#but it’s a million degrees and I do daily walks outside

[superbattrash]

Things I didn’t know I’d sort of enjoy while being on T: my sweat smells different???

I know it makes no sense but I smell more masculine

[yandere-fics]

Kassien I don't want to be a problem. I'm happy to be your mate and live with you and visit your work sometimes, I would just like to leave the apartment while you're at work, to get groceries or go to the library or other stuff

I'm a good mate who never disobeys or runs, just let me have fun since i wont even work

♡ Kassien With An Overly Independent Darling ♡

(That's not really going to work on her, if anything she sees the fact that you even are arguing with her about this as disobedience. Of course this could work if she hasn't shown her true self fully yet, she'd try to ease up for a few weeks but judging by the fact you're saying this she's probably in full control mode already.)

♡ She would not take well to this, really though no demon is going to take well to this, even demons who seem calm like Nikki have a need to manage every part of their mates day. Even elves with the weakest of the mate bonds have the need to control their mates day to day to some degree so now imagine demons, with the strongest of the mate bonds, it's not going to go well. Kassien in particular with her inferiority complex has an intense need to not only prove herself as your mate but control all the parts of your daily life. She does occasionally allow her darling walks outside without her but it's a special privilege for behaving, only happens about twice a week, and you have to take lots of pictures and text her often when you are out. ♡

♡ If you really need to get out when she's at work then she'll just bring you to her work and you can do the stuff she'll put in her office for you. She also would NEVER not in a million years, let her mate go grocery shopping without her. She's going to be the one who carries all your groceries for you, she's not letting you do that alone, beyond that while not being as bad about it as someone like Sawyer is, she still tries to make sure her darling is eating balanced meals and how is she to ensure that if she's not there. Plus she wants to spoil and take care of her mate which includes helping them or just outright doing their daily tasks for them without you having to lift a finger. At most you can get a snack while you're out but no major grocery shopping. Library trips as well will most likely be done with her, it feels like a date, you can't do it alone. ♡

♡ Any independence you want or need is flung out the window when you're dating this freak. ♡

[legobiwan]

For a writing prompt: maybe something with Luigi and polterpup? Or just Luigi and ghosts in general. The fact that ghosts are Real and Present in that world has always been super fascinating and a little upsetting to me haha. Could be as light or as angsty as you wish I just think Luigi being terrified of ghosts and having to (or in polterpup’s case, choosing to) be around them constantly is a fun concept to toy around with.

Apologies this took so long, anon. I vastly underestimated the demands of my travel schedule over the past few weeks. Oof. But now we're back!

