#and then i can go home! and sleep in my own bed.

[misayani]

I LOVED UR SE-MI FIC! i was wondering if u could do another where the reader is homesick and has nightmares/ dreams about her friends and her home life and just going to se-mi's bed for comfort? (I hope this isn't too much trouble!!)

LOVE, MY WORLD IS FULL — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x  fem reader

◜you wouldn't know what to do without se-mi. 

𔗨 author's note — had so much fun writing this <3 kinda unleashed my inner william shakespeareness in this one [lowercase intended]

♡ upcoming fic — g!p no-eul + reader

— comfort

you thought the games were harmless—bright colors, cheerful instructions, and an unassuming entry form. yet underneath all that promised fun lay a rather horrifying truth. you were blinded, not by sight but by your own naivety. 

how could you be so dumb? you should've known this game was sketchy ever since from the start, where they somehow made you all unconcious to bring to this place. where even are you? 

life is full of shit, you were fully aware of that, but you didn't expect it to be this shitty. tears started to form in your eyes as you thought of your dog, sparks, who's the reason why you're here. you didn't have any owe anyone money, you don't drag yourself to shit like that. but sparks was the dog your grandmother left you before she died, and unfortunately, sparks was recently diagnosed with congestive heart failure— he needed medical help. 

if someone can hear your thoughts right now, they'd probably laugh and tell you that it's just a dog, stop overreacting. but sparks wasn't just a dog. he grew up with you, he is family. he was the reason you kept going after your grandmother died, you could remember it—you locking yourself inside your room and not coming out for days, until you heard whines outside your door. shit, the dog. it annoyed you that you still needed to feed that dog. what's the point? he's gonna die anyways. just like everyone. 

a quiet sob escapes your mouth as your tears finally fall, from your eyes and onto the white sheets underneath you. you couldn't sleep, you were too bothered as to how so many people voted to stay in this game. you couldn't even even consider it a game, games were supposed to be fun. 

you voted to go home right after the first game, the staying team won. this night was after everyone voted for the second time, once again, the majority voted to stay. you find it funny— how money can have such an affect on people, but also at the same time, you couldn't blame the people who wanted to stay. maybe staying here was somehow better than their lives outside. they just had voted for their own 'lesser evil.' 

you needed someone right now. after being alone for 14 years, living independently, it was hard for you to bottle your feelings to yourself. the first person you can think of right now was se-mi. you had started talking to her before any of these games started, when the masked men just started explaining the rules and regulations. 

she was different, she understood you. she had asked you your reason to be here, you hesitantly told her, slightly embarassed but she didn't laugh or anything like that. she, in fact, smiled at your eagerness to win this game so you'd finally have some finance for your dog. well, that was before the games happened and before shit went down. 

you sniffle as you sit up and slip out of bed, every footstep quiet to not bother anyone sleeping. se-mi was just stairs ahead from you and you were surprised but relieved to see her still awake. she was laying on her back, staring towards the ceiling before she notices you and sits up to make room for you to sit down.

"hi," you start, gently sitting yourself down on her bed. 

"hi." she repeats, her eyes softening at the sight of your puffy eyes, "sparks?" 

you glanced at her, eyes wide as she managed to immediately caught onto whatever you were thinking. you nod, "i'm sorry for bothering you, just needed someone. and i thought you're the right person to approach."

se-mi's heart swells, she never had anyone tell her that before. you trusted her enough to see you vulnerable like this? she clears her throat before reassuring you, "it's no worries. i like talking to you anyways."

she scoots closer to sit beside you, planting her feet on the stairs beside the bunk bed. you fiddled with your fingers as you look down, before you hear her speak up. "i'm sorry for voting to stay."

you snap your head to look at her as you shake your head, "no, no. i don't— you don't have to say sorry for having freedom to choose whatever you want." you mutter.

"still, it was shitty for me to do that. i knew about your situation but i still vo—" you cut her off, "stop. it's not your fault. it's nobody's." she locks eyes with you as her lips part as if wanting to say something, until it closes again.

you sigh, "who cares if you were shitty. everything is shitty. life is shitty." you murmured, "life is shitty." she agrees, staring at your side profile. you noticed her in your peripheral vision and you get flustered, tipping your head down.

"it's hard." you glance at her again, seeing her eyes now staring forward as she spoke, "life outside. it's no different from here. some people say that life outside of here is easier, since you're not trapped in some unknown place. but i don't see how that is any different, aren't you still somehow trapped? not literally but figuratively." you hum, prompting her to continue.

"it's ironic how the ones with the heavy debts say that, as if they're not trapped in their own mistakes." se-mi chuckles beside you as you carefully listen to every word she's saying. talking to someone have always made you feel at peace— something that you don't feel often since you've never really communicated with anyone until now. 

