#it's very similar to the one im working on now but slightly to the left which is why i think it will be really exhausting

[hoonieyun]

Hello I know your requests are closed rn but when they’re open I was wondering if you can do reader doing the trend when she tells enhypen that she can’t pay rent this month (lmk if you don’t know the trend I’ll link it!)

i can’t pay the rent ⊹˚. ♡

pranking enha hyung line by telling them you can't pay the rent for the month

warnings: profanity, kissing, teasing/pranks, consensual touching, 18+ genre: fluff… just fluff idek LOL notes: OKAY I SWEAR NOWTHIS IS MY LAST REQUEST IM DOING TIL NEXT YEAR LOL yall keep sending good ones and i dont wanna make you guys wait but PLS save the requests for next year, i promise i will do them all hehe anyways thank you for requesting!! i thought this was so funny because my sister did this on her husband recently and he was so dramatic about it, telling her that they had to sell her car LOL anyways enjoy and as per usual… not proofread lmao

husband!heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 484

– you thought this prank was hilarious, especially because it seems like the people’s reactions were always so dramatic and you knew heeseung’s would be similar, if not funnier. heeseung was going to be arriving home from work anytime soon so you sat at your dinner table waiting for him to walk through your front door. 

in just a few minutes, you could hear his keys enter the lock and turn the doorknob. heeseung was very hardworking and as much as you fought him on the fact that you were okay also working, he wasn’t going to let his wife do another day of corporate work if he had anything to say. 

the year before you two got married, heeseung received a huge promotion, one that allowed him to take care of the two of you without you having to ever lift a finger ever again. you were grateful for him and you did your best to be a good wife even if heeseung was okay coming home to ramyeon and cuddling in bed all day. 

“hi, my love. how are you?” he says, throwing his shoes off and making his way over to you. he quickly presses a kiss on your temple and you release a pent up sigh to make your distress believable. “what’s wrong?” heeseung asks, squatting down so that he could be more eye level. 

“hee… promise you won’t be mad at me?” you say and he nods at you, slightly pouting and looking at you with his big doe eyes. he was unsure of where this was going and the contrast to your usual bubbly personality was a bit worrying to him. 

“i don’t think i can pay the rent this month…” you say, jutting out your bottom lip with a slight quiver. heeseung looks like he’s just heard the saddest thing ever, like you just confessed the utmost heartbreaking statement. “baby, that's okay! please don’t worry? we’ll make it work…” heeseung says, pulling you intoa hug anf rubbing your back softly. you accept his hug but can’t stop yourself from bursting out into laughter. heeseung suddenly pulls you away, holding your shoulders and looking at you with a suspicious expression, his left eyebrow raised as he stares at you. 

“babe? why are you laughing! we can’t pay rent and you’re laughing– wait…” heeseung begins to say and you realize that he’s caught on. “you don’t even pay the rent! i do!” heeseung says, shooting up straight and posing with his hands on his hips with a scolding face. “sorry hee!! i had to prank you because your reaction is too cute!!” you respond and he smirks with a chuckle, falling into your arms with a hug. “you’re lucky i love you!” heeseung says before the two of you share a kiss. 

“now… where’s my ramyeon!” he says, picking you up bridal style and walking over to the kitchen.

husband!jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 663

– everything about jay just screamed gentleman. he always opens doors for you, when it rains he carries the umbrella predominantly on your side more than his, he keeps you on the side furthest from the street when walking on the sidewalk, he showers you in love and compliments, and never lets you forget how much he loves you. 

he respected your wishes when you said that after getting married you no longer wanted to work, in fact, he encouraged it. he had wanted you to stop working for a while now because of how shitty your boss was but you ultimately waited until you were married to do so. he wanted you to stay home and work on your dream home, encouraging you to use his card for whatever you needed so that you could make the house you two got together, the one of your dreams. 

so when jay was at work, you were at home doing projects to do just that; make this house your dream home that you and jay would spend the rest of your lives together in. you were taking a break from gardening in the backyard when you came across the tiktok and because you knew that jay was weak to your pranks, it was going to be easy to pull one over on him. 

you finish doing the rest of your garden for the day just as jay was coming home from work. you greet him at the front door, sliding your gloves off and giving him a kiss on the cheek instead of a hug so that you wouldn’t get his clothes dirty since yours was slightly covered in dirt. 

“hi baby, can we talk?” you ask and the atmosphere instantly shifts as you grab him by his hand to the kitchen. you pour him a glass of water as he’s taking a seat at your kitchen counter, eyes fixed on you as you walk over to him. “is everything okay, my love?” he asks and you pause for a second as you try to bite back a laugh. 

“i don’t know how to tell you this but i can’t pay our mortage this month…” you confess and he looks at you with furrowed brows. “what mortage?” he ask and you tell him the mortage for the house and his eyebrows remain furrowed. “did you buy a new house??” he ask and you couldn’t help but break character. “why are you laughing?? what’s going on??” he asks, even more confused than before and you explain to him that it was a prank you saw but he wasn’t able to move on from your statement, still asking if you had bought another house that he hadn’t known about. “wait so is there another house? do you pay the mortage for that house?” he asks as you try to catch your breath from laughing so much. 

