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forlix · 1 year ago

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

�� five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES. From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

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grub-hut · 5 months ago

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I don't use Tiktok, never will, In my opinion I think the app should shut down. [ But that will never happen... So I will cope.] But god are ya'll are insufferable on there. The fact you have this strong par asocial attachment to Sebastian and claim that Zerum is ""ruining the character"" is just blasphemy and shows you guys know nothing to zero about writing and do not play the game whats so ever. I've talked to Zerum; Ive talked to the devs and mods ; and all the false claims and misinformation that's being spread like a wildfire IS CRAZY. Everyone's so exhausted. It takes just a couple of minutes to prove it's false but that would actually require these people to literally sit down and fucking read. Zerum never banned anybody. Zerum doesn't handle the bans in the server. If you got banned or muted, it was most likely the automod in the server that they have implemented to avoid people saying anything weird or sexual... [ A friend of mine got muted because they sent a gif that had a weird name to it; nothing related to the gif, the gif was fine and they filed a ticket and got unmuted. Its just the bot doing its job.] and even then the mods probably banned you for something completely unrelated...

and even then, can we STOP normalizing this??

Like this GRINDS my gears, it fucking rusts, it makes me want to break down and combust into flames- Stop. Stop. YOU ARE THE ISSUE. Creators want to create. Either for ourselves or for others, whatever it maybe people enjoy letting their creativity flow because ITS FUN. IT SHOULD BE--- FUN!!! We are giving you literally something free and something to ENJOY because we enjoy it just as much! This stupid fucking mindset being so normalized makes me SO SICK. " whatever is put on the internet is free reign!" you guys have ZERO respect for any creator; even yourselves and its so BLATANTLY OBVIOUS. You guys preach about "respecting artists/creators" till it doesnt fit with your agenda, because we should just "expect" our works to be disrespected and used. Like our feelings never mattered. Are we going to ignore the discussion of AI art too? Or copyright, or literally anything of that sort here? Yes, its the internet, there WILL be people who are so drastically cruel and do something you will not like. I do agree its best to ignore those kinds of people but that does not mean we should just LET it happen. It does not mean we should suck it up and take the blows. This is how people stop creating, youre killing artists, youre shunning them away because "its the internet, lol, dont get mad if ppl -" Stop it, you're teaching younger generations that it does not matter if you have boundaries or not and that your voice doesnt mean anything. I mean fuck, you put your oc here I can use it however I want then! Because you shouldve expected the moment you click post for other people to use it! Who cares right?! its OUR oc now >:)!!! No matter what the character is from, by a indie game, a comic, a book, yadda yadda. If youre gonna be scum, you are gonna BE scum. Artists should be respected and be listened to. If Zerum ships her oc to her oc, so fucking what? She created him. YES. SHE CREATED HIM. Just because she is a """co-owner" You forget she wrote and designed him. You forget its STILL HER CHARACTER. WHICH BTW, HE WOULDNT EXIST IF IT WASNT FOR ZERUM!! ITS HER CHARACTER- Not yours, and if your first thing that comes to mind " oh but shes ruining her character" then so what, its not MADE for you. Hell, Sebastian is only like 1% of the whole entire game! ENJOY THE GAME, ENJOY THE ACTUAL LORE. MAKE YOUR OWN OCS, GO WACKY WOOHOO AND ENJOY IT WITH OTHERS. If you make headcanons for Sebastian or any other characters! Great! As long as you are respectful who literally cares. HAVE FUN! Stop harassing and bullying and literally spreading misinfo; I am so sick of people with this mindset! This is why the internet is such a shit place to begin with because we just let this stuff happen. Grow up! Like PAInter said.." YOURE NO FUN AT ALL!"

#pressure roblox #grub talk #sebastian pressure #sebastian solace #roblox art #zerum drama

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with-my-calamitous-love · 9 months ago

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I FEEL SO HIGH SCHOOL

shinso x reader

angst, breakup, jealousy, general heartbreak sadness, smau

its been a month since you called it quits, and shinso goes through your instagram late at night.

a/n: keeping tabs on him is what made me feel sane, to be honest. this one is a hugeeee vent and i hope you enjoy <3

a/n: TORTURED POETSSSSSSSS

1:02 am

he knew that realistically, he’d only hurt himself. social media doesn’t snitch on you when you stalk your ex, not unless your stupid or desperate enough to like an old post or hit ‘message’. and he knew you two weren’t talking right now.

it was a messy, messy breakup. to be fair, no breakups are seamless and fair. but yours was beyond just plain messy. feelings were unorganized, old sweaters tossed all over the floor in despair, and both your accounts were completely cleaned out online. he hated deleting his posts for you. but he only did it after he saw you do it first.

shinso was starting to hate his phone. mostly because so much of it was haunted by you. old texts, albums made for you, playlists of your songs together, but there was something about his and your instagram accounts that made it so hard. it was probably because social media is the place to share tidbits of your life- and a year of his life had been with you. but its over now. now what?

he couldn’t sleep tonight. he wanted to hear your voice. he called you twice and no answer. he knew deep down you were asleep, that you didn’t like staying up as late as he did. he wondered if you were dreaming about him.

he missed sleeping with you, so much. he missed getting to snuggle up next to you and drift off in your warmth, begging you to stay in bed with him the next morning. you were always an early riser. even on days you were apart, he missed calling you late at night. he missed falling asleep on the phone with you, not caring how bad it was for his battery life to do so.

he just fucking missed you.

he wondered if you missed him too.

after hearing your voicemail play out, basking in the sound of your voice apologizing for not picking up- knowing that that apology wasn’t meant for him anyway- he clicked instagram. his friends were up and active, spamming texts into the groupchat he was smart enough to mute. he knew they meant well, asking him for the details of your split and offering to spend time with him, but shinso preferred to hurt alone. maybe its because he knew that none of the people that cared about him could be you.

[y/n]_username: smileyy

————————————————————————

xx_yaomomo: CUTEEEE

alienqueen: HAIRCUT REVEAL??

heartz4uraraka: BABYYYY

he scrolled through your posts, looking at the comments your friends left for you. you got your haircut, something that shocked him. you always loved your long hair. you always loved him. thats two things gone.

[y/n]_username: on the edge

————————————————————————

xx_yaomomo: had so much fun w u <3

dkkknari: PHOTO CREDITS RNNN

ejk1rishima: yall [y/n] would not stop slipping 😭

[y/n]_username: @ejk1rishima SHUT UP

he knew his friends were your friends too. it was unfair of him to expect them all to suddenly drop you the way he did, but he never expected it to sting this much.

shinso knew that rooftop. it was the roof of your parents apartment complex. you used to take him and him alone there, claiming it was a spot you only wanted to spend with the people you love. he knew all the little stories, like when you were eight and you threw up over the edge of the building after eating too much ice cream, or when you had your first kiss with him at 2am.

it was a spot just for you two. at least, thats what you told him.

that spot was now filled with other people you loved. he knew it was selfish of him to hope that that place in your heart remains for him and only him, but he also knew it was wrong.

he wanted to be selfish so fucking bad.

[y/n]_username: <3

————————————————————————

shotdrki: beautiful <3

shinso turned off his phone.

he felt a knot form in his chest at the sight. he could put two and two together, seeing you with flowers, your favourite flowers, and someone else calling you what you are. someone that wasn’t him.

shinso knew why he had to end the relationship. he needed to focus on himself, on his hero career and he knew he couldn’t love you under those conditions. it broke his heart knowing he broke yours, knowing this was what he had to do in order for you to be better off.

she deserves better. he thought.

but it also drove him insane thinking about you being with another guy. it drove him crazy wondering who out there was going to be with you. who out there is telling you they love you, who’s holding you and fucking holding your hand.

it just couldn’t be him.

he couldn’t help himself, unlocking his phone and opening your messages. he removed the heart next to your name, only so that when he would call he wouldn’t be tricked into thinking you were still together. god knows he can’t go through that heartbreak again.

[y/n]: i wanna be yours forever

[y/n]: i love you ♥️

shinso felt the memory of your love roll down his cheeks.

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sciencewife · 8 months ago

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Some GLaDOS Thoughts

I’m sure other people have written about this already, but I wish we got more time with GLaDOS after she’s reactivated in Portal 2, while she’s getting her bearings again and fixing up the facility as she has Chell test again. It’s majestic to see the facility slowly being repaired, the dust shaken off its many inner workings and moving parts, and just watching it become alive again, just like GLaDOS. The facility’s waking up with her because now she is the facility.

Maybe that was the case in Portal 1, too, but in a limited sense. GLaDOS was the facility (she says after Chell escapes that she can feel her there, etc), but kind of had one hand tied behind her back. She overcame the cores that the scientists attached to her to try and slow her down, but they were probably still blabbering nonsense and limiting her potential. Much of the facility, too, still appeared as if most of it was constructed by human hands. Which makes sense—Doug moved Chell up the list of test subjects so that she’d be tested and would face (and ultimately destroy) GLaDOS sooner, so even if she could, she didn’t have the time or ability to make the facility truly hers.

To me, the final battle with Chell in Portal 1 ultimately served as this big reset for GLaDOS. She was destroyed, the cores slowing her down were incinerated and the facility was left in ruins for who knows how long until she was reactivated—by the same dangerous mute lunatic who destroyed her in the first place. Naturally, GLaDOS is a little upset, at first. She had to endure a loop of getting destroyed over and over and over again for an unknown (but a VERY long) period of time. Not fun! And the first person she sees is the same woman who’s responsible for putting her through that.

And as she has Chell test while she fixes up the place, GLaDOS is sarcastic, and goes on about how you murdered her, etc, but at the same time she’s just. So happy that she can get back to what she was doing before. Setting up tests, doing science, gathering results… she gets to do what she loves again!!! Most importantly, she does it one on one with her favorite test subject forever and ever, isn’t that great? Now that she’s in charge again they have so much catching up to do <3. Whenever she’s being meanies, I see it as just her being cranky and again, what she had to go through wasn’t fun. Even with that she says she thinks that she and Chell can put their differences behind them!

And just listen to her. She’s soooooooo happy that she’s rebuilding her facility and making it her own, and Chell’s helping her test and do the science she loves. She gets to be in her element at last, no cores weighing her down, no scientists telling her what to do… she gets to be herself and make the facility in the way she sees fit. It’s perfection. It’s beautiful. It’s an extension of her and it is her, if that makes sense. Every panel, every component, its all her, all in sync… Aaaaaaaand then Wheatley shows up, and control of the place is handed over to him, and her hard work for the past couple in-game hours is undone. And towards the end she’s like “Ohhhhh no my facility 🥺 💔”. She’s so sad!! Her beautiful facility is a mess… I just wish we got to see have more time with her before all that. Doing tests and science with glabos with no orb interference, seeing her in her element building tests for the test subject she loves so much.

I do wonder how the game would’ve gone if Wheatley hadn’t interfered. An AU to consider perhaps…

Sorry if this post is kind of rambling (I was writing this at work and kept getting interrupted lol) if I need to clarify anything just send me an ask or something. I love talking about this kind of thing.

#portal #portal 2 #glados #chell #Chelldos #analysis #maybe? Or just me rambling

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taekooktimeline · 5 months ago

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Hello 👋🏽

I’ve completed uploading episodes 1-4 of “are you sure” 🥳It goes without saying, but this is a Taekook focused blog so all of these posts, just like all my other posts, highlight Taekook and their bond (or in some instances, my posts archive important pieces of information so others can’t distort facts).

I wanted to upload episode 3 as one post, and episode 4 as one post, but Tumblr wouldn’t let that happen due to their sizes. When I shrank photos to make each episode one post, text and images became blurred and my OCD couldn’t stand it. I hate that they each have 2 posts, but I preferred it to the alternative of unreadable pieces.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever gone in depth about the uploading process? It’s quite an undertaking for long pieces. I first draft the posts in Google docs. This can take days as I rewatch things, chat with friends and gather what people have noticed from my timeline. One episode can take 3-4 hours to watch, as I draft as I go and then go back through and fill in further, then tighten it all up.

After this, I upload the draft into Word Press. It’s not straightforward anymore. When I copy and paste the draft into WP, only the text follows. I have to then go back to Google docs and copy / paste the pictures one by one, and then add the timestamps and hyperlinks under these pictures.

Once that’s done, I convert the post into HTML code. I can’t simply hit “select all.” I have to drag my finger down the entire post and carefully hit copy, or else I erase the whole post (which has happened). I then copy / paste the HTML code into my email and email it to myself.

From there, I copy / paste the code and upload it into Tumblr. Tumblr won’t let me post more than 30 photos a post now, sadly, which means splitting posts up. I have to read the HTML code and decide where to break things up.

