#but as it is I just look at the packaging and do my best

[winwintea]

my funny valentine

PAIRING ↬ best friend!lee donghyuck x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, horror, suspense, romance, crack, tooth fairy haechan, <- trust me that'll make sense, they play detectives, stalker au, valentines au, flirty jaemin, songwriter and poet mark lee, painter renjun, they all kinda down bad for y/n a little though

WARNINGS  ↬ teeth. and it's gross. also stalkers !!

SUMMARY ↬ for valentines day all you wanted to do was chill with your best friend. unfortunately for you, there's a little someone claiming to be your secret admirer bringing you cryptic valentine's day gifts. you brush it off until the gifts start getting more and more sinister. can you and haechan solve this mystery before it's too late? (and can he confess some of his own feelings to you while he's at it?)

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ while this may not be a FUNNY fic, it’s very heavily inspired by MISAMO’s “Funny Valentine” so please go check that song out and give it some love <33

PLAYLIST ↬ the wolf - siames; stalker’s tango - autoheart; bust your knee caps - pomplamoose; smoke and mirrors - jayn; tag, you’re it - melanie martinez; funny valentine - misamo

The air outside is crisp, a reminder that winter hasn’t fully let go, despite the pink and red decorations plastered across storefronts. Valentine’s Day is a week away, and yet, as you step out of your apartment, the holiday is the furthest thing from your mind.

Until you nearly trip over something at your doorstep.

A single red rose rests against the welcome mat, its petals velvety and deep, almost too perfect to be real. A small, cream-colored card, tied around with a black ribbon sits at the center.

You bend down, fingers brushing over the card as you flip it open.

“You don’t see me for who I am, but I see you.”

A strange shiver trails down your spine.

You glance around the hallway of your apartment complex. The usual dull lighting flickers slightly, and the air is still. No sounds of footsteps, no hushed whispers from neighbors. Just silence.

A prank? A weird marketing gimmick? Maybe even a mistaken delivery? You don’t have a secret admirer. Or at least, not one you know of.

Still, you tuck the note into your pocket and step back inside, leaving the rose on the counter as you grab your phone. Without thinking, you call the one person who would get a kick out of this.

The line barely rings before Haechan picks up.

"Yo, what’s up?" His voice is warm, laced with the lazy charm that makes it impossible to tell whether he's just woken up or has been up scheming since dawn.

“You’ll never guess what I just found at my door.”

“You finally got that Amazon package you forgot you ordered?”

“No, you idiot.” You roll your eyes, staring at the rose. “A gift. A creepy one.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Haechan’s intrigued hum. “Creepy, huh? You have my attention. Spill.”

You quickly relay the details—the rose, the note, the unsettling feeling gnawing at your gut. You half-expect him to laugh it off, but instead, his voice drops into something quieter, more serious.

"And you're sure it wasn't left at the wrong door?"

"I’m not sure about that. My name wasn’t on it, but my neighbors are men. Who would do this to a guy?”

Another pause. Then, a small chuckle. "Well, well. Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer."

"Not funny."

"Are you kidding? It’s hilarious." You can practically hear his grin through the phone. "You're living in a real-life romance movie. Or a horror movie. Either way, I’m invested."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "So what do I do? Just… ignore it?"

"Absolutely not. We investigate. Duh."

Your brows furrow. "Investigate? It's probably just some dumb joke."

"Or," he counters, voice dripping with amusement, "it's the beginning of something way more interesting. C'mon, don't you wanna know who’s behind this? What if it’s some insanely hot dude or chick who’s just so in love with you but socially inept?”

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing says romance like borderline stalking."

"Hey, some people are just dedicated," he teases. "Look at those BookTok people. And tell you what—meet me at the café in an hour. Bring the note. I wanna see it."

"You’re actually taking this seriously?"

"Of course! A mystery has landed right at your doorstep. And as your best friend, it is my duty to help you solve it."

You sigh. Haechan has always been dramatic.

"Fine," you relent. "But if it turns out to be a stupid prank, you owe me coffee."

"You got it, Valentine."

The café is buzzing with the usual mid-morning crowd: college students hunched over laptops, couples sharing pastries, baristas calling out names over the hum of conversation. The scent of coffee and warm vanilla lingers in the air, comforting and familiar.

You spot Haechan immediately. He’s lounged in the corner booth, one arm draped over the back of the seat, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he watches you approach.

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you slide into the seat across from him. “I was starting to think your mystery lover got to you first.”

You roll your eyes, fishing the note out of your pocket and dropping it onto the table in front of him. “Here. Do your thing, Sherlock.”

Haechan picks up the note with exaggerated care, holding it between his fingers like it’s a sacred artifact. He squints, tilts his head, even sniffs it dramatically before nodding. “Yep. Just as I suspected.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“This is definitely paper.”

You snatch the note back, smacking his arm with it. “Wow, incredible deduction dipshit.”

He laughs, dodging your hand before leaning in, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “No, but seriously. This is weird. The handwriting is neat, almost too neat. Like someone either really took their time or… copied it.”

You frown. “Copied it?”

“Yeah. Like, I dunno, tracing someone else's writing. See how the pressure is kinda uneven in some spots? It’s like they were trying too hard to be precise.”

You blink, staring at him. “Since when are you an expert in handwriting analysis?”

Haechan grins, tapping his temple. “I watch a lot of crime documentaries. Also, Renjun had a forgery phase in middle school, so I picked up a few things.”

“Of course he did,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Okay, so say you’re right—what does that mean?”

“It means whoever wrote this was really careful about not being recognized.” He leans back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Which makes me think this isn’t just some dumb prank. They don’t want you to know who they are.”

That unsettling feeling from earlier creeps back up your spine.

“What if it’s someone we know?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Haechan tilts his head, considering. “Could be. Or it could be some rando with a crush. Either way, we have a mission. I’ll show you just how good a duo we’ll be.”

You exhale. “And that mission is…?”

“To find out who’s been leaving you love letters, obviously.” He grins, reaching for his coffee. “And if they turn out to be hot, I take full credit for setting you up.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I take my best friend duties very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but still can’t help but feel a bit uneasy by it all.

The uneasy feeling from the café lingers as you make your way home.

"They don’t want you to know who they are."

"What if it’s someone we know?"

You shake the thoughts away as you unlock your door, stepping inside. The first thing you notice is the rose, still resting on the counter where you left it. Something about it feels different now—less like a mystery and more like a warning.

You inhale deeply, trying to push the paranoia aside. Maybe this is all just a prank. Maybe Haechan’s just hyping it up because he loves drama. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

[Unknown Number]: Did you like my first gift?

A sharp jolt of fear twists in your stomach. Your fingers tighten around your phone as you stare at the message.

Not a prank.

Your mouth runs dry as you hesitate before typing back.

[You]: Who is this?

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

[Unknown Number]: You’ll see soon enough.

Your heart pounds.

And then… three quick knocks on your front door.

You jump, whipping around to stare at it. The knock surprisingly wasn’t loud nor aggressive. However it got the message across.

Slowly, you step forward, peeking through the peephole. The hallway is empty. With a shaky breath, you unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peek outside.

A small, velvet box sits on your welcome mat.

Another gift.

You glance both ways down the hall—still empty. Whoever left it is already gone. 

Heart hammering, you crouch down and carefully pick up the box, stepping back inside before locking the door behind you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open it.

Inside is a delicate silver locket, its chain coiled neatly in the box. You hold it up to the light, examining the intricate engravings along the edges. It’s beautiful—almost vintage.

But when you pry it open, your breath catches in your throat.

Inside is a tiny photograph. One you recognize immediately.

It’s you.

You, standing outside your apartment building, smiling at the camera. But what makes your stomach turn is the person beside you.

Because there was someone beside you. But their face has been completely scratched out. And you have no idea who it is.

Your pulse roars in your ears as your grip tightens around the locket.

This isn’t a joke.

You fumble for your phone and dial Haechan’s number. He picks up almost immediately.

"Yo, miss me already?"

"Haechan." Your voice comes out unsteady, breathless. "It happened again."

A pause. Then, his tone shifts. It’s calm, but sharper now. "I’m coming over."

Fifteen minutes. That’s all it takes for Haechan to show up at your door, slightly out of breath, a bag of convenience store snacks in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Okay,” he says, pushing past you into the apartment, “give me the rundown. And before you ask, yes, I brought emergency snacks because I know you stress-eat.”

You let the door swing shut behind him, arms crossed. “Haechan, this is serious.”

“I am taking it seriously.” He tosses a bag of chips onto the counter before turning to you. “Now, tell me everything before I assume you’ve been cursed by a Victorian ghost.”

You exhale, pulling the velvet box from your pocket and flipping it open. “I found this at my door. Look inside.”

Haechan steps closer, peering down at the locket. He picks it up, flipping it open with careful fingers. His expression shifts immediately—the usual mischief in his eyes dims, replaced by something darker.

“The hell…?” He traces a thumb over the scratched-out face in the photo. “Okay. This? This is officially creepy.”

“No kidding,” you mutter, rubbing your arms as if that will rid you of the lingering unease. “It’s my photo, Haechan. And someone ruined it.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the image. When he finally looks up, his gaze is sharp. “Where did they even get this picture?”

“I don’t know. That’s what freaks me out.” You sit on the edge of your couch, fingers gripping the fabric of your sweater. “Someone had to have taken it themselves. But I don’t remember anyone standing next to me like this.”

Haechan clicks his tongue, flipping the locket shut. “Alright. That settles it. We need a suspect list.”

You blink. “You say that like this is some kind of crime show.”

“Well, yeah,” he deadpans. “Except way more fun because it’s happening to you.”

You throw a pillow at his head. He dodges it effortlessly, grinning.

“Okay, okay,” he says, plopping down next to you. “Real talk. Do you know anyone who might be obsessed with you? Secret admirer type, or maybe even an ex with attachment issues?”

