#it properly BUT it’s enough mental breakdown for me this week

[drenched-in-sunlight]

random math moment but two-handing a weapon will multiply STR stat by 1.5, Marika hammer requires 20 STR, 12 DEX and 19 FTH.

Marika has to hold it in two hands in order to wield it which means girlie’s base stat is probably just 14 STR, 12 DEX and 70 FTH (Minor Erdtree incantation) 💀

like… im wheezing cuz yeah i still draw her with muscles and all, but all that is just for show. This woman puts all her points into faith !!! [Faith build is viable joke here]

Also if it’s Radagon he can hold the hammer with one hand. (“Here i abandon my STR and DEX build”)

And the thing is, faith build is actually viable in Elden Ring! when it’s her kids! (Miquella, Malenia, Messmer, Godwyn’s faith-scaling spells are all offensive spells), and Radagon who is INT-FTH hybrid (i have a lore rant about how one of the reasons he married into Carian line is to integrate offensive spells into power of Gold)

[satowooo]

kiss it better

Suguru always hated it when you break up with him when you're having a mental breakdown. So what's he gonna do to make his baby feel better?

contents. slight academic rivals to lovers (barely mentioned), suguru x reader, eventual smut, fluff, cowgirl, bottom suguru, slapping, rough sex, pet names, degration, not proofread.

Do what you gotta do, keep me up all night.

your relationship with suguru became on and off ever since you two started dating. he could vaguely remember why, but he knows one thing.

your relationship with him started off as enemies. he remembers how you were always so angry at him, your bratiness showing every time he was a step further than you in academics.

being a straight A student is something that he likes to brag about, knowing that you're right there to keep him on his toes because you're just as smart as him. he knows how you tire yourself to study every night and day, sleeping and almost living in the library whenever an exam week is coming, never going out of your room and not eating until you understood and memorized all your notes, and how you'd never talk to him the whole time you're busy studying. and what does he hates the most? you breaking up with him for it.

you're a top student, but you're always in second place because he beats you to it. it never fails to make you upset, but you don't really blame suguru for being good at what he does. rather, you blame yourself for not studying enough as if your brain is already not about to explode for every information that you try to force into your brain.

and suguru hates it enough that you have to break up with him just for you to torture yourself in the confines of your room with all the papers and academic works controlling over your body and mind. he hates it everytime because he knows how hard you are being to yourself.

“baby, i’m coming inside, okay?” suguru called outside your door after knocking several times. he didn't wait for another answer as he twists the knob, pushing the door open.

“suguru, no-”

he heard your sniffles. and his heart ache at the sight before him.

you were sitting at your study desk. papers scattered around in a mess, some of it drenched in your tears. your eyes reddened, and you looked at him in frustration as you stood up.

“i told you to leave me alone, suguru.” you said, wiping your tear stained cheek.

he looks over at your bed, to the crumpled sheets, feathers flying around from your pillow, knowing that you probably had been punching it in your frustration. he sighs and walks over to you, immediately cupping your cheeks to look you in the eyes.

“you think breaking up with me would solve the problem?” he whispers softly, kissing your eyes, your tears.

you looked away, tilting your head to the side so as to not look at him. “it's for the better. you're only distracting me from my studies.”

he closed his eyes tightly, before holding your jaw so you could face him properly. your hands clutched his shirt at the proximity between you. “i’m distracting you?” your words sting, his heart clenching at the way you're trying so hard to push him away. but he wouldn't have all that. “come on. i know you're mad. punish me then.”

“suguru-”

“i always tell you that i’m here to help. but you're too hard headed to ask for it.” his tone was firm, his eyes turning dark at the way you tried to get away from his grasp. he lets out an exasperated breath before loosening his grip from you. “don't hurt yourself, baby. hurt me instead.”

“suguru, you don't understand. i am angry, fine, i admit.” the grip you had on his shirt tightened, a shaky breath escaping from your lip as tears started to form on your eyes again. “i don’t want to take it out on you when i’m clearly a mess, suguru. you don't get it because you're always too good and i’m not enough. i can't be enough for you if i’m like this-”

once again, suguru cut you off. your words flying off his ear as he interrupted you with a fierce kiss. his tongue darting out for entrance and you didn't push him away. your words muffled from the way he pressed his lips, making you shut up and revel onto your desires as your lips parted, your tongue delving out to taste him.

all your worries easily slipped away. his thumb swiftly wiping the tear that escaped your eyes while not breaking the kiss. he pulled away for a moment before capturing it once again, this time gentler than the first.

to suguru, it was always the same words no matter how much he reassured you. so what's he going to do? make you feel like the queen you deserved to be.

“come on, princess. just like that.” he grunted, his hand gripping on your hips as he slammed you down on his cock. “come on, tell me how mad you are right now. let me hear you.”

“f-fuck you, suguru…” you gasps, your hips rocking back and forth deliciously on his shaft. your teeth were clenched in frustration, your anger still brewing inside your heart by the way he had you easily straddling him.

“that's it, baby. let it out, let it all out on me.” he coos, gently running his fingers on your spine. the action sent shivers all over your body, your thrust rapidly increasing by each second. “you're so mad, aren't you? you don't like it when i'm doing good?”

"s-stop... ahh..." you huffed, face flushed as your pussy clenched around him. your hips were beginning to ache for how harsh you were slamming against his lap. and he had that annoying look on his face that got you riled up.

you know exactly what he's trying to do. suguru wants a reaction. for you to let it out on him. to be mad at him instead of being mad at yourself.

he gripped your ass firmly, a knowing smirk etched on his lip. “do i make you cry, princess? because i’m better? in studies… and even in fucking you?”

that definitely strikes a nerve right there. your pace increasing, your nails digging on his shoulder from how hard you're holding onto him. “shut up… sh-shut up…”

“that all you got?” he said darkly, sweat forming in his forehead. he gave your ass a firm squeeze before landing a smack, making you jolt in pleasure. “you're so fucking pathetic, princess. you're really crying over that? you look so fucking dumb with my cock inside-”

a harsh slap on his cheek echoed all over the room. your breathing coming in short gasps, while suguru was smiling. he was fucking smiling.

the slap reddened his cheek but it didn't even look like it hurt him. he huffed and squeezed your hip. suguru was drowned in pure bliss as he groaned, your hips thrusting so harshly, squeezing his cock like there's no tomorrow.

“fuck, baby…” he growled, the sting of your slap erotic and pleasurable that it got him ramming his hip upward. you could see the veins on his neck popping out, his eyes darkening as his fingers found your breasts. “fuck y-yeah… do that again, hm? show me how much you fucking hate me…”

you moaned, your back arching and body pressing against his chest. his lips latched on your nipple, while his other hand found your clit. he rubbed circles against it, making you cry and scratch your nails on his chest.

“you’re so worked up for all your studies, and for what?” he sneered, chuckling darkly at you. you bit your lip as another slap went across his cheek, feeling all the anger forcing its way to give him what he wants. you knew damn well that suguru was enjoying on riling you up, coaxing you to take it out on him by saying those words that he knew would gain the right reaction that he needs.

“fuck you, sugu… f-fuck you…”

“doing so well for me, baby.” he leaned forward to capture your lips, his lips grazing your earlobe. “you can do more than that, don't you?”

your thrusts became more erratic as his voice rang over your ears. you grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging it down so he could look at you. your face was a mix of both anger and pleasure, a sight that made suguru feel more aroused. he groaned as your hand flew over on his cheek again, his eyes glistening with lust.

“ohh, f-fuck!” the thumb on your clit increased its pace, as slaps after slaps on his face kept coming, eager to erase that stupid grin on his lips.

suguru grunted, his moans getting louder each second that it syncs with your sounds. your hand traveled up his throat, pressing on gently enough to restrict his breathing.

he let out a strangled laugh causing you to land another slap on his face. he can't believe that he felt so fucked out, enjoying the pleasure and roughness that you were giving him. the angered look on your face made his cock twitch inside you.

your hips thrusts up and down. up and down. unrelenting. it became frantic as his cock hit your right spots, driving you wild in ecstasy.

he could feel your pussy clenching around his cock, your thrusts became more urgent, your gripped on his neck beginning to tighten. his eyes were tied shut, suguru’s chest heaving as your wetness engulfed his cock.

“i’m cumming, baby. f-fuck, you gon’ cum, princess? you're doing so good- f-fucking hell…”

he hears your whines. his name rolling out of your tongue in desperation to reach your high. he bucked his hips, thrusting forward to meet yours, pistoning in and out furiously as the pleasure built up.

“suguru! ahh! hhk-” your hips shattered, your body convulsing with your orgasm reaching its peak. suguru let out a growl in pleasure, his hands squeezing your ass firmly. his own orgasm quickly approached, hot semen spurting right inside your sweet hole.

he breathes heavily, thrusting his cum right inside you slowly, making sure that nothing would come to waste. your hands released his neck, seeing how it turned red by the way you gripped so harshly. even his face was all flushed from all the slapping you did, with a small bruise forming on his temple, but suguru had a grin on his face.

his hair disheveled, chest heaving as you both catch your breaths. “still mad, baby?”

you shake your head, looking at him apologetically. “not anymore. i’m sorry, did i hit you too hard?”

suguru chuckled, his eyes half-lidded from the pleasure you just gave him. he took your hand in his, kissing your palm softly. “i fucking loved it, baby.”

he looks at you lovingly. suguru has already memorized you like the back of his hands, from your body to your heart and beneath your soul. and he'll do anything to make you feel better, to make you feel loved and cared for. he adores you so much that he wouldn't allow letting your insecurities pull you down.

suguru holds your hips, rocking yourself gently on his cock. your eyes rolling back, a soft moan escaping from your lips. he smiled, resting his head on the crook of your neck. “you're enough, baby. always remember that, okay?” he looked up at you before placing a kiss on your forehead. you basked into the aftermath of your lovemaking, your head falling on his chest as you nodded at his words. “don't ever doubt your abilities. failure is inevitable, it's a part of ourselves that symbolizes the efforts we do for trying.” suguru whispers, gently placing kisses all over your face. “and i love you for all your flaws and failures. don't ever think that you're not enough for me.”

🙂‍↕️ i genuinely want to make an academic rivals to lovers fic/series with suguru

[byeoltoyuki]

Mine

↳ Pairing: Dad-Minho x reader

❧ Genre: fluff

❧ Words: +1k

❧Summary : Let's say that Minho was not too happy to find out that his little girl got herself a boyfriend.

❧ A/N: I think I might be addicted to dadMinho, sue me.

***

“Stop stomping your foot.” You poked Minho’s arm. 

He stopped and slowly turned his face to look at you. No, not to look at you. To scowl at you. It was cute how he thought he could intimidate you even after three years of marriage, six years of relationships and eleven years of friendship. You had seen it all. So no, his little act of intimidation didn’t faze you. Not the slightest. Instead you smiled sweetly at him. 

He grumbled. “I’m just excited to see my little girl after a whole week away.” 

You were tempted to tease him, to point out to him that he looked more upset than excited, but your face softened at his words. Maybe he looked a little grumpy, but you knew how he felt deep inside. Minho hated leaving for more than a day. Not that you wanted to flatter yourself, but apparently the man couldn’t properly function away from you for too long. Or your little girl. He needed the two of you every day; to hear your voices, your laughs that he adored so much, to be able to touch you. 

“She’s excited too.” You said as you grabbed his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

Nari was more than excited. You couldn’t force her to sleep last night no matter how hard you tried. The girl, sadly for the two of you, was just as stubborn as her parents, at only five years old. But you understood her feelings, her longing. She wanted to see her daddy just as much as you did. FaceTiming with him every night wasn’t the same. Reading her a story before bed through the phone was not enough. She missed his presence, his warm hugs. 

“I’m happy you’re back.” You leaned closer and pecked his lips. “I missed you.” 

Minho relaxed at your words and a smug smile spread across his face. “Did you now?” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him.

“Minho.” You warned him. You didn’t mind his display of affection, you craved his touches. But you were still standing in the middle of the street along with many other parents. Mothers who got a little too noisy for your liking. 

Before you could make any other protests, Minho claimed your mouth, shutting you up, pressing you even more against him. Resigned, you bit playfully on his lips, ignoring the loud gasps close to you. 

The loud laughs of kids interrupted your sweet moment. Minho dropped you instantly, his eyes already on the dozens of kids running to their parents. Of course he would forget all about you so easily. You chuckled to yourself and watched him from the side. 

The happiness in his eyes only intensified as he eyed the kids, trying to spot Nari among them. But it got quickly replaced with a scowl. 

“What the fuck.” He muttered and took a step. 

You followed his eyes and winced. Yeah, maybe you should have mentioned that your five years old girl got herself a boyfriend. You took Minho’s hand, forcing him to stay still. “Minho.” 

“Who the fuck is he?” He growled, “And why is he holding Nari’s hand?” You couldn’t ignore his murderous aura even if you tried. And judging by how quickly people around you took steps back, they felt it too. 

“Minho.” 

“I’m going to-“

“Lee Minho. Calm the fuck down. They’re five. It’s not that serious.” When Nari had told you about her boyfriend, your first reaction was to laugh so hard you had to hold your stomach. But then Nari had scowled at you, the typical Lee Minho’s scowl, and it made you pause. She had been serious. You thought it was cute but you should have considered Minho’s reaction. The ever overprotective dad. 

Minho looked at you, devastated, lost and also still so upset. You should feel bad for him and comfort him but you just couldn’t help but laugh. This situation was getting more and more ridiculous. 

“Daddy!!” Nari squealed, so excited, so happy. 

Minho instantly forgot all about his mental breakdown and spun around, arms opened wide to welcome her in his arms. And she did. Nari jumped in his arms and giggled loudly and sweetly. The best sound in the world.

“I missed you!!” She gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

“I missed you too.” He scooped her in his arms and spun her around, thriving in the sound of her giggles and huge smile. 

Your heart swelled with love and pride at your little family. Minho and Nari were everything you could dream of, hope for in life. They filled your heart with so much fondness and need to protect. The perfect little family.

“Hi mommy!” Nari waved cutely her hand, still resting safely in Minho’s arms. 

You kissed her cheek in response. “Had a good day?” 

“Yes!! I have to show you my new drawings!” 

Minho was probably about to say that her drawings were amazing without even seeing them, just because he loved her so much. But then, his eyes fell on her boyfriend, and his scowl was back. Fortunately for him, Nari was too busy telling you all about her activities. Unfortunately for you, you had to keep smiling (and not laughing at your ridiculous husband) while he was having a glaring contest with a five years old kid. Save me. 

“Daddy, can you put me back on the ground?” Nari stopped talking in the middle of her explanation and looked at her dad. “I want to say goodbye to my boyfriend.”

Minho’s body response was to obey. He put her back on the ground and realized too late what he had done. You wrapped your arm around him, to comfort him or maybe to prevent him from doing something incredibly stupid. 