I upload the post, then reblog it to its respective year, so you can read the post in the “main” timeline, but also in chronological order in the year it happened. When it’s reblogged to its year of occurrence, I have to scroll to events that happened around that date to determine what backdate to make that piece, so it lands in the correct spot of the timeline.

Uploading these posts took me all morning. Factoring in drafting, I spent at least 2-2.5 days on these episodes.

I’m not sure why I felt like sharing that today, except that I wanted to really take a moment and sincerely thank anyone who stops by to read my blog and let you know it’s so appreciated. Even if no one read this blog, I archive Taekook’s moments as one way of supporting them. I really enjoy preserving their moments - we have so many! - and looking back fondly.

So I’d do it no matter if no one read this, but knowing people do read this blog and treasure it as much as I do means so much to me. I’m thankful for the friendships formed, the people I’ve been able to talk to and some I’ve been fortunate to meet in real life, and it’s all thanks to this blog.

Not only that, my anxiety gets the best of me. I greatly admire those who tweet on Twitter, or post on Instagram, without giving much thought. I can’t do it. I wish I could. I will sit on posts, get anxious, bail out of posting, or post then mute because I’m so tense. I’m not sure why that is. Sometimes I wish my accounts were smaller so I could maybe feel more comfortable freely speaking my mind. But I also think I’d be anxious no matter what because social media is so toxic and dark and my energy can’t stand it. It doesn’t help I’m still trying to figure out my medical mysteries, and that’s been such a drain on my energy. I can’t find it in me to do much more than lurk on Twitter and IG right now.

Here on tumblr, I feel like I’m in my little safe space. It’s quiet here, I post my pieces and show my support, and my support is measured in a more meaningful way for who I am as a person (in addition to streaming, buying their merch etc). I really am so grateful for this space. We all support in our ways and though I wish I was bolder on TW and IG, I appreciate those who are and I also appreciate that we are all here to equally love and support Tae and Jk. That’s what matters.

So if you’re reading this, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here and reading this blog💜💚

#taekook #taekooktimeline #asks #discussions

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soraviie · 2 years ago

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coming home tired.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: fluff! (maybe some angst you all know how it is)

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ lmao I don't like this. Anyway, Ice Age 1 and 2 absolutely peak entertainment

NAMJOON | The second the slippers are on your feet, you trudge to the bed and toss yourself face first into the mattress. With a bit of luck, you could suffocate yourself like this. A low whistle rises from up behind you and squinting with one eye open, you spot a sympathetic looking Namjoon standing in the doorway.

“That bad, huh?” he drawls and you groan at the mere mention of it.

“Don’t even remind me,” you plop your face back into a pillow where your voice can only barely be heard as a muffled whisper. “I’m seriously thinking of quitting.”

“You say that all the time,” he rolls his eyes to which you take some offence. With narrowed stare, you glare back at him, cringing at how palpable the sweat on your back is.

“You’re supposed to be my boyfriend-”

“Supposed to be,” Namjoon scoffs just as if not more offended. “I am your boyfriend.”

“And boyfriends are supposed to be comforting when their partners are feeling down,” you scorned. “Not be snide. I swear you treat me as bad as Monie. We should both leave.”

“I treat you both well!” the volume of Namjoon's voice suddenly rises and you cannot help but wince as it hits against the pounding baseline of an oncoming migraine. Immediately, he forces his voice to a much quieter tone, a sound no more than a vague whisper whilst an indisputable shade of concern appearing in his eyes.

“Is it that bad? Do you need to go on a sick leave?”

“No, no,” you wave him off, crawling off the bed with no meagre amount of difficulty. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time when “after a bit” has grown to be you drooling in deep sleep on the pillow, still fully dressed only to then wake up at 2 am incredibly hungry. “I’m just a bit tired, that's all.”

“You be careful, alright?”

Namjoon’s face still has a sort of worried film to it as though he’s caught between two possible options of how to make everything better and knowing him, he probably was.

“Do you want me to read to you?”

“You hate it.”

“But I like you so…”

You try not to, however, a small smile still stubbornly worms its place onto your lips and it’s soon echoed on Namjoon's own expression. He outstretches his hand and it isn't long before you grasp it.

“Come on,” he throws his head towards that god awful hellscape of a seat that you detest so much but had no heart to tell as Namjoon had grown fond of it. “Let’s get your mind off things.”

Though there is a wolf-like whistle as you change out of the work clothes for which he gets a shirt thrown into his face, largely the evening is spent in civil spirits.

“How about we eat before?”

Instantly, your blood curdles and from where you’re perched on the end of the grey sofa, you throw Namjoon a deeply, deeply anxious glance. He doesn’t miss it and after once again rolling his eyes because damned if Kim Namjoon wasn’t a passive aggressive bastard, he wraps a precarious hand over your shoulders and grumbles —

“I didn’t cook anything myself. Don’t worry.”

“Thank god,” you sigh and get pinched in the side.

Some would say it’s simple, almost boring but time with Namjoon, wanted or not, fair or unfair, was limited. Moments like these — with your back pressed against his side as you curl up onto the sofa, a leftover pizza laying in front was a luxury. He was rarely if ever at home and it seems that even he gathers as much as his lips seek out his beloved spot on the side of your temple and press a feathery kiss. Simple — yes but precious all the same and you couldn’t thank him enough for just being here.

“Now where were we…” you mutter to yourself, haphazardly sorting through the pile of books laid like a fallout rubble on every surface nearby. Taking advantage of the bared skin of your back, the tips of his fingers softly graze along your spine, mutely inviting you to return into his hold.

"Why do you check out so many books if you never read them?" he grumbles.

"Why would I read them if I can have you do that for me?"

"Tyrant."

"I know you are but what am I?"

The sheer volume of his exasperated sigh is almost enough to wipe your tired state clean off.

"Behave," Namjoon warns lowly, letting his head fall back on the headrest. "Otherwise, I'll just put you to bed."

You give him an angelic smile but comply, offering the book of choice only to frown when he is too eager to grasp it. There's even a twinkle to his eye.

“A cliche of story,” you grouse underneath your breath, mocking the same words Namjoon had said after forcefully reading or as he insisted “surviving” the first chapter. “My ass.”

Nonetheless, save for a few laughs, there is not much that you talk about. There’s no need to share a conversation, just the feeling of his warm skin is enough to sate the void his absence left behind. And with it, the stress slowly abates, unclenching its grip from you, sentence by sentence as Namjoon's voice cruises through the evening.

YOONGI | You don’t quite know how your jaw has not yet unhinged off your face, stretched to its absolute limits by the snake-like yawns but you’re thankful for it anyhow. Another one breaks out the second you’re over the threshold and that is what greets Yoongi instead of a smile or a single, coherent greeting.

“You’re home early,” you point out, withering out quickly. So much so for reading a book or watching a movie, or tackling any amount of apparently never-ending chores.

“Yeah,” he shrugs off, seemingly unconcerned but those slanted, all too observant eyes track the slope of your tired back — the way you collapse into yourself, unable to fully stand neither still nor straight — and with it his lips purse into a thin, displeased line.

“I’m fine Yoon, don’t worry about it,” you call out with a shake of the hand. You don’t think he buys it.

“I’m sure,” he replies simply, tone aggravatingly pleasant, not a hitch, not a crumble for you to catch onto his motives. “Let’s get you into something cozier.”

Peeling off the layers of those impersonal, pretentious clothes makes you cringe. The sweat that had been subtly building under the material is sticky and for a second you almost wish Yoongi would be at the studio like usual. Not much of a looker — sweaty and as appealing as worm splattered underneath the car’s wheel.

“Cute,” you hear a mutter behind you and turning around, you find Yoongi standing before you, chin in hands, almost appraising you the way an art critic would a rare painting.

“I’m not cute right now,” you grouse. Yoongi was never one to sugar coat things, so why begin now?

“You’ll always be cute.”

There is an audible offence in his tone and something in it makes you wanna tease him and almost begrudgingly you have to admit that yet again his master plans proved to be fruitful — the accumulated tension was slowly dissolving in the air around you.

“Even if I’m 90 and all my teeth are gone?”

“Well then I’ll be just as old and we can expire together.”

You shake your head with a barely suppressed smile and suddenly the home feels that much warmer. Not just four walls with a buzzing fridge, droning of the vapid TV and somewhat unsettling emptiness but an actual home.

“Always the romantic Yoon.”

“I drew you a bath,” he throws his head towards the closed bathroom doors. “Get in.”

There’s not a space left in that statement for you to argue and thinking about it, you didn’t want to. The water is in perfect temperature, betraying the amount of time you’ve been together and seeing the purple foam sitting atop of the scented waterline as candles laid around hobbled on the nearby surfaces, tears rush to your eyes.

Sometimes it was good to cry, be it out of joy, sadness or just as a way to release things and while for some it might seem bizarre to hear your cries in the bath, even somewhat disconcerting but Yoongi knew better and he knew when to simply give you space.

By the time you get out of the bath, pruned almost to the bone, your head feels hazy — emptier but soft at the edges. The second you see Yoongi setting up the table, you nuzzle into him, practically melting against his frame. For a second he freezes, out of the corner of the eye you glimpse how his features widen in a shock-stricken expression but once the moment inevitably passes, he plays it cool, pretending that there isn’t a pink blush nestling prettily on top of his cheekbones.

“My, my, you really are tired,” he calls out, gingerly prying your hands away, largely to sit you in the nearby chair. Yet another sign of the sheer exposure you've had with each other over the years — when you clung, you clung, more than once lazing atop of Yoongi as though he was your own personal body pillow. He put up with it like he did with most of you — possessing endless kindness and patience.

"Some soup, nothing fancy," he explains, sliding a spoon your way. "It'll fill you up but won't give indigestion."

"Thank you. You're the best."

He doesn't respond to the compliment with anything credible, just something whined softly through a pout. The dinner passes by in a blur as you try to listen to Yoongi's day. The guilt gnaws with sharpened teeth - at your own inability to focus on what he's saying -but the haze spindles its spidery web too tight around your body and quickly enough, you sink into the mattresses absolutely boneless.

"This just needs one thing," you hear Yoongi muttering overhead and after a beat during which you might as well have fallen into some form of micro sleep, he returns back, paddling quietly across the plush carpet carrying none other than an extremely sleepy and confused Min Holly. The poodle sniffs slightly, veering as he suddenly finds himself put on the bed but then simply decides to snuggle up the pillow next to you — an arrangement that often resulted in Yoongi putting up a fuss over being exiled from his own bed. Though tonight there is no tantrum and quietly you dream of soft hands caressing your head before inviting dark embraces you whole.

JIN | "So you don't want to come out?"

The blanket shakes in a definitive no, pulling from him a deep, deep sigh. "Alright but just text if you need me."

For a second, more so out of instinct than anything, he thinks of leaning down, brushing away this ridiculous blanket you've cocooned yourself in and planting a kiss on your forehead - like he always does- but something in the way you're so obstinately clinging to it stops him and instead he lays his lips atop of it, allowing you to hide away from the world. When the ends of your ears perk at the sound of the closing doors, you slowly push the blanket onto the floor, gulping down large breaths of fresh air.

Jin was nice, you liked Jin, obviously as you lived together, but sometimes…sometimes a person just needed to be on their own. The way you move throughout the house is largely mindless. Something is playing in the background, what - you don't know. You don't put much focus on what passes between your hands - the vacuum, the window cleaner — it's just a motion. A motion required so that the tension doesn't flay you whole. It's not like you particularly want to do so — the lower back pain surely is a sign you don't want to but it is needed. The nagging thoughts of something being not done in the house will just nag you on and coupled with the stress from work, you didn't put it past your body to become the first person on the planet whose head popped from their shoulders and become airborne.

It is when you're in the middle of battling one very annoying corner of the front entrance when Jin comes home. All too soon you hear the code pressed on the outside and you greet him as such, standing and staring like a deer in headlights with vacuum in one hand and a wet wipe in another. For a passing moment, Jin simply takes you in, a wrinkle of thorough confusion marking his face. Then as if to come to a foregone conclusion, he sighs, places the many, many takeaway boxes that tower dangerously all together in a green plastic bag on the console nearby and struts forward. You almost go in to defend yourself be it verbally or with a vacuum cleaner but he simply disregards it and places a palm right over your forehead.

“As I thought,” he mumbles solemnly. “You’re running a fever.”

Immediately you check yourself, in the hurry almost letting the vacuum hit the ground had Jin not caught it at the last second.

“No, I’m not,” you protest but deep down you've grasped that your hand is sweaty and that your head feels…heated, somehow. “I don’t want to take a sick leave!”

Jin was often an easy-going man, never a joke missing when he was around, never a moment weighing too heavily but he was still an adult and sometimes…sometimes he put his foot down.

