#and I’m sick of sugarcoating that.

[yanyandam]

ILYYY SM BBYYY PLS I NEED MORE FANFICS !!!!!! I HAVE A REQUEST (I have so many in my head) The members of the bonten confess to reader but a few hours later mikey (or if mikey is part of it someone more important) asks them to sleep with a girl from one of the clubs for information and reader ends up knowing about it even though they confessed their feelings to him just a few hours before LOL

My English is so bad I’m sorry BUT I LOVE U AND ALL UR WORKS ❤️❤️❤️😓😓

(Ignore this request if you're not interested, darling.)

YOOO thanks for requesting! Love the scenario!! ILYT BTW, I appreciate the kindness a LOTTT. Did my best here! WARNINGS: None I think

Manjiro’s confession had come at 3AM, after a long silence between dorayakis on the balcony of a rundown hotel. “I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. You make me feel like I still exist.” At that moment, you knew there was no escape: not that you were afraid of him, but your consciousness couldn't let go. He was already at the end of his rope, so you might as well try to save him a little. You’d felt it too. That hollow inside him softening just for you. That night was fragile, real.

Then the next day, a whisper from the wrong person at the wrong time. He was seen leaving a club. With a woman. Not just any woman, a known informant. You’re crushed. Sick. You confront him, trembling with rage. He doesn’t flinch. He stares right at you. “I didn’t sleep with her. I was supposed to. Intel said she’d only talk if she thought I wanted her. I played the part. Then I left.” You study him. There’s no shame in his face, but there’s something else, restraint. “I’ve done worse for less. But I couldn’t do that. Not now. Not after you.”His face is neutral, empty. You're getting on his nerves, so why can't he just get rid of you? “You made me hesitate. That never happens.” He flicks ash into the wind, and for a split second, the mask drops, and you see a man trying to believe he’s still redeemable. He doesn't have much strength (or courage) left, but he still tries to hold your hand. Then you seem to hear a little 'Don't leave...'.

Sanzu’s confession was a strange blend of aggressive and awkward. Like it offended him to feel anything. “You ruin my focus. That’s not a compliment. It’s terrifying.” But he meant it. You knew. He dropped this in a message before asking you to join him for the evening. Not that he didn't care, but he didn't know how to verbalize 'love'.

A few hours later, you hear about it. He was seen walking out of a VIP room in a club, fixing his belt. Your heart sinks. You corner him. He laughs,  at first. “You’re mad? It was a mission. Mikey’s orders. I got what we needed.” You glare. He scoffs but there’s a crack in his voice. “I didn’t finish, alright? I started it, but I couldn’t go through. She smelled like desperation. All I could think about was you.” He shakes his head like he’s disgusted with himself. “You’re in my head. She touched me, and it felt wrong. I wanted you. That’s pathetic, huh?”

You see it then, the panic underneath the cruelty. He’s terrified of losing control. But more terrified of losing you. “Just… be careful with me, alright? I’m not good at this. But I want to try.” He looks away. But his fingers twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you.

Kakucho confessed during your fifth date, at a restaurant. His confession had been calm, like reading you a weather report. “I care for you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be telling you this.” No theatrics. Just truth in between wine sips.

Then the news comes. Someone saw him at a high-end bar, cozying up to a woman known for dealing gang secrets. You confront him in private. Your chest aches. He doesn’t look away. “Yes. I was tasked to extract intel. She wouldn’t talk otherwise. I did what was needed.”

You whisper, “Did you sleep with her?”

“Yes. It was sex. Cold. Functional. Nothing more.” The honesty stings. He doesn’t apologize. He just explains. “You want sugarcoated lies? Find someone else. I did it because the job demanded it. But I felt nothing. I feel for you.” He moves closer. “I won’t beg. But I won’t lie to you either. This world is built on blood and pain. But what I feel for you? That’s the only pure thing I’ve got left.” His voice doesn’t shake. But his hand on yours? It’s trembling.

Kokonoi told you he loved you while having next to him a suitcase full of money. The simple fact that he let down his unhealthy obsession to look at you only, in the eyes the whole time was enough to prove his sincerity. “I don’t say this shit lightly. But if you left, it’d gut me.” 

Then a call comes. A high-stakes job. A political aide’s mistress with key financial data. He accepts without hesitation. You find out hours later. He doesn’t deny it. “Yeah, I slept with her. She gave me what we needed.” You stare at him like you don’t recognize him. He sits back, jaw clenched. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not wired like you. I see survival, I take it.” But then his voice drops, almost too quiet. “But I hated every second of it. She wasn’t you. I kept thinking about how your lips taste. How your eyes look when you’re annoyed.” He sighs and sets down his ring. “If you walk, I get it. But I meant what I said. I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my miserable life trying to prove that.” He doesn’t beg. But he doesn’t look away either. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he won’t chase you.

Mochi’s confession came in the back of a luxurious shop while he was choosing a dress for you. It was pretty random. “I think I’m in love with you. That’s not weird, right? Shit. It’s weird.” You laughed. He blushed so hard he looked like he was boiling. 

The next day, you hear the worst: he was spotted seducing a girl in the back of a club. Intel operation. You confront him. He’s pale. Sweaty. Instantly panicked. “It wasn’t like that! I didn’t do anything. I was supposed to, but I faked it. Told her I had STD or something, don’t judge me, I panicked!” You blink. He’s dead serious. “I couldn’t do it. I kept thinking about your laugh, how your nose scrunches when you’re mad.” His eyes shine, full of guilt. “You make me wanna be better. Like, so much better. I’ve done horrible shit, but the idea of hurting you? That’s…” He wrings his hands. “Just... please don’t go.” He’s pathetic. And sincere. And yours.

His confession was whispered in the dim lounge above his club. Ran didn’t like big words. “I’ve fucked a lot of people. But I’ve never wanted one the way I want you.” And you believed him. You felt it.

Then comes the knife? He left with a woman from his own VIP section. You confront him with shaking fists. He shrugs, slow and smooth. “She threw herself at me. This was necessary. I kissed her. Thought I’d go through with it. But I didn’t.” You narrow your eyes. He holds your gaze. “I couldn’t. I thought about your voice. Your skin. And it felt... cheap.” He moves closer, surprisingly gentle. “I’ve had empty sex for half my life. What I felt with you? That wasn’t empty. That scared the shit out of me.” You see it then, the man behind the arrogance. A guy who’s been alone too long. Who maybe, just maybe, wants to believe in something again. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll walk. But if you do... I swear, I’ll make this real.”

Rindou’s confession was short. Muted. Probably by the noise of the club at the back of the VIP section. “I like you. Like... really like you. More than I should.” You smiled. You reached for his hand.

Hours later, you hear about the girl. A waitress. He left with her after his shift.  You confront him. He’s red-faced, jaw clenched. “I was scared. Of you. Of this. So I did something dumb.” 

You snap, “So you slept with her?”

He looks down. “Yeah. I did. It was fast. Gross. I didn’t even say her name right.” He looks broken. Ashamed. “I thought I didn’t deserve you anyway. So I sabotaged it before it could matter.”Silence. Then: “But it mattered. You matter.” He takes a shaky breath. “You can go. You should. But if you don’t… I swear I’ll never mess it up again.” And in that moment, you see not a gangster, but a scared young man begging for one more chance.

[wisteria-blooms]

*NSFW* strawberry wonderland (ii) (bill weasley & reader)

*MINORS DNI!*

PAIRING: Bill Weasley/You SUMMARY: Unbeknownst to you, you have more of an effect on Bill than you could ever imagine. And he can't stop thinking about all the things he wants to do to you in Nice. WARNINGS: sex, fingering, oral, masturbation, unprotected sex

A/N: To get me out of a writer's block, I present you this. I've only read it over it once so I'll fix any mistakes as I go. I hope this doesn't ruin long hair & tattoos for you... it doesn't need to be part of the original series if you don't want it to be. It's set after Bill and Reader arrive in Nice.

STRAWBERRY WONDERLAND (II)

Strawberries.

That’s what you smelt like to Bill Weasley. And very much overwhelmingly so as you nestled into his arm, preparing to disembark the ship that had just docked the nauseatingly rocky French shores. He attributed it to all the fresh strawberries you crushed up at the bar. 

“What kind of liquor do you reckon goes well with this?” you asked, holding up the bleeding purée to his face. 

‘Anything that would get you to kiss me,’ a voice in his head willed him to say. He swatted that thought away and instead replied, “Rum.” All his family recipes and all his female cousins’ favourite girlish drinks came to mind.

“Hm.” You turned away from him and perused the shelf for the highest of top-shelf rum. “And what else?”

“Maybe some simple syrup, a dash of lime and—,”

You slammed a bottle of rum on the table and twisted it open. Bill closed his mouth and let you speak. “Keep rambling and one might think you’re an expert at cocktails or something of that sort.”

“You asked me!” Bill said in defense, a chuckle erupting from his lips. A lush haze was concentrating in your eyes from the wine you’d inhaled the moment you boarded the ship. Bill figured his taller and heavier figure was better in diffusing the alcohol than your smaller one. 

“Whatever,”—you slid the cup of strawberry puree towards him—“let’s just drink.”

And now the scent of fresh strawberries, lime, and wine lingered on your person, stuck to it like summer honey. It was the most heavenly of scents. He imagined it would be most concentrated on your lips and tongue, and he would risk everything—a lot—to test that hypothesis. And what if that old saying were true? ‘You are what you eat.’

Would you taste like strawberries elsewhere, dare he dream, on another pair of lips?

“Do you think we had too much?” you asked him, snapping him out of his dirty reverie where he was in between your legs. “I might be sick.”