"it's not about being physically imprisoned, but about feeling constrained in many ways, whether by circumstances, expectations, or some shit you dragged yourself into. in the end, no matter where you are, you can still feel confined. that's how i see it, atleast." she finishes.

you grab her hand that was closest to you, and started fidgeting with it instead of fiddling with your own fingers. her hand was warm but rough, in contrast to yours which was cold, but soft. "i understand." you murmur.

you both understood each other, and that alone was enough to provide you comfort. you admired her mindset, not just how  she thinks but how she embraces her own perspective with peace— her ability to see things from a different angle, yet still find peace in it. 

even if you both had casted your votings to two opposing things, there was an underspoken understanding between the two of you. despite the differences, se-mi and you shared a mutual respect, and that makes you so close to her. 

"thank you." you whispered, se-mi snaps her head to look at you, "for what?" 

"talking to me." you reply, "it feels nice to talk to someone like you, understanding but aren't scared to state their own opinion. i appreciate that so much. i haven't felt so understood in years." you feel tears well up in your eyes from getting emotional.

se-mi's lips form into a smile, "well i guess thank you too. you somehow make this place even more tolerable." she squeezes your hand that was holding hers. 

"cmon, stay with me tonight. i don't want to make you go back to bed like this." she tugs at your hand before leading you under her blanket—which started to smell like her— lifting the cloth over the both of you. 

you wanted to cuddle with her, but were too shy to initiate anything. lucky for you, se-mi opens her arms, pulling you towards her. your body relaxes as you feel her warm body spoon yours. you heard her mutter something on top of your head, "keep on being brave." she pauses before continuing,  "for sparks and me."

your once empty heart started to feel full again after this.

@misayani

[astracora]

Poly!LADs headcanons - because I'm a disaster human and they live rent free in my head.

Home Edition

Also includes the main mc I write with headcanons??? Canons????

Masterlist

Zayne is very clean, he tidies up as soon as he sees mess. Can't leave it for a second. (He also simply doesn't think to say to someone 'hey can you clean up x', he'll just go 'well I'm here' and tidy.)

Xavi will tidy but he'll normally have a set time in mind to do it, aka 'I'll do this in 10 minutes' except he means it. Which sometimes means Zayne gets to it quicker.

Raffy will fully forget the concept of tidying, everything becomes like his art studio. Will sometimes do 'I'll do this in 10 minutes' doesn't mean it.

Sylus is generally very tidy, will clean as he does anything, part of his 'leave nothing out as a weakness, remove traces of yourself as you move' energy, but it does make him easy to live with in regards to cleanliness.

MC is not tidy, they're chaotic and often forget where things are. They try to help manage the mess but often simply forget in the chaos of doing something. They just need a lil nudge and they'll go into cleaning mode and fix all the mess.

They all have jobs that tend to be 'theirs' though it's fluid depending on time restraints and current projects or life situations.

Raffy/Xavi are best at doing the grocery shopping. They're least bothered by crowded or loud places, and least likely to buy every sweet in the place. Raffy does do impulse purchases, but they generally take lists.

Xavier also takes care of the plants and the garden in the house. (Everyone likes checking in on the garden though.)

Sylus/Raffy are the best at cooking. Sylus cooks primarily as long as he has the time (tries to make it as much as he can), and Raffy cooks the best fish you'll ever eat in your life.

They will sometimes also supervise Xavier's cooking but with him it's a two man job of not letting the kitchen burn down. (Sylus doesn't want to replace another kitchen.)

Zayne is king of tidying, he doesn't do it all himself, and everyone tries to make sure they pick up their weight esp when he's very busy, but the man has systems upon systems.

MC does a bit of everything, they're not as patient with cooking, but enjoy baking a lot. Primarily they help stay on top of laundry, dishes and are co-captain to Zayne's cleaning frenzies.

They all have their at least one of their own specific rooms in the house, either specialised for their work, or just a specific place for them to destress if they want alone time.

Zayne: has his office.

Raffy: has an art room, he also kept his studio for anything he's keeping secret from the others (an art project) or for bigger pieces that he needs more space than the house can provide.

Sylus: has a music room, it's decorated with records and various instruments. Of course he keeps all his bases, home is home, work is work.

Xavier: he set up a planetarium in a nap room, just incase he gets home really late and needs to sleep but is worried about disturbing someone.

MC: has a room decked out in just every single collectible they've ever hoarded ever.

Raffy technically has the most 'normal' sleep schedule, awake in the day, asleep at night, except he also doesn't sleep when he's working on a painting, so it often goes out of the window.

Zayne has a sleep schedule which is normally he's awake in the day, asleep at night, but he's also a doctor so he works whenever he needs to, and this can often mean night shifts, very long shifts with on call sleep room visits, or simply his normal nightmare-based insomnia.

Sylus is awake at night and asleep during the day mostly, has a fairly reliable schedule in terms of active time, but he's a busy man who does a lot of work travel. So might not be at home very often because of that. While he pretty much sleeps exclusively in the day, if he's around and someone really wants company, he's happy to join them in bed. He's also always willing to be out in the day if someone asks for his presence for something.

Xavier sleeps whenever he's tired, he's a working hunter which means he's awake when he's needed for a mission, and he works at night as Lumiere, so he has absolutely zero schedule. He and Sylus are normally the ones who take naps together because of this.