“But you are,” he insists with a deadpan tone. Both of your hands are forcibly freed from the items in them as you’re spun around and pushed towards the bed, your socks providing no grip to fight the movement. “Better one sick day today than a whole month later. Remember November?”

“I remember November,” you huff begrudgingly. “But it’s not that bad.”

“_________,” the sound of your name falling from his mouth with not a lick of usual laughter or any form of fond exasperation rings like a cannon shot through your ears, making you shrink smaller. “You’re tired. Just rest. Everything else will fall into place.”

You grow limp under his touch and let yourself be carded back into bed, no huff, no puff. Vaguely it’s reminiscent of Jin’s own temper tantrums as he battled a cold two months ago. You’d chided him then for acting like a spoiled child with a silver spoon both in his mouth and up his ass and you know now that it was merely an act of the infamous pot calling the egregious kettle black. There is a twinkle of vindication in Jin’s eyes even if he does not say it out loud. The session of being made fun of was simply postponed due to the pitifulness of your state alas not entirely avoided.

“Now, let your boyfriend take care of you,” bright is Jin’s smile as he beams down upon you from one ear to the next but the pat on your head dours the cheesy sentiment if he even had any to begin with.

“I’m not a dog,” you gruff, wrenching his hand away but as Jin saunters away, dignified as ever, “could have fooled me” is tossed casually over his shoulder.

HOSEOK | “You don’t have any plans later in the evening?”

Because it was 6:30 of a quiet Monday morning and you had assumed that Hoseok hadn’t come home at all, given how you’d gone to sleep alone and woke up as such, the question poised from a poked-in head, partially hidden by a steam of running shower, it came as a no surprise you were scared shitless. Nursing the elbow that was so rudely slammed against the tiled wall, you replied that no, you did not have any plans.

“Great! Love you!”

The only thing you heard after were quick, running footsteps and then — silence.

“Love you too,” you muttered to the empty air. “Whatever that was.”

But Hoseok did sometimes do odd things and so as the work day reared its vicious Hydra head you forgot all about it, too submerged in the rising pile of problems.

By the time you shuffle out of the work doors, there is a deadpan expression upon your face and even more upon your soul. You’re tired and the outlook of coming back — yet again! — tomorrow makes it all the more draining. As you drudge your way down the main street there is only one dream floating almost palpable before your eyes and that is your bed. The very thought of immediately propelling yourself underneath the fluffy duvet and dozing off to a good music is a piece of private heaven you’re salivating after and all that was needed was to go home.

If only it would be that easy.

A sleek, black car rolls in front of you, so crudely that only by the last pinch of your nerves you do not curse the driver out then and there. It’s a blessing you do not as the window rolls down and you find none other than your boyfriend sitting joyfully on the other side.

“Are you abducting me, good sir?” you call out and Hoseok opens the doors from the inside, invitingly patting the seat next to him.

“Yes, now get in. This is not legal parking.”

At first, you hum happily along to the song playing on the radio. Sure, Hoseok makes a weird turn — it definitely does not belong to the usual route but maybe that was him trying to evade the congested traffic. A second one? Your hum falters but still you persist. You were still going in the correct general direction and if anything you should be grateful about being rescued from the overcrowded hell that is public transport in a rush hour. But once the third turn is taken and you no longer recognize the area, the soft happiness blossoming in your body freezes and for a fact refuses to thaw.

“Uhh…Hoseok?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are we going?”

“To the mall.”

If feasible, your brain would make a sound similar to a record being pulled under the needle of the player. And then smashed against the fucking wall.

“The mall?” you echo slowly, however Hoseok remains blissfully oblivious and smiles as your dream of bed and rotting rest shatters into unmendable pieces.

“Yeah! You’ve been working so hard! You definitely need some new gifts. Name whatever you want, I’ll get!”

Get me home, is what flashes through your mind but even thinking about it feels ungrateful of sorts. Thus, you bite your teeth into a pained smile.

“Yay,” though you try to sound enthusiastic it comes out more like a squeaking cry of a dying animal.

Having three bodyguards flickering in and out of your periphery as blinding mall lights blare overhead was not your idea of fun in the best of days but even less so after the dogshit that was work on this particular Monday.

Suddenly Hoseok shoves a string of pearls underneath your noise, with an overeager “try this!”. You oblige but something in the look does not please him and quickly the pearls are swapped for another, a tad more delicate piece.

The longer you trail after him, the more your eyes droop downward. It becomes too difficult to even properly focus on walking let alone on what Hoseok is saying. Covertly, you try to slump against him while on the escalator and once more Hoseok misinterprets this as an expression of affection, cooing at it.

You do not have the heart to tell him you were seconds away from crawling into the bathroom and sleeping there.

“Which shoes do you like better? These ones or these ones?”

Strategically, you position yourself on the plush albeit hard chair of the shoe shop.

“They’re both good,” you mutter and the next time you open your eyes, a muted darkness stands before you. For a second, your heart leaps, dry spit curls up at the back of your throat but as the second passes, so does the fear. The dark slowly abates and the familiar feeling and smell of your comforter drags you back into the peace.

You’re home.

There is a vague clattering coming from the closed bedroom doors and as you drop back onto the pillows with a sigh of deep relief, it stops only for someone to move closer.

As Hoseok opens the doors, he stands in them for a while wearing a gentle but knowing smile.

“If you didn’t want to go, you could have just said so.”

You screw your eyes shut, feeling the end of a headache coming back up from behind the eye sockets.

“Did you drag me back?” you groan, sinking deeper into the mattress as though it could possibly save you in any way.

“With some help,” Hoseok nods, throwing a towel to rest over his shoulder. “You were out of it.”

“I’m sorry,” you glance at him from the covers, turning your voice much more earnest. The feelings of ungratefulness cling to your chest, creating a heavy, pressing sensation. How much time really did you have with Hoseok? Hours, minutes? Versus the days that he was entrenched deep into work or worse on tour. You ought to spend every moment with him, radiating nothing but happiness but it was just…

You were just too tired.

“I really am.”

“Don’t stress about it. But really just tell me next time that you don’t want to go and would rather sleep instead. Trust me, I would understand.”

You nod along to his words, giving a mute promise though it's one he accepts.

“Besides there’s always online shopping,” he supplies lightly before his smile warps to cut a bit too deep into cheek and too devious in its hue. “And I can always spoil you in other ways.”

JIMIN | The second your aching feet drag over the warm threshold, you don’t even let Jimin finish his greeting, instead propelling yourself tiredly into his chest, self-indulgently wrapping your arms around his waist.

“What’s this?” he chuckles softly, placing one cheek upon the top of your head — you could feel the weight of his motion. It rests on you like a heavy blanket, relaxing yet not caging. “Since when are you so nice to me?”

“Oh, shut it,” you hiss meagerly, cheek still ruffling against the thin material of his grey t-shirt. “I’ve always been nice to you.”

“Debatable,” he laughs but it quickly sizzles into a low hum. “Long day?”

“Felt like it would never end.”

Dinner is eaten quickly, with you mostly scarfing down whatever is put down before you and Jimin occasionally throwing a worried glance though he chooses not to give these concerns a voice. You’re grateful for the silence — too exhausted in your own right to dwell on what should soon turn into a hazy, near non-existent memory.

The sofa underneath your back is pliant enough and slinking onto the too small decorative pillows, the same ones Jimin had sworn would be perfect as you had stood in IKEA checkout line, you feel your eyes fall downward — not slow and steady, but definitive and pointed like a crash of a rock.

Jimin’s voice floats above the cotton-candy haze that circles the ends of your eyes and maybe vaguely you catch the tail of a sentence.

“...movie?” is all you hear and deeply not caring, you nod along, still partially clinging to his arm.

“Something you like…” Jimin mutters under his breath. “The Notebook is always great.”

“I literally have never liked that movie.”

He lets his mouth open in truly horrendous offence, placing a palm over his chest as though you’ve just stabbed him with a kitchen knife.

“Blasphemy! And in my own home too!”

Imperiously, you make a grab at him, settling yourself to lay partially on his torso.

“It’s our home, you menace.”

“Ah, and there they are! So I thought you being nice earlier was suspicious.”

But even as he’s saying it, there’s a lingering presence of suppressed smile etched across his lips.

“Just play something,” you mutter, not even bothering to maintain the appearance of wakefulness.

“What about “cold eyes”?” he suggests, switching contemplatively between the select options, each one playing an annoying loud

“That’s still your favourite movie. I like “The Lighthouse”.”

As expected an immediate wrinkle of distaste curls up his nose as he regards your suggestion. Apparently taking in a noir coloured fever dream seeped in oceanic nightmares had not been his favourite way to spend an evening and though he endured it once, more thanks to his apparently endless love for you than patience, you doubted the chances of him laying his eyes on the production ever again.

“A compromise,” he suggests, by now only barely able to move as you melt into him, your tired bones demanding a rest. How could even one’s inner thigh muscles hurt you did not know but such was the reality.

“Ice age.”

“Deal.”

It’s not even five minutes into the movie that the warm colours flashing on the screen, not to mention the rub of Jimin’s fingers tenderly grazing against your scrap, lulls you into deep, exhausted sleep. Jimin doesn't wake you.

TAEHYUNG | Though the headphones squeeze on your ears in a manner that manages to somehow be both painful and itching, you pour all of your focus into the pot of soup boiling on the counter. The sensory hell that is extractor hood whirrs overhead and while you hate both the steam making everything just a touch too hot and the noise being a touch too grading, it does the trick. It completely overwhelms your mind and with it the piled up anxiety. The sudden light touch, light yes but unmistakably belonging to a human hand, forces some form of primal scream out from your throat and you’re met face to face with equally wide-eyed, equally frightened Kim Taehyung. Who is in your house.

You almost ready the ladle as a weapon of sorts but the fleeting voice of reason reminds you, he is in your home because this is the home you share.

Because you’re dating, it goes to supply and you’re thankful that it does otherwise you would have just slammed your boyfriend into the kitchen ground with the aforementioned ladle.

He attempts to speak or at least so you assume from the way his mouth moves.

“Just give me a sec!” you point at your earphones in the still lingering confusion momentarily forgetting to how to turn off the blasting music that just a second ago was mind numbing in a pleasant way but now has grown to be an auditory guillotine.

At last you manage the Bluetooth connected mess and pushing back the hair from your face, you huff, trying to sound light and miserably failing in one fell swoop.

“Why-why are you home so early?”

Taehyung quirks his head to the side and those soulful, terribly wary eyes glide over your face in suspicion.

“Was I not supposed to?”

You almost don’t stammer when answering “no”. Taehyung hums but it doesn’t feel either like a response or the final sentence in the otherwise lackluster conversation. If anything it’s a wordless noise of suspicion and you begin to sweat under its weight.

“You look like you haven’t slept a week,” he points out, not overtly trying to be accusing outright but similarly failing as well. At first your mind leaps and bounds to white lies, some smaller some bigger but as his gaze grows more expressive, more analytic you wither and simply confess like a child would after eating too much candy from a jar that was specifically left for guests.

“That’s because I haven’t.”

Taehyung nods, clearly having suspected as much.

“And I assume the reason why you were unpleasantly surprised by my arrival is that like any other night, you wanted to make something quick, then sit yourself in front of three devices all playing different things and then letting yourself rot in an unmade bed?”

You twiddle with your thumbs.

“Yes. Are you mad?”

He looks mad, however because this was Taehyung the next second his face blooms with pity and you find yourself surrounded by two arms and what feels like a cashmere sweater.

“Oh my baby.”

The beginnings of what feels like straying tears rush forward but still for now you force them down. Disconnecting, for the first time you look Taehyung properly over. What initially seemed like nothing but put-together pillars of stability when compared to your crumbling statue ebbs away and in the muted light of the kitchen you see. The downturned corners of his mouth, the eye bags obstinately clinging to his face, the hair that hangs over said eyes, clearly unkempt, obviously trying to hide something he deemed too personal to share with the rest of the world.

Other than you that is.

Once again it rips out of you without much consent or thorough planning of the brain:

“You’re tired.”

He laughs but the sound, alike the atmosphere, falls strained.

“Yeah I am. Can’t sleep much without you.”

The soft ends of his voice, clipping into an exhausted drawl, makes your heart bleed both in pink and red.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he adds with a deep sigh. “And it seems not entirely without reason.”

“It’ll be alright,” you try to brush off but without knowing whom you tried to convince more — Taehyung or indeed yourself. He doesn’t much say of anything, merely gives one truly solemn nod and clutches your hand in his grip — ladle and all.

JUNGKOOK | The second you feel the familiar walls of your home swallow you whole, the full effect of a thoroughly draining day kicks you in the chest. You feel its weight knead at your muscles, turning every strain of it into an over-taut strings of deepened ache. You breathe a weary, albeit content sigh as one sweaty article of clothing is shed after the next. It’s a quiet retaliation — to toss them into the hamper for laundry tomorrow. Thank god for your laundry fairy.

You hear someone at the door and momentarily the ache disappears in the surge of sheer adrenaline but as the familiar sounds of dog’s nails scraping against the floor reach your ears, you relax once more.

“Babe?” comes an inquiring voice just seconds before Bam rounds the corner, gleefully wagging his tail at your presence.

“You’re wet,” you complain but since much like Jungkook, it was impossible to be mad at him, all the dog hears is the pleased sound of your voice so without any inhibitions whatsoever, he noses at your shin, leaking rainwater onto the beige bedroom carpet. Jungkook pokes one head in and you’re not surprised to see that he’s much in the same state.

“And you’re wet as well,” you point out, monotonous, as he shrugs in response.

“Forgot to take my umbrella.”

You don’t chide him, having honestly no strength to do so. Instead, you plop down onto the bed, stifling another monstrous yawn, not entirely missing the faint wrinkle of concern carving its way in the space between Jungkook’s eyebrows but choosing to not remark upon it. He was already too worried these last few weeks. Still Jungkook remains Jungkook and not a second after, from his spot in the doorway comes gentle but somewhat of a sternly voiced question.

“Are you okay? You look…I’m sorry tired is not the word. Drained of your very soul.”

You offer him a mirthless laugh, running a palm over your face.

“Is it that obvious?” you try to joke but the hint of frailty betrays you. Its note might be faint but for Jungkook with his musical pitch, its laid out bare on a desolate cliff. He doesn’t speak but there’s no need to. His face says it all.

“It’s just I’ve never not…known things,” you admit, a sense of frustration immediately clutching at your chest. “I’ve always been quick to adapt. A month, two months tops and I’d be like a fish in water but…” the end of the sentence trails off into a frustrated sigh.

“It’s not your fault they’re not training you properly,” he objects but even so remembers to be quiet. There was no use in shouting and that was the rule you both agreed upon.

“I know it’s not my fault,” you mumble underneath your nose but even you yourself can hear the disheartened nature of that statement. For long dragging stretches of time, you simply stare at Bam, reaching out to pat him ever so slightly.

“I’m just…tired, Koo,” at last you state, the final walls breaking down in one, finite statement.

“I get it,” he echoes somberly, the shared faraway glint in both of your eyes reminding you both of the many, many tired late evening, early mornings and the middle of the nights. Jungkook rouses himself out the soured memory lane first. He shakes his head and paddles over, sitting on the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

“You want a shoulder massage?” he offers and as his touch settles upon your skin, you wince, prompting a hissing curse from his lips.

“It’s like a rock, baby,” Jungkook whines in your ear. You try to shrug the sentence away however the flare of unexpected pain puts a firm stop to it.

“And I don’t think you’ll make it better,” you sigh, trying, in a last ditch attempt, to sound a tad playful. You think it somewhat works as Jungkook pressed a preemptively apologetic kiss to the back of your head.

tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @sukunabitch; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @back2bluesidex; @silverliningsandstorms; @ahewlett

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0-shutdown-0 · 2 months ago

Text

Thoughts on Loris

I have more thoughts and theories than concrete understanding of his character

He either feels half-baked as a side character that had more to him or just my mind being unable to connect the dots so some of this kind of jumps around

SO:

Loris is introduced as a sad somber guy still loosely wearing his enforcer uniform while off duty. When he meets Vi his first words are something like ‘did you lose someone in the attack’, the actions of him drinking insinuates that he most likely lost someone himself.

Appearance wise Loris has a section of his hair tied with a blue colored bead and pulled into his field of vision. It’s a stretch but when Ekko wears a colored band in his hair it’s to symbolize the ‘loss’ of Jinx/Powder in the finale episode. I think Loris wears the bead in his hair to be a constant reminder of his loss- by having it remain in his sight makes that loss a constant presence.

Anyways, besides that Loris is shown in episode 1 to not want to go to the memorial when Vi pats him on the foot since he just closes his eyes and pretends to sleep

When he does go and the attack on the memorial happens he uses a shield, a shield that's seen discarded when Vi walks around the aftermath.

It could be foreshadowing that he dies in battle, in episode 9 he dies the one time he doesn’t have his shield, or the shield might have some type of connection to the person he loss

Now the notes:

-His shield gets a hextech advancement

-On the striketeam he’s first to push their advances with his shield in E3, and when fighting he uses his shield to bash into them offensively,

and later when he’s the one to first get injured and get a limp from Jinx’s traps the shield becomes a crutch and a safety net for him. (I think it’s interesting that it was only when he traveled in front of Caitlyn that he got hurt )

-Even with a limp, Loris does his best to react to shield Steb when the tunnel they climbed out of get’s Grey rerouted straight to them

-His personality is consistently fatherly, comforting Vi, comforting Maddie when they see the murder dolls (his arrow deaths included), even comforting Vi again after being pushed away and reuniting with her without hard feelings

In that reunion scene when Vi subconsciously compares Loris to Vander we then see exactly their relationship

-Loris seems to know his way around the undercity, keep in mind it’s most likely not from the strike team traveling because they mostly used the filtration system to get through/travel. He goes with Vi to the fighting ring and when she pushes him away he’s just fine leaving her to travel elsewhere.

-Loris was the first to leave when the Noxus general (Ambessa) took over and began doing their saultes. I think he actually might have ties to the Undercity or had been from that side of the city before going topside to be an officer. I wish we knew what led to him taking said role, because like Steb who shows his compassion by being a medic on top of being an enforcer, Loris as only an enforcer shows it by choosing defensive gear over guns as his main weapon.

-Loris returns only when the Noxus have left/ are realized as the enemy and when he returns he returns with knowledge. It seems he might have fought them before or at least studied them. He teaches the enlisters how to fight the Noxus with a weapon that wasn’t a shield and yet he holds it easily

- In the final episode (9) when he's using the Hextech technology repurposed as a canon, he works well with his team and Vi and I must reiterate its the only time in battle that he does not have a shield, and in the end the last time

When Vi sees Loris dead she sees him with the side of his face that has the blue bead in his hair hanging mutely without light catching it.

And that's his end.

I don’t know, it’s like, I’m missing something.

Maybe the blue is like a powder/jinx reference thing and when Loris dies and “Vander” appears and Jinx chooses to be Powder again (?) it shows that that side of Jinx is dead like how Vander is dead now that his consciousness was killed from the monster/wolf mutant thing. Since Vi saw Loris as Vander/father figure and Loris lost someone who is (PROBABLY) symbolized by the blue bead in his hair.

It's a big fat stretch but I’m grasping at strings here and it shows lol

Hope I helped :D

#arcane #loris arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #arcane speculation #arcane thoughts

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peachjagiya · 6 months ago

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Are You Sure?

Episodes 1 and 2 thoughts

I've had a chance to watch them properly now.

My main takeaway is absolute bafflement at the characterisation in that weird W article?! It's not even that they misinterpreted the show, it's almost like they didn't even watch it? JK is his sweet and soft silly self. Jimin is full big brother.

I have thoroughly and genuinely enjoyed it. I must confess, in the first episode they do seem awkward with contrasting energies. As they say, they haven't met up and I think it does feel like it for almost all of first ep. So I was worried how I'd handle 8 hours of that considering I get severe second hand emotions.

The shift seemed to take place at the meal prep at the camp site. I guess this is terra firma for them, a safe space reminiscent of ITS and the dorms etc.

I don't know if anyone will agree but the phone calls at the table seemed to put a lid on the awkwardness entirely. The switch to super comfortable besties was complete after those. I found that very interesting.

Did you notice the matched energies in the calls too? We've talked about Taekook's call a lot but we can't ignore how natural Jimin's voice was with Yoongi. I'm wondering maybe if they needed those moments with their closest members to put a line in the sand almost? I don't think I mean they were planned and forced as such but getting to be real in that moment must have been like a sigh of relief after such a long time dancing around the truth. Maybe this is delulu but I'd love your thoughts on it.

As for Taekook's call, I am now convinced Tae said something sweet or rude or otherwise disallowed that was muted when he first answered. Mainly because of how he then made clear they were filming. I also think that JK hung up because he was about to get a lecture about the bike and that his texts to Tae were jokingly apologetic like "sorry sorry I like you so much I love you forgive me that was just too funny"

I felt awful for Jimin and his tummy issues. On a BOAT?! And a HIKE? guys what the hell. Let him sleep.

I cannot with JK eating his way through Connecticut. Relatable king. Food is the only thing that will get me out of the house too actually.

I loved their dynamic in the second episode. It made me kind of peak mad at the Jikook ship- actually no. Not at the shipping. At the characterisation that goes with it. Because they're such great brothers, it does a disservice to the best bits of their dynamic to put them into gross alpha-omega dynamic when they're prototypical siblings. It's so enjoyable to watch.

I've gone from wondering why they bothered to thinking it's for the better that they did this. Getting to show what they really are to each other finally actually makes for much more interesting TV than I thought.

In conclusion: never seen a better representation of my ADHD than going for a sponge but getting distracted by guacamole.

💜💜💜 let's hope next week doesn't absolutely destroy it with editing nonsense 😂

#are you sure

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on-a-lucky-tide · 3 months ago

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Hi hi hi I just ran into you and NikPrice and it makes me!!! wild!!!

You mentioned your hc for Price and I was wondering if there’s a place to read it? The little snippets you’ve offered have made me curious

More wild for Nikprice! Woop!

So, my headcanon is pretty heavy. It's part of the long work I'm writing called 'Skin and Bones'. It's a working title, and it's about John working through the trauma of his internalised homophobia, and allowing himself to have something good in his life. Accepting the idea that his hands aren't so dirty, he's not so broken and irredeemable, that he doesn't deserve a shot at happiness.

A lot of the short fics I write are exercising specific headcanons or characterisations or responses to see if I like them, to see if they work, for the long fic.

I'm writing the scene at the moment where he drives Nik away, says some really fucking cruel things, because he's scared, and frustrated, and angry. And Nik's heart kinda shatters... It's hard to write, and I'm getting through it because I know what the ending is.

The first few chapters are time jumps, and then there's meeting and getting to know Nikolai, falling in love with him, and then shoving that shit right down because Price isn't allowed it.

Anyway, uh... The start of the fic? To be honest, I might end up separating the early parts into its own prequel if it gets long enough. Smashing out 100k novellas on shit I'm obsessed with appears to be a pattern, and I put way, way too much of myself into these things but here we go.

cw: homophobia, evidence of physical abuse of a child, conversation about religion-based conversion therapy.

Liverpool, UK, 9th July 1999, 1800hrs

John watched the water droplets as they fell from his hair onto his school trousers, his face never lifting as voices rose and fell around him. Drip, drip. The dark spots that spread through the grey polyester on his lap formed an irregular pattern that he traced as his mind whirred mutely, numb.

“It's a sickness of the mind, it can be cured,” the vicar said, his hands clutching a brimmed mug of tea that read ‘No 1 Mum’ in a six year olds wonky handwriting. John’s little sister, the artist of the piece, played happily with her Barbie dolls in the corner of the room. She was none the wiser as to what had happened upstairs less than an hour before in her leftover bath water. John was glad. It was better that way.

“What…” John's mother started, but hesitated, like she was making sure she really wanted what she was asking for next, “what do we need to do?” She couldn't take her eyes off John. She hadn't since he'd entered the room, like she was worried he might mince off to find that boy again should her attention waver. In the car on the drive home, she had been hysterical, her hands white knuckled on the steering wheel - “ungrateful boy, all we’ve done for you, how could you do this to us? What will your gran say? Oh, her poor heart, you just wait til your father gets home” - each word like a knife through his chest. Her voice shook in the place of her hands now, which were tightly clasped in her lap. John wasn't sure what was worse; her look, or his father’s disregard.

David Price hadn't looked at him once since the bathroom. Not even a glance. John didn't need to see his face to know what he was thinking though. He had felt that just fine in the hand that had fisted his hair as it had pushed his head under the water and then the second that had backhanded him so hard across the jaw his vision had spun. His father had never hit him before. Maybe a slipper and a clip round the ear’ole when he was younger. But not like that. John knew even then that it had knocked something loose in him, that he would never be the same.

David stared through the net curtains into the street outside, his shoulders squared, his back as straight as if he stood on a parade square. He had invalided out, but there were some habits that never left. His back stood as a barricade between himself and the disappointment of a son hunched on the sofa behind him.

Drip, drip.