You think for a moment. And then—

“…Jaemin.”

Haechan’s brows shoot up. “Jaemin?”

You nod, stomach twisting. “He flirts with me constantly, even when I brush him off. Plus, I know I’ve caught him taking pictures of me before, but he always plays it off like it’s just a joke.”

Haechan leans back, considering. “Okay. Solid lead. What’s our game plan?”

You chew on your lip before standing. “We ask him directly.”

Haechan grins, standing up beside you. “Ooooh, an interrogation? Spicy.”

You roll your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Let’s just get this over with.”

And with that, the two of you head out—ready to confront the first suspect.

Jaemin’s usual hangout is the campus library, though calling it “studying” is generous. More often than not, he’s lounging in one of the oversized chairs, scrolling through his phone, pretending to be busy.

That’s exactly where you find him now, stretched out with his feet propped up on another chair, earbuds in, humming to himself.

Haechan nudges you. “Your not-so-secret admirer is in his natural habitat.”

You sigh, straightening your shoulders before striding over. Jaemin looks up just as you plant your hands on the table in front of him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets smoothly, pulling out an earbud. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Haechan plops down beside him. “We have some questions.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “And you’re going to answer them.”

His lips twitch, amused. “Sounds serious.”

“It is serious,” you snap, pulling out the locket and placing it in front of him. “Know anything about this?”

Jaemin’s gaze flickers to the locket, and for the first time, his smirk falters. His fingers twitch like he wants to pick it up, but he hesitates.

“What is this?” he asks, voice quieter now.

“You tell me,” you say. “It showed up at my door today. Someone left it for me, along with a creepy note. And considering how often you love taking pictures with me, I thought I’d start with you.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightens. “You think I gave you this?”

Haechan tilts his head. “Well, you do flirt with Y/N like it’s your full-time job.”

Jaemin exhales through his nose, leaning forward. “Okay, yeah, I flirt. But this?” He taps the locket. “This isn’t me. I’d never scratch out my own damn face.”

Your stomach clenches. “So you recognize the picture?”

Jaemin hesitates for half a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

You and Haechan exchange a look.

“You’re lying,” Haechan accuses. “Dude, you hesitated.”

Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know where this came from, but I’ve seen that photo before. Just… not like this.”

Your pulse quickens. “Where?”

Another pause. Then, reluctantly, Jaemin mutters, “Renjun’s phone.”

Both you and Haechan freeze.

“What?” Haechan blurts. “Why would Renjun have a picture of Y/N on his phone?”

Jaemin shrugs. “No clue. It was a while ago. I remember seeing it and asking why he had it, but he just brushed me off. Thought it was weird, but not, y’know—this weird.” He gestures to the locket.

You stare at him, heart pounding. Could it be Renjun?

Haechan crosses his arms. “Alright, Nana. We’ll put you on the ‘maybe’ list for now. But if we find out you’re lying…” He drags a finger across his throat dramatically.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Can I go back to existing now?”

You nod slowly, mind already racing ahead.

If Renjun had that photo… What else did he have?

And what would the next gift be?

The walk back to your apartment is tense. Haechan is uncharacteristically quiet beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, his brows furrowed in thought.

"You okay?" you ask.

He exhales through his nose. "Just thinking. If Jaemin’s telling the truth, why would Renjun have that picture?"

"That’s what we’re going to find out," you murmur.

When you finally reach your apartment door, a chill runs down your spine. Sitting on your welcome mat is another small box, this time heart-shaped and a deep shade of crimson.

"Of course," Haechan mutters. "Right on schedule."

You swallow hard, exchanging a wary glance with him before bending down to pick it up. Unlike the velvet box from before, this one is heavier. With trembling fingers, you lift the lid—

A soft, eerie melody drifts into the air.

A music box.

But something is… off. The tune warbles and distorts, as if the mechanism inside is struggling to play correctly. It’s haunting, a melody that should be sweet but instead sends a shiver down your spine.

Inside, nestled among the delicate gears, is a small folded note.

A song just for you.

You stare at the words, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Haechan leans in. "Okay, I really don’t like this one."

You shut the lid abruptly, cutting off the melody. "Me neither."

"Who the hell writes you a personalized creepy lullaby?" he mutters. Then, his eyes widen slightly, realization dawning. "Wait. Music. Writing. Oh, come on—"

"Mark." You say his name at the same time Haechan does.

Mark has always been the sentimental type. From writing poetry to composing random melodies in his free time. If anyone had the skills to create something like this, it was him.

You grip the box tighter. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Now."

You and Haechan find Mark exactly where you expect him, tucked away in a corner of the campus music room, hunched over a notebook, a pencil pressed against his lips. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the desk, keeping rhythm to whatever melody is playing in his head.

Haechan nudges you. "Caught him in the act. Very suspicious."

You shoot him a look before stepping forward. "Mark."

Mark glances up, blinking in surprise. "Oh, hey. What’s up?"

You waste no time, setting the music box down on the desk in front of him. His eyes flicker to it, then back to you.

"Did you make this?" you ask.

His eyebrows pull together. "Uh… no?"

Haechan crosses his arms. "You sure? Because we know you write songs. And poems. And you definitely know everything about Y/N—"

"Okay, dude, chill," Mark interrupts, looking bewildered. "What’s going on?"

You exhale, rubbing your temple. "Someone’s been leaving me gifts. Creepy ones. This music box was the latest, and since you’re literally the most musically gifted person I know, I thought—" You hesitate. "I thought maybe it was you."

Mark stares at the box for a moment before shaking his head. "It’s not me."

"Not even a little?" Haechan presses.

Mark sighs. "Look, yeah, I write songs. And sure, I might notice things. Like when you change your coffee order or cut your hair. Maybe I think you’re really cute. But that doesn’t mean I’m stalking you."

Haechan raises a skeptical brow. "Then what about your latest poetry post? The one about ‘loving from afar’?"

Mark’s expression shifts. His ears turn red.

Oh.

You narrow your eyes. "Mark?"

He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "That wasn’t about you, okay?"

Haechan gasps, dramatic as ever. "Then who?"

Mark hesitates, then mutters, "My ex."

You and Haechan exchange a look.

"Oh," you say.

"Oh," Haechan echoes, slightly disappointed. "So you’re the heartbroken one, not the creepy one."

Mark shoots him a glare. "Obviously."

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Okay. Sorry for accusing you. This whole thing is just messing with my head."

Mark softens. "Yeah, I get it. But seriously, if someone’s messing with you, you should be careful."

You nod, but your mind is already racing ahead.

The moment you step into your apartment, you feel it.

Something is waiting for you again.

Your breath catches as your eyes land on the small, folded piece of paper slipped under your door. The edges are slightly frayed, as if it had been torn from a notebook in a rush.

Haechan picks it up before you can. His fingers brush over the paper before carefully unfolding it. His eyes scan the words, his expression darkening.

You take the page from him and read:

"I see you even when you don’t see me.I wonder if you know how much you mean to me.If I could just tell you—”

The words stop abruptly, the last sentence unfinished.

And at the bottom, only a single initial is signed:

“R.”

You stare at it, heart hammering. "R."

Haechan exhales. "Renjun."

It makes sense. Jaemin had mentioned Renjun having your picture. And now this, a love confession, hesitant and unfinished.

You swallow hard. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Before another one of these shows up."

Renjun is easy to find.

The art studio on campus is practically his second home, and sure enough, when you and Haechan arrive, he’s hunched over a sketchbook, completely lost in his work. His pencil moves in steady strokes, the faintest furrow between his brows as he concentrates.

Haechan leans in. “Bet he’s sketching you right now.”

You elbow him before clearing your throat. “Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, startled, before snapping his sketchbook shut. “Oh—hey. What are you guys doing here?”

Haechan plucks the journal page from your grasp and drops it onto his desk. “Care to explain this?”

Renjun’s gaze flickers to the torn-out page. He lets out a sharp inhale, as his shoulders start tensing.

“So it is yours.”

Renjun stays silent for a beat too long before he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where did you get this?”

“It was slipped under my door,” you say carefully. “You signed it with ‘R.’”

Haechan crosses his arms. “Looks real bad, dude.”

Renjun lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s more of a nervous laugh than a humorous one. “Yeah… I can see that.”

Your pulse quickens. “So you did write it?”

Another pause. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah. But not for you.”

You blink. “What?”

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I did write that confession. But it’s old…I wrote it last year, for someone else.” He taps the page, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I threw this out months ago. I have no idea how you ended up with it.”

Haechan whistles low. “Okay, that’s actually kinda messed up.”

Renjun shakes his head. “ If someone dug this up just to mess with you… That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.”

You grip the edge of the desk. “Then what about those photos you took of me? 

Renjun looks at you, his expression not wavering, “I take photos of everyone. It’s practice for more naturalistic portrayals of human figures.”

A chill runs down your spine.

If Renjun didn’t leave the page for you… then the real admirer wasn’t just watching you. If they had gotten their hands on Renjun’s photos then…

They were watching everyone.

That night, you barely sleep.

Renjun’s words keep replaying in your mind. ‘That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.’

The pieces aren’t fitting together. The gifts, the messages, the calculated way they’re being delivered. This isn’t just someone with a crush. This is someone who has been planning this.

You’re still lost in thought when you hear it.

A soft thud outside your door.

Slowly, you sit up, heart pounding in your ears. Haechan, asleep on your couch, stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. You swallow hard and push yourself to your feet. Step by step, you inch toward the door, pulse hammering with every movement.

You already know what’s waiting for you.

Another gift.

With trembling hands, you open the door.

Sitting on the welcome mat is a small, heart-shaped box, identical in size to the one that held the music box. But this time, the deep red velvet is stained. Dark splotches sinking into the fabric, like something wet had been resting there before drying.