MC's life schedule is very reliable, they work in the day or whenever they have a mission, but primarily they sleep at night. That said they have insomnia and they also suffer from frequent nightmares due to their history, because of this, they will take naps when they can, and will often be awake until the early hours of the morning unable to sleep properly.

[cjlouwho]

I Like the Taste of Vanilla

Starting about a week ago, I made several polls and asked you guys to choose a line/phrase. Your choices are now weaved within 5 stories to start off 2025! One a day for the next five days. Enjoy! Read below or on ao3

Summary:

Four times Buck misunderstands what Tommy is saying, the boys find out they're not super kinky, and one time they get it right.

Day One: This is Suspicious

Tommy was a deep sleeper when he was at home. Mostly because he couldn't be one at work, so he made up for it by practically being dead to the world when he was in his own bed.

Which is why it was weird to him that something had him sitting upright in bed, his heart pounding.

He checked the time. It was half past one.

Evan had taken some overtime at work and wouldn't be home for a couple more hours.

The air hadn't kicked on, but that never woke him anyway.

There had to be some-

All thoughts drained from his mind when he heard a noise coming from the living room.

Burglary.

It had to be.

There was another noise, and Tommy swore he could hear a man grumbling. Sounded like he was near the kitchen.

He hurried to get up, grabbing the bat he kept underneath his side of the bed and readying himself for whatever fight he was about to get into.

He left his phone on the nightstand. He knew the police would never get there in time anyway. He was going to have to deal with this on his own.

Using the training he'd learned many, many years ago in the army, he quietly opened his door and crept down the hallway.

Sure enough, there was a figure in the kitchen. Dressed in all black, he appeared to be making a knot in a rope with his gloved hands.

Tommy got the bat ready to strike, continuing closer to this masked man. He got within a foot of him when the man turned and gasped, stumbling backwards.

“Wait, wait!” The intruder yelled, “Don't hit me, Tommy!”

And wait a minute... Tommy knew that voice. That was-

“Evan?” Tommy exclaimed, bat held tight. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Buck pulled up his mask just enough to show his face. “Roleplay!”

“Role- What? How's this roleplay?!”

“What were you thinking?!” Buck argued, pulling his ski mask the rest of the way off. “You were about to kill me!”

“I'm thinking this is suspicious, Evan,” Tommy answered, exasperated, “and weird! Why are you breaking into our own house? I could have killed you!”

“Okay, c- can we not have the bat still ready to strike please?”

Tommy sighed, then put the bat down, leaning it against the wall. “Evan, I just... What were you doing?”

“You said you wanted this!” Buck whined, tossing the mask onto the counter.

“I said I wanted you to break into our home in the middle of the night and scare the hell out of me? Babe, listen to yourself.”

Buck rolled his eyes. “It was last week. Middle of the night, you rolled over and said, 'yeah, rob me, tie me up.'”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I confirmed it with you!” Buck pulled out his phone, bringing up his and Tommy's text messages. “The next day at work, I texted you and asked if you really wanted to do what you mentioned the night before and you answered 'of course I do' with a wink emoji.”

“I thought you were talking about the painting class we'd talked about doing together!”

“Why the hell would you add a wink emoji to that?!”

“Because next week is a nude portrait and sometimes I'm immature, Evan!”

Buck groaned, putting his hands on his hips. “So you don't want to be robbed?”

“Absolutely not. Honey, you know the things I say in my sleep are meaningless.”

“Well, yeah,” Buck pouted, fiddling with the rope in his hand, “usually. But most of the time nothing you say is coherent, so part of me thought you were maybe still awake.”

Tommy walked over to Buck, bringing his hand to Buck's chin and lifting his head so they were eye to eye. “It was very sweet of you to do this for me,” he assured him, “no matter how insane it might be.”

Buck's pout deepened, but he allowed himself to be wrapped up in Tommy's arms. “So you, uh, really didn't want this at all?” he asked, face burrowed into Tommy's neck.

“No, I didn't want to be robbed by you, Evan.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Even the tied up part?”

Tommy stepped back, staring down at the rope in Evan's hand. “Well, I never said that.” His fingers felt over the material, smooth and tight and perfect to wrap around their headboard. “It'd be kind of a waste to not use this, wouldn't it?”

Buck smiled. “A total waste.”

Tommy tugged on the rope, beginning to lead Buck down the hall. “No point in that. Follow me, stranger.”

“Oh,” Buck stopped suddenly, eyes bright and wide. “Sh- should I grab the ski mask?”