“I’m sure the sea made it worse,” he reassured you, letting you grip him tightly. He looked back at the relentless waves. Merlin, if you kept touching and squeezing his arm, he wasn’t going to make it until after you left. “And you best recover before your dinner tonight.”

“Right—ooh.” You drew the last vowel, lips rounding, which sent a chill up Bill’s spine.

Then when you let out a deep sigh into the crook of his arm, he found himself at war with himself. He looked down at your eyelashes, fluttering down to cover your eyes and traced your pouty pink lips. You were the sweetest, most innocent thing at twenty-three years old. And he didn’t realize how much desire had stirred up inside him in the past few months that he now really wanted to kiss you—Oh, what was he sugarcoating his own private thoughts for? He wanted nothing more than to fuck you.

He just wanted to know what your innocence would feel on him and his experience. But he couldn’t. He was much too old, much too tainted compared to the likes of you. What he wanted was above any voice of reason. 

Fuck it, he was tempted by the thought of ruining you. 

Bill Weasley had to wonder how he got himself in this tricky predicament as he settled into a bed miles away from home. With age came maturity and emotional growth, right? At thirty-one, he had years to leap over and meet his milestones. Clearly, he missed a couple landmarks because he felt as if he was trapped in the body of a fourteen-old boy who’d discovered pornography à la Wicked Witches Weekly for the first time.

Everything in his mind was just wrong, wrong, wrong. 

After the whole debacle with you walking in on him mid-shower complaining that your own room had flooded and him checking that it really had, you’d insisted on taking the couch in his own room. He pulled off his shirt and shut the lamp off. Then, he laid on his left side and tried to make out your figure on the couch.

He shouldn’t be thinking about having sex with you as you were peacefully asleep a few metres from him. He was supposed to be the epitome of your older, more mature (pretend) boyfriend who could will away an inopportune erection at any time. But what was consuming his mind right now was, well, the fictitious scenario where you did agree to share a bed with him tonight. There wouldn’t be a cold and empty space beside him. You’d be right up against him, unknowingly grinding up against his aching nether region as you combed through a bad dream, and teased out his erection further as a result. The fantasy echoed in his mind again and again until sleep finally caught up with him.

“Ngh, Bill,” you whined, your voice thick with sleep. 

You nestled into the cove of pillows, trying to chase away your bad dream. Your body followed suit. Your ass was turned towards him, giving him full permission and the ability to grind against you. He meant to be gentle, but his thrusts—like his breathing—were growing more rapid and frantic.

His hands weaved their way past your loose cotton top and landed atop your naked breasts. He was grateful that your shirt was cut so loose and short. His hands latched onto your breasts tightly, mainly out of lust and secondarily to find an anchor for his writing body. His calloused fingers began their usual routine of teasing your nipples. He pinched them occasionally as he continued to rub his stiff cock on your behind. You were responsive, both in the soft moans that left your lips only to be subdued by the pillows, and the wetness collecting in your cunt.

Your panties were fucking soaked. Bill could detail your folds through the slickness, and feel your spilling entrance through the thin fabric. And that thin fabric was the only thing preventing him from thrusting his full length into you. You writhed harshly when he pinched your left nipple again. The nub was standing at full attention for him. 

“What do you think?” asked Bill, voice husky as he asked in your ear. “Can you take my cock or will I have to stretch that tight pussy out?”

You responded with nothing more than shaky breath. You grinded against him, trying to shove your panties aside. “....want… your big cock inside me, Bill.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. 

One of his hands hastily left your breasts in pursuit of your panties. He shoved one side to join the other which gave him freedom to trail the head of cock against your cunt. How much better you felt without a fabric barrier was indescribable. The precum leaking from the tip of his cock met your own wetness. He felt like he was being enveloped in silk. And your opening swelled as if inviting him in, begging him to fill you up with his endless cum and impregnate you.

He dove two fingers straight into you, just to really confirm you were ready. He immediately began curling his fingers inside you, feeling the engorged, sensitive area inside that drove you wild.

“Your cock, Bill,” you whined.

His hand was drenched when he pulled his fingers out. Immediately, he replaced the emptiness with his cock. With one thrust, he entered you. You let out a sharp gasp. He knew his size was hard to take, and it always took you a minute or two to adjust to him. But he knew how much you wanted him to ruin you, begging him to fill you up to the hilt. And he could only oblige in those moments, watching as your eyes rolled back every time your orgasm washed over you. 

“Please,” you begged through gasps. “I need… need all of you inside me.”

Bill flipped you over so your face was pressed against the pillows. His hands spread your ass cheeks apart. He could see the tight ring of muscle that was clenched around his thick cock. He was really stretching you out. And as much as it hurt him to do, he pulled out.

“No,” you whined, your hand flying back to find and guide him back into you. 

“Patience,” he commanded. 

He ran the tip of his cock up and down your folds, gathering enough lubrication to meet your increasing demands. And when he felt it was sufficient, he slid himself back into you, pushing past the drier spot that was cutting him off halfway.

“Yes, that’s it, ah—,” you moaned, meeting him halfway for the last couple inches. Your ass raised in the air, desperate for more of him. You held yourself up with your elbows, using them to anchor yourself as you pushed back on him. You worked through the part of him that was thicker than the rest. It was always tricky, but how fast you got there depended on how horny you were, and tonight, you were insatiable.

“Fuck,” he whispered, feeling himself being enveloped by more of your sweet cunt. You were so helpless and needy for him. When he looked down again, he realized he was completely sheathed inside you. He began thrusting, the first couple of seconds working at a steady pace. He earned a few moans. Then, he pulled himself all the way out only to fill you completely again. 

“Bill!” you screamed. Your legs trembled as you clenched around him. He did it again, and again, so hard and fast, aching to hear those delicious screams. Wetness dribbled down your thighs and onto the sheets as you lost yourself in the pleasure. 

“Stop, Bill, I’m going to cum—”

Bill woke up with a jolt. His chest heaved up and down and his breathing was significantly laboured. When he grew accustomed to where he was—the Malfoy summer house in Nice—he looked over to you. You were buried under your covers, blissfully unaware of the lewd positions he held you in in his dreams. He hoped you didn’t hear his breathing, or that he hadn’t said anything weird in his sleep. 

He felt a severe ache between his legs. He had feeling this was the most intense erection he’d had in ages. He already knew he was intensely red and swollen. 

Maybe he needed to have sex with someone, anything that wasn’t his own damn hand, but he wasn’t fond of an anonymous hookup.

Curiously, he reached past the waistband of his briefs, looking for some sense of relief. He was pulsating hard and it was barely what, seven in the morning? He gave himself a stroke, gripping hard at the base and letting go near his wet tip. He suppressed a moan. An image of you, edging him with your tongue, came to mind. 

No, he couldn’t do this with you in the room. It would be most improper and he had to hold himself to a higher standard. Instead, he grabbed a newspaper on his nightstand. It was two days out-of-date, but he figured he should get up to speed with what was going on in Egypt. He was certain that reading about excavations and pyramids and uprisings would take his mind off things. 

Not more than a few minutes later, he heard some ruffling and kicking about on the couch.

“Morning,” Bill greeted.

“Good morning,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

“Very well,” he responded. A fucking bold-faced lie. “You?”

“I slept well, too.”

You were all bed-headed, doe-eyed innocence in the white sheets and he was corrupt was hell.  

You got on your feet and pushed open the curtains, letting the sun fully stream in. Bill gulped silently, watching your legs sway around the room. Fortunately for his sanity, you had on some white shorts. Unfortunately, they were so short that any unplanned movement could reveal your panties, and he wouldn’t be able to stop there. 

“We usually eat breakfast together downstairs," you yawned, covering your mouth, “but maybe some caffeine is in order first. I’m still waking up.”

“A morning swim is the best way to do that,” Bill suggested. He was really treading a fine line with that suggestion; he was adding fuel to his own wildfires. He really loved the idea of a morning swim, he really did. But there was the bonus aspect of you having to be properly suited for the occasion, and you weren’t going to do it in those itty-bitty shorts and a tank top.  

“It’s one of the things I miss about Egypt that we don’t have back home. And it helps quell the heat, too.” He, honest to Merlin, did do this in Egypt. But not for any underlying reasons. 

“That’s a good idea,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do that.”

When you arrived at the private stretch of beach, Bill watched as you slowly unwrapped yourself from the shawl you had on. When you found the will to submerge yourself, even if it was just a toe, he approached from behind you.

“Gently grazing the water isn’t the definition of a swim, you know,” he said, lightly tapping the inward curve of your bare hip.

“I know,” you mumbled back, a tinge of pink on your cheeks. 

He jumped in without thinking and you soon followed suit. He submerged his whole body into the pristine waters of the French Riviera. When he resurfaced, he was treated to a view he was sure he didn’t deserve. 

The wet, white material of your bikini clung onto the skin of your breasts like it was a matter of life or death. Drops of water dotted down your cleavage, slowly, tantalizingly so. The weight of the water dragged your bikini straps down, giving him an expansive view of your breasts. And was that an erect nipple poking through? The cold water must’ve teased it out. 

Yeah, the swim was a bloody awful idea. 

“You’ll never catch me, (Y/N),” he teased. He sent another wave of water towards you to stall you, laughing as you squeezed your eyes shut and sputtered.

“This means war, Bill!” you cried. You outstretched your arms to pull him back towards you. You were aided by a little current that carried you closer and your fingers finally made contact with his strong shoulders

“Ha!” you exclaimed, your fingertips getting a grip on him. “You’ll be sorry!”

