#help people learn to get out of trouble on their own

[borderlinereminders]

Communication Tips for BPD

Living with Borderline Personality Disorder can make communication feel impossible. It can feel scary. Intense emotions, fear of abandonment, and difficulty trusting others can turn even small conversations into emotional minefields. But learning to communicate more effectively is possible—and it can strengthen your relationships while also helping you feel more understood.

Here are some things I’ve learned for myself that may be helpful to you too.

Pause Before Reacting

When emotions flare, it’s easy to say things we later regret. Practicing the habit of pausing—even just taking a deep breath or counting to five—can help create space between feeling and reacting. That space is where you can choose how to respond, rather than reacting on impulse.

It’s okay to walk away if needed. While we’re often told this is manipulative, and it absolutely can be if someone does it with the intent to get their way or make someone feel bad, it isn’t manipulative by default. Saying something like “I’m not giving up on this, but I need some time to clear my head so I can communicate more effectively” can help in it not coming across as manipulative.

Use “I” Statements

Try to speak from your own experience instead of assigning blame. Saying things like, “I feel hurt when I don’t hear back from you,” is usually better received than, “You always ignore me.” It keeps the door open for connection, rather than putting the other person on the defensive. The “you” statements can also make assumptions. This leads into our next point

Check Your Assumptions

BPD can make us feel like someone is mad, abandoning us, or doesn’t care but feelings aren’t facts. Before reacting, ask: “Is there another explanation?” or even better, ask them directly: “Hey, I noticed you were quiet today, are you doing okay?”

If your friend cancels plans because she’s sick, it can be really easy to assume that she’s abandoning you, but just because you feel that way doesn’t mean it’s true.

Name What’s Going On

Being open about your BPD (when safe to do so) can build understanding. For example: “I have trouble with emotional intensity, and sometimes I react really strongly. I’m working on it, but if I seem overwhelmed, it’s not because I don’t care.”

Validate Others Too

Validation goes both ways. Just as we want to be heard and understood, so do the people we care about. Practicing validation like saying, “I can see that this is hard for you too,” can be helpful to deal with conflict and build trust. This can make the other person feel heard and they may be more open to solutions for handling the conflict.

Use Tools When You Need To

Sometimes writing things down feels safer than speaking out loud. A text, a journal entry, or even a shared note with a loved one can help express things that are difficult to say in the moment. DBT skills (like DEAR MAN or Wise Mind) are also great tools for tough conversations.

⸻

If you live with BPD, you’re not broken—you just feel things more deeply. That depth can be beautiful, but it also means communication may take more work. Be patient with yourself. Progress might feel slow, but every time you choose awareness over reactivity, you’re learning healthier ways to have relationships and that’s deserving of credit.

This is okay to utilize and/or reblog even if you don’t have BPD. While I wrote this from the perspective of someone with BPD, communication tips can be helpful for all sorts of reasons.

[jjwolves]

PERSONAL MONSTER

What: A Jealous Taski Maiden X Reader Imagine

Who: Taski Maiden, from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~1300 Words, ~6-7 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: Jealousy, Toxic Behavior (Played for Comedy)

Taski might loudly and obnoxiously deny it, but she's always really liked you. You had been good friends, often glued to the hip when running around the Uncanny Streets, causing trouble (or at least one of you were), and then one day you two clicked into a new dynamic. Now you're dating--at least, dating Taski-style. And dating Taski-style means that there are a lot of things that you've had to learn are off the table now. For one, going anywhere explicitly fancy or upscale is off the table. Not that it's forbidden or anything--in fact, Taski seems flattered when you take her to such places--it's just highly discouraged by the disapproving faces of the high-class patrons when your favorite creature begins throwing silverware and mixing people's dishes together without asking them. "Jhsjdhsd. L00k babe, I'm doing the chefz jobs 4 them! It's supa obvs that the hard corn goes with the cattail5." You've been kicked out several times. Another thing that is no longer an option is being alone. You are never alone; ever since Taski hinted at even the slightest interest in you, she was following you around everywhere. If you didn't see her, she was either watching from afar or hollering your name to see if you were around. But that's neither here nor there, because the newest thing you've learned is this: New friends that you like to hang out with on your own? Taski is not okay with this. At. All.

While in the Uncanny Streets, you had met a strange, metallic pixie girl named Memu. Her attitude is surprisingly approachable compared to a lot of the entities that absentmindedly roam about the valley's dirt pathways. She's helpful and polite, and only occasionally cryptic. You often find yourself stopping by to say hello and talk about the various happenings of the valley--you know, any Watcher sightings, crashed Wanderers, new Taxi services. Memu is a good checkpoint when you need to know what's going on with your home. Taski knows about her and, while you can't immediately place why this happens, gets really mad when you mention her, throwing a tantrum as she stomps up the wall and then returns to the floor. "BLEH!!1 'Moomoo' again?? Im a supa good judge of charact3r, so listen!1! That galz EVIL! Shes PLOTTIGN! Shes PL4NING! Tryin to eat you--or, or, 0r, steal you! Or CURSE YUO! Nex time she talks 2 u, u gotta swat her. I'll help!" You calmly try to deescalate Taski's outburst by assuring her that Memu's just an acquaintance who helps you out sometimes. Besides, 'steal' you? What does that even mean? Taski grits her teeth, her hair lashing violently in all directions, knocking pottery over and slapping pots and pans off of shelves (and perfectly avoiding you). "Wh4t do you think I mean. ST3ALING YOU! FROM ME! SEDUCING YOU!" You gently readjust her little hat and assure her that nobody could steal you from her. You're hers permanently. Contractually agreed! Taski narrows her eyes but leans into you anyway. "Yeah. But sometimes you act l1ke you forget it, dummy."

Eventually, you meet a new friend: Some sort of headless mannequin who communicates in body language. It doesn't really matter how he communicates, though; he's one of the funniest people you've ever met. You know by now that, even if it's awkward for your new friend, your girlfriend's presence is not arguable. Taski always wants to be wherever you are. You love her for that, but at the same time... You think your friend is uncomfortable with how obvious it is that Taski is desperate for your attention, and in the most annoying way possible. Your headless friend imitates the Receptionist, and yeah, it's hilariously spot on. A good joke deserves a good laugh, to which the comedian silently bows. Taski, instead of laughing, looks worried at how high your spirits have been lifted. Taski tries to salvage the situation by putting on a fake accent and waving around like a blade of grass in the wind. Is that even an impression of someone? "Wh--TH4T'S not FUNNY~! THIS I5~! Look at meee~!" You think it's cute despite the weirdness and politely ask her who she's pretending to be. "Who I'm tryna be...? Whuh? We1rd question, but okey... Ermmm... I guesssss yuor... wife?" By the time she finishes her question, her voice is a quiet squeak. The mannequin excuses himself while you feel a hot blush rise to your face. You explain that you meant impressions. Taski looks shellshocked. "...Impressionz. Ha. H4h4haghhghgshKKHSHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" With a scream of pure embarrassment, Taski dashes away and clumsily tries to vault over a fence, her efforts rewarded with a faceplant.

The next time you go to chat with a friend, this time a living cloud, Taski is already there being weird. You don't even understand her fear with this one--it's a literal cloud. "Consider this your interv1ew be4 you talk to da head honcho. They might be buzy tho so don't be surprised if I say that they're not coming. It might also be your vibe5." You butt in at just the right moment and say that no, there is no interview or whatever she was just saying. She is being a liar. The cloud seems quick to ignore your girlfriend's obnoxiousness, making wise and appreciative observations about the place you're in and the weather (ironically) before mentioning its son. And just like that Taski has spun back into being your reverse wing-woman. "Ohhh, honie is gr8 with kiddos. Check 1t out, we actually gotz a few! You kno. As da honeys do." The cloud elects to paper over her odd interjection as she smugly places her manta on the table, unveiling her Boys. They look nonplussed as always, although one gives a nod to you. "And on top of dat, they're good with kiddos 2! Pretty award-winnin kiddins. Kidding squared!1 Da tree doesn't stretch too far from the roots!1! Mwahaha!" Taski slings two possessive arms around your shoulders and sticks her tongue out at your cloud friend, who is serenely unaware of her rudeness. You don't think this could be more embarrassing, although the visceral social discomfort that you're feeling causes you to miss some interesting words uttered by Taski. We have kids. Our kids. You only realize this when you're done burning from such a secondhandedly shameful interaction.

Eventually, you decide that it's time to straighten things out with Taski. Her jealousy is all-consuming and she's never been one for changing into anything other than more of what she already is. When you thank the owner of the grilled vein stand for giving you and Taski the meal on the house, Taski immediately bristles with possessive frustration, fixing the cook with the most deadpan, unimpressed stare you've seen from her yet. "Tch." In response, you tenderly rub her dark, three-fingered hand. You can't not interact with other people because of how Taski might feel about it, but you can try to include her more and understand her feelings a little better. Your gesture seems to placate her, earning a sharp sigh from her. You gently pat the Boys, too, because they looked kind of left out, which Taski seems to appreciate even more than the previous gesture. Grievances forgotten, she smugly rests her chin on her hand. "I was rite when I s4id you're good with them. ...But I think ur good with me, too." Then she tries to flip her slushie without spilling it on the counter, to disastrous results. You have to apologize for her (and get her a new one afterwards).

