense in regards to Vertin's musically inclined Arcanum. There's an easel and stool in her office too. She doesn't merely collect art, she creates it. Vertin also owns a camera (official artwork released) too and mentions her photography in the begining, so this isn't new but I thought I should add it.

Vertin's still playful under all her composure.

We know baby Vertin was a little menace, but we can still see a spark of that mischief in her later years. For example, Vertin slapping a fake mustache on Regulus to avoid Sonetto really captures this. We can tell from other characters' voice lines that Vertin will most likely play along with their shenanigans. She'll chirp like a bird in response to Rabies talking about his bird friends (Wilderness interaction). She'll help Sonetto during hide and seek (Wilderness). She watches movies with Eternity and An An Lee. X asks her for help with his projects. Going through her crew's voice lines really paints a better picture of how she interacts with others. The voice lines point to someone playful and curious when she's not in work mode.

Vertin was a gremlin.

Vertin's love language is giving.

We know baby Vertin loved to give gifts to a reluctant Sonetto, but that part of her still exists. She tried to grant everyone's last wishes during the 1929 Storm. We also know she gives Lilya alcohol as a gift upon her return from 1929. She is also very direct. We see her ask people what they want or what can she do for them throughout the story. To expand further, you could say she likes fulfilling people's desires instead of limiting it to material gifts. We can see more of instances of this during the Green Lake event, especially in the way she protects Jessica from the Foundation. She also tried to get Regulus funding for a ship. I love the Suitcase Dad meme, but it's rooted in nuggets of truth.

She was a crappy student, yet she was also a resourceful gremiln. Vertin never liked the institution! Honor student? Top of the class? Never. Teachers are filled with that "Godamnit Vertin" energy toward her too. I hope we see more gremlin energy in the future.

One-sided childhood friends.

Vertin is a collector.

Sonetto and Vertin were desk mates but Sonetto couldn't stand Vertin when they were kids. She even tried to avoid Vertin at times but Vertin persisted with her gifts. We can see this in the hallway scene. Sonetto's about to change routes to avoid Vertin but Vertin called out to her to give her a frog she caught. Kinda funny how Sonetto can't stand Vertin but also can't resist her when they were kids. Vertin and Matilda were actually closer back then. Well, at least until the tear gas incident. Sonetto changed after Vertin was hurt and the rascal wasn't around to bother her. I feel like this tidbit says a lot about Vertin and her influence on people.

Baby Vertin collected rocks, bugs, and frogs. Adult Vertin collects painting and mementos of people she's lost. Things were simpler as a kid.

Vertin is stronger than she looks.

She was a wild child and she's still got it years later. Vertin can run for long periods of time, endure injuries, and climb obstacles. That, and she's still essentially a child solider. We see her hold her own when she needs to fight solo doing stuff like dodging bullets. Sonetto and Matilda also exhibit these freakishly athletic traits, especially Sonetto.

Vertin befriends people in every Era, despite knowing she'll lose them.

Compared to the other children raised by the Foundation, Vertin's traveled the world and witnessed loss in every Era. This opens doors to a whole new set of questions. How did she change over time? How do the Arcanists she recruited before the story treat her? Did she have crushes in previous Eras? Were the oranges just as bitter? Vertin seems to get close to people very easily and doesn't build walls around herself despite the trauma. You'd think someone who's lost so much would stop trying to get close to people, but she doesn't.

Vertin is optimistic.

Even as a child, she was full of hope. It's why she fights for the future and is a core part of her personality. She needs to fight for all those she lost and stop the Storm from taking more lives.

Vertin gets quiet when embarrassed/shy.

She'll blush and fall silent, but she doesn't stammer or go all tsundere. We can see this in voice lines. Sonetto's high praises make her cover her face with her hands. Eternity gets a reaction out of her when she holds her hand. She also blushed when she received surprise smooch and fell silent.

Vertin has a unique scar on her back.

Vertin is a tactile person.

Arcana mentions the scar after Vertin was shot multiple times in the back by Schneider. It's a big scar and new theories about the scar are ongoing and interesting!

In several voice line interactions, Vertin is patting people's heads or holding their hands. Not all her crew mates are on board with it, some seem confused, and others play along. We can also see examples in story like her handing Sonetto a frog while gently grasping her hand or her taking Regulus's hand to lead her into the Suitcase. Here is a post with the evidence to back this claim.

Vertin sucks at arcanum but her deep understanding of arcanum is uncanny.

The story mentions her weak arcanum skills throughout the story. They really want you to remember this. Also, her arcanum didn't manifest until sometime after the break away event but before the events in the prologue. During her stay in the guardhouse, she doubts if she's even an arcanist and mentions her arcanum has yet to manifest, which is wild. Smoltin is fighting with her tiny hands and wit in this chapter. However, in the prologue it's mentioned Vertin's understanding of arcanum and her perception makes her unique amongst arcanists. She's also considered more "rationale" than other arcanists. You can read more about this here.

Vertin is stealthy.

Smoltin sneaks around to play outside. She steals food for herself and the Ring from the Staff Canteen, which has better quality food than what the kids get. This tells me she's done this before. Adult Vertin also sneaks around the Walden to find Schneider. She makes maps, tracks guard routes, and avoids detection since whe was a kid.

Tooth Fairy was one of the few Foundation members who cared about Vertin.

Tooth Fairy is the one who gave Smoltin the toffees (chit chat voicelines). She also covered for Vertin on a few occasions to protect her from punishment. She remembers Vertin faking her illness to skip class, but her bruises and wounds were real. The Foundation does have a few kind hearts that genuinely care about the children. The causes of Vertin's injuries is up to speculation.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Bard-aby <3 except he's only loosely a bard bc i don't subscribe to absolutes <3

rambles:

BARNABY WITH PANTS??? BLASPHEMY!!! however this is a (dnd-inspired) fantasy au so. pants! loose pants tucked into modified boots because no one can tell me No!

based off of Clown's pokemon au human Barn, it seems like he might be a bit of a jewelry guy! he was wearing rings! and had an earring! also i think Barn just looks great w/ some extra shinies, yk yk

since ties aren't really a Thing in fantasy settings, i combined the iconic pattern w/ his vest for a two-in-one. then suspenders bc they fuck severely! his belt buckle is a bone both as a nod to the pattern on his tie / house decoration, and to go along with how Wally has an apple buckle! besties stay twinning!

you can't see it but on his other side he has his pack & his smoking pipe holster, which attaches to his belt! it's very high quality leather that he spent so much money on. his pipe is important to him - he carved it himself out of wood from an important tree from his childhood, so he wants it to be properly stored & protected! he has two kinds of tobacco for it - normal, and magic tobacco that essentially allows him to cast minor spells w/ the smoke

the feathers on his hat are from Ms. Beagle! in my mind he left the farm to go adventuring on a bit of a bad note, but his mama made sure to give him a couple feathers to take with so that she'd always be close <3

he keeps his claws blunt so that he doesn't accidentally scratch people/things, and so that he can play stringed instruments without cutting the strings. while i imagine for this au he plays a wide range, he prefers Loud Handheld Instruments that allow him to sing along. so in mind he has an Accordion here! loud! jaunty! but i imagine he also keeps a recorder in his pack for when Frank needs annoying. (he did have a lute, but he broke it over someone's head in the act of defending Wally's honor)

im still trying to pin down the right balance of colors for his outfit, but! for a little au tidbit - all of his spots are the same two blues as his ears. in this im imagining that he, at a young age, learned a very basic cosmetic spell that allowed him to change his spots color to mimic Ms. Beagle's! he wanted to look like his mama! but by the time he's in his late 20s he no longer changes his spots

ohhhh i forgot to add his pockets. Oh Well

[missinconsistent]

I find it so funny how during their childhood, Kuroo would just barge into Kenma's house whenever he pleased. You see Kuroo peeking through Kenma's door when Kenma is lying sick.

But also, when he catches Kenma up at 5AM playing video games?

Like boy just has the keys to the house cus I guess he can waltz in to see what Kenma is doing before the sun is even up.

And now the movie adapting this panel, but having it as a sequence of Kuroo barging into Kenma's room over time, and one of them when Kenma was still in the middle of changing (I wish I could get a screenshot)

Like, it's so funny and cute that Kuroo just invites himself into his friend's house unannounced, and no one questions it. Kenma's parents are probably just like "oh you're here again :)" and they just go about their day like seeing a stray cat that drops by from time to time.

The two were most definitely still like that throughout high school, too. During the little sequence of young Kuroo coming into Kenma's room in the movie, I thought you'd see him growing up every time the door opened (which would've been so sweet but sadly no).

I could be remembering wrong, but I vaguely remember hearing about tidbits of the Haikyuu characters grown up, and apparently Kenma's friends will just crash at his place when they like. So, it seems Kenma is pretty used to it now, thanks to Kuroo lol

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Second Movement (Allegretto)

6K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: Pero continues to be a source of encouragement and support as you navigate the marriage mart.

Warnings: Some pining and light angst. Soft!Pero warning. Liberal use of Bridgerton characters and canon.

A/N: I'm sorry for any historical inaccuracies/liberties taken! Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼

You think you should have been warned that the days following season events are somehow always busier than the events themselves.

The morning after the Danbury ball, with hardly enough sleep and exhausted almost to the point of delirium, you find yourself yawning through Daphne’s chipper recitation of your schedule for the next few days.  You must have agreed to it all while inhaling your breakfast, because you’re now dressed in a prim and proper powder blue frock, sitting prettily in the Bridgerton’s upstairs drawing room, waiting for what feels like the millionth young man you must have met last night to make your reacquaintance.  Although there was no one who had caught your attention particularly at last night’s ball, you do recall several gentlemen being very pleasant and look forward to getting to know them better.  Every visitor and potential suitor that waits for your audience today is afforded your full consideration and open heart, even if you are still very, very tired.  And though the conversation gets repetitive and the gifts are slightly impersonal, you appreciate everyone’s efforts and invite them to return all the same.

---

It’s well after lunch by the time Pero steps into the front hall of Bridgerton House and is shown into the waiting room where he finds you and all the Bridgerton women in various states of exhaustion, draped over chaise lounges and chairs, while the Bridgerton men chat merrily and sample from various boxes of candies and treats that had been brought as offerings by your, Eloise and Francesca’s suitors this morning.

“Pero!” Though you are delighted to see him, you’re so worn out, all you can muster is a small wave.  You return the bemused expression he has on his face as he takes in the room and the collection of gifts and offerings piled high with a soft smile of your own.

“No peonies,” Pero observes readily.

Daphne chirps, “No, but lots and lots of flowers.  Expensive ones.”

“But peonies are your favourite,” he says pointedly to you.  You nod, heart swelling with fondness, “You remembered!”

“Of course, Dulce, I remember everything about you.”  You feel warm at his affectionate tone; you remember everything about Pero as well, but would never have expected him to do the same.

“How did this morning go?” 

The Duchess answers for you and runs through the list of suitors that called on you this morning, including tidbits on their pedigrees or impressive accomplishments.  Pero half listens as he looks over the table of gifts; refusing a biscuit when Benedict extends a box in his direction, he murmurs, “Busy morning.”

You and the women nod.  Eloise yawns.  Francesca closes her eyes.  You sigh.

Pero kneels before you, comforting hand on your leg, “What’s the matter, Dulce?”

Sighing again, but this time a little less weary, “I don’t know?  I suppose it’s that there was no spark.  I didn’t spark with anyone.”

Daphne is quick to reassure you, “It can take time!  Simon and I did not spark right away.  In fact, we hated each other.  But as we spent time together, our feelings emerged.”

You nod in comprehension, but joke, amiably, “Well now I do not know if it’s a good thing then that I did not hate anyone either.” When you see Pero still looking at you with an apologetic expression, you smile sheepishly, “You must think me very naïve.”

“No, not naïve.  Very, very sweet, and even romantic.  There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful, Dulce.”

Nodding gratefully at Pero, he smiles when he sees that you’re taking solace in his words and decides now is a good time to produce a tin from behind his back that you hadn’t notice he was holding, “I know you have received a lot gifts already and the day itself has been quite overwhelming.  Perhaps you do not have the energy for one more?”

There’s something familiar about the container Pero is holding out to you; when you open it and see the delicate wafer cookies contained within, you’re instantly transported to a small Italian bakery that you and Pero used to visit daily in Florence. “Oh Pero,” you breathe, your eyes bright.

“I was in Florence recently and could not help but revisit our old haunt.  Did you know Signor Russo is still there?  I’m embarrassed by how many tins I purchased.  I remembered last night they used to be your favourite and it just so happened that I had one tin left in my luggage,” grins Pero; all he has wanted to do since he said good night to you after the ball, is to draw out the smile that’s currently on your face.

“Thank you so much, Pero,” you close your eyes and hum in contentment as the familiar sweet flavour washes over your tongue.  “This is the best thing I received today,” you grin, “May I share?”

“Of course,” Pero isn’t the least bit surprised by your display of generosity and he watches with satisfaction as you excitedly pass around the tin to your friends, sharing with them its origins and small snippets of the time in your life when these cookies were a daily treat.

Invigorated by the nostalgic treat, you and Pero spend the remainder of the afternoon catching up and recalling fond memories of your childhood together.  You learn that after completing his studies, Pero embarked on the customary grand tour before returning to Spain to help his father with the Tovar estate.  Subsequent to his father’s passing, at his King’s insistence he resumed his father’s former diplomatic duties and has spent the last five years travelling under the same charge previously entrusted to the old Barón.  When you tell Pero about the many places you have travelled with your father since you saw him last, you delight in the discovery that you’ve been to many of the same places, sometimes missing each other by only weeks.  Your never-ending conversation comparing new and old favourite discovered delicacies and sights runs all the way until dinner; you can’t remember the last time you’ve had so much fun just talking.

It’s exactly what you had wanted to do since the moment you saw Pero last night at the Danbury Ball.  Your grateful heart overflows with joy that you’ve been allowed the grace of closing out this whirlwind twenty-four hours in the laughter-filled, carefree manner that can only be possible when catching up with an old friend.