“Oh hell no.” Minho growled as he watched Nari kiss the boy’s cheek, smiling so sweetly at him, whispering something in his ear, giggling together. 

“Minho. You know I love you,” You reminded him, “But I swear to god if you try to fight a five years old kid, I’m going to kick your ass.” 

Minho slowly averted his eyes from a painful scene and looked at you with gritted teeth. “She’s too damn young to kiss a stupid boy who wouldn’t be even able to protect her.”

“Yeah. They’re five. Of course he can’t fight.”

“I can fight.” 

You shook your head. “You’re not competing with a kid. Now behave.” You ordered as the boy’s parents along with Nari approached you. 

“Nari is such a little angel!” His mom beamed, heart eyes, as she watched the two of them. “Aren’t they cute together? Ah, young love.” She cooed dreamily. 

They were cute, but you would rather die than admit it for Minho’s sake. 

“How about we meet tomorrow afternoon?” His mom suggested, already excited about her plan. “They can play and we can spend some time together!” 

You felt Minho tense under your touch, followed by “Over my dead body.” 

“Sorry?” His mom asked. 

“Of course!” You stepped in. Not that you wanted to spend time with her, now that Minho was back but you could see how much the idea of playing with her boyfriend made Nari happy. “Do you mind if Minho comes too? He just got back from a trip.” 

“Of course!” 

Minho waited for them to leave before leaning dangerously close, “You’re gonna pay for his.” 

You sent him a flying kiss. If you had to suffer then so did he. “Game on, pretty boy.” 

Nari groaned and gaged. “You’re disgusting.” 

[hyuckswoman]

alumnusbf!mark helping you study

pairing: alumnus mark (who’s also your bf) x reader

genre: fluff

summary: you’re stressing over this one subject until your bf appears

“fucking hell” you mutter, your finals were in a week and you were currently studying the subject you have been dreading since the beginning of the study period. Studying for exams was not fun. Especially when you had this gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you that you were 100% going to fail.

markie

hey babe, you busy?

upon hearing the notification, you cursed at yourself as you swore you put your phone on do not disturb to avoid distractions .Yet here you were grabbing it to check the notification. turns out you did put your phone on do not disturb but since your boyfriend (who had to practically beg you to get removed off there texted you) was the origin of the notification, your phone still notified you.

being too lazy to write back, you just decided to call him

“hey, what’s up? I’m studying for my finals right now” you say after greeting him “oh really? I’m sorry to disturb then, how long have you been studying?” your boyfriend mark asks “hours. i literally had a full on mental breakdown studying the course because i suck at it and it feels like no matter how hard I study I just keep on failing” you say sighing “did you cry?” mark asks, maybe he knows you a little too well. “yea” you sigh yet again, it bothered you to see how big of a toll your academics were taking on you

“that’s a good thing then! wait no I don’t mean you crying is a good thing I meant it’s a good thing I’m on my way with food and stuff to give you a break” your boyfriend says making you laugh “mark, look I really truly appreciate it but I also really need to study” you say. honestly seeing how fucked you were because of this one course you couldn’t allow any distractions, and lord knows mark was a pretty big one

“no I know, we’ll just eat and then I’ll help you study. trust when I’ll leave you’ll be back in your academic weapon antics” mark says. after weighing your options (not that you had much of a choice seeing as though he was already on his way) you figured that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. you had the chance of having a boyfriend who already graduated which meant he already passed this course so maybe it’d actually help

“hi babe, i brought food” your boyfriend says, you were glad you had a boyfriend that supported your big backed antics. “i might make you my male wife at this point” you said as he hugged you. you guys then decided to turn on the tv and put a show none of you cared about for the sole purpose of having some background noise.

“okay, we’ve been slacking off for long enough, let’s get to studying now” your boyfriend says. you almost forgot about your finals for a second.

“okay, we’re done making the flash cards, quiz time” mark says quietly laughing upon seeing your face. “every right answer you get, i’ll kiss you” he says finding a way to motivate you as you looked like you were on the verge of dying. “I don’t think it helps, you distract me too much. i’ll probably only remember the kisses and not the actual class material” you reply. As much as it didn’t look like it you were seriously (for once) in the mood to study, you couldn’t let this pretty man distract you no more.

a short while after you were thrown over your desk defeated because what do you mean you only got like half the questions right???

“I don’t understand I’ve spent literal hours trying to memorize this shit I’m sick of it I just want it to be over” you sigh, this is the first time you’ve struggled this much over a school subject. usually being a bit above average doesn’t require you a lot of efforts so you never really tried that hard to pass your classes throughout the years. college beat the shit out of you tho!! you found yourself completely taken aback by the difficulty and you had to learn how to properly study throughout the years. if somebody asked you, you’d say you’ve got studying covered but seeing how this study session was going maybe you didn’t…

“I think you’re getting those wrong because you don’t understand this part” mark says patting your head as you mumble an ‘i know’. being the very considerate boyfriend he is, he then proceeded to explain the entirety of the material, dumbing it down whenever you looked up at him confused or when your eyebrows frowned a little too much. he also was so very patient, explaining the same things to you three different times as you had already forgotten what he said as soon as he moved on to another topic.

the dedication mark put into your academics was just too much for your heart to handle, you loved him so much and the fact he didn’t mind spending his evening studying with you instead of doing literally anything else warmed your heart. that’s why you didn’t have it in you to tell him you were getting gradually sleepier and were fighting your mind to stay awake because how could you when he looked so good concentrated trying to explain to you what you deem as the most incomprehensible subject ever.

“y/n? i feel like I��m losing your attention are you- oh.” mark says finally looking up from your study sheets seeing you asleep on your desk “pft, I didn’t know I was this boring damn” he laughs. since you were already in your pajamas and were in a position where the man could not carry you to bed he decided to gently shake you to wake you up “hm? I’m sorry I fell asleep markie, thank you for studying with me I love you. let me read the cards again to make sure I understand better” you say your voice a bit groggy “what? no go to sleep, nothing you read now will be effective just rest and sleep will take care of the memorizing for you” mark says preparing your bed for you “okay but only if you join me” you say already laying down under your covers “of course dude, let me put the things away and I’ll join you” mark says as he looks over to your half awake self that’s seemingly waiting for him

being in front of your final paper makes you realize even more how lucky you are to have mark in your life because you knew damn well that if the study session never happened you would have been shitting bricks internally crying over how much you don’t understand but now you got out of the final feeling confident you didn’t fail. you ran up to mark who was waiting for you to celebrate final period being over and he couldn’t help but mimic your immense grin as you told him how the final went better than what you had expected and thanked him for his help. He did refute by telling you it was all you and your mind but settled on taking a little bit of credit after you threatened him.

it was kinda crazy how mark made everything easy, every single thing without exception. looking at your boyfriend eating his meal you couldn’t help but smile thinking about how much you loved that man and how lucky you were to have him in your life.

[notsoverymerry]

lucky trip (k.ys x reader)

<kang yeosang x fem!reader> summary: On a particularly tiring work trip, you're forced to share a room with Yeosang; only there seems to be a problem with your sleeping arrangement… genre/warnings: smut, fluff, friends to lovers, use of pet names a/n: sure let me know anything you want! don't hold back, bby < 3 word count ~3.3k

KQ Entertainment greeted you with a piece of great news this morning. There's going to be a trip to Sokcho Beach to film a show segment. Two days and one night, and you can try yourself out as a camera operator.

Starting out in college, you weren't so sure you'd make it. Sound and video equipment is great; you always wanted to be the one in charge of setting it and making sure it works properly. Really, it's a perfect job that allows you to use your brain, and you've got a great one at that, and provides room for creativity and exploring hobbies in a workplace. You're curious about how they do weather reports and want to keep up with sports? Try to secure a place in a news studio. Want to go to concerts for free? Welcome to the venue setting-up team. Come to think of it, you'll see a show free of charge, and they'll pay you for it. Isn't is a dream come true? Working for an entertainment company was not something you expected to pick, yet it proved to be the right choice. Sure, it took a while before your company got rich enough to grant a decent, steady salary, but the results were worth it. The team was full of talented, ambitious people, and the tight setting laid out a path for you to become a true found family. You and other staff members cared deeply for each other, always ready to offer a piece of advice or listen to your problems. The band members, Ateez, were also sweet and kind, treating staff respectfully and being friendly overall. So, when you were picked for a short working trip, you felt excitement. You're going to be surrounded by friends, you're going to do your best to help create entertaining content for fans, and you're going to see a part of Korea you haven't visited before. Win-win, win. Bonus points if there's food you didn't try yet. The ride on the bus was a little less chaotic than you expected. At first, things were pretty usual: Ateez bickered and made jokes, and you and your team laughed, sometimes awkwardly. Despite the elevated mood all were in, bad traffic and members' exhaustion got the best of them. Hongjoong was the first to fall asleep, others following suit quickly. Sat closest to them, you turned the camera off for the remainder of the ride. Now you could admire Yeosang's sleeping frame and get some rest as well. Oh, he was just so beautiful, so peaceful like this. He caught your attention first. He was so polite and sweet, and a little clumsy. When everyone was on the brink of mental breakdown before their debut, he used to stride nervously around the building, bumping into you with enviable regularity. He nearly broke your DI and stage box unit, and thus, your conversation started. You weren't mad, you get it he was stressed, and he was thankful. Like that, a friendship blossomed. During breaks, he'd ask you about your week or if you finished that show you were into. You'd ask how their recent choreo's coming together or if he'd finally discovered a new favorite dish. You'd blabber something about new lighting or broken audio cables, and he'd always pick fried chicken over anything. You found him delightful. He found that he didn't care that much about cables, but still wanted to listen to you anyway. You're really passionate about your job. Your eyes sparkle when he comments on the sound being set just right for his earpiece. You can make puns about your gadgets all day long, and if Wooyoung rolls his eyes at the third one, Yeosang considers them actually funny (are they?). You're just so vibrant and so pretty, and he wants to be around you longer. Maybe he should learn to set up and help you. He thinks it could be a good idea. Maybe he should just ask you out on a date. Seonghwa thinks this idea is better.

It took about nine hours to film the first part of the show. You tried to set things up as fast as possible. Hopefully, by the end of it, you won't be completely spent. You really want to take some time to walk around; take in the scenery, breathe fresh air, and reflect on life. The beach is wide and clean; the guide said there'll be illumination until late at night, it'll probably look really nice. The water is very clear, almost looks like a pool. You just want to admire the view without needing to control the picture frame or panic that someone might get hurt. Work-free, beer in hand, ocean gazing. What could be better?  Ocean gazing with Yeosang, probably. The whole crew settled down to have a quiet one at the end of the shift. Ateez seemed to have woken up completely, now lively chatting amongst themselves, waiting for you to put the rest of the equipment away for the night. Fresh air and cold beer will do that to you. You can feel eyes linger on your busy form. Turning around, you're met with his dark eyes. He follows your movement, not realizing that he's been caught until getting nudged in his side. Oh, now he's going to be teased the whole night. ''Wanna join them? You did great today, y/n, go have some fun.'' Your colleague tries to send you off.  You like to imagine you're smooth and nonchalant about your crush on a young and very attractive singer. Your friends, though, would use other words to describe it. What is it, let's see… Tangible? Painfully obvious? Yeah, that's the one. So they try time and time again to encourage you to confess. They leave you two in the room under a variety of excuses and give you tasks that would force you to go up to him unnecessarily often. Their efforts seem to go around both of your heads. You and Yeosang like to call yourselves very good friends. Everyone around you likes to call you fools. Just so you know.  ''It's okay. I think it's time we head to the hotel. Still plenty of work tomorrow, let's get some sleep.'' ''Yeah, about that…'' You do not like the sound of that. ''We might have got the number of rooms wrong.'' What's that supposed to mean? You're not sure you understand where this conversation is going. How can you even get the number of rooms wrong?

''Wait. No, no.'' ''Yes, you're sharing a room with Yeosang, yes.'' She sounds apologetic, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, per se. ''He knows and he's okay with it!'' How did your sweet evening at the beach turn into a full-scale anxiety fair so fast? Of course he'd agree to share a room; he's way too nice. You should do a breathing exercise. It's just one night, and you're both tired, and you both have to get up early, so surely you will sleep. Just sleep. Nothing unusual, you'll wash up and get in bed. Yeah. You shouldn't worry about it. He probably doesn't even think of it much. Oh, god, what if you snore? With your heart beating out of your chest and your head heavy with thoughts, you got to your designated room at last. 

You don't know how much time you spent at the door, but you couldn't find the courage to enter. Maybe you'll be lucky and he'll already be asleep.  ''Oh, y/n!'' Well, shit. ''What are you doing? Did you forget your key?'' ''Yeosang! No, I was just waiting for you. To enter, you know?'' ''Such an intricate moment. I'm glad you want to experience it with me.'' Y/n.exe has stopped working. Did he mean it? You should ask what he means; you do not need misunderstandings, not with him.  But out comes, ''More like I want you to enter first to see if there's any entities present.''  Hu chuckles and reaches in his pocket for the key. The thing that comes next is something you were definitely not prepared for. You shared rooms with your friends before. The number of beds equals the number of people, right? Not today. A minute of silence hung in the air, and Yeosang let out a breath of confusion. ''Why— why are there so many beds in here?'' He asked, bewildered. 

In a relatively small room stood four twin beds. Adorned with— you do not care about artistic interior description right now. Four beds. Did you and Yeosang both get the room number wrong? You giggle. You don't know why.  ''I'm calling dibs on this one,'' you say, as you flop down on one of the beds near the window. The view is nice; you can see the waves a little afar, but you can't hear them from here. Yeosang settles on another bed by the window. You guide your eyes his way to find him already looking at you. You feel soft. Seen and appreciated. He can't just do that — to look at you like you're everything he's ever wanted. It's ufair. A soft smile is tugging on his lips, cheeks and neck tinted pink from alcohol. Suddenly, he errupts in a fit of laughter.  ''What's so funny?'' you inquire. ''We have four beds! Just for the two of us. And you're beautiful. Gosh, y/n, you're so beautiful and pretty and amazing…'' He's blabbering rather happily. It takes a moment to register what he said. You're beautiful… And it's funny. No, you don't get this man. Watching your face now very carefully, Yeosang reaches his hand for you. Too far. He can't touch you, and he's disappointed, and it shows.  ''Wanna touch you,'' he pouts. It sounds much less happy and way more needy than he had planned.  Your body moves on its own. There's an unexplainable gravity force that pulls it on his bed, a little too close for a friendship. His hands cup your face, and he sighs, relived. He wanted to feel your warmth for so long. Seeing how compliant you are, how there seems to be no hesitation in letting him near and into your personal space, and how content you look in his presence, he doesn't understand why he's never done it before. ''Yeosang,'' your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. ''What are you doing?''