A/N: I thought the Taski Maiden ruins your social life montage would include more central characters to the game, but it was more fun to come up with original ones and use that one cloud guy because I like him. Also, the slushie part was unfortunately based on real life events I bore witness to.

[lovetrouble123]

You’re An Idea, I Don’t Need You. But I Want You So Bad.

Synopsis: How would Damian know if he’s in love or not?

TW: n/a

A/N: I got carried away with this one. You listen to Catch by Chloe Moriondo once and it’s all down hill from there🫡

Masterlist

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The courtyard bushes were not the most comfortable spot to hide in, but for the current mission, it was needed…apparently.

Damian crouched behind the large lush bushes located in the center of Gotham Academy with his…acquaintance, Y/N, beside him. He didn’t hate his father, far from it. In fact, he respected his father as long as he respected him too. But for the life of him, he didn’t understand why his father insisted he attend school.

He never attended school when he lived with his mother. Sure he got the basics, and learned like any other child, but every math question or article of information was somehow related to his training as an assassin. Who the hell would need to know about stupid triangles?

“This is idiotic,” Damian stated. “And a waste of time.”

“I don’t think so,” Y/N mused beside him as she peaked over the bushes as well.

“We could be using this time to study, and instead you want to sit here and look at some useless nobody who will probably end up working at some pointless job working 9-5 with minimum wage in a few years,” Damian bluntly said.

“Damian,” Y/N turned her head to look at the black haired boy beside her. “This is exactly why you have no friends.”

Damian gave the girl an unamused look. “I don’t need friends. Especially people from this wretched academy.”

“We’re not friends?” Y/N asked, a small frown tugging on her lips.

Damian couldn’t help but mirror her expression, though his was out of distaste and annoyance. Y/N was definitely different from the other students at this school, and the first to ignore his pleads of wanting to be left alone.

He could remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was the very first day of the new school year. Y/N found Damian sitting alone in the library reading during the lunch period and she sat down beside him, and offered her lunch. He ignored her. But she kept poking and prodding him to the point he threatened to kill her…she only laughed and shoved her pretzels toward him.

The next he skipped the library and opted for the courtyard, but she seemed to find him again.

It took all week before Damian finally got tired of her presence and went to beat her up, but luckily for her, one of the teachers had been watching from afar. Not wanting to get in trouble with his father (and most likely be suspended from playing Robin for a little while), he let her go and walked off. But like a puppy, she followed and told him that she wanted to be friends.

They weren’t friends. They were simply acquaintances.

“I’d hardly call our dynamic a ‘friendship.’ More like a master and an annoying servant,” Damian corrected.

Y/N laughed at his correction. “Master and servant, really?”

He nodded, “yes. You’re constantly following me around, you constantly try and make my business your own, you do whatever I say…sounds like a servant to me.”

“I think that’s called being your friend,” Y/N replied.

Damian looked away from the girl and back toward the other students in the courtyard. “We are not friends. I simply tolerate your presence and nothing more. Don’t read into it.” His green eyes focused on one of the boys in the distance, one of the countless popular boys at Gotham Academy. “Shouldn’t you be spying on that degenerate?”

“I can multitask,” Y/N sassed as she turned back to watch the boy. He was surrounded by his friends—the popular kids. “You know, it’s surprising to me that you’re not one of the popular kids, Damian.” Y/N admits, “your father is the richest man in town.”

“I do not care if my father is rich, or if I am his son.” Damian scoffed as his nose wrinkled in slight disgust. “Popularity is pathetic. It’s just a way to distinguish those who need more validation and a need to fit in, from those who couldn’t care less. It’s just a tool, and you’re falling into that trap by having a crush on that idiot Gavin.”

Y/N let out a small scoff, “Gavin is not an idiot!”

Damian looked back at Y/N, “you’re kidding me, right? Have you ever heard him speak before? He has to be the most dimwitted human I’ve ever met, and I’ve had the displeasure of being around my ‘brothers.’ He’s obnoxious, arrogant, lacks brain cells, doesn’t have the capability to understand basic concepts, he cheats on girls all the time,” Damian continued to list Gavin’s bad qualities. But he wasn’t sure why exactly. It had to be because he wanted to prove to Y/N that their crush on Gavin was illogical. “Your taste in men is repulsive.”

“And since when did you become an expert on relationships and crushes?” Y/N asked, her eyes still focused on Gavin. “Last I checked, you haven’t had a crush on anyone.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed at her comment. “As if I would want to feel emotions as disgusting and as repulsive as ‘love’ or whatever you want to call it. I have no desire in romance.” That was how he was raised though, emotions were nothing more than a nuisance. A weakness. “People who feel those emotions are idiotic. What good does it do to swoon over somebody? It’s absolutely pointless.”

A part of Damian wasn’t sure if he believed in the idea of romance or even ‘love.’ It was a concept foreign to him, and a concept that only ended in disaster as he witnessed from his mother and father. A one sided love story, and every other night, his father would bring around a new woman. Did he hate the idea because of that, or did he hate the idea because it was droned into his head that emotions were dumb?

“I don’t think so,” Y/N admits as she tears her eyes away from Gavin and back at Damian. “I think romance is beautiful.”

“Then you’re more foolish than I originally thought.” Damian said.

Of course she believed in romance and love, every kid their age seemed to. The girls were constantly chasing after the boys, and the boys were constantly chasing after the girls. Except for Damian.

“Love is always going to end in disaster. The universe sets us up for failure.”

Y/N tilted her head to the side, “but how would you know if you’ve never experienced it?”

Damian raised a brow, “and what exactly does one ‘experience?’ Please explain this ‘phenomenon’ to me.” He was being sarcastic. In fact, he didn’t want her to explain anything. He didn’t care…so why did he ask anyway?

Y/N softly smiled as she looked down at her lap, almost like she was embarrassed to reply. But she did so anyway. “Love is…complicated, but it can also be beautiful. In my experience, love is two sides of the same coin…almost like a comedy mask—happy and tragic.” She explained, “being in love is the best but most terrifying feeling in the world. ‘What if I mess up? What if I say something dumb and my crush is suddenly judging me for it?’ But in the end, it’s worth it.”

She gave a small nod as she looked back up at Damian, “you know you’re in love when your heart skips a beat when you’re around them. When they make you happy, and the only thing you want to do is see them smile and make them happy. You want to spend every waking moment with them, and you can’t stand to see them upset…and you get jealous when they don’t look your way, and—s-sorry, I started rambling.”

He silently stared at her and took in her words.

Why did it sound…appealing? And why did it make his stomach feel weird like he was sick?

He mentally shook his head to dismiss the thoughts.

No.

Emotions, affection, love—it was all a weakness. He didn’t have time for trivial things like that when he had missions, when he played the role of Robin at night.

Finally, Damian replied. “You’re a fool. That’s the mindset of someone who watches too many cheesy romance movies and reads too many romance novels. Romance is a fabricated idea to lure you into a false sense of security, only to break you in the end.”

“Then I don’t mind being broken.” Y/N firmly said, her eyes staring into Damian’s green ones.

He wanted to act surprised by her claim, but he couldn’t be. He wanted to tell her she was stupid and dumb, call her out on her immaturity…but there was something about her determination that made his heart flutter some.

What was Y/N doing to him, and why did he feel this way?

A part of him wondered if she was using some type of psychology on him…maybe gaslighting and manipulating him into thinking he was feeling—ugh—romance. But Y/N wasn’t smart enough for that. She was just an ordinary girl attending Gotham Academy who strongly believed in romance.

“Any of your romances are going to end in disaster,” Damian warned. “And Gavin is surely to break your heart. Is that what you want?”

“You’re so pessimistic, Damian.” Y/N huffed in annoyance, “can’t you just hear me out for once?”

He wanted to deny it, but he had heard her out, so much so that he was beginning to believe that he did have a crush on the girl sitting beside him. But it was impossible right? He was a trained assassin, even if he didn’t kill anymore while in his father’s care.

He rolled his eyes, “aren’t you going to go and bother Gavin?” He changed the subject, desperately wanting to draw the attention away from himself and to Gavin.

“You know what?” Y/N stood up and brushed her uniform skirt off, “just to spite you, I’m going to go over there and ask him out.”

As she walked off, Damian suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. She stumbled and fell back onto the plush green grass.

“Damian?” Y/N softly asked, her voice weary. “What are you doing?”

Wait, what was he doing? Why did he pull her back down, and why did he feel so…what’s the word? …jealous?

He let go of her wrist, “I just…I don’t think it would be wise for you to ask him out, or even interact with him.”

“What, why not?”

Because I don’t want you too, Damian thought to himself.

He felt disgusted with himself. How dare he Damian Al Ghul Wayne have—ugh—romantic feelings for such an immature and naive girl? Further more, how long has he been unknowingly pinning for her?

“He’s most likely only going to agree to befriend you or even ‘date’ you to get to me.” Damian suggested. “My father is the richest man in Gotham like you said…it’s the only logical explanation.”

“Right,” Y/N slowly said. “But Gavin’s never shown interest in you before so I doubt that’s true.”

“And you’d be right. He’s never shown interest in me, but my last name carries a weight with it. Everyone wants my fathers approval, to be in his good graces,” Damian explains. “If you and him go out, there’s no denying that he would try and befriend me, and then break your heart because I won’t introduce him to my father. You’d just be another name on a long list.”