When you enter the Ramsbury Ball the following week it’s with Pero as one of your party.  His inclusion the most natural thing given that he’s become a regular fixture at Bridgerton House, often joining Colin in the morning for breakfast and returning in the afternoon to check in on how you’re doing and how the day’s suitors have treated you.

You can hardly express your appreciation at having your old friend’s support while you endeavour on the daunting undertaking of your first social season.  Though you remain a popular fixture among the ton, you must admit that socializing so much does not come without effort, being used to much quieter and calmer company.  It does not escape you how lucky you are to have a group of friends and supporters such as Pero and the Bridgertons with whom you can momentarily relax and jovially chat in between dances and some of the more awkward attempts at flirting by your suitors.

“Wait, wait!” laughs Colin, “You mean to tell us that you were actually there when our good Barón got his scar?  Please, pray tell, how did it happen?  I have tried in vain to get Tovar to reveal his dark secret!”

Pero catches your eye and you see his own twinkle in mischief.  “I’m afraid my lips are sealed,” you proclaim, falling easily into conspiracy with your friend, “and on any account, the tale is not suitable for polite society.”

Eloise, Colin and Benedict all groan and try various tactics to convince you to give up your story, but to no avail.  You simply will not tell them that the fearsome scar over Pero’s left eye is the result of a boy falling off the dock after running too vigorously towards the lunch bell and slipping on a wet fish.  Though you can laugh about it now, at the time you had been scared witless when the sailors from your father’s fleet lifted Pero’s wet, limp body from the water; you had cried by his bedside all three nights he was unconscious, praying he would be alright.  Even now, Pero remembers the force with which you had punched him in his uninjured shoulder when he woke, scolding him for scaring you so and making him promise never to do it again. 

Later, when you’re once again gliding across the dance floor in Pero’s comfortable but firm hold, he grins down at you, “Thank you, Dulce, for keeping my secret and upholding my reputation as a dastardly rogue.”

“My pleasure!  Have you been telling people that your scar is the result of some great feat of bravery?  Perhaps you fought off five pirates in order to protect the virtue of a young maiden?”

Pero laughs, “Sadly my imagination is not as inventive as yours.  I have simply been saying the details of the incident are difficult for me to recall.”

You nod, knowingly, “Ah yes, on account of all the injuries sustained.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I will be sure to drop enough vague hints to satiate their curiosity and raise you in their esteem.”

“Thank you, Dulce,” Pero says, amused as always by your good humour.

But you haven’t finished teasing, “... and perhaps they will be more forgiving of when you are dull, if they understand that you suffered a great many head injuries in your past.”

“Why you…”

Luckily for you, the dance requires you to spin away from Pero at this exact moment so you never hear what he says; by the time you turn back into his arms, he has already forgiven you – he’s never been truly upset with you before and has no plans to start now.  As the two of you continue to dance, your happy banter floats over the quickness of your steps and the laughter Pero pulls from you rings loud and clear across the dance floor.

---

Pero watches as you dance yet another dance with some seemingly upstanding gentleman from the ton.  A Lord something-something-shire.  Though he stands stiffly next to Benedict, scowling, inwardly he smiles and admires your graceful form.  You really have grown up to be a lovely, beautiful young lady, and yet – he finds in many ways, you’re hardly changed from the spirited, kind, and funny girl he knew in his youth.  You’re elegant and poised, but even as you extend your arm to your partner, the lilt of your fingers denote a playfulness that he remembers, something he does not observe in the other girls of the ton.  When not dancing, your pretty smile and witty remarks, coupled with the way your entire being lights up during the energetic story telling of one of your anecdotes, charms the entire room.  He’s exceptionally proud of you.

Still, he can tell you’re holding back, that you’re not entirely comfortable to be yourself in this setting.  Perhaps it’s modesty that begs you not to draw the attention of the entire room.  Or you’re following some outdated tutelage to conform with the subdued formality of such events.  All he knows is that to him, you’re radiant, a beacon of light, but he has yet to see you unleash the full extent of your charisma on the ton.

A weird, inexplicable part of him is glad that you don’t.  Something in him oddly akin to possessiveness wants to remain the only man at these events that knows you the way he does; knowing the depth of your wry humour, your never yielding compassion, and your unique perspective on the wide world that only a handful of people in this room have seen.  This same part of him leads him to spend most of the balls and societal events with his face set in a deep, glowering frown, standing apart from the other members of the ton, needing to be alone in order to wrestle with his thoughts.

Since the day following the Danbury Ball, Pero has brought you a single stemmed peony every single day, reasoning that if nothing else, you will have at least one of your favourite flower if none of your suitors sends any.  You come to look forward to the quiet meditative minutes you spend carefully clipping and arranging your one peony every day; it’s as if Pero has not only given you the flower, but also permission to take some relaxing time to yourself amidst the hustle and bustle of your social obligations.  By the time the Somerset House Gallery viewing arrives, you have yourself a fairly impressive bouquet that brings you peace and joy every time you look at it. 

As usual, Pero joins your group for the outing, but to your surprise, Eloise does not.  The reason for this is soon clear when Colin announces that he will be escorting Penelope Featherington as part of your party today.  You haven’t broached the topic with Eloise, but it’s clear that something has happened between the two women.  For as long as you can remember, Eloise and Penelope were thick as thieves, the very best of friends – when she thinks no one is watching, you’ve seen how this rift has affected her, but you can also tell Eloise would rather not discuss it.

Although you do not know her as well as you do the Bridgertons, Penelope has always seemed to be a lovely and friendly type of person.  Spending the afternoon with her today, you find her to also be witty and observant, direct in her comments and transparent in her thoughts and feelings as your group wanders through the galleries and enjoys the art on display.  Periodically, a friend of the Bridgertons or a suitor will join your small group as you move from piece to piece, making small talk and asking you or Francesca what you thought of this painting or that. 

When your party gathers around the refreshments table, Mr. Barnett, a young man you recall dancing with once at a recent ball, joins the conversation and remarks that the entire event is too dull for his tastes.

Met with polite but awkward looks and a light scoff from the Duchess, he apologies and tries to explain himself, “I simply mean that a sporting event, say a boxing match might provide more excitement than simply standing around and looking at pictures.  Although, I’m sure, Miss Featherington, you and your family might find this banality preferable to the type of action that typically surrounds the boxing ring.”

You’re absolutely shocked.  Even having not returned to London for several years, you had heard the rumours surrounding the late Lord Featherington’s untimely death.  Although certainly scandalous, as far as you knew, it was all speculation and you can’t imagine any reason to bring it up in polite conversation, never mind the gall of doing so directly to the poor deceased man’s daughter.

Colin looks murderous, his hands flexing, clearly battling himself on how he’d like to handle the situation without creating too much of a scene.  Next to him, Pero glares menacingly at Mr. Barnett, ready to follow his friend’s lead and provide whatever backup is necessary. 

Your candy laced voice snaps all three men back to the present, “I’m honestly so astonished, where do the men find their courage nowadays?” directing the question at Mr. Barnett who perks up at your attention.  You continue, all smiles, “For the life of me, I don’t think I could ever be brave enough to voice a thought like that out loud.”  Mr. Barnett turns bright red and mumbles something that sounds like “Right,” before bowing slightly and scampering away.  Pero finds himself smirking and filled with pride.  He remembered this viper-tongued hidden side of yours – you, who was always so sweet and good-natured, but irrevocably intolerant of cruelty or injustice.

Once in a small town in Greece, he had watched you chase away a group of boys bigger than you who had been stealing candy from a local girl, with nothing more than the ferocious spitting of admonishments and a small stick.  That the bullies probably didn’t even understand a word of English did not apparently leave your harsh rebukes lost in translation; the fury in your face and the conviction in the stance of your small frame doing all the talking for you.  After comforting the little girl, you had then given her all your candy and seen her safely home.  Later when Pero had offered to buy you more candy, you had been surprised that he knew you had run out, embarrassed he had witnessed your display of ferocity.  That was the day he bestowed the nickname “Dulce” on you, telling you as he refilled your candy bag that he was proud of you; the same way he’s proud of you now.

Unsurprisingly, Penelope excuses herself shortly after and when Colin follows her, your group breaks apart and you end up walking through the gallery with just Pero.  You wait as long as you can, making sure you’re out of earshot of others before putting your heads together the way only close confidants do, recounting what had happened.

“The audacity of that man, if he can even call himself that!” you practically hiss, still so incensed at the lack of civility that you had been witness to.

Pero chuckles, he’s always quite liked it when you would get riled up and vent to him; it was like watching a soft kitten bare its claws, “Well you certainly put him in his place, Dulce.”

Sighing, you certainly hope so, “I hope Penelope is alright.  And I hope Mr. Barnett at least has enough sense not to approach her ever again.”

“Well, if he does, I’m sure he will have plenty to contend with, including another fearsome tongue lashing by the prettiest lady of the season.”  While you feel your cheeks flush at his compliment, Pero continues, “My guess is that you won’t be seeing him in the suitors line at Bridgerton House.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, “Pity.”

“But what if he would have brought you peonies, Dulce?” teases Pero.

You take Pero’s arm, leading him back to a painting you’ve been wanting to revisit, “I’d throw the bouquet at his head.  Besides, I already receive the most beautiful peonies from someone I actually want to spend time with.  You can tell the men of the ton that peonies are taken, they need to find their own flower.”  You chuckle cheerfully and Pero finds that the sound lands deep in his chest and makes his heart expand.

If you thought the Italian cookies or the peonies were thoughtful gifts, Pero renders you absolutely speechless when he presents you with a breathtaking necklace before the Crawford Ball.  When he sees you, he’s secretly pleased that the necklace will compliment the cream gown that you’ve chosen for the evening, but he also can’t help but notice the way it shapes to your curves and accentuates your pretty features.  He waits with bated breath as you open the black velvet box and triumphs at your gasp and the way your eyes grow wide as you lift the delicate ruby necklace from its soft resting place. 

“Oh Pero, are these…?” you whisper, so full of awe and disbelief that you’re unable to finish your sentence.  It’s not often that something or someone renders you speechless.

“The rubies from India?” he finishes for you softly, “Yes, they are.”

Your eyes shine bright at the recognition of the rubies that had been gifted to Pero’s father by Indian dignitaries; when you were younger, you were so entranced by their beauty that you would often ask the old Barón to show them to you, and the kind hearted man had always indulged you with a chuckle.

“May I?” asks Pero gently, and you turn to let Pero drape the necklace around your neck, letting it rest delicately over your collar bones before he clasps it securely.  Hand gingerly touching the precious jewels you turn to Pero, still stunned, “Pero, this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” he smiles generously, “it always amused Father how much joy these rubies brought you.  I think he would have loved to see you wearing them.”  Your eyes well up with emotion, remember the gentle man whose sweetness you see shining so brightly and clearly in his son before you.

That night, when your necklace attracts the inevitable compliments, Pero watches with a full heart as you proudly talk about his father with love and generosity, regaling your admirers with tales of the far-off lands where you knew the man who raised him best.  Unavoidably, heads would turn in his direction during your stories, and Pero finds himself grimacing at the attention; choosing to turn away and move out of your audience’s line of sight to somewhere where he can once again admire you from afar in peace.

It doesn’t escape the ton’s notice that Pero only ever dances with you at balls; though your dance card is always full, the second and sometimes even third dance are permanently reserved for him.  Your smile is the brightest for him and ever present whether you’re together, on the dance floor or off.  There is no politeness or restraint with the two of you, only lively and animated conversation - the cheerful and melodic harmony of your joint laughter often carrying above the noise of the room.  He only ever smiles for you.

In between dances, if you’re not engaging in small talk with other young ladies or your suitors, you can always be found chatting happily with Pero and the Bridgertons; the other ball goers looking over in jealousy that your little corner of friends might actually dare to enjoy yourselves at an event meant for the very serious business of finding husbands.

Mornings at Bridgerton House include the usual parade of suitors waiting with gifts and flowers to have an audience with you or Francesca, and to Eloise’s extreme mortification, sometimes her as well.  If he doesn’t stay after breakfast, Pero generally arrives mid-morning to visit with Colin, but spends the majority of his time scowling at the young men waiting patiently in line, making no secret of the fact he’s scrutinizing them as he passes by.

The Duchess cannot decide if the Barón is a help or a hinderance to your marriage prospects.  On one hand, his fearsome glower and imposing figure have been enough to scare off any potential suitor who either had less than honourable designs on your fortune, or, via consensus with the Bridgerton brothers, was deemed to be a rake, or worse.  On the other hand, it was clear to any person with eyes that the two of you have a deep friendship - your company the only one he sought out, and his always cheerfully received by you.  Daphne could only imagine that it might intimidate even the most strong-willed, unwavering of suitors.  She wonders if any of your suitors ever question if your friendship with Pero masked a deeper affection between the two of you; she herself having started to wonder the same.

Convincing herself that it’s for your ultimate well-being, she endeavours to talk to the Barón about it. 

The morning after the Crawford Ball, when the line of suitors is the longest its ever been, Daphne waits for Pero to make his usual appearance mid-morning, and when he is seen in, she’s already anticipating him at the bottom of the stairs.  After he greets her courteously, she asks, “Barón Tovar, may I please request a moment of your time?  There is something with which I need your assistance.”

Following the Duchess into a room off the main hall, Pero asks with curiosity, “What may I do for you, your Grace?”

Daphne starts by thanking him for his support during the season, acknowledging that his presence has meant so much to you and helped you tremendously in conquering any nerves you may have had about debuting.

“Of course.  The pleasure has genuinely been all mine; it sometimes feels almost unbelievable that it has been over ten years since we last saw each other.  I have found it remarkably easy to fall into old patterns.”

“Yes, it is evident that the two of you are very close,” Daphne hopes that her comment comes out as the compliment she intends while at the same time hinting to Pero why she may have asked to speak to him in the first place.

