#im definitely projecting

[maryangelex]

Simon Riley would definitely be a girl dad.

He would be so patient with his daughter(s) and just so damn sweet. All the affection he lacked in his childhood and his past would just ooze out of him intrinsically the minute he held his little girl for the first time.

Imagine the baby’s first night home. He would not take his eyes off his little girl. The slightest amount of fussing and he’s worked up, mans would be more stressed about her comfort and wellbeing than he’d ever been about himself or anyone on the battlefield.

Everything would be a mission: Diaper change? Roger that. She’s hungry? On it. Crying cus her pacifier fell out? Engage immediately.

And when she’s older, of course he’s gonna play with her, that man is gonna be her best friend. That little girl is gonna be the boss of him though, he’s under her command. Princess tea parties with dad complacently sitting at the smallest plastic pink chair and the tiniest teacup in that behemoth of a man’s fingers. The tiara is a necessity too.

And when they’re role playing it has to be her way. If he says something off-script she’ll let him know and he’d say “Oh, understood…Sorry, love” And yeah big, bad, gruff voiced Simon is using a girl voice, unless he’s playing a prince or a villain which is a rare occurrence in their playtime.

The older she gets the more love grows in his once cold heart if that’s even possible. He’d be so protective of her, so kind and gentle and understanding yet he’d be like her shadow and guardian angel. He wouldn’t be a “chill dad” because he’s used to seeing danger in every situation and knows anyone/everyone could have ulterior motives with his little girl. But he’d definitely be an understanding dad; super authoritative, never authoritarian.

He’d always tell her how proud he is of her, “Love ya, kiddo” at any and every moment. He would just overall be the dad he unfortunately never had, he’d make it his goal for his little girl to never feel what he felt. Only the love he deserved and later got when he met his wife.

[g00se-ars0nist]

i’m coming out as a dan and phil cat truther

i think a cat would literally suit their little family so well

[theincrediblenightcrawlerr]

I am not interested in crypto. Go away.

[the-tulpar]

The Mind Electric (Jimmy & Curly)

CW: Schizophrenia, derealization, reality issues, probably OOC, BPD, Jimmy being Jimmy

A/N: This is written by Jimmy(Mod), I wrote this for Ao3 and its very much me projecting onto Jimmy. HOWEVER, I am not when it comes to Anya I love her so much so any comments about Anya aren't my thoughts.

Song: The Mind Electric - Miracle Music

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Of course he had to do everyone’s job for them. Fuckin hell. Everyone’s incapable of doing the jobs they were HIRED to do. Jimmy couldn’t believe their nurse couldn’t give someone medicine. What kind of nurse is that?

‘One that didn’t finish school’ Jimmy thought to himself as he made his way to medical room. It was always his job. And Captain Curly just had to leave him to solve everyone’s problems. Everyone made him do their job, even the dead ol’ Captain. Captain Curly. What a joke.

Jimmy scoffed lightly as he entered the medical room, seeing what was left of their former captain. The familiar feeling of anger bubbled in him as he made his way over to the table. Even after the crash, after all the horrific injuries, Curly is still better. For any reason, pity, genuine admiration, pure curiosity, whatever reason the crew hard curly was still favored.

‘Oh how I wish Curly could be captain again’ The voice of god knows who rang in his ears. “Shut up…” He mumbled to himself as he fumbled with the pill bottle. He was aware enough to know when it wasn’t real, at least with small things like that. He didn’t know why his state of mind was suddenly so… challenging. Maybe it was the cabin fever, though he had experiences of this before they were trapped in a wrecked ship.

Curly always helped, kept him grounded… could always bring him back from whatever world his mind got lost in. Just another way he’s so much better. Jimmy hated him, every fiber of his being, even now when he was this… pathetic pile of human meat. Can’t even talk or blink, or take his own fucking medicine.

Jimmy swore under his breath as he dropped some pills on the floor. He simply picked them up and put them back in the bottle. Pills that were on the floor for 2 seconds are the least of anyone’s worries. When he stood up, pouring the pills back into the bottle, he was startled by a sudden voice. That one was real. He was sure. But it couldn’t be…

“When did you get so clumsy, Jim?” Curly chuckled from the doorway, leaning on the frame so casually. Jimmy looked at him like he had five heads. At Curly, then at the cot, back to Curly. It was now empty. Or was it. The whole area was kind of fuzzy.

His mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to find the words. “You’re…”

“Waiting on you?” Curly chuckled and pushed off the doorframe. “Wat’cha doing in here anyway? Anya tries to keep this place neat, not messing it up for her I hope.”

Jimmy looked down at the table. Where did the pain medication go? Now he felt lightheaded. The crash, Curly’s injuries… they couldn’t possibly have all been a delusion of his. It was so long, so detailed. He braced against the table for stability.

“I just feel a little sick, uhm… I’m fine though.” He hesitantly looked back at Curly, who had moved closer to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He looked so fucking sincere. Jimmy had been so caught off guard, he had completely forgotten about his rage, his deep hatred for his “friend”, his captain.

Curly’s icy blue eyes searched his own, he suddenly felt like a fly under a magnifying glass. “Are you having issues again?” The words hit Jimmy like a brick. Of course perfect captain Curly could read him like a book. Every goddamn time. He always knew, somehow, always.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You can talk to me-“

“I’m fine!” Jimmy slammed his fist into the table. Curly didn’t flinch, not like the others would have. He panted lightly and dragged his hand down his face. His mind raced with questions, which reality was real? And why can’t he tell like he could any other time? As much as he hated it he knew what to do. “Wh… where’s Anya?” He huffed. He truly does just need a nurse right now.

Curly frowned and leaned back slightly. “In the lounge. I can get her for you, you should sit down, I’ll be quick.” He gently pushed Jimmy to sit on the desk. As Curly went to walk away, Jimmy tugged on his sleeve.

“Wait just… stay a minute I- don’t wanna be left alone.” His voice was weak. God he sounded pathetic, and he knew he’d kick himself for that later, even if this was fake. It’ll certainly be a moment he thinks about when falling asleep. How fucking pathetic he sounded begging Curly not to leave him. What a joke.

Curly had always been his rock, his grip on reality, even after the crash if he just came and spoke to Curly he would feel better. Why is everything now falling apart, why is he only now struggling. Maybe he was struggling the entire time and had no idea. That had to be it… the accident all of it was… he didn’t actually fuck up. He knew he couldn’t have. Of course he didn’t.

The captain didn’t question when Jimmy started to act even more… odd. Or perhaps it’s considered normal in this case. It seemed like Jimmy was examining him, lifting his arms and feeling at them. Curly was confused, but knew better than to question things when Jimmy got like this.

He only started to question when Jimmy’s hands went to his face, feeling around like it wasn’t such an invasion of his space. “Jim, what are you doing, exactly?”

“Just checking…” Is all Jimmy mumbled as his fingers traced over Curly’s skin. Curly reached up and took the brunette’s hands in his own.

“Listen, everything’s fine, okay? See I’m still here, and you are. Everything’s fine.” Curly smiled down at him. “Now, come on, you can’t hide in here forever. I still need my co-Pilot.”

That definitely set Jimmy straight. Any ounce of confusion left was replaced with the rage he is so familiar with. And that damn perfect smile, like nothing was wrong in the world. It drove him crazy. Curly interrupted his train of thought. “There’s another psych eval coming up. I’ll be the one to give it to you again-“

“I’m not doing that shit.” Jimmy scoffed and slid off the table.

“I think you need it Jim, you seem so out of it.”

“What part of ‘I’m fine’ do you not fucking understand?” Jimmy turned away from him, running his hand through his greasy hair. He tried to gather himself, not seem like he’s falling apart at the seams. The last thing he needs is more reasons for Curly to be better than him. With a heavy sigh, he finally turned back around, only to find the Captain gone.

He glanced around briefly, then checked out the door. It wasn’t unusual for Curly to walk away from him when he got like this, but usually Jimmy could tell. He turned back to face the room, and was met with the familiar sight of the captain on the cot, wrapping in bandages, his one eye staring at Jimmy. He felt dizzy again, leaning against the doorframe to steady himself.

After a moment of just staring at each other, Jimmy watching his one eye for any sign of emotion, he made his way over to Curly. “What the fuck are you looking at. Huh? Captain?” He looked over Curly, hair falling to frame his face and cast it in ominous shadow. “You like watching me fall apart like this huh? Makes you happy? You always liked it, that’s why you kept me around. Something you could fix? Something to make you look better?” Jimmy scoffed and grabbed the pills off the counter.

“Time for your medicine.”

[lenny-link]

Meet femScout’s Pa! 👔

[mikufigureoftheday]

💌Today's Miku "figure" is:💌

Sony's Project Diva 2nd Pack PSP-3000 Bundle (2010)

[heartorbit]

figure skating set right now please. thanks

[newttxt]

and thats a wrapppppppp!!

from the 10th and final chapter of utilities included

masterpost

[bubblingsteam]

[snoelledarts]

“Hey babe does Jason have to come with us on EVERY date?” “He has separation anxiety if I leave him by himself he’ll chew on the doors.” “…Okay…”

[michaelsworddean]

castiel the gay angel literally floored every single one who was ever obsessed with dean with his swag you can’t make this up. he got dean winchester on his knees bro. not even amara’s link to dean could stand his autistic homosexual powers

[ekholocationn]

WONDERHOY!! ★🜲

[fffanii]

09.23.24

this is so dumb

[hoshinasblade]

one-sided enemies to (hopefully) lovers trope featuring hoshina soshiro

your blood boils every time you hear hoshina soshiro's laugh.

it is less about the shrill sound of his laughter but more about the fact that something about the guy unsettles you - from how his standard-issued uniform jacket is zipped midway his chest to his ridiculous hairstyle that does nothing to diminish his appeal on the operations managers to how he is undeniably the strongest close-quarters combatant in the entire defense force. everything about hoshina soshiro disturbs you, and there came a time that even your own division commander got a bit weirded out - gen narumi has this bone to pick with vice-captain hoshina, but you technically have nothing. "bad vibes," you responded once when asked why you seem to hate the guts of the man who can be compared to the literal sunshine of their division.

you were in for a rude awakening when you discovered that hoshina's laugh actually sounds a thousand times worse when shared with another woman who is not you.

your already foul mood rockbottomed when you saw the vice-captain whispering a joke on an operations manager - okonogi, you think is her name. the realisation felt like cold water poured suddenly on you: maybe you hate hoshina soshiro because you being in love with him is an idea too frightening that you did not have the choice but to deny it. after all it's been said that love and hatred are the faces of the same coin.

"oh, if it isn't narumi's right-hand woman", hoshina teased once you are in front of him in the training rooms. the defense force divisions hold a annual conference that are really more of an informal meet for the officers from the entire country. after a short session of the leading officials where top-secret strategies are discussed, a customary face-off between representatives of the divisions commence. this year it has been decided that close-quarters fighting techniques will be assessed, thus a sparring match between you from the first division, and hoshina soshiro from the third.

"i hope you know you're going down," hoshina winked, obviously provoking you. well, two can play at this game.

"as long as you're the one on top of me, i'm cool." your retort was enough to make hoshina blush. mission accomplished.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

YOU DRINK YOUR COFFEE BLACK AND WE ARE AFRAID OF EACH OTHER ; SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; shoko makes you a morning cup of coffee; turns out she’s not very good at that, but it’s the thought that counts.

word count; 4.2k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader (but written w a fem!reader in mind), fluff fluff fluff!!, just normal morning shenanigans at the ieiri household, implied stsg (my brand), shoko can be a girlfailure. as a treat, reader is absolutely whipped (and so am i)

a/n; been writing too much gojo n geto lately. neglecting my wife :((((((( let it be known that i am a shoko stan first human second. this one is for my wlws pls eat up!!!!

you wake up to the sound of your girlfriend’s voice.

melodic and soft, low and saccharine; almost like she’s coaxing you out of hiding. a sound so lovely you wish you could drown in it, laced together with a distinctly raspy tilt, one you can only attribute to the copious amounts of cigarettes she smoked back in high school. a leftover residue, bittersweet memories ghosting her lips — one that gets you a little bit weak in the knees.

in the mornings, it’s particularly prominent, a little intoxicating. manifesting itself as a shiver down your spine, a jolt of your heartbeat, a flush on your skin for every word that she speaks. it’s enough to have you slipping from sleep’s embrace, carried back into the cradle of reality.

why you notice her voice first, and not the smell of something burning — or the sound of insistent beeping — is honestly beyond you. 

it doesn’t take long for your sleepy brain to react, however, a pang of anxiety rushing through your slumbering veins. hurriedly stirring you awake. abrupting your dreamlike, drowsy state, tangled up in silken sheets with your neck smudged by lipstick marks; an alluring red, one shoko typically favors when she’s going out for a drink. coming home just a tiny bit tipsy, affectionate and giggly.

and when your eyelids finally flutter open, your mind melting into the motion of the waking world, you shoot up in a sudden bout of panic.

because fuck, you belatedly, groggily realize — that’s the fucking fire alarm.

and shoko is spewing curses, from afar, loud enough that you can hear it even through the fog of fatigue that clouds your brain. a raspy string of words that you don’t quite catch, but they’re enough to have you scrambling out of bed, nearly bumping into the doorframe as you kick the blanket off your legs.

”what happened?” you croak out, chest heaving a little, having stumbled into the smoke-filled kitchen. disgruntled, reeling with the aftermath of your deep slumber, cold air nipping at your bare skin. the balcony door is open, and the smell of rain invades your apartment.

when you look out the window, all you see is a gray sky, blanketed by a thick coating of wool. smothered by clouds, not a single ray of sunlight slipping through the cracks. the world smells dewy and sweet, asphalt and flowers melting into a nostalgic fragrance, one that reminds you a bit of high school smoke breaks — huddling under the slide at the nearest playground, watching a pretty girl wrap her lips around a cigarette, exhaling smoke just for it to melt into the pouring rain.

one that reminds you a bit of the woman right in front of you, balancing on a chair and stretching her goosebump-ridden arms towards the ceiling, wearing nothing but a lacey bra and a pair of unbuttoned jeans. messy hair that cascades down her back, brows furrowed, eyes simmering with irritation — before flitting over to meet your own.

shoko blinks. then sighs. ”you woke up?” she mutters, and you try not to shiver when the tremor of her voice deepens, morning-fatigue seeping into the syllables. “fuck. sorry, i —”

she stumbles a little, shifting her weight from one foot to another, and you take a step forward. on instinct, as if getting ready to cushion her fall. ready to be of service, in any way you can.

”don’t worry,” she fumbles with the fire alarm, clicking her tongue. nails scraping against plastic. “it’s fine, i just need to — there we go.” 

finally, the beeping stops. and your shoulders relax, immediately, the tight little ball inside your chest untangling. with a deep inhale, the fragrance of espresso and smoke fills your nostrils, and a sense of calm washes over you. rooting your feet to the floor. 

shoko settles down, too, seating herself on the wooden chair. a huff slipping from her lips. they’re smudged, a blurry red she still hasn’t found the energy to wipe away. 

bringing a hand up to card through her hair, lithe fingers in between her messy auburn locks, she exhales. a blend between fatigue and relief.

”god. i need a cig.”

a moment passes. she raises her head, and sees the sleepy little pout playing at your lips — her eyes softening. blooming with something fond. giving you a smile, tired, small. but reassuring. 

”i’m just kidding, love,” she chuckles. “relax.”

”don’t joke about that,” you frown, rubbing the sleep from your weary eyes. stifling a tiny yawn. ”.. took me so long to get you to quit.”

(sometimes you can still see the smoke leave her lungs when she exhales.)

shoko keeps smiling, but doesn’t say anything else. the pitter patter of rain against your balcony railing fills the silence of the kitchen, still brimming with a light layer of smoke, slowly dwindling. cold air drawing it out. clad only in one of suguru’s old t-shirts, you shiver, and shoko seems to notice.

“good morning,” she coaxes, opening her arms slightly — and you move forward, a moth to a flame. without thinking. “sorry for waking you.”

she wraps her arms around your waist, attaching her jaw to the curve of your shoulder, and you melt into the embrace. leaning close, to tuck yourself into her neck. she smells like lavender shampoo. “‘s fine,” you mumble, a yawn muffled into her collarbone. “what happened? are you okay?”

when her plump lips press against the sensitive skin of your neck, right next to one of the kiss marks she left there last night, you can’t help but shiver again. she must feel it, because you can hear the smile she’s trying to bite back in her voice when she answers.

“mm,” she hums, a gravelly noise that makes your throat clog up a little. “just burned something, it’s fine. don’t worry.”

tentatively, you take a step back. just to see her. gazing down at her, into her hazel eyes, the fading crescents beneath them. not as dark as they used to be, not as heavy with lost sleep.

shoko is gorgeous. always, every single day, but you think she’s particularly breathtaking like this. when it’s early, and she’s groggy and a little disheveled, eyes weary and lipstick smudged — bra strap close to slipping off her shoulder, black lace against pale skin, moles littering her forearms and chest like star clusters. oversized jeans that expose the curve of her waist, the fat of her hips, and you don’t notice how intently you’re staring until shoko’s raspy voice reaches your burning ears.

“eyes up here, baby.”

you do as you’re told, and she stifles a chuckle. eyes rich with amusement. you try not to blush.

“sorry.” you chew at the inside of your cheek. eyes trailing to the houseplants by the windowsill. “.. you’re just so pretty.”

shoko tilts her head, an exasperated little breath rolling off her tongue. almost a coo. she’s incapable of blushing; but if she wasn’t, you’re sure she'd blush. 

“thanks.” her touch is light, fingertips trailing down the expanse of your arm. “you are, too. red is a good colour on you.”

you blink. shoko’s eyes are crinkled at the edges, soft lines of crows’ feet, and you huff when you realize she’s talking about the marks on your neck. suddenly a little self-conscious, you bring a hand up to rub at the skin — as if hoping to wipe them away. you doubt it works. shoko just breathes out an airy chuckle, getting up from her seat.

she looks tired, still. stretching her limbs out, sleepily, blinking drowsily.

and it’s odd, you think. that she got up this early, that she didn’t cling to you and make you stay with her in bed like she usually does. you don’t know anyone who loves sleeping in more than shoko does. especially after a night out.

so it’s strange. very strange.

“hey, sho.”

“hm?”

you tilt your head. “why are you up this early, anyway?”

she blinks, and then glances at the clock on the wall. ticking idly, counting down. when she looks back at you, she’s got a single eyebrow raised. “it’s not really early.”

“for you it is,” you quip, something resembling a grin tugging at your lips. and she rolls her eyes, smiling, before linking her arm with yours. bringing you to the stove.

“i was, uh —“ a pause. she does a little cough under her breath, clearing her throat. “trying to make coffee.”

silently, you look at the mess in front of you; what used to be your squeaky-clean stovetop, now stained with a muddy, rusty residue. an unassuming coffee pot sits to the side, having seemingly boiled over, smoke still drifting up into the air.

shoko cringes, a little, before a wry smile makes its way to her lips. ”it was…” she clicks her tongue. sighing softly. ”an attempt.”

”… wait.” you turn to look at her, dubiously, and she avoids your gaze. ”that’s what you burned? coffee?” still no answer. a tiny smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help it if your voice comes out sounding a little teasing. ”how is that even possible?”

”look,” shoko exhales, heavy. ”i don’t know, okay? i think it was the coffee grounds, or something. i look away for one second, and it’s just —”

a little giggle slips from your lips, and shoko shoots you a glare. mostly harmless, but she untangles her arm from your own. ”sorry, it’s just —” you apologize, failing to hide your amusement. ”why didn’t you just use the espresso machine, honey?”

she bites her lip, and you think she might be just a little embarrassed. averting her gaze, briefly flitting towards the machine in question. ”… i didn’t know how to use it,” she mutters. ”i’ve seen you do it, obviously, but i never paid attention to the steps.”

a smile graces your lips. “it’s not that complicated once you know how it works,” you nudge her arm with your elbow. ”it just looks that way.”

she hums. a click of her tongue, as she adjusts her bra strap. ”well, anyway. i tried. so.”

”right.” you try to stifle a grin, to no avail. ”so… you burned your coffee.”

”and woke you up.” she grins, herself, just a tiny bit self-deprecating. but pretty, always, hair falling over her eyes when she tilts her head. ”a mess, aren’t i?”

”not at all.”

shoko looks at you, and your eyes meet hers. unflinchingly. tired irises falling into the gentle hue of your own, trickling down to the curve of your lips. there’s an honesty to your voice that she’s never quite been able to deal with. 

(love, she thinks. a kind of love she finds somewhat hard to stomach. a sea of acceptance that she fears she’ll eventually drown in.)

before she can properly fall into a morning spiral, you stretch your neck a bit, idly, and she gets a good look at the red marks littering your skin. the way your pulse beats at the base of your throat. tender, slight, a mantra she’s grown just a little bit addicted to. 

”why, though?” you hum, and shoko blinks. snapped out of her thoughts, and back into reality. back into you, the faux pout on your lips. playful, but a little confused. ”i thought i was the coffee brewer of this relationship…” 

and it’s true. you’ve been making shoko’s morning cups of coffee for a while, now, even before you moved in together. she likes it black, sometimes with a drop of cream, sometimes with a cube of sugar. never both. you think it’s very like her, to tiptoe that line between bitter and sweet — never entirely giving in to one or the other. there’s a balance to shoko, something stable. something for you to hold on to, a bitter tinge or syrupy taste that always leaves you yearning for more.

truthfully, your coffee brewing skills aren’t anything special. but it makes shoko happy, to wake up and stumble into the kitchen, being able to hug your back. being handed a cup of fresh coffee. sipping from it in silence, muttering out a groggy good morning that makes your heart flutter.

(to you, it’s precious. that lilt of her voice, that bittersweet tinge. the dearest thing in the world.)

plump bottom lip trapped between her teeth, shoko furrows her brows. ever so slightly. nails tapping at the edge of the kitchen counter, a series of satisfying clicks against the marble. “… well.” 

she clears her throat, but doesn’t say anything else. a moment passes. you try to find the answer in the curve of her lips, the crease of her brow, in the depths of her eyes — but you don’t succeed.

something discomforting settles in the bottom of your throat. almost uncertain, maybe a bit anxious. sheepish, as your tired mind spins in circles. parting your lips. hesitant.

“do you… not like the way i make it?” there’s a dejected tilt to your voice when it spills out, one that makes you feel a little silly. so you smile, or try to, eyes trailing towards the windows; you note that the rain has grown heavier. “i can change how —“

“what?” shoko cuts you off. “no. no, of course not — your coffee’s perfect. honestly.”

again, your eyes meet. and again, shoko seems to be struggling with finding the right words. or maybe she’s struggling to voice them.

“i just… haah.” she brings a hand up to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. you just watch, silent, hungry to hear the thoughts she’s not letting you in on.

a beat. again, the sound of the rain against steel railings, the scent of honeydew and concrete. espresso-flavored smoke, almost entirely faded, leaving only cold air to nip at your thighs. 

and again, as always, inevitably, your eyes are fixed on shoko — a moth to her flame. helpless to the cinders that ghost at your skin whenever she looks at you. a certain contemplation swims inside her eyes, simmering beneath the surface, as she chews gently at the plush of her lips. before turning to face you.

you can only blink. but shoko finally speaks, clearing her throat in a way that strikes you as rather sheepish.

“well — you’re always the one doing all the work. aren’t you?” her voice trickles out into the air, low and saccharine, a blanket pulled over your shoulders. so soft you hold your breath and strain your ears, just to make sure you hear it. “i guess i figured… i don’t know.”

shoko pauses, again, and you can almost delude yourself into thinking there’s a cherry red tint to the tips of her ears. when she parts her lips, that usually carefree voice of hers sounds almost meek. almost, but not quite. more like unsure. embarrassed?

another moment passes, entirely silent. shoko swallows her pride.

“.. satoru always brags about suguru making him those fucked up sugary drinks he likes,“ she mumbles. turning around, to rest her back against the counter, looking out at the downpour. “says it makes him feel so loved. or whatnot. so i just —“ 

she waves her hand, haphazardly. 

“you know.“

a beat. then another. you can physically feel your lips part, a kind of surprise weaving itself into the contours of your face. 

and when you finally speak, your voice comes out a little garbled, scrambling for the right words. not sure if you should feel deeply amused, or just a tiny bit horrified. “wait. you’re saying you…” a moment passes. silent, slow, and all you can do is blink owlishly. in disbelief.

“… got inspired by suguru?”

shoko groans, deep and gravelly, almost comically agonized. covering her face with her pretty hands. “don’t say it,” she pleads, “you’re making it sound as dumb as it is.”

a little giggle slips from your lips. accidental, but she still shoots you a displeased look, huffing under her breath. crossing her arms just to tap at her forearm with her nimble fingers. frowning.

“don’t laugh at me.”

“sorry,” you search for her gaze, but she keeps looking ahead. so stubborn. “i don’t mean to, ‘s just — not very like you, y’know?”

shoko exhales. nearly a huff, but not quite. and you think she must be embarrassed, gnawing at her lip like that, fingers eagerly searching for something to fidget with. it makes you soften, impeccably, the blood inside your veins warming up beneath your skin. stirring you, coaxing you into soothing her. your very own heartbeat seems to be a little enamored with shoko ieiri.

”i appreciate the thought,” you smile. a tender tone, sincere. lingering with amusement. “really. but let’s not base our entire relationship around satoru and suguru of all people, alright?”

and again, she sighs. brittle, a little fatigued. brows scrunching together. ”look, i —”

a pause. she gnaws at her plump bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering like a battered heartbeat. her voice comes out sounding soft, all duvet pillows and fresh lavender, a lilt that anchors you to earth. sweet words. so honest it makes your breath hitch.

”i want to take care of you.”

and this time, you’re the flustered one. burning under her gaze, feeling a heat blossom on your skin. feeling the fervent pitter patter of your heartbeat, as her pretty eyes look into yours. a nice mocha brown. 

but even with the fresh embarrassment trickling through your veins, you find it in you to speak. desperate, maybe, to cross the distance between you — even when it borders on non-existent. desperate to feel your heartbeats synchronize, figuratively or literally. to stitch them together.

“i want to take care of you, too,” you echo, looking down at the floor. and then back at your girlfriend. hesitant, a tad shy. but sincere.

a sincerity so palpable it makes shoko feel a little jealous. 

(sometimes, she finds herself wanting to put a hand inside your chest. dig around your organs, run her fingertips down every single one, until she finds what she's looking for. that miraculous something that makes you stick around, that makes you so frighteningly easy to love. that makes her want to safeguard you so terribly.)

”then let’s take care of each other,” she breathes, a small smile slipping into the curve of her lips. reaching out to brush against your knuckle, weave your fingers together. delicate. 

she clears her throat. “… i guess.” 

and you can’t help but smile. somewhat cheeky, a little teasing. “ah,” your eyes crinkle, and you stifle a coo. “did that embarrass you?”

a sharp little scoff. shoko gives you a lazy grin, paired with a soft roll of her eyes. brushing her thumb across your knuckles, even still. “oh, shut up.”

the world seems to still, ever so slightly, as you look into each other’s eyes. like everything else is just background noise, from the pitter patter of the rain to the fading smell of coffee all around you. shoko looks at you like she’s trying to see inside your brain, see what makes you tick, see you for what you are.

and when she eventually leans in for a kiss, you’re pliant. expectant. her lips against yours, breathing you in, as soft as ever. like she’s afraid of getting too greedy. she tastes like nectar and cosmetics.

“give me some time,” she says, after pulling back. hands on your waist, squeezing softly. “i’ll make you another cup right now.”

”sure you don’t want me to do it?” you ask. “i don’t mind.”

another little scoff. offended. ”look, i’m not incompetent, okay? i’m just not used to it.” she untangles herself from you, warmth slipping away. you will yourself not to chase it. “just stand there and look pretty for me.”

and she smiles, when those words make you giggle, infected by your sleepy joy. something soft and silky blooms inside her ribcage, mirrored by the glimmer in your eyes when you intertwine your hands again. fingertips brushing against each other, delicate, a love that’s handled with care.

”.. i like making you coffee,” you whisper after a beat. smiling. under your breath, like you’re telling her a secret. ”it makes me happy.”

a moment passes. something in shoko’s bones still, for a second, enough for you to notice. and her eyes fill with a kind of hesitance. doubt, maybe. or fear.

when shoko opens up to you, it’s always like this. sleepy, rainy days, or tipsy afternoons. in no more than a whisper, a fragile breath, the ghost of a confession. when you can feel her heartbeat, one finger on her wrist, listening to the rhythm of her pulse. intimate. a little clumsy, but…

”i just don’t want you to spend too much of yourself on me.”

the words are spoken in passing, almost casually, a lighthearted kind of resignation. a hungry ghost. one that follows her, follows you. suguru and satoru, too. there’s a lump in her throat, you can tell, something that makes it a little harder to say what she means. an intimacy that frightens her in a way nothing else can; frightened to hold it in her palms, to keep it close without having it break apart.

(not just her — you all are. all four of you. that’s why you've always been together, you think, why you always will be. four hedgehogs huddling together in the cold of night, too desperate for warmth to stay away from each other's spines.)

carefully, almost cautiously, you bring her hand to your lips. as if you’re handling a flimsy sheet of glass. featherlight, a touch so tender you hope she knows what you’re about to say before the words leave your throat.

“you’re worth it,” is whispered against her skin, your lips against her knuckles. shoko softens, but you think the sigh that slips from her lips sounds just a little shaky. “always.”

and finally, you know you aren't deluding yourself. it’s there, visible, the cherry red of her ears; a red that matches the lipstick on your skin. a flush that never travels down to her face. but it’s enough.

she clears her throat. voice beginning to change shape, slowly but surely, morning fatigue peeled off with the ticking of the clock. there’s still a raspy residue, leftover smoke that’ll never quite leave her lungs, but it’s silkier now. trickling like honey from her parted lips.

and it’s terribly soft, her tongue twisting around the vowels, a low lilt that drips with tenderness. she wills herself to smile. tired, but fond. “just let me make you one cup, then.”

so you do.

you let her, after briefly pointing out the functions of the far too expensive espresso machine that satoru bought you when you first moved in, and she listens intently. those pretty eyes, the intelligence behind them, her lips pursed in focus. shoko’s a genius, you’ve always thought — so effortlessly good at memorization, at figuring out how things work. what ties everything together. 

you think it’s a little comical that she struggled so much with making coffee, of all things, but you choose to attribute it to her slight hangover.  

because she’s focused, when she begins to fiddle with the machine. attentive. as if she’s dissecting it. a satisfaction in the way she moves, the way everything clicks into place as she works. everything serves a purpose, every single part in the machinery, every tube or pump of caffeine. she compares it to the human body, a glint in her eyes, and you can’t disagree.

all you can do is watch her. silently, entirely mesmerized. sitting on the kitchen counter, bare thighs against the marble, swinging your legs. telling her about the dream you had, while she listens. always.

a fresh, thick aroma of espresso and rainwater begins to waft through the apartment. one you drink in, greedy, steam filling your lungs. as you admire how the tiny droplets bounce off the hyacinths blooming on your balcony.

and when she’s finished, producing one cup of espresso, tailored to your liking, you can’t still the beating of your heart. unsure if you should blame it on the caffeine yet to enter your veins, or the proud smile that lingers on your girlfriend’s lips. maybe the way her fingers curl around the handle, the way a soft here, baby, spills from her smudged lips. all of the above, probably.

she’s gorgeous. breathtaking. sometimes you want to give her everything, more than you could live without. your heart, your lungs, your eyes. anything she asks for.

but she would never. all she’ll ever need is for you to keep sticking around, keep telling her about your silly dreams, keep letting her feel the beat of your pulse at the base of your throat. a mantra she’s fallen a little bit in love with.

and when you put your lips against the ceramic, and a bittersweet scent fills your lungs, you think you can taste it. that care, a love soft enough to mend all the jagged edges of your heart.

shoko smiles. smoothing a stray eyelash from your skin, thumb against your cheekbone. “how is it?”

(you swear it’s the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had.)

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

I'm slowly making my way through a new project- editing the entirety of the album PUNCH by Autoheart to the Life Series.

I was originally planning to post all of the edits in order of the songs on the album, but I instead made the Lent one first and am too excited to keep it in my drafts any longer while I work on the first four songs of the album (especially since we're coming up on finals seasons and the amount of time I'll have to work on these is gonna plummet so fast). So instead, I'll be posting them as I make them and make a masterpost of them all in order at the end.

That being said, I hope you enjoy this! I'm really proud of it and a lot of work went into it.