“I,” she hesitated. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Damian remarked. But then he saw the frown on her lips and—why was he suddenly feeling bad? He never once felt bad for insulting someone, or even pointing out that he was better than whoever. But now, he felt like he had miss stepped…said something he shouldn’t have.

“If you want to be broken after a romance…find someone who’s worth it.”

[reverse-moon]

I really have fucking issues with PjSK shippers, and I'm not exempt from this as well because I do the same sometimes.

But like. People call AnHane, MinoHaru, KanaMafu, AkiToya, RuiKasa and like one other canon all because of how they act with each other. When literally, they miss some major points with the plots of the characters.

Haruka is Minori's Kamioshi. Whom she has had on a pedestal since the first time she saw Haruka on tv. Following that, she gets the chance to FUCKING INSPIRE her Kamioshi personally. I'd like to help clarify — MINORI LOVED IDOL HARUKA. AND IS LEARNING TO NOT PLACE THE IDOL HARUKA AS THE REAL HARUKA BECAUSE THEY AREN'T THE SAME ENTIRELY. And people who say she doesn't have any real reaction to men, you base that off of how Minori interacts with Akito and Tsukasa. BOTH OF WHOM she really isn't close to like the girls in her unit and school. Haruka too, MMJ hardly has in game male interactions, y'all can drop that as a reason for gay Minori canon. Please. If later theres an event with all guys and her, and it canonically takes her having to spend like every day of a month with them and she STILL doesn't seem close to the bois™, sure. Then you can use this as your evidence, but for now it's circumstantial at best and plain untrue at worst.

"An said she had a date with Kohane and that she loved her." Have you never said you had a date with a platonic friend before? Have you never told your friends you love them? Now, granted, the friend date thing is a little older, some of you youngins (joking) may not know that was a thing still back in the early 2000's. But like? If you haven't told your friends you love them, that's a lil sad (in my personal opinion, don't go getting yourself in trouble). I'd also like to mention, since then, any "i love you"’s in game have been altered to not say that because people took it the wrong way, so we missed out on a NeneEmu "I love you" like in EN bc of this.

"But KanaMafu is canon bc they live together and Kanade brings Mafuyu warmth and–” KANADE IS ALSO DEALING WITH THE IDEA THAT SHE IS THE ONLY THING MAFUYU TRUSTS TO KEEP HER ALIVE?! Which isn't wrong, to a degree, but like. Currently, neither of them are mentally ready for a romantic relationship. Mafuyu ESPECIALLY because of how being near her mother is a trigger and Kanade with her survivors guilt and saviour complex. It's not unhealthy, but they definitely are on the edge of it and that kinda goes for ALL ships with these two. INCLUDING MY FAVE MAFUEMU AND KANAEMU, but that's another story.

AkiToya is in the same fucking boat as AnHane, just because they're close as hell does not mean the word "partner" is a double meaning word for lover AND music partner. Just because they throw that word around a lot doesn't make it romantic. Y'all would be throwing a FIT if Akito was doing that with Kohane or An saying this, why does Toya instantly change that?

RuiKasa isn't canon, and despite what people say there is literally not even evidence to support this. KanaMafu, AnHane, MinoHaru... At least the direct evidence is actual in game things. Your proof is... Card art that is half out of context. "EMU5 RUI" THAT WAS LITERALLY NOT NEWS, WE ALL KNEW HE DID THAT THEY JUST CONFIRMED IT. "His hand was on Rui's arm tho—" YEAH, TO FUCKING STOP HIM FROM SHOVING VEGGIES ONTO HIS OWN PLATE?! Tsukasa and Rui shippers also tend to be EXTREMELY protective of their ship. I've seen them bully artists into leaving PjSK fan art behind, all because someone drew NeneKasa or happened to draw platonic Kasa and Emu. PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS. "Rui trusts Tsukasa so much and doesn't want to lose him, and Tsukasa is the same!" Seriously. Seriously. I am begging here for you to also remember that basically all of WonderShow dread the day they will disband so they can all pursue their personal dreams because they all collectively love each other and trust each other that much. We literally had an Emu event where they all admitted this. Please.🙏

I'm not saying you can't ship, cause it's ingrained in fandom. I'm not saying it's wrong to like the aforementioned ships, because it's not. I'm saying acting like people are misunderstanding a character because they don't see Minori as straight lesbian or Akito as straight gay (both of which, by the way, may not be illegal but they do make your life a little harder in Japan) is harmful and can literally push people away from wanting to ship or be in a fandom. And when a cast is this big, I get it, it's easier to avoid the ships you dislike. But I shouldn't have to feel like I'm STOMACHING SHIPS when I'm looking through a solo character tag either.

Do you know how often I keep trying to remind people (MYSELF INCLUDED) that the game won't put in ships unless it was with NPC's? Again, shipping is ingrained in fandom, it's just par for the course, but claiming to know canon that is AT BEST heavy accidental undertones is just annoying to see every other post about one character. And a pot of times, it overtakes an event (LOOKING AT YOU EMU5 RUIKASA FANS). And intense shoving that AxB is canon can actually make people hate characters for no reason. Same with making memes out of crackships (LOOKING AT YOU, AKIMAFU FANS).

Don't try to preach your ship as gospel unless it's actually explicitly canon. And even then, maybe take with a grain of salt.

[rosiewitchescottage]

I really think it depends on how gets described as a TERF.

The trouble is that one can get the word TERF or 'transphobe' thrown simply for the belief in the role that biology plays.

And I'd love to know how that's going to help anyone.

I'm honestly not bothered by anyone having a different perspective.

We could stand looking at the exact same view and both notice different things about it.

It's not so long ago that I've forgotten than when one heard of trans people, it was in response to a mental illness, and there's no shame in that.

A male person, deeply uncomfortable with male biology and therefore with manhood, therapy could find no explanation for it.

So, what helps? She lives as a woman (trans woman), because it gets her as far as humanly possible away from maleness.

And vice versa with a trans man.

I have no issue with this. And I don't recall many people, other than the most radically radical feminists having trouble with it.

Because biological sex provided the roots.

I'm a woman, simply because I'm female. That's the entire explaination.

A man is a man, simply by being male. That's the entire explaination.

How we express it in the world is all for ourselves to decide.

This means that I am simply unable to comprehend how anyone can call themselves man, woman or non binary, entirely divorced from biology.

Aside from stereotypes what is there to go on?

Some people may be going the route of 'gender as a performance', and that's their own business.

But I can't be on board with that, simply because I see no point to it.

Biological roots allow for freedom of expression.

A feminine or androgynous man can be a man in his own way. A masculine man can be masculine in his own way.

A masculine or androgynous woman can be a woman in her own way. A feminine woman can be feminine in her own way.

The 'role' in this interpretation is merely how we express what biology makes us.

Simone de Beauvoir was frankly not being in the least pro woman or pro man by suggesting that a man is born a man, but a woman has to become a woman.

(I can't imagine that what she saw a boy and man being born as was anything good. Which I decry.

But neither do I appreciate her suggestion that my girlhood and womanhood were not already set by my being born female.)

What rot! Either we call a male human boy and then man, a female human girl and then woman, merely as an indication of 'What' we are, leaving 'Who' to be a personal journey of discovery. Or we deny that any of it is real.

Judith Butler with her incomprehensible gibberish is as bad. She was a gender critical lesbian.

Then suddenly decided she was non binary.

I don't get it at all.

And I know that I don't have to understand it. But there's a big difference between me not being able to see where a belief stems from and me wanting to prevent a person from believing it.

The only line I'm drawing is with children. I supprt Dr Miriam Grossman. She's worked with many children and teens struggling with identity.

And she advocates for thorough therapy for these patients.

I'm with her here. Where's the problem in talking it through with these troubled youngsters?

If this is someone who has been abused and believes that being 'another gender' would cure them. Then doesn't he/she deserve to be able to learn how to live securely in the body that he/she has? A female as a girl, a male as a boy.

He/she could be emerging as same sex attracted. If he is going to be feminine, if she is going to be masculine, if he/she is going to be androgynous, then he/she should know that this is 100% normal and fine.

He/she might have Autism and needs to learn how to live in his/her developing body.

A girl can be feminine, but doesn't have to be. She can be masculine or androgynous, and it's fine.

A boy can be masculine, but he doesn't have be. He can be feminine or androgynous, and it's fine.

In rare cases it could well be gender dysphoria. The young person may grow out of it, or it may continue beyond and the male may need to live as a woman, the female may need to live as a man.

But by then, it's pretty much confirmed, isn't it?

All I'm doing here is saying it as I see it. Some agree with me, some disagree with me, and I'm not concerned either way.

I just think that we need to get back to there being a difference between an alternative perspective and outright hate.

Bitches on this site be like, "I hate TERF's" and then say some shit like, "I think men are inherently predatory and violent" and believe there is no correlation between both in any way whatsoever lol

[lobstermatriarch]

living the sapphic white knight fantasy of actually being able to catch women bridal style when they fall from a height

[bitegore]

ngl i think i kind of was a genius for being like 'yeah this character is a scary killyou cannibal scary killer who scary kills you' and then realizing that the way my worldbuilding works out is that there's a nonzero chance that if you leave literally any body parts over they can just come back, depending on what they believe in their heart of hearts can kill them. Of course she'd start eating her kills. She probably tried normal stuff first and then realized it didn't work and she had to try harder if she wanted to actually keep them dead.