He doesn't know. So, instead of answering his lips do something better. They touch yours. You can't believe it's happening. The moment your lips meet, he nearly moans. You feel so good. The kiss is head-spinning; it knocks the breath right out of your chests. He presses into you with demand, hands circling your waist to bring you closer. You don't want this moment to end. Yeosang is holding you in his arms like you'd disappear if he let go. Heat waves pulsate through your body; the way his hands linger on you makes wetness drip down your folds. You hug him back, clinging onto his hoodie like a lifeline. The room feels colder all of a sudden, and Yeosang thinks he can't let go of your hot form now. So he turns on the mattress a little and fumbles around so he can bring you to his lap. He brings your faces close once more, this time it's more heated, it's teeth and tongue and desperation. You feel his growing excitement press over your core. His mouth leaves yours to discover your neck is so sensitive for him. He's had a bit of beer, but it's your soft whimpers and mewls that get him really drunk. His hand slithers to grab and squeeze your ass. The sounds you're making are angelic, and your hands weave through his hair to tug at his strands, and it's just so right, he can't help thrusting into you.  ''Is this okay, y/n? Hmm?'' He breathes out, face back up to level with you, and his lips brush your cheek.  You nod; it takes all your brain capacity to let him know you want it too — forming words became a heavy task. Your confirmation is all he needs to lift you up and change positions, now hovering over you. He looks at you again, with shining eyes. A bit disheveled, hot, and bothered. He pushes your hair out of your face tenderly. This small action causes your heart to contract. Paitience wearing thin, you draw him back to you. 

''Do you have protection?'' ''Ye- yes, it's in my bag somewhere.'' You feel a cold prick at your skin when he stands up to roam in his belongings for a condom. It's lonely like this. All the other beds abandoned in the room must feel like icebergs, their covers rimy and uninviting. The second he's back on top of you is like a sunrise, you think. There's another kiss, the I'm sorry I had to leave kiss. He works on taking your top off. Exposed to his advances, your chest and collarbones get all the attention. His knee is between your legs, and when he bites your tender skin, you start to grind. He follows suit, now both of you groaning, trying to get rid of the rest of your clothes in a hurry.  There's plenty of great pleasures in the world, but nothing compares to the feeling of his skin on yours. To have him roam and clutch on your body everywhere he wants. You can't wait anymore; you want him, so you lean to kiss his neck up to his ear, tugging on his earlobe with your teeth. His little whimper trickles like honey down your legs. He can't seem to take his hands off you. Calling his name in a whine, your lips form a pout.  ''Please, Yeosang. I need you.'' ''I am right here, baby. It's alright, I'll take care of you.'' The nickname makes you clench around nothing. The friction that felt so good is gone; he moves his thigh away a bit so he can put on a condom. Yeosang thinks you look unreal. He wants to take his time exploring your body with his tongue, wants to mark you all over. Claim you so everyone knows. He'd spend hours eating you out, making you see stars behind your eyelids, and cry his name. He knows he can treat you right, the way you deserve to be treated. But he's so hard it almost hurts, and you look hurt he moved away from you at all. How can he ever leave his baby, even at an arm-length? So he rushes to your form and grabs your legs from under your thighs to yank you to him. You're mesmirised. You'd never think you wanted to be manhandled. But it's him, Yeosang, and it's so, so hot. His toned body glistens in the dim light coming from the window. Touching him is like heaven on earth, his muscules are tense under your fingers, and delicious sounds escape his throat. He pushes in slowly, savoring every emotion on your face. You are in bliss, hips start bucking onto him. ''Slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere,'' Yeosang coos. 

He trusts steadily, drinking up every moan and breath you make. His own pleasure escapes him in the form of small grunts, making goosebumps run around your body. He ravishes your bare chest and collarbones in kisses and licks, wanting to mark you so badly. You are so tight and warm, your nails dig into his back, and he loses himself in the feelings completely. He speeds up and finally lets his teeth sink into the dip where your shoulder and neck meet. You mewl at the sensation; your wals flutter around his shaft.  ''What a nice little sound, baby. I think I'll bite there again.'' If your eyes didn't shut at all the pleasure he's giving you, he'd see endless dark pools your pupils turned into. All for him. Though his eyes were just the same. His lust takes over him more and more, thrusts getting deeper and harder. The way you pull at his hair lets him know you're enjoying yourself, too. The room is filled with wet sounds, skin slapping against skin, and your moans getting louder. Both of you won't last much longer.  You're a hot mess, stuttering pleas and praises and his name like a mantra. His voice is deep and full of relish, you want to record it, keep it all to yourself, and listen to it twenty-four seven. You feel so proud for making him feel this good. Your orgasm washes over like a tidal wave. It builds inside and makes you clench around Yeosang, nails leaving marks on his back. He stares at your face contorted in pleasure, feeling that impossible tightness bring him closer to his own high. ''That's good, baby, keep doing that, oh, god—'' He pulls you close so your body is pressed against his own. His hips stilling, he spills inside the condom with a groan. He's never felt so good.

Neither of you move for a moment. You need to catch your breath, and you just don't want to let go of him. Reluctantly, he tears himself off of you to clean the both of you a little. Settling into the sheets with you, he sighs and wraps his arms around you again. Your voice breaks the comfortable silence of your afterglow.  ''That was… amazing. The best sex I've had. I— I don't know how I'm gonna look you in the eyes tomorrow.'' ''Oh…'' Comes his reply. He didn't think about that. Honestly, he didn't think at all, you kind of overtook all regions of his brain. Probably even before this night.  ''I— Listen, y/n, I didn't want to do it this way. Truth is, I really like you… Shit, it probably is the worst time to ask and the worst confession you've ever heard in your life, but'' he sighs again, and there's a hint of nervousness in the way his fingers trace patterns on your arm irratically. ''Go out with me?''  He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, lip stuck between his teeth in anticipation. Who ever told him he could pass as a doberman? ''Yeah, okay, I'll go out with you,'' you're trying to be smooth. Is it working? ''Really? Great!''  Good thing Yeosang doesn't care if you're smooth in the slightest. 

The next day starts off with a headache and a violent impulse to sleep in. If only you weren't stuck in the hotel with your colleagues. Surprisingly, Yeosang and you make it through the day without a trace of awkwardness or tension, keeping things professional and conversations light. The team is too busy working to tease you. The boys in Ateez also seem rested, even more energetic than the day before. Take the captain away from the studio to a nice beach… and he actually sleeps, huh.  On the ride back, you get a text from Yeosang asking when you're going to be free to go on a date. Your giddiness does not go unnoticed. Just then your friends decide to ask if there were any complications in your sleeping arrangement, a mischevous twinkle dances in their eyes. Time to get back at them.  ''Not at all! Our room was quite nice, and the view was great. We had four beds all to ourselves. Right, Mr. Kang?'' He offers a polite smile and nods at you and several curious sets of eyes turned his way. You're the only one to notice his eyes dart to your lips for a split second.  ''You had… four beds..?'' Your staff friends seem confused. They definitely had a different idea in mind. Hongjoong seems weirdly offended. ''Oh, so you get four beds, and I have to endure Seonghwa drooling on my arm all night?'' You definitely got the wrong room. Good for you. 

[sillygoosealert]

Could you please do a follow up to the post you did of Bi-Han yelling at you making you flinch and cry where after Bi-Han made you cry you decide to completely ignore him where you don't talk to him or make eye contact, you leave the room whenever he enters the room, you don't cook for him anymore, don't take baths with him or give him massages and you even start to sleep in separate bedrooms for several weeks now. Bi-Han immediately recognizes that he fucked up bad by getting mad at you when you were only trying to help him so he corners you before you leave the bedroom and tries to forcefully get you to notice by saying something to him even if it's to say hurtful things to him which you don't even do so then he tries to kiss you but you turn your head and even try to push him away from you aggressively and slaps him hard across the face which stuns him long enough for you to run out of the room. Bi-Han eventually comes to his senses and realizes that you don't love him anymore and he breaks down crying in his sleep until he feels the bed dip and arms wrapped around his body bringing his head to your chest where he continues to cry more constantly apologizing to you and asking for your forgiveness. I got inspired by an old episode of the Simpsons where Marge completely ignored Bart after discovering he got caught shoplifting and I wanted to see how you write the scenario since your writing is excellent.

You’re too kind Tehe

Ignoring Bi-Han and making HIM cry (^_-)☆ (how silly)

Thank you so much for the Specific request, it helps me a lot when thinking of how to put things into words <3 ^.^ (and for the compliment, I'll be giddy for weeks ♡)

I made you a nurse again, I’m sorry, it’s just instinct 😔

Also this one is longer than my other ones, so yahoo for me !!

Tw-mental stuff, crying, loneliness, rotting Bi-Han

Bi-Han has been even more stressed out ever since you’re breakdown- because you’ve made sure to take your help out of things. You don’t make him little snacks anymore, not that he ate them but he would eat about anything you touched right now. You don’t bathe with him, making sure he properly took care of himself despite his schedule. Now he starts to find little knots in his hair, and his skin doesn’t feel as nice or clean. His back is filled with knots and is chronically hurting without you offering to give him massages anymore. You don’t even look at him- he didn’t mean to yell, he just..well he didn’t know why he did it either.

He has trouble sleeping after you stopped sleeping in the same bed as him. Sometimes he uses your pillow instead of his because it feels more intimate- something that you would do. He just feels sad and tired, like how you felt. He wanted to fix everything with you when he had the time... He would even move all your stuff back to his room and make breaks so you could have time alone together. He would do a lot right now, but he’s too busy to tell you he misses you and wants you. He doesn’t have time to be the man you need, but he’ll try if that means you’ll stay in the same room with him.

He finds you walking into where Lin Kuei keeps the medical supplies, so he takes his chance to tell you how he misses you- and he wants to give you a genuine apology. But when he corners you you freak out. Telling him to leave you alone, that you don’t want to talk or be near him..? He didn’t do anything that bad, why won’t you just talk to him...

‘Leave me alone, we’re not together, there is nothing between us.’

‘Listen to reason, I beg of you to reconsider. I miss you. Please come back to our room…’ you don’t move, and you look docile enough to move towards. He cups your face, he didn’t realize he leaned in until you pushed him away and ran out of the room. Oh, okay..

This does not make him stop, as he continues to try to re-court you into a relationship. But he can’t, you won’t let him. He’s in his bathroom now, sobbing as he tries to recreate the bath you used to make for him. He knows you used bath salts, and some oil or something… but he doesn’t think it feels as relaxing compared as when you do it- nor does it smell as good. He finishes his bath and dresses in the pajamas you said would help him sleep better, this is the first time he’s tried them out. He wishes he listened to you better, they are quite nice.

He lays in his bed as he cries into your old pillow, it doesn’t smell like you anymore. It just smells like swear and tears- his sweat and tears. He curls into the fetal position and shakes hard, his breath is coming out in harsh, jagged, moments. He almost doesn’t hear the knock at the door, but it’s persistent and hard.

He wasn’t going to open the door until you asked him to, he didn’t want to make you reconsider your visit. He opens the door only slightly before going back to sitting on his bed. You walk in and close the door behind you.

‘You look a mess..’ you say this to lighten the mood, but also out of worry. You wipe away some tears and lean your head against his shoulder.

‘I’m not mad at you by the way…’ you whisper, then he breaks down again. He didn’t mean to, he never means to.

‘Shh..it’s okay..’ you’re laying down with him now, his head is held close to your chest. He knows he’s holding you tight, but he’s scared, he’s scared to let go.

He falls asleep like that, close to you. He missed you

[ultralightpoe]

Hits Different - Tangerine

Hits Different - Tangerine

Authors Note : Heya! I am so glad I finally got all the songs filled and am so ready for the event!

MIDNIGHTS EVENT HERE

Word Count: 3433

Warnings: none I think

Enjoy!

I washed my hands of us at the club

You made a mess of me

I pictured you with other girls in love

Then threw up on the street

Like waiting for a bus that never shows

You just start walkin' on

They say that if it's right, you know

Each bar plays our song

Nothing has ever felt so wrong

Nothing really registered properly at the moment, the only thing you knew was your palms were digging into the grass below you as your best friend cursed behind you, holding your hair back as you puked in the shitty college town park you had stumbled into. 

If this had been a normal outing the roles would have reversed and it would have been you holding her own hair back with a sober attitude she wouldn’t be able to recognize, too wasted to know that you were fuming, but for once in your terribly long friendship it had been you that took far too many shots. This time it had been you that had to be dragged away from some random guy with a wedding ring tan. 

Tan…..oh Tan.

Just at the memory of the nickname you feel the need to vomit again, tears stinging your eyes as your best friend giggles behind you, obviously not concerned for the mental breakdown you were currently having. 

“Do you think he has a new girlfriend?” You slur out, knees wobbly as she helps you up, leaning down to snatch the weapons off your feet so you can walk across the grass with her. She leads you to a public hose, or at least she hopes it’s public as she turns it on. 

“Definitely babe.”

“I don’t get it! This never happens to me!” By this you mean being left behind. 

It was no secret amongst your friend group that you were a flight risk when it came to relationships, always leaving before you got attached but just late enough that your significant other had already said the three words. You had never said the three words back….ever…..well until him.

“Just forget him babe,” She sighs out, grabbing your hands gently. “You keep waiting for him to call, and it’s been three weeks. He’s not calling back.”

“But I told him I loved him.” You hiccup, flinching as the cold hits your hands. 

She doesn’t respond and in your drunken stupor you can’t help but feel like a massive burden, so you shake your head with tears and whine out “I’ll stop talking about him, I swear.”

“It hurts right now, I know that. But soon enough you are gonna wash your hands clean of the whole thing.” She smiles, and you think about that for a moment before nodding and scrubbing your own hands under the water. 

From tonight on you won’t get Tangerine the satisfaction. 

You are washing yourself clean of him entirely.

But little did you know the entire time you were washing your hands you were humming yours and tans song, the whole reason you began to have the mental breakdown at the bar in the first place. Your best friend doesn’t point it out, she owes you that much. 

How many times had you wiped her mascara and bought her ice cream after being dumped? This was an easy act to return.

Oh my, love is a lie

Shit my friends say to get me by

It hits different

It hits different this time

Catastrophic blues

Movin' on was always easy for me to do

It hits different

It hits different 'cause it's you

('Cause it's you)

You were proud to say that you weren’t the one that brought him up during the weekly sunday brunch three days later, only to be immediately shamed by the way you head snapped at attention when your friend said his name. 

“Any news?”

Your best friend shakes her head from beside you, pouring more bottomless mimosas for you as you try to muster up an answer, really just anything to explain what had happened there but the truth was you had no clue yourself. 

“No, and honestly I have been running through all our last conversations to figure out what went wrong, was I too clingy? Did I scare him off?” You explain, watching all the girls lean forward in their seats. “And it’s so weird because I said I love you and he said it back. I don’t know-”

“I think you just panicked because of our teasing.” You best friend lies, batting her eyelashes at you. 