Countenance faltering a little but still keeping his tone kind, Pero queries, “Is there something you wish to ask me, your Grace?”

Daphne decides from the limited time she’s known Pero that he is the type of person to appreciate transparency and directness, and so she ask with what she hopes is an impassive look on her face, “Do you intend to court her, my Lord?”

Pero nearly stutters, so caught off guard by the question.  He contemplates the implication of the Duchess having asked this question, and then, more seriously, his answer; after a few moments of silence, Pero responds truthfully, “No.”

Daphne nods in response, “I see, my Lord.  Please do excuse me for asking what you may have found to be an impertinent question.”

“Not at all, your Grace.  I rest easy at night confident that you always have your friend’s best interests at heart.”

Daphne nods, “Yes, always.  That is my highest priority.  Please consider with me: if I have wondered, do you think it is possible that some suitors and potential suitors have pondered the same question?”

And there it is, a perfectly reasonable question that Pero knows if he were to answer, would expose a part of his heart that he’s been keeping hidden, maybe even from himself.  Pero was telling the truth when he said he would not court you, but he is not so selfish to wish to keep you from another if he cannot have you for his own.  Truthfully, he is aware that he presents an intimidating and imposing figure, the mettle of which might scare off any number of gentlemen interested in pursuing you. 

“I should step back,” he announces abruptly and with finality.

“No, no!” protests Daphne, “I do not think that is necessary!  Your presence and attendance with us at the season’s events have been most welcomed and to be honest, a comfort.”

“I do not wish to do more harm then good, though,” Pero says, resigned, “If my presence deters someone who might be her match, I could never forgive myself.”

Again, though Daphne has only known Pero for a short period of time, she somehow knows that he’s made up his mind, and that even she, a Duchess, does not have the power to change it.  Pero thanks her for all her continued kindness and attention towards you and bids her goodbye with a bow.  Heading to leave out the front door, he looks up, as if looking through to the drawing room where you’re currently sitting, one last time before exiting Bridgerton House with a heavy heart.

You haven’t seen Pero in a week and a half and you’re worried sick about him.  He hasn’t been by Bridgerton House at all and he missed the Trowbridge Ball last week.  He, of course, does not owe you a tally of his coming and goings, but you feel unsettled at having not seen him for such an extended period of time after having seen him nearly every day for the past two months.  Your days, though full of engagements, feels empty when he doesn’t make an appearance.  You miss him.  You miss his gentle teasing, his reassuring presence and the way only he can make you laugh.  You have not really laughed in nearly ten days.

You convince Eloise to show you how to sneak out and traverse the alleys that run behind the houses of the square safely and quickly, the way you know she used to in order to visit Penelope, so you can secretly pop down the street to check in on Pero one evening.

You follow Eloise’s instructions exactly as you hurry along the pathways that weave behind the grand houses and it takes you only five minutes to reach the house Pero is staying at.  Standing in the small courtyard, you spot one window with a light on; hoping Pero is in the lit room, you find a few stones on the ground and launch them upwards.  Your aim could be better, but you do manage to hit your target a few times, ricocheting a few stones against the glass with the lightest of clinks. When you see Pero’s face appear in the window, you’re more than relieved – he doesn’t look so ill that he can’t move about and that’s good news.  You wave at his confused face and watch as he leaves the window; it’s a minute before the back door opens, “Dulce, what are you doing here?  Is everything okay?”

Pero is looking around into the courtyard, concerned for why you would appear at his door in the middle of the night, alone.

“I could be asking you the same thing, Pero!  I am so relieved to see you up and about, I’ve been so worried about you!”

Pero melts a little at the concern written across your face, “Me?  Why?”

“I haven’t heard from you in… well, it has been ten days now!  You haven’t been by Bridgerton House, Colin did not know where you were, and you missed the last ball!  I thought you must have taken ill!” your voice sounding a little shrill as your finish in a huff, as if why you might be worried was the most obvious thing in the world.

Pero laughs a little at your theatrics and his jovial manner makes you laugh as well, “I am very glad that you are not.  I mean, you’re not ill, are you?”

“No, I am not, Dulce.  Thank you for being worried about me.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “You are very welcome.  Well!  Now that I am convinced you’re not at Death’s door, may I ask where you’ve been?  Why have you not come to see me?”

Pero scratches the back of his neck and looks mildly uncomfortable, “I had some business to take care of over the last few days that took up a lot of my time.”

“Oh!  Well, I hope it has all been settled to your satisfaction!”

“It has.”

You’re glad for him, “Good.  Then things will be back to normal?  You will be able to come to the Queen’s Luncheon this week?”

“I do not think so, Dulce,” his chest tightens a little at the way your face falls, “I think it is probably better if I stay away for a while.  I don’t think I am helping your marriage prospects very much.”

You’re so confused, what does Pero have to do with your marriage prospects? “Pero, I’m not sure what you mea-” but you’re cut off from finishing your thought when you hear a distinctively feminine laugh ring out from inside the house, followed closely by a response from a second, also feminine voice.

Your hands fly to your mouth to cover your gasp of shock upon realizing that Pero has company.  Female company.  And for some inexplicable reason, your eyes start to fill with tears, “Oh Pero, I’m so sorry!  I did not realize you were not alone!  I am so sorry to interrupt!”

You’re babbling and you’re not sure why nor can you seem to stop yourself, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” It’s not from embarrassment.  You’ve known Pero far too long to be embarrassed by anything with him; the two of you have always been able comfortable enough with each other to laugh off most things.  No, this is something else - an uncomfortable, sharp feeling right in the middle of your chest, “I just thought you were sick and I am so very glad you’re not.  I’ll go now!  I am sorry, so sorry!”  You fight back tears as you turn and flee back to Bridgerton House.

Eloise is waiting for you as she promised she would; she freezes when she sees your tear-stained face but to her credit, doesn’t pry – she just asks if you are okay and ushers you back into the house when you nod.  By the time you’re tucked into bed and your lights have been blown out, you’ve been able to name the dreadful feeling that’s made a home in your heart.  It’s devastation.  You’re devastated.  And plenty confused and angry at yourself for feeling that way!  It’s selfish, you think, selfish and childish.  You have become so accustomed to being the only woman Pero ever paid attention to, you realize that you had somehow come to think of him as yours, and having been confronted tonight with the fact that he decidedly is not, you’re now feeling foolish and plunging headfirst into a sense of loss for something that was never yours in the first place.

But… was that all it was?  No, it wasn’t.  You had liked it.  You liked being the only one he danced with.  The only one who he seemed to smile for.  The only one who could make him laugh.  Oh, his laugh.  Deep and booming - you lived for the way it shook all the way from his belly and crinkled the little lines around his eyes.  You harboured pride in being the only one who could pull it from him and you liked all the other ways that his countenance would seemingly soften just for you. He made you feel special and so worthy.

And that wasn’t the only way he did so.  He was so thoughtful and considerate; remembering even the littlest things about you: what you liked, what brought you joy.  He knew you so very well; always knowing the exact thing they would make your heart sing and taking every opportunity to do so.

You think about how Pero had let you lean on him this entire season - every request for reassurance or support met with kindness and words of praise for your wit, your mind, your sweet nature that you couldn’t help but believe based solely on the earnest and genuine expression in his eyes.

He had been there every step of the way with you, shouldering some of the pressure of the season so you wouldn’t have to; being your reprieve and relief, a shelter where you could laugh loudly and unabashedly be yourself.

He made you feel free and cared for.

And Lord, was he handsome. Closing your eyes, you think of the distinct slope of his nose and the strong cut of his jaw, covered in that scruff of his - unkempt but somehow still so distinguished.  You think of Pero’s deep brown eyes that would fleck with gold when he laughed, and wonder how you haven’t fallen into them every time he looked at you. And his hair. Oh, his hair. Your fingers actually itch just thinking about the soft curls that frame his face so perfectly; how you wish you could run your hands through them.

The thought that there is another woman who might be doing exactly that right now shatters your heart so completely.

You love him.  The realization is both a relief and a complete shock to your system.

The unexpected admission to yourself that you’re in love with Pero, followed closely by the certainty that your feelings are undoubtedly unrequited, is a one-two punch to your heart.

You cry and cry until sleep overtakes you.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa

[sunshine-for-serotonin]

My lord i would give you my firstborn for more Erik content, hes literally my babygirl.

Hello my darling!! I decided to do some cuddling headcannons for you as well as some random tidbit headcannons!!! {it’s extremely unorganized} this can be read as any Erik of your choosing, but some specific phantoms are mentioned once or twice!

I’m not super proud of this, but I felt like I had to feed you guys something.

I am not officially back to my full tumblr writing, but I am hoping to make a steady return! Also, I made a Lerik bot on Character.ai if you guys want me to un-private it and post the link. :)

When you cuddle with Erik, no matter which version, you basically have to plan on taking the first or second half of the day off.

He’s very touch starved, so he doesn’t like letting you go unless he absolutely has to, and even then Erik will probably throw a fit of some kind, too desperate for your touch to even think about how it may affect the rest of his opera house.

He’s not ashamed about voicing his need for you either; if you try to leave, he will drop down to his knees and blubber like a child, begging for you to stay and love on him. If it’s a specific person that is causing you to leave, Erik will threaten to kill them! It doesn’t matter if it is the managers, Meg and Madam Giry, or even Christine (should she stay there after the whole final lair scene and the phantoms activities die down)! It doesn’t matter! They don’t matter! The only thing that matters is you and your love! Erik needs you, (Y/N)! He needs you to love him until he can’t think! For you to cuddle him and kiss him like he’s your beloved pet!

Concerning you being friends with Christine, Erik absolutely despises it! She had already abandoned him for the Vicomte, she can’t take you away from him too! She mustn’t! No, if Christine even tried to advise you away from him, he would make sure she wishes she never approached you!

Please, if he starts on one of his tangents about you leaving him for someone else, make love to him and tell him what a good boy he is. It’s a sure fire way to calm him down, and Erik, even though he is likely significantly older than you, loves being coddled and reassured that you won’t leave him.

you will find that almost all versions of Erik prefer to be held rather than just hold you, with the exception of Cherik. It’s not because they’re selfish! It’s because Erik needs you to hold him in order for things to feel okay, and it feels good that you would hold him of your own free will and kindness. If he was the one completely holding you, he would be worried you didn’t actually want to be close to him!

To expand on that a little more, Cherik is the only phantom that prefers to be the big spoon. All the others want you to press against them from behind and wrap your arms around their waist, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin of their neck. {as mentioned in one of my previous posts, Kerik is a horny bastard and will probably start getting hard if you’re not careful.}

Get them to lay on top of you.

Do it. Well… do it if you can handle them crying from emotional release, anyway.

Laying on top of you will give Erik the feeling of maternal care and nurturing he never received as a child, and it’s bound to make him cry from the sheer love he feels for you and the feeling of love you’re giving him, and even then the abandonment issues and childhood trauma just overflows from him like a fountain of sadness.

For versions of Erik where his deformities are a little more open and wet, like Meriks, you’ll have to reassure him that you don’t mind touching it. That the feeling of his open flesh against your skin doesn’t bother you, and that you’d love to cuddle him regardless.

Phantoms with deformities like Meriks are almost always between a rock and a hard place when it comes to cuddling you because on one hand, they’re worried about you seeing their deformities up close and so they’ll want to lay their bad side on your chest so you can’t see it as well. On the other hand, they’re paranoid about you finding the feeling of their deformities gross against your skin and making you uncomfortable.

It’s a lot to unpack when you cuddle Erik, or even give him attention in general, but you will find that it is well worth the effort. Erik loves you and would burn down the entire world to make you smile, and yet he finds himself feeling he is unworthy of even mere scraps of your attention and love, but you always reassure him otherwise. :)

[cherrycolored-punk]

NHTK - Chapter Two

Masterlist

pairing: brother's best friend! Eddie Munson x fem! Reader, reader is Reefer Rick’s little sister.

w/c: 6.2k

author's note: this is a repost from my previous blog @strangemagicc but somewhat re-written, some of their story has changed. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please reblog if you did, support is always appreciated!

warnings: angst, mention of cheating (technically not reader), mention of anxiety and a past car accident, brief mention of money issues for reader

Then:

“Fucking shit!” 

Eddie can hear the worry in your voice as he rounds the corner. The sound of his heavy boots against the tiled floor catches your attention.

The fear is vibrant in your eyes when you turn to him, a quiet cry for help and he can’t help but chuckle at the scene. At the state of your brows pushed together, face twisted in horror.

He looks over your shoulder, noticing that the popcorn is overfilled and smoke is billowing from behind the glass doors of the machine. Charred pieces of popcorn fall into the vat; the burnt smell wafts around you and fills the air.

“Way to go, Little Lipton,” he laughs and moves around you to turn off the machine.

“Shut up,” but the words come out like a whine.

You’re already annoyed that he caught you creating a mess and even more peeved that he’s looking at you with that cocky smirk of his.

“Alright,” he sighs heavily, “this one is going to be out of commission for a bit, so we’ll need to make sure that one is always prepped with fresh kernels,” he tilts his chin to the only other popcorn machine and leans against the counter with his arms crossed.

“Out of commission?” Your voice raises an octave, face twisting in horror as his words make alarms blare in your skull.

“Yeah,” he chuckles as though his next words are obvious.

“We have to clean this one before we use it, or all the other batches are going to taste like shit, and that’s not the easiest or fastest task.”

“He’s going to kill me,” you groan and drop your head back.

He being your manager and a major pain in your ass since the day you started working here. Mark wanted things a certain way; candies lined in a specific direction, cups displayed for the customers to see, popcorn made to perfection and not burnt until it turned to dust.

“Probably not kill, just maim,” Eddie shrugs with a crooked grin, a glint of amusement in his chestnut eyes as he stares down at you.

“You never told me what to do if I burnt the kernels,” you abruptly look up at him and swat at his arm. 