[phantom-overdose]

((I swear I lose a little piece of my soul whenever someone says that Pe.eta was "boring". People are allowed to have their opinions, obviously, but I feel like his character is so consistently misconstrued / misread as "boring" and "useless" because people think of KINDNESS as a "boring" or "useless" trait. There's SOOOO much interesting / enticing about Pe.eta as a character that's right there out in the open, you just need to read a little more thoroughly.))

[ourceliumnetwork]

the list of traumas i need to unpack still and my coping mechanisms (or, more frequently, lack-thereof) keeps getting longer and i'm not sure i like that. I think i like less how much i already know they're hangups before they become a problem i have to actively work on, too.

[delugyu]

beomgyu teaching you how to jerk him off (pls i’m ovulating i need to be put down)

hey twin i’m ovulating too! can u tell by how depraved this is

(wc: 2k / warnings: virgin!reader, corruption kink, big dick!beomgyu, handjob)

beomgyu’s head might explode. quite possibly his dick too. you’re sitting in front of him on his bed, wide-eyed and innocent but so eager to help him with something so dirty. he has to calm down before he blows his load too fast and makes himself look like the virgin here.

“you sure you’re okay with this?” beomgyu asks, checking in one more time before he lets you put your hands on him. you nod with sparkling eyes and a cheerfulness that doesn’t match the situation at hand. he can’t deny how much your eagerness turns him on, though. beomgyu never thought he had a thing for virgins, but fuck, you’re doing something to him.

you sit cross-legged, hands held in your lap as you await instruction. it makes beomgyu’s cock throb, and his head is reeling with all the images of things he wants to do with you. he keeps himself grounded as best as he can, trying to remember that you’re here to learn, not to fulfill fantasies of his own.

“what do i do first?” you ask, looking at his pants. it makes him laugh. he grabs your chin to redirect your attention back to his face, smiling fondly when he sees a hint of embarrassment in your eyes.

“you should always start with kissing,” beomgyu says, tugging you towards him until you’re sitting in his lap. the surprise on your face is pretty cute. “it really sets the mood.”

“okay,” you say, but do nothing. beomgyu tries to hold back his laughter, but he just can’t. it’s so funny to watch you get so shy. you pout, then pull your face in to peck his cheek. he runs a hand up your thigh, endeared by your action.

“a real kiss,” he says. it really doesn’t seem like you’re going to make the move, so he decides to make it easier for you. he cups your face and brings you close, capturing your lips in a kiss that starts out much sweeter than what the moment would suggest.

your lips are soft and fit well against his own, and beomgyu finds himself feeling so lucky that you’d ask him of all people to help you with something like this. it makes him happy that you trust him this much. he bites your lip ever so slightly to get you gasping, letting his tongue slip between your parted lips to deepen the kiss.

he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he holds himself back from getting too intense. he’ll settle with this slow, sensual kiss, at least until you get confident enough to take more. your little noises are admittedly very hot, and beomgyu knows you must feel his cock twitching beneath you.

you pull away to catch your breath, and your eyes fall on the string of saliva connecting your lips. beomgyu smiles and licks his lips as if he’ll catch any lingering tastes of you. you hesitantly bring your face back to his, and he closes his eyes and parts his lips expectantly, but your mouth meets his jaw instead. you don’t place a peck there like you did to his cheek—you suck on his skin like you would his lips, pulling away after a few seconds to blink up at him.

beomgyu’s stomach is doing cartwheels. he can’t help but find everything you do attractive, even when it’s done with such uncertainty and inexperience. your mouth continues latching onto his skin and sucking, trailing down his neck. he’s sure that you won’t leave any marks—you’re not really sucking that hard, but it’s enough to have him losing his mind. he groans when your hips involuntarily push forward. he wonders how wet you must be right now if you’re already having trouble controlling your body.

“can i touch you now?” you ask, fingers dipping into the hem of his pants. god, beomgyu’s head is spinning. you must be some kind of succubus sent to taint his soul. if you are, it’s fucking working. he’s obsessed and all he’s felt so far is your lips.

he nods and leans back a bit. “yeah, take those off.” you pull down his pants and boxers both in one go, and he watches with a grin when your eyes widen at his cock springing out.

“you’re really big,” you muse, still staring at his dick. beomgyu bites his lip as he watches you wrap a hand around his shaft, not able to close your hand all the way because of his girth. you look up at him, unsure what to do next. beomgyu has to reel himself in, remembering that he should be teaching you right now.

“you should spit in your hand to lube it up. dry handjobs don’t feel that good,” he advises. he holds his breath as he watches you bring your hand to your mouth, a glob of spit falling past your lips and into your palm. he shuts his eyes tight to keep himself together, trying not to cum from just the sight of you doing something so dirty.

your hand falls back to his cock and gives it a few jerks to lubricate it. beomgyu bites his tongue to hold back a moan, but he can’t stop his hips from bucking up into your fist. your eyes meet his again, curious and bright. he wants to kiss you again, but he has to remember that this isn’t about him.

“is this good?” you ask, working your saliva-slicked hand over his cock. if you only knew how hard beomgyu was holding back right now—even through your clumsy handjob, something about you is making beomgyu lose his mind.

“y-yeah. you can try squeezing a little tighter, maybe,” he says, and he cringes at how uncomposed he sounds. the moment you take his advice and wrap your fist tighter around him, he throws his head back and groans. it seems to encourage you, and you start moving a little faster.

fuck, he can’t cum yet. he’s trying to think of anything else, something to keep him from bursting at the seams, but the feeling of your hand wrapped around him is so overwhelming. you look so focused, like you’re taking notes of his reactions and repeating anything that makes him keen. you’re fucking ruining him, god.

“how do i make you cum?” you ask, and the question itself is nearly enough to do it. he’s catching his breath and looking at you through hooded eyes, taking in your eager little hand tugging at his cock and the way you look so determined to get him off. a part of him wants to lay you down and get you all worked up; it’s not fair for him to be suffering alone like this.

“you can—ah, fuck—twist your hand when you come up,” he suggests, and his eyes roll back when you try it out. your movements are getting more confident now, and beomgyu can’t contain his moans anymore. his mouth hangs open, panting pathetically as he feels his orgasm creeping up on him.

you surprise him when you lean your head down to spit onto his cock, lubricating it even more and allowing you to move faster. you really are a little demon. he wants to bend you over and fuck himself into your cunt, wants to have you leaking arousal and crying out for him. he wants you to be moaning and shaking and begging him for release, but instead it’s him on the receiving end of that. he’s going crazy.

“fuck! i’m gonna cum, keep doing that,” he urges as his hips fuck into your fist. you don’t stop him, letting him chase his orgasm until he’s spilling all over his cock and your hand. he’s groaning as he watches his seed spill onto you, imagining what it would be like to cum on your face or your tits instead. shit, what are you doing to him?

“was i good?” your eyes shine with hope as you wait for beomgyu’s answer, and he chooses to respond with a messy kiss to your lips. you’re not here to let him make you cum, but god, he wants to so bad. his brain is flooded with the image of you squirming beneath him, of defiling you and taking your virginity. he wants to dip his hand beneath your pants and feel how wet you are.

you push at his chest to separate from his kiss, eyes darting across his face curiously. this is killing him. he already feels his dick stirring back to life.

“i can show you something too, if you want,” beomgyu offers, still panting from his orgasm.

“like what? you already came.” he attaches his mouth to your neck and sucks desperately, so needy for you to stay here with him. he’s not done with you yet, you can’t leave him without giving him a taste of you. “gyu?” your voice is laced with confusion, your eyes are too when beomgyu looks up at you as he marks your chest. thank god you wore that slutty little low-cut top.

“maybe i could touch you?” he suggests, hand massaging your thigh.

“but that wouldn’t be teaching me anything,” you say, tilting your head. he kisses you again, so endeared and turned on by your innocence. he coaxes your mouth open and shoves his tongue inside, licking into your mouth and holding your face still. he wants to leave you dripping and needy, to tease you until you’re begging him for more.

he guides you down against the mattress, never disconnecting from your lips, eating up your moans and whines. his hands descend down your sides slowly, stopping when they reach your hips. he’s dying to take off your pants and dive into your cunt.

he pulls back to look at you. your lips are puffy and red, and your hair’s all disheveled around you. your eyes are glassy, and your chest heaves with how hard you’re breathing. he might cum again just from the sight.

“do you want me to touch you?” he asks, hoping you’ll say yes. if you even start to nod, beomgyu wouldn’t hesitate to tear your pants off. he needs this more than he’s ever needed anything else in his life.

you sit up suddenly, which makes beomgyu pull away in confusion. “i should go,” you say, picking up your phone from his nightstand.

“what? why?” did he do something wrong? he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he could have sworn you looked just as into it as he was.

“i have to see taehyun tonight,” you say meekly.

“oh. right.” you’re seeing taehyun. that’s why you had him teach you any of this, after all. he got too caught up in the moment.

you stand up and stare at him, swaying awkwardly in place. beomgyu thinks briefly about convincing you to stay.