“School finishes in two weeks. There are programmes… youth camps that John can attend to help him… heal.” The vicar sipped his tea with a loud slurp. Milk, three sugars. John had made it for him. He sounded strange, John thought. He wasn't from Liverpool, but somewhere down south. Way south. Like Kent maybe. He was too proper. That's probably why his parents had called him in. Posh people, people with money and education, they knew things, had connections. They could fix John.

John felt insignificantly small and he gathered his hands into his lap. He was broken and the posh vicar would fix him for his parents.

A camp didn't sound so bad; it would be like the cadet camps he went on. Mud, climbing, running, stories around the campfire and whispered conversations in sleeping bags while the NCOs supervising them had a beer. John could do that if it made his family happy. He could make this right.

The drips were slowing down.

“These camps,” his father didn't look away from the window as he spoke in a slow, deliberate way, “they’ll be disciplined, strict? None of this… namby-pamby shit.”

John’s mother frowned. “David! Language.”

“They're highly ordered. Every hour of the day is occupied with activities. I assure you. It's not a quick fix though. It may take years, regular visits with a therapist, to rid John of this addiction. There is an expense, of course…”

'We head to Springfield now here on BBC2 as Homer tries his hand at some vigilante justice.' John looked up at the TV and watched the stylised number two flicker and bounce, before it cut to the intro sequence. It sounded distant, like he was listening through a wall and trying to catch the words. His sister dumped her dolls and grabbed her juice box. “Bart!”

“Doesn't matter,” David said, finally leaving the window. Every muscle in John’s wiry, fourteen year old frame seized. The world came flooding back in and then narrowed in on the huge, rough hand that grabbed his chin. “No son o’ mine’ll end up a fag. We’ll get you fixed up, Johno. No cost spared. Whatever this is, wherever this has come from, we’ll get it gone. Even if I ‘ave t’ beat it out of you meself.”

“Yessir,” John replied, his voice small and strangled in the back of his throat. His chest felt tight, his eyes prickled. He knew if he cried his father would be disgusted, and so he swallowed the tears. He could fix this. He would fix this. He could be better: the best. Whatever it took.

#skin and bones #i think i posted this before somewhere?#captain john price

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wangxianficfinder · 1 year ago

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In the mood for...

~*~

1. Hiii~ hope you all are well!! for ITMF, do you know of any fics where lwj or wwx is chubby/fat? and maybe some body worship of their fatness?

check out the chubby!Wei ying tag!

Do Not Eat More Than Three Bowls by GalliumYttriumArsenicFluorine (E, 6k, LWJ & WWX & OCs, Belly Kink, Weight Gain, Stuffing, belly stuffing, Feeding Kink, Feeder LWJ, Feeder WWX, Feedee LWJ, Feedee WWX, fat appreciation, pudge love, Body Worship, Body Image, Body Positivity, Consensual Kink, Verbal Humiliation, Humiliation kink, POV Alternating, Feedism, unintentional weight gain, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Chubby LWJ, Chubby WWX, Light Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Switch wangxian, WIP)

🔒 in your hands by everythingispoetry (T, 11k, wangxian, modern, Fluff, chubby LWJ, Weight Gain, Body Image, Body Positivity, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Secret Marriage)

Cessation by devinokaze (T, 6k, wangxian, canon divergence, YLLZ WWX, fluff, LXC pov) mentioned slightly in regards to LWJ

🔒 everything’s going to be discovered by everythingispoetry (M, 98k, wangxian, F/F, modern cultivation, reunions, soft wangxian, family feels, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, disability) this is a pretty heavy cisswap fic involving disabling injury, so be mindful of that but it does feature chubby lwj and a positive attitude toward that from the important people.

~*~

2. Hello! ITMF mute!Wei Wuxian? Preferably canon era. Thank you!

you're the right time (at the right moment) by carmiemaybe (glazedlilies) (G, 1k, wangxian, Modern, Post-War, Soldier LWJ, mute WWX, Historical, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Feels, Crush at First Sight, Pining, Short & Sweet, Romance)

The Untamed Retelling by DCandMARVELnerd (T, 86K, WIP, WangXian, Chronic Pain, Chronic Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Abuse, Retelling, Canon Rewrite, Friends to Lovers, Romantic Friendship, Developing Friendships, Love, Fluff, Angst and Feels, Selectively Mute WWX)

Muted by Akabara_13 (T, 46k, WIP, WangXian, Muteness, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Angst, For Want of a Nail)

~*~

3. Itmf fics where lxc (or another character, just not people who already knew about truth of bm etc) become aware of the dangerous lying politics that lead to wwx demise (untamed verse) as its happening. And it's like a political intrigue. Like I know there are some 'x-person goes to the burial mounds and sees the truth', but what about fics where people find out because of a dif reason?

ask until your heart gets it right by Stratisphyre (G, 6k, XuanLi, Implied XiYao, Background WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Unreliable Narrator JZX, Minor surprise pairing at the end, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies) not sure it quite fits, but here's a (great!) fic where JXZ wins JGY's loyalty and the latter kinda spills the beans on the Qiongqi Path stuff. It doesn't get into the politics that much though.

~*~

4. I'm in a mood to know what you all are reading right now :D

backfire by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 53k, wangxian, LWJ/MXY, one-sided MXY/WWX, MXYY/NMJ, modern, BDSM AU, Biologically Determined Dom/sub Roles, BDSM, Bad BDSM etiquette, Sadism, Masochism, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Self-Harm, BDSM as a Form of Self-Harm, Minor Character Death(s), Arson, Shades of Black Widow WWX, Extremely Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Normalized Homosexuality and Bisexuality, Normalized Polyamory, Nonsexual BDSM, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Pining WWX, Jealous WWX, Touch-Starved WWX, Professional Dominant WWX, Sex Worker WWX, Gentle Dom LWJ, Mean Dom LWJ, Oblivious LWJ, Past WC/WWX, Minor JGY/WWX, Mentioned WWX/Others, Emotional Infidelity, Angst with a Happy Ending, Endgame Wangxian, MXY Also Gets a Happy Ending, the tags are scary but i promise there's some lightheartedness too, wangxian love one another so much, WWX is healed by the power of nonsexual bdsm and friendship, and then gets bdsm'd quite sexually and happily by the love of his life, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, WIP) currently reading backfire over one squidgeworld!

🔒🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex) Rereading this!

~*~

5. Itmf what is ur fav unexpected combo yet coolest crossover or fusion fic that you've read? Bonus points if it's not crossed with another MXTX work. I once read a rise of the guardian fusion that was very neat. Esp the begining.

🔒 and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They’re Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🔒 some lovely, perilous thing by varnes (E, 24k, WangXian, Inception Fusion, Criminal Associates To Lovers, Heist Case Fic)

Wei Wuxian Makes a Wish series by natcat5 (M, 119k, wangxian, major character death, underage, madoka magica au, modern w/ magic, time travel, high school au, body horror, self-harm, angst w/ bittersweet ending, time loop, mental instability, suicidal thoughts) have not stopped thinking about this fic since I read it

If also love to see that rise of the guardians fic 👀👀👀

Castle in the Wastes by ailuridae (abigailnicole) (T, 41k, wangxian, Howl’s Moving Castle fusion, personified Chenqing, canon typical violence)

Diplomatic Incidents by Ariaste (M, 35k, WangXian, IB/DP, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Getting Together, Linguistics, Translation Spells, canon-typical borderline alcoholism, Fluff, a touch of angst for spice, being in love but not admitting you want to sleep together, Versus, sleeping together but not admitting you’re in love, Post-Canon, post-canon for MDZS anyway, during-canon for DAI)

Wei Wuxian is the Actual Bogeyman (no, really) by chatonnerie (T, 57k, WangXian, Rise of the Guardians AU, Crack, not gonna lie, i mean they literally call wwx the bogeyman my poor brain could not resist, TW:Death, I mean, Jack Frost cannonically dies)

🔒 Come by it Honestly by ladyshadowdrake (M, 25k, Geraskier, WangXian, The Witcher Crossover, Crossover, Adventure)

🔒Light Bearing Lord and The Patriarch by Anonymous (G, 3k, WangXian, Rise of the Guardians Crossover, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Relationship Reveal, Established Relationship, kind of crack, Crack Treated Seriously, WWX and LWJ are Guardians, but not just of Childhood, Implied Sexual Content, WWX and LWJ being Shameless)

🧡 Of Ghosts and Heroes by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 51k, AS & WWX, AS/YH, WangXian, BNHA/MHA Crossover, Dimension Travel, POV Outsider, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Angst)

❤️ More Questions than Answers by tiniestawoo (T, 2k, Sterek, WangXian, Teen Wolf Crossover, Curses, Curse Breaking, Modern with Magic, (alternate for CQL I GUESS?), Full Shift Werewolves, Beta DH, Demonic Cultivation, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack Crossover)

The Return Of the (Yiling) Sith by Zephyr (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 23k, WangXian, SongXiao, Star Wars Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Alternating, The Force, Kidnapping, Pining, IN SPACE!) (Link in #7)

mountains, we met by fruitys (E, 79k, WangXian, Historical, The Handmaiden (2016) Fusion, Enemies to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Secret Identity, Touch-Starved, Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, falling for the person you’re supposed to be swindling: the love story, getting revenge on the people who manipulated you: the saga, and some cws……., Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Blow Jobs, Rimming)

A Long Road by Vathara (T, 187k, WangXian, Fluff and Angst, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Scheming NHS, Necromancy, Fire, Ghosts, Accidental Child Acquisition, is it an accident if the ghosts keep bringing them?) a Heralds of Valdemar fusion! Caveat that it's necessarily butchered MDZS canon to fit into the Valdemar fantasy series, but it works.

~*~

6. Are there fics where Madam Yu just really gets told off for how she treats people, though especially Wei Ying? I'd especially love to see Lan Zhan do it. Thanks!! @eebee

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, with a lil twist, Eventual Happy Ending, lesbian wq rights, Music, Orchestra, platonic and romantic pining) it's pretty small part (but w big impact) near the end but it's there

~*~

7. Hii ! For this time's itmf , I'm looking for a fic with a concept of there being a 'chosen one'

Kinda similar to this fic "So You Accidentally Kidnapped A Qilin by Mikkeneko" . It can be alternative universe or Canon , thank you♡ @karinasnowwwx

~*~

8. itmf a well-written role reversal fic where lan wangji dies instead of wei wuxian/ jiang yanli. Basically lan wangji dies, and the fallout

If I Could Go Back in Time by Runningbarefoot (M, 122k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Role Reversal, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, YLLZ WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, The Twin Jade Brotherhood, Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Slow Burn)

~*~

9. Are there any fics in which wangxian fight/quarrel a lot?

~*~

10. itmf lwj being roofied @jawla-mukhi

To keep you safe by Lookeri (T, 3k, wangxian, rape/non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective WWX, Drunk LWJ, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, No War AU, Hurt LWJ, WIP) Only one chapter posted so far though

The Lines of your Soul by athena_crikey (M, 24k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, rape/non-con, Modern with Magic, photographic cultivation, sects as fucked up as ever, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, for blackmail purposes, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, stigma/judgement, Trauma, Emotional Whump, hurt/comfort, Yu-furen back on her bullshit, politics over people, WWX will always have a traumatic past, Panic Attacks, everyone! needs! THERAPY!)