“can you be serious? i have no idea what’s going on! do you need me to pay the mortage on this house? it’s okay if you do, you know i’ll help you with anything.” jay adds, proving yet again how kind and generous he was. 

“baby, it’s a joke! there’s no other house.” you answer in between laughs and his eyes narrow at you after finally realizing what you were saying while laughing. 

“wow, i’m going to need to learn how to stop falling for your pranks. what’s next, you’re going to bring home a bunch of puppies?” and when your eyes widen at his response, he pulls you into a hug while shaking his head; “no, don’t even think about it!” he says, pulling you towards the bathroom. 

“but– nope! we are not getting a puppy!” jay says cutting you off. you look at him with a pout and all he can do is place a soft kiss onto your lips. “okay, fine. i’ll think about it.” he says and you cheer knowing deep down jay wanted a puppy too. 

boyfriend!jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 733

– you and jake have just moved into your first apartment together after graduating from college. it was nothing crazy, just a humble 2 bedroom apartment and although you would’ve settled with 1 bedroom, jake insisted on getting two so that you could have a dedicated space for your art. jake definitely made more than you and although it made you a bit insecure that he was always taking care of the finances, he reassures you that he wouldn’t want it any other way.

often telling you that he’s happy to do it if it means you could put all your focus in your passion for your art. he even goes as far as having your art supplies on a refill cycle because he knows how fast you go through them and he doesn’t want you to ever run out so he has them delivered just in time as you’re about to run out of something whether it be a canvas, tools, or a certain color of paint. jake was loving like that. 

willing to spend what he needed, no matter the price, just so that he can make sure that you have everything you needed because he was your number one supporter. 

you were scrolling on tiktok, procrastinating on a piece, when you scrolled into the trend and it seems after seeing that first video led your algorithm to show you similar videos 8 more times before you decided that you would try and prank jake. you often tried to prank jake because his reactions were always cute and dramatic but you could tell whenever he was able to catch on so for this one, you prepared yourself. going over a small script in your head about how you would say it and what responses you would have for whatever jake could possibly say in return. 

so, when jake got back from work you walked out of your little art studio and welcomed him home with a hug and kiss on the lips. “hi, pretty. how was your day?” he asks and when you tell him that you were stressed and a bit anxious, he immediately drops his work bag and holds you closer. “what’s wrong?” he asks and you slowly you pull yourself out of his grip so you could look at him– bad idea because his eyes seemed to carry so much love and adoration for you in them that you could get lost in them. 

“yn?” he asks and you shake yourself out of the trance of looking into his doe eyes. 

“jake, i don’t think i can pay the rent this month… baby i’m so sorry!” you respond, throwing yourself back into his arms and burying your face into his chest to show him just how bad you felt and you could feel jake hesitantly put his hand on your back. 

“pay the rent?” he asks and you nod your head against his chest. “my love, no offense but i pay the rent not you.” jake says and when you look up at him his head is slightly tilted to the side with a furrowed gaze. 

“we all know i make the big bucks around here, baby!” jake says proudly and although it didn’t offend you at all, you pretend to be hurt by softly hitting him on the chest and pouting. 

“hey!” you yell while crossing your arms. 

“it’s true!” he says, pulling you back into his arms while rocking the two of you side to side. “what are you even talking about? i thought we agreed that i would cover our rent so you could focus on getting your art exhibit together?” he asks and you couldn’t even prolong the joke anymore because he was being too sweet. 

“yeah, i know… it was just a stupid prank i saw on tiktok.” you confessed and jake laughs at you endearly. “aww… not your best one babe.” he says and this time you hit him again because he was teasing you. he let out a small “oww” even though it didn’t actually hurt. 

“come on! i’m just playing!” he says, now he was looking at you with a pout and your scowl transforms into a smile. the two of you shared a tender kiss before preparing dinner. he was your hard working and caring boyfriend and you were his “little picasso if picasso was sexy”; his words not yours. 

boyfriend!sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 835

– sunghoon, although usually very quiet, was very mischieveious and silly when the two of you were alone. he often played harmless pranks on you like hiding and waiting behind corners and jumping out when you got close, placing fake plastic bugs in unsuspecting spots for you to find, or just randomly having an outburst of energy and screaming that would startle you. 

and although you would tell him that you hated being scared or surprised, you secretly loved this goofy side of him because it brings out the biggest smile on his face whenever he sees your reactions. even when you do get scared, which is almost all the time, he makes it up to you by cuddling up close to you and whispering loving things into your ear until the two of you fall asleep. 

so, when your best friend sent you the tiktok and said you should get revenge on sunghoon for scaring you just the day before, you didn’t hesitate to dwelve into the tiktok trend to find inspiration on how you could really sell the story and try to prank sunghoon the way he pranks you. 

sunghoon would be getting home from work soon, he was a part of the IT team of a large scale company and you loved how smart he was, his cute face was just a bonus. when he got the job and moved the two of you to a bigger condo closer to his work, the two of you agreed that he would take care of the rent if you took care of the smaller finances like groceries and esstentials. 

at first you were a bit reluctant because you didn’t want it to come off like he was taking care of everything but sunghoon soothed your worries and told you that if he were to ever let you take care of the rent, his parents would be highly disappointed in him for letting his lady do that. as time passed, you slowly became comfortable with sunghoon’s job and how it did provide more than enough for the two of you. you didn’t really work, you often would help out at your family’s floral shop but it wasn’t anything to sunghoon’s big tech job; something you’re very grateful for… and of course, him. 