“thank you,” you say, not even looking him in the eye. beomgyu’s hands itch to pull you back onto the bed. he wants to hold you down and keep you from leaving. he’d kiss you speechless until taehyun’s not even a thought in your mind anymore.

“yeah,” he says, feigning nonchalance with a simple nod. you’re walking out now, and he has to ignore the voice in his head telling him to run after you.

he collapses against his bed when he hears his door close. taehyun’s his friend, but beomgyu really hates him right now. he can’t think about you and taehyun together without seething. beomgyu doesn’t know where this is coming from—sure, he had a little crush on you some time ago, but he thought that left as soon as you two started hanging out more.

he just hopes that whatever you’re doing with taehyun isn’t better than what you did with him. he’ll be damned if he finds out that taehyun laid his hands on you tonight. he prays and prays that you miraculously stop finding interest in taehyun and leave him before anything happens between you.

what does he want then? for you to come back to him, crying about how bad you need him?

…yeah, that kind of is what he wants, honestly.

[fallenbratfiction]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[ubeb0nes]

Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner! Reader

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

You were new to Zaun. No one had seen you coming, nor your success as soon as you'd laid roots down. Most people who came here for opportunity and enterprise were mad inventors from Topside, or business sharks in the Chemtech and Shimmer industry.

But you? You just ran a bar.

…You were burying your past life as a smuggler in Bilgewater by moving to Zaun, but that was neither here nor there. People had come across wealth in more morally abhorrent ways.

You learned the ways of the Undercity quickly. It'd tried to teach you a swift lesson your very first week open, when a few crooks walked in and tried to threaten you into giving up what was in your cash till. Your trusty shotgun and a few thrown glasses had been an effective solution.

You were not gonna get scammed out a livelihood down here. You swore it to yourself. You were gonna make a space that was all your own, some place people could relax and be together since The Last Drop evidently wasn't that anymore.

Then she comes around.

You knew her face. You'd seen her walking around the Lanes while you were hunting for dishware and cutlery for cheap. You'd thought "smash", and then kept it moving.

You could tell she was important even then, with the way she stalked through a parting crowd. It was no different when she entered your bar for the first time.

"What's Silco's bloodhound doing here?" "God, Sevika? C'mon, let's get a corner booth in case shit goes to hell." "Uh oh, bar lady's in trouble with the higher up's." Your patrons were not helpful.

She sat at the bar, trying to talk you up. Trying to gain information, you realized. Yeah, you weren't new to this.

Sevika was intrigued, at the very least.

Silco had sent her to scope you out. Your business had been doing too well, too fast. If you had savvy, he wanted to know about it.

And you definitely did. She'd never admit it, but she was… charmed. As much as someone like her could be, at least.

You radiated quiet control behind the bar, a rag thrown over one shoulder and another hooked on your waist while you juggled multiple shouted drink orders effortlessly. All the while making banter with her.

She was still debating whether or not to report back truthfully to Silco when the bustle of a few kids walking in cut through her train of thoughts.

You talked them down from their hyperness in a swift moment, jutting your thumb to the kitchen in the back where, apparently, there was some sandwiches waiting for them.

You shrugged off the scrutinizing look she was giving you.

"Somebody's gotta feed them," is all you said. She sees somebody else's old fire, somebody she used to know, in your eyes for a moment.

"Owner's an airhead. Nothing to worry about. Definitely just a lucky break," she tells Silco later that night.

She lets you know subliminally that your bar is off limits. Some of her men patrol around your business's property, for your property. No one comes in demanding your profits anymore.

You don't need her protection, but you still appreciate it.

You start keeping cigarillos behind the bar for whenever she comes in. She's a little suspicious the first time you offer her one and a light.

"What, are you picky about the brand?" She almost laughs at that, and takes the offering.

One of your customers calls out asking how much for a cig. "Sorry my friend, they're exclusive for the pretty lady."

Sevika feels a pang of… something. What pretty lady are you talking about? She thought the cigarillos were for her- ohhhhh…

She starts smoking less. If only to make it a whole treat for herself to stop by your establishment every week, and let you hold open a lighter while she leans forward to light her smoke and talk with you for a bit.

Your establishment becomes for her what it's already become for everybody else in the city. A safe space. A comfort.

Your warmth was undeniable. And it reflected in your place of work too, polished and furnished with a care that Sevika remembers The Last Drop used to have.

This wasn't the first time she's lied to Silco, making the executive decision herself when she didn't trust his. She hoped it wouldn't come down on you.

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[nerdygirlramblings]

omegaverse 141

previous

The following morning, after formation, you have your squad follow you onto the trail that runs around base. The same one Soap had seen you running a few weeks back.

"You didn't tell us we be runnin' today, Sarge," Geoffrey says, barely concealing a whine.

You chuckle to yourself and roll your eyes. Glancing over your shoulder you ask, "When have I led ya wrong?" Your squad is quiet behind you. They may not want to socialize with you as an omega, but there's no denying you've been getting the job done. "Brought ya out here cuz I wanted to talk. And to do it without any alphas or other CO's around."

There's some muttering behind you, not loud enough to make anything out, but not quiet enough to dismiss either. You notice a change in the air around you. Though they're betas and have learned how to project their calming scent, most are still working on controlling their fear and distress. You can smell the slightly sour milk and rush to allay their worries.

You turn to face them and say, "You're not in trouble! We are not in trouble." You face the trail again and resume your walk, talking as you go, "But something's come up, and it impacts everyone." You pick up your pace ever so slightly . You're looking for the clearing you'd passed the first time you ran here. It's a little space set off from the main trail, big enough for a few people to camp or for a squad to meet. You want to get there quickly to have this whole conversation out rather than dropping breadcrumbs. Your squad deserves that.

Once everyone is off the trail and standing around you, you tell them about the offer you've received from the 141. "Oh my God," Molly whispers, awe in her voice. "There, like, the best!"

You bob your head in acknowledgment and respond, "Some of, yes." It's clear that your squad doesn't understand the full implications of you joining the 141. So you lay it out for them. "If I take this opportunity, they'll pull me as your CO. Captain Price said -"

A voice interrupts, "You mean you actually talked to Captain Price?!?" You smile self-indulgently remembering how awed you were when the man first approached you.

"Yes, and 'e said that it's too disruptive for any of the 141 to have a squad of their own. Apparently, we can be called out at any point, and be gone for weeks. It would leave ya without a commanding officer." You look at each member of your squad, meeting everyone's eyes. "If I do this, you'll have a new CO. I don't know who it would be, and I don't know what that would mean for your trainin'. 'At's why I brought ya out here. Wanted to get yer honest take on what this means fer ya." There's some uneasy shuffling as it seems no one wants to quite be honest about their feelings. You remind them that you're not like other COs, and that you're an omega. Not that they need the reminder about either, but it seems to help settle some nerves. "I know it's hard fer ya having an omega as a CO. I know the stigma it carries. While this decision is mine and mine alone, yer time here is impacted by it, so I wanted to know what ya think."

It finally occurs to some members of your squad that they can be honest with you. "Yeah, 's tough around base having you as our CO. There're still a lot of alphas who won't want us on their team because you're the one who is trained us," Connor says.

One by one, your squad shares how they feel about you joining the 141. Some are like Connor and recognize the strain it puts on their careers to have you as their CO. Some are like Molly, excited for your opportunity regardless of what it does for them. Some are like Geoffrey, recognizing how they've struggled and realizing that a different CO, a beta or an alpha who is harsher, will make their time in the military much more difficult.

You get the sense - from what they say and how they smell - that most of your squad have already accepted that you'll leave them. Some may be happy about this because of the way it might benefit them while others simply seem happy for you. You close by telling them to make their way to the shooting range to practice on the Glock 17s. You remind them that after range practice is lunch with the promise of a decision for them by the time you see them in the mess.

"An' I promise, if I do take Captain Price up on his offer, I'll still keep tabs on you. Gotta make sure you all make it through basic as brilliantly as I know you can," you say with a rueful grin.

Your squad disperses from the clearing, making their way in twos and threes back to base, but you hang back. You pull your phone out and call home, finally ready with a decision.

This time it's Mum who answers. She takes one look at your face and shouts off screen to Mama and Dad "We've got a decision!" There's commotion on the other end as Mama and Dad come into frame.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," you say apologetically.

Dad reminds you he's on glorified bedrest, "So either yer Mum or yer Mama is always home. This morning I've got both." He smiles, "But a call from you is never an interruption. Or, if it is, it's the best kind."

Mama nods and leans close to the screen. "So, what did you decide?"

You take a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs, and release it slowly. Before you can tell them, Mum says, "Good fer you, love."

"But," you sputter, "Mum...I didn't even tell you-"

"You don't have to, dear," she interrupts. "I can see the decision in your eyes. You're gonna join the task force." You hear the price, and fear, in her voice.

Beside her, Mama nods and tries to hide her emotions. "We're proud of whatever decision you make. And while I'm not happy with how much more dangerous this is, I think it's the right thing for you."

Dad is beaming, but you see the tears caught in his lashes. "Pretty girl, we love you so much! This is such an amazing opportunity for you. And if it feels right, if your omega feels safe, this might be the best thing for you."