“Yeah! Girl I don’t think you really loved him, you were probably just in overdrive to prove us wrong. You are so lucky he left when he did.”

“He probably has a wife.”

“With kids.”

“That live in a nice suburban home-” You rush away from the table, sick of all the images they were giving you. They were obviously looking for reasons for you to feel better but none of it was helping because you knew you loved him.

He had been your first l word. 

And it had been wasted. 

I used to switch out these Kens, I'd just ghost

Rip the Band-Aid off and skip town like an asshole outlaw

Freedom felt like summer then on the coast

Now the sun burns my heart and the sand hurts my feelings

And I never don't cry (no, I never don't cry) at the bar

Yeah, my sadness is contagious (my sadness is contagious)

I slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car

I stopped receiving invitations

A year ago you had been covered in a sweet scented sun balm, topless at the beach and tanning under the nice heat of the day as whatever lover you had at the time ran to get you both something to drink. You were holding your sunglasses in one hand and a book in the other, facedown on the poolside chair when two feet emerged in your vision. Two feet that you had not recognized. 

You had picked your head up slowly, blinking to clear the sunspots in your vision as the stranger came into view, brown hair tousled and gold chain glinting in the light. There was a pinkish tint to his shoulders and chest, and he smirks as you trace your eyes over his figure. 

“Can I help you?” You keep your voice sultry, eyelashes batting up at him as a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“I was hoping you’d be so lovely and share some of that sunblock with me,” His accent is thick as he squats down to be at the same level as you, eyes filled with something close to adoration that has your heart spiraling. “As you can see love, I’m burnin away here.”

“I do apologize for that, the sun can be quite the enemy…” You smile, reaching down to grab it, moving to hand it to him. His eyebrows shoot up and he feigns a look of shock for a moment before one of fake hurt.

“You can’t expect me to do it, lovey. You see I can’t reach my own fucking back…”

“How dare I!” You gasp, playing along and trying not to laugh. 

“Yeah, how fucking dare ya.” His toothy grin pulls a matching smile from you and he turns slowly to let you rub the balm onto his back, and you cast nervous glances around for the date that had brought you to the resort. 

“Don’t worry about him right now, yeah love? Your Kenny doll won’t mind us having some fun.” If you knew his secrets you’d have known that Tangerine had handled the man in the restroom, scaring him off so he could make a move. But you would never be allowed to see any of that. 

Oh my, love is a lie

Shit my friends say to get me by

It hits different

It hits different this time

Catastrophic blues

Movin' on was always easy for me to do

It hits different

It hits different 'cause it's you

('Cause it's you)

“What was that fucks name again?” Tan laughed, reaching to pinch your ass as you pass him to grab the popcorn for your movie night. 

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Mmmhmm, my lil’ fucking heartbreaker.” He grunts out, pressing his body against yours and kissing at your neck drawing a giggle from you. 

“We’re never gonna watch the movie if you can’t control yourself, and you were the one that begged for this movie night rather than a night-”

“I know I know.” He sighs, allowing himself one more kiss before moving to the living room to set up. It takes you a couple more minutes to grab the tray of snacks, and when you finally shuffle out to the living room you find a huge fort made out of pillows and blankets with your boyfriend nowhere in sight.

“Tan?” You call, setting the tray down and leaning to check in the fort for him only to find it empty. The lights of the tv are your only source of light so you don’t see the figure behind you until it’s too late and he snatches you by the waist and spins you around in the air. 

A laugh pulls from you as he yells out a battle cry and throws you both into the fort where all the pillows were laid out. 

After a couple minutes of laughter you catch your breath and play with his hair as he leans over your outstretched body, his own pressed against yours and his fingers trailing love touches up your side as he stares at you. 

“I love you, you know that?” You blurt, watching a smile crack across his face. 

“I love you too.”

You ended up never watching the movie, choosing to stay in the fort and admire each others bodies in a way you had never done before, panting and moaning under the faint blue light the tv sent through the sheets of the fort. 

I find the artifacts, cried over a hat

Cursed the space that I needed

I trace the evidence, make it make some sense

Why the wound is still bleedin'

You were the one that I loved

Don't need another metaphor, it's simple enough

A wrinkle in time like the crease by your eyes

Except you woke up alone in the fort, covered in blankets that you did not remember grabbing, and the tv had been turned off. 

He must have been late for work and you simply overslept, it was a rational answer you gave yourself because normally Tan would wake you up before he left. Or maybe there had been an emergency with his baby brother. 

There were many reasons he could be gone so you simply sent him a good morning text and moved on with your day, telling yourself you would take the fort down later. 

But then the goodmorning text turned into a question about dinner that had gone unanswered, and late at night you sat at the dining table with pizza shoved in your face as you anxiously messaged him asking if he was okay. 

You imagined all the men that you had used for trips and money laughing at you right now, a heavy sense of irony and then you shook your head and reminded yourself that it’s only been a day, this wasn’t a ghosting situation…..

Except it had been, and by the second week you had sent him so many messages that you were sure he finally blocked you when the messages started ready ‘not delivered’. 

An embarrassed sob had clawed up your throat at that, furiously wiping your eyes and chugging the glass of wine you had poured before moving to pick up the fort. 

If anyone had been confused by the sobbing girl in the laundry room of the apartments at 2 am they never said it and you were slightly thankful for that as you washed the sheets from the fort. 

It was time to move on, you were better than this.

You ghosted people, not the other way around. 

This is why they shouldn't kill off the main guy

Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief

In the good in the world, you once believed in me

And I felt you and I held you for a while

Bet I could still melt your world

Argumentative, antithetical dream girl

You hadn’t realized that getting dumped was this hard to get over though. Sure you had cheered your friends up from it but you had never felt it yourself, this was a different world to you. You cried when you threw the photos away, and you cried when you packed up anything he left in a box to donate to goodwill. 

He plagued your every waking thought, the image of his eyes and the sound of his voice filling your thoughts whenever you allowed yourself to relax so you spent most your time cleaning or working to distract yourself. 

A little over a year with him, and this is what it came to? 

Your best friend tried convincing you to be angry which led to you puking in a clubbing dress in the middle of a park. And the girls brunch had left you just a little more miserable when the conversation had turned to the engagement party of one of your close friends, and by the time you crawled home you ended up in a ball on the carpet of the living room floor, closing your eyes for a quick nap to shut the world out for a bit. 

You didn’t need him, fuck you had traveled the world before him, you could just go back to that. 

I heard your key turn in the door down the hallway

Is that your key in the door?

Is it okay? Is it you?

Or have they come to take me away?

To take me away

Going back to dating after a year of a relationship had been rocky, and your first date back had led to you cheering up your date as he talked about his own ex, and by the time you packed him into an uber that night you felt a bit better about yourself. You weren’t over your ex, but so what? No one else was either?

And any anxiety you had about dating had gone out the window at that, because you had realized you had the perfect weapon in your hands. 

So you cracked out your best and sexiest dresses and by week 12 of no contact with Tan you began spending your nights putting on the performance of your life.

You would sniffle, and you would bat your eyelashes as you talked about how heartbroken you were, the men would be hooked at the sad doe eyes and you would spend the meal talking about how nice and kind they were, then when the check came you would put the nail in the coffin with the tiny tears on how they were so much better than your ex. 

But they weren’t, they were free meals and free wine that you enjoyed toying with. Because no one had ever pulled your heartstrings the way Tan had, and no one had been able to break your heart the way he had. You were sure you would never give anyone else the chance. 

So you followed your own routine after that, when the man of the night would lead you to the sidewalk and call an uber thinking he was about to get laid, you would start crying and then crying would turn to blubbering as you talked about how amazing they were. 

Nothing scared a guy off faster than clinginess, this you knew well. 

They are always scared off at the blubbering mess of sobs, putting you in an uber and paying for your ride home, desperate for you to stop crying. 

There had been one uber driver that had picked you up 3 times, and always laughed when you stopped crying the second the poor fool was out of sight. You shared your gum with her and she promised to mention you in a novel she was writing, you told her to make you iconic. 

And then you would be dropped off, where you would sit, slightly tipsy, in your very lonely apartment. 

Some nights you would trick yourself into thinking you heard Tans key in the door…. You never did and the pitch of excitement you got always ended in a pained feeling so you began to listen to headphones rather than silence. 

Oh my, love is a lie

Shit my friends say to get me by

It hits different (it hits different)

It hits different this time

Catastrophic blues

Movin' on was always easy for me to do

It hits different (it hits different)

It hits different 'cause it's you

Your date tonight had chosen a really good restaurant tonight, and not only that he had actually been pretty funny. So when you left the restaurant stuffed and laughing you nearly forgot your performance, but he seemed like he didn’t expect anything as he kissed your cheek to call you a ride, telling him to call you when you crawled in before shutting the door softly and you felt a small smile spread across your face. 

“That one seemed sweet.” Niama comments, watching you through the rearview mirror of the uber. You smile even more and pull out the dessert you ordered. 

“I got this for ya.” You hand it to her and she laughs. 

“And if it hadn’t been me?”

“I would have gone home and eaten it myself. It was a win win idea.”

When she drops you off that night she gives you her number and tells you that she demands an amazing interview for her book, and as you walk up the steps to your apartment you are left with a giddy feeling from a good night. 

Maybe that’s why you didn’t notice it at first. Too busy laughing to yourself to notice the familiar smell of mint on the doorstep, or the fact that your door was unlocked. 

But the second you enter it’s clear something is off.

The lights are on, and you know for a fact that you had turned them off before you left. The kitchen was cleaner then you left it and the smell of mint filled your lungs. 

Everything was right and yet it was so so wrong. 

You find yourself frozen in the doorway, one hand clenching the doorknob as the other tightens into a fist at the center of your jacket, doing your best to wake yourself up from whatever dream this was. 

“Y/n?” He calls, the same familiar accent that had talked you to sleep nearly every night for a year. And then he is there, limping harshly as he comes around the corner. 

His entire face is covered in blisters and bruises, a cast on his left arm.

He watches you in the doorway, and you blink back at him struggling to find something to say….anything, a single word would be fine. 

“H…..Hey lovey.”

Oh, my, love is a lie

Shit my friends say to get me by

'Cause it's you

Catastrophic blues

Movin' on was always easy for me to do

It hits different (yeah)

Hits different 'cause it's you

His normal cockiness was gone, and you can see the fear in his eyes in an instant, as he looks you up and down. 

“You……look stunning.”

“You look like hell.”

He nods, taking his unbroken hand up to wipe his tears before he clears his throat and stands straighter. “I think it’s time to explain.”

You nod, moving to shut the door and you stand there just a second more before flinging across the room where he stood, careful of his injuries when you pull him into a bone crushing hug. 

He groans in pain and you pull yourself back quickly but his unbroken hand is fisted in the back of your coat to keep you close as he catches his breath. 

“Sorry love,” He grunts, pressing his forehead to yours. “I got shot.”

“IthoughtIscaredyouawayand- I’m sorry…. You got shot?” A small smile spreads across his face as he watches you. 

“You think you scared me away by sayin’ I love ya?” He chuckles, his hand sliding up your side until it’s woven in your hair. “Cause I’m worried about what I’m about to tell ya will scare you off.”

Don't forget to request a character and a song from the album Sour by Olivia Rodrigo for the next event!

And check out the midnights masterlist at the top of this post for more taylor swift fun!

[kn-1013]

Sal Headcannons

I've done headcannons and Larry and Travis, so now it's time for my Sal headcannons. CW for mentions of suicide.

His Jersey accent used to be a lot thicker, but faded over time as he lived in Nockfell. He still calls it 'wutter' instead of 'water' though, and Larry makes fun of him for it (S: Can I get some wutter? L: No, I can get you some water though).

Henry and Sal are pretty isolated from the rest of their family. Diane's family don't like Henry because they think he had something to do with Diane's death, and they've tried to influence Sal to believe that he did, but it didn't work. They aren't in contact with Henry's parents because quite frankly they're just awful people, and Henry hasn't spoken to them since Sal was very young.

Sal takes bugs outside with a cup and is unnerved by squishing them.

He can't drive because his depth perception has been pretty badly damaged from both losing one eye, and the mild brain damage he received after the shooting. He still feels comfortable enough to ride his bike most of the time, though.

Yeah, he got a bit of brain damage after the shooting, and experiences mild issues with balance, vertigo, depth perception, swallowing, occasionally with speech, and reading/reading comprehension.

He was born with a cleft lip and palette, and that coupled with the missing cheek and the brain damage makes it so that he has a mild speech impediment most noticeable with P's (they can sound more like B's), and S's (slight lisp), and he often slurs his speech slightly, especially when he's tired. He also has tendencies to skip over words when speaking, say them out of order, or conjoin words.

He has ADHD.

Despite his lack of a license, he has been driving a couple of times before, though it's usually because Larry convinced him to. Larry would drive his truck down to an isolated location and have Sal drive around for fun, and it was mostly just donuts because as soon as Sal learned how to do those, that was all he wanted to do.

After the shooting, Henry started drinking heavily and began neglecting his son's posttraumatic needs, and most other needs. He also got bullied for his face and his feminine nature very heavily, getting worse as he got older and the teens got meaner. His friends mostly defended him, but they could be just as mean at times, and it never really felt like he was a part of the group as much as he was their pet freak. This all caused Sal to become extremely bitter and mean for a long time, which comes as a surprise to his friends, having only known him as a very kind person.

He attempted suicide once, when he was around fifteen or sixteen, as a result of the mounting stress and mental health problems. This is what caused Henry to really wake up about his alcoholism, realizing that if he couldn't better, then he'll lose his son, too.

In the aftermath of this attempt, after having to deal with patronizing doctors for weeks, Sal managed to express his bitterness and hatred and anger properly for the first time in years by yelling at his father about it until he broke down. This was the beginning of their relationship beginning to heal. Still, Sal said a lot of things he regrets now during that breakdown. (S: If you took five minutes to stop pickling your frontal love in Miller Lite, you'd have enough brain cells left to realize what was going on with me a lot sooner.)

Sal hates doctors more than anything, having had some very negative experiences with them over the years. He finds them extremely patronizing and often feels gaslit after talking to one professionally, because they're often extremely homophobic to him, assuming that his gender non-conformity is somehow the result of an Ed Gein-like pathology. If they're not being homophobic, they see his face, his disabilities, and his psychiatric issues, and they start treating him like a toddler, (it gets worse in psychiatric hospitals).

With how I write him, Sal definitely has quite a bit of BPD, but with the original storyline, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to get diagnosed. In AUs, he probably gets diagnosed sometime in his early to mid twenties, as that's when his symptoms really become apparent as relationships in his life start getting more serious and his old coping mechanisms start becoming much more pathological.