Minor TWs in this one for general talk of death, existentialism, and broad references to both animal and child death (nothing graphic, nothing extreme, no on-screen death).

~~~~~~~~~~~

Of Ghosts and the Afterlife (Luigi’s Mansion 1)

Luigi didn’t like to think about death.

Not that there was much he could do about it. Death was as inevitable as a subway car with broken air conditioning on a hundred-degree day.

There was no such thing as the afterlife, Luigi having long ago abandoned the faith his brother and what remained of their family clung to, a practice more cultural than spiritual, steeped in the mores and traditions of a country and people he shared little in common with beyond his last name and an untamable mane of wavy, thick brown hair. 

For Luigi, death was death - game over, end of the line, see you never. A philosophical problem he didn’t enjoy contemplating, but one he could easily shove into a forgotten closet of his subconscious, the more pressing concerns of his daily life taking up his mental energies, banal things like scraping up enough plumbing jobs to pay the rent, dealing with corroded spark plugs in the repair van, and being forced make a meal of the questionable meatball subs from the corner bodega.

Death was death. Religion was religion. And ghosts were…a fairytale, a folklore conjured to rationalize away the heavy weight of existential dread. That, or something used as a cudgel, to keep people on the side of moral righteousness, lest they be doomed to walk the earth for all eternity in the shadows of existence.

Ghosts were a thought experiment. A fun diversion in a cramped Bensonhurst studio, the heating bill long unpaid, he and his brother buried under a set of fraying blankets, their father’s hefty industrial flashlight in hand, competing to see who could scare the other the most as the D Train rattled its metal bones past their window at two in the morning.

Mario was good at stories. (Mario was good at everything). And it wasn’t that Luigi was afraid of the spirits his brother would describe in gruesome detail, the way they’d seep through cracks and keyholes, wrapping their grey, misty arms around skinny, lost children who kept too many secrets. No. He couldn’t be afraid because ghosts weren’t real.

Not until he had been unceremoniously dumped into the Mushroom Kingdom, that was. 

He could deal with the existence of Boos. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but he could at least assign them a category outside the paranormal. Boos were just another strange species, a bunch of floating marshmallows that looked like ghosts and acted like ghosts, but in no way were actual ghosts. Boos were something real, something alive, but beyond Earth’s limited taxonomies, just like everything else in this impossible world of talking mushrooms and tyrant turtles and evil wizards and booted dinosaurs and a million-and-one things that could leap out with fangs or fire or spikes and kill you at any moment - 

Death, he had once nervously told his brother over a campfire on the outskirts of Toad Town, felt like it had become a way of life. 

The letter had arrived on a crisp autumn morning, the early sunlight peeking through the gaps of Luigi’s drawn curtains. He remembered thinking it was a clean kind of light, unsullied by the drudgery of heavy coats and thick scarves, of greying slush and oily puddles pooling in the gutter, cigarette butts bobbing up and down like the stained buoys off Brighton Beach. Life had been, if not normal (he didn’t think he’d ever consider his existence in the Mushroom Kingdom normal), at least less chaotic than usual. There had been no invasions, no kidnappings, no pleas from neighboring kingdoms for help. For the first time in a long time, his daily routine was…pedestrian. A little boring, even. It was a nice change of pace.

He should have known better. Did know better. 

No one gave away mansions.

Yeah, and I’m sure they also have a bridge in Brooklyn they’d like to sell me he had muttered, crumpling up the notice, tossing it into a dented, mushroom-shaped garbage pail without another look as he groped for a gurgling coffee pot.

Three days later, a short, wiry old man was thrusting a souped-up vacuum into his hands, blathering all kinds of nonsensical instructions about ectoplasm and strobe lights and hearts and all that Luigi could think through the high-pitched static descending on onto his brain is that my brother is in danger and holy shit this entire mansion is filled with actual, real ghosts.

There was no time to wrap his head around the metaphysics of it all, the very real danger of being killed by an entire army of irate specters overriding any considerations as to the how or why of the entire situation. Ghosts apparently existed, not only as Boos, but as colorful, globulous forms, as cantankerous old knitting women, as mechanical, murderous toy soldiers, and worst of all, as small children and even screaming babies, the terrible implications of which rattled around Luigi’s already frenzied consciousness as he sucked the heart from a wailing infant, in all likelihood murdering it a second time. (A hazy memory had surfaced, a small, doll-like figure laid on a cheap, linoleum kitchen table, legs unstable as a small cadre of extended relatives wept and laid kisses on the child’s forehead. Forty and eight hour, their great-grandmother had commanded in broken English. To be sure the true dead. Spirito.)

It had been less than twenty-four hours, he reminded himself. Mario wasn’t dead. Or undead. Or whatever. Not according to tradition, and certainly not according to Luigi’s empirical observations (which seemed to be holding less and less weight as the paranormal evening drew on). No, he had seen his brother through the marble fangs of the dragon’s head. He was in the painting, banging for his life against an invisible prison of oils and canvas, his mouth open in a silent scream.

A victim of magic, but not a ghost.

Not if Luigi had anything to say about it.

He ran. Up broken, splintering sets of stairs; down dimly-lit corridors with threadbare rugging; through trap doors and flocks of toothy, golden bats, vacuum hose at the ready, sucking away at anything even resembling a ghost (how many curtains, how many dresses and bedsheets had he whisked into shreds all because of the ripple of a breeze or a trick of the light?)

He fought his way through chamber after chamber, slurping phantasms from earthly existence, unwilling to consider just what he’s damning his enemies to, if he’s killing them again, if they can feel pain or remorse, if this whole situation is maybe a figment of his imagination and in reality he’s back in Brooklyn, or worse, committed to a padded cell in Bellevue, colorful apparitions dancing on blank, white walls, the evidence of a broken mind. 

He found his brother’s portrait hung in a baroque, gilded antechamber, the room something as alien as the specters he had been fighting, his grimy boots sinking into blood-red, lush carpeting as gems and pearls and other precious-looking stones twinkled in the light of a silver candelabra. 

The keeper of Mario’s canvas prison turned to greet him, a gargantuan Boo with a jeweled crown named “King Boo” - an uninspired moniker if there ever was one - who pontificated at length, swearing vengeance on both Mario and Luigi, demanding reparations in blood and soul for crimes Luigi couldn’t even begin to understand, no less remember. 

Did I kill him? Luigi had panicked, rooted to the spot, Poltergust in hand as the Boo continued his long-winded diatribe. Is that why he’s a ghost? Did Mario do something? Luigi tried not to think too hard about the ethical dilemmas of their adventures, of their roles as protectors of the Mushroom Kingdom. Sure, people got hurt, that was the nature of the beast, but…

It didn’t matter, not when King Boo conjured a several-story tall likeness of Bowser, whisking Luigi through a portal to the stark rooftop of the dilapidated mansion to engage in a twisted game of cat-and-mouse (ghost-and-plumber), the giant Koopa puppet doing its best to stomp Luigi into a fiery, broken heap of ashes.

He escaped with his life. That, and the promise of retribution from beyond the grave, King Boo spitting all forms of vile epithets and visions of eternal pain as Luigi sucked the last of his bulbous form into the squealing, smoking Poltergust. 

When Mario was spat from E. Gadd’s printing machine, tumbling across the floor in a confused pile of limbs - his brother, real, corporal and definitely not dead - Luigi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

He never wanted to see - never wanted to think about another ghost again in his life.

Of Dogs (Luigi’s Mansion 2)

He supposed it made sense. In a way.

After all, if there were Boos, if there were ghost adults and ghost children and ghost babies - there were bound to be ghost dogs. Maybe ghost cats, as well. Hell, maybe an entire ghost civilization living (dying?) in tandem with his own flesh-and-blood world. 

He hated the idea. It trampled on every tenet of thermodynamics he had carved into his brain at the age of ten, made a mockery of the physics and chemistry and engineering that had carried him through adolescence and into adult life.

The Mushroom Kingdom - that was something he had at least managed to rationalize, had begun to construct a loose schematic for, notebooks upon notebooks filled with messy diagrams and rambling equations, an inadequate translation to his Earth-bound science, but one that allowed him to find some kind of solid footing in this incomprehensible new dimension.

Ghosts did not fit into his neatly constructed template. 

Least of all, ghost dogs.

Of course, the dog had to eat the key and run away, leading Luigi on a wild goose chase (he dearly hoped there was no such thing as ghost geese). He ran pellmell through gardens, through labs, through a series of mansions and other haun - 

Other decidedly creepy spots in the Evershade Valley. Places where he was left to battle groups of angry, globulous…shadows. Specters. Phantoms. Spirits. Poltergeists.

Ghosts. 

Again. 

He would have been angry if he weren’t so terrified. 

The dog, as much trouble as he was (He? She? Did it matter?) had at least not fallen under the spell of the Dark Moon, making him the Least Frightening Ghost of this particular run-in with the ethereal undead and King Boo.

And Luigi could almost get himself to…well…maybe not like him, but tolerate him. Even though the dog ate his keys, left messy trails of crumbs and soggy, half-eaten baguettes, slobbered all over Luigi’s pants, and managed at least once to urinate in a public fountain, a phenomenon Luigi would be puzzling over for months after the fact.

Best of all, the dog, unlike almost everyone else here, wasn’t bent on killing him. 

He was just a normal dog.

Who happened to be a ghost. 

Luigi wondered if he had had a family in life. Children to grow up with. A big house with a yard. He acted more like a puppy than an adult dog, his exuberant chaos reminiscent of the little Golden Retriever pup his second cousins had gotten when their family moved out to the Island. Oyster Bay, he remembers, real fancy stuff. Sal and Tony’s house had had trees. A garage. Separate bedrooms. He and Mario had begged for a dog for weeks after visiting, shuffling furniture around their tiny-windowed room, marking out places in purple chalk for the dog’s water bowl, his kibble, his toys.

Their father had grunted at the proposal, noting the two brothers would have to sleep in the same bed to make the space for their imaginary new pet. This ain’t no place for a dog, you two. You want animals, get a job with the pound. What, you’re still going to beg? Santa Maria. You two share that bed for a week without beating each other up and then come back to me. But I don’t like the odds. You boys haven’t shared a bed since you were seven. Five’ll get you ten you last forty-eight hours before someone’s fist is in the other one's face. 

They lasted three whole days before Luigi had planted his foot in Mario’s kidneys at two in the morning.

They never saw the dog in Oyster Bay again.

A car accident, real unfortunate stuff, Aunt Maria had told them later.

The memory haunted Luigi as he unholstered the Poltergust, forcing his fingers to twist dials and push at levers. He needed that key. It wasn’t just his life on the line if he failed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as he sucked the ghost dog into the machine, trying his absolute best to ignore the little whines and terrified yips of the struggling not-animal. After what felt like an eternity, he heard the tell-tale “pop” of the Poltergust, signaling his success in capturing yet another ghost, the silver key clanging to the cobble-stoned ground.

Luigi had never felt less heroic in his life.

I just think he wanted someone to play with, E. Gadd had commented offhandedly later, emptying the Poltergust's canister into the gigantic silver ghost vault with his usual detached efficiency, oblivious to the way Luigi's features had paled at the comment.

When he got word of the dog’s escape a few hours later, Luigi didn’t even try to deny his relief.

Of Half-Lives and Vengeance (Luigi’s Mansion 3)

Fatigue. Carelessness. Hubris. Naivete. 

Or maybe it had just been sheer stupidity.

An invitation to vacation at an exclusive, luxury hotel, addressed to him. 

Nice things never happened to Luigi. Or if they did, he could hardly enjoy them, waiting on tenterhooks for the other boot to fall.

The boot fell that evening. It was ghosts. Of course, it was. Nearly twenty floors of ghosts. At this point, he could say he was almost used to it, the creeping shiver up his spine, the gluey residue of ectoplasm which would leave him tattooed with ugly, mottled rashes for weeks on end.

Once again, he had to act as a one-man army against the mass of spectral, malevolent will. Once again, his brother had been trapped in a painting.

There were differences, of course. Polterpup was by his side, the ethereal puppy proving more loyal to Luigi than his fellow spirits. (Luigi could never say Polterpup was "his" in the way most pet owners would lay claim to a regular cat or dog. The ghost puppy had a disturbing tendency to disappear for weeks, sometimes months on end, only to make his return in the most startling manner possible, more than once sending Luigi screaming, flailing off his bed at some weird, inconvenient hour of the night. But for as much as Polterpup could have a "home" - Luigi's house was it).

Luigi also had the help of his pseudo-clone, Gooigi, a horrifying creation of E. Gadd's, an unholy combination of ghostly discharge (the nature of which Luigi did not want to know), coffee, and, Luigi's own biological samples. An impossible being with whom he shared an inexplicable telepathic connection, and if Luigi had had any semblance of a minute to consider what that all meant (was he part ghost now? Could Gooigi outlive him? Would he maintain that consciousness after death?) he would have likely run screeching into the night.

(The fact Gooigi had proven essential to his continued existence did not distract from the wildly dubious ethics behind Gooigi's creation, an issue Luigi was definitely going to have a long talk with E. Gadd about at some point. If he could manage to broach the topic without falling into a breathless panic).

But the most striking aspect of his third encounter with King Boo and his minions, something that wriggled at the base of Luigi's cerebellum as he fought floor upon gimmicky floor the largest array of ghouls he encountered yet, was the element of premeditation.

King Boo had easily disposed of Mario, the Princess, and the Toads during their first midnight encounter. Sure, Luigi had escaped down a laundry chute, chest heaving as he toppled onto a pile of dirty towels. But that shouldn't have posed an issue for this crazed version of King Boo, a being who could literally phase through walls.

Luigi should have been dead, or worse than dead, ten times over.

No, King Boo had decided to wait. To draw out the deep, sustained hum of terror far beyond its final breath.

Security cameras were posted everywhere in the hotel. Luigi had no doubt the ghostly tyrant was following his every move, watching, salivating as he fought and struggled against Egyptian gods and malevolent Mozarts, and bearded, Bayou beasts. (Were these the literal souls of the departed? Was Mozart truly in these walls? Or was this like a ghost Halloween, a once-in-a-deathtime opportunity to fulfill that longing urge to finally be someone who you will never be?)

(He remembers being six years old. Remembers dressing as his brother for Halloween, Luigi stealing Mario's iconic red t-shirt, his parents pleading with him to go as anything else - a spider, a rat, a baseball player - Luigi refusing each entreaty. The other boys aren't going to like it, Luigi, his mother had said, consonants slurring. You're going to get the snot pounded out of you, Dad had added a beat later).

(In the end, he had thrown an old floral bedsheet over his head, not even bothering to cut out eyeholes. I'm a ghost! Luigi had boasted. You're a loser, Vinny Malanga had laughed).

And worst part of it was, Luigi knew it. Knew he could turn any corner, go down any dark hallway and be met with that signature violet gemstone, that bladed, fanged smile ready to slam an empty frame down on his head and trap him for all eternity in oil and canvas. 

Death waited in every shadow.

And King Boo was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Of Death (Epilogue)

Luigi thought he knew death. After three, separate encounters with buildings chock full of the undead, after countless hours spent in the company of the best paranormal researcher he knew (the only one he knew, admittedly), after providing part-time shelter for a genuine ghost puppy, after meeting his half-undead clone - Luigi considered himself, if not comfortable, at least conversant in the hows and whys of the afterlife. 

One day, he tried to stop a wedding between a princess and a monster.

Death, he would learn, was only the beginning.

[nomsfaultau]

Fault!Tubbo prosthetics +thoughts

I’m still not completely sold on the design I’m using, and have been workshopping it for months at this point. Feedback is encouraged, though as a note Fault!Tubbo is a traumatic double below-the-knee amputee who possesses neither proper materials, medical knowledge, nor human biology. Below the cut is essentially an outline of my thought process. It’s kinda long given I’ve been planning/researching for a few years about this plot line, and wanted to consolidate information for Fault. 

The construction: The Blade first set upon the project of creating the prosthetics with his usual level of intensity that he brings to all tasks. Wilbur ‘gathered’ most of the materials as their chief dirty crime boy, and Tommy painted them with his TI-Red. Philza offered welding abilities and also some experience from a few decades he spent as a pirate. But for the most part, the project was the collaboration between The Blade and Tubbo, going back and forth in planning and implementation. The ability for the pair to cooperate was a huge step in their relationship, even if (despite what The Blade hoped) this in no way meant Tubbo forgave him for the injury. Cause. Duh. 

The materials available were severely limited, cobbled together with stolen cans, belts, wood, and a pair of shoes. With little outside resources or information, the design was both crude and imperfect. Lots of testing was required, particularly to suit the irregularities of Tubbos’ biology. 

One advantage of being a skin suit pilot by a swarm of bees was that Tubbo could pour bees into their purposefully hollowed-out prosthetic, allowing increased control of movement. One major difference between Tubbo and a typical human amputee was that they couldn’t wear a shrinker sock (even if they had one), and couldn’t rest their stump in the prosthetic. The ability to hover helped this particular challenge to some degree, but constant flying was exhausting and negated the intention of the prosthetics. It made for a big design hurdle, but everyone’s particularly cautious about it given the last time they restricted the stumps Tubbos’ gradual regeneration collapsed inward and left them with permanent nerve damage. Additionally, SBI have to refit/rebuild the prosthetics far more often given the slowly lengthening limbs that they don’t want to interfere with. I reckon this would make prosthetics extremely difficult once they’re getting to ankle/feet territory, but since that won’t happen for an estimated half a million words, it’s not my problem yet. Tubbo will have to utilize a number of different designs, likely further stressing the scarce supplies the anomalies can muster. 

General details:

Tommy painted the prosthetics with crimson stars and flowers in reference to an earlier scene where Tommy helped Tubbo through a crisis, wherein both of them managed to find a hope to latch onto, both in each other and the future. Freedom to always see the stars; a return to the field of flowers that Tubbo called home. 

Tubbos’ adjustment period was pretty rough, given no one knew what they were doing, and were also dealing with a lot of other problems. Tubbo definitely did not get the recommended slow increase in usage time as the group tends to walk approximately 7-10 hours daily to avoid the Foundation. This greatly frustrated them, but the rest of the group (especially Philza) made sure they didn’t push themselves too hard.

They had to add more straps than typical to better secure the prosthetics, as where usually gravity would keep them more secured, Tubbo kept accidentally hovering away and leaving the prosthetics behind. 

Tubbo was annoyed at being forced to wear shoes for the first time since they were 5, but it was easier to use them in the design for balance. 

When other Hivemind members front they don’t know how to use the prosthetics because they’d never had practice. Rhodes felt they were inconvenient, but Jasmine didn’t care because she just flew everywhere anyway. 

The prosthetics made flying more cumbersome because of their weight and the limited space to put bees inside compared to Tubbos’ original legs. 

The cloth used to cushion the stumps had dinosaurs on it for Jasmine.

Tubbo tended to prefer them off, which brought them at odds with ‘sleeps in his shoes’ Wilbur, who insisted it’d be safer to always have them on considering how often they need to jolt into action to avoid the Foundation. 