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[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[chahnniesroom]

no place like home

pairing: none (platonic ot8 & reader)

summary: when you start to feel unwell, you're determined to continue on as normal. as your condition worsens, you try your best to pretend everything is fine, but your body has other plans.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 9th member au, illness, gagging/throwing up, hospitalisation, angst

a/n: this is the last of the 9th member au fics that i have planned! wanted to do a classic sick fic. as always, thanks to @kangaracha for motivating me and mostly just listening to me complain. if you haven't already, please go read queenmaker. also, i finished this super last minute and have not proofread this at all.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

As a trainee, one of your favourite places was the dorms.

It was always a relief getting back to your room at the end of a long day, even if it was shared with five other girls, because it was one of the few places that you weren’t being monitored as closely. When you had first joined JYPE, your first friends were your roommates and it had been incredibly difficult to see them move out, whether it be because they left the company or debuted.

It was hard to continually watch people come and go and you no longer automatically befriended everybody who joined the dorm. You remained polite, tried to help them out if you could, but you had learned that keeping to yourself was the safest option - it made it easier when they inevitably left you.

When you debut as a member of Stray Kids, you're not exactly surprised that they keep you in the dorms, but the change in atmosphere means that you do everything in your power to avoid spending time there. It helps that your schedule is crazy enough that you barely get any time to rest, let alone have free time.

Your roommates had been excited for you to debut, but it hadn’t taken long until their jealousy took over. You’re not surprised, you knew all too well how bittersweet it was to see someone else in a position that you had hoped to have.

It starts small, you’re pretty forgetful and not the most organized person in the world, but you know it's not a coincidence when your favourite skincare products, newest makeup, or nicest jewelry started going missing. 

The other girls weren't considerate about your schedule since you no longer had lessons, went to the company, ate, or slept at the same time as them. Even when they knew you had important schedules the next day, they were loud when you were trying to sleep and complained if you accidentally woke them up when leaving early.

Gradually, they started to get more bold, critiquing you when they knew you were in the room or pretending to accidentally break your things, even if it was obvious that it was on purpose. 

You didn't tell anybody about it, even if you knew that you should. But as much as you resented the situation, you were pretty sure that for as long as you lived in the trainee dorms, complaining wouldn't do anything but make things worse. If this was the price to being an idol, you were more than happy to pay it.

But when JYPE offered you your own place, you said yes almost as fast as when they had asked you about joining Stray Kids. It's a no brainer, you don't even have to share with any of the boys.

It's only when you got the keys and saw your new home for the first time that you realised why they've given it to you so freely.

The room is so small that it astonished you. You're pretty sure that it must have been lived in by a junior staff member or something because it's similar to a gosiwon. It just barely fits a bed, tiny bathroom, and a counter space that doubles as a desk and kitchen area.

You’re lucky that you don’t have many personal belongings so that you don’t have any trouble moving from the dorm to your new place on your own. You knew the boys would offer in a heartbeat to help you carry things, but you didn’t want them to.

In fact, even months after your move, you still haven’t let them visit, although not for a lack of trying on their part. It wasn't that you were ashamed, you just knew they wouldn't understand that you were satisfied with the space that you had. And that you were pretty sure that there wouldn't be enough space for all 9 of you, let alone spaces to sit.

You learned quickly that the walls and floors are paper thin which means that it’s freezing in the winter, boiling in the summer, and there’s no proper ventilation so it’s stuffy all the time. Not only that, but you can hear all too easily that your neighbours are up at all hours of the day and when the people living above you shower for longer than 10 minutes, water starts to drip down into your unit. You have a bowl and towel permanently placed under the place that leaks the most, located easily because it’s marked by rings of discolouration where your ceiling is stained from the water damage.

Still, you didn't complain because you still considered it better than the trainee dorms, which is exactly where they would probably ship you back to if you showed that you were ungrateful. 

Most of all, you’re happy to have a place all to yourself where you don’t have to worry about pretending to be a perfect idol. You’re free to decorate as you please, buy snacks that you know definitely do not follow your diet plan, and for the first time in your life, you feel like you have a little bit of independence.

—

Maybe it's just that time of the year. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sunlight, longer nights, busyness of your schedules or all three, but you feel yourself starting to get worn down.

It's a number of little things, minor health problems that can be easily disregarded. It's when you start to dread dance practices, usually your favourite part of preparing for comebacks, that you really notice something might be wrong.

As a trainee, you never had trouble remembering choreography, in fact that was what you were best known for, but this comeback you’ve been forgetting steps left and right. When you start to struggle with songs that you’ve been performing since debut, you get a bit worried. You haven’t drastically changed anything in your routine or diet that would explain these difficulties.

Add that to the fact that you can feel tension slowly building in your head, signalling that you're starting to develop a migraine, your concentration starts to slip even more.

“Hey,” Minho calls gently, pulling you off to the side when the group has a water break. “Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, of course I’m fine,” you say unconvincingly. You’ve seen the group’s schedule for the next few weeks and you know that you can’t afford to skip out on the little practice time that you have.

“I can tell you’re in some sort of pain,” he says. “What’s bothering you?”

“I’m getting a bit of a headache,” you admit. Minho’s brow furrows as you continue speaking. “And I don’t know, I just feel more clumsy than usual. But it’s not that big of a deal-”

“That doesn’t sound good, Y/nnie,” he says.

“It’s okay, let’s just get through this practice, then I’ll go home and get some rest.”

“Y/n-ah,” he warns you.

“Really, oppa. I don't have any lessons after this, I'll go straight home,” you promise.

“Message me a picture the second you get back, okay?”

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes even though it just makes your headache even worse.

Somehow you make it through the rest of practice. You can tell that Minho is watching you carefully the entire time, but near the end it takes so much effort to just try to keep up that you forget all about it.

You don't have to be prompted to go home when you're done. You get a manager to drive you back and beeline to where you keep your medicine, popping a couple of your strongest painkillers and washing them down with a large glass of water. As quickly as possible, you change out of your sweaty clothes, wipe yourself down a bit, then collapse into bed.

Your head is absolutely splitting, making it feel impossible to fall asleep, but you must be able to because you keep experiencing time jumps. Each time you wake, you feel disoriented and woozy, but it seems to help because you feel mostly back to normal by the time your morning alarm goes off.

You don't want to worry the boys, but when you make it to the company, the first thing you do is ask one of the managers to schedule a doctor’s appointment on one of your upcoming days off. It’s coming up to your yearly check-up anyway so it doesn't hurt to make your visit sooner rather than later.

You tell your doctor how the headaches started and never really stopped even though you don’t have a history of migraines. You explain that you think it’s related to instances where you’ve had a hard time concentrating or remembering things, then also bring up the coordination issues you’ve noticed.

When they ask about any other symptoms, you don’t even bother to mention the chronic fatigue, achyness in your joints, or constant tightness in your shoulders and neck. They're nothing new and you don’t have to be a doctor to know that you’re overworking your body - it’s something that comes with the job and you’ve accepted that.

Your doctor listens and takes you seriously, but admits that it’s too general for them to pinpoint the source of the problems or even to confirm whether they’re related without further testing. They take your blood and let you know that they’ll contact you or your manager if they find anything to be concerned about.

A few days later, your manager pulls you aside quietly and lets you know that your bloodwork came back without any flags other than a slight deficiency in iron. He tells you that the doctor said to monitor your symptoms and return if they get significantly worse, but that at the moment, there’s nothing they can do to treat you other than prescribe an iron supplement and a general multivitamin.

It’s about what you expected, but you still feel disappointed and guilty. You knew one of the main concerns from the company of having you as a member of Stray Kids was whether you’d be able to keep up with the boys and you had insisted that you could. It’s not like girl groups had it any easier and you weren’t afraid of hard work. 

It was one of the main criticisms that fans had, especially in some of the variety content where the group often played sports. Jeongin was naturally clumsy and it was a running joke that Minho was terrible at any game involving balls, but you also suspected that some of the boys didn’t try their hardest when they were against you. You hated the idea of being Stray Kids’ weakest link, it scared you as much as it motivated you.

So even though the last thing you want is to be diagnosed with a condition or illness, you had hoped that they would find a reason that you’ve been having so much trouble lately, some sort of explanation for how bad you’ve been feeling.

—

Like always, the time continues to pass. You push through your comeback period and have already begun preparations for the next. You help with brainstorming the main concepts, working on recording guides, and throwing around ideas. 3racha has a backlog of hundreds of partially completed or completed songs and you pick through those too, trying to see if any of them spark inspiration.

You take your supplements and vitamins religiously, cut out any junk food and caffeine from your diet, and spend most of your free time trying to catch up on sleep.

For the first time since moving in, you actually get to spend a considerable amount of time in your apartment. All the extra rest doesn’t seem to help though. The migraines you've been experiencing have gotten to the point where a bad one makes you non-functional. If anything, you're just getting worse.

You’re tired all the time, but just can't fall asleep at night. It's a classic case of insomnia, but when you ask Chan about it, none of his advice makes a difference. It's strange though, you've never had this much trouble falling asleep, even when you shared a dorm with five other girls who had no regard for your sleep schedule.

You had thought that the source of your headaches was lack of sleep, but now you're not so sure.