I've given some of my weird bullshit to Travis (autism) and Ash (mystery, because I haven't made her post yet lol), so I've also been giving Sal some too: He has POTS, but Henry explained it to Sal as 'your mom's heart thing'. It started when he was around 14, and got progressively worse over the years, but he didn't know it was a problem until Lisa pointed out that he wasn't experiencing a normal fatigue when she took his blood pressure with her at-home monitor one time, and he displayed tachycardia and low blood pressure. He often wears compression gear underneath his clothes to help, and can often be seen drinking pickle juice, because it's cheaper than pedialyte.

Due to the everything that's wrong with him, he's very passionate about disability justice.

His favorite horror movie is Texas Chainsaw Massacre, because it was the first one he watched with Larry. To this day, he maintains that Bubba Sawyer did nothing wrong, that it was the fault of those stupid teenagers, and that the sequels take away what made the first movie so good by making them so over the top.

He watched Carrie once and it made him cry. In retrospect, it reminds him somewhat of Travis.

Considers Nightmare on Elm Street a kid's movie.

His favorite actor is Michael Berryman, as he is a successful and well-liked person with facial/body differences, and that makes him feel a bit more confident in himself.

Sal has a lot of gender-differences, but I don't know if he would ever label it officially. I do think he should try Estrogen though. It's a recreational drug, he'll like it.

With sexuality, I think Sal is bisexual. As far as types go, I think he's most into people with more dominant personalities than his; people who like to talk more, people who are very passionate, people who know what they want, people who can take the lead in a relationship because he's definitely too nervous for that, etc. I think Ash falls into this category, which is what draws him to her.

Larry also falls into this category as well, if we wanna talk Sal/Larry. He has more experience and stands on a more solid ground identity-wise than Sal does, which makes him a great rock and dominant character in the relationship.

Travis does not fall into this category, at least not at first, because he simply doesn't feel very comfortable with himself or in a relationship with another guy at first. Especially with Sal, I think this would probably be his, like, first or second relationship, so he's not very experienced at all, and has trouble knowing what he wants. But, this changes a lot as he grows into himself and eventually becomes the more dominant one of the relationship.

No matter what the end-goal ship is for the story i'm writing, I always picture Sal and Ash having dated for a bout a year or so during or after high school, then breaking up, usually either for Ash's college reasons, or general mutual reasons, such as Sal not being stable enough for a relationship mentally, or realizing they do better as friends.

Upon reflecting on the relationship, Ash describes dating Sal as more like dating a girl than a guy. All things considered, she holds Sal in high esteem as a partner, as he was very attentive to her needs and generally eager to communicate. Though, his biggest issue was that he could be cagey and didn't like it when she focused on him too much, due to his insecurities and fears around intimacy.

Sal has always been feminine and faggy, which is why it was somewhat of a surprise to Henry when it turned out he DID like girls, just in addition to boys. Not that that's a bad thing, he just wasn't expecting it.

Henry's parents are pretty homophobic, and instilled a lot of that into him, but a lot of that started changing when he had his own son, who seemed so pleased to wear fairy princess dresses that Henry couldn't bring himself to do to Sal what was done to him in the name of an increasingly arbitrary masculinity. He ended up having to argue with a lot of doctors to leave Sal's expression alone, because they kept claiming that it was some kind of pathological issue that needed to be fixed, and not just who he was. (H: The problem isn't that he's a fag, he's always been that way! The problem is that his mother was killed right in front of him, and his face was disfigured! Why don't you focus on that?)

This is getting a bit long now, lol. I'll need to make a part two at some point because I think about Sal way too much. It's very easy for me to write for him, because we have a lot of very similar experiences with 'random tragedies'. He's probably my favorite to write for, aside from Todd.

[dumplingsjinson]

Long post ahead, read if you want.

tw: mental health, mention of depression

So I've been very inactive these days, and it's because I am Dealing With My Issues irl, which is sucky and shitty and I'd really rather be living on Tumblr and writing prompts all day but sometimes... Life just doesn't allow that luxury. Especially when you're feeling stuck and your mental health is getting in the way of you functioning properly without feeling stuck in the same vicious cycles of your own brain's doing.

In all honesty, I haven't been feeling the best for the past few months, and I feel like my mental state has been on a decline, and I feel like it's gotten worse now that I'm in a relationship.

This is not to blame my partner or anything but to say that getting into a relationship involves your issues, that have always been there, surfacing properly. And when I mean surfacing properly, I mean you become so much more acutely aware of shit you've been able to suppress for a long time and never bothered addressing. You become aware of yourself as a person, you start to realise all of your flaws in such a vicious and cutting manner, and that shit hurts like a bitch.

You finally get to see a reflection of you, plus the issues you've been carrying on your shoulders for way too long.

I've been crying so much these days, I've been overthinking a lot, and feeling like complete and utter shit. I've been getting into more frequent fights with my mum, I feel like a failure in basically all aspects of my life, and like I'm not good enough, and like my insecurities are eating my alive, which isn't helping my mental state at all. My mood has just been on the low most days. I need constant distractions, otherwise I will have to sit with my own thoughts, and that scares the living shit out of me.

Because what do you mean I have to sit there and process my feelings? Eugh, brother, eugh! Fuck no!

But on a more serious note, all of this shit has finally got me up on my feet, so I'd do something about them and get the help I've needed for quite a long while now. My partner encouraged me to finally make this step, even though I have thought of seeking help for quite a while now but just never did so. It's mostly for reasons and the fact that I was scared 'cause I didn't know what it would be like to actually reach out and spill my guts out to some stranger.

I saw a counsellor at my university for the first time this week and it went better than expected. For one, I didn't cry during the appointment! He's a very nice dude, and it felt nice talking to someone who could put my thoughts in order and give me actual solutions. Venting to friends is nice, but it gets to a point where even that doesn't help, or you feel like you're bitching too much.

I did get told I could be heading into a depressive episode (fucking fun, I know) and my depression/stress score was pretty high, although my anxiety score isn't too high (which is surprise considering my overthinking), so we're trying to work through that.

Next appointment is in around two weeks' time, and until then, I live in my head once more and have to deal with my emotions without going into breakdowns every two business days.

I don't know when I'll be properly active on here. I've kind of just abandoned everything (this blog, my Discord server, my social medias) in the midst of it all, but I'll try to come back and post more often.

But yeah. That's where I'm at.

[furiousgoldfish]

How do you continue to function when you're so burnout for decades long it paralyzed you from working properly? Ngl my life is a whole mess after 10 years trying to survive from my abuser. and I still don't know how to get back on my feet again without having a mental breakdown several times a week and feeling suicidal on top of it

and I'm too ashamed to talk about it to people, i did talk, they were understanding at first, but that doesn't stay long. You can only cry and whine once, after that, you're burdening them with your loads.

They'd say you continue fighting no matter what still and I do, fight still everyday in my life even if it's getting up from bed. But what I can't do is going to work, I just can't, it doesn’t help that i experience abuse too from the place i work at, had to quit abruptly at one occasion after the boss got physical with me

In this survival state, I mostly earned money from freelance job (and obviously it's not enough)

Everyone I'm close to is very frustrated with me because I didn't seem to be healed even though it's been this long. What I learned from it is that not to bring up my pain ever again and have to pretend I'm doing fine because that's what my family and friends can tolerate. That kind of isolation kills me, as if they didn't consider that i want to be healed too. no one else wants to survive my trauma more than me. I just don't know how and I can't see how it's possible.

Yeah I relate to this! It is very scary to be expected to be able to work and live independently while you're barely holding it together, unable to get up from bed.

I can only share my experience of this, and maybe it's not that helpful, but I want you to know that it can get better, and that people are wrong for expecting you to suddenly be okay after the experience of torturous abuse.

When I escaped, I had enough money from freelancing saved up so I could just rest for a few years (it was stressful, being scared the money would run out), but I was able to indulge fully in resting and not getting up when I didn't want to. I spent years just laying in bed and trying to work trough the trauma and get the feelings of pain and terror out, and it worked to some extent, I started feeling a little less tired after three years!

I started working very infrequently, odd little jobs, helping neighbours for a bit of money, helping the disabled people or cleaning when I could, and it would just be a few hours of work, and I'd be completely drained after that. But again, giving myself plenty of space and time to rest helped me a lot, and then later working on my osdd also helped me restore some of the energy.

I can work only 2-3 days a week now, for a few hours, and it's enough to survive in poverty, if I don't buy anything, so this is what I do. I'm lucky that I'm able to share my bills and rent with roommates and make my own food, and that I'm so used to poverty it doesn't specifically bother me. I still get sad sometimes that I can't have an actual real job and live more safely, but I'm alive, I'm not tormented, and I spend a lot of time resting, and just tell people 'I'm sick' if they ask questions.

I think freelancing, doing a few hours of work infrequently or just slowly letting yourself recover until you can do something for a bit worked great for me, but I also understand it's not something that will work for anyone. If you're stuck not being able to save up, or work enough that you could pay even a part of your rent, that feels debilitating and scary, it doesn't let you plan for the future, it doesn't feel like you can even complain to people as they're unwilling to listen. I am so sorry for what you're going trough, it's legitimately a bad situation, and it's only natural for you to struggle like this after so much abuse. I believe you need to have as much rest as you need and if one day you get a little better, you might be able to figure it out, and if not, I hope at least people take you more seriously and understand that this is real pain, real fear of losing a future over abuse.

[littlest-bugz]

Relapsing is a part of healing

[one systems perspective on relapsing during Resolution/late stage DID recovery.]

This post has been cooking in my drafts for a while, but since I'm back in a headspace where I would consider myself back in Resolution, I'm comfortable talking about this. I'm airing out my dirty laundry quite a bit in this post, but the reason I'm making this post is because of the fact I don't see many late stage recovery systems talk about relapsing back into dissociation and other CDD symptoms. I'm here to say it's totally okay and a part of healing. I don't know who needs to hear that, but I definitely did. I didn't hear it until i was in therapy.

A couple of months ago [when I was initially writing this post], I went through a series of traumatic events, including little over 3 weeks of reoccurring flashbacks due to a re-traumatizing situation. I have lovingly dubbed it 'the three weeks of hell'. There was more than just that, including 2 explosive breakdowns, where I just couldn't handle all the input I was getting with what all was going on. I was a whole wreck for a moment there, that's for sure. THANKFULLY, we only split off a one new alter after everything, which is healing progress, but it meant an increase in blackout amnesia in our day to day life, let alone the dissociation it was causing the system as a whole, nearly putting us back at step one of recovery.

The moment I noticed the blackout amnesia and increase in DID symptoms, I started thinking I had ruined any progress I could've possibly made. It felt like I had taken ten steps forward and then tumbled down the stairs. I never got to process the trauma as it just began to pile on, and eventually I popped in probably the worst explosive breakdown I've EVER had- my fight or flight kicked in and for gods know what reason, my brain chose fight. But that breakdown had solidified that 'fuck, I'm getting worse again' mentality I had going on. Everyone I knew seemed to 'keep it together' during rough times, so why couldn't I?

So that brought me to this post.

I wondered why I don't see talk of relapse in Late Stage Recovery spaces, let alone general CDD spaces. I figure, in my mind, that it's because it just isn't talked about. At least, not frequently. In the space I have curated for myself, I see a lot of fellow late stage recovery systems and finally fused systems, but everyone seems to not have relapsed at any point. Granted, this is the internet, and people show what they want others to see, but I felt ashamed for a good while that I had relapsed back into the amnesiac aspects of my dissociation. I didn't feel like I could call the stage of healing I am in 'late stage recovery'. But that's just. not true. I still am. My healing is ongoing, and I was able to resolve it.

In recovery for many disorders, relapses are, inherently, a part of the process of healing. Symptoms resurfacing is, to some extent, part of healing. Everyone is bound to have slip ups and rough times, and if your go to coping mechanism is dissociation [in CDDs cases], it's possible that you might slip back into those maladaptive mechanisms due to the stress of life happenings, but that's okay. What is needed is to learn the proper coping skills to deal with that stress, but it can be extremely hard to unlearn maladaptive coping skills and make turning towards healthy ones a default. Relapsing gives you the time to reinforce and build up what skills you do have.

When the three weeks of hell was occurring, I didn't exactly have the coping skills necessary to keep on with life, and any I did have, they were not 'automatic' enough. On top of that, my therapist was conveniently out of office for those three weeks. It did give me the time to make my skills stronger. Of course, I felt terrible about it but Relapsing is okay. As long as you learn how to deal with the stress and trauma, that's what matters. I'm still learning how to properly cope with everything that happened during those weeks, to be blunt, but I have gained a grasp on Resolution pretty quickly afterwards. I don't think it would've been possible to recover so easily had I not been in late stage recovery, and like I said before, it helped reinforce my coping skill box, making them stronger and much easier to recall. I definitely would say that relapsing was a part of my healing. Didn't feel good, but it became a huge factor in how we cope day to day.

TLDR; Relapsing during Resolution [Functional Multiplicity/Final fusion] is a part of recovery itself.

[dracofeathers]

Calling Fic Writers! Story Idea? -Angst-

If this is already something someone has made, ya'll need to link me ASAP cause its been rotting in my brain all week (if not longer) and I very highly doubt I'd ever be able to write it properly LOL. Art? Maybe...

Please excuse my scatterbrained explanation. I'll probably be adding to this as my little angst-loving brain thinks of more details.

-----

So, after x amount of time, Aziraphale returns/escapes to the bookshop from Heaven and being Supreme Archangel....just completely defeated, dazed, exhausted and just about broken/verge of breakdown. I've pictured the scene with or without his wings. Crowley and Muriel are there (or at least Crowley) and are understandably surprised/confused.

He just collapses in a sobbing heap muttering and crying "I'm sorry" "Please" "You/we can't do this" "Why" "I don't want to fall" among other unintelligible words, but doesn't seem to quite be with it enough to attempt to explain whats going on. Maybe he'd gain very slight, brief clarity upon seeing Crowley (who has also been a mess), keeps apologizing, begging for forgiveness (from him? Her? Both? Maybe) until finally passing out.

Of course Crowley steps up and tries to take care of him, and figure out whats going on. Because no matter how mad he might get at Aziraphale, how hurt he was by the end of S2, he'll always return and help his angel, because he loves him. Also I'm positive Crowley already knows Aziraphale didn't make that choice easily, that he hurt the angel as well. Bountiful soft, care-taking Crowley here because I live for it.

Eventually when Azi is a bit more stable, (as he would often rotate between quiet desolate/defeated shell shock, and near hysterical crying in fear and grief) Crowley gets bits and pieces of what happened out of him.

The "Supreme Archangel" position was merely a sort of placeholder/fake title, not an actual promotion. Because why would they want to actually give Aziraphale that kind of power to potentially use against them and their plans? He was dangerous enough

The Metatron (and other angels) lied/manipulated Aziraphale the whole time to get him to do what he/heaven wanted. And to of course separate him and Crowley. Possible eventual threats towards Crowley and others to keep Azi "in line". Book of life?