They often accidentally left them in weird places and then used a swarm to fly the legs over. 

They got very grouchy and snappish on bad pain days, and Tubbo, Wilbur, and Tommy commiserated together when the weather messed with their scars. 

As a final note, Tubbo was intended to lose their legs from the very beginning of Fault, long before I even decided to make it a fic and it was still in its infant comic phase. Given the years-long endeavor this was (and still is), alongside my own personal growth as an author/person and the research I did in an attempt to more accurately portray Tubbos’ disabilities, I realized the problematic trope of a ‘disability cure’ that was embedded in my story through Tubbos’ ability to gradually regenerate the body they inhabit. It was impossible to write out the injury, given how deeply it affected their planned actions, relationships, and character arc. Furthermore, isn’t that the problem of the trope to begin with? That disabilities are written out, glossed over, ignored, much like people attempt to do in real life. The regeneration likewise had narrative purposes, particularly in the Foundation’s experimentation with it. So I had a problem on my hands. 

The main way I attempt to address this is in a series of short and long-term accompanying effects to avoid depicting a full cure. 

Short Term:

Phantom pain

Not having legs for the vast majority of the fic, ie months. 

Another trope of course being a professor X figure. I.e., using telekinesis/flight to negate the disability. Tubbo has this to an extent with their swarms/literal wings. Part of my response to that was during the escape they lost significant portions of their hive. This has actual meaning since I’m the type of person to mathematically pinpoint the approximate amount of bee population needed to move a flesh-honeycomb structure mimicking a human body. 

Their capacity to lift a weight lowered significantly to the point that moving around their own body was taxing, particularly in flight. No doubt this was me projecting my own chronic fatigue onto them but psh no one’s gonna notice. 

Long term: 

Scarring

Even more trauma

Nerve damage/chronic pain. The last major long-term effect comes around as a result of failure to properly manage their traumatic amputation. Given they had approximately fifteen minutes of professional medical intervention and then were shoved into a siege situation followed by living on the run, there was little knowledge or supplies. Tubbo proceeded to poorly cope via a combination of intensive pain medication, heavy disassociation, and ignoring the problem in favor of bigger, flashier problems. Given they didn’t have blood or flesh, the ignored injury luckily didn’t get hella infected and kill them. But due to the aforementioned healing factor, the regenerating leg couldn’t properly grow while bandaged, instead growing inward in a way that caused further health problems. Amateur surgery was attempted by Wilbur to clear out some degree of damage, resulting in further growth being unhindered but leaving Tubbo with scarring and nerve damage that never goes away. 

The goal is to attempt to portray their disabilities to the best of my ability with regards to the fantasy elements present in the work. While on a surface level the amputations are “healed” there are many complications associated with it. Temporary disabilities of course also exist, and most people will at some point encounter one in their lifetime. My goal is to portray a mixture of short and long-term symptoms, as well as how Tubbo messily copes with them. I don’t intend to get into the emotional aspects here but OH BOY. Are there many! 

As with most major (and admittedly incredibly minor) aspects of this story, research is an ongoing process. I’m not sure that there’s much purpose in this, other than the autistic urge to write papers about my own stories. 

[lovemesomesurveys]

How frequently are you inclined to read, and how much? I used to read quite frequently, like going through book after book after book. In the past year it’s slowed down significantly and I really want to change that.  

When was the last time you questioned the direction your life was taking? I mean, of course I can’t help but wonder why all this stuff happened and why I’m having to go through so much. I can’t predict the future, but I never imagined my life would lead to here. 

What small things have the ability to get under your skin? I can’t stand being told to “calm down” or “chill out” and it drives me nuts when I’m trying to talk to someone who clearly is more interested in something on their phone and are only giving short responses or sounds. 

When was the last time you were caused to be upset with someone? Meh, I was annoyed about something with someone, but it really wasn’t their fault. I’m the messed up one.

What is something small that has the ability to cure a bad mood? There isn’t really like a “cure” or some quick fix, sure fire way to kill my bad mood. I’m someone who just has to ride it out, basically. I get upset, sit and stew on it for a long time, and then move forward. 

What beverage is best capable of quenching your thirst? My Starbucks energy drinks. 

What was the last big change through which you went? Do you deal well with change, typically? Have you always? Oh, this past year I went through a great deal of change. It was a really scary time last year and the changes were scary at the time, too. Ultimately, it was the right choices and the change brought about a lot of good, but yeah it was terrifying. 

How do you feel after spending a great quantity of time online? I may just feel tired or maybe even a little drained. 

What do you consider to be the biggest drawback to being you? All my health shit.

What do you consider the best part of being who you are? Uhhh.

What kinds of things do you have on display in your room? My obsession with giraffe stuffed animals, Alexander Skarsgard, Stranger Things, gnomes. 

What do you think your room and its contents say about you, if anything? It says I really like a variety of things. 

When was the last time you felt insecure about something/some situation? I feel insecure about myself constantly.

Do you ever stop to contemplate infinity? I guess I have in some way.

Are you comfortable amongst nature, or does the wilderness discomfit you? I can’t deal with all the bugs. That’s what kills it for me the most. And definitely not if it’s a million degrees outside. I really only like being outdoors when I’m at the beach.

When was the last time someone or something caught you off guard? I’m so jumpy so someone saying hey as they walk into my room catches me off guard and makes me jump.

How much time do you put into maintaining your appearance and hygiene? I put bare minimum maintenance now. I don’t have the energy or motivation to do more than that. I haven’t worn makeup in sooo long. 

Are there any foods you eat daily? Or wish you could? Yes, cause I have a really odd and messed up appetite and food issues so I just eat the same few foods I know I like and can eat. Like, I have cream of wheat for breakfast everyday. I have a sandwich most days of the week and Taco Bell like 5 times a week. Pizza, pasta, and wings get thrown in the mix sometimes as well.

When was the last time someone new entered your life? What was your first impression of that individual? No one new has entered my life in quite awhile.

Do you put much thought into your handwriting? My handwriting is shiiit. 

What are some of the top priorities in your life right now? Getting better and hopefully to the point where I can travel again and have beach trips.

In general, how do you feel about romantic relationships? That’s a loaded question.

Which emotional sensation inconveniences or bothers you the most? Uhhh. I mean, anxiety affects me the most. It’s a bitch. Not sure if that answers the question.

Are you capable of consoling others in their grief? I feel like I’m so awkward and not very comforting at all. I struggle with what to say. Especially when there’s really not anything I could say.

Do you ever find it awkward to compliment another being? It’s more just cause I’m shy.

When was the last time you had a new experience? What was it? Trying thc tablets a couple months ago. 

Do you dress more for yourself, or to the expectations of others? I wear what I like and find comfy. What kinds of things tend to stress you out? >> man, answering that could take forever <<<<

What is one way you cope when you feel like crap? I binge watch YouTube videos. 

Name an insult you regularly receive, if there is one? >> I am very grateful to not be living a life where I am regularly insulted <<< Yeah, the only person insulting me is myself.

Name a site that takes up a lot of your time? Tumblr, obvi. And YouTube.

What is something you used to believe about life that you no longer do? Hmm.

What is a lesson you have recently learned? I’m still learning. And probably still missing the major mark on things. 

Do you have a tendency to look on the morbid side of life? I may make some dark humor comments. 

When was the last time you went shopping? What did you buy? It’s been months, but I have several things in a few different carts online that I need to get.

When you shop for clothing, how long does it take you? I mean, it really varies.

What is something fun you have done within the past week? I haven’t done anything fun in a long time.

What is something you hope you never have to do again? Go through the stuff I went through last year. 

How does the rain affect your mood, if it does? I love rainy days. 

[bethoughtful]

A New Adventure is Here

The thing is, new things are actually scary because of its unpredictability nature. We have developed an automatic system within our unconsciousness to see new thing as a threat to our lives whether it is to run or to fight back. Let’s imagine that we are walking around in the middle of the forrest and then we see tree branches fall to the ground. Our common response is that we are shocked and then assuming it is a snake. We tried to tickle it with our sticks/other tree branches to see if it’s alive or it’s just tree branches. Until we are really sure that it is either dead or not a deadly cobra, we could continue our journey with peace. This response has been done for maybe thousands of years since our ancestors are an easy target for the snakes and we are taking a great attention to this since snakes are dangerous animals that has killed a lot of people. At this point, I kinda disagree with Barney that says ‘New is always better’.

New things are not always better, sometimes it’s challenging even deadly to some degree. The latest human technology, Artificial Intelligence are actually a prove that a lot of people are not ready to accept this technology and some of them are cursing its existence. Elon Musk is trying to convince the people about space travel and living in the moon or Mars and this idea not only has been hardly accept by our community but also considered as lunatic! Crypto’s market is still crashing, NASA keeps updating us about new planets or galaxies and more and more other proves that there is always been a new discovery on a daily basis and how could it not scared our poor little primitive minds that has just discovered fire, thousands of years ago?

It also happens to me personally. I’m scared with a lot of stuff, lately. My new job, my new client, my new habit, my new relationship, and above all my new life. It sure is scary as hell that a lot of things are actually that I thought I already know and have a good grasp of it, turns out wrong and irrelevant. Things that I don’t aware of its existence is actually hurting the people that I loved. I’ve experienced a lot of things, I’ve discovered many new things, and I’ve learned even more from all of that, with all the rollercoaster-upside down. All in all, a new adventure has turned me into something new and I have difficulties to understand it all.

Just like Bilbo Baggins in his first journey outside of Bag-End Village, he started it with a great new spirit, looking at this as something exciting and will get him out of his boring live. For those of you who followed his quest, it is all not that exciting but more like a dangerous trip and dare I say life-threatening. He ate things that aren’t supposed to be eat, sleep in random places, and do things that are beyond imagine. Do you still remember at that time when he actually almost killed Gollum, the ring keeper! He could actually eliminate him at that time but decided to didn’t even when Gollum has been attempting to killed him several times. Turns out at the end of the series, it’s actually quite interesting that Bilbo came home with a different spirit and grew up so much. I felt alot like him.

My new adventure has somewhat makes me dizzy, stressed, but at the end of the day makes me stare and awe. I have never known my potential and what could I do before until I found myself in this new life; A new adventure with a million of potentials and opportunities that keeps me from getting bored to work (How could I be bored? It is almost feels like I want to die everyday and week!). It taught me a lot of stuff and mold my soul harshly like a keris (local short blades for battle and war). This year, I would never imagine myself with a girl and to dedicate my heart to her. An exclusive relations with my loved ones that challenge me, question me, and always love me. A deep connection and relations that keeps me wandering all night that could this goes any better and what would I do without her.

Today’s digital era, the period of accessibility and connectivity has been wildly change our perceptions of a lot of things, change how the society works, and it is started to challenge a lot about humanity’s foundations of faith, soul, and mind. It tries to change our old structures into new ones so that it could lasts longer, better, and stronger. It is our job to discover all of the potentials and to keep being scared of the new things that will come again in the future. Future holds a great mystery for us since humanity was blessed (or cursed) with a conscious mind that awares of themselves and could predict what will be in the future. The unknown has never been easy to accept but let’s go beyond the chaos to know that it is essential for human’s soul to keep challenge itselves to become new, different, and grow well.

[nugnthopkns]

i wish i could disappear

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, feelings of anxiety due to social media harassment, invasion of privacy that border on stalking

recommended listening: brutal | olivia rodrigo

series masterpost: here

a/n: and we're off to the races!! i love this album and olivia so much. there's a shoutout to goon by tobias jesso jr. in here bc it's my favourite album to cry to lmao (highly recommend giving it a listen!). i'm on the fence about this one but am posting it anyways because i don't think i can make it any better

How the fuck do people find your social media?

All of your accounts are private and Kevin makes sure to never tag you on the rare occasion he posts a picture of the two of you together. The wives and girlfriends who have public accounts make sure to never post about you, and you’re careful not to comment on posts often. You’re a private person and though you understand that due to the nature of your relationship with Kevin you intrigue some fans, you don’t want to give them more than you have to.

Despite making no attempt to open up to the public or media, every day you wake up with hundreds of follow requests from complete strangers. At first it was a little exciting knowing that people were curious about your life but after years of the same routine it’s become draining. It takes you nearly twenty minutes each day to weed through them and accept only the people you know personally. Kevin doesn’t actually know how many people want to catch a glimpse of your daily life because you do your best to keep it from him. Knowing would only bring him stress, and you want him to be able to focus on winning games and loving you with his entire heart.

☼☼☼☼

The phone on your desk rings loudly, pulling your attention away from the computer screen that has way too many numbers on it for your liking. The finance department needed someone to proof their audit before sending it away and since you’re the only one in human relations that has a business degree the job landed on your shoulders. Eager to take a break, you pick it up and press the receiver against your ear.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other side laughs gently, but you immediately know it’s Kevin. “Hi sweetheart,” he says warmly, “How’s work?”

“Fine I guess. It’s work, Kev. Nothing terribly exciting happens here,” you explain but continue to fill him in on all the coffee pot gossip you got this morning. Kevin listens as you complain about forgetting your lunch on the counter and chuckles at how upset the situation makes you.

“What if I told you I’m outside your window with a burrito bowl?”

Excited at the possibility of seeing your boyfriend before dinnertime, you whip towards the window and spot Kevin on the sidewalk, waving like an idiot despite knowing your office is on the fifth floor. You hang up quickly after telling him you’ll be down in two minutes and let the receptionist know you’re stepping out for lunch. There’s a line for the elevator so you head to the stairwell, taking them two at a time in your haste. You’re crossing the street to the small park where Kevin has set up a picnic before your co-workers are even out the door.

You plop down on the blanket beside Kevin and lean into him. He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before passing you the food he brought. You take a bite, sighing at the taste. Kevin knows you better than you know yourself and knew exactly what to get that would satisfy your mounting hunger.

“Thanks babe,” you smile, holding up your fork and offering him a bite. He takes it graciously but makes a face. “What’s the matter?” you laugh as you take the utensil back.

“I fucking hate avocado.”

The two of you eat in relative silence, speaking only when you remember a detail from your morning. Kevin tells you about the drills he’s going to lead at practice in the afternoon and what he plans on cooking for dinner since he’ll be home before you. You insist you can whip something up when you get home but Kevin shakes his head. He reminds you that relationships are give and take, and that you’ve made dinner the past three nights because he had a string of games. You manage to reach a compromise that has you doing the dishes before you have to return to work.

Kevin insists on walking you back to your office even though you protest vehemently. Your relationship is far from secret, and has been the topic of workplace gossip more times than you can count, but after five years you’ve learned to ignore most of it. However, you don’t want your co-workers to think you flaunt your NHL player boyfriend to prove you’re better than them. They all love Kevin, and a couple of them congratulate him on last night’s goal as he follows you down the hall. A few of the newer hires stare in awe and shake his hand, completely blown away that one of Philadelphia’s biggest stars is asking how they like their jobs.

“Pretty soon they’re going to approach you to do PR for us,” you chuckle as you flip the light on and close the door of your office.

His laughter echoes off the walls as a pair of strong arms find a home around your waist. “It would be kind of fun to hear myself crush those radio commercials.”

“Since when do you listen to the radio?”

“Checkmate,” Kevin sighs, pulling you closer. He kisses you quickly, not wanting to give a show to anyone who could be walking past, but it still sends you reeling. You don’t want him to pull away and kiss him again.

You get your way for a few more moments and then Kevin’s leaving with a promise to not burn the house down and wishes for a good rest of the day. Focussed on giving the audit its final once-over you don’t bother pulling your phone from the drawer you had placed it in when you got to work that morning. You turn up the small radio at the corner of your desk and get to work scanning the document for errors. There’s a mistake halfway through that skews the rest of the data and fixing it takes a bit of time, but it isn’t a huge deal. You have nothing else to do except answer a few emails and organize meetings for after the weekend.

An hour or so later you’ve completed all your tasks and debate what to do. It’s too early to leave for the day, so you decide to kill time by checking your phone. You’re expecting a few notifications, perhaps two or three memes in the group chat you share with your friends, but not the hundreds that greet you.

The majority of them are instagram notifications, and assuming they’re just more fans requesting a follow you ignore them, instead heading to your text messages. There’s a picture from Kevin of a dog he found walking home and another from your mom asking why you haven’t called home in a few weeks. However the one from Claude’s wife is the one that piques your curiosity.

Just a heads up that someone posted a pic of you and Kev to one of those stupid wag pages. I filed a request for Instagram to take it down but it’s gotten a lot of traction. Sorry :((

Your heartbeat increases rapidly and a million thoughts fly through your head at a rapid speed. Fingers shaking, you respond with a thanks and open up the dreaded app. You don’t see it immediately, your feed being full of photos belonging to friends and family, but it’s in your messages almost two hundred times. Many of them have text attached and you know there will be a comment about your relationship regardless of which one you open.

Tapping on the most recent message you brace yourself for the worst. The new window opens a photo someone took of you and Kevin while eating lunch in the park across from your office not even three hours prior. It’s grainy and the camera angle is strange, but you’re eating and Kevin is looking somewhere out of frame. The accompanying caption reads Kev and his girlfriend out for lunch today! Follow @philllywagupdates for more :).

You let out a sigh of relief – it could have been a lot worse. Personal pictures of yourself have made it onto pages like that before and most of them they’re paired with mean-spirited captions about your appearance or other trivial matters. Assuming you’re in the clear, you head back to the page of the original message to thank the person for bringing the post to your attention. However, the message accompanying the post is anything but positive.

He can’t even fucking look at you. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you

The blood in your veins runs cold. You know it’s not true – Kevin’s made it clear you’re the one and truthfully you’re just waiting for a ring – but it doesn’t stop the sting you feel. What could possess someone to say such horrible things? You decide not to respond despite, possibly opening another can of worms with the seen function, and close the app. Leaning back in your office chair you focus on anything but your phone, looking out the window at passersby while regaining your breath. It works for a while, but eventually not knowing what others said eats away at you. You go through every single message to see hundreds of similar comments to the first, with only a few saying they’re glad you’re happy or how posting the picture is a violation of your privacy.

By the time you’re finished your spirit has been crushed. However, it’s also an acceptable time to start the weekend – at least no one in the office will have to see you cry. Things are hastily packed into your bag and you wave a few quick goodbyes before once again taking the stairs. You curse yourself for deciding to walk to work that morning and set off in the direction of home wiping away tears. The last thing you need right now is for someone to recognize you, but you have to get home. Tobias Jesso Jr plays at much too loud a volume through your headphones and Kevin will most certainly remind you it’s bad for your hearing, but the melancholy piano riffs of Goon overpower the thoughts swirling around your head.

Do people really feel that way about me?

Are my friends just too nice to stop inviting me places?

Does Kevin really feel trapped?

Hundreds of similar sentiments and situations cross your mind as you stumble through the streets of downtown Philadelphia, but you force them as far back as possible before opening the door to the apartment you share with Kevin. Hoping to slip inside undetected, you take your shoes off slowly and throw your jacket on the end table instead of hanging it in the closet. Your plan fails somehow and Kevin hears you, greeting you in a goofy apron covered in flour.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles, but it drops once your eyes meet and he sees the hurt on your face. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, trying to step around him in pursuit of the bathroom.

Kevin doesn’t buy it and sees right through your feeble words. “It’s not nothing if you’re this upset. If you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I think you should get it off your chest.”

You know he’s right, but you also know you can’t tell him the true cause of your despair. “Just some work stuff,” you sigh. “The audit got all fucked up and I had to fix it even though it’s not my job.”

It’s not technically a lie, which makes you feel better, and Kevin buys it. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips in sympathy. “Go take a shower and the gnocchi should be ready by the time you’re done. We can spend the night cuddling on the couch.”

“And watching Selling Sunset?”

“We can watch whatever you want sweetheart,” he chuckles. You part from him with a final kiss and head to the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from the water will carry away the negativity brought on by that damn post.

☼☼☼☼

Time passes but the hateful comments on social media don’t stop. In fact, you’re pretty sure they get worse. It’s so bad that you’ve deleted every app except facebook because you need it for work. Kevin doesn’t notice your abstinence from social media, but he picks up on how you spend more time criticizing yourself or staring off into space. When he pushes you either brush him off or feed some bullshit excuse about how work is getting you down. You know he doesn’t believe you but trusts you enough to come to him when you’re ready to talk.

You aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to tell Kevin what’s been going on. There’s been scrutiny from social media before, when you first started dating, but it quieted down after the initial media frenzy. He helped you through that but it’s different this time around. Never before have you had strangers tell you your life is worthless or that your boyfriend should end your relationship. Some of the other wags notice your absence on instagram but chalk it up to you just taking a break. They reach out via the group chat and send wishes to see you at the next home game. It’s nice to know they care, but the voice in your head that has grown much larger in recent weeks tells you they don’t truly mean it. This leads you to decline the invite as politely as possible, citing extended work hours for your absence. In reality you’re too anxious to be anywhere that isn’t home or work, petrified someone is going to post something that will add fuel to the flames of those who interrogate you.

It’s another Friday afternoon, and you’re leaving the office early once again. There’s a small craft exhibition taking place around the corner from work and today is the last day it’s open. You had been meaning to go all week, hoping to find something small to add to Kevin’s birthday gift. As you step out of the building there’s a small group of young women, who don’t look old enough to have graduated college, standing off to the side. It fills you with dread, worried that somehow someone found out where you work and the insults are going to start occurring verbally, but you force yourself to be rational. You work fairly close to one of the artsier districts in the city and it’s more than likely they just want to find a cute mural to take pictures in front of.

You pass by and swear you hear them snicker, but you remind yourself you’ve just been jumpy lately. When they peel from their place on the wall and follow behind at a distance you think the coincidences are running out. It seems a little too strange how their movements line up with yours, and you go down a few winding side streets in an attempt to lose them. Part of you feels ridiculous because what group of barely legal girls would track a full-blown adult around a city of nearly two million people, but your life is currently strange enough you can’t be sure. They don’t follow you, and by the time you reach the market your heart rate has returned to normal.

The first few stalls have little to catch your eye, but a few rows in you find a leatherworker who makes adorable wallets. Kevin’s is ridiculously old and falling apart at the seams – his mom bought it for him before the two of you got together. You think a new one will make a perfect addition to the concert tickets you already bought and browse the table for something simple and elegant. A deep brown one with tan braiding around the edges catches your eye and you know it’s the one for Kevin. Checking the price to make sure you have enough cash in your wallet, you approach the shop owner to purchase. The older man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes as he thanks you for purchasing from him.

“No, thank you for making something so beautiful!” you gush. “My boyfriend is going to love it.”

It’s then you hear it – snickering accompanied by the click of a camera. You look over your shoulder to see the same group of girls from before laughing as they huddle over a cell phone, no doubt already starting to broadcast the photo across the internet. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Those girls don’t deserve to see their mission accomplished, but the longer they laugh at you the harder it is to swallow your feelings.

Head held high, you thank the owner one more time before holding your head high and walking past the group. The only way out is past them so you hold your breath and pray they don’t notice you. Unfortunately you aren’t that lucky, and one of them looks up just as you come into earshot.

“If Kevin doesn’t leave you after that sorry excuse for a gift I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sneers.

Another one chimes in, “You’re honestly so pathetic.” They all cackle in amusement, and you speed up. The tears flow freely now, and you call an uber even though it will be a ridiculous amount of money. You just want to get home.

The uber driver doesn’t say anything when you get in, though you know it’s strange to be bawling your eyes out at four in the afternoon. You can’t help it – weeks of keeping all the hate to yourself finally got to you and being followed with the sole intent of ridicule is the final straw. At one red light he silently passes you a box of tissues, which you accept gratefully.

Luckily the lobby of your apartment complex is empty and you manage to get to your floor without encountering a familiar face. There’s a few hours until Kevin gets home from his final roadtrip of the season, and if you play your cards right you can get all the tears out and be as normal as possible before he comes through the door. You don’t even bother to put anything away, just head straight to the bathroom to slump against the tub. Sobs rack your body and you lose all sense of time. All you can feel is the hurt you’ve been holding in releasing itself and soaking the material of your blouse.

Kevin finds you laying in the position hours later. He tripped over your shoes coming in the door and immediately knew something was wrong – you always place them neatly on the rack in the closet upon arriving home. Peering through the quiet house for a hint at where you are, he sees the bathroom light on and makes a beeline for the room. It breaks his heart to see you like this, and even more so because he doesn’t know what spurred it on.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he coos, maneuvering his body to sit beside you and pull you into his lap. “What’s the matter?”

You bury your head in his shoulder and clutch the material of his dress shirt as you cry harder at the sound of his voice. Kevin takes your reaction in stride, rubbing circles on your back and working on evening out your breath. He doesn’t pressure you to speak and provides the stability you desperately crave as the world around you spins. An unknown amount of time passes before your tears run out, but spend it all on the bathroom floor curled into Kevin.

“I guess I should have told you sooner,” you mumble, “But I didn’t want to bother you.”

Concern laces Kevin’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Tell me what?”

“I, uh, have been the subject of some internet hate for the past little bit,” you say sheepishly. It feels stupid to not have told him now, but you can’t change that. “But you were really busy with the season and I wanted to make sure your head was completely focused on the game so I just dealt with it myself. I deleted the apps and tried my best to go about my life. And then today after work I was followed by some people and they said some really hurtful stuff and shit became a little too real.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s your turn to be confused. “Why are you sorry Kev? You're Not the one sending me death threats.”

He tucks a loose strand of hair back into your ponytail. “Maybe not, but I still made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about what was going on. What kind of partner am I?”

“The best one,” you say confidently. “It’s okay, I’m okay. I just want to forget about it right now. Can we just disappear for a little bit?”

Kevin wraps his arms around you tighter, as if he can engulf you to protect from the cruel outside world. “We can do whatever you want. If you want to get out of the city for a bit if you want, or just spend the next few days here away from prying eyes.”

“I love you.”

You say it because you mean it, and if you could scream it from the rooftops you would. Kevin is incredibly easy to love, even when you make it difficult for him to love you back. You know another much longer conversation is coming about everything that has happened recently because communication is the only way to solve problems and Kevin deserves that, but you’re thankful he’s willing to put it to rest for a few more moments.

He cracks a smile for the first time since he’s been home and kisses the crown of your head. “I love you too sweetheart,” he whispers, “Always and forever.”

Things are far from over and though you still never want to show your face in public ever again, you know that Kevin is going to do whatever he can to make things better and that’s enough for you.

☼☼☼☼

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[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #15

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Richard-sensei’s Cooking Classroom

On a bright morning in Kandy, a provincial town from Sri Lanka, a man was standing still in his kitchen. Leaning against the wall was a Japanese book titled “Breakfast for People Who Live Alone”. There were three items on the menu. Just an omelet with ketchup on top, boiled sausages and fruit salad yogurt.

Regardless, the kitchen where the man was standing was an explosion of colors, as if it were the atelier of some Dadaist painter. Perhaps he was wrong in trying to make an omelet, the blond man thought, tilting his head despondently. Loved by the god of beauty, his blond hair swayed smoothly, and on the wall behind him, the exploded omelet was scattered in all directions, giving off an artistic atmosphere. It was obvious that in order to cook an omelet on a frying pan, it was necessary to shake up said pan, but the specific method of how hard one should shake it had not even once made an appearance in his life, much like fairies and unicorns from fictional stories. As a result of him jerking the pan with moderate adjustment, the omelet had flown off, hitting the wall and dripping down under the influence of gravity.

The beautiful man cast his eyes at the opposite side of the kitchen with a melancholic look as well. His golden eyelashes reflected a rainbow-colored prism and shone like an emerald-green sea under the morning sun. In a corner, where a microwave and water heater sat on top of the kitchen table, something orange had burst all over the place from within the microwave. Just why did food blow up so often, the man wondered, silently ashamed of his ignorance for trying to reduce just two rules of thumb to common sense. When he put three vacuum-packed blood sausages in the microwave and warmed them up, the sausages lost their original shape with a faint explosive sound. Obeying the instructions that said, “Bain-marie or microwave”, the man had chosen the microwave, which seemed less difficult, but probably due to some process being neglected or the heating time being incorrect, the sausages had undergone a magical transformation, looking like some sort of eerie monster.

Moving his feet so as not to make a sound, the man headed to the dining room, lightly placing a hand on the large table and elegantly gazing at the tabletop. Fragments of yellow and green were floating on a sea of white.

“Fruits yogurt,” the man whispered, as if it were a magic spell, heaving a spring breeze-like sigh.

It was just chopped fruits floating on yogurt. Taking into account the possibility that he could not cut the fruits too meticulously, the man was out of luck to have a slicer with him, and by the moment he realized that this one was apparently not supposed to be used for fruits but rather for slicing things such as cabbages and carrots into thin pieces, the fruits that he had failed to chop had gone flying over the table, surrounding the bowl of yogurt and instantaneously creating a Genesis-like scene on the tabletop. It was chaos.

On 360 degrees, no matter where he looked, it was a foodstuff hell. After looking around one more time at the artistic misery he had created and sighing coarsely, he started anew and began doing a quick cleaning.

   “Morning, Richard. You slept well, I see.”

“Good morning, Seigi. So you wake up early even in Sri Lanka. Short sleepers have shorter lives. Didn’t you go to bed yesterday when it was already past midnight?”

“That’s fine for today. I have a guest here, after all. I’ll catch up with my sleep tomorrow.”

“I have not done so much to be called a ‘guest’.”

“There, there; let’s leave that for after we eat.”

His face looking like he was checking on something, the man whose appearance was impeccable even first-thing in the morning, as usual, glanced at the kitchen and dining room of my Sri Lankan house, and then let out a tiny sigh, stopping by a place close to the garden.

“Hey, could it be you woke up early this morning? Like, around 5AM...”

“Why?”

“I wonder if it was my imagination.”

In this three-story house, the first floor was a shared space for the dining room and bathroom, while the second and third floors had bedrooms. The room that I used as my main one was on the second floor, and the room on the third floor was used when Richard came over to be my overseer, but only the first floor had a bathroom. Whenever someone was going down to the first floor, one could tell by the sound of them stepping on the stairs. That was no big deal when I was alone, but this was the kind of house that would disturb other people’s sleep if I didn’t walk quietly whenever I needed to use the toilet in the middle of the night.

At around five o’clock, probably because I was drowsy, I had the feeling that someone had gone downstairs. I went back to sleep thinking that maybe Richard, who was looking after me despite having a jetlag, felt like having a late-night snack or something, but it was apparently a wrong guess.

Said man, dressed in a soft-looking shirt and the beige pants that he usually wore when he was relaxed, was standing still with eyes wide-open. It seemed he had noticed what was on the table. I was happy with the reaction.

“I’ve got breakfast for us. Hope it suits your taste.”

“Why? You said yesterday that your breakfast was just cereal and fruits.”

“I indeed said this yesterday, but I wanted to show it’s really not like that every single day. I also didn’t want you to worry for no reason.”

Plain omelets, sausages and fruit salad. For some reason, this house had many pottery dishes from European brands instead of Sri Lankan ones, but they were working out well for today. The paintings of green and pink pedicels over a white background were apparently from a German brand. It was actually my first time making a breakfast like this, which looked like it could show up in a commercial for some newly built apartment building and wasn’t as filling as its appearance suggested, but it had been surprisingly fun.

“I saw the recipe book in the kitchen. It’s a present for me, right? Thank you. I was happy to read a book in Japanese after so long, so I decided to make the part that showed up when I opened it into our menu. Now, now, please have a seat and eat up.”

For about solid ten seconds, Richard stared at the one-plate breakfast, his gaze looking like he was seeing a stone that he had never set his eyes on before, but then, after giving a start as if just remembering that I existed, he sat down with his same-old graceful demeanor.

“Well then, shall we?”

And so, Richard ate breakfast next to me. At times like these, this man would become extremely well-mannered, taking notice of and praising the details, such as the fineness of the omelet’s texture and the beauty of the fruit cuts in the yogurt, as if he were evaluating a five-million-yen jewelry or something. Even while being in Sri Lanka, I sometimes thought that if there were teachers like him in middle or high school around Japan, it would save many children.

“Thanks; that makes me happy. I’m benefiting from it too. Getting so many compliments for just boiling sausages.”

I didn’t know very well how to describe Richard’s face when I said that. His expression seemed like it could be the theme of a masterpiece painting, as if the exceptionally beautiful man had suddenly been reminded of an indescribable pain in the depths of his chest, but was struggling not to expose it in his facial expression. When I asked what was up, the reply was a gentle smile. His usual face was already back.

“I believe I have already said this several times, but you are extremely smart. You decipher the texts, assemble the methods in your head and put them to practice. There are more hardships in this process than you can imagine. Nevertheless, you specialize at it. This is clearly a talent of yours. Be sure to cherish it.”

“I will. But, well, I think doing my best because someone else’s gonna eat it also counts.”

For security reasons, I wasn’t allowed to invite guests to this house. I was sometimes called over to the house of a local friend I had made, and then I’d cook a simple dish there, but guests that make several meticulous dishes on the spot were probably not very welcome. So whenever there were days like these, when “guests” officially recognized by the house’s owner, Saul-san, occasionally came over, it was a great opportunity for me have a change of pace.

While thanking Richard for washing the dishes, I cleaned up the dining room and before moving on to stone study, which was my daily routine in the morning (at any rate, I had to examine stones thoroughly, guess their prices and drill the right and wrong ones into my head; pretty simple), I asked him about lunch. Richard-sensei was very busy. No time for leisure.

“You’ll be off again in the evening flight, right? What we gonna do about lunch? If you’re leaving at three o’clock, then you’ll still be in Kandy at noon, right? Can we go to a restaurant I like?”

“What a good thing it is that you found a ‘restaurant you like’ in this country. Allow me to accompany you.”

While smiling, Richard was about to let out a yawn, yet he hastily bit it down. He was like a prideful cat. As I thought, he seemed a little sleepy. When I suggested him to go to bed again, he said that he didn’t mind it, since he was going to sleep in the night flight either way. And yet he was calling me a short sleeper.

I glanced at the dining room and the kitchen. They were neatly organized. From their tidy and orderly state, I could tell with just a look that I obviously hadn’t cleaned them to this point last night. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on the floor. Despite the difference between the inside and outside of the house being so vague. There was no evidence left, but it was clear that something had happened here. Not a murder, but a more peaceful and heartwarming incident. The suspect showed no signs of confessing. So I wouldn’t say anything either. No particular comments on the multiple rags and some food remains at the bottom of the organic waste bag. I only had one thing that I wanted to say no matter what, so I hoped he’d just let me say it.

After finishing the meal, I waited for the beautiful man to stand up, and then I went behind Richard, clutching his shoulders. I was going to say it before he turned around, asking what I was doing. It was best if I didn’t see his face. There was no telling what I could say when I was staring at him in fascination.

“I myself don’t know very well what I’m talking about, so I want you to forget it in two seconds, but I was reeeally happy for this morning. Really happy. To a shocking extent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I said I didn’t know either, right? I don’t get it, but anyway, I was happy. That’s all! Aight, study time.”

Without looking at Richard’s face until the very end, I started knocking a thousand gemstones in my workspace on the first floor. I had to look over them while it was morning. This was my current job. Richard didn’t say anything else, but his back looked calm under his shirt, so I was a bit relieved as well. Thinking back on it now, I had taken the wrong path at that time. I should have told him “not to overdo it” more clearly.

Two weeks later, Richard came back, but this time, I heard a small explosion at 6AM. Three times in a row. What did it take for things to turn out this way? The current time was already 7AM. Between getting up right now or not, which one would be less of a hassle later on? I didn’t even want to think about what had been made of the dining room. There was no one other than the two of us in this house and this wasn’t a matter that I had to go as far as asking the landlord, Saul-san, for advice on, so I knew I was the one who had to deal with it anyway. I wanted someone to decide in my stead. What should I do?

[sidekick-hero]

11:11

So I was tagged by several amazing people to answer 11 questions and ask 11 myself: @zmediaoutlet, @sal-si-puedes and @sosauffie Thank you!! <3

1. What’s your earliest memory?

It’s not exactly my earliest because I remember little impressions before that like being stung by a cactus or sitting on a billiard table. But it’s the clearest and most coherent.

It’s from when I was 3,5, summer of 1994. I was at my Grandma’s and my uncle, who was 18 at the time left for his first day at a new job. It was a job at a construction firm so he would be away the whole week. He peeked into the bedroom where I was sleeping and it was still so early it was dark outside. I remember seeing him standing in the door and smiling at me when he noticed I was awake. He waved at me and left.

I never saw him again because he died of a heatstroke two days later. But to this day I’m glad I saw him again. 

2. Have you had a major turning point in your life? What was it?

The divorce of my parents. It made my life so much better. Life was not suddenly perfect but it finally had the chance to get better.

3. If you could “create” full time–music, art, writing, whatever–what would you do? Would you even want to do it full time?

No, I really wouldn’t. I love writing now and then for my own pleasure, for relaxation and fun. Doing fulltime would mean I couldn’t relax doing it, I couldn’t treat it like a hobby and slack from time to time. It would become a chore and stressful and worst case I’d resent it. So no, definitely not. Also I’m not good enough for that but that’s another story.

4. You have one month that you can spend anywhere in the world, doing anything you want, with no repercussions (not monetary, legal, or interpersonal). What do you do?

Good question. I would probably freeze when faced with so much freedom. Ultimately I would travel around, visit all the old, beautiful cities of Europe. Just walking around, taking it all in. Interspersed would these visits with trips through nature, walking, hiking. Just being. Eating when I’m hungry, sleeping when I’m tired. 

5. If you could have a private conversation with someone usually unattainable (a world leader, a celebrity, even someone dead)–who would it be, and what’s the first question you would ask?

Albert Einstein. I would ask him to explain to me how the universe works as he understands it. Weird, I know. 

6. What’s the first song you remember loving? Do you still love it?

Oh lord, no idea. I remember being totally hung up on Blue Bayou by Roy Orbison. I played that song a million times at least. But before that probably some Disney Song or Michael Jackson. I loved both as a kid :D And I still love all of these (*hums the Lion King Soundtrack*)

7. Let’s say you’re transported back in time, and you get an opportunity to redo your university education (or get to do it for the first time, as appropriate). Would you study the same thing? Or would you turn your life in a different direction, and study something else–and what would it be? Would you drop out entirely?

I’m actually quite happy with what I studied. Maybe I would instead choose something that would allow me to become a Profiler. That would be cool, so instead of engineering and psychology I would study law and psychology. Then again, it was a super cool master degree course so probably not :D

8. If you could live in a fictional universe of your choice–would you? If so: would you want to be a “regular person,” or would you rather be associated with the protagonists of that universe?

I out myself: I’m still waiting for my Hogwarts letter. I would love love love to live in the Harry Potter universe, as a witch of course. I don’t need to be closely associated with Harry Potter but I would want to live in the same time frame and meet Snape and Dumbledore and all the others.

9. Do you trust your memory?

No. Not really. I mean I rely on it on a daily basis but I know that the world how we see it and how we memorize it is colored by so many bias it would be nuts to think you remember everything exactly as it was. Your mood alone influences your memory immensely. So no, never trust your memory ;)

10. Are you a very emotional person, or are you more likely to respond to things rationally? (Do you ever wish you were the opposite way?)

I’m not very emotional and I’m also bad at recognizing emotions. Sometimes I would like to be more emotional because it makes it sometimes hard to interact with me on a deeper level. But then I’m more likely to make rational decisions.

11. What was your favorite birthday celebration you’ve ever had? (Or are you the type who’d rather not celebrate your birthday–and, if so, what do you wish you could do instead?)

I’m not really into celebrating my birthday. I would like a day off, my warm bed (it’s in december) with a nice book and breakfast, then having some friends over and baking or talking or both and going to bed early. I’m secretly a 90 year old. 

[nancypullen]

Whirlwind

Gosh, it’s been a week since I posted! The last time I visited here I was in full Thanksgiving mode, cooking up a storm and waiting for Matt to arrive.  Since then we have feasted, laughed, feasted some more, put Matt on a plane back to Minneapolis, and entered the Christmas frenzy.  And it’s only December 3rd.  I feel like I have a tentative handle on things, and now I’ve cursed myself by saying that.  My Christmas to-do list is long but I’m marking things off daily.  I could really use some elves.  It’s not easy to keep the holiday spirit alive when it’s 75 degrees outside.  I’d like to at least need a sweatshirt.  I ran a few errands yesterday and actually used the a/c in the car...in December. Sure, that probably has as much to do with menopause as  it does with local weather, but it’s still ridiculous. I’m trying to be jolly for our second  *!%@#  pandemic Christmas so a few snowflakes would go a long way. Has anyone else hit a wall with this whole COVID thing? I’m so weary.  Oh, I’m still being careful.  I had the J&J vaccine last March, I received my booster on November 1st,  I still wear a mask into the grocery store, etc.   I know too many people who have lost loved ones to this awful virus, so I don’t take it lightly.  I’m just wondering if things will ever be normal again.  We haven’t been inside a movie theater or restaurant since February of 2020.  We masked up and got on airplanes, so is a move theater any different than that?  I’d have to unmask in a restaurant so that’s a bigger deal.  I want so much to be carefree again, but I also don’t want to die (or have lifelong health issues) from stupidity.  We’ve come this far, we can’t stop now.  It would be like quitting the Oregon Trail in Idaho.  We’ve got to see it through to the end.  Don’t fall out of the wagon and break your neck now.  Onward, onward. As you can see, I’m a bit out of sorts.  Between the balmy December weather, never-ending COVID, politics (don’t get me started) and self-inflicted holiday stress, I’m a bit grumpy.  I think I’ll get on the treadmill and then retreat to my desk and create something.  That always puts me back in balance.  A podcast, some paper and ink, and a nosy cat - just what the doctor ordered.  Sure, there are plenty of other things I should do,  but today I’m going to take care of ME.  That’s something that we often put at the bottom of our to-do lists, but you can’t pour from an empty pitcher, right?  Take care of yourself today.  Eat right, take a walk, do something that removes you from the madness of the world right now.  Save yourself. There are beautiful days ahead (I’m sure of it) and you want to be ready for them.  Focus on the million little joys that tilt the scale in favor of a good day.   Here’s a perfect example.  This morning I woke up and immediately began making a list in my head of things I needed to do.  I haven’t done my floors all week, I should throw some laundry in, I need to wrap gifts, take something out to thaw for dinner, plan next week’s menus, my bathroom needs a deep clean, and so on.  I wasn’t even dressed yet and I was dreading my day.  Then I walked into the kitchen and just on the other side of the window was a robin, singing his heart out.   It stopped me in my tracks and I listened to his entire performance before he flew away.

Yeah, I know - photography class should be on my to-do list.  You get the idea though.  He welcomed me to the morning and reminded me that the world may be a mess but at least I don’t have to eat worms for breakfast.  See?  Silver lining.  Happy December, boys and girls.  Find yourself some happy, take good care of yourself, and stay safe and well. XOXO, Nancy

[wonnoy]

comfort berry

some fluff for yamaguchi <3 i don't know much about him but i think i'm gonna make this super aged up. like mid thirties or something but it also has some sort of angst in it (not really, because it's not towards you)

so that means it may be a little longer than what i normally write for a fluff.

___

warnings: fluff, some angst (sorta)

volleyball team reunion, round 4!

____

"I wish I was a teenager again," Tanaka wailed from across the room. He was on his seventh beer and becoming an emotional wreck again. Gathered around the tiny brown table in the middle of the room was the Karasuno volleyball team - original.

Everyone was drinking, even their old professor and volleyball coach. The fact of the matter is - everyone has had at least 3 beers in their system. No one was on par with Tanaka though, Kiyoko sat next to him with a small smile on her face ready to be his designated driver home.

You guys were, by far, the loudest in the tiny bar. But you were also the largest party there. Nearly everyone showed up, excluding Kageyama, so it was bound to be a boisterous party. You laughed as Tanaka began his little bumblings about his job and swished your drink around in the bottle.

Maybe it would have been best to have this party at home, you looked around as you took a swig, people have started to look annoyed at you guys for a while now. But then again, you looked around your group, you never know when it might be the last time that you guys experience something like this. All together in a large group?

You guys were old, there's no denying it now.

Ukai had long had the fine lines on his face before any of you did, but now faint smile lines were showing up on everybody's face. Including yours, small little wrinkles were finding themselves in the crinkles of your eyes when you squinted. Shit, you were nearly 34 with no husband, or even a boyfriend, working a job that was as monotonous as your daily routine. It was damn boring.

You glanced over to the vegetable head across from you, Yamaguchi was probably the only one who has yet to suffer the appearance of age. He still looked as if he was fresh out of college back when he was 22.

He was really ready to tackle the world with a girlfriend, who seem to be more than devoted to him, and a thirst to become an even better person. Not without Tsukishima by his side though. Occasionally you would be there, cheering him on for achievements and helping him when he was down about his studies.

But you were sadly not the biggest thing apart of his life, no matter how much you wished you were.

Yes, you've had a crush on him for only god knows how long. But it felt wrong, seeing as he was in a healthy relationship. Maybe even now, his relationship is going on 14 years. You can't help but be jealous of his girlfriend, you looked down at his hand and there was a ring, well wife. She gets to wakeup to him every morning. You sure as hell wished you did.

Yamaguchi was smiling and looking around at everyone as well before his face went straight and he pulled out his phone. You watched with curious eyes and small buzz as he went to quickly exit the room.

Did he get a text or was someone calling him? His face looked so serious despite looking so young for a man his age.

You took another swig of your bottle, feeling it becoming increasingly lighter in your hands. It's not your business anyway, what are you supposed to do. You aren't a close friend so you can't just bug into his life and wonder what is going on with him. Only Tsukishima had the right to that and maybe Hinata, you looked over at the orange who now just barely surpassed your height, if he was lucky.

He was in a no better state than Tanaka, swinging his arms around like no tomorrow and being one of the main contributors to the noise coming from their group. God, what idiots.

Idiots that you loved.

Yamaguchi came back, but only after ten minutes of disappearing. Tsukishima gave him a small glance but nonetheless continued on silently watching the chaos of his former volleyball team. You shrugged, if Tsukishima wasn't that bothered by it, then it shouldn't concern you even more. He knows him the best right?

You focused your attention on to Yamaguchi. Well, he certainly looked alright. Wait a minute. His eyes were puffy and his nose was tainted red. His brows were furrowed so badly that the wrinkles on his face just magically appeared. Something happened, but should you go and ask if he's okay?

Do you have the right to do that?

You bit back a burp and went to stand. It's a good thing you didn't wear a skirt today, you wouldn't have half a mind to smooth it back down right now. Yamaguchi was only a few strides away, you should be able to make it over to him just fine. Or would the nerves finish you off before you make it?

No one seemed to be paying much attention to you just suddenly standing, but you swore you saw Tsukishima smirk when he saw you rise. But then again, you were buzzed. You could have imagined it.

You made your way over, dodging the legs of Sugawara as his back was resting against the table as he spoke to Daichi and Asahi. Sugawara saw you coming over and stepping over his legs and so he purposefully (well at least you think so) tried to trip you up. You sent a glare his way after securing your feet and kept walking over to Yamaguchi.

"Hey?" he looked up at you. He looked confused. Well anyone would have been confused, why would you suddenly approach him and then proceed to just stare at him in the face.

"Want to get some air, it's getting stuffy in here," you fanned your face to cool down the nerves bundling under your skin. You felt like you were back in high school again. Nervous as hell because you were speaking to Yamaguchi without the help of Tsukishima at your side to guide the conversation.

You two both walked outside, but not the exit Yamaguchi used. A different one.

"Yea this feels much better," you slumped down onto the curb right next to the desolate road. The moon was barely out but damn were the stars bright tonight. Yamaguchi sat carefully next to you, keeping an ample amount of distance from you. Was he scared of you or something? You gave a weird look his way but he didn't seem to pick up on it and just continued to sit there looking contemplative.

How were you supposed to break this thin ice? You bit your lip and sucked down your pride, ready to blame your boldness on the buzz that was steadily fading away out of your system.

"Why do you look like that, are you constipated?" it seemed to catch him off guard, your question that is. He blinked once or twice before bursting in a small fit of giggles that made your stomach flutter. It really felt like you were back in high school. You felt all girlish and even just sitting next to him set your brain to haywire mode.

After his laughter died down, he replied with a quiet 'no' and that it was 'something else' and then the silence resumed. But it wasn't choking like it was in the beginning. It was more welcome than before and you enjoyed it, taking deep breaths of the fresh night air. Letting it revitalize you and even sober you up some more.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you broke the silence again. It's nice just to enjoy each other's company but you could hear the tiny sniffles that were coming from him as the two of you sat there.

Yamaguchi didn't reply to you at first so you looked over at him. His eyes looked tired as they stared at you. It was dark out, there was a street lamp in the distance that was no where near enough to lighten up his face so you could see his facial expressions more clearly.

But you could tell that he could really use a hug.

No exchange of words for permission before you slung your arm over onto his shoulder and roughly drew him in with whatever strength your body had in it.

It really wasn't much strength but Yamaguchi let himself be pulled into your embrace. The sniffling increased and he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and snuggled into the warmth of your body. You were sure he could hear it, the hammering in your chest had increased tenfold when you hugged him. But at this point, it only worried you even more and you were wondering what could have made him this way. You worked your fingers through his short hair, after graduation he chopped nearly all of it off which gave you a heart attack after seeing his near bald head. But now it has grown back into a hairstyle that fit him better (thank the gods).

He rubbed his head into your chest and your face heated to a million degrees and beyond. It felt innocent but Jesus, is he aiming for your death?

You rest your cheek on the top of his head and let out the big sigh you were holding in.

"She wants a divorce, and I-I, I really want one too," he heaved into your body. You bit your lip. It was terrible news, but it wasn't like you couldn't be slightly happy because now it means you might have a chance with him.

You rubbed his back as he shuddered into you, your heart was being sent out to him. He was hurting bad because he truly did love his wife and to be leaving her?

It hurt you to see him hurt, so you tugged him in even closer so now you guys were sat right next to each other. Then you hugged him even harder.

"It's okay Tadashi,"

][][][

this was a lil sad but heres some weird angst fluff going on here

[krsnbgirl]

Fly High! || Kageyama x Fem!Reader || Part 2

Summary: Still reeling over what had happened the week before, you look back at how your daily life at Karasuno immediately changed for the better. Nishinoya also comes to ask you for a favor that helps you grow closer to the weird quick duo after school. The boys also learn more about your past from middle school.

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Fem!Reader

Genre: Rom-Com, Slice of Life, Sports

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: Slight swearing, smoking (for Ukai), Signs of Anxiety from Reader, Timeline heavily based on the anime

Author’s Note: And here is part two of the series! I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you to anyone that has interacted with the first part :) Taglist is still open if any of you would like to be a part of it! Also crossed posted on AO3! xoxo, Ren  ❤

Taglist: @misnmatchedsox​

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Masterlist

It’s been a week since the boys caught you doing a serve in the gym and a distraught look could be seen on your face as you made your way to the rooftop during one of your breaks. The boys began to try and convince you to become their manager even more ever since that practice. Tanaka would always call you their manager, a hopeful glint in his eyes, in the midst of his jokes. Hinata would try to bug you whenever he bumped into you in the hallways with Kageyama being dragged behind him. Then there was also Yamaguchi who would just give you a smile while Tsukishima would give you snide remarks whenever they passed your desk to sit at the back of the classroom. You sighed as your daily life at school was becoming more filled with the different presences of the boy’s volleyball team. It was nice finally getting to see the boys that Nishinoya always talked about, but you heavily underestimated the chaotic energy they brought with them. Escaping to the rooftop had become more of a daily thing for you so you could take a moment to breathe. You rested your arms on top of the railing as your mind flashed back to the moments right after you served the ball.