Tommy shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

The way I fell in love with this fic immediately!! OP has such a fantastic grasp on words, and pacing it fr had me completely entranced with the story. Jason and the reader felt so fleshed out and real that I just wanted to tuck them both into bed and tell them it's all going to be alright! I talk about my fav parts below the cut:

All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The stakes here are already giving me anxiety, mentally had to check if I had any high-stakes projects to take care of (I do not) but I am immersed and still feel like I do

Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

Ugh this is so visceral, I can literally feel my chest tighten at this scene (But I'm also thinking about how terrible Gotham traffic is, like I know every other day you have to change your route home because some rouge decided to rob a bank and crash their getaway car)

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

ooooh, ow, that's heavy. The day has just been so awful and all you want is just a moment to yourself and when you finally think your space is safe there's another issue to deal with and there's blood on your cream carpet. What's worse is that you don't him to be consider an issue, but in the moment when you're already so drained and exhausted and he's only making things harder, it's difficult to consider him as anything else

Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.” He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap.

Ahhh, sobbing because it's not even an 'I'm sorry' and maybe normally you don't need it to be, but today it's just another thing drawing you closer and closer to breaking

But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Love this little insight, if it's not you, then it's no one, and he's been coming around long enough for you to know that

It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep.

!!! This line is such a standout for me, poetry fr

You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

I looove the tension building here, it feels like bubble about to pop, a scream about to break the silence

You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

SOBBING, wow, no words for this other than we all definitely need to cry

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.” You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—” “Okay.” He goes quiet.

This whole interaction is written incredibly, it has me sucking in breath and my eyes going wide. There's just this heaviness with it, both of them are trying in their own way, but nothing is going to make you feel better right now. And there's an ache that they're both messing up? Like, maybe you're not going to want him to come back after this. Or maybe he won't want to, and the whole tentative relationship you've built will just vanish

Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

oh no

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor.

OH NO

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

!!! OP!!! OW!! I'm going to go stare into the void, but YOU need to go stare at a wall and think about what you've done

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

I gasped, but it's so true to his character for him to shut down when hurt

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

Art

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand.

In awe of your way with words here, I can feel the hurt and the comfort with every line

Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch.

oooh, this action feel so big, so much, a line that you want to cross but neither of you are ready for

you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

Yeah, wow, that's fantastic. This gets right to core of knowing Red Hod and wanting to know who's underneath, it's so compelling and I eat it up every time

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could. You know why.

SCREAMING, I want to give them the world and wrap them up in blankets! Seriously, this fic is just so, so good. I loved every line, and I don't think I blinked the entire time. Jason felt so human, flawed, but still kind and good. Incredible work as always, OP!! 💙💙

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe. There’s a half-pint of ice cream left in the freezer, you remember, and store that information for later.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[l-starsz]

Cheater billie shows up at readers door begging for a second chance

a/n: i have an idea for a part 2 of this is anyone wants it🫶

i was so exhausted. i’d had the busiest day and had only just got home. best believe i was going to bed straight away. i immediately went to my bedroom, brushing my teeth before changing into pyjamas. i was practically falling asleep whilst i took my makeup off.

as soon as i turned my light out and laid down in bed, i let out the biggest sigh of relief. i didn’t even bother to check my phone as i put it on charge and just laid there. in silence. under all of my blankets. falling asleep. i was so relaxed until i heard my phone buzz a few times.

i obviously ignored it. nothing was interrupting my sleep. well that’s what i thought.. until there was a knock at my door. i was so tired that i just convinced myself that i didn’t hear it. but the knocking grew louder the more i ignored it.

i groaned and stood up out of bed, grabbing a blanket to wrap around me since i was only wearing shorts and a t-shirt. i dragged myself over to the door, my eyes drooping as i slowly opened it. my eyes weren’t closing for long since they shot open as soon as i saw who was stood outside my door.

billie? i was honestly too tired for this. i shook my head as i noticed her eyes looked slightly teary.

“what?” i asked.

i was not in the mood to be talking to her. she cheated on me months ago and i’ve refused to speak to her since. she kissed another girl at a party whilst we were together. after i’d broke up with her, she was constantly calling and messaging me begging to talk but i ignored her. she eventually gave up, so what was different about today? why did she suddenly come back into my life? again.

“can i just come in please? i wanna talk.”

i rolled my eyes and opened the door wider for her to come in. once i’d shut the door and turned around, i noticed she was just standing there awkwardly. she was acting as if she hadn’t been in my house before.

i sighed and told her to sit down. we sat on the sofa as i just stared at her, waiting to hear what she had to say. she looked down and started messing with the rings that were scattered over her fingers. something she only ever did when she was nervous.

“what is it billie? why did you come here?” i mumbled.

“i- well- uh.. i came to say sorry. i know that isn’t gonna fix anything, i know i fucked up, but i miss you so bad. life isn’t the same without you and i know that’s my own fault, i don’t know what i was thinking!! just.. please can i have a second chance. i want to prove that the kiss meant nothing to me. i want to prove that you’re the only girl i’ve ever been completely in love with. please.” the words rushed out of her mouth as tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

“billie. you cheated on me. you broke my heart. you hurt me so bad. i spent so long feeling like i was worthless and wondering what was wrong with me. you made me feel like i was unloveable, i tried so hard to be perfect for you and you kissed someone else. and now you think i’ll give you a second chance??” i spoke angrily as tears clouded my vision. i seriously could not believe what she’d said.