Plans of course include the second coming as it was mentioned, but I'm sure there are others mixed in. More apocalypse starting schemes etc. Never really give the full details and kept the real plans secret. Jesus only mentioned, never seen (very suspicious). Azi tries to investigate but keeps getting interrupted or thwarted. Kept a very close eye on.

Much gaslighting/mental and emotional abuse and manipulation, slowly wearing Aziraphale down in order to break and better control him. No erasing/changing of memories cause its over done to me.

God is still MIA and no one knows whats going on with Her. The Metatron says he speaks with Her, but lets face it he can't be trusted. Definitely scheming on his own with others, maybe Hell as well?

Aziraphale never falls of course, I couldn't do that to our precious angel. He'd be traumatized enough anyway.

Aziraphale tries to be a good angel so bad it hurts, wants to believe in Heaven and "The Great Plan" but is only ever hurt and betrayed for all his efforts up there.

I WILL MAKE THESE TWO WILL HAVE A PROPER TALK I SWEAR

--------

I just really love hurt/comfort, angst and them taking loving tender care of each other. They would have a happy ending of course. This is how I cope until season 3, don't judge me xD

Also, what I was listening to during this ramble:

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I'm curious on your take on the Ratman and ratlings' relationship with animals. Do you think they'd keep any and risk becoming attached? I feel this would outwardly effect Jack the most considering his love for all the weird shit they got in Australia but I think Arthur is also the type to be really hurt by the loss of a pet. But in a dad way. Like he'll begrudgingly take in the fucking cat one of his kids brings to his home out of the rain and the animal ends up being his partner in crime. He's stone-faced when it passes away and it takes a while for the pain to subside but he doesn't let it show for even a second. I don't imagine Matthew could handle the mental load of losing a beloved pet. Alfred is too fucking busy to properly care for one. Zee probably has a few birds whose babies she cares for for generations maybe a kiwi lol

TW for pet death

Alfred has had horses his entire life. He's got a ranch in his name somewhere where the descendants of the pair of horses, Liberty and Justice, that Matt gave him during the Civil War live. Justice got shot out from under him in 1864 but he went full Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie, dropped dead of idk, the shits and when he was feeling better Liberty was getting her hump on with a local stallion so he just made a ranch there and their descendants still fuck amongst the grasses or however the prairies work. Liberty is immortal because fuck I already killed one horse this post and I'm already emotional.

Matt... He just kept trying. Nations have semi immortal pets. All he wanted was a goddamn friend. François gave him a lap dog when he was little. It died in its first Canadian winter as was often the fate of anything smaller than a terrier. He tried a newfie. It drowned. Finally, around the 1780s he had a little black and white working dog he named Sel et Poivre who lasted a decade. But eventually he got ripped up by a wolverine and Matt was damned to eternal loneliness until Arthur had mercy on him and got attached enough to the wee fat house lion he named Flufferton he didn't die. Matt's best friend for awhile and favourite heat source at his father's. Cue 1980 with Canada finally getting it's full independence and Jan dropping him like a hot rock and Alfred got him a Samoyed puppy in the aftermath. I've called this dog Kuma, Bud and Buckwheat before. The neighbor backs over him by accident! and Matt low-key has the worst mental breakdown of his life like he's 20 seconds from getting the axe and ending up in grippy sock jail. Then the pupper pops up licks him and Matt has the happiest sob fest for like a solid week. Finally! Immortal pupper. No more perishing.

Jack is a fun example because he's very in tune with the circle of lire and his favourite pet was a tortoise named Harriet he's had on and off since 1830 when she died in 2006. So when she finally died of natural causes he was absolutely fucking devastated. Didn't get out of bed for a week after the funeral, cried his eyes out every time he saw a turtle or tortoise for years. She was his baby since he was a baby. Closest thing to losing a childhood dog a nation can express. He had plenty of snakes and spiders and dogs that passed on and they made him sad but oh Harriet 😭.

Zee has a budgie named Pavlova that Jack got her when she finally dropped the family name. Just so she can say she owns Pavlova. It spent a week with Uncle Matt during hockey season and went back to Mum telling everyone, "Give your balls a tug, tit fucker" and making nondescript sobbing sounds. And the singular devotion with which New Zealand intervenes in its bird's well-being? Oh yeah, they're her children. Entire genomes of Kiwi-birds and Kakapo and Kea. She personally hunts rats that threaten their population like it's 1916, flashlight between her teeth, knife in one hand, Arthur sweating like mad somewhere. Bird watching is something she and the old man have in common so he probably does jokingly call them her grandchildren. Zee gets beat in the shin by a screaming kiwi-bird, and he just picks it up like, "Now that's no way to treat your mother, lad! Mind your manners." Before it toddles off and any on-looker is just pure, what the fuck.

[maochira]

omg i just saw ur chris comforting the reader after a mental breakdown post! do u think u can do that again but with bigbro!karasu? thank uuu 🫶🤍🤍🤍

I've done two similar things with Karasu already (comfort after a bad day and anxiety attack comfort) but I can do this as well!

Requests open! - masterlist

Synopsis: Since Karasu went to Blue Lock, you started feeling lonely and now you even had a falling out with your friends, leaving you completely alone. Luckily, your brother returns just in time to comfort you.

Tags: gn!younger sibling!reader, slightly overprotective big brother!Karasu, comfort

Ever since Karasu left to go to Blue Lock, home started feeling empty. Your parents work a lot so you're alone most of the time. For a while, you were able to find distraction by keeping yourself busy or meeting up with friends. The latter thing just hasn't been possible lately.

Last week, your friend group had a massive falling out and you just can't help but feel like it's all your fault. Without anyone to talk to about it, it's been eating you up from the inside. Usually, you'd talk to your brother about things like this but even though he has his phone in Blue Lock back by now, he's busy most of the time and there's no way to properly tell him about what's on your mind.

Watching him play on the Blue Lock Eleven team was amazing and you were happy to see him again, but as soon as you were back home you started feeling awful because you just miss him being around. As much as he teases and bullies you all the time, he does it with love and that's exactly what you miss.

Since that day, you haven't gone to school because your mental health has been declining more and more and by now you're just lacking the energy to leave the house. It's not just because you miss Karasu, but also because your previous friends started contacting you again and put more guilt on you than you already felt. It just became too much.

A few minutes ago, you finally managed to find the strength to block them. It's something you should have done way earlier, but something in you had hopes that everything will go back to how it was before if you apologize enough - even for things that aren't your fault at all.

While you're crying on your bed you can hear the front door open. It's a bit too early for one of your parents to return from work, but you just shrug it off.

You're still lost in your thoughts, so you only realize your brother is back at home when he knocks at your door. You know the way his knocking sounds compared to your parents' very well.

"Nii-san?" You turn your head to the door and seconds later, Karasu opens it. You haven't called him Nii-san in a very long time. At some point, you just started calling him Tabi-nii or Tabito, but Nii-san feels more fitting right now. "You're back?"

Karasu doesn't answer, and instead he quickly shows concern and sits down next to you. "You were crying?" He grabs both of your shoulders to pull you closer to himself. "What's wrong?"

"I just missed you a lot..." You tell him half of the truth. "It's been lonely without you..."

Your big brother immediately pulls you into a tight hug. He doesn't speak yet, it always takes him a while to find the right words to comfort you. Instead, his arms only tighten around your body.

"I missed you a lot as well. But did you miss me so bad that it made you cry?" Karasu says while he realizes he's been hugging you a little too tight. "Come on, you're not that much of a sensitive crybaby." He lets out a little chuckle, hoping to cheer you up a bit. He always tries to leave teasing out when he comforts you, but he can't hold himself back most of the time. It's just his love language.

"It's not just that... Some stuff has happened with my friends and-"

Karasu quickly interrupts you as soon as you mention your (not anymore) friends. "Those 'friends' who I've always said are too mediocre to deserve being your friends? I don't wanna say I told you they're bad for you but... I mean, I told you they're bad for you."

"I'm sorry I just-" You stop your own sentence because you quickly notice you don't actually have anything else to say. You just feel bad for not listening to your brother's advice.

"Don't apologize for that," Karasu pulls away from the hug so he can look into your eyes, "Now tell me what those pieces of shit did so I can make them regret it."

Taglist (sign-up link): @starhrtz, @kaineedstherapy12, @zyuuuu, @yerinsshi, @luvcalico, @truegoist, @vanitasbrainrot, @deerangle3, @toruden, @keiidaydreams

[synonymroll648]

no hummingbirds, no butterflies (just soft whirrs & peaceful daylight)

pairings/relationships: queerplatonic keefex, minor mentions of dex’s dynamics with his parents, + referenced dadwin (keefe & elwin as a parent-son duo of sorts)

tws: minor (autistic) overstimulation, anxiety, touch starvation, swearing, implied sexual humor (keefe’s here, what’d you expect), and i think that’s it - but please let me know if there’s more that should be added! 

summary: “I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’. 

-

OR: An exploration of what Keefe and Dex’s dynamic could’ve been if Keefe hadn’t run off to the forbidden cities.

additional notes: happy final day of @keefex-week 2023, even if this is for the day 1 prompt queerplatonic! i started this fic back in feburary as an ayyam-i-ha gift for the one and only wonderful @bookwyrminspiration​, but didn’t finish in time, and then i tried finishing it in time for its tumblr bday, and didn’t finish in time for that either. but at least i finished in time for this! i hope you enjoy the third draft of keefex being queerplatonic and neurodivergent (i wrote this with autistic!dex in the front of my mind. also, this entire fic was inspired by this keefex shitpost i made [and the really gay eckodon scene in book 4].) comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!

word count: 6.4k

ao3 link (recommended)

taglist: @gay-otlc @purplesoup-lad-le @when-wax-wings-melt @asexual-juliet @cowboypossume @xanadaus 

fic under the cut :)

Out of all the things that can surprise Dex Dizznee at 12:21am, getting hailed by Keefe Sencen isn’t one of them. 

The buzzing of his imparter laying on his bed cuts through the quiet ambiance of the noisemakers carefully placed in his room. The gadget Dex has mindlessly fidgeted with for minutes on end gets set down on his desk, and he carefully steps through the mess on his floor to pick up the hail. 

(After turning the volume down, because Keefe has accidentally woken up Dex’s parents from laughing too loud on more than one night like this.)

“Heeeey, Dexy,” Keefe deliriously croons across the line. 

Deliriously is the correct description, Dex knows, because Keefe only ever uses that tone when his guard is down—and after Loamnore, lowered guards only ever occur after a mental breakdown or from serious sleep deprivation. 

Or both.

“Hello to you too, at this totally reasonable hour for the two of us to be awake,” Dex sits down on the edge of his bed, tucking his feet up onto the mattress. 

A snicker. “Tooooootally.” 

Dex does a brief internal analysis of his face—he doesn’t have enough time to be thorough without being awkward, but no mental notes at all is bound to leave him floundering later on in the conversation. 

Dark circles → Keefe is probably at least halfway out of his mind.

Bedhead → Keefe is definitely at least halfway out of his mind.

Lots of blankets and pillows → Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis. 

Slightly more prominent freckles across the bridge of his nose than usual →  Congratulate Keefe on getting some sunshine. 

Keefe starts talking again, and Dex is glad that he doesn’t have to be the one to resume conversation. “What’d I interrupt?” 

“Me trying to get work done for the Black Swan or school but being too tired to think properly.” 

“I’m guessing you’re also too awake to go to sleep.” 

“Bingo,” Dull exasperation on Dex’s end. 

“Relatable.” Fatigue softens the ‘t’ so much that it’s only implied at best. Relatable is surrender wearing a humorous mask; Keefe’s favorite shield.

You need to say something. It’s the start to an all-too familiar chain reaction. He almost lists out all the ways You need to say something evolves into something much more panic-inducing, since lists usually help, but this is one of those few exceptions where listing it all out will screw him over. 

So Dex starts on the steps to prevent that, with an inhale quiet enough that Keefe hopefully doesn’t think he’s sighing. Next is grasping for something to contribute. Something silly, preferably. 

Dex is a second slower to reply than he’d like, but he finds something that works. His headspace relaxes once he asks, “Is the bingo card or the bingo pieces or the bingo itself relatable?” 

“Hmmmmm, good question…” Keefe tilts his gaze up to the ceiling of his starry bedroom at Splendor Plains. 

Dex takes his thoughtful pause as an opportunity to study Keefe further. He notes gulon pajamas, and eyelashes that are long and dark and confusingly nice to look at—which makes him think of the eckodon ride to Alluveterre, the first time he’d really noticed them—which makes heat begin to fester under his skin, because that was a lot of physical contact and—

—Keefe starts talking again, and it’s enough to get his brain to shut up. “Bingo pieces, probably. Sometimes I get put in situations where things work out, and sometimes I get put in situations where they don’t. Comes down to everyone else’s luck.” 

The Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis part of Dex’s mental notes from earlier resurfaces at the front of his mind, and he leans a little more towards preparing for helping Keefe through an existential crisis. 

Then Dex leans a few degrees back into the or part of the note, once Keefe cracks, “Kinda like all the backstories we came up with for Keebler elves.” 

Laughter, fast and loose and loud, threatens to explode out of Dex’s chest. He quickly covers his mouth, unable to help looking away and throwing his head back while he tries to not disturb the sleepy nighttime air that blankets Rimeshire. 

When Dex looks back down at Keefe, there’s a proud grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, smushed up against the cozy mess of his bedding. Keefe wrestles a hand out from under the blankets it was trapped under, and points directly at his imparter camera. “You thought it was funny, don’t deny it,” 

“I won’t,” Dex relents. A wistful sigh almost turns into snickers, since he’s apparently spent way too many nights talking with Keefe over the past few months. “That was probably the funnest reason for pulling an all-nighter.” 

A giggle. More than one giggle, actually. A whole stream of them, like a human song kids would get hooked on. (Giggles. Keefe is undoubtedly delirious, guaranteed to be more than halfway out of his mind. There’s no other explanation for him being so light and sunny at 12:26 in the morning.) “Best all-nighter eeee-ver! No school, just the silly.” 

Dex arcs an eyebrow like the sunrise that’s hours away. “The silly?” 

“The silly!” Beaming a childish grin, Keefe’s fist punches out of his heap of blankets and up into the air, almost as if he’s cheering for something. 

The force of it sends Keefe’s imparter—wherever it’s propped up on—toppling over. The view on Dex’s imparter shifts to close-up constellations behind glass. He hasn’t done well enough in his Universe class to be able to identify anything before Keefe cries, “Dex! Mrs. Stinkbottom! My dearest companions! Noooooooo!” 

This time, Dex has to gently bite down on his knuckles to keep himself from laughing too loud. 

(Dex has to stop himself from wondering too much about the depth behind My dearest companions too. Because he’s gone down far too many rabbit holes about whether or not he’s romantically attracted to Keefe and been left with a confusing answer of no, but also not being satisfied with the label platonic either. He just focuses on the joy of someone finding him valuable outside of his tech and alchemy skillsets.) 