He held his breath as he fell back into the water with you on top of him. When he felt sand and little pebbles dig into his back, he knew you’d both arrived on shore. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw you directly on top of him. Your wet hair grazed his cheeks and—

It wouldn’t be technically wrong to say you were grinding on him, not with the way your legs were splayed on both sides of him and the pressure you were putting on him. Your breasts were planted on his chest, and he could appreciate the clothed erect nipple on his skin. And as he looked down, there was more to see of your breasts than before. One wrong move and he would have a full view of the girls. It would be such a shame if your top came undone. But never mind that, he had to resist to urge to plant his hands on your hips and—

“Bill, it’s too deep,” you whined.

Bill’s hands were planted firmly on your hip bones, holding you down, forcing you grind on him with his cock deeply planted in you. You’d enveloped him to the hilt before, but you’ve never had him like this before, not in this position, and it was becoming too much.

“I think you like it, (Y/N),” he said with a chuckle. You looked down, embarrassed at the sudden spurt of wetness that ran down your thigh from your sex. As he began thrusting, you lost any sense of speech besides the ability to give a silent moan. When one of Bill’s hands loosened their grip on your hip to tease your engorged clitoris instead, you threw your head back.

The moment you’d realized how you’d fallen, you yelped immediately and apologized. 

“Time for breakfast?” you offered impassively, carefully looping your other leg over and rolling yourself off him. Sand stuck to the side of your wet legs. You offered him a hand.

“About time for it,” Bill responded as you pulled him up. 

“That was fun,” you commented, wrapping the beach towel over yourself and slipping into your sandals. “Better than my usual idea of a swim.”

Bill hummed in agreement, saying, “your idea of a swim isn’t much of a swim,” and followed you back into the house.

When you were back in your room, you’d dried off hastily, saying you were going to be late to breakfast.

“Is there a set time for breakfast?” he asked, eyeing as you flew around the bathroom looking for a comb.

“Not really, but it’s always at eight, and I was already chastised for being late yesterday.”

He had suppressed a comment about how beautifully haphazard you looked. Your hair was half-tamed, your cheeks flushed. You looked like you’d just had a good long romp in the sheets. 

“Then I’ll join you in a second,” he promised. “I’d like to look a little more presentable for your parents.”

“You look fine,” you commented. “But that’s alright, I’ll let them know.”

When you’d left the room, Bill headed straight to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and removed his clothes. As he felt his hardening cock spring loose, his frustration grew tenfold. He shouldn’t have suggested the swim; he was going to lose circulation to his brain if you kept turning him on like this. He stepped in the shower and placed his left forearm on the wall. His right hand reached out to stroke his uncomfortable erection. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. Drops of cold water ran down his back as he leaned over. He was so close already and thinking about your body atop of his, your wet cunt pushing down on him, begging to be fucked, was really expediting the process. “Shit.”

In no time, he felt the intense pressure break. He bit down on his lip to keep from making too much noise. Ropes of cums spurted out of his cock, falling into the shallow water that’d accumulated in the shower base. He heaved, his heartbeat rapid, as his strokes slowed.

When he looked down at the mess he’d made, he could only think: ‘what a waste.’ It should’ve gone into some orifice of yours instead. Maybe your mouth, where his hold on your head would be iron-clad, and he’d make sure you swallowed every single drop. Or even better, your cunt, where it would all spill out on the sheets the moment he pulled out because it was just too much for you.

When Bill felt himself harden again, he cursed the higher deities. He’d never recovered this quickly before. Again, not since he was a teenage boy. And there was what, another two weeks of you frolicking in bathing suits and sun dresses? 

You were slowly and surely going to be the death of him.

[massy2ly]

PART 2: Let’s talk about what i would love to see in episode 9 with KantStyle, because there’s so much potential brewing here. (PART 1 is about FadelStyle)

*I love Kant but some facts can’t be denied*

Alright, let’s get into this because I’ve been waiting for the right moment to talk about it, and episode 9 feels like the perfect setup. Here’s the deal: Kant needs to step up as a friend. Ep 9 would be the ideal moment for him to finally shut up all of us (yes, myself included) who’ve been side-eying him as the shady bestie who’s put Style’s safety and feelings on the back burner.

Listen, Style has done so much for this guy. He’s been his ultimate ride-or-die—no questions asked—and we love him for it. But let’s be real for a second. When has Kant ever done anything for him? I wanted to give Kant the benefit of the doubt, so I rewatched their scenes before writing this, and guess what? Crickets. Nada. There’s not a single moment where Kant really comes through for Style. And now, with Style out here groveling for Fadel—while Fadel acts like the king of the “hard-to-get” Olympics—this would be the perfect time for Kant to finally show up and have his back. Think back to the “first date” episode. Style asked Fadel to help Kant with the Bison situation. And that discussion at the bowling alley? Even knowing Fadel would snap back, Style still tried to ease things and showed nothing but support for Kant and Bison’s relationship. He’s been going out of his way for Kant, even when it clashed with his own feelings for Fadel. That’s a real one. So, where’s that energy from Kant?

Now, how could Kant make it right? Dream scenario incoming, but hear me out: he could actually explain Style’s role in the so-called “betrayal” more clearly. The fandom is still tearing its hair out because Style hasn’t laid it all out for Fadel. And we know—or at least hope we all agree—that Kant’s betrayal runs way deeper than Style’s. There’s been zero acknowledgment of the fact that Style didn’t even know the full truth until after he and Fadel started dating. Also, Style owned up to his feelings the second he realized he was falling for Fadel. He even argued with Kant about it while Kant was still busy repressing his feelings for Bison. And let’s not forget, Style wasn’t out here scheming—he was pushing Fadel over and over again to open up and tell the truth. A real snitch wouldn’t be doing all that.

Style’s confession—“I worked with the police too”—felt half-baked. Like, sir?? That’s not the full picture, and we all know it. And yet, I love that Style kept it vague because it shows his character. He’s taking full accountability—no sugarcoating, no excuses. But this is where Kant needs to come in. I’m dying to see him take some accountability of his own and reveal some details to Fadel. Style has kept quiet about so much, and Kant’s actions towards Style in the early episodes were downplayed to the point that it’s still stuck in my throat like a bad meal. Kant owes it to Style to face an angry Fadel, risk the fallout, and say the things Style has chosen not to.

And honestly, I’m sick of Kant acting like a kitty cat every time Fadel looks his way. Bro, put on your big boy pants and own up to the mess you dragged your friend into. It’s exhausting watching this friendship feel kinda one-sided sometimes. Style has been and is still going through a lot because of Kant —Fadel is right about what he said in the preview— and yet Kant’s only advice has constantly been, “Oh, just forget about Fadel.” Excuse me? Forget about the man he couldn’t help but fall in love with in the middle of this whole mess? Nah. If Kant doesn’t step up in some way I’m going to be genuinely disappointed. It’s time for him to stop coasting on Style’s loyalty and prove he deserves it. Whether it’s by defending Style to Fadel or taking some heat for his own actions, he needs to show that he values this friendship.

[kairiscorner]

So I don’t know how to do requests😭

But I want to request some Oikawa or sugawara angst, like really angsty, school au! Where the reader and Oikawa or suga are is her best friend, but she also has another girl best friend, who knows that reader has feelings for them but stills goes and confesses to him even though she doesn’t like him just because she was jealous or something and like I don’t want a happy ending low-key hehehehe

I’m sorry I don’t know how to explain it honestly🥹

HELLO, ok so i hope i understood your req correctly, because MMMMMMM i also want this to hurt ... I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, AND IMMA MAKE AN OIKAWA VER JS BC 💓💓💓

“i love you... but you're not mine.”

🌼 (sugawara koushi ver.)

you used to love how he smiled, it was like every room he entered would light up and get a little warmer, a little more comfortable; like everything felt okay now that he was here, now that he was smiling and telling everyone that what they're doing is enough. it was hard for you to feel enough on some days, it was even harder for you to cope with the fact that you saw some undesirable traits about you–and yet, sugawara never let you go one day without feeling like you're the prettiest person in the world–and to him, you really were.

"come on now..." he'd whisper to you in a soft, loving tone and extend his hands out to you–his calloused hands that always stung after a practice match, those tirelessly doting hands that never stopped to reach out to you and offer to help you, to comfort you, to be there in any time of your need. he'd crouch down to your level and look at you with the sweetest eyes you've ever seen; he takes your hands in his so gently, and he holds you.

his touch is light, though you can feel him squeezing you every now and then. the best feeling sugawara has ever experienced is that cathartic wave washing away some of the sadness, self-deprecation, loneliness, and other negative feelings or fears you've got plaguing you at the moment. "...you're perfect just the way you are." he muttered as he ran the pads of his fingers across the back of your hands. "i know it's hard, but... i'll help you learn to love yourself; i already know you're really lovable to me, to the rest of the team, once you realize how amazing you are on your own... i hope you'll never wish you were anyone else anymore, because you're already amazing as yourself." he gushed with a comforting voice.

well, that was the most sugarcoated lie you've ever been told.

how could you not wish to be anyone else... if your bestfriend beat you to confessing to him? beat you to being his partner...?

how could you not wish to be anyone else but his?

you wished this was a sick joke, that your close friend–whom you always confided in that you liked sugawara, that you enjoyed being with him, that you felt happiest with him–that you... loved sugawara–had confessed to him out of the blue, on the very day you were going to confess to him.

it seems that they beat you to it, and the worst part is...

sugawara loved them back.

you stood there by the doors of the gym, your hands empty after you unknowingly dropped the treats you made for him and the letter you wrote that had all your love for him written out in words you could never have pictured yourself writing down to anyone before–

–all to have your bestfriend steal him away from you.

when he cried tears of joy that the object of his affections reciprocated his love... you cried tears of melancholy at the boy you loved most being taken away from you right before your very eyes.