Your stomach turns.

Slowly, you pick it up. It’s heavier than you expect.

You hesitate. Then, you lift the lid.

Inside, cushioned in soft silk, isn’t chocolate.

It’s a tooth.

A human tooth.

Your throat felt dry as you wanted to retch in disgust, while the box nearly slips from your hands. Your vision blurs as you stare at it, uncomprehending, unwilling to believe what you’re seeing.

Beneath the tooth, there’s a note.

"Now you’re mine."

Your fingers shake as you unfold the small slip of paper.

And that’s when you see it.

The handwriting.

It’s Haechan’s.

Your body goes cold.

Behind you, the couch creaks as he shifts in his sleep.

And you realize—

You’re trapped inside your apartment.

With him.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Every nerve in your body screams at you to move. But you’re frozen. The weight of the realization crashes over you in suffocating waves.

It was him.

It was always him.

A slow creak fills the silence. The sound of someone shifting.

“Hm… you’re up?”

Your breath stutters as you whip around. Haechan is sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His voice is laced with drowsiness, but his gaze—when it lands on you—is sharp.

Too sharp.

His eyes drop to the box in your hands. He sees the note. The tooth. And then… he smiles.

A lazy, knowing smile.

Your stomach twists. “Haechan…”

He tilts his head, still watching you. “You don’t look happy to see your gift. But don’t worry I’ve improved on it.”

Your grip tightens on the box. “Why?”

Haechan exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just asked something ridiculous. “Come on, Y/N. You’re smart. You’ve been smart this whole time. Figuring out clues, questioning the right people.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Except you never questioned me.”

You take a step back. “You helped me.”

“I guided you.” He corrects, his voice smooth. “I made sure you followed the right trail. I led you to suspects just to watch your reactions. Watch you look at them instead of me.” His smile widens, his dimples deep but unsettling. “And you fell for it. Every time.”

Your skin crawls. “The rose. The music box. The torn-out page?”

“All me,” he confirms easily. “Jaemin? Mark? Renjun? They were never real threats. Just distractions. I needed to make sure your eyes weren’t on me until the right moment.”

“And the tooth?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Haechan’s smile fades slightly, his expression unreadable. “That one’s special.” His fingers brush over his lower lip, and something dark flickers behind his gaze. “A part of me. It’s yours now.”

No way.

"Now we match."

A sick realization slithers through you.

Haechan… pulled out his own tooth.

For you. 

A cold sweat prickles down your spine. “You’re insane.”

Haechan only grins. “I’m in love.”

You feel the blood drain from your face.

He sighs, standing up slowly. “I knew you wouldn’t understand right away. That’s why I took my time. I sent gifts and gave you a story to follow.” His voice softens, almost affectionate. “I wanted to watch you figure it out. I wanted to see the exact moment you realized it’s always been me.”

He takes a step forward.

And you take a step back.

His eyes flicker with amusement. “Still running from me?”

Your fingers curl into fists.

You need to get out.

Now.

Haechan watches you like a predator sizing up its prey. His smile is still there, but now, you can see it for what it truly is. A mask. A carefully crafted performance. And you were his favorite audience.

Then, he moves.

Slow, deliberate. Like he has all the time in the world. From his pocket, he pulls out a small velvet box. A jewelry box. He rolls it between his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before sliding it across the coffee table toward you. “I saved the best for last,” he murmurs.

You don’t want to look.

But you do.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the box, flipping it open. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, are a pair of earrings.

The charms dangle from delicate gold hooks, polished smooth. But even in the dim light of your apartment, you can see them for what they are.

Teeth.

Human teeth.

Your stomach twists violently.

Haechan hums, tilting his head. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I worked so hard on these.” His voice drops into something softer, almost coaxing. “You’ll wear them, won’t you?”

Your breath comes in shallow gasps.

You need to get out.

Haechan sees it before you even move. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, and then—

The lights flicker.

A click.

Your front door.

Locked.

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Haechan—”

He only smiles, stepping closer.

“Shh,” he soothes. “It’s Valentine’s Day, baby.”

A flickering TV screen bathes the darkened room in cold, artificial light. The newsroom anchor, a solemn-looking woman, speaks in a measured, professional tone.

"Breaking news tonight—local authorities have launched an investigation into the disappearance of Y/N L/N, last seen on February 14th. Friends report that they were searching for a secret admirer who had been leaving a series of mysterious gifts. However, they never returned home. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please contact—"

The report continues, but the sound is drowned out by the hum of a familiar tune.

A figure strolls past the display window of an electronics store, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His hoodie shields most of his face, but the dim glow of the screens flickers against his features.

Haechan.

A soft, lilting hum escapes his lips.

"My funny valentine…"

He walks on, disappearing into the city’s shadows.

The TV screen flickers.

The missing person poster flashes across the screen.

“The case remains open.”

“For now.”

me when i basically lied in the summary but not really 🫶🤗 love u guys too !!

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[itshonestlynotme]

Uncle Moony and Siri 🌟

╰┈➤ 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, Uncle Moony and Uncle Siri visit

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

warnings: Fluff

It was a quiet morning at the Potter-Black household, the kind that Y/N had learned to cherish. The storm from the night before had passed, leaving behind a crisp autumn breeze that drifted through the open windows. Harry sat cross-legged on the living room floor, carefully stacking his wooden blocks, his tongue peeking out in concentration.

Regulus was sitting in the armchair, a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other, looking as composed as ever. Y/N was beside Harry on the rug, sorting through his toys when suddenly—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The front door shook under the weight of impatient knocking.

Regulus barely looked up from his book. “I am not answering that,” he muttered, sipping tea.

Y/N sighed, already knowing who it was. “If we ignore him, he’ll just keep knocking louder.”

Sure enough—BANG. BANG. BA—

“Alright, alright!” Y/N called as she stood up and approached the door, throwing it open to reveal a very smug-looking Sirius Black, leaning casually against the frame.

“Why, hello there, darling sister-in-law,” Sirius greeted dramatically. “Your favorite Black has arrived.”

Behind him, Remus stood with a patient smile, holding a small box wrapped in brown paper. “I told him to knock like a normal person,” he said apologetically.

“I did knock like a normal person,” Sirius said, grinning as he stepped inside. “With enthusiasm.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let them in.

At the sound of new voices, Harry perked up. His little face lit up, and he scrambled to his feet. “Uncle Siri! Uncle Moony!”

Sirius let out a bark of laughter as he scooped Harry up, spinning him in the air. “There’s my favorite kiddo! Getting bigger every time I see you, huh?”

Harry giggled wildly, his tiny hands gripping onto Sirius’s robes. “Faster, Uncle Siri!”

“Not in the house,” Regulus said flatly from his armchair.

Sirius ignored him and did one more spin before setting Harry down.

Remus crouched beside Harry, handing him the small package. “I brought you a little something, Harry,” he said warmly.

Harry gasped, taking the package with wide eyes. “A present?”

“Just a little one,” Remus said with a soft smile. “Go on, open it.”

Harry eagerly tore into the paper, revealing a small enchanted book filled with moving pictures of magical creatures. His face lit up. “Wow!” He carefully flipped through the pages, watching a tiny Hippogriff flap its wings before running to Y/N. “Mama, look!”

“That’s amazing, love,” Y/N said, ruffling his hair. “What do you say to Uncle Moony?”

“Thank you, Uncle Moony!” Harry beamed.

“Anytime, little one,” Remus replied, ruffling his hair in return.

Sirius, meanwhile, flopped dramatically onto the couch, stretching his arms across the back. “So, where’s the good tea? Or—better yet—firewhisky?”

Regulus finally looked up from his book, narrowing his eyes. “It’s eleven in the morning.”

“And?” Sirius smirked. “I was up late doing very important things.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sirius, was that very important thing a drinking contest with Mad-Eye Moody?”

“… No?”

Remus sighed. “Yes.”

Harry, still absorbed in his book, sat himself right next to Regulus in the armchair, leaning against him. Regulus instinctively wrapped an arm around the boy, holding his book in one hand while absentmindedly carding his fingers through Harry’s messy hair.

Sirius watched them with a smirk. “Never thought I’d see the day. My little brother—a proper parent.”

Regulus shot him a glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sirius grinned. “It means I’m still processing the fact that you—the grumpy, brooding Black—ended up raising my godson instead of me.” He leaned forward, winking at Harry. “But don’t worry kid, I’m the fun uncle. When you get older, I’ll teach you all the best pranks.”

Harry giggled. “Really?”

Regulus scowled. “No.”

“Yes,” Sirius countered, nodding at Harry.

Y/N snorted. “No pranks today, at least. I’d rather not clean up whatever chaos you unleash.”

Sirius sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave.” He paused, then grinned at Harry. “For now.”

Regulus groaned, rubbing his temple. “Why did I let you into my house?”

Remus chuckled, sipping his tea. “Because you secretly love us.”

Regulus scoffed but didn’t argue.

Y/N just smiled, watching as Harry curled up happily between them all, his laughter filling the house. Whatever storm had been outside last night, whatever nightmares had tried to creep in, Harry was safe here—with his family. Even if Sirius was a bad influence.

[mj-iza-writer]

Caretaker watched Whumpee slump onto the shopping cart while Caretaker picked out some apples.

"Whumpee, do you want oranges as well?", Caretaker gently brushed Whumpee's hair out of their face.

Whumpee looked up tiredly.

"Uh-oh, that's not a good sign", Caretaker sighed.

"Mm, ok", Whumpee mumbled.

"Read this", Caretaker held up a package.

Whumpee studied the package for a little too long.

"See you can't read English", Caretaker set the package down.

"I can barely read English on good days anyways", Whumpee sighed, "это ничего не объясняет (that doesn't explain anything)."

Caretaker set the apples in the cart, "I have a few more things to get. Can you hold out for a few more minutes?"