“i know. i understand that just coming here and saying sorry absolutely will not fix what i did. but please can you just consider it. i’ll do anything!! i’ve been so mad at myself for it. i miss waking up next to you. i miss being able to hold you and comfort you. i just miss you. i’ll make it up to you, no matter how long it takes. please.” she was practically sobbing at this point.

i just sighed and reached forwards, wiping the tears from her face, even though they continued to fall. she really did seem sorry. and she seemed so upset. i didn’t want to forgive her, i was still mad, but i couldn’t bare to see her so sad. it was her own fault, but maybe she could gain my trust again if she truly was sorry. if she really did care.

“please.” she whispered, looking into my eyes.

“i’m not saying no, but i’m not saying yes either. i mean, you cheated on me and how am i to know that you won’t do it again if i decide to trust you? how do i know that you won’t hurt me again? you just need to earn my trust back. okay? it’ll prove to me that you genuinely mean what you said.”

she nodded as i spoke, taking in every word and understanding what i meant. she sighed and dropped her head into her hands.

“i’m sorry that i fucked everything up. i promise i’m gonna make it up to you.” she mumbled.

“okay billie. thank you for apologising. now cmon, you need to go home because i’m exhausted.” we both stood up and walked over to the door.

“i’ll call you tomorrow?” she whispered.

“call me tomorrow bil.”

she nodded and i watched as she walked to her car, then she was gone.

i didn’t even know how to react. tears streamed down my face was i slowly made my way back to my bed. what if she hurt me again? why did i still care about how sad she was? my mind was racing as i just laid there, tears running across my face until i finally fell asleep.

[a-lurking-fae]

《𝙳𝙲 x 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫 ℑ𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔠𝔱》

Fontainian!Reader with a much nicer Damian. I mean— you're his only blood sibling! Siblings are always there for each other when the parents are gone, so why don't you give him more attention? As much as he is enraged at your situation, he is happy that he can hog you all to himself without any interference.

Can't you read him a bedtime story? Or hum him a lullaby? He can't really sleep without those anymore. Are you going to deprive your own baby brother of sleep? He's always working so hard with patrols already. Coddling your brother is a small, thankful gesture. Now, don't leave his room just yet! He was terrified of the villain earlier. He's scared of nightmares! He killed the guy for badmouthing you, but who's asking?

Every time he gets into trouble at school, you're the one he'd call. His older sibling, who'd fight tooth-and-nail for him! You'd scold them for teaming up against a child. He was only defending himself! You'd take him out to ice cream after and buy a new storybook to read tonight.

Anytime he's alone during patrol, you'd send a melusine over with a basket of snacks, making sure he isn't hungry. And whenever he gets home injured? Oh, you're furious. Not only to the villain who did the damage, but the the people Damian was with during patrol. Especially if it was Bruce, Dick, or Jason. He actually injured himself because he wants your attention.

You trusted them with your Damian! How could they get him injured! You take Damian to your room, getting some healing potions in stock while he changes into some pyjamas he got from his room.

You could never sleep when Damian was on duty. You pour the healing potions on him, bandaging the wound on his arm, placing some sticker bandages on his cheek.

A meal laced with a light sleeping medication from Teyvat, made by yours truly, is placed on your study desk, ushering Damian to eat a bit, making sure he gets a meal before bed. Once he finishes, he sits on the right side of the bed, with you next to him. You read him the storybook you got him earlier. Chatting the night with him.

He then asks more about Teyvat— of course you told him! Damian was delighted to know that you trusted him with plenty of your secrets. He was happy to know about visions, legends, and more stories. His precious older sibling, too weak to defend themselves, he'll make sure you'll be safe in the mansion.

He'll ask Father to put your room next to him, in the main wing, not here, it's too far, they can't protect you quickly. And— what do you mean by your going to stay in Teyvat? What about him? Can't you stay in Gotham for him?

He flashes his puppy eyes at you, and for a split second, you think that you do want to stay in Gotham. But as much as you love Damian, you can't let him mess with your plans.

You cuddle him to bed, humming a lullaby from Fontaine. Granny Furina said she'd sing this to your mom whenever she had nightmares. It was Damian's favourite lullaby, too. You stroke his hair gently, before you kiss his forehead, and said goodnight.

You don't know that he's awake, plotting to keep you here in Gotham, and he knows it. It seems he needs to call backup this time.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

ησтє : My mind is filled with ideas. When I made this, the first draft was deleted, huhu (╥﹏╥)

[yanderes-galore]

I'd like to ask for a Lego monkie kid Mk with your prompts 6, 12 and 14.

Sure! I love MK, such a sweetheart... despite the tendency to... oh I don't know... trap his partner?

Yandere! MK Prompts 6, 12, 14

"A good partner must be willing to make sacrifices for their beloved! Don't you agree?"

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Isolation, Attempted Imprisonment/Kidnapping, Delusional behavior, Overprotective behavior, Consensual turned forced relationship.

You love your boyfriend... he's always your sweetheart.

How could you not? MK has always attended to your every need. He's a hero, beloved by many. MK has always vowed to keep you safe....