It seems like your throat is more easily irritated and you hate the way that your voice is so much weaker than before. At random times during the day, your throat tightens and nothing you do can stop the subsequent coughing fits. You don’t think you're sick, but that’s the only explanation that you can think of.

Lastly, you keep forgetting things, and it's not just the usual like misplacing your keys or not being able to remember dance moves. You've missed dinners with the members because you can't remember them inviting you, you find yourself retelling stories multiple times to the same people because you hadn't realised you had already told them before, and you start to have more and more blank spots in your memory. Worst of all, you forget that you're forgetting things.

You've been trying to record all of your symptoms so that you can report them accurately to your doctor, but by the time that you get a chance to write things down, you can only recall whatever is bothering you at that exact moment. You know that you have been having all these problems, but you just can't describe the details.

You bring it up to your manager again and schedule an appointment with another doctor, only to be disappointed again. They go through the same battery of tests just to give you a similar, but slightly different regiment of supplements.

Even though you made your manager promise not to tell the boys about these health concerns, they must have been able to quietly organize your schedule to be as efficient as possible. It’s the little things that you only notice after a few days, too many coincidences in a row. Your solo recording sessions are right before or after group ones so that you can go home first, something that the members usually fight to have, and all of your lessons have been ending early for no apparent reason.

You feel a mixture of gratitude and guilt because you can tell that the boys are becoming suspicious and maybe a little annoyed by this special treatment. In the lead up to a comeback, everybody is suffering from a lack of sleep and you’ve been trying your best to either push through your migraines to hide them, even though it makes you feel even more like garbage when you finally get back home.

And, of course, you lose your appetite. It's actually the only good thing that comes out of all of this because one of your least favourite recurring events is the bi-weekly weigh-ins that JYPE requires all artists to do. Management claims that it’s just to assist the wardrobe team as they plan outfits for future schedules, but nobody is convinced that’s the real reason. Half the team doesn’t care anymore, but you’ve never been able to fully ignore the inevitable criticism whenever you don’t reach your target weight.

You've always had trouble following the diets that are assigned to you, but you find it's significantly easier when even your favourite foods are no longer appealing. 

At the team’s next weigh in, not only are you below your target weight by over a kilogram, you’re pretty sure you're the lightest that you’ve been since before debut. Your brow furrows in disbelief as you stare at the number. Although you have a few upcoming photoshoots that you want to look good for, you haven’t even been trying to lose weight.

In the past, your goal has always been to be one of the members that got to skip the mandatory lecture about how they had dieticians on staff for a reason and that everybody should be following their recommended diets. They sometimes even pulled up statistics and figures on what fans considered to be the ideal body type, drawing from comments on recent videos, posts on social media, and even fan art.

But now, you don’t feel any pride, no sense of accomplishment, not even any relief. You just feel so tired.

You slink out of the room, escaping to one of the studios to kill time before group dance practice. Nobody comments when you rejoin them at the start of practice, instead focusing on perfecting moves and making sure that everything is in sync in the short time that you have the room booked for. By the time the two hours have passed, you're more than ready to collapse into bed.

You try your best to sneak out before anyone realises you're leaving and make it halfway out the door before you're stopped.

“Y/n-ah,” Changbin calls after you.

You pause in your tracks, but don’t reply right away, trying to steel yourself for the conversation that you know you’re about to have. You know that he’s just concerned about your well-being, you would be too if the situations were reversed, but you can’t help but feel annoyed, especially because you hate the way that you can feel the rest of the group members silently watching to see how you’ll respond.

“Yes?” You turn around slowly.

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to join us for lunch,” Changbin says, instead of directly mentioning the elephant in the room.

“I-” You try to frantically come up with some sort of excuse.

“I know you don’t have any upcoming schedules,” Jeongin inserts himself into the conversation, looking up at you pleadingly. “Come on, we haven’t all eaten as a group in so long!”

“Fine,” you concede, unable to withstand the power of his puppy-eyes. You can see Minho and Chan exchange a glance and you inwardly wince. You’re not trying to avoid spending time with everybody else, but the way that you're reacting definitely makes it seem that way and you know it's just another thing they're going to worry about.

You end up at a barbeque restaurant that you’ve heard some of the members rave about. The second you walk in, you’re hit with the smell of grilling meat and for the first time in weeks, your stomach growls and you’re actually excited to eat.

You’re practically bouncing in your seat as you wait for the meat to cook and the rest of the boys look amused by your enthusiasm. They forgo the usual tradition of serving Jeongin first, giving you the first piece of meat that’s cooked.

“Oh, this is so good,” you groan the second that the beef touches your tongue. “How come you’ve never taken me before?”

“Yah, I’ve mentioned this place half a dozen times in the past few months!” Jisung whines. “It's your fault that you've never joined us before.”

“Sorry, I promise that going forward, I'll always make sure to take your food recommendations seriously,” you reply solemnly, before automatically ducking out of the way when Jisung leans over to swat at your arm. 

It's enough to break through most of the lingering awkwardness at your initial almost refusal to join them. Everybody starts to serve themselves and chat with whoever is closest to them. You get pulled into a conversation about what Hyunjin should do with his hair for the next comeback which turns into a full blown debate about long hair versus short hair with a side tangent on blond versus black.

You’re not even halfway through your meal and still enjoying yourself when all of a sudden, your stomach turns. You force yourself to continue chewing and swallow the food in your mouth, then try to excuse yourself in a way that seems natural.

“I have to go to the toilet,” you say quietly, trying to hide the gag that you aren't able to suppress. You take a few deep breaths through your nose and dig your nails into your palms to distract yourself from the sudden nausea.

“Are you okay?”

You hadn't even noticed that Seungmin is trailing behind you worriedly.

“I'm fine,” you say quickly, trying to wave him off without having to say too much.

“Are you sure? You don't look so good.”

“Yeah, I-”

You reach the bathroom doors just in time as you start to gag again. Not caring if Seungmin is still following you or not, you push through and make it into a stall just in time to throw up into the toilet. It's not more than a couple of mouthfuls, but it's enough to make you feel disgusting. Even though your stomach seems to settle immediately after, your appetite is long gone.

Seungmin watches you silently as you flush the toilet and rinse out your mouth, even going so far as to pass you a tissue to dab at your watery eyes.

“Sorry,” you say finally, with a hoarse voice.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asks. You stare at him in surprise for a second that he's not asking what's wrong.

“Yeah, I think so,” you reply.

“Let's go back then.” Is all he says, before taking your hand and leading you back to the table.

“Everything okay?” Jisung is the first to notice that the two of you have returned.

“Yup,” you say, at the exact same time that Seungmin announces “Y/n-noona threw up.”

“What? Are you not feeling well?” Chan immediately stands up and walks over to you.

“Seungmin,” you groan.

“What? You thought I was just going to let you pretend nothing happened?” Seungmin says instead of apologising.

“Y/nnie,” Changbin says cautiously. “You know that you can tell us anything, right? You don't have to go through this alone.”

“No, I'm okay!” you say quickly. “I just think I ate too fast or-”

“Y/n-ah,” Chan says sternly. You close your mouth so fast that your teeth click together. “Please don’t lie. We won’t be mad, whatever it is, I promise. We just want to help, we’re concerned about you.”

“I know this looks bad, but I’m not dieting right now or restricting myself at all,” you start. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Felix says, not sounding convinced.

“But I don't know what's wrong with me lately, I just can't eat lately,” you say.

“Can't?” Felix tries to clarify. “Or won't?”

“I promise, I’m trying. I want to eat, I do!” you reply frantically. “I'm not just saying that, really!”

“Hey, hey,” Chan soothes you, rubbing your back. “It’s okay, we believe you.”

“I hate this,” you say miserably.

“Let’s just take it slow, okay? Tell us how you’ve been feeling and we’ll see if we can do anything to help,” Minho says carefully.

“Uhm, not much appetite, even when I can tell I’m hungry, nothing really sounds good. I don’t know, I’m just tired a lot? But I’ve been having trouble sleeping at night.” You bite your lip, trying to remember if there’s anything else. “And headaches, but I think that might just be because I’m not sleeping and eating well.”

“Right, the migraines,” Chan nods thoughtfully. You narrow your eyes at Minho, the only one that you’ve mentioned your migraines to. He just shrugs his shoulders in response.

“But it's fine,” you say.

“It's quite obviously not,” Seungmin replies. “Whatever this is, it doesn't sound like something that will go away if you just try to power through.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist. “I went to two different doctors, but they both couldn’t find anything. All my bloodwork came back clear, okay?”

“How come you didn't tell us?” Jeongin asks, sounding hurt. “You thought it was bad enough that you went to the doctor twice and we didn't know?”

“I didn't mention it, because it really is nothing! I didn't want you guys to worry for no reason. I wanted to be cautious, but if the doctors said there was nothing I could do, there was no point to let you guys know. You guys know that I would have said something if they said it was serious,” you tell them.

There's a moment of silence while everybody processes what you've said.

“If you're sure,” Hyunjin says reluctantly.

“I am. Please, trust my judgement and trust what the doctor says. I’m going to take it slow, but I still want to be involved in all of our schedules,” you plead.

“We can do that,” Chan eventually agrees, even though he doesn't look too happy about it. “Just, if anything happens then please let us know, okay?”