"Да...ye... yes", Whumpee frowned at their struggle, and finally nodded, "ymhmm", they hummed.

Caretaker sighed at the long lines.

"I'm okay", Whumpee leaned on the cart again, "just really... sleepy."

"Yes, and your accent is coming out stronger as well", Caretaker rubbed Whumpee's back.

"I'll fall asleep right here if you keep doing that", Whumpee mumbled into their arm.

Caretaker smiled weakly, "why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"I... just start feeling  dis", Whumpee stuttered, "I'm done with English... too hard."

"Just hold on until I can get to the translator at home. Please hold on", Caretaker pleaded, "I am still very new to Russian... you remember that right?"

"Да (yes)", Whumpee whispered.

"Go ahead and get comfortable on the couch. Let's take your temperature", Caretaker hurried into the kitchen, "you always get hit so hard when you get sick. It always seems to hit so sudden. Or you refuse to admit that you're sick due to your Russian stubbornness. You won't say anything until it's really bad."

Whumpee collapsed onto the couch and burried their face into one of the soft pillows.

Caretaker came out with a cup of water and the thermometer.

"Sit up, please. I need to take your temperature, and I'll need to get some medicine in you."

Whumpee moaned an unintelligible reply.

"Can you understand me?", Caretaker knelt beside the couch.

"Я то тебя отлично понимаю (I understand you perfectly well)", Whumpee mumbled into the pillow.

"I will definitely look that up later on the translator app... if I can spell it at least", Caretaker sighed, "for right now, we will pretend that you said, Caretaker is the best person alive."

Caretaker lifted Whumpee's arm and tucked the thermometer into Whumpee's armpit.

"Mmm", Whumpee moaned.

"It's either your armpit or your butt since you won't lift your head up", Caretaker waited for the ding.

"Я чувствую, что сейчас потеряю сознание (I feel like I'm going to pass out)", Whumpee glanced up from the pillow.

Caretaker frantically pulled out their phone, "Whumpee I need you to repeat that really slowly into my phone."

That was never a face you wanted Whumpee to make.

Whumpee blinked slowly, "неа (nope)", they whimpered.

Caretaker watched as Whumpee's eyes rolled back. Their head fell to the pillow. 

"Whumpee... Whumpee", Caretaker pulled them up, "Whumpee?"

Whumpee woke up to a bright light being turned on.

"Ymph, "Где Я? (Where am I)", they looked around.

"In the hospital", someone grabbed Whumpee's hand, "you about gave me a heartattack."

"I'm glad to see them awake", someone from the opposite side of the room spoke up, "their temperature was quite high, and it kept climbing. Let's check it again."

Whumpee sighed as a thermometer was placed under their tongue.

"Wut hapen?", Whumpee side-eyed Caretaker.

"Please don't talk while the thermometer is in your mouth", the person sighed.

"I'm just glad they are talking in English, they switched to Russian on me", Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's hand.

"Is that normal?", the person looked at Whumpee with concern, "temp is still ellevated."

"Yes, it's their first language. It's easier for them to speak it. Except it makes it harder for those who don't understand. Such as when you tell someone you are going to pass out", Caretaker glared at Whumpee.

"I'm sorry... I couldn't remember how to say it", Whumpee whispered sadly, "everything was fuzzy and echoey."

Caretaker watched as the person left the room.

"We need to work on your English", Caretaker smirked.

"I understand and can speak English just fine. We need to work on your Russian", Whumpee sighed.

Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's hand again, "I thought you had died."

"I'm sorry Caretaker", Whumpee whispered, "I didn't mean to scare you. It happened quickly, and I couldn't form the right words."

"It's alright, I'm just happy to be talking to you again", Caretaker smiled weakly, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"Eh, you'll manage", Whumpee sat up.

Caretaker took the chance and got up to hug Whumpee.

"Что делаешь? (what are you doing?)", Whumpee grunted.

"What does it look like I'm doing?", Caretaker laughed while still hugging Whumpee, "let me hug you."

Whumpee sighed and patted Caretaker's back, "I'm sorry I scared you."

Caretaker sighed in relief, "it's okay. I'm just glad you're awake."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@jumpywhumpywriter @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @thenormalestever

@whatwhump @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

[artstennisracket]

i neeeeed artrick dom/sub dynamic in my life. art and pat own each other in such a unique way and i feel like that translates over to intimacy as well. not necessarily in a way where one is always in charge, i think it kinda goes both ways. i’m not articulating this well but still

i trust you to get the vision.

i’m picking up what ur putting down anon😉, I hope you likeeeee :)

cw: dom/sub undertones but now that im really looking at it idek if i did this prompt correctly😭 and there’s no smut in this

*just realized this prompt literally states intimacy im so sorry anon I will work on a part 2

Patrick and Art have a been a package deal since they started the academy. After they became roommates that fateful day, they’ve been inseparable.

Most people would describe their relationship as…honestly pretty gay tbh. But Art and Patrick didn’t have to explain themselves to anyone. Sure they cuddled to go to sleep sometimes, and maybe there were like two times (ten times) they’ve masturbated together. Other than that they consider themselves your stereotypical best friends.

But there was certain dynamics in play. Of course they were subliminal, never outspoken. Art and Patrick had a very unique understanding of each other that transcended verbal communication.

There was a time when Art was being really indecisive of what shirt he wanted to wear to go see his girlfriend later. He was wearing his tiny little briefs, damp curls sticking to his forehead. He felt like he had gone through every single shirt he owned but none of them felt good enough.

Patrick walked out the bathroom, observing the mess Art had made with his clothes everywhere. Patrick smirked as he walked over to their bed picking up a blue polo and holding it up for Art.

“wear this one,” Patrick tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to envision Art wearing the shirt, “brings out your eyes.”

Now what the fuck does Patrick know about fashion. Art scoffs, “yeah sure, whatever,” as he pulls the polo on over his head.

Art can be really indecisive at times, his mind running 10 miles a minute. Now every time he starts to spiral, overthinking about what he should wear, Patrick will just pick his clothes out for him. Even though Art would always make a dismissive remark about how he can pick his own clothes, he did really appreciate Patrick doing it for him. Sometimes he really just needed someone to make a decision for him but he’d never say that out loud. Especially when they had to pick places to go out to eat it was like pulling teeth.

“i don’t know where i wanna go man, i’m good with whatever.” Art shrugs.

Patrick groans, “that doesn’t fucking help, there’s a million places we could go and i know if I suggest something you don’t like you’re just going to complain.”

Art lets out an exasperated sigh falling back onto their bed, “can you please just pick something for me?”

Now that was a first. Art never usually just says he wants Patrick to choose. Maybe it’s because they just shared a joint. Since he was nice enough to ask, Patrick indulges and drives them to get subs at the nearest sandwich shop.

Patrick picked up on how indecisive Art actually is years ago and sometimes he’ll tease Art about it, but he always ends up giving in and making the decision when he knows Art can’t. That means that almost anytime they go out to eat Patrick has to choose. Even when they eat in the cafeteria and Art can’t decide between a chicken sandwich and pizza, Patrick chooses for him. And in return Art would order extra of whatever he’s eating so that Patrick could have some too.

Patrick was like a black hole. He could eat an entire box of pizza if it came down to it. Art didn’t really care because he doesn’t always finish his own food so he’d give the rest to Patrick. That way there’s no waste. Or when Art takes the pickles off his burger, Patrick would be right there ready to eat them up.

So even though Art never expresses appreciation verbally, Patrick knew deep down Art did appreciate it and would go with whatever decision Patrick would make.

There were also times when Patrick needed Art too though.

Patrick wasn’t the best at time management. Between practice and school, sometimes he would forgot to study or do his homework on time. But if his grades fall below a B he won’t be able to do tennis anymore, so Art made sure that wouldn’t happen.

They had a system where Art wouldn’t speak to Patrick until all his work was finished (unless he needed help with it). It was hard at first.

“you’re really not gonna talk to me?” Patrick asks, dropping his backpack onto the floor.

Art nods from where he’s sitting on their bed reading a book.

Patrick scoffs before he toes off his shoes. He climbs onto their bed snatching Art’s book from him. “c’mon its just homework blondie, i promise i can get it done without the silent treatment”

Art looks at him, raising one eyebrow before he shakes his head no, crossing his arms over his chest.

Patrick smirks pointing to himself, “really? you’re gonna say no to this face?”

Art scoffs laughing and nods again as he messes up Patrick’s hair and pushes his head away.

Patrick groans getting off the bed to make his way to his desk and setting up his homework.

It wasn’t ideal but it was the only way Art could get him to actually do his homework. If Patrick can’t get distracted talking a mile a minute, then he could focus on homework. No video games, no TV, no leaving, just Patrick and his homework.

It took Patrick so long to adjust to but eventually it started working like a charm. Patrick would be done with his homework within the hour and everything could go back to normal.

Going home for break was always rough for them since being apart was difficult. But it was particularly rough for Patrick because going home meant being in the same place as his father.

Patrick had been fighting with his father for as long as he can remember. Always standing up for himself since nobody else would. He wasn’t sure why his dad always hated him without reason but after Patrick’s sister had outed him to their parents after he confided in her in confidence, his dad had made it his personal mission to make Patrick very aware how he feels about Patrick’s “lifestyle choices”.

So going home was hell, especially when Art couldn’t come home with him. Art’s grandma’s birthday was coming up and Art’s parents wanted to go visit her so Art had decided to go home for break instead of going with Patrick.

Art was no stranger to receiving calls from Patrick about his dad, it happened every single time they went home for any type of break during school. Most times it was Patrick being very angry and Art would calm him down so Patrick wouldn’t doing anything rash. Other times it was Patrick on the brink of tears over something disrespectful his dad said to him.

Over the course of break, Patrick would get into multiple screaming matches his dad and every single time he would find himself on the phone with Art shortly after. Confiding in Art so he wouldn’t have a breakdown every time. But there was a particular fight that put Patrick over the edge.

ring ring

“hey man, what’s up?” Art asks.

Patrick goes to start his sentence but can feel himself on the brink of tears. He didn’t want to cry right now. He takes a deep breath, his voice wavering, “i can’t stay here anymore.”

Art can hear the hurt in Patrick’s voice and his face visibly softens. His takes a beat before he says, “what did he do?”

Patrick looks up to his ceiling, blinking back the tears that threaten to escape, “i cant—,” his voice cracks, “i don’t want to stay where im not wanted. you didn’t see the way—” and that’s all it really take for the flood gates to open. Patrick is crying full force now because all he can think about is how much his dad actually hates him.

Before it was more subtle but now it was outright. In their last fight his dad had ended it by saying, and if you think i’m going to ever publicly support having a faggot son you got another thing coming. as a matter of fact, i don’t even have a son at all anymore. get out of my sight.

It wasn’t even the words that broke Patrick, it was the way his dad looked at him. A lot of emotions were written across his face like anger and disgust, but his eyes? It was as if he was looking through Patrick, like Patrick didn’t exist. Like he didn’t care if Patrick lived or died. Like he was nothing.

“art i cant— i just cant stay here.” Patrick chokes out between sobs.

“hey, hey, its okay. do you want me to come? you can stay with us for the rest of break.” Art responds softly. Luckily they only live about 4 hours away from each other. But Art has already started driving speeding from the second Patrick called him so there’s maybe about 3 and a half hours left to go.

Patrick nods forgetting Art cant see him. He sniffles, “please.”

“m’ already on my way but we can stay on the phone until i get there. but now im gonna need you to do something for me. can you take some deep breaths for me?”

Patrick nods again, using his hands to wipe the tears from his face. They take a few deep breaths together, Art coaching Patrick through it and counting out loud.

“you did a really good job, now i want you to drink some water and pack your stuff okay?”

Patrick packed his bag and they stayed on the phone until Art came and picked him up. Art would listen to Patrick rant about his dad a thousand times over if it meant Patrick would actually feel even the tiniest bit better afterwards. But he would always be there for Patrick no matter what. He would walk though hell and back if it meant Patrick would be okay.

When they got back to Art’s house Art made sure to do everything he could to turn Patrick’s brain off so he wouldn’t think about his dad anymore. They played video games, watched movies, and ordered food.

That night they cuddled in Art’s bed. Patrick’s head rested on Art’s chest while Art mindlessly played with Patrick’s curls until he fell asleep.

[eirakairos]

Memories - Fall to Pieces

Pairing: Caleb x MC

Summary: Caleb promised to accompany you every time and he uphold that promise... Until the one time, he didn't.

A/N: I didn't expect to write this one a bit long lol This is comprised of the fondest memories I had with my childhood friend (who is now my partner).

Inspired by the song Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne

Words: 3.1k

Tags: childhood memories and friends, jealousy, them being in bands, vaguely confession, a big misunderstanding

You are done with your class and walking to the gymnasium to wait for Caleb’s basketball practice. The school is in a moody ambiance due to a storm passing by. Along the way, girls are staying and watching the basketball players doing their drills, you definitely thought they were watching Caleb. You looked at your childhood friend being focused and doing running exercises again. You sighed, it isn’t surprising that many girls liked him… Because you felt the same way too. Well, he is a varsity player in basketball and was also in a band, he just finished his rehearsal with his bandmates earlier.

It is weird at the same time, as you don’t have the guts to confess fully. The closeness, the care, is already in a package. One of the things you love is you and him going home together, it always has been since. It’s been a constant and you always look forward to him or you waiting for each other.

Many people think you two are together, but since there is no official label on what you two are other than being best friends, especially since Caleb is not protesting, many still give gifts or confess.

But Caleb always declines, which makes you wonder why. Maybe he is not that interested in relationships?

The rumble of thunder broke your thoughts, and you were surprised as the rain fell harder.

“Are you okay?” you heard a familiar voice. You looked at Caleb, wearing his varsity jacket and carrying his guitar. “That was a bit loud, it's only thunder,” he reassured. “I’m alright, no need to worry to me about that,” you said, a bit annoyed but it did humor him. “Sorry if it took so long, we started late because of the storm,” he reasoned. “It is still raining, I guess we have to stay here till the rain passes,” You looked outside, it was getting dark and it's still raining, much worse this time. “Do you have an umbrella?” you asked. “I forgot mine at home because I was late,” Caleb sighed. “As much as I wanted to tell you I told you so…” he chuckled when you pouted. “I didn’t forget mine, but it broke, so I don’t have one either,”

You sighed. “I want to go home, I’m getting hungry. Maybe we can run in the rain?”

“I don’t want you to get sick,” Caleb said.

“Eh, I can just take a shower,” you reasoned. He sighed, he was looking forward to eating hotpot with you. “Alright, alright, when it's drizzling a little, we can go,”

It wasn’t long before the rain stopped and you two decided to go at it. Caleb is holding your hand as you two brisk walk on the road. Your other hand was covering your ear, as the thunder was getting frequent and loud. It started to rain again and Caleb had to think fast, gladly he saw a small building with a roof. “We are almost there,” he comforts you as you two start to run towards the building.

You two are standing and waiting for the rain to calm down, yet thunder is still rumbling loudly, and now, you can see lightning as well, making you flinch. While you are looking at the gray sky, Caleb is staring at you. “Hold this,” he said as he gave you his guitar. You did comply, letting the guitar rest on your foot. He went behind and covered your ears. Your heart beats a little fast as your face feels warm. The sight of lightning suddenly flashed, but it was much closer, the thunderous sound followed, making you flinch and lean closer to Caleb.

“Hey, it's alright. In thunder, I get it. But lightning… Lightnings are beautiful,” he said. You looked at him as he smiled at you. You pouted. “You say that to someone who had a history of astraphobia?” Caleb chuckled. “Sorry,” he smiled. His hands are remained to your ears, but you can still hear him, even his breathing. When the rain calmed down a bit, he grabbed the guitar from you. “Come on, let’s speed up till we reach home. The rain won’t be getting away anytime soon,” Caleb said. He places the guitar over his head as he grabs your wrist. “Wait! You’re using the guitar as a shield? Caleb, are you crazy?!” you exclaimed. Caleb smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll wipe it off the moment we reach home and… Well, you are hungry, right? It is a priority to make you a warm meal,” he said. “But Caleb, it's your guitar!” you said. You were touched but it is a bit ridiculous. “It’s a cheap guitar, I’m planning to buy a better one, anyway,” he followed. “Still…” you said. He tugs you closer. “It’s alright, come on, we’ll run on the count of three…” You nodded as you looked at the wet road.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“Happy Linkon New Year!” You yelled as firecrackers were being lit and fireworks were all over the sky. You are celebrating in your friend Tara’s house. You don’t want to celebrate alone, ever since your Grandmother died and Caleb… He is at Skyhaven. He promised he would be home after the New Year since it is packed with people going home on holidays. You are excited about him being back in Linkon again. He has been busy being a pilot with a side gig of being in a band.

You brought Caleb’s old guitar again as the holidays made you visit the old house to check if everything was well. You did send the guitar for repairs to restore it to a better shape. Everything was nostalgic, especially the guitar, as you remembered when you two ran in the rain with the guitar over your heads. He did wipe it off when you arrived home and had a good hotpot together. You started joining bands as well and creating music. After the festivities, you are singing songs, mostly from the songs Caleb used to play. But there is this particular song that you often remember Caleb from when you played it since middle school.

You are concentrating on singing, knowing the lyrics by heart.

“And I don't want to fall to pieces, I just want to sit and stare at you…” You strum the guitar. It still lets out a good melody but it's not as clear as the guitar nowadays. Tara was singing along with you, as she knew the song too before someone knocked on the door. “I don't want to talk about it… And I don't want a conversation, I just want to cry in front of you… I don't want to talk about it…”

“Hey, pipsqueak,” It made you stop singing and look behind. You saw him, Caleb… You smiled wide until your eyes moved a little.

A girl was standing beside him.

You placed the guitar down and went to them. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other, no hug?” He smiled and gestured for you to get closer. You smiled again as you got closer, big arms enveloping you. You missed that familiar warmth, you missed his hugs.

“Happy Linkon New Year,” he greeted. You missed him. “Happy Linkon New Year,” you replied.

You parted from Caleb, and both felt a bit awkward. “Oh, this is my friend and bandmate,” Caleb introduced her to you. She looks pretty and smiles at you. You didn’t know that Caleb’s band has a new member. “This is my childhood friend,” he said in return. You wished he called you by something else, but that’s all you two have.

Tara called everyone for the first meal of the year. Everything was a blur. You remained quiet as you ate beside Caleb, and beside him on the other side was his bandmate. You are not sure if this girl is his girl friend or girlfriend.

“Oh that guitar, can’t believe that still survived,” Caleb said, amused. “We will be having a gig next week, are you free?” Caleb asked. “It will be her first debut in the band,” he continued. You started to feel annoyed but kept it in, you don’t want to be rude to the other person.

“I think so? I have a set of band rehearsals,” You answered. “You’re in a band?” Caleb asked, looking surprised. You just hummed. “Yeah, I went back three months ago,” you said nonchalantly. Caleb squinted his eyes but remained in his chill demeanor. You don’t remember if you indeed told him, but he has been very busy for months you rarely had calls from him anymore. He didn’t tell you about this new bandmate, so you felt good you didn’t tell him you went back to joining bands again. “You’re in a band? That’s cool!” the girl said. “Why don’t you and Caleb make a band together?”