"hey... remember, you don't have to be someone else to be loved–i love you for who you are, inside and out." he reminded you with a wide, happy grin as he held your hands in his–his right wrist donning the bracelet your bestfriend–his partner–made for the two of them; they matched... and it hurt badly to think about how cute and happy he seemed with them.

sure, he loved you, you could tell that much...

...but only as a friend.

[frozen-waters]

General Johnigail/Marston family hcs?? <3

ofc ofc yay yay yay!!!!!!! sorry for making John a little lover boy whenever I write johnigail and there are also a few angsty-ish hcs in here

More Johnigail and Marston Family hcs!!!

• John loves when Abigail plays the piano (canon but it makes me giggle)

• John also watches Abigail sew new clothes or mend old ones. I don’t mean this in a weird way but he likes watching her sew without her knowing. in like a sweet way. she looks peaceful to him

• I’m not sure how to explain this but the Marston family (or mostly Jack) is a few The Smiths songs to me

• speaking of The Smiths modern Jack would listen to them

• after Abigail died, Jack wished he had read to her more in his tween/teen years

• even as Jack gets older, he still laughs sometimes at the stories Uncle tells

• Jack also kept all of Abigail’s dresses that she had after she died. he didn’t really know what he was gonna do with them but he couldn’t stand getting rid of them. he did the same with John’s clothes but he kept them so he could wear them

• in modern when Abigail has to go to work in the morning or something John will wake up before her and turn on the car for her so it’ll be warm by the time she’s gotta go

• John and Abigail dancing together!!!!!!!!!!!!!! idk when but maybe if Uncle still plays the banjo or overhearing music is Blackwater!!!!!!!!!!

• modern John had a gamecube when he was in highschool but the only games he played were like. sonic, eternal darkness, and resident evil. dug it out of Hoseas garage or attic when Jack became a teen and "gifted" it to him -> has it in the livingroom and John plays it and Jack will watch him sometimes -> John also thought Jack was insane when he didn't know what he was supposed to do w a gamecube. to him its The Gift

• in modern when Jack was like 7-10 he'd infodump for an entire dinner about a book or show he read or watched in excruciating detail

• Abigail loved dressing up Jack and his sister

• the Marston daughter used Johns shirts and basketball shorts as pajamas for like. five years straight in modern

• mosquito's were Jacks worst enemy in his tween years

• Abigail loves the horses they keep on Beechers Hope. she likes keeping them all pretty and clean

• John buys Abigail jewelry sometimes. it takes all his brainpower to find something that will look nice with an outfit of hers but its worth it when he sees her get giddy over a necklace he got her

• John bought Mary-Beth's books for Abigail since they were mostly romance and he would read them to her. after John died Jack would read the books to her on her and John's anniversary along with taking her to the movies. or he'd read them to her if she asked

• in modern I know deep in my bones John had some weirdass senior quote

• in modern the Marston daughter was afraid of the dark and had a horrible habit of going into John and Abigail's room and accidentally scaring them

• modern Jack wants to have a bunch of little nick-nacks and cool stuff in his room but everything he finds he feels like it doesn't fit the "vibe" he wants

• John does recognize Jack's empathy towards the animals on the ranch. not that he knows what to do or say about it. tried sugarcoating some sickness among the animals to Jack once but eventually had to tell him what was actually happening and Jack was very sad about it

• Abigail did teach Jack to sew a tiny bit

• John would give Jack "relationship advice" (as if he fucking knows anything) when they'd go into Blackwater to sell the ranches goods

• every year for John and Abigail's anniversary he'd take her into Blackwater and take her to see a movie

• Abigail always notices when John wears a gift she got for him no matter how long ago its from

• when Abigail's sick John tries to keep the house nice and tries to cook for her even though they're both fairly bad cooks

• Jack absentmindedly tells Uncle about the book he's reading when they sit on the porch together and Uncle comes up with some story he witnessed similar to the book

• John also takes Jack to see a movie for his birthday. the first time he did Jack does that thing where he gets excited and cant really talk straight and John was proud of himself

• Jack does occasionally like helping Abigail cook or gather things in the garden

• as Jacks hair gets longer he braids little pieces of it without thinking sometimes

this wasn't as long as the last one whoops

[queenpiranhadon]

Dear hate anon,

Hi, this is Kae

Now, I hope you realized you messed up. A lot. I’m sugarcoating here in case you couldn’t tell.

You just almost condemned a 14 year old girl to death.

Do you get off of that?

Once someone dies, that’s it. You can’t fucking go back and fix things, there’s no fucking undo button for that shit.

To condemn someone to deprivation of a future, a life over something as simple as their opinions is fucking dumb.

Loife is fucking fourteen. Just let that sink in. Fourteen. She probably doesn’t even have a job yet. Her life is about to begin and because of you, it could’ve ended.

People like you make me sick and I don’t care what your reasoning is, or whatever twisted bullshit you tell yourself. You lost the right to common courtesy the moment you started sending death threats to a fourteen year old girl.

I hope you see the gravity of what you’ve done.

[salsakiyoomi]

“is it me or have you gotten...bigger?”

miguel's question makes you whirl around to face him with a scowl on your face, insulted, “the hell's that supposed to mean?”

you know what it means though, you know what he means — with the morning sickness and the weird, godawful cravings, your body is…changing — you’ve missed your period this month and you've put on a little weight — your breast have swollen and your belly has bloated with a few stretch marks over your abdomen — you thought the changes were subtle at first but you guess you were wrong.

miguel shrugs, gesturing dismissively to your body, “you know, you’ve gotten bigger.”

you glare at him — he has always been a little too blunt with his words and comments —  you put your hands on your waist, “you know, that’s not exactly a very nice thing to say.”

he shrugs again and you want to punch him with how nonchalant he is about this, “‘m just saying the truth.”

“there is this thing called sugarcoating.” you shoot back, “and you don’t tell your wife that ‘she’s gotten bigger’ or any woman for that matter.”

you’re more snappy than usual — if this has been a passing comment on any other day, you probably would have laughed and scolded him, not today though, not with your hormones high on edge.

he chuckles, but it sounds more like a scoff almost as if he’s making fun of you, “come on, amor. it’s a good look on you.”

you frown at him and shake your head, sighing, “i'm not in the mood for your shit right now, miguel.”

you turn away from him, going back to folding the clothes — you haven’t told him about your pregnancy yet, unsure of how he would react, the two of you never really talked about having kids in the start of your relationship nor marriage, so finding the test stick positive was a dreadful surprise for you — although you should've known the two of you had too much fun a few weeks ago.

his arms wrap around your waist from behind, and he nuzzles his face in the nape of your neck, “you're so grouchy these days.” he murmurs, his deep voice so close to your ears makes you shiver and his hands trail lower and you tense when they slip under your shirt and his rough fingertips press gently against the soft skin of your swollen abdomen.

“and you’re so bitchy these days — all days.” you immediately retort. 

he chuckles and he turns you around to face him and he has a shit-eating grin on his lips that you oh, so badly want to slap off of his face, “how are those avocados and chocolate going for you?”

“they taste really nice, thanks.” you roll your eyes, attempting to squirm away from his embrace.

“did you get your period this month?”

his question makes you pause and you look at him with squinted eyes — sure, he knows your cycle. sure, he knows when you're moody and on your period but he’s never really asked if you got it during a month or not.

“yes.” you lie, speaking after a beat.

“you sure?” 

you groan, “what do you mean i’m sure? of course i am.”

“i’m just askin’, amor.” he hums, his thumbs press against your baby bump and you can’t help but wonder if he is doing it deliberately 

“miguel, what do you want?” you sigh, exasperated.

“nothing.” he replies smugly, and you’re sure he’s teasing you at this point as he leans down to kiss your jaw, “is there anything you wanna tell me?” he whispers.

you lean away and narrow your eyes at him, “what?”

“what?” he echoes innocently.

“is there anything you aren’t telling me?” you ask back, tone accusatory as you raise an eyebrow at him.

at this point, he’s rubbing circles with his thumbs on your swollen abdomen, “not as much as what you're not telling me.”

you frown at him, “okay, you know what? i’m done playing with you here.”

you attempt to pull away from him again but his hands now grip your hips to keep you in place, “miguel!” you groan — you usually liked it when he was in his playful moods but not today though, he’s just getting on your nerves.

“come on.” he laughs, “just talk to me, okay?”

“i would if it wasn’t such an insufferable task!”

“calm down.” he hums and his hands find your waist again, and he’s once again rubbing small circles with his thumbs on your bump, “are you sure there isn’t anything you wanna tell me?”

you shiver at his touch and your eyes narrow at him as it clicks, “you know, don’t you?”

“know what?” he asks, feigning confusion.

“asshole.” you groan, covering your face — you know he knows because of course he does, this was miguel, nothing gets past him.

“come on, you seriously thought that i wouldn’t find out?” he says with a laugh — he noticed when your body started changing because he damn well knows every inch of you, he noticed it in the way you constantly hugged yourself as if to hide your growing tummy and then he saw the pregnancy test in the bathroom bin, “avocados and chocolate? you don’t even like avocados.”

“why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, voice muffled by your hands as you peek at him through your fingers.

“i just wanted to see how long it would take for you to tell me first,” he answers simply and you groan again and he laughs, pulling your hands away from your face and placing a kiss on your lips, “no need to hide now, amor.”

“you’re such a dickhead.” you mumble against his lips, and his hands are on your swollen belly because he thinks that he probably won't be able to get them off of it in the next few months, because despite how unprepared he is — how unprepared the two of you are, he can’t help but feel excited, can’t help but be eager for the day his and yours baby comes — so he laughs at your comment, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips once more.

“your dickhead."

a/n : i got inspo from this drabble by @liliacamethyst i loved it sm 😭

[fetidfruit]

application.

──   (  evan mock. 25. cis man. he/him.  ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen DEXTER ZANE anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of idiot box by sharon van etten last night. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to LANGSTON - i think they’re a FRESHMAN studying ANTHROPOLOGY WITH A MINOR IN POETRY? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re DISHEVELLED, PHILOSOPHICAL and an AQUARIUS . last night they kept going on and on about how they won MOST LIKELY TO OWE A GAMBLING DEBT TO A BLOODTHIRSTY ITALIAN NUN WITH SHARP INCISORS last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, NONCHALANT & INTELLECTUAL, you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by rabbithole, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye! / as penned by nai.  28.  she/her.  gmt.

student file.

full name — dexter zane. or is it?

nickname(s) — dex.

place of birth — noone knows girl!

date of birth & age — feb 1st, 25.

sexuality — he doesn't believe in labelling. shrugs. probably pan.

occupation — creative writing tutor.

astrology — aquarius.

dormitory —

interests — . untranslatable japanese words with niche meanings; specifically wabi-sabi and the concept of living leaving an impression on the world around u. sipping red wine frm an old teacup perching on the ledge of a balcony. distinctive cowboy belt buckles. the paddling resilience of bees that fall into swimming pools. helping said bees out with a stick and overseeing their wings drying process. similarities between trees and the human body. making up stupid little songs about the most inane of things on his trusty acoustic guitar. well loved books with cracked and worn spines. playing card games with strangers to bridge language gaps. listening to the life story of a random old man in a bar late at night that he'll never see again. tall candles shoved in the necks of empty wine bottles. stray cats. church architecture. writing poems on trains. time lapses of decay and rot through an artistic lens. the immortalisation of the dead through literature. the beauty n brutality of nature.

aversions — karaoke. assuming the worst or best of someone without having the facts to back it up. assumptions in general. making art to follow trends rather than express something personal. instagram poetry. menthol cigarettes. incel entitlement. sugarcoating anything. projecting ur own pessimism onto those around u. nihilism. satnavs in the place of crinkly maps that fold out bigger than an entire car. social media. clothes without frayed edges and moth bitten holes. sleeping in pyjamas. being a cunt just to be a cunt. breaking a spider's carefully woven web. stiffly posed photos. autotuned wank.

quirks — has bought an old pocket watch frm every city he's travelled to. hs a drawer full of them all set to different timezones ticking in sync. calls it his crocodile drawer bc of the ticking crocodile in peter pan who swallowed a clock. also has a collection of lots of different buckled belts and various intense flyers from religious door-to-door callers titled things like AM I GOING TO HELL? with cartoon flames on the front. types shit up on a typewriter he's #thatgirl unfortunately. fings always smell like tobacco im sawry he's sick in the head. has a bunch of post it notes all over his walls haphazardly slapped with a random detail or image he saw tht stirred him tht day / he thinks he might need to remember later. somehow gt into an underground gambling game w these nuns in italy n owes one of them like 1000 euros bc things got crazy. one of his most prized possessions is a mosquito trapped in amber tht he keeps on his window ledge to glint in the sunlight.

most played — through the eyes of a child by aurora.

notable features — buzzed bleached hair thts growing out slightly to show black roots. semi hedgehog vibes. black chipped gnawed-to-stub nails. a lot of muted shades n threadbare clothes. a safety pin thru his left earlobe. dark circles under his eyes like something has a habit of keeping him up at night.

general disposition — pretty chill n laidback tbh. doesn't rly seem to get properly Bothered abt anything half of the time. kind of contradictory bc he'll engage in these deep discussions sometimes depending on who he's talking to n rly philosophise abt the whole universe n the meaning of everything bt then shrug n be like whatever n move on next second like he doesn't care. it's like. he does care bt he's too drained to rly put energy into his words.

character study — emily frm waves. jess frm gilmore girls perhaps. leonard cohen. hmmmmm idk who else.

public record.

there is a great big [REDACTED] in the place of dexter's origins. he keeps it that way on purpose. somebody asks how he came to be a freshman at 25 n he jst shrugs n says he wanted to see the world first. ppl ask abt his family n he gives minimal generic answers. his childhood is a blank cereal box w nothing to shake inside.

TRAUMA TW to expand upon it minimally, dexter's family was normal until it wasn't. dexter's family were happy until they weren't. there is a before that dexter remembers as if rewatched inside his head through the distorted refractions of a clear cut jewel. he thinks of this before like a television show he watched on a sunday afternoon once. he remembers open windows and the air smelling like freshly cut grass, the whir of a lawnmower. he remembers kicking back and forth a football with his brother when the sun was out. he remembers rolling his eyes at his dad's bad jokes and helping his mum to set the table. he remembers that it was nice, until it wasn't.

after [redacted] [smirks mysteriously bt also with a deep ominous n forlorn glint in my eye] [shaking slightly] dexter couldn't b there any more. anything he'd had planned for his life went out of the window. the world was a different place than it'd been before. his family were separate pieces of a previously assembled unit and some were such new and horrifying shapes that he didn't know how to make sense of them any more. he left town as soon as he finished college bc he couldn't stand it. how do u keep living in the before when it's no longer there?

he travelled frm 18 scraping by the skin of his teeth on various bartending jobs. he's always been pretty intelligent nt to honk his horn so he'd pick up languages fairly easily. making friends is easy when ur personable in the smoking area or u play guitar and harrowing bt brief acoustic sets at random open mic nights. he'd listen to people's stories n try to make sense of a world n humanity he no longer knew how to understand, all the while jotting scruffy poems in a tattered leather journal.

he's been to lots of places. dusseldorf. berlin (yes he went to the exclusive sex clubs he's seen it all) various small towns all over italy. he did a brief stint of silence at a monastery it ws a whole thing. sometimes he'd fall in w groups n stick w them for a couple fo weeks bt he'd never stick anywhere for too long. growing roots didn't appeal to him when he knew there was never any certainty in the soil. he lived w a bunch of people in thsi warehouse in paris for a week or so. he's like a flea thts leapt all over europe frankly....

after amassing sm poetry n art n experiences n stories ig something jst clicked n he finally wanted to pursue like. getting it all Down somewhere. finally sitting n taking a second to give making a sense of things a go. like Hm ok mayb i'll finally do what the before me wanted to n give this university thing a try.....

personal details.

nt even religious bt sometimes u will find him just sitting in silence in a church staring up at the front w such solemn resignation that ur literally like omg? have i intruded upon something? is he praying? n he just has this vacant look in his eyes like someone that has Lived n Seen things that they frankly wish they hadnt

has a pretty ok singing voice actually like it's nothing crazy doing whistle notes bt it's deep and a bit haunting n he sings like he has a deep sadness that's leeching the marrow frm his bones and making it drip black out of his ears. so fun!

isn't rly a Serious Sally despite the fact that he likes to think deeply and analytically and philosophically abt things like. likes to have a laff bc at the end of the day connection n finding the absurd n wonderful in the every day is wot its all abowt innit x

hates when ppl r dramatic abt dog earing pages in books like alright if i want to document a page that moved me i will SLAP that shit in half like a bongo drum with all of my might and nobody can stop me!

i suppose he is a bit secretive abt his life in general like is his name even rly dexter zane. it's all a bit up in the air. bt he doesn't necessarily keep ppl at arms length otherwise like he can be friendly it just depends what mood u catch him in. sometimes if he's feeling introspective n dwelling on past shit a bit too intently it can jade him and mean he doesn't want to fking chitchat. luck of the draw i suppose.....

that said he won't be an asshole just to be an asshole like he will do his best to be civil bt sometimes a guy jst snaps. it is what it is. (particularly if someone is trying to pry like mind ur business)

rly lights up when talking abt artistic pursuits like he jst finds what someone else has to say rly interesting n important n will fully get into ti n ask questions n care to learn more. ok inquisitive king!

pretty laissez faire w hookups like he's very french abt it almost like whatever happens happens n thats fine! typically won't rly care enough to pursue things like it's not at the forefront of his mind to be some Ladies Man or whatever the fk he just goes w the flow n if it happens cool. does sort of have a habit of jst happening upon these things tho i will say like he's like whatever. bt then historically is kind of a harlot if we're looking at the cold hard facts.... n that's fine!

umm bartends at rabbithole. bye

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #36: Crocodile

Masterlist

content: nightmare, discussion of death

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Heather was aware of Jackie’s nightmares, but she never brought them up. There wasn’t any point in that. They were unpleasant, she was sure, but it was just another fact of life that he had gotten used to. There was nothing to be done.

So when Jackie woke up with a violent jerk, pulling away from her and pulling up the bedsheets in the process, she knew exactly what had happened. But it couldn't be helped. 

She rubbed her eyes. “Jackie—“

His stare flicked to Heather. For a moment, it was like he didn’t recognize her, like he was a feral thing with eyes gleaming in the dark and a blank terror flashing in his expression—but the moment passed, and his blank stare gave way to recognition. His posture relaxed. Only a little, but he wasn’t a split second away from bolting out of the room now.

“Oh. Sorry. Bad dream. Nightmare.” That was all the explanation he offered. After a brief hesitation, he sat upright proper, shifting out of his awkward half-down half-up stance. He cleared his throat, fixing his gaze upon the bedsheets.

That was fair. That was natural. It couldn’t be helped, couldn’t be changed. This didn’t mean anything. It didn’t have to mean anything. 

“Heather…” His gaze returned to the bedsheets. “How long did you leave me down there?”

 Well. This had to come up eventually. No use in sugarcoating it. “Three months. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t try to guilt me.” But he didn’t sound angry. He sounded rather guilty, in fact. “I thought you would come back sooner.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. “I know. It was a mistake. I was scared, but I shouldn’t have abandoned you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I hurt you. You’ve never done anything wrong to me, and I—“ She let her voice waver here, a bit, let it hitch—“I hurt you, Jackie. I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

He looked like he had run his car over a puppy. “Listen, it’s fine. I don’t care. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Just go back to sleep.”

“Don’t say that to make me feel better,” she snapped. It didn’t take much effort to make her voice tremble. A bit high pitched and a little quiet, that was all it took. “I’m a horrible person. I’m awful. I’ve been awful to you. It was selfish. I want to change, believe me, I want to fix this, but I don’t know how, and I don’t know how to make it up to you, and I want to apologize—“

He looked like the puppy he just squashed exploded into a mess of blood and bones. “Heather, I was going to kill you. I was literally trying to kill you. You’re mortal. It’s not the same thing. I needed to learn a lesson. Please just go back to sleep.”

And that was all you needed for an apology. All there was to it. Just a few crocodile tears, nothing too difficult. They could move on from that little detour.

She sighed. “You’re right. Let’s forget about it.”

He nodded. He lay his head back down. He did not face her, but that was understandable. That was only fair.

She did the same, lying on her back, staring at the dark of the ceiling. A chandelier hung from a chain, dull glass and the vague outlines of curves. The television had turned itself off. There was no more neon glare to disturb the gradual black. But the lights outside the window were as insistent as ever. She couldn’t tell the stars from the billboards. All bright and blaring, all the same. 

Without warning he shifted over, sat up again, startling her. “Heather?”

“Yes?”

“How do we know you’re not immortal?”

“That’s easy.” It was a natural question to ask, now that they knew mortality was not a given.  She had never died before, after all. Immortality was usually proven behind a sharp blade or a bottle of arsenic, something that wasn’t easy to test. On the surface, it was a paradox. But Jackie was late to the paradoxical party—Heather already had her proof. 

“So?” he demanded. “How do you know?”

“I’ve caught the flu before. A bad case of pneumonia as well, when I was younger. You’ve never gotten sick, right? Never even caught a cold?”

He nodded. 

“Exactly. Your immortality prevents it. But I’m completely mortal, on the other hand. I’m not immune to these things.”

This had upset him, for reasons she could not understand. It wasn’t obvious, but she knew him well. He couldn’t hide it from her. The corners of his mouth went tense, his gaze somewhere else, pupils shining and unfocused. 

Heather almost put a hand on his shoulder, but thought better of it. She knew, somehow, that it wouldn’t help. “Do you want to tell me something?”

“You’re going to die one day.”

“Yes. That’s the definition of mortality.”

“But I won’t.”

“We don’t know that for certain, Jackie. It’s very possible that you will die one day. Your body could simply stop healing. It could fail for no reason at all. It happens all the time. We’d be none the wiser.”

“What if I don’t die?” he asked, more insistent, almost sounding angry. “What if I live forever? What if you’re gone one day, and I’m still here?”

“Don’t dump my body in a ditch, I suppose. A proper burial would be nice.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, I’ll do all that, but what about…” He attempted to explain with a few vague gestures, which did nothing to help his point. “What about me? What would I do? Where would I go?”

“You could go wherever you want to.”

He stared blankly.

“You could do whatever you wanted,” she repeated. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you. You could leave.”

She thought this would comfort him, but Jackie just glared at her and went back to bed. He said nothing more on the subject.

Heather blinked. People, so intricate, so easily set off. Spiderwebs of invisible strings, broken by the slightest pressure. He was tightly wound.

“Jackie, come on.” She leaned forward a little. “I didn’t think it would upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“If you insist, but don't ignore me. Besides, I’m not going to die any time soon. Unless something unlikely happens, I’ll live for five or six decades more. There’s no point in getting anxious over this.”

“I know.” He didn’t get up.

Heather stared at his back for a few moments. Her situation was… strange, to put it lightly. She was in bed with her test subject. In bed with the immortal Jackie Rockwell. This was not very professional. But they had crossed that line long ago; there was no point in going on and on about it like a broken record. 

It was nice, though. Not arguing. Getting along for once. He was incredibly compliant, and he was beautiful, and Heather had nothing better to do.  

Oh, it was all his fault. He was just too good at it. That poised little smile, the earnest expression so plain on his face. When other people expressed their love, they sounded like recordings, like parrots. Heather tried to think of anything else, but she found herself replaying his words over and over until they lost their clarity, until they blurred and distorted—a confession, an admission of defeat.

“Are you asleep?” he asked.

“No.”

She heard the soft sounds of shifting fabric. “I can’t sleep.”

“That’s okay.”

The headlights of a truck flashed bright-white outside; a stop sign flashed red. She bit at the edge of her lip. The stilted gaps in their conversation were getting to her. But there was no point in trying to push the discussion any further. That had died long ago, and it was nearly two in the morning. Heather went back to bed.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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[mikuni14]

Be My Favorite Ep 6

Every episode of BMF impresses me with how realistic it is. Most of what happens in this show has either been experienced by me or I’ve seen it happen to someone else. The conversations are so real and have a natural flow. This is the kind of cinematography that I love the most, where it doesn't matter if the production is about time travel, sci-fi, ancient Rome. If the production has a logical plot and is universal on the principle that as a human being I can see myself or other different than me people in it, even if the story is crazy, I'll love it 💖

I noticed that in each episode of BMF I focus on something else, this time it was struggling with the problem of a sick family member. Everything Kawi went through in this episode is painfully real, and I think a lot of people will find themselves in those situations. Being sick with worry, the financial aspect of it all, long queues for treatments, euphoria of finding a quicker solution, how to start a converstation about it and not sound stupid, or like a beggar, to not ruin it?, humiliation when you have to ask for money, for a chance for your loved one TO LIVE, how rich people are detached from this humiliating reality (I fully understand Kawi running away from that dinner, his lashing out on Pisaeng, when Pear cutely asks her father to help Kawi's father as if she were asking him for money to buy new shoes, not to save someone's life), discouragement and wanting to give up and finally, gritting your teeth, forgetting about the dignity and literally begging for help. And Kawi's conversation with his father, who is so stubborn, and whines and doesn't want to go to the doctor because "everything is fine" and "worry about yourself".... I don't know if there is anyone in the world who hasn't had such a conversation with their father they care about 😤😅

When Max said he liked what the politician was saying, my first thought was: oh my sweet summer child. But then I remembered he's only about 20, so that's understandable. The whole conversation between Pisaeng and his mother (and the politician in question) was very interesting. And I wasn't even very angry with her, because this woman IS a politician and unfortunately that's what it looks like. Is what she's doing to her son wrong? Absolutely. But sadly, that's the reality. Somehow I immediately remembered a sentence, I think it was from the series My Gear And Your Gown, it went something like this: parents are okay with this whole LGBT thing, as long as it’s not about their children. Who Piseang is, including his sexual orientation, can affect his mother's political career, so he is placed under surveillance. She’s accepting towards other people from the community, she also accepts her son, but she looks at him not only as a mother, but also as a politician. Again, the series showed the reality without sugarcoating. From time to time, stories from the family life of the famous politicians break through the news, their hypocrisy in saying one thing and doing something else. BMF does it quite gently anyway, and the mother is shown as a liberal person, while in reality, often in conservative environments, children’s life (not only LGBT, simply DIFFERENT than the ideal with which you can pose for a photo) is a nightmare. 

What else? With sort of motherly fondness, I watched my boy Kawi "I'm totally in love with Pear and totally straight" as he accepts another guy's feelings, talks to him about those feelings, asks him about them, touches that guy, plays with his hair, kisses him, lets him do other things (although he lies like a log and looks like he “closed his eyes and thinks about England” lol, ok I know he's drunk but it’s just so funny). Yes Kawi, you are definitely in love with a woman and nothing LGBT happens to you at all. You almost convinced us all. 

I was afraid that upset Pear would agree to a go on a “date” with Not just because he talked to her. Fortunately, the girl knows her worth and I hope she will know it for the rest of her life. The converstation about Kawi's orientation was HORRIBLE. Not started it probably to stop Pear’s potentially budding feelings for Kawi, which just proves how awful he is. Anyway, it was so wrong and gross.

✨Kawi is still my beloved, ‘perfect in how imperfect he is’, struggling boy, ✨Piseang is still my beloved, ‘perfect in how he appears to be perfect, but is in fact imperfect’, lonely boy. Both are great, I haven't seen such interesting, compelling characters in a long time, I’m so happy 🥺 

I like everything about this series. 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

[serafiel-jacobs]

Conversation (Fanfic)

New Chapter of my Angst series 💜

Romeo is sitting on the living room couch, and Carlo is lying beside him, his head resting in Romeo’s lap asleep.

Romeo has been quiet all day, and with good reason, he is finally feeling coherent enough to remember the situation he is in and how much he hates it, but it’s not as if can he protest, at least his father lets him do things by himself sometimes unlike Carlo.

Carlo is too sick now, Romeo knows that he will never go back to how he was before, and when Carlo told him about the voice, it was the last straw. Carlo no longer is himself, his sanity fully gone, Carlo no longer wants to try and have a normal conversation with him, Romeo just has to play with whatever Carlo is doing, because the small side of Carlo has won, the only thing to do is comfort him, making him feel loved; Romeo gently plays with his brother’s hair as he keeps reflecting.

Everything feels so bizarre to Romeo, he doesn’t understand his feelings, but everything is always quiet, no one says anything, no one dares bring up the elephant in the room, no one here ever has a conversation about anything.

“Father we need to talk” Romeo gathers the courage to say, enough it’s enough.

Geppetto sits down next to him, Romeo knows that he can tell that he isn’t small anymore, but this conversation is long overdue.

“Are you happy?” Romeo asks, he needs to know.

Geppetto stays quiet for a moment, “I am, to tell the truth… for a long time, I wasn’t but I’m happy now, I’ve been very happy since-“

“Since me and Carlo have become your obedient little boys? Since we have fully become your dolls to play with? Since we stopped fighting back?” Romeo isn’t in the mood to deal with this, with his way of sugarcoating words.

Again Geppetto stays quiet, Romeo can tell that he does this to choose his words very carefully so that he can manipulate him more easily.

“Romeo I’m your father and I know what’s best for the two of you, I know that it’s hard for you to understand but everything I do, I do out of love”

Romeo wants to say that what Geppetto says it’s a complete lie, but he knows it isn’t, he takes great care of both of them, there is no emotional outburst their father wasn't there for them, he doesn’t yell at them or hit them, he doesn’t even punish them if they are misbehaving yet Romeo feels no amount of love is going to replace his wish for freedom.

“Do you love me?” It’s a serious question, Romeo has to know; he isn’t Geppetto’s biological son after all.

This time Geppetto doesn’t stay silent, he answers immediately, “What are you saying?! Of course, I love you!” For a moment it looks like Carlo is about to wake up, but Romeo soothes him so that he won’t. Geppetto apologizes, he didn’t want to wake up Carlo.

Romeo closes his eyes for a moment, fuck, he really does love me, in his sick twisted way, but he loves me; he opens them again and continues talking.

“Why do you treat me this way, I don’t like being treated like this” Now Carlo, Romeo understands why he treats Carlo that way, and anything that eases Carlo’s mind at this point is good, specially considering the things Carlo has done to himself.

Geppetto gently touches Romeo’s cheek, his father is looking at him directly and Romeo wants to avoid eye contact.

“Romeo look at me”

Romeo keeps avoiding eye contact, but Geppetto grabs his face by the cheeks and makes his face turn around to see him properly, “Romeo look at me and tell me that you don’t truly enjoy it”

Romeo swats his father’s hands away from him, he can’t look him in the eyes, because he likes being cradled, he likes the attention, and he even likes it when he helps him eat or bathes him, it makes him feel small, it makes him feel vulnerable but safe that someone will care of him.

“Son, you need to just let go”

Romeo is mad, but he has to control his voice, “Let go of what exactly? Let go of my last remaining sanity? Let go of my desire for freedom?” he takes a deep breath, “Do you really think that will make me happy”

“Yes,” Geppetto says bluntly; Romeo is taken aback but at least he knows that his father is being honest.

“Romeo, sweetheart” Geppetto starts talking again.

Ugh, he hates it, he hates those stupid baby names he gives them he hates how father sugarcoats everything.

“What’s so wrong about me taking care of you? I’m your father, parents take care of their children” Geppetto smiles at him.

“Oh, I don’t know maybe because I’m twenty and not a two-year-old?!” Romeo raises his voice but quickly shuts up, he starts to soothe Carlo again to prevent him from waking up.

“Actually you are twenty-two”

Romeo goes pale, no, that can’t be true, he was sure he was 20 when he got sick and then the frenzy, and his battle in the opera house, waking up here and then he was brought back, a year passed and then… the concept of time escapes Romeo, he doesn’t even know what day it’s supposed to be, the world could be burning outside at this moment and he wouldn't be able to be aware of it.

“See Romeo? Thinking about being an adult only brings you more distress” Geppetto said while patting Romeo’s head. “You can let me help you, I don’t want you to stress over such things, let daddy be there for you”

Oh that bastard, he said that so he could purposely upset him, and it fucking worked, Romeo is starting to lower his defenses, but he has to push forward.

“I’m… more capable than what you think, I was an orphan, I had to learn to be self-reliable, I can take care of myself, I don’t need you to baby me” Romeo wanted to sound confident, but his voice betrayed him, he ended up sounding doubtful.

Geppetto gives out a sigh, Romeo can tell that he isn’t taking him seriously; that he just sees him as a child throwing a tantrum. All the noise wakes up Carlo again.

“Are the two of you fighting?” Carlo asked.

“No, of course not, we were just talking, it's getting late and you were already sleepy, so it is best the two of you head to bed,” Father says, and while Romeo might have a wrapped sense of time, he can tell that it's not that late, but he doesn't want to upset Carlo and he complies in going to bed.

Carlo falls asleep quickly but Romeo can't, and his father is in the room with them waiting for him to go to bed, so that doesn't help at all; even worse, Romeo is starting to feel cold and starts to shiver. 

“Son, are you feeling cold again?” He just knows him too well at this point, Romeo clenches his fist he applies pressure to his body, he doesn't want to feel cold.

“If you fall asleep it will make you feel better” His father just keeps insisting and Romeo just gets madder. 

“I don't want to go to bed!” The more upset he gets, the worse he feels, his face becomes pale and he starts to feel his body become weaker. 

“Son-”

“Oh fuck off,” Romeo says instinctively, and he immediately realizes his mistake, his head starts pounding, everything is too much for him, and he is overwhelmed. 

“Alright, I can see that you are too upset to calm down by yourself, I'm sorry Romeo, I don't want to do this but I have to, it's for your own sake” As his father says that, he opens one of the drawers of the nightstand, and Romeo begins to panic even more, he knows what he is going to do.

From the drawer, Geppetto takes out a small bottle with a liquid inside and he takes out a small spoon as well, it's a sedative, and he uses it when Carlo is too upset, and now he is going to use it on Romeo. 

“No, please, no” Romeo starts to cry.

“Romeo open up” Geppetto´s voice is stern.

“I´ll be a good boy, I´ll try to fall asleep but please-” He is begging him now, he made a mistake, he should have listened to his father. 

“Romeo open your mouth”

Romeo´s shivering gets more intense, everything is too cold now, but he doesn't want to, he doesn't want this, “Father I-”

“Romeo, Now” 

He opens his mouth and is forced to swallow, the sedative doesn't act instantly, it takes some time for the effect to start, and his father gives him contorting words, Romeo is still crying and he still cries as his body grows weaker and sleep finally takes him.

——-

His father is bathing him as right now he is too weak to do so himself, obviously, Romeo doesn’t want to, he even tries to make the excuse that someone had to keep an eye on Carlo, but his father just told Gemini to start yelling if something happens, Romeo knows that he really needs to stop fighting back.

He really wishes he could, he does want to let go as his father says, but he can’t, no matter how hard he tries he can’t; is his will that strong? Romeo was always a fighter, not just regarding physical fights, he always stood up for himself, even in the hardest of situations, and it was true, that he had to learn to be self-reliant from a young age, maybe trying to be strong all the time is too ingrained in his brain.

Well at least soaking in the warm water was making feel a bit better.

“I’m sorry, but I had to do it” His father apologized again, Romeo wanted to be mad at him but he kept saying he was sorry so he truly must feel bad about it.

Romeo just doesn’t want to think about it; his father proceeds to change him and brush his hair, he even braided his hair and it made him feel nice.

Carlo is waiting for him so that they can play together, Romeo tries to follow along but he can’t, he still feels overwhelmed, too overwhelmed to talk, but at least Carlo is understanding and is content with Romeo just being there with him.

Romeo starts to shiver again, Carlo hugs him to try and make him feel better, but the freezing cold doesn’t go away, he doesn’t want to ask for help, he wants to overcome this by himself, but he knows he can’t do this by himself, it makes him feel powerless, yet he can’t help himself he just gives Carlo a look, and Carlo knows what he means, he calls for their father.

—-

Romeo is lying in bed, he has two blankets on top of him to warm him up, father is next to him, cuddling him, and it makes him feel better, feeling loved makes him feel better.

Still, Romeo’s mind feels like a whirlpool, he needs to know why he feels this way, he needs to know that this isn’t all in his head, that something went wrong with how his father brought him back, this cold isn’t normal, this stiffness isn’t normal.

“What did you do to me?”

His father looks at him, he already knows what he means, “Nothing”

“I don’t believe you”

“Romeo you wouldn’t understand, and this time I’m not sugarcoating things, you really wouldn’t understand how I brought you back” Geppetto paused, it was a very… complicated process, “But I assure you nothing went wrong, physically you are completely fine”

Physically 

“So, I’m just crazy” He is crazy, just like Carlo and just like his father.

“Son please don’t say that”

“Am I wrong?”

His father stays quiet, proving his point.

Romeo gives out a laugh, gets closer to his father, and hugs him tightly, “I don’t fucking care at this point, just… can you make me feel better?”

Geppetto doesn’t like it when his sons swear but he is going to ignore it this time, “I’m trying, I really am” He doesn’t like to see his son like this, he doesn’t like to see him in pain.

Romeo just closes his eyes and lets his father comfort him.

——-

“Gemini do you think Romeo is going to be okay?” Carlo asks him.

Gemini knows that the answer is no, but telling Carlo that won’t do anything good, so he chirps and makes gestures that indicate that Romeo will get better.

Carlo is lying on the floor of the basement playing with Gemini, literally, Carlo moves him around like a doll but Gemini doesn’t really mind, he likes making Carlo happy and he has to keep his promise to Pinocchio.

Carlo stops and stays quiet, Gemini gets worried that he isn’t feeling well again but after some time Carlo asks him something again, “Do you think there is something I could do to help?”

Carlo’s voice sounds so innocent, it almost sounds like Pinocchio’s voice, Gemini tries to think; there isn’t anything that would actually help Romeo in the grand scheme of things, but maybe there is something that could make him feel at least console him.

It’s not as if Carlo can make him a gift by himself, he isn’t allowed to touch anything that could be used as a sharp object when he isn’t with his father, so not even a drawing would do; although thankfully Carlo doesn’t hurt himself… that often anymore.