“honey, i’m home!” sunghoon announces as he enters your shared condo and you stay in place, slightly hiding in the blanket so it looked like you had been having a gloomy day instead of running outside to greet him like you usually do. 

sunghoon quickly makes his way to your shared bedroom when you don’t come out to greet him and he finds you on the bed, in a fetal position and hiding under the big fluffy white blanket. “honey, are you ok? you look sad…” sunghoon says softly and his tone of voice tugs at your heartstrings, almost making you back out of the prank. 

you mumbled something but because you were hiding under the blanket, he couldn’t hear you so he gently pulls the blanket off to reveal you, now hiding shyly behind your hands. 

“what’s wrong?” he says, grabbing your hands and placing them in his, gently rubbing circles on your knuckles with his thumbs. 

“hoon… i’m so sorry but i can’t pay the rent this month.” you say, finally making eye contact with him, giving him sad puppy eyes and when sunghoon’s blank face doesn’t change for a moment except for a few blinks, you start to believe that you’ve totally convinced him… wrong. 

“baby… i’m gonna hold you hand when i say this– you’re broke and you’ve never paid the rent a day in your cute little life.” he says, flashing you his cheeky smile that showed his fang like canine teeth. your jaw drops in shock at his response, prompting you to shout an empty “i hate you” at him as you grab the blanket and return to hiding underneath it. 

“noo, you looove me!” sunghoon says, grabbing the blanket once again to reveal a pouty version of you. 

“i buy you those creepy furry thingies you like, i buy you all your favorite snacks, and i pay for this lovely condo so you can have a beautiful home.” sunghoon says, getting closer with each word and finally placing a kiss on your lips. 

“hey! the labubus are not creepy…” you mutter and the both of you look over to your vanity where there sat a pink labubu. 

“okay, yeah they’re kinda creepy– but i was trying to prank you because you always prank me but i guess it didn’t work.” you confess and he pats your head, brushing some of your hair out of your face. 

“don’t worry baby, your cuteness makes up for your bad pranks.” he says with a laugh before lunging out of bed, just in time as you try to lunge at him; starting a cat and mouse chase around your condo until one of you, you 99% of the time, gets tired. 

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[midnightanxietytm]

He takes his whiskey neat

A/N: Look, I think i was possessed while writing this one /j. It was like 1 am and I was procrastination on college work, I dunno what happened but this is the ungodly spawn of my imagination mixed with sleep deprivation, caffeine and stress. Enjoy and don't question it too much

Contents: Ford Pines x reader, pinning (lots of pining), I pictured reader in their late 40s to early 50s so there is an age gap but nothing extreme. There's some plot in those holes. uhhh lots of tension and no payoff because im pretty sure I passed out before I got to that part.

Word count: 996

There’s this look on his eyes now that you can’t quite figure out.

Ever since Stanford Pines came back from the portal, ever since weirdmageddon and the end of that fateful summer, something about him fundamentally changed. There’s contempt, relief, sure, but there's more to it, something that he keeps deep in that rattling metal-protected brain of his.

And god forbid sometimes you just want to pick him apart entirely, figure out every detail, note it down, absorb it, maybe then his mere presence won’t entice you, mess you, so goddamn much.

It culminates, as all events are bound to do, right before that year’s summer vacation, you blame the heat. 

Soos and Melody took a vacation for themselves, entrusting the shack back to Stan’s less than trustworthy hands, just like old times. Ford slips back into the basement so easily you almost follow him; your mind briefly longing for that nostalgia of being freshly out of college, when you and Ford were easily impressed by the oddness of the world.

You were a prodigy; a good ten years younger than him yet still doing your masters while he did his doctorate, and in the same area with similar themes! Back then, you two were just bright-eyed yet very tired academics… Then Gravity Falls presented itself on a silver platter, and Bill followed through.

You were there, on the day of the portal, or at least, almost there, going back for the thousandth time, expecting no answer to your knocks at the door as usual, only to be met with the fallout of something far worse than refusal.

And then he was back, less jittery, less paranoid and less sleep deprived than he was before at least. But there was that thing in his eyes, that inherent distrust, detachment…? You struggled to find the words and if there’s one thing that you as a scientist can’t deal with is a question that goes unresearched.

So it began; your “research” depended on experiment and to experiment, you firstly decided to get close to your unwilling subject. And you go down the rabbit hole.

You find him in the basement, of course. He’s drawing on loose sheets of paper, some of the discarded pieces lay on the floor, and the cd player by his side is playing just loud enough to muffle your footsteps as you approach him by his right side. “Updating the journal?” You ask, nonchalantly, as if you hadn't obsessively turned each page of his journals before, as if your own handwriting wasn’t squeezed in the first ones before his old muse took all the space left.

Ford just hums, raising his chin slightly, but not his eyes, just to acknowledge the question. “Not really, just trying to get some proportion practice. Looking back, some of my work on the first journal was… Not the best.” 