Caleb only looked down. He tried many times to ask for you to join him but you often refused. He really doesn’t know the reason why, he would love for you to make a band with him. “She is picky,” he replied. “Our creative pursuits don’t mix well, so it's for the best really,” he followed. You snorted internally at his answer. “He and I jam whenever he goes home, that’s fine by me,” you spoke.

After a couple of hours of eating, drinking, chatting, and playing music, it became more solemn and went to a close. “It’s been fun but I should be going now,” his bandmate said, smiling. “Okay, I’ll accompany you and be going home as well,” Caleb said. You paused and looked at them leaving at the door. Something bubbled inside you, maybe it was jealousy, maybe this disconnect between you and Caleb. You were feeling a little upset, a little.

After thirty minutes of trying to distract yourself from your thoughts, “Tara, I’ll be going now, happy Linkon new year,” you smiled. “Oh, okay, I’ll accompany you,” she said. “Ah, no need, I can go home on my own,” you replied. “Are you sure?” she asked, but she had a feeling why you preferred to be alone for a bit. “Yeah! You did a lot of preparations today, you should rest,” you reassured her.

You were walking in the middle of the night on an empty, dark road. It was drizzling a little but it's not that strong. You don’t care about being wet at the moment and the fact you are carrying Caleb’s old guitar, you just felt hurt earlier. Caleb just left you there! You feel you’re being irrational but you can’t shrug off this feeling for some reason. He promised he would always bring you home, always staying by your side. But you remembered his figure walking away with someone else, leaving you there.

You decided to stay at the old house instead of going back to the apartment. You just miss the memories you had with this house, you remember Caleb teaching you guitar and then playing together without any worries. Now, he feels he is far away, he is popular everywhere he goes, from middle school to university, to when he became a pilot and a musician. While you, you felt stuck, or behind, or maybe you feel you’re behind his shadow. You try to fight it off and want to be beside him instead. You cried your eyes out when memories surge to you like waves. You missed when the world just consisted of Caleb and you. As you two grew older, you diverted paths, he is destined for better and wider things and you are happy for him. But it feels like the distance is getting bigger.

“I feel pathetic…” You sighed and played that song again. “I can’t even play the song in front of him,” You only play that song in secret, just to feel comfort and confirmation… That you still love him, much more than friends.

“And I don't want to fall to pieces, I just want to sit and stare at you…” You strum the guitar. It reminded you of the times he went to university for the first time, you are crying like this too, missing him, but you felt much better after playing the song. “I don't want to talk about it… And I don't want a conversation, I just want to cry in front of you…”

“I don't want to talk about it… Cause…” You bit your lip, you sniffed from crying earlier.

“Finish the song,”

Your eyes blinked and looked behind. You almost dropped the guitar as Caleb walked closer while his arms were crossed. You didn’t even notice he was there. You felt words were stuck in your throat.

“Wha-What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Why did you leave Tara’s house?” he said.

“Huh?” you said, confused. “I do need to go home and I can do it on my own, you know,”

Caleb looked frustrated. “I went back and Tara said you already left. I had to run and look for you,”

“Why? You don’t need to, I’m not a kid anymore, Caleb,”

“Then why were you acting that way to my bandmate?” He said, staring at you. And you thought he doesn’t know you that much anymore.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

“Whatever you’re thinking is not true,” he said as he sat down. “I was going to tell you about the new bandmate, but we had rehearsals and gigs. The only thing I can do is introduce her to you in New Year’s, the other members were supposed with us, but they went home to their families for the holidays,” he explained. “She lives alone, so it would be good for her to celebrate with us, but that’s only it,” There was silence. You recalled the memory earlier at Tara’s house, you were passive in the conversations and avoidant. In a clearer view, they seemed to be only friends and bandmates.

“You broke your promise,” you finally said it. Caleb was surprised and then got confused. “What promise?” he murmured then it clicked on him on why you left. He sighed. “I was going to accompany you home. I went to Tara’s as fast as I could, but you already left. I was excited to walk with you to home again,” he explained further. “I don’t break my promises and I die trying, you know that,”

You were quiet and looked at the pouring rain from the window, with claps of thunder. You’re sensitivity is more tolerant now unlike when you were young.

“Now that’s out of the way,” he sighed in relief as you didn’t have any rebuttal. “It’s my turn, why did you form a band and didn’t tell me?”

“Does that matter? You’ll know it eventually,” you answered. “I wanted to form a band with you for so long, and it's easier for you to join others,” Caleb said, looking annoyed. “Why don’t you want to make a band with me? It feels like… You don’t want to spend time with me anymore,” You looked up at him, you didn’t know he was upset about it. Caleb felt that distance you felt as well. “No, Caleb, it’s not that,” you sighed. “You’re just… Too good to be my bandmate,”

His eyes flickered, eyebrows furrowed. “Huh? What does that even mean?”

“I don’t think my skills would be good enough to form a band with you. I saw you perform and interact, you’re a professional already, Caleb. Mine is just for hobbies and fun, I guess,” you said. Caleb remained silent, processing your thoughts. He went to ruffle your hair and chuckled. “Hey!” you protested. “It’s more fun to play with you, I wanted to play and create music with you. You don’t need to consider the technicalities, it will come around. I just like to jam with you, just like the old times,” he said. That quells your thoughts completely. “So I ask again, let’s make a band together,” he smiled. You glanced at him and nodded. “Nice!” he said excitedly. “Also, my band knows you as my girlfriend,” he smiled. “HUH?!” You said, shocked and flushed. “Caleb! We’re not-!”

“What? I mean I’m glad it makes sense now, especially since I heard you sing the song earlier,” He leaned closer, your face so close to his.

“That song was for me, right?” he smirked, especially seeing the blush on your face. “I know it's one of your constant classics in your playlist, often when I arrive and leave. I like to believe you have remembered me with that song for years,” You don’t know how to respond. Your heart is beating fast and has many thoughts rushing in. After years of hiding your feelings, it was only revealed because he heard you play this song.

“Come on, let’s sing the last part,” he encouraged. “I want to hear it,”

You gripped the fretboard, contemplating. Your fingers move to the chords and start to play softer. Caleb gazed at you with affection. Your face is already red, you think that it's not fully shown because of your hair.

“I don't want to talk about it… ‘Cause I’m in love with you,”

You stirred awake and saw it was dawn already, your head was leaning to Caleb’s shoulder and your hand was clasped with his. Sensing your movement, his eyes moved and he grunted softly, waking up as well. Upon seeing you, he smiled warmly. “I don't want to talk about it… Cause I’m in love with you,” he sang and teased. You blushed as you remembered it and instinctively slapped his arm many times. “Caleb!”

“Ow, ow, ow! Just kidding pip-squeak!”

“Is it still raining? It’s raining and it’s New Year,” you said and huffed. “What? You can’t wait to go home?” he said. You two are outside the house, it calmed down earlier but the rain came back. “I’m getting hungry, I want hotpot,” you pouted a little. Caleb chuckled and ruffled your hair. He grabbed his old guitar from your grasp. “Don’t worry, I’ll wipe it off the moment we reach home and… Well, you are hungry, right? It is a priority to make you a warm meal,” he said. Your eyes sparkled, remembering one of your fondest memories with him. “I just sent that to repairs that you know,” you said. He smiled. “Then I’ll be the one who will send it to repairs again after,” he followed. “Still…” you said. His arm went around your shoulder as he leaned to kiss your head and held your hand. “Come on, just like before, we’ll run on the count of three…”

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

[hazbinsponsoredbyvee]

Happy Valentine's Day

Everyone's exchanging gifts before their dates, so I'll post those exchanges here. Feel free to send everyone asks regarding their dates/celebrations, too!

First Up: Our Favorite Unholy Trio

"Here you both go! Enjoy!"

*Lucifer is handed a bouquet of roses, a box of chocolates, and a small, black box which contains gold duck cufflinks with rubies for eyes (they actually look like rubber ducks, but this is all I could find)*

"Oh, wow! Vox, these flowers are gorgeous, and chocolate, and... wow, I love these! Thanks!"

*Alastor is handed a bouquet of fingers (pic to give general idea of look), a box of eyeballs, and a small, black box which contains a black gold pocket watch with a cutout of antlers and a ruby on top (pic was closest I could find to the general idea)*

"Ooh, tasty! I do hope this isn't chocolate."

"Of course not."

"Eyeballs! How delightful! And, my dear, this is just gorgeous. You did quite well, indeed!"

"Your turn!"

*From Lucifer, Vox is handed a box of blue roses, a box of chocolates, and a small, blue gift bag which contains a rubber duck made to look like him*

"Damn, these are gorgeous, Luci! Guess this will stop me from stealing some of your chocolate, and... fuck, did you, I mean, obviously you made this, but... I love it!"

*From Alastor, Vox is handed a large shark stuffed animal (yes, that says 'Love Bites' on it), and two small boxes - one blue, which contains TV test screen cufflinks, and one red, which contains radio cufflinks*

"Holy shit, it's adorable, I love it! And what's in... oh, fuck you."

"Well, it's my favorite face you make - when I saw it, I just had to get it for you!"

*trying very hard not to laugh* "I hate you. So, what's this one, then? Oh yeah, that tracks."

"A little something to class up your wardrobe. And I figured you could mix and match!"

"I will. Thanks."

Up Next: These Much More Down-to-Earth Ladies

"My lady!" *kisses Vaggie's hand and offers her a single, red rose and a gift bag* "Okay, open it, open it!"

*laughs* "Okay, okay." *inside is a bear holding a balloon that says 'I <3 you' and a package of her favorite chocolate* "Aw, I love it, babe! Thanks! Okay, open yours."

*Charlie is handed a bag that contains a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, an eye mask that says 'I <3 You', and a candle*

"Oh, I love it, Vaggie, you're the best!"