~*~

11. Hello! I was wondering if anybody knows a fic where LWJ and LXC have to switch places (the concept was mentioned in another fic I've read and I'd love to see what them attempting to act like the other could look like)

Two-Faced by nirejseki (Not Rated, 2k, LXC & NHS, LXC & JGY, Mistaken Identity, early reveal) probably not exactly what you're looking for but maybe worth a look. LXC pretends to be his brother as ?a prank? and it goes disastrously off the rails

~*~

12. Hello! I'm in the mood for a wangxian fic that focuses on Lan Wangji's grief after Wei Wuxian's death and then his feelings throughout their reunion

hold me close by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (E, 13k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Sex, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, tender husbands being tender, 13 years of grieving followed by a life time of healing from it, Do you ever think about how lwj spent 13 years thinking he’d never get this, and then he gets it and how hard that must be to accept, because how could it be real how can he prove to himself, that it’s not all just another dream waiting to shatter is he being cruel to wy, for not believing it some days?, no? just me?, Character Study, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Working Through Grief With Sex, Grieving Your Husband While Fucking Him)

New Perspective Series by mrcformoso (T, 35k, WangXian, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Fatherhood, Regrets, Flashbacks, POV LWJ, LWJ-centric, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Pining LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Needs a Hug, Character Development, Dead WWX, Introspection, LWJ is Bad at Feelings, Character Study, Regretful, LWJ Breaking Toxic Cycles, Canon Compliant, LWJ in Seclusion, Post-LWJ in Seclusion, Child LSZ)

~*~

13. hii, thank u for doing imtfs, can I get some fics which deal w additcion?? thanks @mercurygirlwt28

Say More by lettered (E, 95k, wangxian, LWJ/MXY, modern, Pining, Slow Burn, non-graphic drug use, non-graphic withdrawal, Drug Addiction, one suicidal thought, negative thought, wwx struggles with Mandarin and feeling connected to Chinese culture, Compulsory Heterosexuality, wwx kisses a girl, Sexuality Crisis, Gay Panic, some gender confusion and questions without serious gender questioning, incorrect definition of omnisexuality, Open Relationships, Masochistic Fantasies, non-graphic sadomascochistic realities, humiliation fantasies, Submission Fantasies, some D/s realities, one condomless blowjob, suggestions of some unhealthy co-dependence, Possessive Behavior, Slight Consensual Non-Consent, Frottage, the open relationship is not wangxian)

something so flawed and free by verseau (E, 59k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Graduate School, Dom/sub, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Non-Sexual Submission, Kink Negotiation, Biting, Overstimulation, Cock Warming, Consensual Non-Consent, Spanking)

Lifelong Confidant by saved (E, 42k, wangxian, modern, Fluff and Angst, Past Character Death, Families of Choice, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Oblivious WWX, playing fast and loose with basic real life things, references to past alcoholism/substance abuse, Alcohol)

Cloud Nine Series by mssdare (E, 86k, WangXian, Modern AU, YouTube, Depression, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Substance Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Mental Breakdown, Suicidal Thoughts, ASMR, youtuber LWJ, youtuber WWX, Social Media, Getting Together, getting better, Happy Ending, Intercrural Sex, Shower Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, Videoblogging, Sexual Dysfunction, Erectile Dysfunction, Medication, Touching, Anal Sex, Domestic Bliss, Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, side effects of medication, Slow Pace)

🔒 watching my heart go round by typefortydeductions (E, 77k, wangxian, modern, developing relationship, grief/mourning, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, implied/referenced suicide, mental health issues, past alcoholism, dom/sub, BDSM, impact play, consensual non-con, dirty talk, objectification kink, dom LWJ, sub WWX, building a family, the work of getting better, sex in SSRIs, happy ending, breathplay, rimming, orgasm denial, safe word use)

The Life and Times of a Rock Star in Crisis by Hammsters (M, 62k, wangxian, Celebrity au, Modern, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Rehabilitation, Dysfunctional Family, Memories, Fluff and Angst, Rock Star WWX, Librarian LWJ, Libraries, Social Media, Paparazzi, WWX has earned his highly publicized mental breakdown, he worked hard for it, Grief/Mourning, Mental Instability, JC being a good brother)

~*~

14. heyyy thanks for all your hard work! itmf any fics that involve lwj being jealous. :) @aquiver-heart

The Epic Lie of the Yiling Laozu and His Wife by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 9k, WangXian, XianQing, NieYao, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Misunderstandings, Lies, Jealousy, A really tiny bit of jealous LWJ and JC, Assisted reproduction (mentions of insemination with talismans and other things), Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied Mpreg, yiling wei, WWX Has a New Golden Core, More like a red core, BAMF WWX, Canon Divergence, dialogue heavy in some parts, A little angst, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian)

~*~

15. hello again! thank you for your most recent itmf post. i’ve been thoroughly spoiled with amazing fics.

i’ve been reading 🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark for the first time and seeing nie huaisang and wei wuxian’s friendship has inspired me to return to ask for more. the nie clan’s secret cultivation techniques always make me think of how invaluable wei wuxian’s knowledge or help could be to them if only a certain order events happened during canon. so, i was wondering if there were any canon divergent wangxian fics out there that specifically touch on nie huaisang and wei wuxian’s mutually beneficial friendship? preferably pre-nightless city fall/burial mounds raid? anything will do but i really enjoy seeing nie huaisang’s genius completely f*** over jin guangyao specifically. (although jin guanshan, su she, jin zixun, or xue yang downfalls are also lovely to see as well.) thank you in advance ♥️

no one ever said the single-plank bridge had to be walked alone by rosemu (T, 124k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect au, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Fluff, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Slow Burn, LWJ and WWX get to be Dads together, the healing power of homoerotic flute/guqin duets, Happy Ending) NHS helps out the Burial Mounds settlement & absolutely destroys JGY

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence) Has WWX dropping in on NHS & helping NMJ with the Nie Clan's cultivation issues

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16. Hiiiiiii 👋, Firstly, I love this blog so much - it's really amazing. For the next itmf blog, i was wondering if there are any fics where:

A] Wwx is overprotective of lwj and possessive. It can be in a dark wwx vibe but more so like just normal wwx being so defensive and concerned about lwj in front of others.

B] Some royalty au where wx is in an arranged marriage and wwx is smitten

C] any fics where wwx did something wrong and has to work hard to get lwj back (they dont have to break up/ separate- maybe he just has to work to get back in lwj's good graces)

- please let all have happy endings with wx as the main couple

Thaaaank you💕

~*~

17. Hey, guys! For ITMF, are there fics where WWX has to rebuild his spice tolerance in MXY's body? I refuse to believe that they both have the same tolerance when WWX likes his food saturated to a point that other spice-enjoyers think is a bit much & MXY barely got food at all. (Bonus if he now finds Lan food tasty & is just So Offended about that. Extra bonus if his alcohol tolerance is gone too.) @thispatternismine

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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nomsfaultau · 7 months ago

Note

Daily ask №27!

Turn the lights off x Fault edition because why not!

For context TTLO is my unpublished fic that I'm working on. The main plot is that Tommy accidentally gets into the cryptid world where he meets new friends and uncovers the truth about his past.

1. In TTLO cryptids are people who have died in some unusual way and then stayed in the community's memory as folklore, cautionary tales, etc. After some emotions and belief are poured into them, they reappear as monsters aka cryptids. That could include anything from vampires to sirens to a girl who cut their head open on a rock and emerged as some mushroom monstrosity. Now that that's out of the way, what sort of cryptids would Fault characters be, if they were one?

2. What sort of a cryptid would YOU be? On that note, I might've made you canon in TTLO for the funsies. You're a mute author who lived in the main town quite some years ago, but one time the town's connection to the other towns got temporarily cut off for whatever reason and with that, a paper and ink shortage happened. You, due to not being able to express your stories and ideas, went completely mad and wrote all over your walls with blood. And died shortly. Now you're chilling in the cryptid world. Thoughts?

3. Do you have any fic ideas that you really enjoy but don't even try to fulfil because you know you won't be able to? Share 'em!

4. How would YOU like to mess up my story if you got the chance to enter it? Yk how I interact with the Fault characters but in reverse. Go on, cause chaos.

5. Would you actually be interested in me ranting about TTLO? Not in asks, of course, just in general? °👉👈°

Philza.

There’s an old man who lives at the edge of town. Been there far longer than you or me, and some say our grandparents could claim the same, and so could theirs. His smile is meltingly warm, but something ain’t right. Might be the look in his eyes, distant, like he’s lookin at a memory instead of you. Might be the crows that always circle over head, like they know he’s already decomposing. The old man’s nice enough folk if you ever talk, but don’t ever linger too long. Not that you’ll run out of welcome; it’s the opposite you best be worrying about with that one. Every few years a kid gets too curious, gets taken underwing by the old man. He collects the oddballs, the ones who don’t quite fit in. Always young, always someone who won’t be missed. The kids who go to him look happier but…only for a little while. Hard to smile when you’re gone. Anderson was the most recent, good head on that one. He is going big places one of these days. Or was. Now his only destination is 6 feet under. And the old man? Well. There’s a young man who lives at the edge of town. Been there far longer than you or me, and some say our grandparents could claim the same, and so could theirs.

Wilbur.

Nobody looks the homeless in the eyes. Fingers drumming on dashboards, pinned on stoplights and passengers and mirrors and anywhere but the man on the street corner whistling for loose coins. Nobody looks the homeless in the eyes, and so no one sees when the winter hollows them out to something hopeless. No one sees when starvation claws out everything inside until all that’s left is hunger, hunger, hunger. No one sees when life leaves those eyes. No one sees. Today there was a new stranger in town. It doesn’t draw more than glances despite being a head taller than the crowd. No one can bear to look the new stranger in the eyes. Maybe he doesn’t have any. But the town does notice when people begin to go missing, if only because these ones were important enough for their deaths to matter. The new stranger doesn’t beg like the others do. He doesn’t need to. The new stranger whistles a jaunty tune as it drifts in and out of so-called society, its lips stained with blood.

The Blade.

A good soldier never falters, never loses, never ceases. They say he was the best soldier, once. The war was a brutal one, long and cruel. Maybe there was honor in it, maybe there wasn’t. It doesn’t matter so much when there’s an enemy before you and a threat to your life. It matters even less when you’re losing. The fort was over run, the flag long since ripped down. His fellow warriors bled out in messy, unremarkable ways. Sudden, with no time to mourn or care, as if they weren’t his brothers in arms. The invading army was taking prisoners if you lay down your weapons and accepted indignity. Not for a second did he consider surrender, though there wasn’t a hope of surviving when outnumbered twenty to one. But a good soldier never falters. They say he was the best soldier, once. He did not hesitate, throwing himself at the next foe, and the next, fighting tooth and nail. One man can’t take on an army, but he tried. The soldier fought day and night. It was not an enemy that laid him low but the collapsing of his own exhausted body. Sleep claimed him once and for all. But a good soldier never loses. They say he was the best soldier, once. So he simply picked himself back up and continued until panting and soaked in viscera he alone stood in the husk of the ravaged fortress. And yet, he had not yet won. A soldier’s duty does not end with one battle. One man can’t take on a war, but he did. The soldier hunted down every last opponent, a wave of slaughter shredding through battalions until the brutal was over. But what is a soldier during peace? Nothing. Relentlessly, the soldier continues to wage war upon any and all he encounters, prowling the wilderness and waiting for the next fight. Because a good soldier never ceases. They say he was the best soldier, once. They don’t say what he is now.

Tubbo.

You hear about Rhodes’ kid? Shame. Damn shame. Such a sweet kid, friendly. Too friendly. Got drawn in like a moth to flame with those- well, I mean cult’s strong language and I don’t want to tread on toes with whose god is right, but…mm. Bad sorts. Sweet as honey, sure, but I had a feeling in my gut it was going to break bad when the kid started hanging around at their church meetings. Should’ve opened my mouth, but you know how desperate they were for friends. You remember the news article, right? How many pieces did they find the kid in again? Somethin like four hundred thousand? Huh. Well all I’ll say -and you don’t tell Rhodes this yah hear? He don’t need no more heart break. But I don’t see how the cops figured out it was them. And- and you really can’t repeat I said this- but I could’ve sworn I saw his kid today, handing out fliers for that cult like they weren’t all arrested years ago. Hey! I know they’re dead! And yet…well. Couldn’t’ve been anyone else. Maybe it’s nothing, Mrs. Fletcher, but I saw Jasmine talkin to them, and- and has she come back from school yet? …oh. Maybe we should round up the search party. Better safe than sorry.

Tommy.

They had to chain the door to the water tower, though it’s far too late. Not that anybody lives in the surrounding town anymore despite all the new vacancies; they say the tap still tastes of iron. The chain is bulky and intimidating, but everyone knows it was locked before too and it didn’t save anyone. If anything it makes it a challenge, and all the threatening signs they put up after would only tempt more dares from reckless teens if the town still had those. It had to have been a dare gone wrong. Had to be. Because otherwise that meant there was someone in town who’d drag a teenager all the way up a water tower just to drown him, and nobody could handle the thought. The faucets ran red for weeks after. The health officials swore up and down it was safe despite the color. Maybe they were right. Maybe what happened after had nothing at all to do with the dead kid, but nobody really believes that. Because even if no one held that kid down thrashing and gurgling, surely there was someone to blame. Everyone, maybe. The friends who pressured him to climb up, the parents who didn’t enforce curfew, the maintenance worker who forgot to lock the facility. Each dragged out, their every flaw magnified and contorted into something intolerable. The lucky were ran out of town mottled with bruises. The justice didn’t stop there, of course. Onto the bully who must’ve driven the teen to it, the neighbor who could’ve warned the parents when he snuck out of the house, the passerby who might’ve seen them crossing the street. Fewer and fewer survived the trials, the fingers pointed at one another quick to turn into claws. It spiraled out into uncontrolled accusations, mobs descending upon any and all and soon unraveling into pure anarchy. The town ripped itself apart. Literally, viscerally. The rivers ran scarlet with their blood, staining the banks and their hands. It couldn't be helped. The town had developed a taste for blood.

brooo your world building is so sickkkkk ahhh.