A chuckle leaves your mouth; “If you say so…” You hum, picking up one of the filled out pages that were pushed aside in the table and pretending to look it over as he places his pen down and looks up at you.

“Any advice?” He asks, and once again you pretend to be paying attention to anything but him and his every movement.

“Not really… I think you’re good.” You place the paper back at the table, leaning against it. “Thought you’d be going through your abstract phase by now, honestly.” And you smirk down at him.

He leans back, crossing his arms; “I fear I’m too logical to have an abstract phase, even my craziest dreams have math and science behind them.” And you both laugh, and your curiosity itches more and more every millisecond.

The next words that leave your mouth were planned and inwardly rehearsed, but they come out natural as a summer breeze. “Every tortured artist has an abstract phase, get on with the times, sixer!” It comes out as a joke, it's a test. And suddenly you’re too nervous to stay there, staring at him and waiting for a rebuttal. You push yourself off the table and zipline to one of the bookshelves, reaching towards the back of it, you pull the ‘eureka whiskey’ and the two cups.

He just watches you for a second, then accepts the cup as you pour him one, then one for yourself. 

And it’s truly the eureka whiskey, because goddamn you just found something in those eyes. 

He takes a sip; “Yeah I guess those portal days would do for some good surrealist pieces at least.”

“I can’t even imagine.” You say.

He smirks, lips inches from his cup. “You can’t…” He takes a sip. “That’s the point of surrealist.” You want his brain under a microscope, you want his breath mixing with yours, you want to never see him again, you want to wake up near him every day.

The curse of science is that in the endeavor to figure out the world, the scientist often loses sight of themselves. 

The witty remarks, the planned lines, the psychological strategies, all fly out of you head and you lean back against his desk. He’s leaned further back now and his chair is turned diagonally towards you and he watches with a smile and those eyes. “What did you see?” It’s almost a whisper, because you think he might actually tell you, and that scares you more than anything.

“Too much…” He swallows, sighs, takes a swing of whiskey and rests the empty cup on the desk. “It was very chaotic, honestly that’s all I want to say…” You sigh, pushing yourself up to sit at his desk, and his head tilts as he watches you. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” You settle, even though it doesn’t even come near to all the things you want to express. He smiles, and his eyes travel down, landing on your hands, holding your barely touched whiskey glass. You follow his gaze, and chuckle. “I’m more of a whine person.”

“I know…”

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[chobani-flip]

@bucktommypositivityweek

prompt: what they love most about each other (yeah, idk... i just realised that this was happening like an hour ago? i was wondering why so many fics had a similar theme today... oh well... im not sure what this is, but it definitely is. enjoy?)

--

so there's this line that buck heard at a wedding once. it was while he was working as a bartender in peru, and this american couple who'd met in the bar he worked at during his shift decided to get married there.

and Sex-on-the-Beach-Easy-On-The-Cranberry-Juice said to Dark-And-Stormy: "how do i love thee, let me count the ways"

which made buck look up from where he'd been mixing up a margarita because: thee? really? but then Sex-on-the-Beach-Easy-On-The-Cranberry-Juice went on to list a truly ridiculous list of attributes which made buck sigh a little wistfully and wonder what it was like to have someone to love like that.

(who'd love you back)

he thought he'd found it with abby, but well...

and with taylor he sometimes lay awake at night rolling the words over on his tongue like bobby taught him you should do with wine, to actually have a chance at tasting some of the insane things the labels promise. but back then how do i love thee, let me count the ways always left a vague fuzziness all over his mouth, all grippy tannin.

(they weren't right for each other, buck knew that now. maybe they could have worked if they'd met sooner, or later, but not then.)

"evan?"

"hmmm?"

"the seatbelt?"

oh. slowly, buck blinked at tommy through the warm cabin light. he'd had just the mai tai at the bar, but it'd been a while since he'd had anything besides an occassional beer and he could feel the alcohol hitting him more than usual.

it made the interior of tommy's car blur just a little as he turned his head to reach for the seatbelt. it made him grin wide and stupid into tommy's lovely face as he smiled his crow's feet smile with his eyes and turned the key in the ignition.

a single sure turn of the wrist. buck loved tommy's hands. big. wide. and big. and the bone, the one that stuck out a little at the wrist. the one that hen smacked him for laughing at it for the hundredth time when he was helping her learn anatomy with flashcards. pisiform bone. buck loved it too.

"you ok?" "i like your hands"

they didn't speak at once, but tommy had barely finished his question when buck began his confession so it was very nearly the same thing. tommy threw his own hand a slightly bemused look before reaching for the gearshift and changing gear.

because tommy drove manual. buck loved to watch the muscles of his legs contract and release in perfect synchronicity as he released the clutch and stepped on the gas.

he wore jeans tonight for their meet-up with hen and karen. buck loved how they fit around his thighs, made him kinda wanna bite them.

and then move up and taste his hipbones again, and bury his nose in the hair at the base of tommy's cock and suck at the sensitive skin of his balls and-

"evan, you know i love to hear you talk but i really need you to shut up now. im glad you like how tight my jeans are but they're really fucking tight."

buck blinked a little faster at being brought back from his daydream, licked his dry lips and realized the sudden absence of sound vibrating his vocal cords.

huh.

tommy was throwing him little looks in between checking the side mirrors, smiling, maybe a little bit in disbelief. buck loved the way his upper lip grew thinner the wider he smiled. he also loved to bite on the fuller bottom lip.

how do i love thee, let me count the ways

buck bit his own lip to keep from grinning and, with the aftertaste of rum and sugar smooth at the back of his throat, went on with his list.

[roseworth]

Can you expand more on the types of the things Dick fans say or do that make you dislike his character?

(context)

the thing about dick grayson is that he is an extremely popular character but the way some people talk about him you would think that hes an unappreciated side character. i think that there are certain fans that need to remember that he has been consistently showing up in comics for 80 years so if hes out of character or left out in one book it shouldnt matter. like im sorry for your loss maybe you can wipe your tears with one of his other 10000 appearances

i feel like any time dick is slightly out of character in a book i see people writing paragraphs about what was wrong with his characterization no matter what the book is. if hes a side character in a book someone will be there to say "um☝️ this is out of character because dick didnt save everyone??? 🤨 why did the main character get the focus instead of dick 🫤" like!!! not everythings about him!!!! and a lot of his fans love that hes an extremely skilled fighter (and im not disagreeing with that!! he definitely is) but because of that they get upset whenever he loses a fight no matter what. even though sometimes to tell a story you need the character to lose sometimes. and i know that a lot of that is because people need to feel the need to defend him after t*m t*ylor wrote him like he was incompetent. but i stg its every time he gets hit someone says "actually this wouldnt happen and this is out of character"

also i feel like people shit on jason and tim fans all the time for stealing traits from female characters and projecting them onto their fav batboy (rightfully so!!) but then i constantlyyyy hear about dick's Eldest Daughter Syndrome and how he represents the female experience or whatever. like i dont have an issue with that on its own, and i think a lot of the people who i see say he has eldest daughter syndrome are people who also talk about women so i dont mind it as much, but there are Other people who basically talk about dick like hes a female character while ignoring the actual women in his stories

speaking of treating him like a female character. im so tired of people saying that the ass jokes are problematic. like dont get me wrong! theyre annoying and unfunny and i dont like them! but some people are convinced that theyre terrible because they objectify him and sexualize him for no reason and etc etc. and the argument i hear over and over is "can you imagine how terrible it would be if they did this to a woman!" like. yeah actually. i dont have to imagine. theyre doing it right now unironically. i think this fictional man will survive if hes drawn with a fat ass sometimes. its not a good thing but there are some people that blow it way out of proportion because "omg why would they do that to him 😨" like i really cannot bring myself to care even a little

plus a lot of his fans will act like hes special in some way in terms of fighting ability or intelligence. and again i do know that he is a great fighter and is very smart!! but hes definitely falling into the same issue that a lot of batman fans have in the sense that they think hes The Greatest To Ever Do It and other characters get put down so dick can be better. so people want to believe that dick can beat anyone in a fight and always wins with prep time. plus there are people that think of him as the perfect character for any situation so there are dick fans going "if dick was there during the utrh confrontation everything wouldve worked out fine 🤗" and "dick actually wouldve killed any character who hurt his friends" and anything like that. because a lot of his fans just want to insist that he is bruce but without all the parts they dont like. toxic nightwing fans are so similar to toxic batman fans but its worse because they dont even think he can have flaws. at least batman fans know he sucks and hates everyone, but nightwing fans say all the great things batman fans say but without any of the issues

anyways. but i think most of the reason that he bothers me has nothing to do with his fans and a lot more to do with dc. just because i really dont care about him. so many comic readers love him so dc will obv appeal to the people that love him. which means that those of us who dont really care about him have to hear about him in every book. like hes just some guy why is he being treated like the most important guy in the world during dark crisis and absolute power. and i have to hear about how hes the heart of the dcu or the glue of the batfamily or whatever else they've said about him. i dont care!!!! at least when its batman being treated like dc's specialest princess all the other characters hate him. since dc thinks that all the readers love him they make it so all the characters love him. and i just dont care about him. im tired of them shaking him in my face and going "its nightwing!!! we all love nightwing!!!! hes the best!!!!!!" i want that twink obliterated

[jax-winchester]

The Gilmore Girls biggest fault is ruining already established great characters. Very long ramble and its just my opinion. Please read and tell me your thoughts but be nice!

Dean

Dean was a great character in the beginning! He was a dreamy, slightly mysterious, new kid from Chicago who worked on cars. His initial attraction to Rory is because of how intently she reads, Lane says he is thrilled when he hears Rory has been accepted to the prestigious private school Chilton. Then the writers dumb him down, Rory’s love of books bores him, he doesn’t care about her pursuit of an Ivy League education, he cheats on his wife with Rory.

Jess

Now I do really like Jess but his character was basically just an edgier version of Deans original character. Dreamy new boy from New York, mysterious, and he also notices how much Rory likes to read, but he likes reading too. However, to set them apart Jess has an attitude and is mischievous. Jess makes it known he has a thing for Rory pretty much since he’s introduced (Like Dean). It makes Jess look like a jerk. Since he’s literally encouraging Rory to leave her boyfriend for him. Then they do get into a relationship! Jess’s attitude just grows and grows. Some of his actions towards Rory are inexcusable. Then ✨poof✨ he just disappears. Jess was a complex character with a bad past, the show really could have leaned into that. We could have seen more character growth. But nope! (Also side note I think Jess and Paris would have been a great couple)

Marty

Marty was a funny new guy Rory meets at college. We first see him when He and Rory show up extra early to their first class (showing one of their similarities). Then, his first introduction is Rory finding him butt naked in front of her dorm. (My personal favorite introduction). He also has a slightly similar financial situation as Rory. While yes Rory’s grandparents have money Rory doesn’t. What money she gets from Emily and Richard comes with strings. Marty is always working odd jobs to help put him through school. He isn’t a trust fund kid and while I think Rory has a trust fund. She does know what its like not to have money. Lets not forget Lorelai and Rory lived in a shed! (But yeah Rory is pretty spoiled by the end) They have similar sense of humors and they like the same movies! He was really sweet (also cute) and he was a perfect new friend for Rory. But Noooo, he just had to have feelings for her. Then, he disappears for like 3? seasons and pops up like 2 more times.

Paris

Paris was a highly competitive, extremely smart, and witty student. (Also slightly a bitch but love her though). Paris and Rory pushed each other to do better in their classes. We find out though Paris is more than just a strong student. She has home life issues and struggles with self esteem. She also has had a long time crush on cute classmate Tristian. There is some focus on Paris’s issues with self-esteem especially when she meets Jamie and she mentions her bad home life. But, her home life is treated more or less as an ongoing joke. I think Paris’s issues should have been taken more seriously. Especially when she goes to Yale after her breakdown when she isn’t accepted into Harvard. But, when Paris goes to Yale she’s basically just a joke. Her issues are solved by her obsession with arts and crafts? She still has anger issues and takes control over things. Like the newspaper and then CHEATS on her great boyfriend Jamie. I don’t have anything really against Doyle. Im just not a fan of how they did Paris’s character.

Lane

Its pretty universally agreed that Lane was done wrong. Lane was a great kid! The show really could have done so much more with Lane’s religious trauma. Also, with the fact Lane gets kicked out. Not to mention the Dave situation. AMAZING boyfriend Dave. I get it the actor left to star in The OC but Zach? Why not add a new member to the band? Create a nice new character, maybe a member of a different band thats playing at the same placed they are. But Nope! She marries Zach, has an awful experience with sex, then gets pregnant with twins. Zach slept around plenty before Lane, you’d think he would be better with birth control. 🤷🏻‍♀️

That’s enough rambling for now.

[the-s1lly-corner]

not sure if you’ve done this already but how would slenderman react to the reader hugging his tentacles? and generally showing affection to it.

Reader who hugs n kisses slendermans tentacles!

dont think i did anything like before so yahoo! honestly as much as i love slenderman, thinking of a whole boat load of ideas over the course of like. 9? years, this never crossed my mind. your brain, huge

its not often that you see his tentacles out, usually theyre for his hunting as well as defense.. and to look more intimidating. you know, generally not something that he wants you to be around for..

but i think every now and then they creep out during down time with you, perhaps during a cuddling session with your tall monster boyfriend? or maybe you even get him to indulge in "play" (not that kind of play get your mind out of the gutter) and his tentacles slip out, like you guys playing simple games

the image of someone playing tag or hide and seek with the forest demon is making me chuckle, something much needed post mini cry/freak out session LMAO

personally i like to think that he can only half way control his tentacles. like yeah sure when he needs them they're out, but for the most part they do their own thing, you know?

set up down, lets get to the actual request. his tentacles are colder than him, and admin is personally torn on making them slimy or not... perhaps slightly so? like juuuuuuust enough to be just a little oily but nothing insane, kind of feels like your hands after you just put lotion on them. smooth, too

very cold. i know i mentioned that theyre colder than him, but its like ice cold. so...

basically he doesnt expect you to show any love to this part of him, so hes thoroughly confused when you grab one of them and gently press your lips to it.. then let go. then grab another and give it a kiss as well

cue a confused head tilt before his voice comes into your head to ask what on earth youre doing

isnt it uncomfortable, with the slight ooze? isnt it too cold? doesnt it at least taste a little off?

torn about it, because on one hand hes used these things to kill. but on the other hand he mostly kills in order to protect his space and to sustain his body, and admin likes thinking that he sometimes gets a bit of guilt. call it him resenting his own existence and simply wanting to be left alone while having a natural curiosity for the world around him even though he only really destroys the life around him

also he doesnt like giving you stuff from victims, and i think he would have similar feelings about his tentacles

and yet... he cant deny, that he can hold you closer with them, that he can keep you nearby with them... and that you love him, and every part of him. undeniably, you do. i dont know, its something that when i think about it, its sweet

this creature is full of resentment, for himself and the world he was put in as well as the one who made him (zalgo cough cough au stuff) but here you are

assuming the reader is a human i think it hits even harder, because youre something that hes built to wreck and destroy. and yet youve given him pause, and that was enough for you to win him over

and you never stop surprising him

im getting off topic, but im just a sap for concepts like this, you know?

"its rotten work," "not to me... not if its you" but its you and slenderman, basically

i think the first few times when you start showing his extra appendages affection he pulls them away from you, maybe even forcing them back and tucking them away

but i think over time he melts into it and accepts it...

oh how cruel it was, for the universe to give this reclusive creature a sense of longing, which has been exasperated now that hes gotten a taste of it first hand

[m0nsterqzzz]

The Gift

pairing: katniss everdeen x district 12 reader

summary: when she can't be there to protect you, you'll be damn sure she finds some other way.

a/n: this is so fucking short but I have like 7 katniss fics in the work rn that i can't figure out an end to. it's literally only 1023 wordssss ahhhhh i prefer writing long ones so its more entertaining for yall but idk. im dying. started writing a enimes to lovers clarisse fic, and a taytay one, AND my leg fucking hurts. who knew breaking a bone hurts? not me yall. sos. send help.

Walking up in district 13, dressed in a hospital gown that wouldn't stop scratching your body with the material, and your girlfriend nowhere to be seen wasn't exactly pleasant.

After a minor breakdown, it was revealed from Haymitch that Katniss is a few rooms down, also panicking since she’s not allowed to see you. It doesn't bring any comfort, listening in the silence of the night wondering how she’s doing. The last time you saw her face to face she was shooting an arrow towards the top of the force field of the arena you and her were placed in along with 22 other tributes that had won previous hunger games just like you and your girl.

So now you lie awake in your hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling as the annoying clock placed above your door clicks and clicks. If you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath while covering yourself in blankets, you can almost imagine you’re back in district twelve, laying in bed with Katniss instead of laying in this cold room with the knowledge that your district has been burned to the ground.

Your eyes fall to the clock, watching the tiny second hand slowly spin around the full circle before the minute hand moves a little bit signaling only one minute has gone by. The only reason you finally lose interest in it is because the door below it slowly creeks open, a person with long hair and a gown similar to yours stepping inside and gently closing the door behind them.

“Katniss.” You mumble, a relieved smile coming onto your face. She nods, sitting on the side of your bed next to your body.

“Hey honey.” She whispers, clearly nervous a guard rooming the hall will hear her and come in to take her back to her own room. “Are you alright? Haymitch won’t tell despite my threats.”

You manage a small chuckle, nodding as you finally close your eyes and curl into her side. “I’m fine. Are you okay? Nobody will tell me.”

She’s silent for a minute, and you feel a wet droplet drop onto your arm. A tear, though you don’t mention anything to your girlfriend. Finally, the brunette shrugs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. “I’m okay now.”

With a small kiss to the top of your head, she relaxes her head against your pillow before sitting up. “I forgot. I brought you something.” She reaches up to the back of her neck, shuffling around for a second before she holds something out to you. Even in the very dim lighting of your room, you can see the necklace. It’s one you're familiar with, for Katniss never took it off until she volunteered as a tribute for her sister Primrose about a year ago.

“My dad gave it to me when I was a kid.” The archer hushedly says, staring at it before glancing at you. You know the story, it being one of the first ones she told you when she finally opened up to you about the loss of her father, but you listen anyway. “He said it would protect me when he wasn’t there to do it. He died in the mines a few months after that.” When she learned her district she was born and raised in was now just ashes and rubble, she thought about the lost friends and that necklace. It was placed in a jewelry box before she left for her second time in the arena, and unlike the townspeople she was decent friends with, her mother was able to give it back.

You two fall into silence for a second before she continues, her voice slightly breaking before it goes back to normal. “And he was right. It has always protected me. I want it to do the same for you.” You’re about to object when she just gently shushes you. It’s her fathers, something she’s very dear almost all her life, why would you just let her give it away?

“I hold my dad in my heart. Not in the necklace. I want you to have protection when I can’t be there to do it. This is as close as we’re gonna get to that.” you giggle, looking in her eyes for a few seconds to make sure she’s sure about this before nodding and turning your back to her so she can put it on you.

Her hands gently touch your skin as you clasps the jewelry onto you, leaving a trail of warmth on the back of your neck before she puts her hands back into her lap. You turn to face her again, hands moving to fidget with the necklace. It’s a gold chain, a small sun charm hanging from it in the middle. It’s beautiful. 

“Thank you Katniss.” You say, words sincere as she moves to lay in between your legs with her head on your chest.  She doesn't say anything, just placing a kiss on your collarbone that speaks more than enough.

The door creaks open once more, her fight of flight instantly getting triggered as she shields your body with her own and looks over her shoulder. Her tense state calms a little bit when she sees it’s only Haymitch, mumbling something about needing a drink when he sees Katniss in your room. “I was doing night checks. Making sure your person’s still alive.” He mumbles, clearly pointed towards your girlfriend after she threatened him this morning with a syringe to tell give her updates every once and a while about how you were doing.

You find yourself letting out a small laugh, one of the first you’ve had in what feels like an eternity even though it’s only been about a month and a half.

Katniss smiles at the sound of your joy, the first real one since she learned you were alive.

She may not always be able to protect you, but hopefully the trinket will.

Even if it doesn’t, one things for sure. Her dad would have loved you.

Not as much as she does though.

[cupoftaae]

Life In Color - KTH drabble- The one with the pink dress ⋆｡°✩

summary- going wedding dress shopping with your future husband isn't typical, but you do it anyways.

pair- kth x female!reader

rating- 18+

A/N - hi guys! I hope you love these new drabbles, Tae and y/n are my favorite couple ive written and can't wait to deepen their story line. enjoy :) -Nini

"and who is this you've brought with you?"