“Yes, dad,” you say, rolling your eyes. Everybody laughs at Chan's indignant ‘hey!’ in response and things settle back to normal. You can tell they're all still worried, you feel them watching you as you pick at your food for the rest of the meal, but you know that everyone feels a bit better after finally talking about it.

—

You’re exhausted.

The last few weeks actually haven't been as bad because while the boys have been respecting your wishes to stay involved in every schedule, they have been taking care of you more than usual. They make sure that you always have simple and light, but nutritious meals available, are more strict about taking breaks and not staying up too late, and just overall make you feel loved.

By now, you've mostly gotten used to dealing with all of these symptoms, but today seems worse than usual.

Even the motion of fumbling to turn off your blaring alarm seems to drain your limited energy and it takes everything in you to force yourself to sit up in bed. 

Making your way to the bathroom feels like a dream, you’re unsteady as you walk, like your muscles can’t remember what to do. Turning on the lights makes your headache spike, so you end up going through your morning routine in darkness, fumbling to brush your teeth and brush out your hair. You can’t even remember what you’re getting ready for, but you know that it’s something important, something that you can’t postpone or miss. 

You must take longer than usual to get ready because you’re in the middle of applying skincare when you hear your phone ringing from where you’ve left it in your bed. It must be your manager, calling to say that they’re outside, which means that you’re late. You abandon the rest of your routine, turning to go to your closet to change. 

Before you can take a step, a wave of dizziness washes over you and your vision practically whites out. By the time it fades, you find yourself slumped on the ground, unsure when you stopped standing or how you made it back into your bedroom.

As you lie there, you realise that you’ve never noticed how comfortable your floor is, even though you haven’t bothered to get any carpeting or rugs. Just like how you hadn’t realised how hot you’re feeling until you rest your cheek on the ground, letting out a sigh of relief at the coolness of the fake hardwood. Involuntarily, your eyes flutter closed.

You wake up in bed. 

The second you fully regain consciousness, your eyes shoot open, body filled with adrenaline. Never mind the fact that you have no idea how you got into bed, you're likely extremely late for your schedule now and the guys probably hate you. 

You sit up, ignoring how it makes your head spin. It's only when you move your arm to try and stand that you notice a sharp prick of pain.

When your vision clears, you find yourself staring in confusion at an IV that's taped to the crook of your elbow. Further inspection reveals that you're not in your room at all, but wearing hospital clothes and in an unfamiliar room.

Your stomach drops. You've lost time before, had periods of a day that just slipped away, but never this bad. You don't know if you've been unconscious this whole time or just can't remember anything that happened since the morning.

You startle back when someone cups your cheek in their hand. You raise one of your hands slowly to touch it.

“-you hear me?” 

“Chan-oppa?” You squint up at him, now noticing that he also has his other hand wrapped around your shoulder, trying to keep you in place. You have no idea how long he's been trying to talk to you.

“Y/n-ah,” he says, body sagging with relief now that you seem more aware. “You're awake. I gotta- let me tell the guys to come back.”

“I- what happened?”

“You weren't answering your phone,” Chan says. As he speaks, he guides you back to lean back against the bed, adjusting it so that you're sitting upright.

“I’m sorry.” You swallow thickly. “I- I don't really remember-”

“No, it's okay,” he assures you. He takes your hands in his and fiddles with your fingers. “They uh- well we were all concerned so they got the spare key to get into the building. You didn't answer the door either so they went in and-” Chan clears his throat roughly before continuing. “They said you had collapsed in your room and wouldn't wake up. So they called 119 and an ambulence brought you here.”

“Oh,” you say. “That was this morning?”

“Uhm, that was yesterday. You've been out for a while, I think they did a bunch of tests but-”

Both of you look up as the door bursts open. A doctor walks through, then the rest of the members spill through the door and rush to your bedside.

“Y/n-ssi,” the doctor says. “Good to see you awake, you gave these boys quite the scare.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, blushing as the everybody continues to crowd around you.

“How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine-” you start, then correct yourself. “I'm confused mostly and still a bit tired, do you know what's wrong with me?”

“Y/n-ssi, have you had any changes to your regular diet recently?” the doctor asks instead of directly answering your question. “Have you eaten anything unusual, maybe a bit before you started experiencing any symptoms?”

“No,” you say after a second of thought. “I don't recall eating anything out of the ordinary lately. But my diet- I mean I haven't had much of an appetite lately anyway.”

“Okay,” the doctor says, making a couple notes. “Have you ever heard of mycotoxicosis? We ran a series of tests and one of them identified elevated levels of some mycotoxins. We also found some damage to your lungs that may be related.”

“Sorry, what do you mean?” Hyunjin interrupts, looking confused and alarmed. “Toxins? Has she been poisoned by somebody?”

“Not exactly,” the doctor clarifies, which doesn't exactly make any of you feel better. “These mycotoxins that were found are naturally produced by certain types of fungi.”

“She had poisonous mushrooms?” Jisung looks like he's going to cry as he asks.

“To put it simply, we believe that Y/n-ssi has had consistent and long-term exposure to a dangerous type of mould and that is the cause of a number of symptoms she is experiencing,” the doctor explains. “This is most commonly caused by consumption of food that has mould such as nuts, cereal, or coffee beans, although it's also possible that it is something in her environment that she could be inhaling or coming in contact with.”

“We share most meals during schedules, so it can't be that. I don't prepare much food when I'm at home, I mostly order out,” you say. 

“She lives by herself,” Changbin shares with the doctor. “But it's been months, you don't think-”

“That could very well be the cause,” the doctor says. “Are there any visible signs of mould in the apartment?”

The members exchange glances.

“We've never been there,” Minho says slowly, narrowing his eyes at you.

“There's a bit that grows on the tiles in my bathroom because the ventilation isn't good,” you say quietly. “But I try to clean it off as soon as I notice it. And- there's a history of water damage from the unit above me so…” You shrug.

The doctor nods and writes a few more notes.

“You can do testing to confirm, but it does sound likely that there is mould in the ceiling or walls that has been affecting you.”

“So what is being done to treat her?” Seungmin asks.

“If her apartment truly is the source of the mould, then we've already done the most important thing. We've removed Y/n-ssi from the toxin so that she is no longer exposed and her illness shouldn’t develop any further. We're also providing her with some antifungal medication that will assist her body in killing off any mould as well as general supplements to help strengthen her immune system and heal the damage caused by the toxins. We'll keep her here for a couple more days to ensure that she's getting better, but expect that over the next few months, she will be able to make a full recovery.”

After a brief period where the boys pepper the doctor with questions, he bows and leaves. 

—

When you're finally released from the hospital, all the boys insist on escorting you back to your place, even if it means taking two vehicles. They hover around you as you walk up the front steps and fight to be the ones that get to cram themselves into the elevator with you.

Even though the doctors said that the mold was harmful due to your prolonged exposure, everybody has secured on face masks and you plan to keep the visit short. You just need to grab some essentials and the rest of the members are curious what your place looks like. The company has assured you that everything else, like the packing, moving, and especially cleaning, will be taken care of by them.

You’re so used to being by yourself that it feels strange to return with the boys trailing behind you. You unlock the door without any fanfare and lead the way, turning around once everybody has made it in. It's not that comfortable, not everyone fits in the main room without really squeezing in, but at least they're able to close the front door.

“Tada,” you say flatly. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“This is the whole place?” Jisung asks, shocked as he looks around, eyes wide.

“Well, I don't need much space-” you start to reply.

“I can touch all the sides of your bathroom without having to move!” Hyunjin exclaims.

“Luckily my arms aren't freakishly long like yours-” you say, before Minho interrupts.

“No wonder you always try to come over for meals,” he muses. “There's practically nowhere for you to cook!”

“I can still cook!” you defend yourself. “There's a mini fridge under the counter and I have a hot plate and a rice cooker in the cabinet. I just like your food better.”

“Where do you even keep all your clothes?” Jeongin asks, opening one of your cabinet doors to reveal where you stuff all your electronics. Your hair straightener dislodges from where it must have been leaning against the door and clatters loudly to the ground, pulling a series of wires along with it. You wince and rush over to stuff everything back into place.

“I don't need much,” you explain. “I have storage under my bed and there's space over on that side.”

“But what about-”

“I like the way that you've decorated the room,” Seungmin cuts him off. His voice is calm and measured, especially compared to the chaos of the other boys. “It feels very comforting and safe.”

“Thank you,” you say, blushing underneath your mask. “I- I know it's not much, but I did the best that I could.”

“Sorry, Y/nnie,” Hyunjin says. “We’re not trying to criticise. It's just-”

“It's okay,” you reassure all of them. “I mean, as much as I consider this place my home, there is a lot to hate about it.”

“Yeah, let's not forget about the fact that it's not an exaggeration to say that staying here sent you to the hospital!” Seungmin chimes in. “And that the only reason we are here right now is to clear everything out because it is legitimately unsafe for Y/nnie to continue living here.”

“Speaking of, I'm pretty sure that we're supposed to limit the amount of time we spend in here, I thought this was a grab and go kind of visit?” Changbin asks.

“Yup, let's not stay here longer than we have to,” you agree.

After living there for almost a year, you would have thought that you'd be at least a little bit sad to have to move out of your apartment. But as you finish packing up your essentials, all you can think is that you're lucky that instead of a place, you consider your home to be these eight boys.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist