#i was just thinking this though and... its because i have chronic pain and chronic fatigue??

[sillyfroggremlin]

people with chronic pain and chronic fatigue will be like why does it hurt and why am I so tired

[deoidesign]

I have a question, but it may be already have been answered in the story (my brain is just not the best with memory).

Since vampirism symbolises for you chronical illness (which, omg, that is a hot take I've never thought off before and love from now on), does Steve count as chronical ill, too, with the whole halfvampire thing going on? So, would his uncontrollable time jumping each month be a symptom of that chronical illness?

not in the story, no worries! Just a possible interpretation and my personal intent when writing.

As a small aside I personally don't like to think of chronic illness as something that people "count" as, so to speak, it's an extremely personal label and incredibly varied between individuals and as with all disability there is never such thing as hard lines or black and white... but I understand why you worded it that way and I understand what you're asking.

So, yes, Steve is also chronically ill within this framework. The entire comic is sort of shaped around this, to be honest! I mean he canonically has some pretty extreme memory issues... He's also canonically homeless (not that this is an illness but I just mean it's something I think most people forget about him when discussing him). And, yes, his condition is uncontrollable and is severely impacting his ability to live the life he wants to live.

He has just been barely coping up to the point we meet him, and has been very desperate which is what led him to creating that list of deviations. He has periods where his body is out of his control, he is unable to form relationships, he hurts others without meaning or wanting to... Yeah. He's metaphorically relating to a lot of things, really.

So, yknow, you're welcome to interpret him as you'd like! for me I relate a lot with my various issues and conditions and thus that's why I've projected on him the way I have, but of course I would understand entirely different interpretations of what is inherently metaphorical.

[lovieku]

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

“Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

[thehappyvet]

Just a reminder if you decide to illegally take a wild animal from the wild for yourself, even if you have the best interests at heart, you could be killing it.

If you feed it the wrong diet you can cause it's bones to break or other diseases associated with mineral imbalances. If you feed it too much you could cause issues associated with obesity including excessive fat stores.

If you aren't a trained wildlife rehabilitator you won't understand the importance of preventing imprinting or humanising. So you'll cuddle it, play with it, and let your pets play with it. So it will think it can only get food from humans, and that humans and domestic pets are part of its family.

If you take it while it's still young it won't learn the necessary foraging and social skills from its parents to survive in the wild. You might joke you don't even need a cage for it, but it isn't able to go anywhere because you've made it dependant on you.

If you aren't a wildlife carer or in the animal health industry you might not realise it's injured and needs treatment. This could lead to broken bones setting in ways that the animal can't perform normal functions and suffering from a life of chronic pain. Or it could lead to it suffering a slow and agonising death.

You might also not be aware that wildlife can contain diseases that can make you sick or even kill you. You could put yourself and your loved ones at risk of serious zoonotic diseases by bringing it home.

And, if you are found to be illegally holding a wild animal without the intention of rehabilitating and releasing it, the authorities are stuck. They can't release the animal because it thinks humans and domestic pets are friends. It can't forage for itself. It can't socialise with its own kind. It could have injuries or diet associated diseases that mean it can't perform normal functions, or is suffering from chronic pain. If they released it, it would die.

Is it fair for that animal that your choices have led to it not being able to experience its life in the wild as it should?

If you take something from the wild and intend to keep it, I hope this makes you think twice.

These kinds of stories are all over social media now, but none of them tell this side. They normalise putting a wild animal though an incredibly stressful experience purely for likes and engagement.

If you want to be a hero, get accredited to be a wildlife rehabilitator. Join an amazing network of compassionate humans just like you who understand that wild things should be wild, and do everything they can to get them back there.

If you find a wild animal and you're not sure what to do, call your local veterinary clinic or wildlife rehabilitation group. Trust that we have the knowledge to make the best choices for that animal. And if you want to make those choices, join us.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

The Warmth Between Waves

masterlist

okay wow i made myself cry while writing this, i need someone to take care of me like this on my bad days:( i did some research on fibromyalgia and tried to make it as accurate as i could based off of what i learned, i apologize if it’s not.

pairing(s): Finnick Odair x Chronically ill!Reader - request was from someone with fibromyalgia and i based it off that but i think it can be read by anyone with chronic pain

warnings: Y/N experiencing intense pain, finnick and Y/N take a bath together, slight angst, tooth rotting fluff

word count: 1.37k

When the world narrows to pain, he becomes the place where it softens—where love steadies, and warmth waits between each crashing wave.

The pain doesn’t start sharp. Not at first.

It begins as a dull throb in your knees, the kind you can ignore if you just breathe through it. Then it spreads—slow and insistent like ink in water—seeping into your shoulders, your spine, your hands. The weight of your body becomes too much. Your skin starts to burn where your shirt touches it. Even your eyelashes feel heavy.

You curl onto your side, limbs trembling, every movement sending bolts of fire through muscles that feel like they’ve been crushed under invisible stones. You’ve had flare-ups before. Hundreds. But somehow it still surprises you how completely it can consume you.

How helpless it can make you feel.

You bite your lip hard to keep from crying out. The ceiling above you blurs as your eyes sting, but you don’t make a sound. You’ve learned how to be quiet. How to endure. How to exist inside the pain without letting it spill over.

But it’s not just you anymore.

The door creaks open, and soft footsteps cross the floor. You know the sound of his gait by heart—familiar, confident, always sure in its purpose. You don’t even have to look.

Finnick.

He kneels by the bed without saying anything. You feel the mattress dip slightly as he places one hand on the blanket near your waist—not touching you yet, just a silent offering.

“Talk to me, love,” he says gently. “How bad is it?”

You don’t want to answer. You hate this part. You hate the sound of your own voice when you’re like this—small, hoarse, not yours. But you know you don’t have to be strong with him.

You never do.

“Everything hurts,” you whisper. “It started in my knees this morning… now it’s everywhere.”

Finnick’s face softens, even though you can’t quite meet his eyes. His fingers move slowly, carefully, drawing a slow line along the edge of the blanket. “Bad flare, then.”

You nod, blinking back another wave of tears. You hate crying in front of him, not because you think he minds, but because you don’t want your body’s betrayal to become his weight too.

But he’s already moving.

“I’m gonna help you get in the bath, okay?” he says softly. “I’ve already drawn it. Lavender oil. Just like you like.”

You let out a small, broken sound. “You always know.”

He smiles, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Of course I do. I watch you. I love you.”

He says it so easily, like it’s not something you ever doubted, even when your body makes you feel unworthy of that kind of love. Like your pain doesn’t scare him.

Finnick shifts the blanket back and moves with a slow, practiced grace. He doesn’t rush you. He never does. He just helps—first with sitting up, one arm around your back and one under your knees. Then with the slow walk to the bathroom, his body curved protectively around yours.

You lean heavily on him, each step agonizing, but he steadies you like he’s done it a hundred times. Because he has.

And he’ll do it a hundred more.

The steam from the bath curls into the air like ghostly fingers. The scent of lavender hits you first—soft, soothing, familiar. He’s placed a small candle on the sink, and the flame flickers low, casting golden light across the tiles.

Finnick helps you sit on the edge of the tub and slowly begins to undress you, his fingers careful, never pulling or tugging. He treats your body like something sacred, even when it feels like it’s failing you.

When he slides your shirt off, you gasp—more from the pain than the chill. His eyes flicker to your face immediately.

“Too fast?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just sore. Like I got dragged through coral.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You scoff lightly, but the warmth in your chest flares stronger than the ache in your back. “You’re biased.”

“Completely,” he grins. “Hop in with me?”

You nod. “Please.”

He helps you into the bath first, lowering you in inch by inch. The warmth of the water soaks through your bones, easing the worst of the stiffness. You exhale shakily, and your head tips back against the edge of the tub.

When he slides in behind you, the bath ripples. His arms wrap around your middle, pulling you gently against his chest. You melt into him—into the warmth, into his steady breath, into the kind of quiet that isn’t lonely.

His chin rests atop your head.

You sit like that for what feels like forever. The water hums around you. His fingers trace slow, absent-minded circles on your stomach, sometimes drawing shapes, sometimes just resting flat against you.

“I hate when it gets this bad,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says.

“I feel like a burden.”

He leans down, kissing the shell of your ear. “You’re not.”

“I know you say that, but—”

“No,” he cuts in softly, not unkind. “You are not a burden. You are the love of my life. You are soft and brave and stronger than anyone I know. Your pain doesn’t make you less lovable. It makes me want to hold you closer.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t fill the silence with more words. He lets the truth of what he said settle around you like a second skin.

After the bath, he lifts you from the tub and wraps you in the softest towel he could find—one he bought from a traveling merchant after months of searching for something gentle enough for your flare days. You’d made fun of him at the time, called it ridiculous. But now, with the terry cloth cocooned around you, you feel your throat tighten with quiet gratitude.

He dries you slowly, carefully, then helps you into a loose nightshirt and carries you back to bed. He tucks a warm heat pack beneath your lower back, adjusts the pillows behind you, and presses a glass of water to your lips.

“Drink a little,” he says. “You always forget when it hurts.”

You sip, wincing, then settle back.

Finnick sits beside you on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “Massage?”

You nod once. “Please.”

He warms oil between his palms before sliding his hands under your shirt, palms gliding gently over your lower back. His thumbs move in slow, rhythmic circles, never applying too much pressure, just enough to coax the tension from your muscles.

You close your eyes and let yourself fall into it—the scent of lavender and the sound of his breath and the feel of his hands grounding you.

“You’re so good to me,” you whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “You deserve good.”

You laugh, a fragile sound. “I don’t always believe that.”

“Then I’ll keep telling you until you do.”

His hands move up your spine, slow and steady. You feel each breath of his against your back, every soft exhale a promise.

Eventually, the worst of the pain recedes into a quiet throb. Still there, still humming beneath your skin, but not screaming anymore. You sink into the mattress, boneless and heavy, the warmth of his body a balm.

He lies down beside you and pulls the blankets over both of you. You curl into him, your face pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

He brushes his fingers through your hair. “Sleep, love.”

“I’m afraid it’ll hurt worse when I wake up.”

“Then I’ll be here when you do,” he says simply. “And we’ll fight it together.”

You let out a slow breath and nod, your hand finding his beneath the covers. He squeezes gently.

As your eyes drift closed, you think—not for the first time—how lucky you are to have found someone who doesn’t flinch from your pain. Who doesn’t run. Who doesn’t try to fix you, but instead chooses to stay.

Finnick kisses your forehead one last time. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” you murmur back, the words curling into the space between you like another blanket.

And when sleep comes, it feels almost kind.

[t-a-a-1]

WAIT OK SO IK IT WAS ANGSTY BUT IMAGINE THE COMEDY. OPTIMUS WOULD PROBABLY BE IN AWE OF READER FOR THE PREGNANCY.

Things that humans have evolved and adapted to would fascinate and terrify this poor bot. He’d be so confused and concerned.

Optimus: The baby grows inside of you…where, exactly?

Reader: My uterus. It’s made to stretch and expand to accommodate the baby. When they’re born though, there’s going to be a wound inside that’s about the side of a plate.

Optimus:….wound…?

Or like an epidural! What you mentioned before.

Optimus: Will there be pain?

Reader; oh, definitely. But there’s this medicine that they can inject into my spine to make sure I don’t feel the pain. I’ll feel the pressure though.

Optimus: t-they inject medicine? Into your spine? How big is the needle?

Reader: Probably the length of your finger. It’ll have to stay there the entire time I’m in labor though.

Optimus: **FAINTS**

LIKE??? Optimus is just learning all of this and his human, the love of his entire existence, is like “yea I’m scared because of the alien hybrid thing. But humans have been doing this since they came into existence.”

Primus help him if he finds out that reader can develop chronic conditions after the birth. Like reader becoming Allergic to their own skin or developing an autoimmune disease. (It does happen!)

Optimus: y-your body can just turn against you? Because of this?

Reader: Yea, it happens. It’s more common than people think.

Optimus:….i need to speak to Ratchet….

He’s so concerned but also so amazed that humanity has survived as long as they have. This sounds like an evolutionary nightmare for him. Poor Ratchet is going to be hearing about this.

Optimus: After the sparkling is born. Their brain can just…stop working, Ratchet. Their immune system can just turn and attack itself. They will have a wound the size of my hand inside them, ratchet! And this planet expects them to only have 8 weeks to rest! What the fuck is humanity??? How have they survived this long??

Ratchet: ….please go recharge, Prime.

Optimus would probably look at birth-procedure videos and would totally faint.

Not only that but I think Optimus would be EXTRA EXTRA cautious about everything.

Then, he would ask Ratchet if there's less painful ways for you to give birth.

And Ratchet jokingly says: "Well, next time, what if you get sparked instead?

Optimus: .... hold up.

I have the head-canon that getting sparked is at random. First its you (the sparkling having more human-like-features) and then its Optimus (sparkling having more cybertronian features) BUT the comedy aspects starts when the one who's not preggos is the one who gets all the symptoms.

Like if you are the pregnant one then Optimus would be the one to have back pains, throwing up, feeling nauseous, cravings and even get emotional.

Optimus: Look at me, I let myself go ... I've become bigger.

You: You are fine OP. It's me who's gonna get bigger once the baby starts to grow inside of me.

Optimus: That's what everyone says but when you least expect it, you'll leave me for a new-model bot.

You: ... What?

OP: Don't say you won't, I see the way you look at new cars.

I see Optimus being the one to take classes for first time parents and even start writing a book: 'The Journey of The First Cybertronian-Human Sparkling: A Guide For Interspecies Parents."

If he is the one carrying the Sparkling then you get all the symptoms. Although he feels bad for you, he is assured you at least won't have to deal with the complications of childbirth. For your safety, he very much prefers to be sparked up by you<3

Thanks for the ask anon!

[the-s1lly-corner]

hello silly nation ‼️ was maybe wondering if you could do some hcs of the slashers with reader who has scars ? (Preferably on their arms and legs but it’s fine if not) really love your work <3

Slashers x reader w/ scars

Oooo feels like it's been ages since I got a slasher req!! Still need to watch other slasher films... keep pushing that off in the face of other big interests grrr

Characters:Jason, Michael, Bubba

Notes: reader is gn, short and written on puter, scars are on limbs, no explicit reason is stated for the scars, I fear I may be a little rusty with writing these guys maybe idk we'll see!! Dovodovlfcjajs, mentally imagined the scars are larger and stuff so will be building off that mental image

CWs: talk of past injury, chronic pain, general stuff that comes with injuries and the healing process/lasting damage, gift unrelated I just thought it was funny + couldn't find one I liked otherwise, mentions of canon typical death in Michaels part

JASON

hes got a lot of scars... but thats not going to make him indifferent to the scars you have on your body... if anything its going to make him worry more because- WHAT exactly happened to you to make yours accumulate? he knows the kind of damage that needs to be done for tissue like that to form... and he already has a tendency to worry and fret over you... even if something isnt happen presently

but... he tries his best not to stare. he already know what it feels like to be stared at and he doesnt want you to feel like theres something wrong with you- at most he may freak out the first time he sees them but after the shock he forces himself to stop taking sideways glances

if they effect your mobility hes going to step in and help you- you dont even to ask. the second he sees you having some difficulty hes closing in on you to figure out what you need!

BUBBA

he worries, too, but honestly... he might worry to a lesser extent compared to jason. in a way he sees your scars as a sign that youve got some strength to you. that its something to admire to some degree- youve fought through something regardless of scenario and you made it out on the other side!r

and he loves you more for that! you were already so cool before... but now theres this aspect of you to take into consideration! he does try to tone done the outward awe for you if you express that it makes you uncomfortable, though

he sometimes traces his fingers along the edges and borders (if present) of your scars if you let him. its soothing to him... and he hopes it has the same effect on you. it doesnt matter that theyre there, to him its just another piece of you that makes you all the more beautiful thanks to the first point

hes got scars too, and he will show them to you out of solidarity if youre feeling a certain way about your own

MICHAEL

...he... odesnt have much of an outward reaction to the revelation of your scars. which to be fair... when does he ever have a big outward reaction to things? sure you can say killing can be one since he has killed for you BUT thats asides the point!

hes got scars too and hes kind of meh about them. he doesnt think about them much and he powers through any pain or limited mobility they give him out of pure spite and determination. he kind of assumes you do the same-

...he does eye your scars, though. not in a judgmental or grossed out way. hes kind of just mentally mapping them out and... you know you can tell him if someone was the cause of some of them you know. he promises he can be trusted with that information and that he wont go out and do anything

[booliuu]

Can we get your Homicidal Liu HCs? Your BP ones were amazing!! :D

♱ Homicidal Liu Headcanons .ᐟ.ᐟ ⟢˚﹒

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : ANSJSJSB IM SO GLAD YOU LOVE IT !!!! and ofc! 💚💚 i hope this is what your looking for anon ^^ im sorry it’s so long! the urge of yapping about liu has been so strong these days lol.

my inbox is open for asks & requests!! if you like my content don’t forget to like , comment , & reblog❤️. enjoy reading!

latest hc’s i finished are : ej’s & bloody painter . you should check it as well!

pictures are from pinterest 🍀.

🍁. . . His full name is Liu Woods. also known as homicidal liu. creeps call him homicidal just to taunt him . absolutely hates the name. heavily likes to be referred to as Liu.

🍁. . . Height : he’s the eldest sibling so he’s pretty dang tall. I’d say 6’0 or 6’5.

🍁. . . siblings: Jeffery Woods.

🍁. . . His birthday: 12/21. December 21st . ( he’s in his late 20’s ) him and jeff are about 2-3 years apart.

🍁. . . he/him.

🍁. . . bisexual.

🍁. . . he’s a Sagittarius ♐️ .

🍁. . . he’s American. born and raised in america 🇺🇸 . same with his younger brother.

🍁. . . he’s white. has spanish roots from both parents . same with his little bro . likely there ancestors are from Spain or Venezuela .

🍁. . . His favorite color is fall colors. such as orange, red , yellow . but also loves different shades of green c:

🍁. . . his main catchphrase: “ I forgave my brother for trying to kill me. I understand the urges he gets, I’ve fallen for the same ones time and time again in the past, so who am I to really judge him, anyway…”

🍁. . . i would describe his built to be that he’s so freaking tall. ( nothing compared to ej , laughing jack or slender though..) most of the time creeps have to look up while talking to him. his posture is good its just..chronic back pains TvT.

🍁. . . some may think he’s skinny and sick looking but under all the thick clothes he’s wearing all day he’s actually pretty lean. he has a bit of muscles in him. healthy and tone! tries to take care of himself as best as he can. ^_^

🍁. . . i say “sick looking” because generally speaking he’s very pale. his eye bags are bad. it’s makes ppl worry if he’s taking care of himself or not lol…. i’m not even going to sugar coat it. tired 24/7. relying on caffeine almost daily.

🍁. . . his eyes are prone to be red looking because he’s with the creeps that has pretty bad insomnia.

🍁. . . has BEAUTIFUL gorgeous olive green eyes. there so so.. pretty . honestly they almost look like emeralds ( okok it’s not that shiny.. but yk what i mean lol) . his hair is reddish brown .. it’s so soft and well taken care of . and by that, he cuts it often because he has bangs and he hates it when he can’t see. very handsome boy!

🍁. . . has ear piercings. stretched lobes. and the rest of his lobes done. too scared to get anything done above that.

🍁. . . he’s really really self conscious about the scars and stitches that practically littered all of over his face and body but honestly if your asking me that’s what makes him unique.

🍁. . . Liu’s the most normal wait no.. actually he’s the closest you’ll get to normal person. he’s living with a bunch of serial k*llers , he’s able to some how keep himself sane with all the bullshit he see’s and deal with every day in the mansion . ( and by that it’s dealing with his younger brother…)

literally a complete 360 of his brother tbhhh. ☠️

🍁. . . personality wise he’s quiet, well mannered , and uses big words when he talks. (i would describe his voice to be soft spoken and polite , he speaks in a velvety , smooth , and gentle tone. )

🍁. . . furthermore, he’s protective, caring, and overall he’s part of the small percentage of creeps that is friendly and respectful to new comers and residents of the mansion . older brother vibes yk? lots of creeps are fond of him because he has this warm and safe front to him .

🍁. . . he may be calm and collected. but that doesn’t mean he could see you right through your bullshit. he can read someone wants to do mischief to him easily . is capable putting you in your place or will let sully front .

🍁. . . downside to him being , he’s very paranoid. everyone around him. especially around jeff. he knows jeff is his brother and should leave the past behind. but how can he. when jeff is around , he can’t help but be super cautious and up guard around him. somewhat turns back into his 13 y.o self when the ..incident… happened.

🍁. . . under that calm face of his.. he’s fucking terrified what his brother is going to do next. his head spirals around if jeff will attack him again. can’t help but keep his mend hand on his g*n that’s underneath his trench coat because he.. so scared.

🍁. . . can’t be the same room with jeff. he’s immediately in flight or fight mode. he leaves the room immediately. his presence makes him so uncomfortable and feels like he’s suffocating around him.

🍁. . . huge dependency issues. secretly wants or desires to be with someone (doesn’t matter if it’s platonic or romantic) that he can trust , or just honestly wants anyone that will give him the feeling of safety and comfort again. will do drop anything for that to happen. yet the person he trusted the most tried to m*rder him.. developed awful trust issues after what happened with jeff.

🍁. . . Liu’s been dealing with a lot mental package half his life. grieves so much about his parents death. visit his parents grave from time to time. gives them flowers and remembers the memories they had together.

🍁. . . it’s not only D.I.D that liu suffers with but i believe he also has bipolar disorder and ptsd.

🍁. . . typically wears his thick black trench coat, that black and white scarf ( that he never washes ..😔 * sighs* oh liu… ) , under that he wears a black shirt. as well as black pants and combat boots. all though from time to time he wears dark academia clothing.

🍁. . . smells like cigarettes, the woods , or baked goods .

🍁. . . loves coffee. loves tea . biggg caffeine lover actually dependents on it to stay up for the day .

🍁. . . smokes whenever he’s needs too. honestly after the shit he’s been.. yeah i don’t blame him.

🍁. . . hangs out freely in public. literally the government knows that he’s dead because he has a grave and stuff but that doesn’t stop him from visiting small local libraries or towns.

🍁. . . goes to church pretty often but not to just pray . holding a broken rosary in his hand , and just sits seats there.. just thinking and …. thinking majority of the time . pure silence alone with thoughts.

🍁. . . thinks about the past quite a lot and especially if he saw or comes across something from him and jeff’s childhood, immediate waves of nostalgia washes over him . sadden of the fact things can’t be how they used to be .

🍁. . . he’s probably really good at baking. not cooking though. just baking . like will make someone a really good sour bread , muffins , or just give leftovers he couldn’t finish to creeps to closes with.

Now let’s talk about sully. . .

♦️. . . we all know liu suffers with D.I.D ( Dissosiative Identity Disorder) which means a person has two or more distinct identities that control their behavior at different times. And in this case it’s sully.

♦️. . . his alter mainly consists of being only sully i believe ( i think there’s one more but idk if that’s canon or not …) . now sully didn’t develop when he was born. actually developed with jeff attack him that night. and has been with him ever since then.

♦️. . . sully communicates with liu in his mental headspace if that makes sense. particularly sully will talk out loud to liu in his head.

♦️. . . if sully fronts then he talk to liu as if he’s standing right front of him. but if liu is fronting then he’s much better at keeping sully comments to himself. but will talk to each when left alone though.

♦️. . . liu doesn’t kill but he’s capable of doing it (more info about that later …) . most of the time its sully who does most of the m*rder. after the crime scene is finished and liu fronts again , feels extreme guilt of that the person who is now dead.

♦️. . . after jeff’s attack, he was in the hospital for a while and that how he came into terms with sully.

♦️. . . sully is very different compared to liu. mentally , and metaphorically speaking.

♦️. . . when sully fronts, his eyes changes from liu’s greens ones to reddish pink. his eyes could be read as frantic and almost angry looking. sully voice is more throaty and low. he’s more cocky , loud , impatient , rude and fussy. he’s prone to curse like sailor no matter the situation.

♦️. . . sully in the other hand , is the least dependent on people . he prefers gets things done by himself . not willing to trust others because he believes they will betray him in a matter of days. normally he’s comes out as aggressive to scare ppl away.

♦️. . . sully doesn’t kill people willy nilly. will front when he has strong urge too. especially when liu’s in danger because he wants protect him. or he decides liu is being “too soft” for his liking then fronts to tells him “ this is how a real man should do or act” ..

♦️. . . almost like a protective guard alter you could say …

‼️ approaching heavier topics … mostly talking about his past . ( tw m*rder and g*re ) .

🍁. . . liu was really protective of jeff growing up and till to this day blame himself how jeff came to be. when he’s bed sometimes he cries to himself and tells himself that failed being a big brother…

🍁. . . when they were little , he tried tend off the bullies before they pulled out knifes and jeff needed to go to the hospital immediate medical care. he spoke up about jeff’s face not looking to bad when he woke up from surgery and after that the family went quiet for a while .

🍁. . . was jeff’s only “ friend “ when they all moved to the new neighborhood.

🍁. . . one night in particular, after jeff gutted there parents. he snuck into liu’s room and attempted to give the same faith of there parents. liu fight back and chocked his brother with now a broken rosary. still has the rosary till this day.

🍁. . . jeff being stronger than liu, he gave liu pretty severe injuries. when jeff thought liu “died” he abandoned him and his whereabouts are unknown after that . likely slender found him and decided to take him in…

🍁. . . one of there neighbors heard screaming coming from there home. went the wood’s house to investigate. come to find liu bleeding out on the floor with severe injuries, horrified what they saw they called the ambulance .

🍁. . . liu almost died at the hospital but he some how pulled through with numerous surgeries done to him. it’s miracle he survived .

🍁. . . a nurse that was taking care of him called his brother a monster and that’s when he snapped and ended her life by pushing her off the hospital’s window . yk how i said he k*lled before , that was liu’s first victim.

🍁. . . after that event and realized what he’ve done in a pit of rage , not wanting to face consequences he ran away from the hospital and made his way to his families house and got a few things he needed .

🍁. . . attempted to burn the house and the rest of the belongings. he left the building, noticing the blood on his hands he didn’t turn back and his whereabouts were unknown. you can guess who took him .

🍁. . . after the events that occurred, liu still cares deeply about his younger brother and forgave him in the end because he’s experienced first hand the will to kill.

🍁. . . Liu's killings may also be influenced by Sully, a sociopath/psychopathic personality alter he developed after the night Jeff tried to kill him to cope with the traumatic events.

🍁. . . when slander made him his proxy perhaps out of pity.. he now lives in the mansion . jeff couldn’t believe it. thinks liu’s is just an illusion or just slender taunting him . nevertheless refuses to be close to liu thinking he’s not real. after a long time, reality sets in and realizes liu’s is in fact is here with him .

🍁. . . all jeff could think about is liu suppose to dead because after what he’s done to him, he shouldn’t survive. he has grave for god’s sake.

🍁. . . numerous times liu has tried to connect with his brother just like the good old times . Whether it's passing by him trying to start a decent conversation or when he's partnered with him on missions,tries teaming up with jeff to end the job faster.

🍁. . . there’s a parts of him is thinking, the younger brother he knows is still there and they can come back where things used to be but there’s a bigger part of him knowing jeff’s to far gone and hates him.

🍁. . . jeff being jeff shuts down by either completely ignoring him, mumbling something under his breath and shoving him to a wall abruptly . or being rudely abrasive. will start getting a little physical and blood is sometimes involved. quick trips to ej’s is greatly needed ...

🍁. . . still him and jeff still have a really strained relationship. if they have missions together long story short, they both will only get the job done without much communication. other than that they ignore each other.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅✧⋄⋆⋅

🍁. . . i have a feeling jeff is really jealous by liu growing up but won’t admit it of course. i mean his brother has perfect grades, had friends , knew his parents preferred liu over him. ( liu has tried telling jeff that they love him but jeff wouldn’t budge. can read his parents actions pretty well and it’s obvious what sibling they favor the most.) it started with small grudges then quickly developed into deep seated resentment.

🍁. . . i saw this post the other day and IT REALLYYY speaks to me how much this represents there dynamic. there literally estranged siblings guys . there relationship is so broken down and as a resulted they don’t not communicating or avoiding each other.

🍁. . . once in a blue moon though, jeff will give a liu a hug. it shocks liu so much. he questions if this is really jeff or he’s pulling something again to get under his skin. jeff very faintly mumbles a apology. then in a second starts acting it never happened.

🍁. . . creeps can tell who’s the older and younger sibling at a first glance lol. like yes, physically it shows but there personalities are so different is really hard to ignore .

🍁. . . he’s LOVVVES writing poetry. if your his friend or there’s a creep that he considers to be a friend he will leave out little post it notes around their room to find.

🍁. . . he’s has many acquaintances of the residence living in the mansion. doesn’t believe in making rivalry or tense bonds. i’d say he’s close friends with helen ( okok hear me out but they had a little situationship b4 in the past but they end it in good terms and there good friends… helen can’t get over him lolololll, a bit obsessed i dare say) ej , nina , and kagekao .

🍁. . . younger creeps consider liu as a older brother figure. when he found out about that he made it his duty to give them best old brother experience he can provide .

🍁. . . his favorite seasons have to be fall and winter because those were the times where life was simple and fun. loves it when it rains, takes out his piles of books and reads while sitting on his bed . with his choice of beverage ofc.

🍁. . . gets really jealous almost envy whenever he’s out in public and see families getting along. the the whole day it sours his mood and the memories starts to flood back.

🍁. . . walks around the forest quite often ( especially after it rains, he likes the smell of rain so much for some reason..) and meets different strays along the way and pets all of them.

🍁. . . another creep that’s loves cats!! his favorites have to be rag doll’s , maine coon’s , siamese and balinese.

🍁. . . strikes me the type where he remembers bits of pieces of his close friends telling him stuff . he has shit memories but he’ll remember almost everything about them. like there coffee order, favorite book, list goes on . . .

🍁. . . hole in the wall cafes + liu. it’s a dream come true honestly . he quite literally visits this one cafe that he know the route by heart , and orders the same thing. it’s london fog and a slice of pound cake :3. the owner’s first language isn’t english but calls liu love all the time because liu reminds them of there son. makes liu tear up inside.

🍁. . . even though he literally in his late twenties, he gets really attached to much more older flocks that looks his parents .

🍁. . . when they call him nicknames out of acts of endearment and treat him as if it’s there own son it’s makes him mushy because he lost his parent pretty young and now there’s a hole in his heart that needs parental support and love in a way.

🍁. . . keeps photos of his family. and not to mention toys and other nik naks that him and jeff used to play with together hidden in a little compartment in his room.

🍁. . . liu’s a mama’s boy change my mind y’all. ever since he was little he always sticks with his mother all the time before .

🍁. . . both sully and liu have terrible sleeping habits. it’s save to assume they suffer with insomnia. liu especially because after the incident he has night terrors that wakes him from a cold sweat .

🍁. . . vaguely remembers jeff often comforted him after night terrors when they were younger. He has fond memories of heating warm milk together and watching t.v late at night, curled up on the living room couch.

🍁. . .things can’t turn back the way it used to be . liu can’t sleep keep due to constant late night disturbances so he make himself a cup of tea for the night. he misses so much of jeff’s care for him because it actually helped him sleep. sometimes rewatches the cartoons him and jeff used to watch together .

🍁. . . he loves reading. he owns like two BIG book cases that’s placed furtherest corners of his room filled hundreds of books. and in the middle of them owns a desk, a office chair , and a lamp. that’s where he actually writes poetry on.

🍁. . . close friends with helen and often volunteer’s being helen’s muse for the day if no one want too . while helen paints him , they have nice convo about anything.

🍁. . . he’s super good listener hands down. will listen to you vent about anything. doesn’t matter how stupid the topic is, he’s there for you. if your upset and starting to tear up he get you a tissue and help you clean up your tears. makes you a cup of whatever you want as well. won’t judge you at all.

🍁. . . has multiple accounts on the phones… he sully “collected” and has many playlist that listens to daily while hanging out on his bed. he’s giving bôa , cults , TV girl , the cardigans , strawberry guy and mac demarco . definitely not from my playlist…🤫

🍁. . . some of the residents living in the mansion are children and they love hanging out with liu . makes me him either play pretend tea parties , drawing and dragging helen when they want art lessons , watching a movie. they just love liu so much.

𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜: @/bloodibambiidoll & @/omi-resources.

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : another underrated pasta i love dearly!!! he’s literally my roman empire and helen too lol 😖. same with the woods brothers i talk about them for ages. i hope you enjoy my hc’s anon! thx for the ask and checking out my blog too.

next hc’s will be the rest of the marble hornets crew, keep an eye out!

if you like my content please don’t forget to like , reblog , and comment ^^.

liuuboo2025 ♡ﾟ

[bonefall]

I've seen your discourse about holstein.

Pun not intended, but is there any other cow races you've beef with ? And what do you think of the limousine, if you've any opinion on it.

The Limousine is mid.

Solid-colored cow that used to be a great working breed that could also be good meat at the end of its life, but has been intensively bred for the past century to be nothing but food.

They're a really common meat breed in the modern day, but they're only "good" because of modern fertilizers and grain feeding. France is actually the most nature-depleted country in Europe, and the """improvement""" of breeds like the Limousine is one of the reasons why it's so bad there.

My cow endorsements are for hardy, environmentally low-impact breeds which are well adapted to the regions they live in. I also personally give points for unique traits and genes, interesting patterning, and intelligence. Limousines have none of these.

I can't hate them like I do some other breeds, though. They're healthy, grow fast, and they produce good meat. I simply don't have many good things to say about them. Lame.

A different breed I DO have beef with though? Belgian Blues.

They took a perfectly good cow with a gorgeous blue coat and turned it into something out of Akira. Through INTENSE inbreeding, a gene for double muscling has been forced into this breed, turning them into these stomach-churning FurAffinity rejects.

You may have seen them called "super cows," but I think they're more like Frankenstein's Monster. They were literally created in a lab, in the 1950s, at an artificial insemination center. Their "myostatin" gene is broken, so their skeletal muscles grow to double the size that they should be.

The good news is that, thankfully, these animals don't seem to be in any chronic pain. Myostatin-related muscle hypertrophy in humans does not hurt, nor lead to secondary health problems. It's been studied in lots of animals, too, and they seem to be able to live healthy lives.

The bad news is;

They are UNABLE to give birth on their own and need c-sections to have calves.

Their necks are so stiff that bulls can have a hard time turning their heads.

Some calves are born with tongues so large they can't suckle.

The myostatin gene prevents them from developing good fat distribution, so they freeze to death easily.

Their skin is thinner than usual, too, so they're susceptible to parasites

They're bad grazers and need supplemental feed, so they have a larger impact on the environment.

Btw, as a comparison, here is what the original dual purpose Belgian Blue is supposed to look like.

We had a GOOD COW going, BELGIUM! It was BLUE! We had all the MILK AND MEAT WE NEEDED. And you just had to go and BLOW IT UP. YOU AND YOUR PRIDE AND YOUR EGO.

Luckily, modern Belgian Blues are not economically viable. The fact they need so much medical care and maintenance makes them more of a "status symbol" breed than one that will actually get adopted on a wide scale. THANKFULLY we're not working against market forces for this one.

But I think we need to go further. I think people who breed or advocate for modern Belgian Blues should have tomatoes thrown at them. I yearn for a world where every time one of those double-muscled beasts is shown at a livestock event, the audience loudly cringes.

I am pro-bullying but ONLY for Belgian Blue breeders. That is my beef.

[littlepikmins]

I like the idea that Bernard was not aware of his psychosis until he started living with Tim. He always had strange beliefs but Tim only started to realize that genuinely some of his beliefs and conspiracy theories he believed so much that they had the potential to cause him stress.

That's when Tim started to think it was maybe something more than Bernard just being into conspiracy theories and having unusual gut feelings about things and such.

One day though Bernard experienced a hallucination in which he kept hearing the sound of buzzing as if a bug was flying around. He complained about to Tim for a good part of the day but despite them looking everywhere they couldn't find any kind of buzzing bug in the houseboat and Tim also couldn't hear it.

It got to the point Bernard was feeling pretty agitated and upset by it and because Tim had recently started looking into psychosis because of Bear displaying traits of it, he decided they should schedule a meeting with a psychologist (specifically the psychologist Tim initially started seeing that works for the Justice League and treats superheroes)

When they meet with the psychologist, she explains Bernard is displaying signs of psychosis and its usually a symptom of another mental illness and she thinks they should look into treatment.

If anyone who knows more about psychosis or anyone who has psychosis wants to add on to this, feel free! I'm in no way an expert but I really think having psychosis would make a lot of sense for Bernard and I like thinking about him and Tim helping each other through any difficult medical struggles they experience (chronic pain for Tim, psychosis symptoms for Bernard)

[mildy-vibing]

Woe, pirates be upon ye

Alright kiddos, time for my yapping on a kids show, starting with our pirates.

Calico Jack

Loosely based upon the real John "Calico Jack" Rackham interwoven with my personal thoughts and canon. Calico was "partners" with one Anne Bonny (partners is an extremely loose term between them as it was an open secret that Bonny was really in it for her crew mate, Mary Read). Besides that, Calico and Bonny had two kits who later grew up and stayed with the crew. They were known as Elizabeth "Fangs" and William "Terrible Tabby". William so happened to pick up a wife, Louise "Whispers" Reeves. This pairing created our favorite weirdo, Kwazii.

[From left to right] Anne Bonny, Calico Jack, Elizabeth "Fangs", William "Terrible Tabby", Mary Read, Kwazii and Louise "Whispers" Reeves

Getting the family tree over with, they were a particularly infamous and treacherous crew that plundered and captured anything that set sail in the sea. When Calico was 45 and Kwazii 6, operations hit the fan. In a changing ocean, it came to a halt when the Ranger was boarded following a scuffed raid. All except Kwazii were taken prisoner (Kwazii hid and avoided capture).

At this time, the punishment for piracy was, of course, d e a t h. However, to ensure that in the slim chance one did escape the rope, declawing would be performed. The authorities were right to do so, as Calico was able to slip away just before it was his time. He had attempted to break out his crew, only to find Bonny and Read missing and Fangs, Terrible and Whispers long gone. He escaped, finding Kwazii hidden at Port and commandeered another, smaller, ship to sail off with.

It was just the pair of them until Kwazii turned 13. They were on the run and have been unable to rest as long as The Calico Jack was still alive. So, Calico decided to spare Kwazii that fate. He left Kwazii in a fishing village with the story of "I'm going after some of the most dangerous treasure in the Amazon, I need you to stay here and watch yourself while I go."" Sailed out into the sea, taunted some royal ships, made a show of 'dying in a storm' and fell off the face of the earth, allowing "Calico Jack" to die.

He lived in isolation in the Amazon with his parrot and had time to think over everything he'd done. He regretted leaving Kwazii alone but knew it was for the best after what happened to the crew.

Kwazii

We know the story of the goober, but all I can say for MY story is that he came into contact with the Octonauts after trying to steal one of the gups. At the time, there were only three crew members: Inkling, Tweak, and Barnacles. So happened Barnacles was on that gup. What happened is anyone's guess, but the two left the gup, Barnacles covered in scratches and Kwazii soaking wet in sea water, as friends. Kwazii was kept on probation for trying to steal a gup but was allowed to stay on the (then very new and very in development) Octopod. He quickly proved himself to be a very good crew mate and eventually became Lieutenant. Up until finding Calico, everyone believed Kwazii was just a big fan of pirates (except Barnacles who knew of the incident and its details).

Little Bits

- Calico Jack is declawed, meaning he's missing the bone from the final knuckle (fingertips for us). He has golden prosthetics that help him, though they aren't very effective. They're mostly just for show and secondary weaponry.

- Calico is uneasy around Barnacles. Most likely, due to Barnacle's sounding like a British Royal Navy Official. Also, because he's a huge Polar Bear.

- Calico will not allow any doctor of any shape or form examine him (especially Peso). He hides away whenever he is hurt, insisting upon fixing it himself. He still remembers the last time a doctor got near him.

- Checks in with Kwazii frequently now that he has an octowatch. Though this means often getting face timed at 3 a.m., Kwazzi doesn't mind it.

- Has chronic pain in his hands due to the declawing.

- Lost most of his jewelry the first time he was captured, literally broke. He prefers living off the land but will gladly accept any fish biscuits or food Kwazii brings.

- He only wants the best for Kwazii, so when Paani came along, he gladly accepted him into the family. Calico often takes Paani exploring in more remote regions to show him any and all lakes, ponds, and rivers since "you like water, right? I like water too! Here, look at this puddle in the middle of nowhere."

- Calico doesn't smell as bad as one would expect. He smells like citrus and sea breeze. Unlike Kwazii, who smells like he just crawled out of a dentists office.

- Calico has a fear of places with less than 2 exits. He rarely enters the octopod or gups due to this. He always needs an exit in eyesight to feel safe.

Thanks for coming to the yapping session! Have some sketches too

[littlelostmabari]

I am broken y'all. Medical issues for days, going through a bout of "hey what if you couldn't use ___ body part for a few days" but spin the roulette wheel every week on which body part we are celebrating. A free ache with every spin! Wheee!

So, what else am I to do but write headcannons for my beloved fictional men with a LI with chronic pain. Should be gn. Mostly fluff, tiniest bit of angst with Arthur.

Headcanons for Cullen Rutherford / Gale Dekarios / Arthur Morgan x ChronicPain!Reader

Cullen Rutherford:

Knows exactly why you are limping / taking deep breaths / not getting out of bed today. He's been there with the Lyrium withdrawals. He sometimes sees it before you admit it, because he watches you when youre not looking (hes done this ever since he met you. He can tell if an attack is coming by how often you bite your lip the day before).

Most of his pain is radiating from his head and spine, so he has his tricks for that. Walks you through his stretches. When those don't work, he knows soldiers who have had pain where you have, maybe they know something.

Maker help you if deep tissue / compression helps you, the man is more than happy to put his entire weight on you even if you don't need it. If it helps? You don't need to ask twice.

He also has been wearing heavy armor for more than a decade, which means his joints are fucked. He has tonics hidden away in every corner of his room and office, one within arms reach at all times. There will be one in your hand the moment you even look like you're about to wince.

The withdrawals also cause nausea, so if you have anything GI related, he's got one word to a runner and you have fresh warm and damp clothes with herbs soaked into them. He's a little squeamish with anything that's not like... battlefield related, but it's you so he'll take care of it.

It's rough when your bad days overlap, but you both have been dealing with this for long enough that you have your emergency kits near the bed. You might beg him to knock you out if anything heavy is nearby though.

The difference between you and him though is that he will move mountains to keep you resting in bed when you need it. Inky or no, he will cross coordinate with Josie to make sure everything that you are responsible for is taken off of your plate. Unfortunately he doesn't know the meaning of the word "break" because yes absolutely "Josie will handle that" but as soon as it's something he could hand off to Rylen or one of his other lieutenants, you can be damned sure he's up until 3 bells past midnight making sure its done. (This is actually useful knowledge once you realize that you can ask him what he'd tell you if the roles were reversed...)

The "you should be with someone who isn't broken" talk is... Well, it's kind of hilarious. I don't know who would bring it up first, but the other of you will just laugh and admit you had the same thoughts. Cullen deserves someone who can get up with him every morning without trouble? Well you deserve something better than a washed up Templar with withdrawal issues. It's a tie.

Gale Dekarios:

Another chronic pain girlie. He knows precisely what it feels like when you say that your insides are trying to claw their way out of your body. The nice thing about Gale though is that he doesn't make it about pain Olympics. I think it would be really easy for him to be like "oh well, is it a Netherese orb? Come back when your insides are trying to eat the sheer existence of magic". No, he goes the route of "Unfortunately, my dearest, I know exactly what you mean. What do you need of me? Let me try to allieviate your distress."

During the game events, he dotes on you. The man is love-starved and will do whatever he can to be useful, despite his own pain and suffering. The most useful thing he does, though, is distract. He distracts the others from bothering you too much about it, and he distracts you using whatever means he can, including illusions and bad puns.

During and after the game, the man can cook. He will make you his mother's late season game stew that will perk you right up. Tara mentions offhand that his mother doesn't have a late season game stew, which tells you that he's trying to not only comfort your body but also your mind with images of home and comfort.

After the game, when things have settled, the folks down at the temples of Life domain deities think that he must be studying to become a cleric the way he is inhaling their tomes on pain reduction. If magic can't remove your ailment altogether, the least he can do is minimize your suffering.

The nice thing about living in a wizards tower with unseen servants and all manner of enchantments, is that you can spend time away from your other responsibilities. The house cleans itself, laundry hangs itself, books can be lifted in front of your gaze and pages turned without you lifting a finger. You can spend your energy on existing. (Gale will insist on reading to you, whenever he's home, because he likes to hold you as close as you'll let him... Nevermind him warming and cooling his hands along your back in appropriate intervals to reduce inflammation...)

You bring up the "someone who isn't broken" talk, and he tries to interrupt you the moment he knows where this is going, but when you put a hand up and ask him to let you get through this, he does. He sits patiently while you tell him all the reasons he deserves better, how you're holding him back, and he does not scoff or laugh. He gets a deeper and deeper frown, though, and when you're done, he sinks down from the couch where you are sitting to kneel at the ground at your feet because damn his terrible knees, you need to know that he's not with you because of sympathy or because you are a "project". He's with you because you are the light of his life, his moon and stars, and he wants to have the whole of you. Even if your bad days outnumber your good ones, the fact that he gets to be here, with you, on your bad days is more blessing than he has asked for. You are the reason he isn't Netherese vapor, and, no, he is not with you out of some sense of obligation, he's with you because the man is devoted to you, body and soul. He will spend the evening kissing every inch of you, especially the places you think are ugly or broken, because it would be impossible for him to love you if he didn't love every part of you.

Arthur Morgan:

We would need to break this into high honor and low honor, and low honor Arthur is no fun in these headcannons so HIGH HONOR IT IS. And also no bad things happen to Arthur ever because this is my HCs and Rockstar owns enough of my tears.

If youre in the gang, you manage to hide it from him, from all of them, for the longest time. Grimshaw knows first, and you and she had a long talk when you joined the gang about carrying your weight. You have to work double on your good days but for some unknown reason (it's because you're kind to her, unlike some folks **coughKarencough**) she lets your bad days slide.

Arthur comes back after a haul and there's no reason for you to be holed up in your tent. He understood when you got this way after moving camp, but it's a bright sunny day, the best kind of day to take his girl out riding. But you're huddled on your cot, tonic half drunk because it tastes like ass, eyes pinched shut to the sunlight that streams in as he lifts the flap.

It takes a minute for him to understand. The issue is that he has all those aches and pains, but he deals with them, like everybody else. It's part of living. You have to remind him that his pain goes away, while yours lingers. It's debilitating, and no, you won't be joining him fishing today unless he's willing to remove the part of your body that is on fire and also carry you literally everywhere and not expect you to carry a conversation.

If you're not in the gang, maybe you're a sweetheart he picked up before the shit show in Blackwater. The truth is he doesn't really want to be out and about in the city, which means he's perfectly fine staying home with you. He doesn't understand at first why you move so slowly, like every step is across broken glass, but you get there in the end and share your meals and your fire and your bed.

He is never able to fully empathize, but he's able to take grasps at the idea that you'll never be able to do everything the others do. He thinks he's okay with it until you give him the "you should be with someone who isn't broken" talk.

The talk goes poorly. He doesn't understand why you're sending him away, and when you tell him it's because you love him and want the best for him, it triggers his memories of Mary and he will NOT do that again. He will not give up a good thing, not give up a place where he is needed, where he is wanted so desperately, for the thought that he deserves someone... Better? But it takes a couple days after he storms out for him to drag himself back to your feet. Darlin, he's a bad man. He's done a lot of bad things, the blood on his hands would drown you if you knew it all. If you'll let him love you, even just a little bit, even for a few days here or there, maybe it means he's doing something alright. And you let him because even if he doesn't understand, he does make it better. Even just a little bit.

Arthur is gone a lot more than you'd like, but you know you're on his mind all the time, when he comes home with new tonics, new herbs, something that some doctor said in the closest city to the job he was meant to focus on for Dutch. He lights up when something helps because it means he helped, he helped, he was needed. If it doesn't, he's taking on your extra chores load to make sure none of the others call you a layabout like Uncle. (The first time Micah does it, Arthur lays him out flat.)

Any downtime he has, he'll sit with you. He can't magic away your pain, but he fills your days with the two of you even when you can't get out of bed. Sometimes he draws (his journal is filled with sketches of you sleeping). Sometimes he will call Hosea in for a story from before you joined the gang, or he'll read to you from your favorite books that you already know by heart.

And if he's around for a good day, he's pulling you out of your hidey-hole and making sure that you get enough proper sunshine and a swim and food and maybe a glad or two of the good stuff to make sure you are building happy memories regardless of the days that you spend away from all of those comforts.

Even if he has to carry you. We all know Arthur is strong. If he can use that strength for something other than hurting, he's leaping for it every opportunity. More than once Grimshaw has had to shake her head because she knows you're having a good day, but Arthur insists.

Anyway please take care of yourself and take your pain seriously and find you a partner that is gentle with you on your bad days. Xoxo ~ Mabari

[puzzlekinq]

pls write anything for edward ily

using this as an excuse to post horny eddie headcanons >:3 (i love you too!!)

edward nashton x gn reader nsfw headcanons

amab reader inclusive !!

cw: pegging, power dynamics, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, jealousy, possessive behavior.

—

♡ okay first off. its 3 inches soft, 5 inches hard, pink tip, very thick. stretches you out very nicely.

♡ frequently jerks off. (insert paul dano chronic masturbater image) he has to beat his meat at least a couple times a day. plus i think he'd wake up with morning wood constantly. he has to crank one out as quick as he can if he doesnt want to be late for work, or else hes going in public with a hard on. (he's done it before and it was agony. its your fault he was hard. what have you done)

♡ he would never tell a single soul what kind of porn he watches. but i will, because im the one writing this post

♡ hes embarrassed about how much he enjoys the idea of you pegging him if ya dont have the necessary bits. the first video he watched of someone absolutely railing a guys ass, he got so painfully hard in an instant. ended up not being able to keep himself quiet as he furiously stroked his throbbing dick while he clamped his hand over his mouth for some sort of noise control.

♡ the first time he tried to fuck his own ass was a challenge. yes, his fingers sufficed, they were long enough to reach the right spot, but he didnt know lube was necessary (inexperienced virgin moment) so he just stuck them in dry, and that along with the pain of stretching himself open made for an unpleasant insertion. but he eventually got the hang of it and shot a massive load all over his stomach in like three minutes.

♡ huge praise kink. i'd say he has more of a thing for being praised than degraded, although he likes both. nobody has said a kind word to him in his life, rarely even a simple "thank you". he needs you to tell him hes good, that hes doing so well taking your strap, devouring your cunt, sucking your cock- anything. he just wants to hear that hes doing a good job, and that someone thinks positively of him for once, in a non-sexual context as well.

♡ but he also enjoys when youre a little mean to him in the bedroom, of course. he fucking loves being manhandled, choked, slapped, spit on, or having his dick or ass used just for your pleasure.

♡ LOVES EATING PUSSY!!!! the taste, the smell, the slick and cum all over his face while he grinds against the mattress, getting off to your moans- its all so incredibly hot to him. he'll literally beg to eat you out.

♡ loves sucking dick too!!! he loves taking your cock as far down his throat as he can, usually ending up gagging on it, but hes trying his best. and you know, practice makes perfect, and god, does he love practicing on you. your groans as you push his head down further onto your dick is enough to make him cream his pants. loves when you cum all over his face!!!! he prefers tasting you though.

♡ will cum too fast if he doesnt control himself, and thats why he'll edge himself for as long as you need. the overstimulation from edging feels so fucking good to him, so he really doesnt mind at all if chasing your orgasm takes a while. he gets so drunk off fucking you, he could spend the entire day rutting into your slick warmth.

♡ he can simulate that fantasy by letting you cockwarm him all night, or while hes doing paperwork, or just when youre cuddling on the couch. he cant get enough of being inside of you, he always wants more.

♡ sometimes he'll have to pull out of you and squeeze the base of his cock while he takes slow breaths to stop himself from cumming, his bottom lip crushed painfully between his teeth as sweat drips from his forehead, eyes squeezed shut while he lets out several high pitched whimpers at every exhale. its a pretty sight.

♡ hes veryyy vocal. even if he tried to be quiet he cannot shut up to save his life. has to at least whisper frantic, slurred praises into your ear about how good you feel, how beautiful/handsome/amazing you are, and how you take his cock so well like your holes were made to fit him inside of you, like a puzzle piece- his way of putting it into words.

♡ you were the missing piece in his life for so long, being inside of you is the closest he'll ever get to becoming one with a devine being such as you. he truly does worship you.

♡ hes even louder when hes close, rambling about how bad he wants to fill your tight little hole with his cum, and how good you feel milking his cock.

♡ he loves to edge you as much as he does to himself. your desperate pleads and whines for release, the release that is in his power to take away from you, gives him a blissful feeling of control. he'll make you beg for him to keep fucking you with his fingers, stroking your dick- whatever it would be, he wants to hear you cry for him. he thinks youre so lovely when you cry.

♡ he can be mean about it too. sometimes he'll listen and keep pleasuring you, but goes agonizingly slow, just to hear you beg for it harder, faster, just to make your pretty eyes gloss over with tears. he'll just giggle at you looking so pathetic under him, the knowledge of the state you're in being because of what hes doing to you gets him so excited.

♡ wipes away your tears with his thumb while mockingly cooing about how he knows it hurts, but youre just not asking nice enough.

♡ it honestly just gives him a major power trip. he's like this more often when he's in his riddler getup. you know, the thing about being his true self under the mask, no shame, no limits, blah blah.

♡ not to say he cant be submissive when hes the riddler. because you can totally make him drop the scary, dominant act in like 2 seconds. hes not as tough as he feels in the costume.

♡ but if you let him indulge in his heightened ego he'll make sure you cant even stand up for a couple hours. he got too sillygoofy (wrecked ur guts with his dick) sorry

♡ he's so easy to turn on. it's he really just you being you that gets him so worked up. woke up to your sleepy, angelic self cuddled up next to him? horny. you gave him a hug that lingered for too long? horny. youre wearing his jacket that looks adorably big on you? MEGA HORNY.

♡ he just likes when you wear his clothes in general. he'll take any opportunity he can to offer you his clothes. he thinks you look really cute and hot in them and it gets him all flustered.

♡ he cant pick between chest, ass, or thighs. all of them are so good to him. his head between your thighs, or shoved in your chest with his tongue lapping at your nipples, or having his palm full of the plush flesh of your ass while he fucks you from behind- its all so heavenly to him.

♡ hes a tummy guy too. if you have a chubbier tummy he'll go SO nuts over it. he needs to squeeze your love handles or he'll die. he loves tummy rolls too!! he is GOING to drool over your body no matter what size or shape you are.

♡ speaking of your tummy, he likes having his hand on your stomach while he fucks you. its like a reminder of how deep inside of you he is. he loves having you full of him.

♡ loves the idea of breeding you and getting you pregnant, but if you cant, having you full of his cum is still his way of reassuring himself that you belong to him.

♡ hes very possessive when it comes to you. youre the one good thing hes ever had, and hes not letting you go. ever. and he lets you know that with the way he repeats the word "mine" like a mantra against your love bite covered neck.

♡ he gets extremely jealous easily, and the best way to make him feel better is to let him bury himself inside of you and mark up your body to alleviate his insecurities. he'll leave bruises and hickeys in very noticeable spots, and be like "oops, sorry 🥺" but hes absolutely not. he did it on purpose as his way of telling all of gotham "fuck you, theyre mine."

—

oki doki im gonna stop there or this post is gonna be way too long . i have lots of Thoughts about this guy bfgdudhdh i hope this is like. good. or decent

[dystopyx-blog]

So this is a thought I had after the unmedicated post, but what if ya had chronic pain? Like my good days are constant emergency levels for someone else, and on the bad days I just don't function or function by acting really bitchy. Like, imagine the sweet or chill prefect suddenly being a complete asshole then someone (probably Rook) reveals it's because their meds completely left their system.

Yes!! This kinda works with the post that inspired the unmedicated fic, which you can check out here.

I raise you this though: imagine the yandere bois tm finding out the sweet/kind/chill/patient ramshackle suffers so much all the time.

I can imagine Floyd not even fully squeezing you and you yelp out in pain just from that. You play it off as best as you can, but Jade's curiosity is piqued.

You probably tell your freshman besties first, but everyone will quickly learn from there. I mean, Sebek will absolutely tell Malleus and Epel will end up telling Vil.

The information gets to Jade and Floyd, who take it to Azul.

Deuce ends up spilling it to Riddle one time while trying to defend you. Ace will then blab to you about how Deuce messed up.

Its a whole mess

But now everyone knows about your chronic pain, and all of a sudden everyone's treating you like you're glass.

Even the ones you wouldn't imagine!! Like you'd think Leona would be Mr. Tough Love "Go walk it off." But no. He's still an asshole about the whole thing, but he's a condescending asshole, always telling you you can't do shit by yourself so let him handle it. Or at least let Ruggie handle it. He doesn't understand why you try so fucking hard, you have a great excuse to just relax. So he forces you to.

Everyone is kind of like this, with varying degrees of affection and subtleties.

Riddle is also very rood about it, yelling at you to just stand still.

Azul is more subtle, always creating illusions of choice, making you think you have options, when you don't. Tricking you into taking easier paths while you think you're roughing it.

Jamil basically treats you like he does Kailm. Which, if you're like me, makes you feel bad. But even just the fact you feel bad reminds him why he prefers you over Kalim 1009000%. He wishes you'd stop fussing and let him take care of you.

Vil is also fairly patronizing while he dotes on you. He treats you like a doll, dressing you up and styling you, because with your fragile little bones this is kinda the best thing for you. And he also really doesn't understand why you won't just sit down and let him love you.

If you're sensing a pattern, you are correct. No one fucking understands why you won't just fucking relax and let everyone take care of everything for you.

Idia sees your chronic pain as the PERFECT excuse to never have to go somewhere in person and yet??? You keep going out in person??? Bro, just stay with him, then you BOTH have an excuse to just fucking chill in his room while a floating iPad handles all your school problems.

Finally, Malleus. Awwww, you're so cute, trying so hard. But also he feels so hurt everytime you try to do something without him. To him, your chronic pain is the invitation for him. It's your very body crying out to him for comfort. And Malleus never turns down an invitation.

[dootdootwriting]

hii can you do where like the genshin impact boys lovers are like taller than them?

featuring: albedo, alhaitham, ayato, baizhu, cyno, diluc, gorou, itto, kazuha, kaeya, kaveh, tighnari, venti, xiao, zhongli, (separate) tw: light foul language (scattered throughout), mention of violence/fighting (childe), mention of chronic pain/illness (baizhu), haitham is autistic because yeah. type: fluff, sfw, hcs reader: tall, gn, no pronouns, no use of y/n a/n: i was GOING to do literally all of them but i gave up after tighnari sorry i just did NOT have it in me. if you want hcs of this same scenario with different characters, do feel free to request that!

also not using canon heights for this bc they don't . make sense to me so you get mY HEADCANONS. (close to canon at least i promise)

ALBEDO

not hard to be taller than him tbh, he's like 5'4

i can't see him particularly caring about height in an s/o, rather just personality. if he likes you, he likes you and that's really it, you could look like just about anything

you could be three feet tall and he wouldn't care as long as you were understanding about the unholy hours of the night he has to stay up to in order to do his work

he won't deny the fact that dating someone tall has its advantages, though.

for one example, he finds it particularly difficult when an ingredient he's trying to get to is too far up for him to reach

and yes, he could just summon his geo flower and have it elevator his ass up the tree or whatever, but it's so much more convenient AND so much more comfortable to just have you pick him up so he can get higher

also, it's insanely hot

probably would be into it

DILUC

he's probably just a bit taller than average, i'd place him at about 6' or so

so it's not rare that he meets someone taller than him, it just doesn't happen every day

has no qualms about your height other than he finds it slightly annoying to look up at you when you're having a conversation

it's hard to be intimidating when the person you're talking to is looking down at you with an adoring smile, as you can understand.

other than that, if need be, he has the winery mansion adjusted to suit you

just some basic things like carving a bit out of a doorframe if you're prone to bumping your head on things. nothing too drastic

KAEYA

thinks it's hot

he's kind of a slut for people taller than him, i think. or just a slut in general maybe. either way, thinks it's hot

he's probably just a bit shorter than diluc, maybe at 5'11. diluc won't let him hear the end of it and it pisses him off

looks are the first thing he sees in a person. it isn't nearly the end-all be-all of choosing a partner for him (he really looks for someone with more mental acuity and wit), but it does play the part

being tall helps you with this

is the type to DEFINITELY be able to reach the top shelf and pretend he can't anyway so he can grin at you while you get things for him

asshole

VENTI

did someone say short-ass twink?

he's like 5'3 sorry i don't make the rules. short.

so yeah, again, not hard to be taller than him.

he's so playful about it too

"oh nooooo~ they put the apples all the way on the top shelf so i can't reach them~ whatever shall i do!"

bitch, you can fly. be fr

it doesn't matter. if there's something you can do (even if he can also do it) for him because of his height, he'll bat his eyelashes and flash you a grin so you can't help but show off and do it for him

also makes sharing the bed a hell of a lot more difficult. venti already flails around all over the place, and having someone taller sleeping next to him...? forget about it. you're both waking up on the floor.

BAIZHU

tall

probably like 6'1, and lanky too

there is no cabinet he can't reach, and besides he has changsheng to slither up in the rare situation that he actually can't reach something

however, the tables are turned on him completely when he's having a flare-up. a lot of the time, if he tries to exert himself reaching for something (or just getting out of bed at all), he'll dissolve into a fit of coughing and have to sit down

this is when having a tall partner really comes in handy, and you're more than happy to get him whatever he needs to help him calm it down

extremely grateful for your help, and lucky that he has you. anytime you get him something, especially when he's not feeling well, he'll thank you and give you a kiss

XIAO

joining the "it's not hard to be taller than him" club at a whopping (not really) FIVE FOOT TWO

bro is SHORT short

this doesn't bother him as much as you think it might. in xiao's own words, "height has little effect on one's ability to fight," and therefore he can protect you and fight for you even despite how small he is

will pretend not to be thankful if you help him with reaching things, but instead sends you a short glance that only you can decipher as being grateful

going out with him is a little bit like walking with a small but on edge dog

ZHONGLI

taller than REX LAPIS?? REX FUCKING LAPIS??? THE LORD OF GEO???

i think in his human form he's about 6'3, but he gets to like 6'8 with his draconic features out. no, i'm not counting his horns, i think he actually grows when he relaxes and stops hiding his features

is impressed that you're taller than him, and, honestly, a little worried about your back

with this tall of a couple, he definitely has to adjust his living situation. for sure has his ceilings raised and doorways sanded so the both of you can fit

walking around liyue harbor with him is a SIGHT. two giant sized folks casually going out for a stroll along the waterfront, enjoying their date as if they aren't big enough for a seagull to accidentally fly into their faces

also likes having you do things for him. he's tall, he can do them himself, but he's lying if he says he doesn't like watching you reach to screw in a lightbulb or the like.

AYATO

he's probably around 5'11, so he's tall but it's not unusual for someone to be taller than him per se

he's kind of a cheeky lil bastard? he puts everything on ridiculously high shelves on purpose so that he can watch you get them for him

"oh, sorry to trouble you my dear, but it seems the brown sugar is just a few inches out of my reach. could i trouble you to grab it for me?"

"there are like eighteen other different shelves you could have put it on."

"are there? i hadn't noticed! oh, well :)"

also likes to show you off. pulls up to the function (important dignitary meeting) with his tall ass partner

GOROU

little guy! he's probably around 5'4-5'5 so if you're even like average height you're probably a little taller than him

embarrassed about it, almost as much as he is about the whole tail cuddling thing

that isn't to say he doesn't love how gorgeous and tall you are (he does for sure!), he just is a little self-conscious about his own height

he WILL hide behind you if he sees yae miko approach. benefit #1 of having a tall partner: meat shield

also bonus for you: he is a dog, so when he wants you to grab something for him, he'll look up at you with the most adorable puppy eyes you've ever seen

ITTO

good lord you must be insanely tall . i think he's probably around 6'3

the first time he meets you he's blown away. bewildered. incredibly flustered. possibly already in love.

he's used to being the tallest guy around, used to being the big guy in charge. so when he finds you, and has to look up at someone else for a change, he's stupefied (in a good way)

there are no shelves he can ask you to get things from that he can't already reach. instead, he likes to watch you just pick people up

he'll gather some arataki gang members and ask them to stand in a line and have you go back to back with each one just to measure how tall you are compared to other people

he WILL give bear hugs. if you're more lanky, they may break a few bones... so, beware of that

KAZUHA

another almost short-stack, probably around 5'6

he hasn't ever really thought about his height, he isn't insecure about it or anything.

to him, your height is just another thing that he loves about you! he doesn't care much for physical appearance, it's what's inside that counts to him

and once he gets to know you, he finds everything about you stunning!

probably writes poems about how you look standing strong in the wind or something. really he'll write poems about you no matter what.

since you're taller than him, he enjoys being the little spoon. let him recite lines to you while you hold him!

ALHAITHAM

tall ass guy. prolly around 6'1

is surprised that you're taller than him, but other than that doesn't really care all that much

while he does care for physical traits such as height, he mostly values intelligence and wit, so as long as you can keep up with him in a conversation, you're good enough to date

he has parameters, you understand. you have to fit to a certain standard in a series of specific categories, including age, wit, compatibility....

he might be a little autistic.

my point is, height doesn't really factor in there

still enjoys being the big spoon, even if there's more of you or if you don't quite slot together ideally in that position

it doesn't matter if you're 8 feet tall, this guy Will hold you

CYNO

putting him in around 5'5

despite his small stature, he's a force to be reckoned with. everyone around him knows it, even if he sometimes wishes they didn't care as much

has absolutely no trouble asking you to get things for him if he can't reach them. unbothered king.

this comes less from a place of him not caring about being short and more of a place of him knowing his limitations and understanding when he needs help!

doesn't really care about being shorter than you. well... unless you tease him about being short, then he gets a little miffed. he doesn't mind being the shorter one as long as he isn't just called short

doesn't mind being the little spoon if you suggest it

KAVEH

i wanna say he's about average height, 5'8-5'9 ish!

he's comfortable with his height. he doesn't really think about it very often

that being said, i do think he would be very into someone who's taller than him. i just get those vibes

PLEASE please lean in a doorway and look at him or something. he thinks it's so attractive

probably will ask you to reach up and get things for him just so he can like... poke you in the side??? for no reason?? while you do it

likes to show you off but is also shy about it. will hold your hand when you walk around in public but also really doesn't want anyone to notice. there are two wolves inside of him.

TIGHNARI

I AM A 5'6 TIGHNARI TRUTHER. idk. he gives 5'6 vibes and i don't know why!!!

honestly couldn't give two shits about his height. As long as he can get to the samples he's trying to study, he doesn't care!

Thinks every part of you is stunning, so to him your height is a part of that!

Looks come second to personality to him. This isn't to say he doesn't find you attractive, just that the second he actually starts to like someone all of a sudden oh, they're really pretty actually.

lowkey wants to do like, a family gene chart of you? He wants to learn everything about you, down to where all your different traits come from!