2.Yeah that’s probably how I go out tbh. I’d not be functional without the ability to write or draw. Hope someone at least copied down the bloody words otherwise that was waste of time smh. Some people just don’t appreciate the fact that the ~5 liters of blood the average person has doesn’t actually go that far.

And God already assigned me vampire for my monstersona. But a couple years ago I had a dream about a fallen angel who was deeply in denial about it. They were a thick ring of white feathers and periodic wings covered in golden eyes that wept as they were forced to confront the fact that the human world was soon to be invaded by demons, and the forces of hell would be slaughtered. So like ideal bod am I right gamers.

3.Not a fic, but a game. Multiple endings. Had it before SBI, but more vague notions in the years I’ve had it. Starts with Phil moving into a new house. Some clear trauma hidden, world building set up. Then teen hero Tommy stumbles into his house suffering a concussion, thinking it’s his house. Real bad off. Phil helps him out natch, ends up with a bleeding kid asleep on his couch and is just trying to cope with that. When Tommy gets better he’s freaked out and defensive and runs away immediately. But also…now he knows someone who can do stitches. And so the next time is weeks later and he’s dragging in a hissing and panicking fellow teen hero, who is far less okay with a civilian knowing they’re hurt and possibly learning their identity. Cue Phil beginning to run into more and more teen heroes and slowly earning their trust. It’s mostly about picking the right dialogue to build up rapport, though with some minigames for things like giving the kids medical aid, getting them the right presents that are helpful for either vigilante or civilian life, and making tasty food to fill their scrappy bodies and win them over. It is very, very difficult though.

Cause like. The reason they’re all kids is because heroes kinda don’t last long enough to become adults? It’s a very gritty setting, focusing on the factors that drive kids of all different backgrounds into becoming heroes and the poor ways they cope with the pressure. With Tommy it’s like a sanctioned way to get out his anger issues and receive adoration. Techno’s dead parents were villains so he feels like he has to prove he isn’t like them bc of societal pressure. Probably in foster care, so it’ll be time consuming to try and adopt him. Tubbo was meant to be a sidekick but got shoved into the role, technically with the support of a hero agency but there’s way too much pressure to fill an adult role. It’s a toxic situation, but Tubbo is convinced he has to do this to save everyone (but himself) and the heroes have enough power to make things very difficult for Phil if he tries to help Tubbo too much. Niki is absolutely seething about the state of things, and is honestly more a vigilante because she refuses to sit back on corrupt ‘good guy’ practices. She’s homeless, but wary of any authority figures so has to warm up to consider crashing at Phil’s. Stuff like that idk its very nebulous and I’m kinda making stuff up rn. Thoughts about abusive parents, or parents that force into the good hero role in a perfectionist way (Ranboo maybe?), maybe a kid starting villainy? It’s a very extended cast thing.

Some are way more trusting, others have bad experiences with adults, others think Phil is a civilian and so needs to shut up and be protected. Bonding scenes like helping protect a secret identity, or distracting a villain in a fight, or patching up wounds, or baking to keep up with superhero metabolisms, or giving life advice (be it for prom date or nemesis). Phil is running around herding cats and lots of the time supporting one means others might not stay safe. Also Phil in the past got like ptsd from a villain attack and so has to deal with his own problems, idk details. And also finds out his corporate job is helping the BBEG uh oh. Phil probably get kidnapped to draw out all the heroes to save him. Or, well, the ones with negative relationships are unlikely to help, making it harder for the rest to succeed.

The endings come into play considering how many kids you’ve managed to take care of/win the trust of/get to safer situations. Some are far far harder to convince to trust Phil, or may be down but Phil’s ability to help may be limited. Essentially, the higher the relationship bars are with everyone the better the ending. Neutral or negative relationships lead to stuff like injuries or deaths, though not necessarily related to the kid with the low stats always. Cause obviously you’d care more about the kids that you went through the effort of getting their routes right. So it could be like a teammate failed to help, or they weren’t able to cohesively function as a group, or Phil hadn’t knocked in enough sense to stop being self sacrificial/more invested in taking the villain down than making sure no one’s hurt, or the kid that could’ve dragged the injured one to get healed by Phil didn’t trust him and the injured hero died without medical intervention. With better endings being very difficult since a lot of the kids have conflicting needs and you’d have to play like perfectly to get even good stats with everyone (impossible to max out everyone). But that leads to things like no one getting hurt, and progressing to getting kids with the highest stats into safer lives thereafter and more support for others.

4.I don’t know too much, but based on the world building I would try to disrupt all the folklore that the characters survive off of. Make like a youtube/podcast debunking all the myths, get hella famous, and do everything I can to disrupt the word of mouth belief that the cryptids rely on. In the human world I'm hailed as fighting disinformation. In the cryptid world I'm like thanos probably.

5.I am SO DOWN oh my God yes please.

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 10 months ago

Text

🎵 The Insulindian Miracle

BACKYARD WALL - Just an ordinary wall. Nothing to see here.

[Conceptualization - Impossible 18] Why am I looking at this wall?

+2 In the dimming light, some things become clearer. +1 You have a keen aesthetic sensibility. +2 Cindy's artistic impulses are infectious. +1 Dresscode: Pseudo-SKULL.

This is the most bonuses we can get on this check.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Impossible: Success] - Because -- you see it, finally -- this wall is *sublime*! LOOK AT IT! The shadows, the colours...

(Let the conceptual joy flow into your pupils and blossom into thoughts in your brain.)

CONCEPTUALIZATION - All the other walls on all the other houses must make a pilgrimage in adoration of this, the uncontested pinnacle of wall-craft. Colour peeled from the very face of god.

More!

CONCEPTUALIZATION - O WALLFATHER!

+1 Morale

"Kim! I *must* paint this wall, add even MORE beauty to it."

No. There is nothing to add to perfection. (Back off.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Huh?"

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - He sounds tired of it all.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - You already have the heavy fuel oil to use as paint -- it's red! -- and Cindy the SKULL has a paintbrush. This is on.

"First, I know you're tired, Kim, but take another look at this wall. Draw *nourishment* from its beauty."

"I already have the paint. Just need to get a paintbrush from Cindy the SKULL."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Mhm, sure." The lieutenant looks up at the wall reluctantly, then back at you.

"I already have the paint. Just need to get a paintbrush from Cindy the SKULL."

KIM KITSURAGI - He sighs, then adds in a resigned tone: "If you must."

New task: Add even more beauty to the wall

[Leave.]

Hey, Cindy?

CINDY THE SKULL - "Hello again, officers. Have you come to admire my mural?"

6. "Cindy, I'm going to need your paintbrush.""

CINDY THE SKULL - "What for?"

"I'm doing renovation. It's boring, but necessary."

"For my motor carriage. We're going undercover."

"The apocalypse is coming. I need to warn people."

"For art. It's for art, okay?"

CINDY THE SKULL - "But boring. You're not using my lovely brush to spread boredom."

2. "For my motor carriage. We're going undercover."

CINDY THE SKULL - "I ain't helping no pigs fool honest, upstanding citizens. I'm not an *antisocial element*."

3. "The apocalypse is coming. I need to warn people."

+1 Apocalypse Cop

CINDY THE SKULL - "What do you think I'm trying to paint here -- a mural for a better tomorrow? Why do you really need it?"

4. "For art. It's for art, okay?"

CINDY THE SKULL - "Well, if it's for *art*... But..." Her eyes narrow to slits. "What kind of art are we talking about?"

"To be honest, I haven't really thought of anything yet… But I'm sure I will."

"Everything is sad and shit and we need art to make it okay. Just give me the brush."

"*Grand* art. Art DeLuxe. The artsy-est, the most ground breaking, the..."

+1 Sorry Cop

CINDY THE SKULL - "Sounds like you're just about to live out your self pity, not make a statement. I can't have shit art on my conscience."

"Cool. No brush then. Not a problem."

"You'll see. You will *all* see and tremble."

"To crush a man's dreams like that… I hope you're happy."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Yeah... Not gonna hold my breath, piggy. You look like you'd suck. At... everything really," she quickly adds.

This check has a -2 *penalty* for the SKULL-fit. Better change.

HALF LIGHT- Tremble. THE TIME IS NOW. τὰ ὅλα.

What time?

Yeah... I don't think the time is *now*. Later maybe. [Leave.]

HALF LIGHT- Time for THE SHOW. For τὰ ὅλα. The hallowed time of fear and disintegration. A countdown has begun. All will collapse on itself. The world will disappear into a single grain of blackness. All sound will be muted. All life will scream.

What time?

τὰ ὅλα? What's that?

Wait, wait -- when did this *countdown* begin?

This is because of the insane world-ending I've been saying isn't it? (Proceed.)

Yeah... I don't think the time is *now*. Later maybe. [Leave.]

HALF LIGHT- οῦ λόγου δ' ἐόντος ξυνοῦ ζώουσιν οἱ πολλοὶ ὡς ἰδίαν ἔχοντες φρόνησιν.

3. Wait, wait -- when did this *countdown* begin?

HALF LIGHT- Monday morning. The moment you arrived in this reality. You are the first crack in the sheer face of god. From you it will spread.

5. Yeah... I don't think the time is *now*. Later maybe. [Leave.]

HALF LIGHT - No. You cannot *leave*. The countdown has not yet reached XERO.

4. This is because of the insane world-ending I've been saying isn't it? (Proceed.)

HALF LIGHT - Yes. You spoke the words of the παλίντροπος, and the houses of Perikarnassis. Items, people, even WORDS will tumble, all will lose its meaning in the coming years. That is why you marked yourself.

Am I sure it's not just a joke, or some kind of coping mechanism?

I'm... a little afraid.

I *do* think the world might end soon. (Opt in.)

Uhm… yeah, I'm going to opt out of the 'παλίντροπος' whatever it is. This was a mistake. (Opt out.)

HALF LIGHT - It's *totally* also a coping mechanism.

2. I'm... a little afraid.

HALF LIGHT - So you should be. The world island crumbles at your feet and in the far plain -- παλίντροπος.

VOLITION [Trivial: Success] - Perhaps -- just a thought -- this has something to do with the hangover?

3. I *do* think the world might end soon. (Opt in.)

HALF LIGHT - The face of the woman fractures. There will be herd killing. We all become vapour.

Thought gained: Cop of the Apocalypse

COP OF THE APOCALYPSE

Temporary research bonus: -1 Rhetoric: Rambling madness Research time: 6h 55 m

You woke up in a hotel room and started rambling about the end of the world. It's not your normal everyday doom-crying, either. Something truly colossal is approaching -- the Gloaming. The Culling. The Bloodletting of Unimaginable Proportions. Until now you've been *pleasantly* vague about the precise nature of this cataclysm. No more! Put the Bloodletting on the burner and *really* figure out what's threatening the fragile physical reality you just found yourself in.

6. [Conceptualization - Impossible 18] Attempt to explain your artistic intentions.

+1 You're aware of Cindy's living conditions.

This... still doesn't seem very doable, but I guess there's nothing for it but to try.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Impossible: Failure] - They do say the painter always paints his own portrait.

"I'm going to paint a self-portrait, but sort of, you know, *from the inside*, to show people what it's like."

Man, that's lame...

CONCEPTUALIZATION - No-no. It's great.

"I'm going to paint a self-portrait, but sort of, you know, *from the inside*, to show people what it's like."

CINDY THE SKULL - "That's pretty fucked up, even for you, piggo."

"Stop belittling me, Cindy!"

"What if I add some interpretive dance?"

"Okay, I won't do that. Please just give me some paint and a brush. I need to do some art."

CINDY THE SKULL - "Stop quivering like jello, then you won't get fucked."

-1 Morale

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - But that would mean he *doesn't* say every pathetic thing that pops in his head.

2. "What if I add some interpretive dance?"

CINDY THE SKULL - She looks you up and down. "I think everyone would rather you didn't."

3. "Okay, I won't do that. Please just give me some paint and a brush. I need to do some art."

CINDY THE SKULL - "You're a real sad sack, you know that? Go ahead, then." She drops the paintbrush at your feet. "Art it up. Just try not to hurt yourself. And *no self portraits*."

"Thanks, Cindy." (Pick up the brush.)

Item gained: Cindy's brush

CINDY THE SKULL - "Sure, any time. Us *shit* artists have to help one another." She looks down at the wall and frowns. "Besides, I was out of fuel oil anyway."

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - She only gave it to you because she doesn't see you as competition.

As implied here, Cindy will actually *not* give us the brush if we succeed in impressing her here.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - The right idea is not coming to her. It's excruciating.

You know what you've got in that fuel canister you scavenged from your Kineema? Red-dyed heavy fuel oil. Paint and a brush -- you're ready to do this.

6. "Catch you later, Cindy." [Leave.]