And Lastly: They Don't Know What They're Doing

"So, uh, I didn' know if we were exchangin' gifts or anything, but I got you a little something... here." *hands Husk a box of liquor-infused chocolates*

"Thanks, these look good. I actually got you a little something, too." *hands Angel a bouquet of roses and chocolate-covered strawberries*

"Wow, no one's eva'... heh, thanks."

[ccazimi]

Poltergeist! (pt. 2)

pt. 1

cw: true-form sukuna x ghost!reader, heian era au, crack, fluff, suggestive themes, possession of bodies (including sukuna's), errr...footjob themes? (it's kind of how she messes with him), mentions of sexual activities, talks of death/dying, reader breaks sukuna's privacy (mayybe dubcon if you squint??), mentions of his two-cocks and a brief peek at them (no explicit descriptions)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: not sure how i feel about this yet but it was fun to write...

It's been about a month since Sukuna's moved into his (your) shrine. A month since you started haunting him.

You keep annoying him, especially since you've officially scared all the servants into proper submission and there's nothing left for you to do, and he keeps threatening to exorcise you.

His final straw was when you got tired of floating around everywhere (he's not sure how that can even happen) and decided you were just going to sit on his shoulder and let him carry you around.

Permanently.

And it's not like he can get you off or really do anything to you, so now he's left with the shitty equivalent of a really chatty parrot on his shoulder and and a backache. Sukuna does not like backaches, especially when they comment on every detail of his life from how gross it is that he eats peoples to you lecturing him that he should really get some more fruits and veggies in his diet.

So finally you push him to the point of making Uraume try and perform yet another banishing ritual.

Like usual, it doesn't work. Like worse than usual, it somehow makes you stronger.

And that's how you've gained the ability to possess people.

You don't tell Sukuna at first, he just notices one day that suddenly that burdensome weight on his shoulder is gone, and he thanks whatever god exists up there. He wonders if one of his exorcisions finally caught up to you or something.

Everything's going well and because he's in the mood, Sukuna invited his best concubine to his chambers that evening. He lies down and instructs his concubine to get to work, leaving it up to her whether she wants to suck him off or ride him.

He closes his eyes when he feels some pressure rubbing along his bulge, figuring she's just working up to the main event. Except his concubine keeps up her rubbing, and what feels like....poking?... his two dicks.

And then-

"Ohhh yeahhh, you like that ya four-armed freak? I bet you do~"

Immediately his eyes shoot open and he sits up, feeling his boners quickly go soft when he finds his concubine laying on her back, still fully clothed, and rubbing his crotch with the ball of her heel.

"What the FUCK are you doing?!" He seethes, unable to process what kind of brain worm's gotten into his concubine's head.

Sukuna picks her up by the ankle and tosses her off the futon, ready to inflict his vengeance for treating his precious package(s) with such disrespect.

He expects his concubine to beg for his forgiveness or something as he glares down at her, but instead she starts laughing, cackling so hard tears come out of her eyes.

Sukuna blinks as the concubine's body abruptly goes limp and your ghostly form slips out.

You're laughing so hard you don't even realize you fell out of her body.

He crosses both sets of arms and stares daggers at you as you just laugh, feeling a vein twitch somewhere in his forehead. "You FILTHY FREAKSHOW OF A GHOST, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, YOU ARE NOT FUNNY."

Finally you stop laughing and look down to realize you fell out of the body again, before sighing dramatically, making a mockery of a pout. "I just wanted to please my dear Lord, King and savior in the way he likes it best...."

"You know, I really wish you were alive."

"Aww, really??"

"So I could kill you myself."

You give him a dirty scowl before it splits into a wicked grin. "Wait a minute...."

Sukuna does not like the look on your face. Not at all.

And before he can even process what's happening, you're whooshing towards him to take over his body.

He freezes for a second, a shiver running down his spine as it feels like his skeleton goes icy cold. And then, he loses all control of his motions.

No, no, no. This can't be happening.

"I can hear you think in here, you know."

"GET OUT. NOW."

He fights for control as you start moving his limbs around like a doll, curious at the strange sensation of inhabiting this unique body.

"Woahhhh. Four arms feels weird."

His arms swing out all in different directions as you test it out, trying to step forward.

Meanwhile sukuna is cussing you out, and trying to cancel all the movements you're making in his body.

"Fucking -goddamn- brat....get the fuck OUT." He struggles through gritted teeth, trying to eject you from his flesh or at least take back control.

Luckily the concubine on the floor had long since scurried out in utter shock, but if she was still there she would be certain that the King of Curses has officially gone mad, arguing with himself and jerking and flailing his body wildly like a really bad marionette.

You fight back just as hard as him. "Hey, wait, we're going to fall--"

"I'M going to fall, there's no WE--"

"WE are in this together now, buddy. Literally..."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT."

His large frame does indeed topple over and both of you groan in pain.

But unfortunately for him, your curiosity is far from satisfied.

You peel open the lips on his stomach, before realizing you can just open the maw yourself. You stick out the large tongue and wiggle it in the air, giggling as you pinch and pull at it with another hand.

"Woah, this thing's freaky--"

"I'M FREAKY??!" Sukuna attempts to shut his stomach maw while reeling in his tongue.

"CAN YOU STOP YELLING FOR ONCE?? WHY ARE YOU EVEN YELLING WHEN I CAN LITERALLY HEAR YOU THINK."

Sukuna's about to yell back when you randomly pull open his hakama and peer down to see what's inside.

"THERE'S TWO--"

He yelps, quickly snapping his waist band shut. He's not one to feel shame, but he's certainly caught off-guard and feeling a bit scandalized right now, before quickly composing himself.

"That's ENOUGH. Can you leave now?!"

"What's the magic word?"

He wonders if he should stab himself right now just to make you feel some pain. It'd be worth it.

"Hey, I can hear that--" You interrupt.

"Please leave. Now." He finally grits out, unable to take this any longer.

And finally there's a sensation like the iciness leaving his bones, and he regains his bodily autonomy. He stands, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"You need to learn some fucking boundaries, woman. What kind of priestess even are you, being such a perv??"

You roll your eyes. "Not a priestess, a shrine maiden. I just worked here."

"Whatever." He grumbles. "I've had enough of you. I'm going to sleep. Please don't bother me."

You decide you've tormented the tyrant just about enough for the day so you go find someone else to bother.

Sukuna's clearly unhappy with you but in a different way that usual. He can't hurt you or get rid of you, so he resorts to giving you the silent treatment.

You can barely believe it, and try to get back his attention somehow or another but nothing works.

You cause a cold draft and blow out all the lanterns?

"We should probably refill the oil in these lamps."

You literally try to talk to him?

"Uraume, do you hear something? Must be the wind...."

Sure, you could go further, but for some reason a part of you actually feels kind of...upset, like you need to fix this. You can't believe it but you actually miss him talking to you, even if it was usually bickering.

Though not always.

He used to talk to you about other stuff too, and during his silent treatment you realize he'd entertain your yapping about stupid and random things quite a bit actually.

But unfortunately, Sukuna isn't the only one around here with an ego. You'd rather die again, than say sorry.

Instead, you bring food to his room, leaving it on the low table by his futon. Sometimes you bring shiny or pretty things you find and leave them there too, like golden hair combs that you steal from servants or colorful feathers you find, despite the fact that he's literally a grown ass man. Even if it takes you sometimes hours of concentrating to pick things up, and successfully move them considerable distances.

You don't know really why you do all this stuff, you just do it. Frankly you were alone your entire life, and even afterwards in death. The life of a shrine maiden was peaceful, sure, but lonely.

You make his futon for him, tidy his room when he's gone like you're one of his fucking servants.

And still, he doesn't acknowledge it or any of your actions. He doesn't even remove the little "gifts" (your version of gifts) you've left for him either, and somehow that's even more upsetting.

A week later after you're still being met with stubborn silence you decide you should try and talk to him -- actually talk to him. He's a busy man, killing and marauding like usual but finally you catch him during a mealtime.

You float in through the walls, and sit in front of him watching him eat for a few moments before trying to start up conversation.

"So....the weather's pretty nice today, huh?" You begin unsurely, trying to keep your voice friendly.

Silence. He's even gotten pretty good at just looking right through you, at whatever's behind.

You sigh. "Wanna know how I died?"

He doesn't respond, but this time his eyes focus on you.

You take it as a sign to continue. "It was about...seven years ago, I think. I'd lived my entire life at the shrine because it belonged to my family. But all of them had died and I was the last one left, so I took on the responsibility of caring for it."

He continues to eat but all his eyes are on you now, like he's listening. "One winter, I fell sick, like really sick. There was no one to take care of me, nothing to do as I could feel my body giving out. I’d never really been scared of death before but in that moment, as i realized i was actually dying, it hit me."

You breathe slowly remembering what it was like, your final moments of life. "Though it wasn't exactly death that was the scariest you know. It was being alone in my final moments, and more than that it was the feeling of being utterly powerless, having no control over my dying flesh. That was the scariest part-- losing my autonomy to nature. I was dying, and there was absolutely nothing I could do."

He looks at you like you want to say something, but he doesn't.

"So....I guess what I'm saying is, I know what it's like. I don't blame you for really not liking me taking over your body. I guess that was sort of....crossing a boundary. I won't do it again." You rub your neck awkwardly, staring intently at the floor like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "Because I'm guessing that's what you're soo upset about..."

"Even if I was upset, how do you know it's not over you breaking my favorite sake set when you threw it at the wall to get my attention?"

You look up to find him trying not to smirk at you as he chewed on his food. In fact, he's almost looking at you like he's trying not to laugh.

You cross your arms and huff as you narrow your eyes at him. "I am not apologizing for that. You really ignored me because of that? You're not serious, right?"

He shrugs lazily. "Maybe, maybe not. Besides, I didn't know you coveted my attention so badly." He adds smugly.