His smile grows wider at your display.

“That’s because I told you not to overfill the kettle and never thought you’d ignore that tidbit,” he sighs dramatically, “guess that’s what I get for thinking.”

Reflexively he moves out of arm’s reach before you can do any serious damage.

Eddie enjoys the way your lower lip juts out, how your forehead creases between your eyebrows when you are mad, and fuck, were you pissed.

It had been nearly two weeks since you started working at Hawk Theater, trying to save up for the new camcorder you’d been eying, and Eddie had been assigned to train you.

Or his form of training, which was a lot of “this is how they want us to do it, but this is what works.”

The problem was that you’d been distracted.

It was the way his smile lifted to the side and the way he tied his long curls into a messy ponytail. How he’d look at you when you caught onto something quick or the reassurance he’d quickly give when you didn’t. And sometimes, the sun would shine through the windows and hit his eyes just right, making them look like molten honey.

You couldn’t help the nervous flutters that sprung to life when he was near, your childhood crush resurfacing with teeth and taking hold of you.

It made it hard to listen and remember the instructions he told you, like not to fill the kernels past the very obvious line or else.

He never expounded on the or else, but negative consequences were heavily implied.

“You’re such a jerk,” you rebut, but the venom fell flat, the insult sounding endearing to Eddie’s ears.

“You already knew I was, sweetheart. Don’t know why you expected anything different now that you work with me,” he begins cleaning out the popcorn machine. Dumping the burnt kernels into the trash can before adding the cleaning solution to the kettle.

Your heart is still fluttering, replaying the single pet name over and over again.

“Guess that’s what I get for thinking,” you mimick him and begin helping him clean so the two of you would be ready for opening in thirty minutes.

Eddie watches you from the corner of his eye, the way your gaze is lit with mischief as you tease him, and he can't help but smile to himself.

“Are you two trying to set this place on fire?” Mark Huntzberger, the manager, bellows as he came down the stairs from his office. He eyes the mess you made with a stern, critical eye that shifts over the concession stand and back to you.

The air still smells of burnt kernels and puffs of smoke still swirl in the air - highlighted by the afternoon sun peeking through the windows.

You can’t help the way you shrink under his scrutiny.

“I know this may just be some summer job to you, but this is my livelihood. If you can’t get it together by the end of the week, I will make sure this one fires you.” He points a fat finger at Eddie before turning his attention to him. 

Munson’s face has gone flat, eyebrows set in a straight line. Jaw tense.

“It was an honest mistake,” Eddie interjects.

“Clean it up,” Huntzberger orders before disappearing into the ticket booth.

“Why did I think this was going to be easy or fun?” You question more to yourself than to Eddie, shoulders tense as you tie the trash bag containing the burnt kernels before pulling it from the bin.

“Because the town fuck up works here, how hard can it be?” He nudges you with a wink, wiping the inside of the soiled popcorn machine with a clean rag.

“Move over, Eddie. Someone’s about to take your place,” you giggle and walk towards the exit doors that lead to the alley behind the cinema.

Eddie drops the rag into the popcorn machine, following you outside.

The summer air is suffocating with its humidity—the sharp stench of spoiled food wafting from the dumpsters causing you to wince as you approach the dumpster.

“Don’t do that. It’s the only thing I got going for me,” his grin grows wider as he walks in step with you.

He was all self-deprecation all the time, and you begin to wonder how much of it he really believes—the thought causing a pang of sadness to twist in your gut.

You lift the bag over your head, but he stops you, taking it from your grasp and hoisting it into the metal canister.

“Y’know it’s not true, Ed’s,” you begin, brushing your hands off and looking up at him. Eyes nearly squinted closed from the intensity of the sun.

“What’s not?” He questions, leaning against a brick wall that hid the dumpsters from the rest of the alley.

You stand in front of him, toe to toe, trying to hide the way your gaze dances over his face. Tracing the freckles that line his nose and admiring the dimple pushed into his cheek as he smiles at you.

And fuck, he’s caught you staring.

“That you don’t have anything else going for you,” you clear your throat, “you have lots of talents-“

“Ah, yes, I am known for my natural ability to annoy and antagonize,” he interrupts, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re so annoying,” but the words sound more affectionate than irked.

“I’m being serious,” you begin again, “I mean, I don’t know many people who can learn a new song on the guitar half as fast as you. Didn’t you learn Master of Puppets in like a week?”

You shrug, doing your best to be nonchalant.

“And what about all the stuff you know about cars? Or the random tidbits about pop culture and music? You’re like an encyclopedia britannica,” you continue with a small laugh.

“For all things useless,” he corrects. 

You poke his side causing him to flinch away from your touch, swatting your hand in the process.

“I mean it!” You insist, gaze holding his. 

It’s the exact look you get when you’re excited about something, and Eddie chuckles, ears turning a shade of red from the attention you’re giving him.

“You’re just trying to flatter me so I don’t fire you,” he jokes, but you continue to look up at him with a dramatic bat of your eyes, inching closer.

“Is it working?” You retort, exaggerating the breathiness of your voice.

For a brief moment, you see his confident facade falter - his eyes darting between your eyes and the plush of your lips as he swallows hard. 

But in an instant, it returns.

“Flattery always works with me, sweetheart,” he winks and turns back to the building.

There it was again.

Your heart stops, skips, and starts again as you will your legs to move. You watch his retreating frame, eyes boring into the back of his head.

“You coming?” He doesn’t stop walking, and you take wide steps to catch up with him.

Before you walk back through the door, you grab his arm and turn him to face you. He’d successfully evaded your compliments before, but you needed him to know it wasn’t empty praise.

“I meant what I said, Eds.” 

He looks at you with a questioning perk of his eyebrow but doesn’t verbalize his confusion so you continue on.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” you squeeze his arm softly so he can feel your sincerity.

When he doesn’t say anything, you release his appendage with an uncertain grin and pull open the door, the cold cinema air greeting you.

Eddie watches your retreating frame for a moment, a little taken aback, before following you to the concession stand.

The two of you fall into an easy silence as you work. 

You wipe the counters and finish cleaning the popcorn machine, carefully following Eddie’s instructions while he sets up the rope dividers in between each register, making sure things are organized just as Mark liked before the doors opened.

He looks at you every so often, and you try to hide the way his subtle attention affects you, keeping your head down and focused on counting your till. Having to recount when you catch him looking again.

But finally, you’re ready for the day; doors unlocked, and fresh edible popcorn ready for the masses. A small line of moviegoers already stood in front of the ticket booth.

The two of you rest your backs against the counter, waiting for the first customer to approach, when Eddie leans over to you, warm breath fanning your ear.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

It was the first time he said your name. Acknowledged you as something other than Little Lipton.

The first time Eddie saw you as more than just his best friend’s little sister.

—————

Now:

Eddie clamors into his trailer, heavy boots dragging across the worn carpet as he trudges to the kitchen and swings open the fridge, grabbing a six-pack that is nearly gone.

He spreads out on the couch and chugs one can before reaching for another, eyes darting around his home. Uncle Wayne had been gone for nearly a week on another cross-country drop-off, and Eddie usually enjoyed having the place to himself, but now the silence engulfed him.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly as the seconds pass, his thoughts clashing into each other.

—————

Then:

Eddie tries to keep his attention on the TV as you enter the room for the fourth time that afternoon.

Rick shakes his head, taking a quick absent look in your direction.

“Dude, I think my sister might like you,” your brother laughs as you disappear back into your room.

Eddie scoffs at his words, but the thrum of his heart would’ve given him away if Rick could hear it.

“I’d never date your sister,” Eddie nudges his arm against Rick’s, eyes still trained on the video game as he sniped an enemy target, but his mind wanders behind the wood of your door. Wondering what you’re doing and if Rick might actually be right.

“Like I’d let you,” he chuckles, breaking Munson’s train of thought.

Eddie’s brow twists in confusion, and it isn’t lost on Rick. 

He turns to his friend with a flippant roll of his eyes and a gentle nudge against the metalhead’s shoulder. Prepared to emphasize his point.

“Oh, come on. I love you, man, but there’s no way in hell I’d let my sister date a guy like you.”

Eddie chuckles along with Rick to conceal the sting of his friend’s words.

He knows all the things that people don’t like about him. His hair, his tattoos. The bad reputation he’d more than earned, but to hear it from his best friend made it sting more.

He can’t help but wonder if you see him that way, a loser with no future—just the town freak. 

And in that moment, he promises himself that he’ll never put himself out there to know.

—————

Now:

Eddie presses his palm to his eye, a headache building behind his orbital bone. 

Rick’s words reverberate off his skull as he grapples with the feelings he’s long ignored. The feelings that had sprouted and made a home of him since the summer he worked with you.

Eddie can still feel your lips against his, the electricity still humming in his veins, and fuck, he wishes it had lasted a moment longer.

He made a mistake, a huge mistake, and winces every time he thinks about the look on your face when he pushed you back into the passenger seat.

Eddie knows that if it went further, you’d only regret it once the sun rose and you’d sobered up. Once the realization hit that you’d slept with the pariah of Hawkins and he couldn’t live with you seeing him that way, with you regretting him.

Not when he already saw it in so many eyes around town.

He isn’t exactly someone you could take home, someone you could brag about or show off a picture of. He knows that much, has been told that much, and already accepts it as truth.

When girls got with Eddie, they expected fun. They expected drugs and a quick hookup.

Some of them never talked to him again, pretended they didn’t know him when they ran into him in town, and others told him that being with him made them realize they’d hit rock bottom.

God, he couldn’t handle you telling him that he was your rock bottom.

Eddie decides that it’s better to ignore it, to ignore you. Better to pretend it didn’t happen despite the way he feels. To spare himself from the regret he knew you’d eventually feel.

—————

Now:

It’s a rainy day, and fat drops bounce off the windshield as your father drives. Faster than usual. 

In a hurry but you don’t know where to.

The air conditioner is off, creating a layer of condensation on the windows. Making your legs stick to the leather seats of your family’s beat-up station wagon.

You draw butterflies on the glass, a small finger tracing against the cool pane. Grinning wide as your drawings expose the gray sky and the way the dark clouds roll quickly against its expanse.

The low hum of Strawberry Fields Forever plays over the radio, but your parent’s voices are louder.

Angrier.

Your mom sniffles, and you lean up in your seat to see if she’s crying, but the length of her hair conceals her face from view.

“Mama,” you push against her seat with your sneakered foot, but she doesn’t respond.

“Jude, please pull over. I can drive.” Your mom insists, tugging at your father’s arm, but he shoves her off. 

You unbuckle your seat belt and pull at your mom’s shirt, trying to get her attention.

“Mom.”

But your voice is cut off, muffled below the volume of the radio as your dad’s hand reaches for the dial turning it until your ears ring.

You shrink back into your seat, lower lip jutted as you look between the two of them. No longer able to understand what your parents are saying, the scene in front of you a mix of gestures and twisted faces making you more confused.

Your mother pulls on your dad’s arm again, and he shoves her off, turning his head to look at her. Mouth wide as he speaks, but you still can’t understand what he’s saying.

Everything else becomes a blur of lights and pain—endless pain shooting from your leg and throughout your body.

Your cries wrack your body but are silent to your own ears. The scene around you a mix of broken glass and lifeless eyes.

Then darkness.

-

You wake up in a cold sweat, wild gaze darting around the room as sit up in bed. The fabric of your tank top clings to your sweat-slicked skin uncomfortably, and your head pounds behind your eyes. A rhythm that matches the way your heart is beating against your ribcage. 

Bile rises in your throat, the nausea that always accompanies the nightmare.

The sting of your leg a reminder of the accident, of the pain from that day.

You press a palm into the skin of your thigh, massaging the muscle marred by a thick scar that’s a shade lighter than the rest of your flesh. It aches like it just happened, like you are ten years old and trapped in that car again. 

You groan uncomfortably and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to the present. Trying to ground yourself with the distant sound of the coffee maker and the smell of burnt toast. The soft song of the birds outside of your window.

Slowly you become grounded, heart settling into a steady rhythm, and open your eyes.

Sunlight streams through your sheer curtains in brilliant rays, yellow hues creating a soft glow along your pale blue walls and highlighting the dust that dances through the air.

You throw your head back against the pillow, not ready to face the day. 

Images of the night before flooding your vision.

Simon and Rachel, her mouth pressed to his. The way she smiled up at him, held his hand.

The scene too familiar for a random drunken hook-up.

You press your palms into your eyes, rubbing until you see swirls. Until you are reminded of Eddie’s stunned face when you sat in his lap, hands pressed to his chest. The way he bucked into you.

The way he pushed you back into the passenger seat.

“Fucking idiot,” you groan with embarrassment and pull your pillow over your face, letting out a muffled scream.

You stay concealed under the pillow, contemplating jumping into the lake and disappearing altogether. Definitely not ready to face Simon and Rachel. Or Eddie.

You flail your body around as another wave of embarrassment rolls through you, causing your pillow to fall from your face.

The incessant buzz of your phone catches your attention, and you glance over at its illuminated face. The screen full of notifications that you can see without grabbing it.

Hesitantly you reach for it, eyes pouring over all the texts.

11:55PM

Simon: Guess you decided not to come tonight?

12:00AM

Simon: helloooo?

12:23AM

Simon: so you’re just going to ignore me now cos I asked you to go out?

Simon: not like we can’t do date night another time, wanted to go have some fun for once

1:03AM

Simon: so you did show up

Simon: you left with MUNSON?

2:30AM

Simon: you’re really just going to ignore me?

2:33AM

Rachel: (Y/N)?

Rachel: Simon is really worried about you

7:49AM

Simon: We need to talk

8:36AM

Rachel: Text me when you’re awake

You swallow the emotion that arose and wonder if their guilt had kept them awake, if it had eaten at them or settled into their chest. Felt whenever they breathed.

Were they even capable of that?