The boys gaped at you as Hinata began his typical rambling after seeing something amazing with Nishinoya and Tanaka closely behind him with proud smiles. Sugawara, Daichi, and Asahi shared a look before smiling to themselves and giving a thumbs up to Shimizu. The second and third years were aware of your situation with volleyball because you used to frequently appear at their games when Nishinoya, Tanaka, Ennoshita, and the others were first years. The team had found out that you used to play volleyball when Nishinoya mentioned that he was going to attend one of your matches as his weekend plan. You were similar to Nishinoya on the court and a lot of people at Chidoriyama used to call you two  ‘The Yin and Yang Twins.’ Nishinoya was always the hyper one but quiet on the court meanwhile you were the more composed one but very hyper on the court. They were all there when you got injured and watched your downfall. All of them tried their best to be there for you, but the players knew how devastating it was to have one’s ACL tear. It’s one of the worst injuries to have and the hardest to come back from depending on the degree it got injured. Unfortunately for you, it was the degree that had to be taken with caution and the healing process was a lot longer. 

So once the boys gave up on finding Kageyama and Hinata on their jog, they decided to return and Nishinoya was the first to come back. He noticed right away the look in your eyes and looked to his side to find the rest of the team approaching. Motioning them to stay quiet, he pointed towards you and they all crowded by the entrance. As they watched you serve the ball, those that were by your side and respected your space felt a warm feeling spread across their chests. This could be your time to finally realize your worth once more. Before they knew it, they all surrounded you and complimented you on the serve.

You ruffled your hair in frustration as you looked over the school grounds to find Hinata and Sugawara practicing at the gym’s entryway. You noticed Kageyama walking towards the vending machine near them and pressing the buttons to get his drink. A chuckle escaped your lips as you watched a couple of students get scared of his presence. You shook your head in amusement and raised an eyebrow once you noticed a soft expression on his face as he enjoyed his drink. ‘So he does have a soft side to him…’ you thought to yourself as your eyes followed him.

“(Y/N)-chan~” 

“Oh, Yu-nii, did you need anything?” you asked as Nishinoya joined you by the railings and he shrugged. 

“I just wanted to check up on you after everything that’s happened.” he asked and looked at you from the corner of his eye. 

You gave him a scrutinizing look because he typically checks in on you like this if he needs something. He’d usually just try to tease you or joke around with you when he knows that something is troubling you or waits until you come to him. Besides, he already scolded you on your way home about being more careful with your knee since you haven’t been conditioning lately and skipped more than one appointment with your physical therapist.

“Liar, you need something from me.” 

Nishinoya laughed out loud and smiled at you. “You know me too well, (Y/N)-chan.” 

Turning your attention fully onto Nishinoya, you waited for him to speak. He rubbed his neck sheepishly and said, “Daichi said that we needed to pass our exams in order for us to go to Tokyo for training. If we fail, the supplementary exams fall on the day that we leave.” 

“Yu-nii, I can’t help you with your studying. I’ve tried and can be a lost cause sometimes.” you sighed.

He winced at your bluntness but knew he had it coming. You were always the more studious one and had to always make sure he concentrated on homework whenever he came over. But in this case, he already had the third years and Ennoshita whipping him into shape during their after school sessions. But seeing the first years struggle and being the amazing upperclassman he was, Nishinoya wanted to give his beloved underclassmen some help. 

“It’s not for me, (Y/N)-chan. If you think Tanaka and I are stupid, Kageyama and Hinata are struggling more than us.” 

You couldn’t believe what came out of Nishinoya’s mouth and you burst out laughing. “W-Wait, are you saying that Kageyama-san isn’t smart? But he looks like he has good grades!” 

“That’s what we thought too but I guess he’s only smart when it comes to volleyball.” Nishinoya pouted. 

You couldn’t stop imagining Kageyama failing at regular school work because he just gave off that impression that he had some common knowledge in him. With Hinata, you had a good feeling that he wouldn’t be that smart since it looked like volleyball was the only thing on his mind. But it was a good surprise to you to find out that Kageyama was just as bad because it proved to you that you shouldn’t have assumed in the first place. It did give you some amusing thoughts though. Crossing your arms, you looked at your best friend as he rubbed his hands together and bowed slightly towards you.

“Please, I’m begging you (Y/N)-chan, please help Kageyama and Hinata! We need them to be there with us! I’ll even buy you lunch for a week straight because you helped them!” 

With such a good offering, you smirked to yourself and ruffled his hair. “Alright Yu-nii, I’ll go help them.” 

You could see his eyes immediately light up and was about to go hug you when you held your hand up to him. 

“But, they have to come and ask me for help first.” 

Nishinoya cheered before hugging you tightly, thanking you a million times before darting off to tell them the good news. You shook your head in amusement and gathered your things to head back to your classroom and get a jump start on your homework in order to help the team’s newfound duo. 

------

The lunch bell finally rang and you mindlessly sipped on your carton of juice that you got during the previous break. You weren’t sure if the boys were going to come to you that day since Nishinoya never texted you back after the conversation on the roof. Listening to your stomach, you considered dropping by the shop that Coach Ukai ran for some snacks and a meat bun. You frowned to yourself as you realized that Coach Ukai still wanted to talk to you about your volleyball history. The grip on your juice carton slightly tightened and your other hand began to tap your desk as you thought about the questions he was going to ask. With a sigh, you shook your head to try and clear the questions and assumptions racing through your mind. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard your name being called and looked over to see Hinata and Kageyama walking into your classroom. You smiled at them and waved them over. The look of determination was evident on their faces as they stood in front of your desk and you couldn’t help but find their dedication towards the sport endearing. 

“Hey (L/N)-san!” Hinata greeted you happily and Kageyama met your eyes as he nodded at you and said, “Hey.” 

You held his gaze and greeted them back. Kageyama’s eyes widened slightly, surprised that someone was able to hold his gaze like that outside of practice, and looked outside the window. You smiled to yourself and turned your attention towards Hinata who asked you a question. You laughed to yourself because seeing Kageyama be so awkward outside of the gym was a cute sight to see.

“(L/N)-san, do you like studying?” 

You looked up in thought before shrugging. “I don’t hate it…” 

With a hopeful look on his face, Hinata held out his notebook and asked, “Could you teach me this English?” He tugged on Kageyama’s shirt too and continued to say, “You should ask her, too, Kageyama!” 

You looked back to the quiet setter who stuffed his hands in his pocket and you met gazes once more. “Please teach us.” 

Hinata continued to try and convince you as he stepped forward and said, “If we fail any tests next month, we won’t be able to go to the Tokyo away games, so we’ve been having the tall guy with glasses named Tsukishima help us...But lately, he’s getting irritated because Kageyama and I are so stupid.”  

“I’m not scared of him.” Kageyama snorted, glaring at Hinata.

“But it’d be better for someone to teach us nicely!” Hinata huffed.

You couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a soft chuckle, holding your hand to your face to cover your reaction. “You guys are really too much. I didn’t think you guys would be struggling this much.” 

Kageyama felt an unfamiliar burning on his cheeks as he noticed your cute expression and shook his head to get rid of any unnecessary thoughts. He couldn’t get his focus messed up now, even if you did catch his interest. He didn’t need any distractions but a small part of him wanted to do something to keep seeing similar reactions from you.

Giving both of them a warm smile, you gestured towards your desk and said, “If I’m good enough-” 

“Really?!” Hinata excitedly asked. 

You pursed your lips as you let them know what you were thinking, “But I wonder if I’ll be able to teach in a nicer way than Tsukishima...I used to get really strict when I helped Yu-nii with his homework.”  

Both of them shook their heads simultaneously as Hinata reassured you, “You definitely don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Well, then shall we get started?” You smiled as you clapped your hands together and opened up your notebook. 

As the study session took place, you simplified what was being taught to them in a way the two would understand it. If what Nishinoya told you was true, then the way that you outlined things would be easy enough to teach to them. 

“I see! Wow!” Hinata exclaimed as you explained the construction of an English sentence to him. 

You rubbed her your sheepishly and shrugged. “Oh, it’s nothing..”

“Your notebook’s really easy to look at, (LN)-san. You’re great at drawing too.” Hinata commented when he noticed the small doodles that covered the sides and corners of your notes.

“Ah well, when I was on a break I suddenly got into drawing and I typically try to be the best in everything I get into so I guess it’s from my perfectionist side.” you sheepishly replied before pointing at Hinata’s notes. “Oh, if you leave a space here, it’ll be easier to fill in later. Also, if you limit the number of colors you use, it won’t get confusing.” 

Kageyama watched as you bit off the cap of your pen and began to write guides on Hinata’s notebook. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he was grateful for you being willing enough to help them. There was something about you that helped calm down his nerves as you taught them their class’s material. He didn’t feel as competitive or stressed when they studied with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. You were encouraging but knew when to be strict with them. As he quietly took down his notes, Kageyama listened in on your conversation as you and Hinata talked about his dislike for studying and how he’s just trying really hard to get to Tokyo. 

You were amazed at Hinata’s passion and was surprised to also find Kageyama chiming in on the conversation when Nekoma High was brought up. She vaguely remembered Nishinoya complaining about Nekoma one time so she assumed they were pretty strong opponents and now friends off the court. Especially if Kageyama mentioned that there was someone as good as Nishinoya on their team. It reminded you that you should check up on your friends from that school and filtered a mental note to do so once she got home. You lost contact with them for a bit during your rut and since volleyball was starting to make a comeback in your life, it was a good idea to check up on a childhood friend. 

Resting your chin on your palm as the two boys got lost in their own banter, you began to think about going to their games more. Nishinoya had been trying to get you to come back to their games but then he got suspended after his scuffle with Asahi. You mentally sighed and realized you had been so caught up with your own problems, you fell short on supporting your best friend. If anything, you should be thankful for Nishinoya introducing you to his new friends at Karasuno. With your budding relations with the current team, you were able to make new friendships with classmates you never noticed before. Your eyes unconsciously went towards Kageyama and you began to admire his features as he continued to talk to Hinata. You hated to admit it but now looking up close with him off the court, Kageyama was quite attractive. It was funny to you because people often got scared of him, but all you saw was a socially awkward guy. Also having grown close to the second and third years, you saw those boys as older brothers so none of them had gotten your attention when you got to know them. It didn’t help that Nishinoya would try to get in on your business to see if he could play cupid between you and a member of his. That idea didn’t sit right with you in the beginning but now, you might just be open to it. 

“So, (L/N)-san, did you used to play volleyball?” 

You sighed as you knew that this question was going to be brought up sooner or later after they saw you serve. 

“I’m pretty sure Yu-nii has already told you guys this, but we went to the same middle school together. He was the libero for the boy’s team and I was the wing spiker and pinch server for the girl’s team. Our school called us ‘The Yin and Yang Twins’ because of how our personalities switched in and out of the court.” 

The boys noticed your eyes softened as you remembered your days playing the sport that they loved and Kageyama couldn’t help but ask, “How come you stopped?” 

“I tore my ACL during my final match.” 

They winced trying to imagine how that went down and you shrugged. Kageyama couldn’t help but blame himself for making you remember something that terrible and murmured, “Sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You shook your head dismissively and looked down to play with your hands. “It’s okay. To be honest, taking time off to heal has opened my eyes a lot. I just don’t know if I’ll ever be fine to properly play again.” 

“Have you tried to give yourself that chance?” Hinata asked.     

You looked up to find Hinata smiling down at you as he stood up from his seat, palms resting on top of your desk. “I know that there are times where things seem to be impossible. I’ve had those thoughts for the longest time, but giving myself a chance to try things out and see where it goes has gotten me to where I am now. A lot of people underestimate me for being small and even if I’m not big, I can fly.” 

Your eyes widened as you saw the look in Hinata’s eyes. His words had an impact on you and you sat back in your chair, your mind going back to your serve. Kageyama noticed the thoughtful look on your face and understood that you needed your space for the time being. 

“Hinata, don’t you need to copy this down?” Kageyama asked to divert Hinata’s attention from you.

You looked out the window as Hinata sat down, continuing to write down his notes. While doing so, he began to ramble about volleyball again and while listening, you mindlessly said, “Then you’re like the Little Giant of the team, Hinata.” 

Kageyama sighed as Hinata got amped up again just by hearing the nickname he respected so much and then met your gaze. It was asking for him to help you calm him down so that you could all wrap up the study session. Turning his attention back to his notes, Kageyama continued to write down what he needed to know. 

“Hey, Little Giant that’s not gonna make it to Tokyo, hurry up and copy this.” 

Once the two finished copying down your notes and finally understanding some of the material, you agreed to continue to tutor them. You walked them to the hallway and the both of them thanked you once more before bumping into Nishinoya who held up your lunch in the air on the way back to their classroom. 

“I hope she’s been treating you well, boys!” Nishinoya greeted his underclassmen before walking up to you. 

Kageyama couldn’t help but turn around and watch as you gave Nishinoya a bright smile and hug. An unfamiliar feeling crept inside of him as he grew irritated for some unknown reason. He clicked his tongue and tried his best to forget about the part of him wishing that you would greet him like that in the near future.

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Truths (One-shot)

A/N: More Gerard fic because, I don’t know, I’m kind of bored and have some ideas. I just recently found out about Gerard and Eliza. I’ve always been one for girls sticking up for girls, but she seemed a little crazy to me, not gonna lie. I hope you all enjoy it, and please, excuse my mediocre writing. Summary: (Kind of cliche) You meet Gerard on the Projekt Revolution tour, the two of you becoming close friends almost instantly. You were the lead singer of a small rock band which was blowing up during the time, their music hitting mainstream rock radio. During the tour, Gee ends up breaking up with his girlfriend Eliza. Like anyone is with a breakup, he’s pretty down, but you as well as others try to get him back up.

Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Reader

Words: 2395

Gerard was hurting, and you knew that.

On stage, he was an absolute beast. He could control the crowd as if he had grabbed their necks with his bare hand, he would sing his entire soul out and would give everyone one hell of a show. But then there was the off-stage, everyday dude Gerard.

He was a sweet, kind-hearted, funny, slightly disgusting guy who just like everyone else had flaws. And his tendency to care too much and put too much blame on himself was one of them.

“How’s he doing?” You walked up to Frank, who was outside of the bus smoking a cigarette. It was hot out, a scorching 90 degrees on the black pavement that everyone’s vehicles were placed on, and yet here you and Frank stood out of the comfort of air conditioning, out of care for your friend.

“Not great,” he admitted, taking another long and slow inhale, letting the smoke cascade out of his mouth. “And Eliza being bat shit crazy isn’t helping.” You sighed.

“What’s she up to now?” You asked, crossing your arms and looking up at him. You were only three or four inches shorter than Frank, being the smallest of anyone on tour.

“Won’t stop calling, texting, emailing.” He sighed, “She’s threatening him, saying she’s gonna kill herself, some crazy shit like that. I don’t know man, it’s eating him up.” You nodded.

“Where are the other three?” You inquired next.

“Ray just went out to grab some food, Bob is in someone else’s bus, I don’t know who, and Mikey’s inside, trying to help.” You looked down, letting an inaudible sigh trail from your lips. “If you want to go in, I’m sure you can. Gee would probably be happy to see you.” You lightly smiled.

“Ya think?” You asked, looking back up at him.

“Oh, I know.” He let out the last bud of his cigarette, throwing it down and rubbing it into the concrete with his shoe. “I mean, let’s be honest. You’re the highlight for most people on this tour. And your music is fucking insanely good.”

“Thanks, Frank.” You lightly blushed at his compliment. You knocked on the bus door, hearing Mikey say, “Come in.” before entering. Opening the door, and slowly closing it, you looked up to see Gerard, head in his hands obviously in distress, Mikey next to him, his hand on his back soothing him.

“Hey Y/N.” Mikey lightly smiled. At the sound of your name, Gerard looked up, giving you barely a smile. You smiled back.

“Hey, guys.” You said, only taking a few steps closer. “I just wanted to come in and check on you, see how you’re doing, and if you need anything.” Your eyes moved between the two. Mikey looked at you, then at Gerard, then back at you, before getting up.

“I’ll let you talk to someone new, okay?” He asked Gerard, who nodded. You moved to the side, letting Mikey, who flashed you a cringe, exit the bus. You immediately took his place on the leather couch next to Gerard.

“Hey.” You said lightly, looking at him with a small smile.

“Hey.” He said back, looking up for only a brief moment. His voice was in such a somber tone it almost didn’t sound like him.

“How’re you?” You asked next.

“Honest?” He asked and you nodded, “Not well, I feel like shit.” You sighed, looking back at him.

“I’m sorry Gee,” You said, barely above a whisper, “I really am.” He nodded, taking your sympathy.

You sat there for a few moments in awkward silence, both of you trying to decide within your heads who should go first, and what should be said. “Thank you for coming.” Gerard finally spoke up, “I really appreciate you checking on me.”

“Yeah of course.” You smiled, “That’s what friends are for.”

“I just hate bringing other people into my drama.”

“Hey, hey,” You looked at him, placing your hand on his, “You’re not the one starting the drama, so I don’t mind it.” He nodded. A few more moments of silence lingered between you two.

“Can I tell you something?” He looked up, making eye contact with you.

“Yeah, anything Gee.” You replied.

“I feel like Eliza really frayed our relationship, and I really hated that.” He said, “I’ve always found you to be someone I can talk to and you’ll listen and hear me and understand me, and I feel like she really tried to pull us apart.” You knew exactly what he meant. In fact, you had known for a lot longer.

You had known Gerard for three years, meeting him when your band was still playing crowds of 30 people, and Three Cheers had just been released. You and him had been good friends, but Eliza, well she was a problem.

“You need to stay away from Gerard.” She had told you only a few months prior.

“Excuse me?” You asked right back, outside of your tour bus. It was dark outside by now, probably after 10. “Gerard is one of my closest friends.”

“And he’s my boyfriend.” She sassed.

“He’s his own person.” You argued.

“I don’t want him seeing other girls.” She moved on, ignoring your valid point completely.

“We’re not seeing each other.” You clarified, “Gee and I are great friends, that’s it.” She rolled her eyes.

“I know you’re trying to take him,” She hissed through clenched teeth, “And I won’t allow that. So stop calling my boyfriend, texting my boyfriend, or contacting my boyfriend in general. And drop the nickname while you’re at it.” She smirked, trotting away like a rabid Chihuahua.

You never wanted to confront Gerard about the altercation, knowing you would have stirred the pot further. And you were sure as hell not going to tell him now when he needed less drama the most.

While you and Gerard were just friends, you had always found him quite attractive. Physically and as a person. You had kept it to yourself, only a few people really knowing. You managed to put on a pretty good “we’re just friends” face around him. “I think it was because she was jealous of you.” He spoke again.

“Oh?” You inquired. Of course, she was jealous of you. Not trying to boost your ego, but judging by her actions and words towards you, it couldn’t have been more obvious.

“Whenever I brought you up, her face would just turn almost sour.” He began, “And whenever we were around you, she would always get really protective. I had picked up on it and intended to talk to her, but I was just nervous, ya know?” You nodded. “So, I’m sorry. I was at fault for some of that for not speaking up.”

“It’s alright Gee.” You rubbed his upper arm, “Those were her own decisions, not your own.” He frowned.

“But I could’ve stopped her-”

“Knock off that nonsense.” You finally told him, “We’re still friends, Gee, and that’s what matters.”

“You’re really fucking good at looking at the bright side.” He said next, “It can annoying sometimes though.” You rolled your eyes as he smirked. You leaned back next to him.

“I could tell you we’re not friends anymore and I hate your guts now, which would be a complete lie. What would you think about that?”

“I think I would feel about a million times worst than I do right now.” He grabbed a cigarette putting it in his mouth and lighting it. After taking a long inhale, and an even longer exhale, he looked at you, motioning the rolled paper towards you. You shook your head knowing he was asking silently. He rolled his eyes. “Always miss goody two shoes.” You scoffed in response, “What? Are you going to sit here and tell me I’m wrong?” You didn’t even respond, just looked at him smirking. “What’s the worst thing you’ve done. The most rebellious?”

“I formed a rock band.” You smiled.

“Yeah, well everyone here did that.” He lightly laughed, “What about other than that.”

“Probably when I dyed my hair black.” You remembered that night.

“You sure you wanna do this Y/N?” Gerard asked as you two began getting the hair dye ready.

“Yes, I do.” You smiled, “And since you do it so often, I thought what better way to do it then with you?”

“Alright then,” He sighed, “Let’s start.”

“That’s it?” He asked. You nodded.

“Hey, it’s not like you’ve done any super rebellious stuff.”

“I was an alcoholic.” He said. You rolled your eyes.

“That’s different, Gee.” You sighed, “At least you’re sober.” He nodded.

“What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to tell me?” He asked you, out of the blue.

“What?” You asked.

“What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to tell me?” He repeated himself, “For real. I want to know.”

“Oh um, okay,” You thought. Well not really. You wanted to tell him how you had liked him and had wanted to ask him out for the longest time, but felt like you couldn’t. “I’ve always wanted to tell you how proud I am of you.”

“But you tell me that on, like, a daily basis.” He said.

“Well yeah, but I am really really proud of you Gee. You’ve come so far in music and as a person from where you were when I first met you.” He lightly smiled.

“I could easily say the same for you.” He smirked, “But actually no, you haven’t changed as a person. Which is fine because you’re a great person.” You lightly blushed.

“What about you?” You asked, “What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to ask me?”

“Honestly?” He asked.

“Honestly.” You reiterated.

“You’re the most beautiful woman on the planet.” You stopped, breath caught in your throat. You could feel your eyes go wide, mouth opening in shock, your face heating up to what you were sure was a bright red shade.

“R-really?” You asked lightly.

“Yeah,” He took another puff of his cigarette, “Of course. You haven’t been told that before?”

“Well by my parents, yeah, but that’s different.” You looked down at your fingers, pondering what to say next. “Can I change my answer?”

“Huh?” He asked.

“Can I change what I’ve wanted to tell you?”

“Sure.” He replied.

“I’ve liked you for a while now. And I know that sounds so juvenile and like I have a middle school crush, and it’s probably not great timing with all that’s going on, but you’re a great person and you’re really hot and handsome but you’re so kind.” You just looked at him, him looking back.

“Then can I change my answer?” You nodded, “I’ve felt the exact way but I was too scared to say so because I thought you deserve someone better than me.” You immediately shook your head.

“No, no I don’t Gee.” You lightly giggled. “Not that many guys like me, if any.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked, “There are teenage boys and full-grown men out there who I know get off to you.” You lightly gasped, gagging shortly after.

“Please, I don’t need that image.” He laughed.

“So does this mean that despite the fact I just broke up with my now ex-girlfriend, I can ask you out on a date?”

“Sure.” You lightly laughed.

“Is Cup Noodle fine?” He asked next, “Tomorrow at eleven, once everyone is out partying we can sit in here.” You laughed and nodded.

“Of course, Gee, that sounds absolutely perfect.” He gave you a genuine smile this time in response. “Do you feel alright now?” You asked.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Time skip because I’m low key lazy

“What’s one thing you really want, right now, on the road?” You asked Gee, the two of you laying on the couch together, some Cokes in hand. It was probably close to midnight, parties still raging on.

“A veggie burger.” He sighed, “Like a damn good veggie burger.” You lightly chuckled. “What about you?”

“Maybe some crappy Chinese food.” You lightly laughed, “Like really shitty Chinese food.” Gerard nodded.

“Chinese food sounds good.”

“I know.” You sighed.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get home?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” You thought, “Maybe I’ll spend some time at home with my parents. Just like a few weeks.” He nodded.

“I haven’t met your parents have I?” He asked. You shook your head.

“But I’ve met yours.” You smiled, “You’re mom’s sweet. A little crazy though, but sweet.” He lightly laughed.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“You could come with me.” You looked at him from where the two of you laid. He looked back. “Meet my parents. See my house. Not for the whole time, but for a few days maybe.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready yet, ya know?” He said, “I’m not a great boyfriend, bring home to parents material.” You lightly laughed.

“My parents won’t care.” You smiled, “Their daughter is the lead singer of an alt-rock band. They don’t care anymore.” He lightly laughed this time.

“I’ll consider it.” He sighed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” You replied.

“Could I kiss you?” You lightly smiled, turning to see him.

“Sure, Gee.” You turned to face him, he was already looking at you. He leaned in, to give you a light kiss. It wasn’t anything special on the outside, but of course, it was special to the two of you. You smiled into it, him pulling away a few seconds after.

“You’re pretty.” He said immediately after.

“You’re pretty too.”

“Yeah but not as pretty as you.” You smiled at him.

“You’re so adorable, Gee.”

“Adorable?” He asked, a little confused.

“Yeah,” You smiled, “Adorable.”

“Actually, the first thing I’m gonna do when we’re off is invite you on a real date.”

“This is a real date.” You told him.

“Yeah but like, going out somewhere.” You rolled your eyes.

“This is just fine, Gee.” You sighed, “Can we just eat pizza on my couch?” He nodded.

“I mean, it’ll be cheaper for me so-” You smiled.

“I’ll pay for half.”

“But that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.” He lightly smiled.

“Oh Gee,” You grinned, “I learned long ago that you weren’t a gentleman, which is okay. Because I still like you a lot.”

“I like you a lot, too.”

(Pt. 2? I don’t know.)

[peek-mag]

On Suffering/Salvation

It’s been difficult to discern how to feel about all that is happening in the world at the moment, and that uncertainty has kept me away from responding to the handful of messages asking for advice on doing just that. But in a moment of clarity a course has been cut through the mental clutter, and so I’d like to offer my paltry sentiments here. 

At first, admittedly, there was a novel thrill of life being completely upended. Of so many questions and such abrupt changes; all of a sudden out of work with millions of others, strongly urged to stay inside. It was reason to commune more regularly with the people I always guilt myself for not communing more regularly with–my parents, siblings, best friends from my hometown. In that sense, there was a comfort in being on a sinking ship, dancing with the band. We were all headed somewhere entirely uncertain together. 

I am, most certainly, an introvert by emotional nature. I am quite comfortable holed up at home, with books, cats, tidying, little creative projects. We live near a wonderful park, and the slow emergence of spring has offered chilly, sunny walks by the river where, when it edges near 60° you’d be hard press to think anything was amiss, save for the surgical masks and gloves donned by stroller pushers, joggers, and dog walkers. 

In that sense, much feels unaltered. Without logging onto Twitter, switching on CNN or talking to a particularly anxious family member, there is little outside the window to suggest that something terribly wrong is afoot. The air feels calm, though we know it’s a deadly sort of calm. Because of this knowing there has been much to take stock of and tally gratitude for on a daily basis. I have my health. My friends and family have their health. We have enough food. We are able to make ends meet. Those simple truths, when all else has been snatched out from under you, are truly enough. Which is what musings on this pandemic seem to unearth for those of us who, while interrupted, are not on the edge of disaster. There is so much to be grateful for, and they are unsurprisingly the most simple things: food, shelter, love, and sunshine. 

How anyone can fix his gaze on anything else perplexes me. Sure, there are frustrations, there is the economic depression to be bothered by, the complete failings of our government, the violence that is the capitalist system, the thousands that are dying daily, silently and alone. But from where you stand, when you take stock, how do things fair? I find it troubling that our minds tend to rest and dwell in such negative spaces, when if the scope is pulled back and our lives are placed in context, we are doing alright. As a society, there are holes, we are hurting, but as individuals, often, we are doing alright. 

We cannot help, it seems, but to focus on what hasn’t clicked into place yet, or that which has become slightly unhinged. It is something rather perpetual in our nature. We, as humans, have this odd and pernicious tendency to–while having the capacity to achieve happiness, health, and safety–thwart our own advances to such aims with every generation, through every millenia. Even when no immediate threat is posed to our daily lives, even when we ourselves are safe and met with the essentials, we are unable to unburden ourselves from a narrative of suffering. 

Humans, it seems, and as philosophers have narrated, are obsessed with our own suffering (I’m surely not the first or only to this point. In fact, I’d say required reading on this subject would be this article from The School of Life). We will, without fail, create conflict with our societies and daily lives even when, with a different narrative bend, the same circumstances could well be quite peaceful. 

I have been considering this for some time, having observed with close proximity individuals intent on their own stories of suffering, and being guilty of the same in some small way I’m sure. There seems a real threat to abandoning something that seemingly speaks so directly to one’s identity. Depression, loss, financial struggle, past abuse, loneliness, neglect, rejection–we experience these things almost universally, with varying degrees of seriousness and for varying lengths of time. And often it seems the habit is to wear one’s suffering as a badge of honor; not as though having survived means now being that much stronger, but as though the suffering itself is an indelible mark of achievement. 

As a society, we have romanticized the notion of suffering; we are so drawn to the idea of suffering that we cannot look away when we see it, and we cannot give it up when we experience it. Having suffered becomes something so essential to the fabric of social validity that we lock our stories of suffering to our identity, and carry them with us throughout the remainder of our lives–quite often when we are in truth far from them. And while the burden of the load strains our backs, we fear nothing more than simply putting it down and walking on. 

There is a very real threat present in the world right now, one that presents itself in the form of an infectious disease, one that presents itself in the form of economic instability, or perhaps near ruin for some, and one that presents itself existentially in how we view the society that supports (or doesn’t) our daily lives and our relative place within it. 

For many, this crisis may have illuminated how insignificant to the larger whole you really are. But that is unlikely, as each of us stands at the center of our own orbit. In fact, for most people there may be the urge to make this totally personal, something that is happening to you, with the other billions of people in the world as mere background cast. It is another failing of the mind to be unable to consider with any real gravity the lives of people it has never met and play no immediate consequence on its reality. 

But if ever there is a moment to do so, to consider the lives of people one has never met, I’d say this is it. You feel lonely? Yes, I’d say we all collectively feel lonely at the moment. People sharing beds likely feel lonely curled next to each other at night, and medical workers in packed hospitals likely feel lonely as they near the end of a twelve hour shift, and the journalist attempting to report the truth certainly feels lonely, and the mother now tasked with homeschooling three kids most definitely feels lonely, and lost, and mad; and the thirty five year old with a new baby at home, hooked up to a ventilator but likely to die with no one near him save for anonymous, hurried ghosts in PPE feels perhaps loneliest of all.  

The paradox of loneliness is that we all often feel it all together and all at once. Because to be truly understood is something that perpetually eludes us. There is real consequence to not knowing oneself, and often loneliness strikes an especially unnerving chord when the only companionship one has is with a stranger. For that reason quiet reflection is perhaps one of the most essential, grueling, and under-appreciated endeavors we can undertake. 

I don’t think one needs to be particularly useful or productive at this moment, a dangerous impulse under normal circumstances and increasingly more so now, but I do think if nothing else one can take stock and find gratitude. 

To focus on your suffering is to get this wrong, in my book. This is not a moment to dwell in the space in one’s mind where woes collect in the dusty corners. This is a moment to truly assess all that one has to be grateful for. There is always a story with a happier seeming ending to yours, there is always an achievement just over the horizon to place one’s hopes in, there is always something missing… if one is set on viewing the world that way. But there are boundless small gratitudes for the taking if one can fix one’s gaze on the glow of the sun that rises and sets without fail each and every day, on the subtle changes as the earth pitches on its axis, on the myriad of ways humans are infinitely complex and frivolous creatures. There is so much within one’s self to explore–there are so many worlds accessible to you through books, movies, music, and your own imagination. There is no shortage of magic hidden inside of the folds of everyday life that it would be a savage mistake to sit healthily inside this global catastrophe and think only of the ways your poor silly self is suffering. 

I think perhaps the patience I typically have for the understandable nuances of the human condition has dwindled as a cacophony of complaints echo throughout the collective consciousness. Can we not edge ourselves ever so slightly to a more elevated field of existence? Can we not see our species collectively under duress and think only of the ways we are inextricably tied to each other’s fates? Of then considering what contribution we have, spiritually, to this greater whole? Of shedding any notion that life is meant solely for our own consumption and amusement? That we are deserving of every joy only so that we may under-appreciate it, cast it aside, and insatiably demand the next? 

The antidote to your suffering is gratitude. Gratitude does not diminish the very real problems in your life; gratitude does not demand that you grin and bear pain that exists in your mind or body; gratitude does not alleviate that which you may be ignoring. Gratitude simply shifts the balance of your perspective to one that is rooted in all that you have, and all that you are, rather than all that you are lacking. 

Rest here, rest in this place of gratitude. Let this be your grounding, your starting and ending place each day, your salvation. 

[phanlight]

Imagine Living Like a King Someday

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

me thinkin i’d cleared this fic up w the last chapter til i re-read a bunch of it and HOOOOO BOI why was i so obsessed with plot twists without the fkin plot

I am determined to make this all add up and work together but it may take a few chapters also I still have no idea how this is going to end LOL

[ao3 link]

Southview owns a lot of land.

It spreads out in blanketed acres of green, field upon forest upon meadow; miles of emerald patchwork. The building itself, founded somewhere in the fourteenth century apparently, makes up only a fraction of the private greenery Phil has been calling home for the past decade.

Habitatually speaking, it’s impressive. To be able to call such rich halls, such polished corridors and winding mahogany stairs, ever spiraling further and further below his house, his own dwelling; is something he struggles to grasp. He supposes every other student currently residing here may find some relation to a certain degree – but to look at a winding cobbled path and every single brick completing every wall, to name the clock tower chiming every high-clouded noon into existence anything remotely of an heirloom – isn’t anything his soul will allow him to process. He doesn’t see it changing anytime soon.

He stares at the wall-to-wall bookshelves lining every corridor brimming with ancient knowledge, medieval tales and just about every participle of the literary canon. There are strict rules against removing any books from their respective shelves with dire consequences if unobliged (absolutely ridiculous, Phil thinks – who in their right mind would consider reading a punishable offence? They’re there to be read.) He and Dan had taken it upon themselves to create a discreet enough rule-breaking method; choosing the dead of night to tiptoe through long, hallowed corridors devoid of light and sound and people and life, all whispers and giggles and cold interlocked fingers, sleepy eyes scanning fraying ladders of spines, whispered-yet-echoey assessments over which would be least missed for however many hours.

The candles up above, though only illuminated during the seasonal months, drip hardened wax onto the stone walls covering every inch of interior; something he otherwise never would have seen anywhere else in this time, let alone place. The beams hang dark and gnarled, curving across every roof with chapel-like grace.

He’s lucky, and he knows it.

Why, then, does he feel like a bird in a cage? Why can he sense the wings, feathered promises of freedom, hit against iron bars whenever he outstretches? This place is becoming too small, he decides. Seven years walking the same grounds, with the same windows and the same views no matter how creative he gets with his detours. The same faces, same conversations with all the same values; with only sporadic weeks of the outside world in between.

He wonders what he would have done had Dan not entered the scene. Wherever the place in his mind, he knows madness would reside. He only feels a breath away from it now.

He blames it on his surroundings, pushing down the rise of unease that jumps through his stomach. It’s got to be that.

::

It doesn’t subside.

“Are you okay?” he hears a voice soften beside him. 

He can’t lie. Not to Dan.

He shuts his eyes and realizes he’s been staring at that Oscar Wilde painting for way too long. The afterimage burns his retina in every shade of negative. His hair deep black on canvas now chalk white behind the eyelids. His eyes look like caves.

“I don’t know,” is the closest to the truth he can get. “I feel weird.”

Dan’s entire stance changes. Concern floods his eyes and he’s suddenly upright

“Why? What’s up?”

“I don’t-…” he shakes his head in defeat.  “I really don’t know. That’s why I’m so-…” his racing mind interrupts him. So what? So comfortable, yet so ill at ease? It makes no sense. 

This should be bliss. Curled up on a beanbag with his favourite person somewhere on the third floor of the library behind a wooden disguise of bookshelves and tall tables. Their ‘spot’ lies in a convenient nook no other soul seems to have yet discovered – a definite perk of being the son of the owner is having premium, extensive knowledge of every single crack and avenue this place has to offer; surveillance included.

That’s how the undercroft became a meeting point in the first place, Phil suddenly remembers as his stomach falls through three stone library floors.

It was him.

He had come up with the idea. He had planned the safest night-time route, locating every surveillance camera and possible risky window. And he, funnily enough, was the one who had spent an hour talking the three of them into it to begin with – if he strains his mind far back enough he can recall even Liam having doubts. Many of them, actually.

“Come on,” a harsher, younger and definitely more obnoxious version of himself had urged.

“No way,” Liam was the first to say. Freddie and Violet hadn’t been overly keen, but it was Liam who was adamant.

He feels sicker.

“What’s bothering you?” Dan closes the book they were giggling at no longer than forty seconds ago and turns his attention completely to him.

His heart is thudding now. He hasn’t given any of that any thought whatsoever since it happened; all anxiety surrounding the situation having been newly dissipated by evenings of laughter and love and-