You'd never suspect him of anything.

Everyone expects heroes to be perfect. Unfortunately, it's exactly the opposite. Ever since MK's had to deal with the issues around his town... He's never been the same.

Around you, he's all giddy and excited. However, all the traumatic experiences MK has gone through has hardened him. How could he not worry about potential threats?

Especially when it comes to you....

MK knew he had to do something as your partner. After all, how can he protect you if he doesn't have his eye on you? The idea of losing you... well...

It stresses MK out more than anything.

MK does his best to show nothing's wrong around you. After all, he's your hero, he loves you. It's his job to have you loved, cared for... and most importantly... safe.

MK's paranoia only seemed to worsen the longer he dated you. The longer he was with you, the more he was attached. Horrible events are always bound to happen when it comes to MK....

At first, his obsession over your safety started by just following you around.

Watching your daily life or clinging to your side was originally how he tried to soothe his fears. Although, even that wasn't enough for MK. Eventually... He wanted to have a future with you...

But such hopes were quickly dashed once you found out his little plan to keep you safe.

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

It was bound to happen, really. You, as his partner, were going to find out about your boyfriend's imperfections eventually. Although, it wasn't anything small...

You had found a whole room in his house dedicated to you, surrounded with your interests and all sorts of different notes... along with a large bed... all meant for you.

"It isn't ready yet, baby... But, um, I was meant to sorta... ease you into it...?" MK panics, unable to look at your distressed gaze.

"Ease me into what...?" You ask shakily, looking around the room. It's your favorite color and everything. Is this the reason he didn't want you over at his house for a long time...?

"Ease you into, y'know, living with me...?" MK asks shyly, fidgeting with his hands.

"MK... it's a bit too soon—" You try to speak, but you're still in shock... and the look in his eyes doesn't help.

"A good partner must be willing to make sacrifices for their beloved! Don't you agree?" MK desperately blurts out, caging you in the room. You panic, was he trying to trap you here...?

"I get that, but-" You try to speak but MK doesn't give you time to recover.

"If you live with me, I can keep you safe! That way we can both sleep easy at night... and I can make sure nothing hurts you!" MK forces a smile, but you can see the desperation in his eyes. "C'mon, baby... It's perfect!"

"MK... You didn't need to do all this behind my back! I'm fine... I can be okay at my own home! We probably shouldn’t live together so soon...." You try to talk him down, getting close to slip by the door.

Mk, however, pushes you back and locks the door to your new room...

Your new home.

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!" MK pleads, stepping closer as you back away.

You try to find a way to avoid him but there's no use. The room has no windows you can open and MK has the door locked. You try your best to plead, but MK doesn't listen.

"Babe, please..."

"You've SEEN what I deal with out there, right?" MK states sternly, glaring at you as you back yourself near the bed. "Lady Bone Demon, Azure Lion... I've had to deal with calamity after calamity since becoming Monkey King's student!"

You're practically on the bed at this point as MK stands in front of you. There's annoyance in his eyes, but desperation glistens the most. There's no reasoning with your boyfriend...

Is he even your boyfriend at this point...?

"You... just don't understand, baby." MK tries to reason, gaze softening once he sees your fear. "You don't understand the world's dangers... but I do."

MK gets on the bed, sitting between your legs as he cups your cheeks. His gaze and smile are soft, but you feel threatened in his grip. MK, your perfect boyfriend who you used to trust...

Scares you more than any demon could.

"This is why I made this room for you. This is why I need to protect you. I'm meant to be a hero... and you're meant to be my partner. Baby... living here won't be so bad!" MK grins, acting like you two are going to be married or something.

"Just... Let me protect you...." MK whispers, leaning in closer to ghost his lips over your own.

"Let me love you like your boyfriend should...."

It's then you wonder if any of this is real. You wonder if this is all some nightmare your brain conjured due to MK's odd behavior. Maybe you're not really trapped and this is a sign to reconsider your relationship with MK—

Yet, the moment you feel MK's lips on your own, you know it's real...

That thought alone is enough to make you cry.

[milkoomi]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ a guide to getting better sleep ᝰ.ᐟ

getting the right amount of sleep every night is key to getting your physical health in check and keeping your own mental and emotional state balanced! i used to struggle with severe insomnia a few years ago, so i’m going to share some tips that helped me get a good night’s rest!

let’s begin !!

ᝰ.ᐟ create a solid nightly routine

for me, my nightly routine starts between 5-6pm! so you can begin to create your nightly routine by finding that start time for yourself!

your nightly routine can include a multitude of things! whether it’s having dinner, showering, doing your nightly skincare, doing some end-of-the-day journaling; your nightly routine can be anything that helps you unwind from the day.

my nightly routine:

5-6pm: get home from work, change out of work uniform, & have dinner — within this time i’ll also spend time with my family/loved ones! i try to stay off of my phone, but there are nights where i’m having dinner and i’ll be scrolling through social media or watching a youtube video!