There’s a smile on Dex’s face so wide it makes him feel dumb as he watches Keefe lean over his bed to try and grab at his imparter. Awkwardly angled footage goes a little fuzzy as Mrs. Stinkbottom gets pulled up before Dex. Well, not Dex, the imparter, since Dex is leaned back against his pillow and headboard and not collapsed on Keefe’s bedroom floor, but no one cares about technicalities like that other than Dex. 

Finally, Keefe’s hand presumably wraps around his imparter, and Dex’s screen is a blur as Keefe hauls ‘him’ up. “I got a little too silly for the world to handle,” he pouts. 

“The world? I don’t think me and Mrs. Stinkbottom count as the world. Pretty sure there’s a lot more to the world than that.” 

“Well, that’s the only part of the world I care about right now.” 

Don’t read into it, don’t read into it, don’t read into it— 

Dex doesn’t read into it. Because he’s a master at this seemingly mythical thing called self-restraint, if his friends are anything to go by. “I dunno, I’m pretty sure you care about your blankets and pillows right now,” 

Keefe’s lips thin into a disconcerted line. “...Yeah, I do. Caught me red-handed,” he mumbles, relaxing further into the comfortable disaster he’s wrapped himself in. “But that’s it.” 

You sure about that? he wants to ask, but takes the few seconds of silence to consider his options and turn the conversation towards something else instead. “How much have you slept?” 

Things That Would Replicate Keefe’s Hysterical Laughter at That Question When Mixed Together Properly:

Tea kettles when their contents are boiling. 

Monkeys screeching. 

Gasps from someone who almost drowned. Or ran a long distance at a high speed and finally got to stop. Or something like that. 

A recording of someone’s sobbing or laughing that could pass as both to unaware listeners.

It’s a little startling—startling enough that he jumps at the unexpected change in sound. Frantically, he turns down his imparter volume. And then Dex tries to climb under his covers as quietly as he can and curls up on his side, so he can fake being asleep if his mom pops in to check on him. (She’s a light sleeper, which she’s jokingly coined as her proof that she married into the Dizznee family instead of being born into it.) 

Keefe wipes at his eyes. “You gotta specify a time frame, Dex. Tonight? The last twenty four hours? The last week? Etcetera,” 

It takes a blip of time to remember what they’re talking about. “Last twenty four hours.” 

“I took a nap after lunch. Ro woke me up for dinner. After that, I painted until I spilled my water jar on accident. Cleaning up made me realize how tired I was, so I tried to sleep. Buuuuut…” Something about the way Keefe’s facial expression just barely shifts makes Dex suspect that he’s either gonna cough up a hard truth or lie to cover it up. “my brain wouldn’t shut off. And now we’re here.” 

Dex takes a shot in the dark—literally. The only thing lighting up his room is his open curtains. Moonlight washes the room in pale silvers and a whole scale of blues. “Was it that you couldn’t stop thinking period, or you couldn’t stop thinking about the wrong things?” 

The steady, easy rise and fall of Keefe’s form stills. It resumes when Keefe sighs and says, “Does anything get past you?” 

I’ve spent my whole life analyzing everything to the best of my ability, because I’ve spent my whole life out of the loop and fighting to get in it. It’s late at night, and your guard’s down. Of course nothing you do gets past me. Too serious, too blunt. Killjoy of a response. Dex condenses it into something lighter, but still truthful. “When it comes to you, no, not that I know of.” 

“I feel like that’s a sign that I’ve overshared on one too many nightly hails over the past few months,” Keefe tries to laugh it off, but Dex can sense the nervous undertone. 

“I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop you next time you try to open up,” Dex offers. He hopes Keefe doesn’t take him up on it. 

Dread begins to stir in his stomach as Keefe pauses to consider. It dissipates when Keefe says, “Nahhh, I trust you to not take advantage of me being stupid. Also, like—actually, you know what? Can I ramble about something? The only way my brain can make points is through stories right now. But if you want me to shut up, that’s fine.” 

“Ramble away,” Dex says. It’s nice being your number one person to talk to, even if I’m sure it won’t last forever. 

“Okay, so, earlier today—well, technically yesterday now, but no one cares—anyways. Anyways.” Keefe clears his throat, fist in front of his mouth. Eyebrows downturn in a way that’s either ironically or unironically serious; Dex can’t tell. 

Dex poorly suppresses a smile. Turns up the volume again to hear him better, and resolves to just remind Keefe, No sudden noises please, if he gets too loud again. 

“So basically, after Ro woke me up, Elwin knocked on my doorway today and told me dinner was ready if I was hungry. It was in the usual spot he leaves it for me since being in the same room as people is hard and he’s cool about me eating alone, y’know? I feel like I told you about that already, but whatever.” (Keefe has indeed told Dex about this routine. On multiple occasions.) “I hear his footsteps walking away, and I open the door and I say ‘Elwin?’”

“Out loud, or using signs?”

“Out loud,” Keefe confirms.

It’s been a month or two since Keefe managed to start saying short phrases to people aloud again, but it’s still difficult enough—especially without preparation beforehand—that it’s always a surprise to hear him mention talking out loud face-to-face recently. Dex’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. He holds back the Wow, Keefe, incredible job—genuinely, ready to jump off the cliff’s edge of his tongue. Lets Keefe keep talking. 

“So he turns around and he tilts his head in this way that’s like, hey, keep going. My nerves started acting up, but I managed to ask if we could eat at the table together. I had to clear my throat and clarify—well, I was really just rambling, but whatever—that sitting, like, right next to him would be too much. And I’d probably have to sit on the opposite end of the table, but he told me that was totally fine. No disappointment or anything. And we—we actually had a conversation. Not just a few sentences. I could keep up with talking back and forth for longer than a few minutes. And there was this point where he said…” Keefe stops. “He said, um. Hang on.” 

Keefe flops his face into his pillow. Dex suppresses an instinctual smile at the unintelligible noises that come out of Keefe’s throat, because he doesn’t know if they’re positive or negative. Yet. 

So he asks. “Is this good or bad?” 

Keefe nods. Confusion forms in a crease between Dex’s eyebrows. Some absurd part of Dex suspects Keefe can sense it through the screen, because he turns his face towards his imparter and clarifies, “Good. I think. I’ve just forgotten how to handle affection in general. And I’ve never known how to handle it from parental figures.” 

Parental figures has delighted surprise lighting up Dex’s face for a split second before he smooths his expression out into something neutral again. Elwin’s always been a lot better than Cassius. Keefe maybe, just maybe, finding someone else to call ‘dad’ or something like it would be good for him. 

Dex hopes they get there. Eventually. 

Dex also doesn’t know if it’s too early to tell Keefe that, so he errs on the side of caution. “From what I’ve heard you tell me, I don’t think Elwin minds that you don’t really know what you’re doing. But what did Elwin say to you? You cut yourself off.”

Keefe blinks, a bit slow to respond. “Sorry, I was processing that first sentence. Uh. He said that he was really proud of me. For,” —Keefe’s laugh in between words is bittersweet— “being so brave about all of this. And I thought he was playing up how he felt to make me feel better, so I told him that he didn’t have to lie to me. Then he told me that he was being dead serious, and he was sorry he didn’t say it more often. And he tried complimenting me more, but, um, I—I told him to stop because I didn’t want to start crying, y’know? Especially since I couldn’t—can’t hug him. Or anything like that,” 

Dex doesn’t really know how this relates to whatever point(s?) Keefe was trying to make earlier about trusting Dex, but he’ll roll with the punches. “I’m not a professional on emotions or anything, but I think it’s okay to get overwhelmed by someone being nice to you when you’re used to literally nothing at best.” 

“That’s…” Keefe goes quiet. Dex wonders if he said the right or wrong thing. Hopefully it was right. It feels right, at least. “That’s good to hear. Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Dex says, and gives him a tired smile. Not because he’s tired of Keefe, but because it’s who knows what hour in the morning now and Dex has been on a losing streak with his sleep schedule for roughly a week now. 

Keefe sighs. “I wish I could hug you,” he whines. “You’re always so nice about putting up with my bullshit, and you’re cute when you’re tired, and I call you all the time but I still miss you because it’s not the same as when I could wrap my arm around you and say I’ve got you, Dexy, without physical consequences.” 

There are many, many things that Dex could think in response to that. There are many, many things that Dex does think in response to that. But the first thing that comes to mind is if this conversation had been a string of imparter texts, Keefe would have written something along the lines of “:(((“ at least once just now. 

Keefe bulldozes on. “Like, you’re so…patient,” 

And then Dex cuts him off with a snort. “You are the first person I have ever heard call me patient. Ever.” 

“I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’. 

It’s an observation. Not a revelation, because Dex has known for months now that his dynamic with Keefe is defined by oddities. They are misfits on the outskirts of everything they know. They are two boys that don’t fit neatly into any boxes—one with a genetically modified ability that’s drastically altered his life in ways no one knows how to fix, and the other the son of a bad match that’s become a regent at 15 and a Black Swan technopath even younger. They are more than that, too, and they see all of that more in each other. They see all the mundane more and the wild more and all the more in between that doesn’t fit into any box society likes. They’ve been seeing more of all the more in one another over these past few months, and scrapping their discoveries together like spare parts into something that’s probably confusing and worthless to the rest of the world, but it works for them.

Progressing without refining, coloring outside the lines—it’s not what mechanics or artists are supposed to do, but for this piece, for their style, for their invention, it works for them.

This weird version of love that they have, that seems to permanently float either between or outside platonic and romantic binaries (Dex is too sleepy to tell): it works for them.

It works for them.

“You make being patient worth it, Keefe. You always do, in the long run.”

Half-lidded eyes shoot wide, and Dex can’t tell if the glaze over icy irises is due to tears or lighting until Keefe’s turning away and whining, “Dex, what the fuck did I say about not wanting to cry?” 

Dex is glad that his words touched Keefe, since his hands can’t. Appreciation presents itself through amused exhales at the smile on Keefe’s face that won’t go away. “I thought you liked honesty, though?” he teases. 

Keefe rolls back over in his twist of bedding to glare at his imparter, but it looks more like a pout. “Yeah, but I also like not having a crisis over whether or not—I’m pretending I live in an ideal world that doesn’t hate me, by the way—I want to draw you a bajillion times or paint you a bajillion times or tickle fight you until you’re in hysterics because I like the way your laugh sounds or hug you for an eon normally or hug you for an eon the way we did on the eckodon or if I want to kiss you. And I know that last part’s probably overreacting, but also, I can’t tell if it’s wanting to, like, kiss you on the cheek? Or more than that? Or less? Which makes things harder and way more confusing,” 

Dex’s eyebrows aren’t practically touching his hairline, they are touching his hairline. (In spirit. Because eyebrow muscles don’t work like that in the real world. He thinks.) Dex adds You want a REPEAT of the eckodon ride? onto his mental list of conversation topics, then asks the slightly more pressing question he got from Keefe’s rambling: “You want to kiss me?” 

Because Keefe Sencen? Renowned heartthrob that had half the girls at Foxfire wrapped around his finger without even trying that hard? Wanting to kiss him? Him? Dex Dizznee? The sheer notion was fucking absurd. Bonkers. Ridiculous.

“I mean—like—listen—okay, just, just let me explain before your brain runs wild, I know how you are,” Keefe splutters.

Dex suppresses a grin at Keefe being the flustered one for once. “Oh, I’m definitely listening.” 

“Okay, so, first off, kissing was a brief idea that popped into my head when I thought, How do I show Dex how much I care about him? Kind of like an afterthought. And the original afterthought was, like, impulsively kissing your cheek. In a goofy way. Not full-on making out with you or anything.” Keefe pauses, and two things shift in the meantime: Keefe’s facial expression tipping off of panic into thoughtfulness, and Dex’s facial color gradually sliding from its pale base color to a blush that only gets more vivid as Keefe talks. “Though I probably wouldn’t complain if we made out, but it’s not something I’m yearning for every second of every day or anything. The possibility only just hit me, after all. I want it if you want it, I mean. But if you don’t, I’m all good. We’re all good.” 

Dex blinks. Throws all caution to the wind, and thinks about it. Thinks about whether or not he’d like that kind of kissing from Keefe. Keefe would most likely start slow, because that feels like a Keefe thing to do, so Dex imagines that. Imagines how he might feel if they were whispering to directly into each other’s ears instead of each other’s imparters, if Keefe pulled him in for a kiss instead of keeping his distance without compromising himself—

—and almost immediately thinks No thanks. Which is a little odd, since he likes the way Keefe looks and acts, but his stomach hollows out at the idea of another mouth moving over his, no matter how kind the intention. Mashing two mouths together is an overrated display of affection hyped up too much by mom’s romcoms and other romance enthusiasts is the explanation for it that pops up into Dex’s head. The lack of spark or pull that Dex feels towards kissing in general plus the weirdness of textures and germs interacting through mouth to mouth contact probably factors into his opinion too.

Overriding that kind of mind and body instinct feels wrong, so Dex offers up more honesty to Keefe. “I think I’ll pass on the kissing. Making-out kissing, at least. Kissing anyone makes me feel weird—a bad kind of weird, if you get what I mean.” 

“Sir yes sir!” Keefe barks out, giving him a cheesy salute, and Dex giggles. “Thank you for making it easier to make my brain shut up about kissing you. The identity crisis prevention is appreciated.” 

“Of course, of course,” Dex jests. “But for the record, I don’t think you potentially wanting to kiss boys in general is a bad thing. As long as they’re good for you, y’know?” 

Quiet overlays Keefe’s demeanor, and Dex can practically hear the gears in his brain turning. Processing. Then Keefe gives a small smile and says, “Thanks, Dex. I’ll keep it in mind. Buuuuuut,” Keefe claps his hands suddenly, and Dex nearly jumps out of his skin. “I’m not in the mood for heavy introspection right now! Soooo…maybe you could tell me about the things I said that you’d be okay and not okay with instead? For the sake of, like, boundaries and stuff.” 

“Ah, yes. Discussing boundaries when we’re both sleep deprived and not thinking straight. Incredibly intelligent move.” 

Dex apparently didn’t put enough lightheartedness into his deadpan, because Keefe scrambles to backtrack. “I mean, yeah, you have a point, we can do that sometime later in daylight, or later, or never. Whatever you feel like. No worries.” 

“I was joking. We can and probably should talk about it now, even if we’re not 100% functioning,” Dex reassures. 

“Okay. Um. Where do you want to start?” 

Dex references his mental conversation prep list, and plucks out a relevant item he hasn’t used yet. (He will use the sunshine comment before the end of this hail, or so help him.) “Can we talk about the whole ‘basically wanting a repeat of the eckodon ride’ thing? Because in the moment you seemed pretty eager to end that, and I’m simultaneously confused and curious at your…change of heart, so to speak.” 