CINDY'S BRUSH

A paintbrush belonging to Cindy the Skull, an aspiring artist. Its bristles smell nauseatingly of heavy fuel oil. Specks of red, orange, and green paint cover the aluminium ferrule.

We won't paint the wall right now, but we're also going to very quickly talk to Joyce while we're out here.

JOYCE MESSIER - "You're back. Good." She takes a sip from her silvery thermal cup. "What can I help you with?"

2. "So I've been dealing with Evrart again..."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Hmh," she nods with well-contained curiosity.

VOLITION [Trivial: Success] - She's not even asking you anything. It's so easy to just say...

4. "He asked me to open a door."

JOYCE MESSIER - "A referral, you mean? I take it this was for someone in the RCM..." She waves her hand. "Don't answer that."

DRAMA [Challenging: Success] - My liege, this woman has half-convinced herself already. All it would take is a little nudge...

"Yes, a referral."

"No, I mean like a real door. To someone's house."

JOYCE MESSIER - She nods, carefully, as though handling a match near a powder keg. "Such referrals may sometimes get you information from a man like Evrart," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Did it?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Detective, I advise you to be *very* selective with what information you choose to share. This may have consequences beyond our line-of-sight."

"The Union's militant wing organized the lynching."

"Evrart says the Wild Pines sent mercenaries after the Union -- and now one's dead."

"Evrart asked the Union's militant wing to fully cooperate with the investigation."

"I told him about the mercenary tribunal -- he didn't seem too worried."

"That's all I've got to say."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes," she leans slightly closer: "That's the talk about town. The *Hardie boys* they're called..." A crooked smile returns to her face. "I find the name rather amusing, honestly."

2. "Evrart says the Wild Pines sent mercenaries after the Union -- and now one's dead."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Misinformation..." She shakes her head vigorously. "This is all because we haven't shared information on the lynching yet. See, already the adversary uses it to their advantage. Don't let him."

"Hurry up on that probe. The moment you tell me you're finished at the traffic jam, I will *gladly* tell you the company's side of the story."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - She must really want you to look into the drugs -- otherwise she'd tell you.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - She was *worried* for a moment. That she's overplayed her hand by not sharing info sooner. Then she settles down, curious to hear more.

Didn't we already do that? This may have been the wrong dialogue.

3. "Evrart asked the Union's militant wing to fully cooperate with the investigation."

JOYCE MESSIER - "How benevolent," she thinks for a second. "Hopefully they'll help you sort this whole business out... if they haven't already?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "While we appreciate your assistance, ma'am, I'm afraid we can't discuss the specifics of an ongoing investigation with you."

JOYCE MESSIER - She nods. "That is only fair."

"I have reason to believe the lynching was a cover-up."

"I've said all I can."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Oh my... *very* interesting. So the militant wing is protecting one of their own..."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Her mind races to the conclusion that most benefits her interests. That doesn't mean she's wrong, though.

JOYCE MESSIER - "It looks like you may untie this knot yet!" Her eyes smile and a tingle runs down your spine.

+5 XP

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - There's something in you that really likes the way she's looking at you just now.

+1 Morale

4. "I told him about the mercenary tribunal -- he didn't seem too worried."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Brinkmanship -- or sabre-rattling... Was he surrounded by *Union men* he wanted to impress?"

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - No. It was more like he wanted things to get *worse* -- in secret of course.

"We were alone. And he seems very sure of his ability to keep things in control."

"He wasn't trying to impress anyone. I think he *wants* things to escalate."

"You're right. He was probably just showing off to me."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Or he wants you and me to *believe* he wants to go to war."

DRAMA [Challenging: Success] - Of course. Brinkmanship takes showmanship. We should have seen it before, in his office. He might well have been performing for us.

KIM KITSURAGI - "There's always that risk, ma'am. But if I may offer my opinion..."

"He means it."

"I think he may have just been messing with us."

"Kim's right. I'm pretty sure he meant it."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'll think it over, detective. Thank you for relaying this information to me."

+5 XP

VOLITION [Medium: Success] - She tries to hide it, but some *great doubt* is spreading within her. There is a crown slowly cracking above her head.

What's this *great doubt* you're talking about?

"Ma'am? Is everything alright?"

VOLITION - You can't say. Only that she's hiding the magnitude of it from you.

"Ma'am? Is everything alright?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "What? Yes, of course. Everything's fine. Perhaps there's more gossip you'd like to share?"

5. "That's all I've got to say."

JOYCE MESSIER - "What you've said is quite enough. You have given me a lot to consider -- and may have helped me prevent this conflict from escalating."

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - Hear that, hero? Feels good, doesn't it? You should relay confidential information more often.

5. "He asked me to deliver an envelope."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Sounds like he has you running errands, detective. A well-established dominance ritual..." She thinks. "Where did he have you deliver it?"

"To a nameless settlement, down the coast. Nearby."

"Nowhere. Let's change the topic."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Ah yes, I've been meaning to go there..." She looks over the bay.

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - With longing... clear and simple longing. Strange. Why does she want to go there?

"He wants to build a youth centre here. For the children of Martinaise."

"You're quite fond of this village, aren't you?"

"So you're sad you can't buy the place?" (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "A youth centre with Edgar Claire's statue on top of it..." Her eyes run across the water, remorsefully.

"Go ahead, help him. Make it so. I have no power to stop him."

2. "You're quite fond of this village, aren't you?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "I should be." She nods -- there's that crooked smile again. "In my youth I had a brief dalliance here in Martinaise. He was an older man, with impossibly broad shoulders..."

"He's probably dead by now -- even his shack is long gone… not that it matters. These buildings are all carbon copies of one another."

"When you were a teen? *Slumming* it, like you told me before?"

"You've been to Martinaise before?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'm glad to see your *short-term* memory appears intact. In any case, I wasn't a *teen* anymore, I would have been in my early twenties. I remember a distinctly *vile* disco track..."

"Disco isn't vile."

"Disco *is* vile."

"Sounds like you miss those times."

JOYCE MESSIER - "It is -- but not as vile as me..." She looks over the bay, her green eyes shining.

"Sounds like you miss those times."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Not overly so. It's not like this was the only place we visited -- me and my girlfriends from Ozonne with our shiny boats, like reavers..."

"We told ourselves we were the worst thing to happen to the coast since the Coalition landed in '08. Imagine!" She tosses her head.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Oh no -- she's sentimental all right.

"If you say so."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I'm over-radiated, Harry," she sprouts. "I do silly things sometimes -- out of pale-related illness. Like take this job. The moral of the story is..." she lists:

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - So it was a factor in her coming to Martinaise in the first place? Interesting.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Do not spend 22 days a year in pale transit, don't waste your twenties slumming it with your stupid friends, and don't deliver Evrart Claire's mail." Her bony finger is pointed like an arrow at your chest...

"Are you satisfied, detective? What else can you tell me about your *mail delivery quest* for Evrart? Do you think it will *improve* the place?"

+5 XP

3. "So you're sad you can't buy the place?" (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes. I'm sad I will never have the time, detective -- I've always wanted a dilapidating fishing village."

RHETORIC [Easy: Success] - She is more defensive about it than usual.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Full of ghosts and ancient memories." She smiles. "Has this errand yielded you any... information?"

6. "I'd rather talk about something else for now, if you don't mind." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course, detective," she simmers down. "You can always drop by later, should something come up -- now, what else can I do you for?"

8. "Thank you. That's all for now." [Leave.]

THOUGHT COMPLETE: MOTORWAY SOUTH

BONUSES: All Intellect White checks unlocked +1 Inland Empire: The swallowing motion

SOLUTION: The lone vector stretches in your mind’s eye into the wild pale yonder. For an unimaginable distance, forgetting, forgetting... Until you can no longer remember anything – no cities, no mountains, no oceans. And finally – no vector. Nothing remains. A blank space with no point of reference, where only one type of motion is possible. The motion of a human throat, swallowing. And then it comes to you: to reach the end of the Motorway South is to be *unborn*. You've had this thought before while aimlessly wandering the streets of Jamrock. A lost piece of the man you were. A dark hope.

This unlocked the checks to open the Cargo Container Door, get Gaston's sandwich, and identify the source of the Expression.

Ok, let's do the thing we actually *voted* on.

🎵 Whirling-in-Rags, 8PM

We have reasons to talk to basically everyone here. But first, there's someone we *weren't* expecting...

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Hi, gendarme. Another rendezvous." There he is again -- the smoker on the balcony! Right here in the Whirling-in-Rags.

+5 XP

"Hi."

"Hello."

"You're here!"

[Leave.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "I see you've found yourself a little something from my wardrobe." He scans you. "Not bad, not bad at all. What brings you here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Tell me again about that *muscular type* who came to investigate the crime."

"I met your Sunday friend."

[Composure - Legendary 14] What is it about the way he carries himself?

"About the hat and the robe I'm wearing..."

[Leave.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Admiring the atmosphere..." He smiles. "What about you, officer?"

"I live here, my room is right upstairs."

"I'm here to kick some ass and solve the case I'm working on."

"I don't know what I'm doing here. I just go wherever life takes me."

Unfortunately we cannot tell him we're here for *karaoke*, because we have already done that.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Well, here's to you!" He raises a glass, before taking a sip of his drink, froth grazing his mouth.

2. "Tell me again about that *muscular type* who came to investigate the crime."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Oh, yes... let's see. He knocked on my door a few days after the lynching. I think he was going through the entire building, asking questions."

"What did you tell him?"

"What did he look like?"

"Was he alone?"

"Besides *muscular*, did he have any other identifying traits?"

"Thanks for the information."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Nothing. That I didn't see anything."

"And he believed you?"

"Did you tell him about your friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Why shouldn't he?"

"Did you tell him about your friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - He takes another drag of his cigarette before knitting his brows. "What friend?"

"Your Sunday friend, the witness."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "No, I don't think it came up."

2. "What did he look like?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Muscular. Handsome." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Strong. Like one of those military types."

3. "Was he alone?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Yes, but he was speaking to someone on his earpiece."

"His earpiece?"

"What was he saying?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Yes, you know those tiny speaker-microphones that fancy security guards sometimes wear."

"What was he saying?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Just reporting back whatever I was telling him."

4. "Besides *muscular*, did he have any other identifying traits?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Oh, let me think..." He turns his eyes upward in recollection. "He had an accent. He sounded like one of those mercenaries."

"He sounded vaguely Oranjese." He closes his eyes. "No, not vaguely, scratch that. He sounded *definitely* Oranjese."

5. "Thanks for the information."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Sure. Anything else on your mind?" His lazy eyes stroll over your face.

3. "I met your Sunday friend."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "You did?" A small smile adorns his face. "And how did you like him?"

"You were right, he was magical. Magically bureaucratic."

"I didn't like him as much as I like you."

"I didn't. He's a government official. I don't trust governments."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Aw, shoot." He bursts out laughing. "Why not?"

"Who is he?"

"What are you, you two?"

"Why was he staying at your place in the middle of night?"

"I don't want to talk about other people, I want to talk about you."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "A visitor from the first world. He's not like you and me, gendarme." He smiles and his smile seems melancholic. "He can always return."

"Return where?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "To his opportunities in Occident, Sur-la-Clef. Still..." He breathes in and keeps his lungs filled for a moment, before letting it out. "His coming and going brings some life to the village."

"Or is it just money, I don't know..." He stares at the bar.

2. "What are you, you two?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Friends, I told you. Sunday friends. Friends who like to get together from time to time."

"What does it mean -- a Sunday friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - He sighs: "That he won't be there when times get tough, I guess."

"Is that even a friend?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "It is -- on Sundays." He smiles.

3. "Why was he staying at your place in the middle of night?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "He has keys. And he likes the view..." He waves gently with his cigarette-holding hand. "To the sea, I mean."

4. "I don't want to talk about other people, I want to talk about you."

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Hmm?" He hums. "What about me, gendarme?"

5. "About the hat and the robe I'm wearing…"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "You can keep it, I don't mind. I can appreciate beauty when I see it."

"I wasn't really planning on giving it back anyway."

"Thanks. It's like carrying a piece of you with me at all times."

"I took it to blend in. I'm undercover, you see?"

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Is it now?" He starts laughing. "Well, enjoy it."

4. [Composure - Legendary 14] What is it about the way he carries himself?

+1 He's so different.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] - It's the sports, he's a sports guy, all about that physical prowess and athletic skill... Nothing else here.

6. [Leave.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY - "Bye-bye, gendarme."

A woman's hand wrote yesterday's menu. Today's starts in a man's writing.

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Ah, 'Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns,' right?" The cafeteria manager is waiting for you to acknowledge that he recognized the song.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #cindy the skull #joyce messier #smoker on the balcony #garte the cafeteria manager

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