Slowly you push the sheets off the bed and force your legs over the edge one by one until your feet are planted firmly in the plush carpet, your back still pressed against the mattress. Phone forgotten, lost somewhere in your purple comforter.

You will yourself off the mattress and clamor out your bedroom door. Mind focused on getting a glass of water to cure your dry mouth.

The throb of your head returns as the smell of burnt toast grows stronger, and fuck, why did you drink so much last night?

You can only assume the assault on your nose is your brother’s fault.

“Is it really that hard to cook toast, Rick?” You complain loudly as you stumble into the kitchen and throw open a cabinet door, reaching for a glass on the top shelf.

You turn towards the sink, blissfully unaware that there is a set of eyes on you. Watching as you whistle and fill your glass to the brim. Foot tapping to a song that only you can hear.

Eddie watches you, a little petrified like a deer caught in the headlights.

He knew he’d see you, it was your house after all, but he wasn’t prepared for how much he’d see.

His eyes trace over your legs, stalling on the swell of your ass. He watches as you lean over the counter to get a better view of the lake from the window just above your sink. The angle exposing a glimpse of your butt cheeks.

It’s like you know what you’re doing, know that he’s watching and driving him just a little bit insane.

He swallows harshly, refocusing his attention back on his breakfast. Doing his best to ignore you like he’d planned.

“If it isn’t little miss sunshine,” your brother greets, his words dripping with their usual sarcasm.

You turn around to mock him but stopped in your tracks, eyes practically bulging from your skull when you notice Eddie, and you grip your cup harder.

Had he been sitting there the whole time?

He quietly nibbles on a piece of bacon. Avoiding your eye contact entirely.

The embarrassment you felt before flares awake, and god, you want to crawl into a hole and disappear entirely.

Blinking rapidly, you shift your gaze back to Rick.

He sits at the table, grabbing a plate and shoveling food onto its surface. Eggs, bacon, and the incredibly burnt toast.

“Have work today?”

“Like I do every Saturday,” you shrug, tone bored and doing your best not to glance at the metalhead out of the corner of your eye.

You sip your water, focusing on how its cool temperature slides across your tongue—trying to focus on anything else.

“I’m not going to be able to take you to work. Mrs. Wheeler needs me to take a look at her car and then I’m picking up some extra hours at the shop.”

You had yet to overcome your fear of driving, already having a hard time just being a passenger. 

“Can’t mom take me?” you question, but Rick’s head is already shaking as you get the words out.

“The transmission is acting up in her car. Need to look at it,” he states around a mouth full of food.

“Then how is she getting to work?” You set your cup onto the counter sharper than you intended and fold your arms over your chest.

“She’s not, has one of her headaches again,” he gestures to his head and shovels more food into his mouth.

“That’s why I need the overtime and for you to go to work, we need the cash. Next deal isn’t coming in before the light bill is due.”

Your shoulders sag—the constant stress of bills weighing heavy on you.

“I can just walk or get an uber,” you suggest with a tight smile, reaching over to grab a piece of bacon. 

The walk isn’t that long.

“Your uber is already here,” he points his head towards Eddie, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at his suggestion.

Not happening.

“I can just walk,” you reaffirm quickly, causing Eddie’s eyebrow to quirk.

“Why are you acting like such a brat?” 

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not, just don’t want to make Eddie go out of his way for me.” You unfold your arms and gestured absently towards him.

It was mostly true anyway, you didn’t like the idea of returning to the scene of the crime or spending the twenty minutes it would take for him to drive you to work in awkward silence.

“He’s not, stop being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” you scoff, voice rising slightly and definitely being weird.

“Besides, I can just ask Simon to give me a ride,” you shrug nonchalantly, taking another bite of bacon. 

Rick doesn’t need to know that you aren’t talking to Simon and definitely wouldn’t be getting a ride from him.

Eddie’s elbow settles against the wooden dining table as he watches you and the way you so easily lie to your brother.

“Jesus, fine, whatever.” Your brother holds out a hand to get you to shut up and chugs his orange juice. 

You reach for another piece of bacon but this time off his plate. Rick grabs your hand, shaking the piece out of your grasp, and turns to you—his face twists in disgust when he notices what you’re wearing for the first time.

“Go put some clothes on before Eddie gauges his fucking eyes out.” He wipes his mouth and waves a dismissive hand at you, chuckling at his own lame joke before biting into the bacon that you tried to steal.

Eddie chuckles along with your brother, his pale cheeks blossoming pink. His faux laugh disappears when he notices you sneering in his direction.

“Oh, I’d really hate for him to do that,” your voice drips with sarcasm as you roll your eyes, taking quick steps back down the hall and to your room.

You press your back against the wooden door, a mix of anger and annoyance filling your chest. Overtaking any embarrassment you previously felt.

No, Simon wouldn’t be giving you a ride but neither would Eddie. You’d rather risk showing up a sweaty mess than sit in a car alone with him.

—————

What you didn’t plan on was for it to start raining ten minutes in. 

Large drops had fallen from the sky in quick succession, dark clouds covering the warmth of the sun and creating a chill in the fall air. One of Indiana’s infamous sporadic showers.

The maple leaves are already starting to turn yellow, their brightness a contrast against the gray sky. The air smells of the evergreens, the sharpness of their leaves mixing with the sweetness of the maple trees.

Your feet trudge through the mud, splashing dirt onto the cuffs of your jeans. The road feels longer in the bad weather.

The white of your assistant manager shirt clings to your skin, revealing the pink of your bra, and you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to conceal it.

There’s a small part of you that wishes you had just taken the ride from Eddie, but there’s a bigger part, the more prideful one, that is glad you hadn’t.

Not after the way he’d laughed at you, chuckled at the thought of even being attracted to you. When you’d just mauled him the night before and this would be the perfect time for lightning to strike you down.

To end your misery, the embarrassment clinging to you once again like the fabric of your shirt.

In the distance, you can hear a car approaching, and you move further into the dirt to avoid being hit. 

Hoping it isn’t a creep or a new serial killer looking for his next victim.

But it’s worse.

It’s Eddie.

Smiling at you from his rolled-down window, van driving slowly on the road's edge.

“Are you that fucking stubborn?” He questions, although he already knows the answer.

“Go away, Munson.”

You don’t look at him, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Simon a no-show, huh?”

You click your teeth, trying to appear nonchalant. Like the words didn’t dig at you.

“Looks like it.”

His shoulders drop as you continue to ignore him, and he decides to appeal to your sensible side instead.

“You’re going to get sick.”

“So?”

And why did he think you could be sensible?

He groans and speeds up a little, parking the car just before you to block your path. You stop in your tracks, listening as he climbs out of the driver’s seat and rounds the car.

“Are we really going to do this again?,” he questions as he trudges toward you. Boots slamming into the mud. Curls a little wild and starting to cling to his face when he looks at you.

“Do what?” You give him an innocent smile, eyelashes batting dramatically. 

Eddie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Just get in the fucking car,” he states through gritted teeth, his annoyance only making your grin widen.

“Sure you wouldn’t rather gauge your eyes out?” Your voice drops low, mocking Rick’s tone. 

You drop your smile, gaze a little cold as it meets his, and push past him to continue your walk to work.

He throws his head back, face to the sky. Of course, you were pissed about that.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He turns to you, watching as you get a little further way from him.

“For driving me home last night and making out with me or for laughing at me this morning?” You turn around and begin to walk backward, arms lifting from your side. 

A little tired, a little defeated, and you stop beside his van waiting for his answer - concealed from the rest of the road.

“Laughing at you,” his voice is earnest, “I didn’t mean it.”

You nod, his words a salve to that wound but still, there was the mortifying way he’d pushed you away from him.

Eddie began to walk towards you, drawing closer. The scent of his cologne invading your senses.

“Sure you aren’t sorry about the making out part?” You question, eyes trained on his amber gaze as he approaches.

He swallows roughly and debates whether he should be honest. 

“I’m,” he pauses and sighs heavily, “I’m not sorry about that.”

You shrug your shoulders in an attempt to appear flippant, to seem as though his reassurance doesn’t affect you the way that it did. Heart hammering wildly, legs a little wobbly because Eddie Munson didn’t regret kissing you.

“Well that’s good, I’m glad neither of us regretted it,” you turn back around, missing the way his gaze lit up at your words. The reassurance that he needed.

“Now you can go on your merry way and pretend that you gave me a ride. I promise I won’t tell my brother that you didn’t.”

His hand is warm against your arm as he spins you around to look at him.

Your shoes slide against the wet earth from the force, and it is for a brief moment that you see him before you crash into the soft mud.

“Fuck-“ your curses are synchronized as you fall and pull him atop you, his weight causing you to groan from the sudden impact.

Eddie’s knee is slotted between your legs as he lifts his weight onto his forearms, brown gaze boring into your eyes. An apology on his lips when you begin to laugh. Giggles filling the air around you.

You looked at the evidence of your fall, your white shirt now painted brown. Ruined, and marred from the mud. Your hair is a mess of dirt that clings to your face.

Eddie is nearly devoid of any filth. The only evidence he’d fallen is the mud that soaks through the pants of his jeans. 

And it’s a little bit annoying how he isn’t as muddy as you.

Slowly you reach your finger up and slide it across his pale skin with a wide mischievous smile. Chuckling at the way his eyebrows marry at your actions, the way his jaw juts to this side and he shakes his head.

“You brat,” he lifts a hand and attempts to copy your actions as you try to wiggle away. His free hand stills you, holding you by the waist, as he drags the other across your cheek.

His playful smile mirrors yours.

“You jerk, I have to get to work!” But your tone doesn’t match the light in your eyes.

“I don’t think Huntzberger wants you hovering over the popcorn, let alone walking into the building, like this.”

His eyes roam your body, noticing the way your nipples are pebbled against the pink lace of your bra, easy to see through the sheer fabric of your shirt. The way your jeans hug the flare of your hips as you squirm beneath him.

Your breath hitches as you watch the way his gaze dances over your frame, chest rising and falling at a quick pace that isn’t lost on Eddie.

“How much time do you have before work?” His voice is a little gruff, affected, and it takes a moment for you to form a coherent thought.

You blink rapidly, hands resting on his chest absently, and clear your throat.

He lifts off of you and reaches a hand to help you up, but you pull him down into the mud beside you.

“You little shit!” Eddie looks at himself, the mud that clings to his jacket and jeans.

“Oops,” you shrug and lean out of his way as he throws mud at you.

“I have like two hours,” you laugh, looking at him completely amused.

“How long did you think it was going to take you to walk?” He lays there defeated, chuckle matching yours.

“I don’t know, it was just in case-“

“In case what? You had to fight a pack of wood rats to get through?”

“Shut up,” you shove his face from yours, mud caking his cheek.

Eddie gasps at the same time you do, realization dawning as he tackles you back into the mud.

It was like the whole world fell around you, ceasing to exist except for you and Eddie. His muddied face hovering above yours, long fingers digging into your sides as you try to wiggle away from him.

Your giggles fill the air, and you push at his chest.

“Stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tears spring in your eyes as you push against his chest once more, dirt seeping further into your clothes as you lay there at his mercy.

“Say please,” he insists, and you shake your head, hands gripping his shirt.

For a moment, he stops, fingers stilling at your sides and he smiles at you mischievously. Face moving half an inch closer, and your smile falters briefly, gaze darting to his lips and back to his eyes. Their deep brown staring back at you, a light in them you hadn’t seen.

“You don’t regret it?” He questions, needing to hear it again. His breath fanning against your face.

You shake your head, already knowing the “it” that he thought you regretted. 

Eddie leans closer, his lips a whisper above your own. Shaky breaths mixing with yours.

Your heart skips as you anticipate the first touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

Eddie pulls away, slowly. Hesitantly.

“Think we should get you back home,” he looks down at your dirtied clothes and chuckles, face hovering above yours. You try to hide your disappointment as you nod in agreement.

He pushes himself off of you wiping his hands along his jeans before stretching out his hand to help you up.

Your palm slides against his, caked dirt pressing against his warm hand, and he pulls you against him. Sliding his hands down until they settle on your waist.

His nose traces yours as his fingers dig into your hips, and he swallows hard.

The composure he’d always managed to maintain quickly slipping away.

You tilt your face and run a hand against his jaw, cupping his chin. Thumb lazing against his stubbled flesh drawing circles in his skin.

“Fuck it,” Eddie breathes, and his lips push against yours.

The press of them makes you gasp, they’re just as soft as you remembered but more fervent than before.

His tongue presses at the seam of your lips, swiping against yours when you open for him.

He tastes sweet like spearmint, and you hum.

Exhilaration thrums through you, and you pull him closer, arms wrapping around his neck.

Chest to chest.

Hearts synchronized, each beating at a rapid pace, and you want the moment to stretch on.

For the kiss to never end.

Thunder cracks in the air and the two of you pull apart, looking up at the darkened sky just as the rain begins to fall again.

Eddie looks back at you, his dimpled grin wide as the first drop hits his cheek, and you yelp as another drop cascades down your face.

He presses a quick kiss to your lips, enjoying your surprised gasp. The way you instantly melt into his touch.

“Will you please get in the fucking car now?” 

You nod rapidly, your hand slipping into Eddie’s warm palm. Allowing him to pull you towards his van and into the passenger seat.

-

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[nicksbestie]

Nooks And Crannies - M. Sturniolo

a series

part three (read part two here)

Summary : You always seem to be somewhere in the bookstore Matt works at, never buying anything, just reading, and while Matt is technically not supposed to talk to customers for so long while he's on the clock, he can't help himself.

Warnings : none yet!

Word Count : 1129

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : the blossoming of actual conversation <3

The thirty minutes you spent sitting in that chair and talking to Matt was arguably the best thirty minutes of your entire day.

In a new place with a ton of new people, it was wonderful to get to spend time with someone who seemed to be open to talking to you. The conversation didn’t span for very long, but it felt like it covered a lifetime’s worth of information. You weren’t one to reveal your deepest secrets in a first interaction, and neither was Matt, but the conversation blossomed. 

You learned about Matt’s family, that he was an identical triplet, the middle of all three of them, Nick being the oldest, and the youngest one being named Chris, and he also had an older brother, Justin, who was born before the triplets. He’s twenty years old, just a year older than you, and had also recently moved here from Boston. Both of his triplet brothers had their own jobs downtown, and picked up odd jobs every now and then to make a bit more cash. They were stable and comfortable with room to spare, and it was really helpful that they all had jobs that they enjoyed. 

You learned that Nick worked in graphic design, and while sometimes it could be just a boring desk job, it was flexible enough for him to work on projects at home, often allowing him to finish them before the deadline arrived, well enough before that he could take days off. At the same time, he could also work virtually, which definitely helped when there were days he didn’t feel well, so he didn’t have to use any sick days. You learned that he really enjoyed his job, and he was damn good at it too, so he made a good amount of money from it. 

Chris was a music producer. You learned that the youngest triplet had always had a very deep love for music, and while he enjoyed recording his own little tidbits of things that would never be released out into the world, he loved to help people on their own creation. He had always been insanely creative, and getting to help people finish their own projects that they were proud of meant a lot to him. It was an honor to get to see unfinished work, to help put the final touches on it, to help make it perfect to their standards, to be ready for everyone else to hear it. It was also amazing to work with artists that he idolized or enjoyed listening to, and it really was a childhood dream come true. 

And Matt worked at The Ivy. To anyone else, Matt’s job may seem like a downgrade compared to his brothers, but the thing about all three of their jobs was that they really did love them. You listened to him talk about being able to connect with people, being able to see, read, and buy books that would become his favorites, and having a flexible schedule as well. You could see a true enjoyment in his eyes as he talked about his job and books, and there was definitely a little bit of envy in your own mind, as you liked your job alright, but not enough to pick up extra hours for any other reason than needing or wanting a little bit of extra money. You listened to Matt speak, noticing just how well he articulated, an impressive vocabulary, really showing the reader in him.

Matt learned a lot about you that day, too. He learned about your family, that you weren’t very close with your parents anymore after a large falling out, that you had a black cat named Mallie as a pet, and that you, too, adored reading. He learned that you worked from home, and that was why you were able to make such a large move. He learned that you didn’t know a lot of people here, and a part of him was honored to be one of the first people you talked to. Maybe it was because there was some sort of comfort in knowing that you were both strangers, and that you didn’t have to see each other again. You knew you would probably be back at The Ivy again, but if anything were to go wrong, you didn’t know them very well and could easily avoid him if you figured out when he worked. 

Matt’s break was only half an hour long, and to the both of you, it wasn’t long enough, but you didn’t know that the other was thinking the same thing. As Matt checked his phone, he sighed when he saw that he only had five minutes left. He had really enjoyed getting to talk to someone during a time when he was normally sitting by himself. For the next five minutes, you both shared your favorite books, finding out that you had a lot of mutual reads that you enjoyed, and mutual reads that you didn’t enjoy at all. That five minutes flew by quickly, so quickly that Matt invited you to walk with him back up to the register to clock back in, because he didn’t want to cut the conversation short right then. 

You continued talking until someone came up to check out their books, and you wandered away from the register with four new book recommendations. You went walking through the aisles, looking for the ones Matt had told you were a good read, and eventually found them all. You went back to the small nook you had found, sitting back down and placing them in your pile to read. You didn’t think that you would get through them all, so you took pictures of them, and read for about another hour. Matt thought that you had left the store and that he just didn’t see you walk out, either distracted by the register or he wasn’t by the front door, until he eventually did see you walking out, no books in hand. He happened to be stocking shelves at the time, so he waved at you when you glanced over at him, and you waved back with a genuine smile. 

“Not taking any books home?” 

You shook your head, glancing at the ones he was putting on the shelves.

“Nope. Left them in the tiny room behind the bookshelves. Hopefully they’ll be there when I come back, but if they aren’t, I took pictures of them so I can find them again.” 

Matt smiled, knowing that he had used that trick multiple times before. 

“I’ve done that. It works every time, at least in my experience.”

“Awesome. Then I’ll be back!” 

You went to wave goodbye before he spoke, his smile matching yours.

“Looking forward to it.”

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[yukidragon]

I'm a bit curious was it ever confirmed that Shaun and Ian interacted with one another or met before the eventual breakup between Ian and MC. If not what are some of your headcanons on this matter would they have gotten along at all?

Actually, yes, it has been confirmed that Shaun and Ian knew each other before Ian and MC broke up in this comic posted over on the official Sunny Day Jack twitter!

Credit as always to Sauce for their awesome artwork and for giving us this hilarious glimpse into college age Ian and Shaun. Consider supporting them and the rest of the SnaccPop Studios team by joining the patreon for even more lore tidbits I can't even mention publicly. Just remember, don't share anything privately posted!

While a lot of teaser/development art should be taken with a grain of salt, if it appears on one of the official pages, it's a pretty safe bet that it's canon to the timeline of the game.

So this comic, also drawn by the awesome Sauce, while hilarious, may or may not be canon.

I think it's a pretty safe bet to say that Ian did not pass Shaun's vibe check.

The first comic certainly makes it clear that Shaun didn't find Ian attractive considering the way he reacted. Maybe it's due to jealousy (I don't think Shaun wants to think about his crush having sex with someone else) or maybe it's because of Ian's bad taste in anime. Who can say?

Content Warnings: This post contains talk of cheating, jealousy, drinking in excess, (unintentional) self-harm, near death experience, SA, issues with sex, and toxic relationships.

I suspect that these two just didn't get along. Between Shaun suffering from jealousy due to his crush and the two of them having different tastes, they were probably only friendly to one another for MC's sake.

I would imagine that Shaun's opinion on Ian took an extreme nosedive when they found out Ian cheated on MC.

Man... can you imagine how much pain Shaun has been through? He had to watch his best friend/crush be happy with someone else... then get devastated by being cheated on. The worst part was if he had bad vibes from Ian from the start, but he ignored his gut feelings for MC's sake.

When it comes to my personal headcanons that I use for Sunshine in Hell... Shaun and Ian had friction since the first day Alice introduced the two of them.

It wasn't just Shaun being jealous of Ian either. Ian was jealous of Shaun too!

Ian has always suffered from a low sense of self-esteem. Shaun, by comparison, is much more well put together, more outgoing, and has this natural charisma that draws people to him. Shaun is just so likable that he gets a lot of attention and friends. For years, Ian was the exact opposite of that, which led to him being bullied and degraded often.

So one day Alice, his childhood friend and partner, is super excited to introduce Ian to her new friend. Shaun and Alice have a lot in common, and it was very visible in the early years of college when Alice was in the middle of her pastel goth phase. Shaun and Alice had a love for horror movies, cats, the goth aesthetic, and a whole bunch of other things. They clicked so quickly, and it scared Ian a little.

It didn't help that Alice had trouble making friends like Ian did. They had that in common, something that gave them a sort of understanding that no one else could intrude on. Now that they were in college they started making more friends, and that was a good thing, really! But Alice clicked with Shaun about as fast as she did with Ian.

In the 1st grade, one day Alice mustered up the courage to talk to Ian in order to cheer him up. After that they started talking every day and they were besties ever since. From there, they started dating. She's never really clicked with anyone else so fast like she did with Ian...

Until Shaun, that is.

Ian kept comparing himself to Shaun, unfavorably. He kept worrying about Alice falling for Shaun instead since, well, clearly Shaun had so much more than Ian had to offer. Why wouldn't she? What didn't help his insecurities was the fact that they had been a couple since high school, but they still hadn't had sex yet.

I integrated the comic into part of Alice and Ian's troubled sex life. The depicted instance was Ian's attempt at making things romantic so that they could finally go all the way.

It took them a while to start being sexually intimate due to their mutual lack of practical knowledge and Alice's SA trauma. She was very cuddly with Ian, not afraid to kiss him or go into a make out session, but she struggled to go further than that for a long time. It left Ian struggling with insecurities, fearing that he wasn't attractive to her despite her constantly reassuring him that wasn't the case.

Really, it was that insecurity and self-blame that pushed Alice to go further than she was ready for, to pretty painful results that she learned to just accept as part of the experience.

Alice is the type of person who can't be comfortable with people touching her unless she trusts them. However, when she gets close to someone, she can get pretty cuddly, even with her friends, giving them hugs often. So, for Ian, seeing his girlfriend get comfortable hugging another guy... someone he might have noticed looking at her a certain way...

Well, getting cockblocked on his rocky road to losing his virginity didn't help Ian see Shaun in a more favorable light.

Really, this was an incident that pushed Ian to be a bit more possessive of Alice. He was already struggling with the fact that his partner was sharing a dorm with someone else, but for Shaun to just casually walk into her bedroom like that without knocking? Ian certainly had permission to come in there without Alice knowing since he's her boyfriend, and he was planning to surprise her with a romantic evening, but how long had Shaun been just letting himself into her private space so casually?

Ian didn't believe that Alice was cheating on him, but what if Shaun decided to take advantage of her? What if this casual blurring of their living space led to feelings blooming?

What if Alice realized that Shaun was so much better than Ian in every way?

This led to Ian asking Alice to move into an apartment with him, even if it cost them money. He was able to feel more secure when they were living together, and he could be the one going into her bedroom at any hour of the day to be with her instead of someone else.

Shaun did try to befriend Ian, but it seemed like every time they hung out, something would rub him the wrong way. He did his best to be happy for Alice and Ian in their relationship, but it wasn't just Ian's shit taste in anime that struck Shaun as a red flag.

It didn't take Shaun long to notice a pattern in Ian and Alice's relationship. Ian would be down on himself, even cry and apologize for being inadequate, and Alice would reassure him. It seemed like every day, he saw this happen at least once. He tried reassuring Ian as well when he could, but after a while it gets tiring to try and lift someone up who keeps dragging himself down. Shaun would suggest Ian try therapy, and Ian would insist it wouldn't work, he was hopeless, and it wasn't worth wasting money on.

It was only when Alice showered Ian with love, and when their mutual friends bent backwards to cheer him up, that Ian would perk up again.

Shaun saw the red flags going up, how Ian was so needy for Alice and it was wearing on her. She went out of her way for Ian all the time, doing so much more because Ian "needed" her.

What made it worse was that Shaun saw how unbalanced their relationship was, how Alice gave Ian so much more than Ian gave back. Because Ian was so clingy, Alice had to often cancel meet ups with friends at the last minute, citing that he was having a bad day and needed her. Yet, on days when Alice was feeling like shit, she just kept powering through, pretending nothing was wrong. It took Shaun a lot of effort to pry her into leaning on him, and he'd even go out of his way to do stuff for her without her asking, like buying her lunch when she was so overworked she forgot to bring any.

Shaun worried for Alice because she was his friend, and she didn't deserve this sort of treatment. It was like she had become Ian's emotional crutch. Regardless of his attraction towards her, regardless if they could ever get together, he wanted her to be happy.

Shaun's opinion of Ian slowly deteriorated over time, but it turned into downright hate when Ian cheated on Alice, especially after she almost died because of it.

It was just a normal night when Shaun got a phone call from Ian. It was about Alice of course. It was the only reason Ian ever called Shaun - to check up on Alice. That night was different because Ian was in a panic. Alice wasn't picking up for him, which was unusual enough, but Ian was insistent that Shaun needed to check on her to make sure she was okay.

It was lucky that Shaun had the spare key to the apartment Alice and Ian shared. The sight of her lying unconscious in a pool of blood in the bathroom is a scar that'll forever be etched in his memory.

Shaun spent an entire night terrified, wondering what had happened. Did Alice try to kill herself? Why? She might have been missing Ian after he moved across the country, but she always reached out to Shaun and others when she wanted company. What happened that night? When he mentioned Alice's state to Ian, he just wailed that it was all his fault and Shaun couldn't reach Ian after that, as Ian was busy trying to book a flight back home to see her at the hospital.

Shaun had to be the one to call Alice's family too, but he had no answers to give them. The doctors would only let family or her legal partner see her for a while. It was only the next day that he learned that it was all because Ian had cheated on Alice, and she drank to dull the pain, only to hurt herself under the influence of alcohol poisoning.

Shaun could've kicked himself. He saw the problems in their relationship, but he didn't think it was his place to say anything. He worried his jealousy was coloring his perspective, seeing things too negatively. Now he wished he pushed harder like his gut told him, got Alice to see that the relationship was no good for her.

When Alice forgave Ian and tried to make it work, Shaun couldn't just sit back and let it happen.

So, yeah, Shaun's opinion of Ian in the present day is very negative. He views Ian as a toxic, manipulative, cheating scumbag who didn't deserve Alice. It was a relief when he managed to help Alice see that too so that she could finally end that toxic relationship. He was there for her so many nights when she cried over Ian and missed him. He saw the pain Ian put Alice through, and it just made his hatred of Ian grow.

Ian is grateful for Shaun being there to help Alice and even getting her to the hospital, but that doesn't get rid of his jealousy. Shaun and Alice are still talking even though she never picks up the phone for Ian anymore. He sees their exchanges online. They're still close. Shaun could one day sweep in and...

Ian can't let that happen. He can't let Shaun steal away the person who means so much to him. He can't let Alice just let him go like this. He just has to apologize to Alice, keep apologizing, and everything will be fine.

Sooooo... yeah, suffice to say, Ian and Shaun do not get along, and I doubt that they ever will... at least in my headcanons.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

[crystallizsch]

Trouble? You're only in trouble if you get caught. So don't let me catch you ~

uhhhhh say hi to jamil and yuusha's kid jas(mine) pt 2 (also here and here are like my only two other posts of her)

HFDDF OKAY SO - i actually had these unfinished sketches from months ago of jas as a nrc student and scarabia housewarden

this sneaky little bastard (affectionate) had never left my cranium she was just sitting idly by

im sobbing i hate jas so much (lie i love her)

jamil and yuusha still aren't supposed to have a kid so i just imagine this to be an alternate timeline for them 🤧🤧🤧

soooo info dump time ---

━━━━━━✦ scarabia housewarden nrc jas

jas has a vice-housewarden who is her childhood best friend (figuring out if i want them to be twst rajah or abu)

also thinking about if i want yuusha to be a staff member in nrc with grim or just dead during this time (why? just because)

no further info tbh, scarabia housewarden jas is just vibing

━━━━━━✦ child jas stuffs

i'm SO indecisive about her design as a toddler/preteen lowkey 😭

she was very sweet as a toddler but somewhere along the line she just became more carefree and chaotic

jas is a mama's girl but is more alike with her father than she cares to admit

octavinelle trio and heartslabyul duo + grim are like the honorary uncles (jas's favorites are floyd, ace, and grim bc they sometimes enable her with shenanigans)

even though jas has favorite uncles, najma is the favorite favorite. i imagine she's just the cool aunt

if mama yuu is "shrimpy" then jas is a "tiger prawn" (bc rajah)

jas LOVES doing people's hair including her own; would rather do them by hand rather than by magic

jamil showed jas how to breakdance once and it became ingrained in her personality ever since

(there's probably still more about her that i'm forgetting but this is it for now)

━━━━━━✦ bonus future jamiyuu stuff because i miss them

jamil took yuusha's last name surprise surprise (if they get married)

i imagine after nrc they'd be travelling together actually, not necessarily settling down

(i'm REALLY not 100% on them settling down and having a kid but i still love jas a lot so im so conflicted) (that's why aus exist 😔✨)

(and if hypothetically they do settle down i think yuusha being staff in nrc with grim + maybe jamil who travels for work (or being a house husband??? maybe they alternate roles) can be adorable ideas)

━━━━━━✦ (i also had this thing that i never posted about that one trope of a fankid finding themselves in nrc bc of portal/time/mirror shenanigans)

(jamil found both of them asleep somewhere and refuses to wake them up)

also some bonus tidbits about this scenario with them:

💜: Is she a family member of yours? How'd she get here?

🐍: I have never seen that child in my life before now. And there's no way I could have missed news about a new relative of mine.

💜: You know how ridiculous it sounds if she's related to me. I'm not from here. She even looks more like you!

🐍: Jas has the same color of eyes as you. Didn't you tell me she mistook you for her mother?

💜: ...Yeah, but I don't like what you're implying.

🐍: Well, I'm not exactly happy with this either.

they're just both in denial of the implication of this child existing and neither of them is saying it out loud.

and the angst/wholesomeness(???) of jamil asking jas's full name and hearing that she has her mother's last name instead of his

eventually they grew attached (unfortunately) until somehow they send jas home to her original timeline

and then they finally have a real conversation about what all that was about

anyways thank you for reading if you've made it this far;;; end tweet

[daisynik7]

“Into you” by Fabolous for Connie Springer- smut + fluff

(S4 connie ofc)

Into You

I think you’re truly something special, just what my dreams are really made of

Pairing: Connie Springer x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.4k

cw: super fluffy, kinda cheesy, college au, modern day au, lots of basketball terms (applies specifically to NCAA and NBA), explicit language, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), implied creampie

Summary: You and Connie Springer have been close since childhood, growing up as next-door neighbors and best friends. The bond the two of you share is undeniable, but you’ve never been able to admit how deep your feelings are, either to yourself or to him. You continue to support him as his friend while he pursues his career as a basketball player, trying to get drafted into the NBA. Though the journey has its ups and downs, one thing is for certain: The two of you will always have each other, forever and ever. 

Author’s Notes: Hi anon! Thanks so much for requesting this song for the y2k karaoke party because it’s one of my FAVORITES! It really gives me Love & Basketball vibes, another favorite of mine that also happens to be a classic in the y2k era. This little fic is very loosely based off of that, so I hope you enjoy! Also, all the basketball/NBA tidbits are mostly from being with my boyfriend, who is a huge NBA fan, so yeah, sorry if any details are inaccurate lol. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! MDNI banner credit to @/cafekitsune. Header image from Pinterest (Slam Dunk manga).

“You have to pinky promise, okay?” Connie sticks his tiny finger out, wiggling it in front of your face, sucking on his cherry-flavored lollipop, lips and tongue-stained red. You’re both five years old, sitting cross-legged in the front of his yard, taking a break from playing hide-and-seek.

“What am I pinky promising?” you ask, voice squeaky and curious.

“That we’ll be best friends forever and ever! No matter what!” he exclaims, beaming at you with his eyes wide, twinkling earnestly. 

You only need to think for a few seconds before you’re hooking your pinky with his, committing to this promise for the rest of your lives. 

~~~

Ten years later, Connie makes it on the varsity basketball team in your high school. It’s rare for a freshman to make it to varsity at Ragako; the coaches must have seen that spark in him that you and his family have witnessed since he started playing at ten-years-old. You used to shoot around with him out in his driveway, where his father set up a little hoop. Eventually, the little one got upgraded to a real one, where the height was adjusted appropriately as Connie grew. You became his practice partner, no longer able to compete with him. Instead, you passed him the ball, watching in awe as he made shot after shot, sometimes deep from the street. He’d pick you up and spin you around, the two of you cheering together, impressed by his skills.

Year after year, he only improved. The way he handled the ball, expertly dribbling it between his legs, behind his back, one-handed, without looking. Or the way his feet gracefully shuffled along the court, the distinct squeak from his shoes echoing off the walls as you watch him on the bleachers, playing three-on-three against some of his buddies at the gym. One time, his friend Jean teases you. “You know, you should stop hanging around here or else people might think you’re his groupie.”

Before you can think of a smart comeback, Connie interjects, shoving Jean hard in the arm. “Hey! Leave her alone. I want her here. I only play like this when she’s around. And she’s not a groupie. She’s my best friend.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, leading you towards the exit while Jean sputters apologies that go ignored. “Sorry about that,” he whispers to you. “Jean is an asshole. I want you around, got it? Forever and ever.”

You smile, leaning into him. “Forever and ever.”

~~~

It’s at the championship game during senior year that you realize that you’re in love with Connie.

Scouts have already contacted him about full-ride scholarships to university, recruiting him for their team. He’s the most celebrated point-guard in your school’s history, his average points and assists per game breaking records. Ever since he joined, your school has made it in the final round each year, last year resulting in a win, this year leading to a second. 

With seconds left on the shot clock, tie game, Ragako with possession, Connie makes his move. He inbounds the ball to his teammate, quickly taking position at the right wing, his sweet spot. As quickly as it leaves his hands, the ball is passed back to him. He shoots it, and as it flies out from his fingers into the air, the buzzer rings, and he makes it. The crowd goes wild; one side of the bleachers erupting into a frenzy, jumping up and down with excitement. Connie’s parents hug each other first, then surround you in their arms, elated. You don’t expect him to celebrate the win with you, not with his entire team huddling around him, splashing water on his head, cheering his name. Not with all the cheerleaders and fans gravitating toward him, eager to be in the presence of a sure-to-be star in the making. So, it surprises you when you see him maneuver his way through the crowd, heading straight towards you. He pounces on you, giving you the biggest, sweatiest hug with tears streaming down his face. It’s a split second where the surrounding noise goes blank and it’s just the two of you there, basking in each other’s warmth. Soon, his parents join you, also crying happily, and it’s in this moment that you realize this is where you want to be: with him. Forever and ever.

~~~

It's no surprise that the two of you attend the same college together. Most people will see it as you following him, but in actuality, Connie agrees to go wherever you go. Lucky for you both, your top choice is a D1 university where he’s offered a scholarship to play for their basketball team. It works out perfectly, as if it were meant to be. 

He’s busy from the get-go, practicing every day until the season starts in November. You become preoccupied with classes, and naturally, the two of you travel your different paths, meeting in the middle whenever you can. When the season official starts, you attend all his home games, cheering for him from the sidelines surrounded by the other students also chanting his name. Weeknights, he’s often too tired to hang out, retreating to his dorm room to fall asleep, only to repeat his busy schedule again the next day. He grows close with his teammates, spending most of his time with them instead of you, which is to be expected. After all, you and Connie are just friends. Sure, you’re completely and madly in love with him, but he’ll never know that. So, you watch from afar as he pursues his career without you in the way. It’s the way it has to be. 

By the time spring semester rolls around, you and Connie barely see each other. You’ll still text, sometimes video chat or talk on the phone. He mostly vents to you about teammates or coaches that have gotten on his nerves that day. He’ll catch you up on the other schools they’ve defeated or the ones that they’ve lost to. Your school’s record is quite good thanks to Connie, who’s only gotten better since high school. If they continue at this rate, they will win the conference tournament, meaning a trip to March Madness, the most prestigious competition in college basketball. Most importantly, it’s one step closer to the NBA.

As expected, the team does win the conference tournament. That night, the entire campus is lively with students buzzing in school spirit, ready to party the rest of the weekend. All you think about is calling Connie to congratulate him, hear his voice and tell him that you’re so proud of him. You debate with yourself for nearly fifteen minutes, staring at his name on your screen, fingers so close to dialing his number. You decide not to go through with it, certain that he’s too busy with his team, too busy with his fans. He’s not thinking about you, not when his whole world is about to change. And you can’t blame him; you’re just friends, and this is the way it has to be.

The following night, your school organizes an impromptu homecoming for the basketball team, welcoming them as they arrive on the bus, fresh from their championship win. They have a  couple days of rest before they leave for the NCAA tournament, but you’re sure they’ll be busy with press and practice until then. You’re not there to greet them when they step off the bus; instead, you’re sulking in your room, buried under the covers, feeling sorry for yourself for ever falling in love with Connie Springer. It’s a sad, pathetic sight, but at least you’re alone for the weekend to do it while your roommate is out visiting her boyfriend out of town. 

You’re surprised to see Connie’s name flash on your phone a few hours later. You let it ring twice before answering. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” he asks. There’s shuffling in the background, as if he’s walking outside. 

“I’m in my room.”

“I’m coming over now.” He hangs up, not giving you any time to respond. You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come.

When you open the door to let him in, he wraps his arms around you in a snug embrace. “I missed you.” He pulls off to hold you by the arms, glaring. “Why didn’t you greet me off the bus?”

“I…” you start, unsure how to respond. 

“I was looking for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“I was studying in the library.” This might be the first time you’ve ever lied to him. You feel guilty and gross. 

“Oh,” he says sadly, still staring at you. 

“Congratulations, by the way. It was an amazing win.” You give him a weak smile, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. You don’t even know why you’re crying; Connie did nothing wrong. You’re letting your emotions get the best of you, and you can’t help but crumble in front of the only person who knows you better than you know yourself. 

“I don’t care about that right now. I care about you. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Connie, I promise.”

“Don’t promise me shit like that. I know you’re upset. Tell me. Please.” His eyes search yours, desperate for an answer. 

You look at his feet, fixating on his shoes, scuffed on the sides from playing. Tears start to drop from your face and on the carpet. “I just…I missed you too. I miss you, Connie. I…I love you.” The confession slips from your mouth in a sniffle, and you’re so upset with yourself for letting it slide in this crucial moment. Neither of you needs the drama of your unrequited love right now. Not you, knowing he’ll be leaving again soon, and especially not him, who has bigger and better things to focus on. 

He gapes at you, stuttering, “You love me?”

You nod, biting your lip.

“Like, love love? Or love like a friend?”

You’re tempted to lie, just to make it easier. But you owe it to Connie to be honest with him. “Love love.”

His mouth is open, eyes bugging out, completely shocked by your admission. Before he can respond, you add, “I’m sorry, Connie. I shouldn’t have told you this right before the tournament, but…I don’t know. It just came out. I’m sorry.”

He stammers, “You’re sorry? This is the best fucking thing I’ve heard in my entire life.” He breaks into a smile, laughing hysterically, an even more bizarre reaction. 

You cross your arms, getting impatient with his ridiculous behavior, eventually grabbing his shoulders to shake him out of his fit. “Connie, what the hell?!”

He wipes his eyes, crying from giggling, beaming at you. “I’ve been in love with since we were kids. Been dreaming of hearing you say that since we were five-years-old.” He hugs you tightly, nuzzling his nose to the top of your head. “I love you and I want to be with you. Forever and ever, right?”

You nestle into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent you missed since he’s been gone. “Forever and ever.” 

~~~

The two of you spend the night together, making love for the first time. His lips are soft against yours, and you smile into his kiss, remembering the day you pinky promised that you’ll be best friends forever and ever, no matter what. His lips were stained red with cherry-flavored candy, looking sickly sweet as he smiled at you. And as you kiss him now, he tastes just as sweet as you imagined he’d be after all these years. 

You kiss him sloppy as you ride his lap, his cock buried deep in your pussy, filling you up to the brim. He moans your name into your mouth as he laps at the saliva collecting on your tongue, slurping your spit, swallowing it thickly. “Fuck,” he groans, hands gripped to your hips, rocking you back and forth on his thighs. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long, baby. So long.”

“Me too,” you whisper, starting to bounce on him, close to your climax. 

“What would you think about? Tell me,” he demands, thumb pressed to your clit, rubbing it raw.

You whine from his touch, increasing your pace, resting your head on his shoulder. “You and me, just like this,” you huff, short of breath. 

“Yeah? You thought about me deep inside you, huh? Fucking this sweet pussy until you come all over my cock, huh?” He thrusts up into you, grip tightening, fingers digging into your flesh. He’s close too, you can feel it.

You moan into his skin, sweat beading on your forehead, throwing your ass back against him in tandem with each pump of his cock. A few more strokes and the two of you come together, the mess spilling onto the sheets as soon as he pulls out. 

He wipes you down with tissues and baby wipes you have handy on your bedside drawer. As soon as you’re both clean, he cradles you in his arms, spooning you from behind. 

“I know this is going to sound super cheesy, but I truly feel like a winner now,” he says, kissing the nape of your neck. 

You chuckle, squeezing his hand in yours. “Wait until you win March Madness. Then you’ll really be a champ.”

“Even if I lose, I’ll still have you. And that’s been my dream all this time.” 

You shift your body to face him, gazing into his eyes. “I thought your dream was to make it into the NBA?”

He smiles, booping you on the nose. “It’s part of the dream, sure. But I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am now if it wasn’t for you. You kept me going all these years. Knowing you were always on my side gave me the strength I needed to get here. As long as I have you, I’ll be living the dream.” He kisses you on the forehead. “I’m going to love you for the rest of our lives.”

“Forever and ever?”

“Forever and ever.”

~~~

In an upset, your school loses in the Final Four. It’s the furthest they’ve gotten in university history, and a large part of that is due to Connie and his extraordinary performance as their point guard. His efforts do not go unnoticed; his coaches and many prospective agents have contacted him, encouraging him to apply for the NBA draft. 

June of the same year, Connie Springer is drafted tenth in the first round and you’re sitting right beside him with his parents, cheering for him. Just as you have throughout all these years, and just as you will for the rest of your lives. Forever and ever. 

[stay-dazed]

stray kids react to: a horror movie

notes: female reader. i suppose there's slight angst due to scary movie scenes and fear reactions?

chan: you adore horror movies. you can think back on your childhood, the movies you watched with your parents every saturday, like a fun family tradition. and with chan in your life, you’re eager to share it with him. you had actually mentioned it in passing before, when you guys were still just friends, but it never came up again. so you decide to bring it up tonight (a saturday, of course), at chan’s dorm room.

after kicking off your shoes and getting settled on his uncomfortably firm bed, you ask him,” hey channie? i was just wondering, would you like to start watching scary movies with me every saturday? like how my family used to.”

chan stops midway through tossing aside his own shoes, his hands stiff under the influence of his wrist braces. he looks over his shoulder at you, his mind obviously working overtime to process what you asked him. “really?”

“of course, i’d love for you to! is that alright?”

“no, yeah, that’s fine!” he finishes tossing his shoes aside and runs his fingers through his curls,” just keep in mind baby, i’m not exactly good with scary stuff..”

oh.. you suppose that’s true. you’ve certainly seen the stray kids’ escape room videos enough times. but no matter!

“it’s okay, channie! we won’t watch anything intense, i promise.”

so you both get under the covers and chan pulls up his laptop. you both settle on the original friday the 13th movie. this was actually one of your dad’s favorites growing up, so you’re happy to see it again. chan.. well, he puts on a brave face. no screaming, no flinching, nothing. but inside, the practical effects are shaving off a couple years of his life. even though it is kinda fun.

“this is your version of not intense? well yeah, it is good.. just- let me hold your arm.”

minho: minho has never been one to scare easily. sure he might flinch if someone were to scream at him out of nowhere, but as a general rule nothing really scares or startles him. so of course he’s your partner in crime when it comes to getting your horror fix. strolling through cliche “haunted” corn mazes, attending all-day horror conventions, daring one another to buy weird and almost certainly cursed little tidbits from an antique store, you name it.

today though, it’s just a horror movie.

you find it on a streaming service, and while you’ve never heard of it before, judging by the description it seems like a pretty good psychological horror. of course minho immediately points out the cover art as stupid (and he may be right) but hey, at least it has a 4.3 star rating.

minho takes a moment to run to the kitchen and make some popcorn. once it’s all popped and poured into a large, stained bowl that’s been used for many a movie date, he makes sure to add his special ingredient: golden syrup. just something to give it some sweetness. others may find it to be a gross food combination, but after he introduced it to you, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

when he comes back to the living room, popcorn bowl in hand, he sees the cozy nest of blankets and pillows that you put together on the couch. his lips twitch into a tiny smile and he carefully places himself next to you in the nest, close enough that his thigh presses comfortingly against yours. snuggled against minho’s side, you press play on the movie, and the popcorn disappears within the first five minutes or so.

the movie’s pretty good, especially at the psychological aspect. but the few attempts at jumpscares are a little pathetic to say the least. minho gets a good scoff out of them. by the time the credits roll, you’re both discussing what you think the film was trying to portray to the audience. neither of you have the intention of leaving the nest anytime soon.

“no y/n, it’s obvious it’s about how the ignorance of tourism leads to the decline of culturally important areas. they just needed a weird little scarecrow to get the point across.”

changbin: changbin doesn’t mind watching scary things with you occasionally, but he’ll be screaming the entire time. he’s naturally a loud and excitable person anyway, but add elements of plagues or zombies and there’s a chance you’ll be getting another noise complaint from the lady in the apartment below you.

but it’s fun either way. so here you are tonight, watching the wailing with changbin, with plagues and zombies and all that good stuff.

you both had a good day today. you slept in for a good portion of the morning while changbin was at the studio before heading to the gym together later in the evening (all you really did were some stretches while you watched changbin do the harder workouts), went out to a good restaurant afterward, and came back to the dorm to watch a movie or two together. unfortunately for changbin, the first movie you pick just so happens to be one he finds terrifying. but you’ve never seen it before and you’re pretty curious.

you curl up against your boyfriend on the couch, nice and cozy with a warm drink in hand, but to your eardrums’ demise. at each minor jumpscare or suspenseful moment changbin screams as loud as his lungs allow him to, and eventually you end up having to move across the couch from him in order to protect your ears. the movie ends in a flurry of confusion as you understandably had a harder time than usual paying attention.

“what do you mean your ears are ringing? i wasn’t that bad! you’re the one who's being dramatic, jagiya.”

hyunjin: hyunjin is a fairly dramatic person, as you’ve always known, and a lot of his emotion comes out in artistic expression. therefore, you enjoy combining both of your passions by watching what are considered artistic horror movies. granted, those kinds of movies tend to be the most twisted ones of all, but at least it’s something you two can pause and talk about for a while together. you’ve searched around online recently to find an artistic horror movie you haven’t yet seen together, and eventually you found one.

so here you and hyunjin sit, comfy on your bed. hyunjin just got done with schedules and wanted to spend the rest of the night relaxing with you, watching some horribly messed up movie while snacking on candy he picked up from the convenience store on his way over. both of you have your gaze locked on the tv screen ahead as you lean against hyunjin’s chest, munching on the candies he puts to your lips now and again. his left hand remains less busy, resting on your waist and rubbing little comforting circles against the fabric of your pajama shirt with his thumb. by now he does this out of habit, not even realizing his thumb is moving.

luckily the movie doesn’t seem to have any jumpscares (your ears are spared from your boyfriend’s shrieks this time) but the increasingly unsettling, haunting vibes emanating from it are enough to have him watching through his fingers eventually, his arm no longer wrapped around you. the body horror doesn’t seem to help much.

you look up at hyunjin at one point, seeing his wide, shiny eyes watching the tv intently despite the obvious fear he has. you can’t help but giggle. not because you find his fear funny, but because he’s just so cute. you opt to wrap your arms around him instead, keeping your big baby safe in your embrace. he gratefully accepts and slides down in the bed a bit so he fits better against your chest.

unlike usual, you guys didn’t pause the movie during the entire two and a half hour runtime. but to be fair your arms were a bit full. once the credits begin to run, hyunjin quickly sits up in your arms and smooths his hair down, trying to appear put together.

"it wasn't even that bad. why are you laughing??"

jisung: one of the first things you and jisung bonded over was the fact both of you struggle with anxiety to some extent. the vulnerability you were able to share with each other was such a relief, and ultimately led to the relationship you two now share together. but despite the fact you and jisung get easily startled - jisung more so than you - you both are champs when it comes to all things horror.

jisung may jump into the stratosphere when he hears a balloon pop, but he talks excitedly every time you two watch a horror movie. the more gorey and psychologically damaging, the better. today, on jisung’s rare day off, it just makes sense to start a horror movie marathon at 10 in the morning. so here you two sit on your couch, deciding on which of the lined up movies to watch first.

ultimately, you two settle on the mist. it’s not a particularly intense horror movie, but it is one of your favorites as ‘creature feature’ is your favorite subgenre of horror. you can fondly think back on your childhood, watching the movie first with your mother. eventually it became your comfort movie, playing it in the background while doing things around the house. jisung hasn’t seen it before, at least not that he can remember, so he looks forward to seeing what about the movie you enjoy so much.

in fact, he’s so excited he talks throughout the movie, pointing out the little things he notices or things he finds the most fun. you don’t mind it, of course. you add to the conversation, smiling at jisung in entertainment. when you think about it, it really is entertaining that the man who will throw himself to the floor at the sound of a balloon popping can watch a man get chomped on by a pterobuzzard so easily. you chuckle, and can’t help but lean over and plant a kiss on jisung’s cheek.

"wh- what was that for? i'm cute? but i didn't even do anything?"

felix: you’ve always indulged in your horror fixes on your own time, just because it was more fun and convenient that way. and, on top of that, anything horror related isn’t exactly your boyfriend’s strong suit. but maybe tonight will be different!

you’re scrolling on your streaming service, looking for anything you haven’t seen at least 5 times already, when you come across the perfect one in the new releases. it’s one you haven’t seen since you were in your teens, when you and your siblings enjoyed watching it together and poking fun at the characters. it’s nothing too scary, honestly. so you call felix from his room to the living room.

he waddles up to you, his large pajama shirt bunched up slightly at his waist and his house slippers squeaking on the floor and his hair sticking up at odd ends. you smile at him, your heart warm looking at your adorable boyfriend.

“hi baby. were you napping?”

“mm-mm.”

“okay. would you like to watch a movie with me then?”

“ooh, okay!” he hurries to your side, snuggling up next to you and pulling the couch blanket over both of your laps. “what movie are we watching?”

“it’s called the strangers.”

one look at the movie’s cover art, at the three masked figures, and felix feels his body tense a bit. you quickly hop in,” it’s okay lixie! it’s really more of a thriller or suspense movie than a horror one.”

he nods slowly,“ okay..”

45 minutes in and felix is peeking from behind a couch pillow, jumping at the smallest sounds or view of the strangers. occasionally, he also lets out little surprised squeaks. he presses even closer against your side, threatening to crawl right on top of you.

you pout at the sight. your poor baby. you wrap your arms securely around his small frame, letting him ditch the pillow and hide his face in your neck. it tickles but it’s okay.

“hey sunshine, would you like to watch something else?” you feel him nod against your neck.

"can we watch pponyo..?" pponyo it is.

after a little while, felix settles back down, his shoulders slowly loosening after being so tense. although he still refuses to let go of you.

"it's okay, baby, i know you didn't mean to scare me. you might have to go to the bathroom with me tonight though."

seungmin: you love when horror movies affect you, particularly in a psychological sense. when horror movies make your heart speed up in your chest, and you need to hyperfocus on every potential detail or threat. but most of all, you love when horror movies are just absolutely out-of-this-world stupid; bonus points if they were produced in the 50’s-80’s.

so that’s what you and seungmin watch together most of all; old b-grade horror movies that the two of you can laugh at and make fun of together. last week it was the blob, and this week it’s killer klowns from outer space.

you lean your back against the arm of the couch and lay your legs across seungmin’s lap, where he absentmindedly pats or rubs them with his red-stained fingertips, sometimes giving your feet a tickle to bother you. seungmin’s shiny eyes are focused on the tv screen, an empty hot cheetos bag set beside him.

seungmin is the first to poke fun at the clown that captures people by distracting them with shadow puppets. “imagine being over the age of 6 and being lured in by shadow puppetry.”

you respond,” to be fair, if i saw someone make a hyper-realistic dinosaur shadow with their hands, i’d also be pretty impressed.”

“and that’s why you’d die first in the alien clown apocalypse.”

you give him an unamused glance, to which he just smiles back, in all his puppy-like charm. you roll your eyes and turn back to the tv screen, but can’t quite help the little smile from creeping up on your face as well.

“you’re an idiot, kim seungmin.”

the jokes and taunting continue throughout the duration of the movie. mostly towards the painfully 80’s characters, but occasionally towards one another. you really hadn’t planned on getting into such a debate about who would survive in the unlikely scenario that clowns from another planet would come to earth and start cotton candy-ifying the human race.

“obviously i’d just eat through the cotton candy like a sane person. look if you meet your demise to fluffy sugar, that’s between you and god.”

jeongin: if there’s one thing about your boyfriend, it’s that he doesn’t get scared or grossed-out easily. unlike you, who loves horror movies with a bit of gore in them just as much as the next person, but you can’t help cringing at it every single time. sometimes, depending on which part of the body is being injured, you have to just hide your face completely.

like right now, as you hide your face in jeongin’s shoulder, listening to the sounds of the train stewardess get her throat chomped on by a zombie.

jeongin just wanted to relax after a strenuous schedule today, surrounded by the comfort that you bring. you were happy to oblige, and you were excited to see which horror movie he’d pick out this time (you picked last time). and for the second time within the past month or so, he chose train to busan.

you love the movie, of course, but the first couple rampage scenes can be a bit much for you. so you snuggle even closer to jeongin, almost as if you were attempting to crawl into his skin for safety.

he can’t help but chuckle at you, which you can feel rumble through his arm. it’s just because you’re acting all cute. and it’s a little bit funny.

“it’s over. you can look now, babe.” he says, nudging you with the arm that you’re holding onto to get your attention.

you peek back out and continue watching the chaos unfold on the screen, as if nothing happened. with your head still on jeongin’s shoulder, you find yourself surrounded by his comforting aura as well, the smell of the body wash you bought for him a nice familiarity. the movie continues without much eventfulness. jisung walks into the kitchen very loudly at one point, and jeongin has to use the bathroom midway through.

but now, it’s reached the end of the movie. and if there’s one thing about your boyfriend… it’s that he’s not a man afraid to cry.

so here you both sit, wrapped up in each other’s arms under a blanket on the couch, crying as the end scenes play.

“god this movie sucks.” you sniffle.

“i know. it’s great, isn’t it?”