6-7pm: shower, dental hygiene, nighttime skincare — this is my time to pamper myself, to cleanse myself from the stresses from my day (& ofc literally cleanse myself). i’ll have a podcast playing in the background or i’ll put on a playlist of songs that make me feel good!

7-9pm: prime time “me-time” — at this point in my night, after i’ve showered and stuff, i use this time to either continue listening to podcasts or i’ll have another one of my fav youtubers playing in the background! i also incorporate time to journal and follow up with doing something that makes me happy whether that be playing a video game, entertaining myself with youtube, or coming on here & writing a new blog post!

9-10pm: bed time — i always make sure i’m physically in bed between these times just so i can allow my body to begin to fully relax. i get really cozy in bed, getting all tucked in under my covers, and i’ll make sure my lights are either dimmed or off! my goal every night is to be asleep by 10-10:30pm!

of course, your routine will look different than mine, but feel free to take some inspiration from this! figure out what works best for you and your schedule! once you have that routine set in stone, it’ll be easier to train your mind and body to get to bed at a better time and get yourself used to sleeping at a more reasonable time!

ᝰ.ᐟ no phone usage an hour before bed time

when you’re already in bed, getting ready to fall asleep, try to stay off your phone! the more time you spend mindlessly scrolling through your phone, the more that time starts to slip away from you and soon enough you’ll be up past midnight. staying away from your phone before going to sleep will allow your mind and body to start signaling that feeling of “it’s time to go to sleep”.

being on your phone right before you fall asleep just keeps your mind going and will cause you stay awake for much longer than you need to be! let your mind rest!

luckily, with iphones, you can create different focus modes other than just having your ‘do not disturb’ on! i created a focus mode titled ‘bed time’ that is scheduled to start at 9pm & end at 7am (which is usually when i wake up). i have the mode made so that my homescreen pages don’t include the page where all my social media is at so that i’m not tempted to scroll through any of my socials! i also made sure that my ‘bed time’ mode does not allow any notifications from anyone or anything to prevent myself from getting distracted at night when i’m trying to go to sleep!

ᝰ.ᐟ create the perfect sleeping environment

going to sleep can be hard if it’s too silent/noisy, too dark/bright, too cold/hot; so it’s important to make your sleeping environment the most ideal to you! turn on a fan for white noise or if you need it to be a bit cooler in your room, set a timer on your tv and have it lowered to the lowest volume, turn off all the lights— just do whatever you feel is best for making sure you sleep comfortably throughout the night!

for me, i have my tv on & i’ll set the timer on it because i still need some light source (because honestly i’m afraid of the dark lol) and i need some sound while i sleep! i make sure my tv’s brightness is dimmed because too much light is too distracting for me. i also prefer my room to be colder at night so i can cozy up more into my blankets! doing all of that to create the perfect sleeping environment has helped me get much better sleep at night!

𝜗𝜚 final notes 𝜗𝜚

creating a good sleep schedule and maintaining it can be a battle, but getting good sleep will help you in so many ways! getting enough sleep is one of the best forms of self care, and if practicing better self care is one of your goals for this new year, then please start by working on your sleep schedule and getting better sleep!

live and love, babes.

sincerely, juno ⭑.ᐟ

[thenewestxmen]

Wade and Logan’s legs were untangled as Logan rested on wades chest. No clue why Wade would be fine with a 400 something man on him, slowly suffocating him, but I guess he can’t die from crushing ig. Logan feels asleep almost immediately while laying on top of Wade, listening to his heart beat and his breathing. Wade enjoys this too, it grounds him into the present. He plays with the older man’s hair, twirling his finger around his ‘kitty ears’, and sometimes kissing the top of his head. They lay there for a moment, before Wade slips out from under Logan, to go make breakfast. Logan has been much more stressed lately, bouncing from job to job mainly as a construction worker. He continues to accidentally scare his co workers with his claws. The one he is on right now, the new job, is incredibly close the X-Mansion. Logan has not had much time to process that this universes X-men were still alive, but as he works, all he can think about is the horror of the professor approaching him and asking him to join his X-men. That, to Logan, is terrifying. 

Wade gets up and makes Logan’s favorite breakfast; some bacon, lightly grilling it on the stove. He also makes some pancakes, not Logan’s favorite but definitely wades. Logan stirred as the smell wafted over to the couch. 

Logan started to complain that his boyfriend was not there anymore.

“It’s ok, Wolvie, I’ll be over in a minute.” Wade said, piling of bacon and pancakes onto two plates. He came over, setting the plates of food on the coffee table and sat on Logan’s lap, now that he was sitting up. 

“Breakfast in couch!” Wade exclaimed with jazz hands.

Logan grinned and pulled wades lips to his own, kissing him with intensity and happiness. Neither of them minded their morning breath.

“Thanks bub. But, why?” Logan asked, still confused on wades motive. 

Wade started to blush, hiding his face in Logan’s neck.

“You’ve been stressed, so today I’m going to treat you because it’s your day off…” Wade mumbles.

Logan seemed to hear him because he grinned and wrapped him arms around him, holding Wade for a moment.