A hypothesis Dex will never be able to test the accuracy of: If Keefe weren’t under the weak starlight of his bedroom walls and somewhere brighter in this moment, Dex would be able to see a flush crawling over Keefe’s ears. Perhaps even over his cheeks, too. The musing is based on evidence—the hand running through Keefe’s bedhead, the loaded exhale, the averted gaze, the upper teeth worrying his lower lip. 

Anxiously, Keefe chants strings of swears under his breath before composing himself a little. “First things first, just to know how much of my dignity I’m losing here at whatever time of night it is right now, can you tell me how often you think about the eckodon ride? And what you think of it, if you do think of it at all?” 

Oh god. Dex had not prepped for actually talking about that. At all. 

So much for not floundering later on in the conversation, he curses his past self. 

“Do you want me to start right now and then just pause and backtrack when I word things wrong, or do you want me to try and get things sorted out before I talk?” Clarification and a counterattack, a delay of the inevitable. 

“Take your time,” Keefe murmurs. 

Dex does. While Keefe breathes in a purposeful pattern he messes up every now and then, Dex rearranges the scramble of thoughts in his head until every piece is in the right place. And then he double checks to make sure it’s right. And when he thinks Maybe I should triple check, he forces the words out into a freefall and hopes that when they collide into the connection between him and Keefe, it won’t hurt. “Before I get into emotional vulnerability, I would like to say that I still stand by my opinion that your breath stunk. You need to invest in having carry-on breath mints at all times, dude.” 

Keefe bursts out laughing, and it’s everything from playful ocean waves curling and splashing at his lower legs on a shoreline walk to distant melodies whispered in the wind. “I’ll do that, next time I go out,” Keefe promises, and for now, only Dex will ever know how big it is to hear Keefe make plans for a more social future he said he’d given up on at the beginning of these nighttime hails. “But only if you do too. Because I swear, your breath rivaled gulon farts, my guy.” 

But only if you do too. My guy. It softens Dex like the glow of the stars outside his window. His smile is a crescent in the dark. “Fine, fine, I will. Maybe I’ll make my own and hail you so you can watch alchemy antics.” 

“Please do. But finish talking first.” 

Dex takes a deep breath. “Okay. Uh. Where was I?” 

“Emotional vulnerability, I think?” 

Exhale, trace back to which thought he left off on, and go. Hurtle out of comfort and into the brilliantly terrifying unknown. Speak before the end of the fall. “Right, emotional vulnerability time. I don’t think of the eckodon ride every second of every day or anything. But it pops up from time to time. More often when I’m talking to you, of course, but it’s not like I can hear whale songs or see Z-shaped objects without at least briefly thinking about it. As for what I think of the eckodon ride, I think…” Dex falters. Stumbles. His carefully constructed thoughts flutter just out of reach. 

What was I thinking earlier? What have I thought about it before? “I think it was nice. Confusingly nice, but nice. I felt—it felt—it was different. A lot more physical contact than I was used to. And I guess I liked looking at you close up more than I was willing to admit before. Noticing little details was interesting—like how long your eyelashes are, since I didn’t really have anywhere to look but your eyes and I usually try to look close to people’s eyes but not quite since I get distracted by their eyes when they talk if I make eye contact, but we weren’t talking, and I just got to look, and—ugh, I’m rambling. That sounds weird. My words aren’t, I dunno what the word is—wording? Right? That’s wrong, but whatever. My words aren’t wording. You get what I mean.” 

Dex drags his hands down his face, and grimaces at the light layer of sweat that’s built up there in such a small amount of time. Has the freefall ended yet? Will his stomach please stop hollowing out? 

The freefall crashes to an end, and Dex slips out of the wind into into safe waters when Keefe asks, “So you didn’t mind how close we were the whole time?” 

With only the moon as a witness, the timidness in Keefe’s voice is clear. With only the moon as a witness, all the air empties out of Dex’s lungs when he says “I didn’t really mind, but I thought you did,” into what feels like six feet underneath the sky. 

Thuds pulse loudly in his veins and ears in the real silence. Every gentle slide of fabric moving with the crests and troughs of Dex’s breathing feels like the edge of too much, but Dex doesn’t know which side of the edge it falls onto. Staring at his imparter is too much now, too, so he turns his face into his pillow and swipes his thumb back and forth across his sheets as a nearly futile distraction from his frazzled senses. 

Keefe reels him out of it, out of the increasingly weird stimulation levels and the imaginary water. “I didn’t really mind either, and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I shoved you away and jumped to something that I understood. And then I tried not to think about it. Which worked for a while, but then Loamnore happened, and now it’s really hard to not think about how much I miss being close to people, which makes it extra hard to not think about the eckodon ride when I’m around you, and now we’re here.”

A hum vibrates in Dex’s throat; it resonates with all the gadgets scattered around his room on sleep mode. “So originally, you didn’t want to fully process the eckodon ride, but now that you have, you miss that kind of proximity?” 

“Yes,” Keefe breathes out a syllable and longing. 

“That makes sense,” Dex nods to himself. 

Contemplation lulls talking from either end of the line to sleep for a little while, but not Dex. Yet. At some point, Dex’s imparter slipped so that he couldn’t see Keefe and Keefe couldn’t see him. Not focusing on the changes in his expressions and environment, when it’s so late and quiet and Dex woke up at 2am yesterday and hasn’t slept since, makes it a little difficult to stay awake. 

“So if I end up being able to handle touching people at some point in the future,” Keefe starts, and Dex starts at the sudden verbalism and the hope in his voice that they both thought he’d lost, “kissing you is a no, but hugs are a yes?” 

“Hugs are a yes,” Dex agrees. 

“What about, um—” Keefe stops short. 

Laziness compels Dex to flick his imparter upright with telekinesis instead of just reaching over and grabbing it. He raises an eyebrow at Keefe. “What about what?” 

Dex is the furthest thing the elvin world knows to an empath, and yet. And yet. He can feel Keefe’s embarrassment through the countless miles separating Rimeshire and Splendor Plains. Keefe’s almost completely buried beneath blankets, pressed deep enough into his pillow that only some messy blond tufts are visible. 

“This is so stupid,” Keefe grumbles into fabric. 

“I think this is rather funny, actually. Hilarious, even,” Keefe can’t see Dex’s shit-eating grin. “Share with the class, Keefe. How were you gonna finish that sentence? Be honest,” 

(Dex turns down his imparter volume to the lowest setting. Just in case a certain froster is wandering around the halls with those silent mom feet of hers and walks in at the worst time possible.) 

Dex thinks he hears Keefe mumble holding hands, but that seems far too innocent to be correct, so he asks, “What?” 

Keefe pops up out of his cocoon. He looks like he wants to shrivel up and disappear to somewhere that’s anywhere but near his imparter. “Holding hands. That’s how I was going to end the sentence.” 

Suspicion narrows Dex’s eyes. “Considering the kind of jokes you like to make, I feel like it takes more than the idea of holding hands to get you flustered,” 

“Not anymore,” 

Dex can’t tell if Keefe is whining or scraping the surface of loneliness that he’s shoved aside for tonight, and decides it’s a good idea to pull him away from that. He can lament his losses when the sun’s there to smatter more freckles along the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the point—you wanted to know how I felt about you wanting to hold my hand?” 

Slowly, Keefe nods. 

“I don’t see why it’d be anything to get flustered about. We used to hold hands for light leaping all the time. Extending that doesn’t seem like a huge deal, in this hypothetical.” 

“How the fuck are you so chill about this but I’m not,” Keefe says, and yeah, he’s definitely whining now. 

Dex laughs. “My serious answer is because 1) I’m not touch starved and 2) we’re talking theoreticals, and my emotions kind of take a backseat during conversations like these so my critical thinking skills can take the wheel, since it feels like there’s no stakes since it’s all, as I said, theoretical. My joking answer, on the other hand, is because I’m cooler than you.” 

Keefe cracks a smile. “True, true,” 

“Anything else you wanted to talk about?” 

“Is there anything else I said earlier that you’re not cool with?” Keefe returns. 

“List it off again?” 

“Uhhhh…” What some humans would call Keefe’s ‘Adam’s apple’ bobs as he tips his head back and thinks. He raises one hand and flips up a finger for each item he rattles off. “Stuff we haven’t talked about yet: Me wanting to draw you a bajillion times, me wanting to paint you a bajillion times, me wanting to get into a tickle fight with you just because I like how your laugh sounds, and teeeechnically cuddling?” 

This is the kind of thing that Dex should probably have to mull over for a while, but answers come to him oddly easily. “All of those are fine, but I will warn you that I might kick you on instinct if you tickle me too much. Which isn’t that hard. My dad makes fun of me all the time for still being ticklish. He said that Dizznees usually have built up immunity to tickles by my age.” 

Keefe blinks. Numerous times. Exaggeratedly. “Normally I’d be losing my mind at you being cool with me using you as a pillow for no reason, but I’m way too stuck on tickle immunity being a thing you can build up.” 

Dex forgets to be quiet with his wheezing. “Dude, I have so many whack stories about things me and my family have done that have to do with tickling. Like, my dad said that when he was a level two he’d make elixirs specifically to give him vampire fangs so he could bite his siblings harder when they tried to tickle him,” 

The tea kettle monkey screeching hysterical laughter from before comes back with a vengeance, and Dex is very glad his imparter is as quiet as it can be without deafening Keefe out entirely. “I need the full story now,” he gasps out. 

“You’re in for a ride,” Dex says, settling into a more comfortable position on his bed. But then he remembers one thing he swore he’d say before this hail ended, and makes sure to look the camera head on when he comments, “Oh, by the way, before I don’t shut up for another three hours, good job getting some sunshine. The freckles look nice on you.” 

Horror rounds Keefe’s eyes comically. He frantically runs his fingers along his cheeks as if his aforementioned freckles were braille spelling out some awful message on his face. “You can see them?” 

“How else would I know they look nice on you?” 

Keefe groans and curls up like the roly poly bugs Dex loved to pick up as a kid. Keefe’s imparter falls forward, and the imparter screen thumps into fuzzy blackness. “I chase Bullhorn around the property so Elwin can have a break for a day one time, and this is how the world rewards me,” 

“As I basically told you already: I think it’s a great reward. Anyway. Wanna hear about just how petty my family gets or not?” 

“I’m 100% down, Dexy. Hit me with good old storytime.” 

Storytelling hasn’t ever really been Dex’s thing, but Keefe doesn’t seem to have high standards, which is nice. (The other explanation is that Dex is better at storytelling than he thinks, which he refuses to believe because he hates being wrong about anything ever.) He laughs more than Dex expected, and insists on getting his sketchbook at one point to draw out certain parts, and then they both giggle so hard they can’t breathe. They gesture and talk and talk and talk until Keefe says his throat and ribs hurt, and Dex agrees on that last part. 

Dex’s last thought before his breathing slows and evens out is some hazy musing of how nice it is that he can be Keefe’s person without having to feel hummingbirds or butterflies to get there. 

Both of their imparters are on when they fall asleep to soft whirrs and wake up to peaceful daylight.

[hourcat]

20 ("Take a bath with me.") for piarles plssss👀🫶

Pierre has done about thirty laps around the apartment before Charles decides to finally intervene. "Pierre," he calls from the bathroom, scooting backwards in the tub. "Pierrot."

Pierre, of course, comes running. He slips a little on the bathmat in front of the door, then grunts, then turns his attention to Charles. He's an open book tonight. Charles can't blame him. "Hey," he murmurs, reaching from the sudsy water towards Pierre's hunched-over body. "C'mere."

Pierre goes easily, sitting on the edge of the tub as Charles rubs his arm gently. "You okay?" His voice is quiet, concerned--clearly he's more in his head about tonight's news than Charles had realized. His heart aches. He nods in response to Pierre's question and continues to massage him. "Okay. Good."

It's quiet for a minute or so, the only sound in the room their breathing, almost braided together, and the sloshing of the water in the bathtub. "Pierre," Charles hums. "You're so tense, baby." He squeezes his husband's arm gently and Pierre's shoulders sag, like he's finally feeling the effects of his incessant pacing.

"I know," he answers, voice still quiet. "I just...I was not expecting to get that text from Maria, you know?" He sighs, shakes his head. "I feel like we should be there, Charles. She is having our baby right now--"

"She is in labor right now," Charles corrects softly. "And her boyfriend is with her in there, which means the room is probably crowded enough as it is." He readjusts himself in the tub. "Get in, Pierrot. Come take a bath with me." Pierre opens his mouth to protest, but apparently thinks better of it: instead, he just nods once, meek, and peels away his clothes one layer at a time until he's naked. When he sinks into the warm water, back pressed to Charles' chest, he exhales. "There we go."

"What if she has our baby girl when we are not there?" Pierre's voice is barely more than a squeak, now--Charles has to lean over his shoulder to hear him properly. The lead-up to this has been all sunshine and rainbows, for the most part: decorating their newborn daughter's bedroom had been the most fun two weeks of Charles' life, and Pierre's confidence in deciding that he'll be Papa and Charles can be Daddy had carried all throughout their surrogate's pregnancy. She'd kept them updated and Pierre had seemingly filed it away like any other fact, processed normally and held casually.

He doesn't seem casual right now. Charles hums and tugs him closer, settling his cheek on Pierre's tensed-up shoulder muscle. "Then she has our baby girl when we are not there, and you and I get to take her home and spend the rest of our lives with her." He plants a formless kiss to Pierre's neck and gets a little purr of approval upon contact. "Also, labor is not always a quick two-hour affair." It's funny--a week ago, Charles would imagine their roles would be reversed right now. Pierre'd been all calm logic as he'd gone through each and every parenting book, and Charles had been beside himself thinking about how to baby-proof everything in their apartment despite the fact that they'd already done that months ago. Now it seems like Pierre is the one who's about to have a mental breakdown.

Charles kisses at Pierre's neck again and nuzzles him closer, tightening his arm around his husband's waist. "You will be such a good papa," he murmurs, and Pierre shudders against him--the choked huff of breath that follows can only mean he's crying, and their little Odette hasn't even been born yet. He hasn't even held her. (Wow. Charles can't imagine the disasters they're going to be over the next week, if this is his stoic husband already.)

"I can't believe it," he says after a long beat, sounding as waterlogged as ever. "We are going to be parents, Charles. You and me."

The thought has been thrumming through Charles' veins since they'd first found out the surrogacy took: here in the final hours before their worlds change forever, it feels like there are fireworks in his blood. "You and me," he murmurs back, dotting another kiss to the closest point on Pierre he can get to. "Let's get cleaned up a little, love, no? You kind of smell."

Pierre snorts. "Thanks," he deadpans. But it sounds like his nervous tears have stopped for the moment, anyway--Charles can feel the way the muscles in his back loosen up a little as he rests more heavily against Charles. Just breathe, he thinks earnestly, hoping Pierre will tap into their little mind-reading magic again. He just needs to settle in a little more, let the rest of his anxiety bleed out here in the tub, and then they can head over to the hospital.

After all, Charles doesn't want to miss out on Odette's arrival, either.