Had it been dissipated? Or merely masked? Ignorance by will or by proxy?

“Phil?”

Had he spent all these passing months pointing fingers, dodging the blame, deflecting everything like a house of mirrors when this whole thing, this entire time, had actually been his fault?

He snaps out of himself and realizes it’s Emily Dickinson now burning behind the eyelids.

It’s too much. Even the oil portraits, beautiful as they are (and original too, allegedly), are all the same faces. It’s all the fucking same.

“We need to get out of here.”

Dan frowns. “Huh?”

“We need to get out of here,” he repeats, and stands up immediately. The book that was on his lap catapults to the floor, landing outstretched in a papery mess.

“Wait-“ Dan scrabbles around behind him, rescuing the book and smoothing out the newly crumpled pages. His own expression creases a little with the paper.

Phil doesn’t. He can’t. His vision is a tunnel and it’s only blind panic propelling him forward, past shelves and students and voices he can only barely decipher. Every cell in his body, every single drop of blood and beat of his heart is drilling the same message into his mind.

Get out.

It’s only until he feels the slap of winter air against his damp forehead he realizes he’s outside. He stops sweating and starts shivering, clutching the corner of the stone wall as if gravity be seconds away from disappearing and flinging him into the night sky.

His chest feels like lead. Each breath comes heavy, deep; never quite enough despite each gasp filling up his lungs like he’s drowning on air alone. His stomach feels like someone has clawed it out with blunt, bare fingers.

The huge door flaps open and a tiny figure runs out.

He can barely see. His vision still exists in blobs and grains, like someone turned up the contrast too much but also turned it right down completely. What’s happening to him?

“I’m sorr-“ he gasps, but Dan hushes him.

“Focus on your breath,” his voice is calm but firm. He’s unaware of the soft grip on either shoulder until he sees two arms outstretched in front of him.

Phil tries to, but each gasp gets stuck in his throat.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth,” Dan guides him, demonstrating. Each breath seems so smooth, so calculated. Phil doesn’t want to think how often he’s had to do this.

His heart is still hammering, but he manages to comply.

“Imagine you’re blowing on a candle,” Dan continues. “But don’t blow it out.” 

It’s a challenge to focus when his mind is running one million mines a minute, but Phil shuts his eyes and eventually the swirling grain begins to subside. He’s still breathing way too hard and it’s probably enough to blow out a ninety-seventh birthday cake, but Dan’s encouragement doesn’t waver.

“You’re getting there,” he says, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze before dropping his grip completely. “Are you okay with that, by the way?” he gestures toward his hands. “Fuck, sorry- I should have asked- but when I’m having a panic attack it usually helps to keep me like-… centred.”

“No, it’s-…” Phil releases a shaky breath. “It helps. Thank you,” his eyes flutter shut when he feels two warm hands on his shoulder. He’s already feeling a fraction calmer.

“No need to thank me,” Dan says, his voice like velvet.

His eyes fly open. “Panic attack?”

Dan’s own are soft. “I think that’s what you’re having.”

His heart is still thudding, but at a marginally dropped pace. He’s never experienced anything like that before. Shit, is that what it’s like?

His vision has almost completely cleared; certainly enough to make out Dan’s silhouetted form in the amber glow of the lamp post.

“Is this really what you go through?” his voice is reedy, hoarse. All he can focus on is the boy inches away from his face.

Dan nods quietly. “Can be up to five times a day. Once it was twenty.”

He feels like crying. However much adrenaline there had been ripping through his veins had melted away; albeit only slightly, but the thought alone of this being a daily endeavor makes him want to physically remove his central nervous system himself. The thought of enduring such pain not only on a daily basis but multiple, only to emerge with a smile and with enough capacity to help others with the same issue-

Dan is an angel. 

He doesn’t deserve him, his mind cries. He really doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“Deep breaths,” he reminds him, and it’s only then he realizes he’s hyperventilating again.

“Fuck,” he curses, slowing his chest down. He remembers the candle and closes his eyes again.

“You’re doing great,” Dan whispers when his breathing softens. “You’ve only blown out about seven this time. You’re on your eighth.”

He huffs out a shaky laugh, his heart melting into a puddle. As if he’d been counting.

“Ah,” Dan grins. “Maybe ninth, now.”

“Thank you,” he sighs, still trembling. He can’t tell if it’s temperature or panic-related anymore, but he doesn’t think he cares. He doesn’t have the capacity to right now.

“Come on,” Dan pulls him into a hug, arms wound tight around the waist as if there be no intention, no need to let go. “You’re okay.”

“How can you deal with that?” he says, not bothering to mask the crack in his voice.

“I have my ways,” he says as smoothly as his voice can allow, but Phil feels him gulp. Feels the quick jump of his throat against his shoulder.

The nausea returns.

::

“Ow, fuck-“ Dan snaps his fingers up from the drawer. “Bastard thing.”

“It wants your fingers more than I do,” Phil mumbles, then coughs on a mouthful of Mountain Dew.

Droplets fly everywhere.

"Phil!” Dan’s jaw drops when a few darken his trousers. He’s more than used to the other boy’s frequent laughter at his own jokes, but that one wasn’t even funny. “For fuck’s sake. So not only am I in pain, I’m wet too?”

“In pain and wet?” A voice pops up from around the corner, sending a jolt through the pair of them. “Phil, you naughty bastard, what have you been doing to the poor guy?”

“Oh, you f-“ Phil clutches his chest, his heart hammering. “Are you ever going to stop doing that? I had my first panic attack today. I don’t want another.”

“You’re saying that like it isn’t my plan,” Noah raises an eyebrow and slides past.

“Come in,” Phil gestures sarcastically.

“Leave your door open,’ he retaliates with equal sarcasm, blowing him a kiss. He plops himself down on the revolving chair and takes a token spin. He’s frowning on the other end of the 360 degrees, the other half of the sentence only just registering. “Shit, are you okay? What brought it on?”

“I am now,” Phil’s eyes flicker to the other company, mopping his trousers with a clump of tissue. “Dan got me through.”

He doesn’t deliberately avoid the latter question, but it’s certainly no accident.

“Candle trick works wonders, I’m telling you,” Dan says without turning around, still dabbing at the stain.

“It does,” Noah agrees, picking up Phil’s empty pen holder. He usually lasts a record of ten whole seconds in his room before finding something nearby to fiddle with. “It got me through the Death of a Salesman production, that’s for sure. Christ, I was a mess,” he shudders. “The four-seven-eight trick is good, too,” he adds.

“Four seconds in, hold for seven, exhale for eight,” the other boy echoes. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You press your tongue on the roof of your mouth just behind your teeth, too.”

“Really?” Phil’s eyes dart between the pair of them. Is this something he’s going to have to get used to?

“It’s meant to recalibrate the nervous system. Apparently Leonardo DiCaprio uses it,” Noah adds.

“Wonder if it would have helped on the Titanic,” Phil raises an eyebrow.

“The fucking boat would have sank anyway,” Noah cackles. “The four-seven-eight is good, but it can’t demolish icebergs, babe.”

“It has its limits,” Dan adds, plopping the tissue in the bin and heading for the bed. A quick "you okay now?" is mouthed as soon as Noah takes another spin on the chair.

Phil nods and gives his hand a little squeeze, praying he hasn’t noticed the sweat.

“So,” Noah spins again, eyes to the ceiling, before muttering a “fuck that” and leaping up off the chair. He stumbles around for a handful of seconds, clutching the desk.  “What have you boys been up to, then?”

“What, since this afternoon?” Phil says. He’d only seen him about five hours ago.

“Yeah. Anything could have happened,” Noah replies, dizzily plonking himself down on the bed next to Dan with such force the shorter boy bobs upward. Phil splutters.

“That was- oh my god, that was adorable,” he gasps delightedly. “Do it again.”

Dan glares at him, fighting a smirk. “Shut up. No, don’t do it again.”

“Do what again?” Noah glances between them. “I don’t even know what I did.”

“Did you not see that?” Phil widens his eyes. “Oh my god. When you bounce down like that,“ he giggles, ignoring Dan’s “no, shall we not” – “Dan’s like a feather, so he literally defies gravity.”

“Hah,” Noah springs upward and launches himself down with about three times the force as before. Dan catapults up, starfished in the air for about a second before hurtling down on the mattress.

Noah and Phil hoot with laughter. Dan’s doubled over in stitches, clutching his abdomen. He can feel tears of laughter brimming at his eyelashes and he probably looks in pain right now but really he’s anything but.

He’s so happy it hurts.

“Shit, he really does!” Noah shrieks. “Oh my god, that’s quality. You okay?”

Dan manages to breathe out an ‘I’m fine’, still clutching his stomach. “Holy shit,” he sighs when he gathers enough composure to speak. “’Memory foam’ my arse. The springs under that thing are giant.”

“Or you’re just tiny,” Phil gushes affectionately, combing a hand through Dan’s hair. The feeling of silky waves between every finger are enough to chase away any remaining claws of anxiety, any pegs to his stomach, if just for a moment.

Maybe it is okay. Maybe it is just a product of an overactive mind. He’s been so wound up recently, what with looming examinations and deadlines and just about everything he could really do without so close to Christmas, that maybe it’s manifesting itself oddly.

Maybe.

He doesn’t want to think about it right now. He swallows the feeling down with another mouthful of beer, the bubbles foaming up like lather in his mouth.

“Shut up,” Dan glares at him, rearranging his fringe. “I’m not that short.”

“He’s mini,” Phil jumps back into conversation, as if Noah he can’t see for himself

“Short people deserve compensation for the amount of shit they go through,” Dan mutters, feigning grumpiness, but the shine in his eyes tell Phil it’s difficult to feel anything other than utter bliss.

“Ah, so you admit it!” Phil’s eyes match the light. “You are short.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dan blushes, realizing what he’d insinuated.

“Don’t worry, Dan,” Noah chips in. “Phil’s been the same height since he was about twelve. I remember him in year seven,” he glances at the other boy. “You were terrifyingly tall. But then everyone else caught up.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Yeah, there I was thinking I was some sort of superhuman. Twelve years of age and almost as tall as my dad. They used to call me Slenderman.”

“He looked like Mike TeeVee at the end of the film,” a giggle ripples through Noah.

“I can’t even imagine what he-” Dan frowns. “Mike who?”

Two jaws drop. Silence.

“You’ve never seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?!” Noah spits as if it be as outrageous an exclamation as never visiting Sainsbury’s.

Dan’s eyes dart to Phil, blue eyes wide.

“Not even the original?”

“No, I-…” his eyes flick between the two mirroring expressions. He huffs out a chuckle. “Is this really a big thing? Okay, well I’ve never seen Shrek, while we’re at it.”

A collective groan echoes through the walls.

“You’ve got to be fucking-“

“But it’s a-“

“Please tell me you’ve seen Star-“

“Not Wars, or Trek,” Dan cuts him off. “I don’t even know the difference between the two.”

“Dan, I-…” Noah cuts himself off with a sigh, staring at Phil. “What are we gonna do with him?”

“This is a crime,” Phil shakes his head. “This is actually outrageous.”

“If the most offensive thing I’ve done since arriving here has been not sitting through three hours of an ogre’s life, I’ll definitely take that.”

“Oh don’t you worry,” Noah leaps up off the mattress, grabbing his laptop from the revolving chair. “It’s about six hour’s worth in total.”

“Seven-and-a-half if we count the spin-off,” Phil chips in.

“Do we have to?” Dan whines. “I’m sure I’ll love it, but with all due respect I can’t even sit through films I like sometimes.”

“Are you implying you’ll dislike this?” Phil puts a hand on his chest in mock-offence.

“I said I’m sure I’ll lov-“

“Could watch Star Trek,” a voice pipes up from under the bed. Noah’s folded over to one side, the rustling of a carrier bag apparent. He adds, “not Wars, I can’t stand- Phil stop giving me evils you shit, it’s just not as good.”

Phil’s glare toward his turned back turns into a grin. He knows him too well.

He re-emerges clutching a six-pack of bottled beer, tearing one out of the cardboard and dropping it into Phil’s lap.

“He’s talking shit,” Phil mutters.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Dan smirks. “Star Trek is just Shrek with extra letters.”

“We’re gonna have to culture you up, Dan,” Noah shakes his head, thrusting a bag of popcorn almost the size of his torso in his general direction.

“God, you came prepared,” Phil notes. “It’s almost as if you knew we were both here.”

“I could hear you both from down the corridor,” Noah fires back, before adding “Plus you two are inseparable anyway. If I needed to find you, I’ll find you,” he points at Dan, then at Phil. “And vice-versa.”

Phil and Dan exchange glances. Do they really spend that much time together?

It’s difficult to calculate. They spend time apart, obviously. It’s not as if he’s sat in Maths with Dan pirouetting all over the place with a feather duster, but once are done and the final document has been closed; once the day’s duties are behind him, he can’t say he wouldn’t be found tearing from East wing to West; desperate to drop his workload and swap computer chairs for soft mattresses and lamplight.

They’re melting into each-other, and he can feel it.

 Noah smirks, and only says, “We’re performing Alice in Wonderland next week,” his eyes flicker to Dan. “Have you seen that?”

-

Feedback is always appreciated literally HOW IS THIS pls let me know i haven't posted anything in years i love u all for reading thank u so much  

i spent a good 15 minutes attempting to calculate the total running time of the shrek franchise im crying the things i DO i hope its accurate

[hockeysweetheart]

My point of this is literally anything Romantic with Gale Peeta’s name isn’t far behind...  I mean who can blame her .... 

Catching Fire Chapter 2

Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way.

Chapter 7 Catching Fire 

"I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours," he says. I take a deep breath. "We run away." "What?" he asks. This has actually caught him off guard. "We take to the woods and make a run for it," I say. His face is impossible to read. Will he laugh at me, dismiss this as foolishness? I rise in agitation, preparing for an argument. "You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said - " He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale's neck to brace myself. He's laughing, happy. "Hey!" I protest, but I'm laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn't release his hold on me. "Okay, let's run away," he says. "Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?" Some of the crushing weight begins to lift as it transfers to Gale's shoulders. "I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you," he says. He means it. Not only means it but welcomes it. "We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back!" "You're sure?" I say. "Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you - " "I'm sure. I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure." He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being, radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you." That's why. I never see these things coming. They happen too fast. One second you're proposing an escape plan and the next... you're expected to deal with something like this. I come up with what must be the worst possible response. "I know." It sounds terrible. Like I assume he couldn't help loving me but that I don't feel anything in return. Gale starts to draw away, but I grab hold of him. "I know! And you... you know what you are to me." It's not enough. He breaks my grip. "Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don't know." I can see him swallowing his disappointment. "So, we'll go. We'll find out." He turns back to the fire, where the chestnuts are beginning to burn. He flips them out onto the hearth. "My mother's going to take some convincing." I guess he's still going, anyway. But the happiness has fled, leaving an all-too-familiar strain in its place. "Mine, too. I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative." "She'll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you," says Gale. "I hope not." The temperature in the house seems to have dropped twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. "Haymitch will be the real challenge." "Haymitch?" Gale abandons the chestnuts. "You're not asking him to come with us?" "I have to, Gale. I can't leave him and Peeta because they'd - " His scowl cuts me off. "What?" "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how large our party was," he snaps at me.

"They'd torture them to death, trying to find out where I was," I say.

"What about Peeta's family? They'll never come. In fact, they probably couldn't wait to inform on us. Which I'm sure he's smart enough to realize. What if he decides to stay?" he asks.

I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. "Then he stays."

"You'd leave him behind?" Gale asks.

"To save Prim and my mother, yes," I answer. "I mean, no! I'll get him to come."

"And me, would you leave me?" Gale's expression is rock hard now. "Just if, for instance, I can't convince my mother to drag three young kids into the wilderness in winter."

"Hazelle won't refuse. She'll see sense," I say.

"Suppose she doesn't, Katniss. What then?" he demands.

"Then you have to force her, Gale. Do you think I'm making this stuff up?" My voice is rising in anger as well.

"No. I don't know. Maybe the president's just manipulating you. I mean, he's throwing your wedding. You saw how the Capitol crowd reacted. I don't think he can afford to kill you. Or Peeta. How's he going to get out of that one?" says Gale.

"Well, with an uprising in District Eight, I doubt he's spending much time choosing my wedding cake!" I shout.

The instant the words are out of my mouth I want to reclaim them. Their effect on Gale is immediate - the flush on his cheeks, the brightness of his gray eyes. "There's an uprising in Eight?" he says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. "I don't know if it's really an uprising. There's unrest. People in the streets - " I say. Gale grabs my shoulders. "What did you see?" "Nothing! In person. I just heard something." As usual, it's too little, too late. I give up and tell him. "I saw something on the mayor's television. I wasn't supposed to. There was a crowd, and fires, and the Peacekeepers were gunning people down but they were fighting back. ..." I bite my lip and struggle to continue describing the scene. Instead I say aloud the words that have been eating me up inside. "And it's my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would've happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe, too." "Safe to do what?" he says in a gentler tone. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people - you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. There's already been talk in the mines. People who want to fight. Don't you see? It's happening! It's finally happening! If there's an uprising in District Eight, why not here? Why not everywhere? This could be it, the thing we've been - " "Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they're not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!" I say. "That's why we have to join the fight!" he answers harshly. "No! We have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!" I'm yelling again, but I can't understand why he's doing this. Why doesn't he see what's so undeniable? Gale pushes me roughly away from him. "You leave, then. I'd never go in a million years." "You were happy enough to go before. I don't see how an uprising in District Eight does anything but make it more important that we leave. You're just mad about - " No, I can't throw Peeta in his face. "What about your family?" "What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can't run away? Don't you see? It can't be about just saving us anymore. Not if the rebellion's begun!" Gale shakes his head, not hiding his disgust with me. "You could do so much." He throws Cinna's gloves at my feet. "I changed my mind. I don't want anything they made in the Capitol." And he's gone.

Chapter 8 Catching Fire 

Does everyone look younger asleep? Because right now he could be the boy I ran into in the woods years ago, the one who accused me of stealing from his traps. What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely committed, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we'd found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting on each other, watching each other's backs, forcing each other to be brave. For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

Chapter  9 Mockingjay 

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer.

Chapter 14 Mockingjay 

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?" "I don't know," I whisper back. "Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself. "How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before. He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine." "So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask. "I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood. Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?" "Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says. I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?" "No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference." A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."I can't help thinking that's directed at me.