“Just be there for him,” Gemini says, and Carlo understands it, despite him not being able to form words, this is why he actually likes Carlo despite his previous animosity, at least Carlo learned to actually understand him, Geppetto won’t give him the time of day, and Romeo well, he tries, Gemini can see how hard he tries but Romeo is doing worse each day, he doesn't blame him for not being able to understand him most of the time.

Their bond has slowly become stronger, and at the end of the day, none of this is Carlo’s fault.

Carlo keeps playing with him, and Gemini does what he can to entertain him, in a way, Carlo has been getting better, well depending on your definition of better, but to Gemini the fact that his fits of hysteria and his self harming have slowly died down is a win in his mind; it does look like his small state of mind has helped him.

Unfortunately, Gemini wonders if this is truly the right answer and if there is something else that can help them, but for now, the only thing he can do is be there for them.

Hopefully, that's enough.

[scrimple]

say you wish i was dead directly! say it already, stop sugarcoating and dancing around your words! i’m sick of your mixed signals! just say it like it is!

[llamamonger]

I’m not dying of blood clots, it turns out, but as I mentioned, I was going to have to clarify the friendship with my dear friend regardless of whether I’m dying or not. I texted what I needed to say, asking whether they wanted a real, balanced friendship with me or not. They decided they wanted to talk in person about it, but when they had to cancel the meeting for being sick, they never rescheduled. I was pretty sure I wasn’t a priority at that point, so I wasn’t hopeful for when I finally did get a meeting, and my instinct was right—they said they didn’t think it was going to work out. I told them I’d respect that decision if it’s what they really want, but they have to own it & they wouldn’t. They felt like they couldn’t do anything right & it was pointless to keep trying. I pointed out that in everything, including their romantic relationships, they have no problem making an effort for what they really want, but they’ve made very little with me. They claimed they weren’t good at being attentive & intentional, but I said I was sure they didn’t have a problem being that way with their romantic interests, & I wasn’t contradicted.

They claimed they did want a friendship with me, claimed they missed talking with me, though they said it was anxiety-inducing to think of talking to me. They’d just been assuming the worst about me, that I’m just being controlling, despite everything I’d told them, and all I could say was everything I’d said before. That it’s so hard to mask when you’re in physical pain every day, all day, for months & I stopped sugarcoating things. That everything I’ve said & done has been out of deep love & rational concern, not a desire to control. I told them I didn’t know what else I could say or do to convince them, but I could try harder to be less abrasive. We did come to an understanding, and I did feel like they did truly want to be my friend. They only got emotional once, when talking about their dog & how long it’s been since it had seen me. I’ve always wondered a little if they sometimes used the dog as a surrogate for themself when talking about my value in their life. When we had the first serious talk about showing gratitude, instead of telling me about how much I meant to them, they talked about how much I mean to their dog & cat, how they appreciate the treats & attention. It was odd & unsatisfying at the time, considering that was the first time I told them I loved them, but perhaps it was a way around saying things plainly. Or it was nothing. They were glad we sorted things out, and they talked to me more afterward, though I still think they’d rather me be on the outside of their life. They & our mutual made lunch plans one day pretty much in front of me without including me, despite the countless times I’ve included both of them in my lunch plans. It felt awful, and I was in a lot of pain that day anyway, but it took a couple days before I broke down crying in the shower about it & what it said about the future. I don’t know what to do about any of it. I’m letting my friend decide how they want this to go, and I’ll stay out of where I’m not wanted.

The pain is getting worse, and it may be a month before I get any medicine to relieve the pain or more imaging to confirm a diagnosis, and in the very likely event the medicine isn’t worth the side effects, I’d be faced with neurosurgery, so I don’t know how functional I’ll be. My value among people has always been tied to my functionality—my usefulness, what I do instead of who I am—because of my autism. And yet everything I’ve done & worked so hard at, from the bottom of my heart, for my friend seems ultimately worthless in the end. But to stay in the world in any meaningful way, I have to stay at least superficially function, with what little energy I have. It would make all the difference in the world if I knew my friend cared about me & thought of me & wanted me around, but that’s not a reality I have access to.

[guitarherobocchimaxxer]

05/18/2023

i know i said i would try it out on the amp and get back in the swing of things, but i haven’t. today and yesterday have been hellish for me. i don’t want to get too much into my personal mental state, but this is the worst i’ve been in a long time. mentally, i’m at my limit. i won’t blame myself for struggling to fly high in conditions like this.

nevertheless, i had a nice practice session for about twenty five minutes tonight. it was relaxing and cathartic to just strum some easy chords and patterns away, pluck some easy riffs. i checked my accuracy through the vibrations in my hands and lap as my ears focused equally on the audio i was listening to, about how to cope with living with abusers.

oh paradise, oh inferno, do i wish i could live anywhere but this house, with these people. even though i’m sick, even though i’m disabled and have so little hope. it’s almost invigorating, living through this horseshit. i’m going to get out to spite them, and they’ll wonder where i went and why i won’t come back.

i want to be a better version of myself, and that has to start with my hobbies. as soon as the phobic crisis clears up, i’m going to try to hold myself to a higher standard regarding productivity with my hobbies. i want to get back into the swing of full-length guitar sessions, and generally spend more time doing what really matters to me deep down, instead of idly wasting time in my little quasi-dissociative fugues.

i shrieked in desperation and fear that i wanted to live anywhere else. she callously barked back “THEN DO IT.” as though it were that simple. i want to do it to spite her. i’m tired of sugarcoating it. after everything she’s done, after how little capacity she’s demonstrated to change, to understand me, it’s true. she’s right. i do hate her.

but enough about the negativity. i’ve had enough for one two-day period. for a fucking lifetime.

for the future! for the paradise, the inferno! for me! for you!

[sunflowersolace]

asexual person: this is a problem i face as an asexual person

everyone else for some fucking reason: YEAH BUT DID YOU DIE??? NO!!! SO YOURE NOT A R E A L MINORITY YOURE NOT VALID YOURE BASICALLY STRAIGHT YOURE ACTUALLY OPPRESSING THE REAL QUEERS

ace person: ? tf

[rustys-lodge]

It is but a little cold

Request by : @xpsidedownn​ :  Please more Hannibal x daughter reader! I love your stories sm. I have a request, if that’s okay? Maybe reader gets sick and stays home from school (if they go) and Hannibal takes care of her? If you feel uncomfortable in any way pls don’t do this! Thank you 

A/N : I’m so so so sorry, darling. I have been busy with school. I hope you like it  ❤❤❤❤

Warnings : none, just a bunch of fluff. 

------

A shaken up noise left your lips as you attempted to lift your head off the pillow, indomitable and unwilling.

“Dad…I’m not sure i’ll be able to go today.” You whispered, drawing in a breath of air and exhaling it painfully. 

Your whole body hurt, your muscles, your head, even your eyes ached with each movement of the iris and your body burned flames, all the while you trembled from the cold. You were ill, you felt like you were…dying. 

“Dying ?” Your father sweetly chuckled. “You are not dying,It is but a little cold.” 

You growned, unsatisfied with his answer. 

“ It is said that contentment preserves one from catching a cold.” And just as if he needed to make you feel worse. “Have you been feeling down lately ?” 

You growned. “Oh, please.” As you rolled to your other side, facing away from him while whimpers followed each movement you made, right until you stopped moving “You, of all people should not be mingling philosphy and science.” 

Hannibal chuckled again at your response, pressing his warm hand on the back of your shoulder. “I am only joking. What a better way to lighten up your mood ?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. Actually make me feel better, maybe ?

“Maybe try less boring jokes ?” You sugarcoated your own thoguhts, but still surpressed a laugh.And although you usually find yourself to be funny, he still was the man that kept you alive. And you’d much rather keep it that way.

“I’m going to let that one go, only because you are ill.” Your father flashed you a quick smile before getting off the bed. But you gripped his wrist and pulled him down, causing a gasp to leave his lips. 

Hannibal was a trained man, always aware of his surroundings because one little mistake, one little moment of relaxation would cost him his life, and much more. 

It seemed to you, though, that whenever you were around, he’d get calmer, like at that moment, if someone else would have done that to him, they’d be lamb for dinner....Not literally, hannibal is not a canniball. 

“Please don’t leave me;” You pouted. 

“I have to feed you, my darling. How else would you heal ?” Hannibal completely ignored your puppy eye attempt. He got up, again, tenser than before, prepared for another drag down. But you didn’t pull him again, you just gripped his wrist harder. 

“By staying with me, maybe ?” You sarcastically said, dragging your lower lip out even more. You thought, maybe if you looked cuter he’d stay ? 

But he didn’t. And you growled, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Rest, darling. I’ll come back with the most delicious soup you’ve ever tasted” Your father bent down slightly, rubbing your cheek from above. “And i will come back with the most delicious soup you’ve ever tasted.

Thankful, you smiled weakly.  “No need, dad. I’ll stick to a chicken soup this time. I’d much rather you be with me, right now.” 

Jokes aside, you didn’t want to be alone at such a moment. Your whole body ached, and so did your brain. But your father’s presence eased that pain, somehow. And as much as you knew his lovely soups do ease the pain too, you’d rather stick to his presence, his smile and lame jokes. 

“You’ve won me over.” Hannibal stepped away from you, just a little warning step, before disappearing out of the room. And soon after that, his steps quickened, he was running. 

“Why are you-” Your voice cracked and you let out a loud cough. “Why are you running ?” You tried again, quieter this time.

“So that i can come back quickly.” He shouted from afar, and all you could do is grin. 

Your father was never one to take things lightly, smile, joke, even less play around. But there he was, doing it all , for you.

-----

❤❤❤🌹🌹🌹