If there was any blood flowing in your veins, you might've felt your cheeks heat up ever so slightly. "I don't. I was just trying to be nice, asshole."

"And those were some pretty little gifts you left for me in my room, picking things out like you're a crow. Are you going to comb my hair for me with that comb you left, next?"

You glare at him, unappreciative of his teasing before picking up a random empty dish and throwing it at the wall behind him.

Sukuna doesn't even react to it anymore.

You stand and turn your back, angrily floating out of the room as you have your final word.

"Also I'm not sorry about that footjob."

"Want to give me another?"

You clench your jaw, or else it would fall open, responding by just flipping him off and making the sliding door bang shut behind you.

You can hear him laughing at you from behind it, though a part of you can't help but feel like things are right again.

[cringeborg]

1820s to 1840s Evening Wear - 2 suits

Two little edits of that one beloved Vampires suit, with three things in common: Wide hips, a slightly higher collar, and the same swatches.

From the 1820s until the mid-1830s, the fashionable silhouette for men's clothing was wide hips, a slender waist and full shoulders. This look was generally achieved through padding, corseting, and most of all, tailoring.

In the latter half of the 1830s, this silhouette began to change. The shoulders became sloped, and a "pigeon-breasted" look became more fashionable. Hips were still just as wide and the waist just as narrow. The 1840s look was, of course, also usually achieved through unnatural means.

Basically: V1 is this 1820s to mid-1830s look, and V2 is the mid-1830s to 1840s look. V1 has puffy sleeves while V2 has sloped shoulders. V2 also has a slightly fuller chest.

Swatch 1-48: Tie and vest in white, suit in many different colors.

Swatch 49-60: Suit in black, tie in white, vest in various colors.

Swatch 61-65: Suit in black, tie in black, vest in a few different colors. These are intended to be mourning swatches.

Both are BGC!

Both have the same 65 swatches

All LODs (except LOD3 which refused to cooperate with me, so it's the LOD3 of the original vampires suit)

Found in the Sets category

Appropriately tagged and disabled for random

Display index by decade

Download .zip (SFS)

Alt download (Mediafire)

V1 in swatches 1, 12 and 64:

V2 in swatches 38, 59 and 62:

Side views and back views:

[maraudersidk]

doing eyeliner makes me wanna bang my head against the wall and bawl my eyes out.

Anyway my makeup is eating the suffering was worth it.

[ssaalexblake]

love spending an arm and a leg for next day delivery and it not getting here because royal mail accidentally mailed it two counties over instead and didn't notice they'd done it till 3pm.

[pilmyeol]

parents love to tell you that you can ask them for help with anything and then get annoyed when they think the thing you want help with is stupid

[starstruckpurpledragon]

So I had two package deliveries yesterday I'm annoyed about for different reasons.

First one was two books delivered in a soft 'insulated' packet type package, not a box. Which meant both were damaged because of the deliberately poor packaging choices. The first of the two books was only lightly damaged, minor cosmetic issues. Slightly crinkled corner that affects about a third of the pages but not super noticeable. The second of the two books had majorly bent pages to the point I was worried the seam of the bend was going to tear loose if not reinforced and the spine itself was damaged so badly that I was concerned that it would take very little use for the book to fall apart completely.

I don't mind the condition of the first book, but the second one? These are meant to be new books and that second one is in awful condition. I was able to get a free return/replacement option so hopefully the second delivery attempt will be packaged better and the book won't get partially destroyed in transit again.

The second delivery was in a box so what was inside was fine. So the packaging was not the problem here. The problem was that it apparently sat out in front of my house for a few hours with me unaware it was there because they left it halfway up the walkway up to my house. They did not bring it to the porch or ring the doorbell or follow anything remotely like the delivery instructions. If I hadn't eventually gotten the 'hey we delivered this, see the picture???' confirmation emails, it might have stayed out there over night.

My doorbell doesn't always work, but I've got a camera on my porch that I depend on to let me know when I've got a delivery or mail has arrived or my door dash order is here or that the person who just rang the doorbell/knocked is a solicitor I don't wanna talk to. (Or a girl scout selling cookies with her dad and I need to go grab my wallet on the way to the door to support the local troop.) So having a package essentially be barely delivered to my house is kind of annoying and definitely is too far from the porch to trigger the camera. And while this would have been a mild annoyance to me normally, it really annoyed me so much more coming on the heels of the packaging screw up resulting in a damaged book.

[waugh-bao]

*

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[kil9]

the british have to stop trying to cook this is hell

[xhyjin]

husband gojo! who turns into “the neediest” after a long day of being “the strongest” the moment he walks through the door. his blindfold or glasses are tossed aside because, to him, you’re no sight for sore eyes; he wants nothing obstructing his view of you. he’s immediately all over you, clinging to you like a lifeline. and when you groan, “toru, i need my personal space,” he only grins and murmurs, “i need your personal space too, baby,” before wrapping his long legs around you, nearly making you stumble and fall with him still stubbornly attached, laughing like it’s the best part of his day. (it is)

husband gojo! who, ever since you baked him a birthday cake once, fell head over heels for your baking. now, it’s a tradition; he refuses to have a birthday cake unless it’s made and decorated by you. this extends to his sweet tooth cravings too; whenever he comes across random dessert recipes on his phone, he immediately sends them your way with an innocent “doesn’t this look good?” even if you’ve never seen or heard of the dessert before. he’ll hover around the kitchen, sneaking peeks and stealing tastes, grinning like a kid because there’s nothing sweeter to him than something made by your hands.

husband gojo! who absolutely loves when you spend his money. it takes you a while to get comfortable using it because you feel bad, but he always reassures you with a grin, “my money is your money, sweetheart. it’s all gonna be spent on you anyway.” he gets genuinely excited when you come home from a shopping trip or when packages arrive at the door, practically glowing with pride. seeing you spoiled and happy makes him feel like he’s doing something right. his favorite part, though, is when you give him a haul, showing off everything you bought and trying on all your new clothes just for him. he’ll sit back, arms crossed with the biggest smirk on his face, and say, “damn, I knew my money looked good on you.”

husband gojo! who is so, so, so protective of you that sometimes he just wants to keep you home, away from the outside world, where nothing can touch you. he’s spent his whole life as nothing but a weapon for jujutsu society, and all he wants now is to keep you safe, to shield you from everything. when you’re out together, his arm is always wrapped securely around your waist or draped over your shoulder, a silent reminder to everyone that you’re his to protect. dates are rarely in public—he prefers private, intimate places or the comfort of home, where he knows you’re safe in his arms. he’ll even insist on teaching you self-defense, but the lesson always ends the same: him pinning you down, a smirk on his face as he attacks you with kisses, murmuring, “looks like you’re still defenseless against me.”

husband gojo! who quite literally steals your entire personality. the moment you say a new phrase or pick up a habit, he’s quick to latch onto it, memorizing it like it’s second nature. by the next day, he’s already using it effortlessly, as if it’s always been part of his vocabulary. when you catch him doing it, he just shrugs with a small grin, “what can I say? you’re my favorite person—I can’t help it.” he admires you so much that your quirks and habits naturally become his own.

husband gojo! who sometimes tries to scare you in the mornings by hovering over you, his face so close that the first thing you see when you open your eyes are his deep blue eyes staring wide into yours. it always makes you jolt awake, your hands flailing as you instinctively poke or smack him in surprise. he’ll laugh, completely unfazed, pulling back just enough to grin down at you with a playful, “good morning, sleepyhead. miss me?” even when you scold him for nearly giving you a heart attack, he just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead like it’s the most natural way to start his day.

husband gojo! who, just like he steals your personality, also steals your scent and fashion. if you have a favorite perfume, he’s either hunting down the “manly” version of it or shamelessly spritzing yours when you’re not looking. and when it comes to clothes, he’ll buy the exact same pieces you own—just a few sizes bigger so they suit him. it’s not even subtle; he’ll walk out wearing a sweater that’s just like yours, grinning proudly when you notice. “what? we match. it’s cute,” he says, completely unapologetic, because to him, there’s nothing better than being a reflection of the person he loves most.

husband gojo! who’ll dye a small streak of his snow-white hair your favorite color just to surprise you. he keeps it subtle and tucked away, hidden so well that no one else would even notice unless they were running their fingers through his hair—and no one gets that close but you. sometimes he changes it when your favorite color shifts, always paying attention to the little details that make you smile. when you do find it, gently brushing his hair aside, he grins at you softly and says, “figured I’d keep a piece of you with me.”

husband gojo! who genuinely tries his best to make time for you, despite how often he gets called away for missions. sometimes days pass without him seeing you, and the distance wears on him more than he'd ever admit. when he finally comes home, the moment he sees you, he's on his knees, pressing kisses to every inch of your body, mumbling softly between each one about how much he missed you. "missed you so much, baby... couldn't stop thinking about you," he whispers against your skin, his voice laced with exhaustion and love. it's in moments like these-when he's been deprived of your warmth and attention-that he starts to second-guess being a jujutsu sorcerer at all. because no mission, no battle, could ever compare to being with you.

husband gojo! who drops everything the second he steps through the door after a grueling three-day mission, exhaustion forgotten the moment he sees you standing there, holding out a small gift box. confusion turns to shock as he opens it, and inside, a positive pregnancy test. for a moment, the world stops; his heart races, his breath catches, and then it hits him: he has a family now.

husband gojo! who doesn’t even hesitate. right then and there, he decides he can’t be both a sorcerer and a father. he refuses to miss a single pregnancy milestone, a single moment with you or his child, because of his work. the next day, he quits. the elders, the Gojo clan, they can pester him, manipulate him, lecture him about “duty” and “protecting the country,” but he won’t budge. “It’s my duty to protect my family,” he’ll say firmly, his hand resting on your growing belly. no one will take him away from you and the life you’re building together.