They ate breakfast while watching Logan’s favorite movie, 300. And as they finished- - HEY! WADE STOP! HEY- hey guys, it’s Deadpool, and finally getting a break from Vee. Why should she decide how I’m feeling? Anyways, here we go. I’m held in Logan’s big muscular arms watching 300, which I’m pretty sure is Logan’s age. His hair still messy and so fucking sexy from waking up. UGH. And I can hardly conceal my hard di- -

Vee: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Wade: OOP, Vee! How are yah

Vee:THERES NO SEX IN THIS FIC!

Wade: REALLY?! WHAT KIND OF FICTION ARE YOU WRITING HERE?!

Vee: GIVE ME MY COMPUTER BACK OR ELSE I’LL HAVE LOGAN BREAK UP WITH YOU!

Wade: you wouldn’t…

Vee:try me.

Wade: ugh. Fine.

ANYWAYS! When they finished breakfast, Wade pushed Logan into the closet (not again! sorry couldn’t help myself) and handed him his favorite clothes. They both went downtown, into the park, walking around. Logan was obviously grateful to just have Wade with him, let alone wade treating him. Around lunch, they both went to the Shawarma place, eating on the bench outside the shop, the familiarity of the moment comforting.

“You’re the best, bub.”

“No, you’re the bestest.”

Logan put a first hand on wades leg, smiling. Wade let his head sink down to rest on the older man’s shoulder.

They spent the rest of the day going to Logan’s favorite places, seeing his favorite people, which would be summed up to in bed, next to Wade. They arrived home and did just that, cuddling and in each others arms. Logan’s tense arms had softened after the days quiet and relaxing agenda.

“I love you.” Wade said as they were both drifting to sleep.

“I love you too.”

[doomtrooper77]

I said my goodbyes and stumbled out of the party. It was about 2 a.m., and I was headed home. My friends told me I could stay, but I wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight. Brrr, it was cold, but then again, it was January 1st in the mountains of Oregon. My friend's house was a bit back up in the woods. It's not rural, just 10 minutes from a small town in Eastern Oregon. I lived in town and had been a resident for about 10 years. The air was crisp and clean. It was dark as I walked back down the road through the wooded area to the parking area for their house. I laughed as I thought how much my life had changed from 10 years ago. I lived in Chicago until it all happened. Then they moved me out here, and I thought I would go crazy in this quiet life. But here I am, happy and content.

When I got down to the area where the cars were, I started looking through my pocket for keys. This was a makeshift parking area where the 3 houses shared this part of the mountain gully. There was a single light over in the corner. That's when I first saw him.

Standing at the edge of the pool of light, he was huge—6'4 "or 6'5"—wearing a black 3/4-length car coat, black leather gloves, and, from what I could see in the distance, a black shirt and pants. Even from 75 feet away, I could see that the coat was stretched tight across his massive frame.

The way his head was turned, his face was in partial shadow but facing, looking directly at me. He didn't move an inch—just stood there. I had stopped, startled, and I stood looking at him. A feeling of cold fear started creeping up my spine. My car was 20 feet away, and I had my key in my hand. Something in my head told me to return to my friend's place, but then I thought about walking back up the road in the dark with him behind me. We stood there staring at each other for 20 seconds before I convinced myself I was being silly. I started walking to my car and took a deep breath; I said loudly, "Happy New Year". My heart beat fast as I got in my car and locked the door. I started my car and quickly pulled out of the spot. When I looked up, I frowned because he wasn't there anymore. Surprised, I said, "What the Fuck?" to myself and looked around to see if he had moved somewhere else. Honestly, outside that pool of light, it was so dark that you'd need a spotlight to see anyone.

I drove 100 feet to the road going back toward town, had my turn signal on, ready to turn, and looked in my rearview mirror. I almost screamed; I slammed my foot down and turned on the road, and drove damn near 100 miles an hour back toward town. When I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw him standing about 20 feet behind my car. Just looming in the middle of the road, bathed in the red of my tail lights. Just standing and staring at me.

In the 10 minutes it took me to get back into town, I convinced myself it was just some creepy dude visiting one of my friends' houses for New Year's Eve. Maybe he was out for a smoke. Fuck, maybe he was midnight hiking. Maybe I had even more to drink than I thought I had.

By the time I was in my house and in bed, I had pushed most of the encounter to part of my brain that swore I had been seeing things. However, just before I fell asleep, the thought surfaced.

It's been 10 years; they can't still be looking for me. Can they?

Do you want to find out if "THEY" can still be looking for him?

[ghostzzy]

also. im officially halfway through the week to getting my drains out (and seeing my chest!!) <3 we’re Getting There

[catfishofoldin99colours]

yearning for the comfort of home

[baby-prophet]

nooooo my headphones died and im not done editing my audio

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Dog has a swollen lymph node. Just one for now. Which means her cancer is getting worse already. The longer this goes on, the more detached I feel from reality.

[phagodyke]

yeah I'm not gonna talk abt it am I...

[exopelagic]

okay I severely misjudged spaghetti guy he’s actually just really cool