"my fiancé"

The woman sitting front desk blankly looked at your large grin as you stood in a large puffer jacket, Taehyung behind you with the same smile plastered on his face.

"oh!" she finally spoke, "it's just most couples choose to wait for the dress reveal until the wedding"

You nod, you knew this was gonna be questioned.

You tried your best to explain that you wanted your husband to be the first to see it, instead of the last. You and him agreed that it would be better to surprise family. Was it conventional? no, but nothing you two did ever was.

Another woman came out from the back and led us into a try on room, mirrors surrounding the small couch that taehyung plopped down on, his own face slightly pink in anticipation to see you in a real wedding dress.

everything was becoming increasingly more real as the clock began to tic down to the wedding date.

"let me take your coat, baby" he whispered, pulling it off your shoulders as you stood.

"ok, im gonna go with her and pick out a few and i'll come back in once im ready" you giggled and kissed his nose, happily following the woman out to the room. The large isles of puffy dresses was slightly overwhelming to look at.

You were supposed to pick just one?

"so we will gather as many as you please, then eliminate them as we go until we find the dress that you feel most beautiful in"

You grinned and nodded, "sounds good"

Your eyes scanned, looking deeply at each unique design. you almost felt like an imposter standing here, this was a little too fancy.....and expensive.

Growing up on the poorer side meant now that you were 23, and had your own well earned money, you still had issues with spending it. Every item was a questionable "is it really that needed?" purchase. The fear of someday running out, all because you spent it on unnecessary items haunts you, even though that is far from realistic.

"so....tell me about your fiancé" the older woman spoke, her arms crossed as she followed you around the room, collecting anything that sparked your interest even in the slightest.

"well...." you blush, "we've known each other since we were little kids, and to be honest I think we were just meant for each other" you mentally cringe at the corny line that left your mouth. It was true though.

She grinned "how adorable, you both are rather young, I dont see a lot of kids in their early 20's getting married as much as before"

"yeahh..." you began, handing her a soft white gown to add to her small pile in her arms. "I guess we have spent so much time together that instead of waiting, we just knew what we wanted"

"that is very true, he seems as lovely as you and I'm positive it will work out. Whens the wedding?"

"February"

"3 months, that exciting. Most women have their dress a year before" she laughed softly

"yeah well we didn't have much time to plan, we are not super fancy and its just gonna be a small wedding with our parents and siblings, nothing super big"

"small weddings are always sweet too, of course you wont get as much money with that little guests" she teased, making you secretly scrunch your face up.

"eh...not too concerned"

You did not care if you weren't going to get many expensive gifts or cash at your wedding, it didn't matter.

thats not really the point of the ceremony.

After a bit, you gathered only 3 dresses and began trying them on.

The first dress was a white puffy one, the skirt similar to a princess gown like you've seen in movies.

"tae?" you whispered, opening the door and walking in to see him on the couch.

His eyes widened as he took you in, a faint blush powdering his cheeks. "i.....woah"

The woman laughed as she had you stand on the platform in front of the mirrors.

"do you like it?"

He lagged for a moment, in shock before nodding, "ye-yeah, yeah I do, baby you look gorgeous" he smiled widely, unable to take his eyes off.

"this one is part of the new collection in stock, no one has bought it yet, its one of a kind and original" the woman began speaking as she flattened the skirt.

"oh wow, thats cool" you mumbled, eyes stuck on yourself in the mirror. It was kinda freaky to imagine yourself in a wedding dress since you were little, and now seeing it in real life.

Taehyung watched in awe of your beauty, but he couldnt help but notice your uncomfortable body language. He chose to stay silent as the worker began speaking once more.

"you look absolutely stunning in it, the price is about $9,000 right now, but of course that would probably be more in the higher 9k or even closer to 10k considering this is a bit big on you and would need alterations"

You felt your face drain, 10k for a white dress made of fabric you could buy at the craft store? Sure, it was an incredibly beautiful gown, but you were not about to pay that much for a one time wear.

"God, ...okay" taehyung lifted his winter cap from his head to itch his scalp in thought, putting it back down as he watched your expression.

"yeah uh...not gonna get this one" you whispered, looking at the worker

"thats okay, lets go try the other ones you picked"

Taehyung sat back down, part of him loving the way you were putting on a little fashion show for him, the other, concerned that you were bothered by something.

You stepped out in another dress, however this white one was more fitted, there was no train behind it, instead it hugged your curves.

Your fiancé smirked, watching as you stepped up to the platform.

"now, how do you feel? this one is from the summer collection, but you did say you were having an indoor wedding in February so you'll still be warm"

You thought for a moment, turning to see your body in the mirror, taehyung stood behind you, "you look so beautiful baby" he smiled

You shrugged, offering an iffy smile "I dont know"

before you knew it, your eyes were tearing up for NO reason.

The worker noticed how concerned taehyung had gotten and she spoke up, "i'll be right back"

When the door shut, he gently took your hands and made you face him, he whispered "whats wrong, hm? why are you so sad, my love?"

"I dont know" you whispered, his fingers wiping your eyes. "I just dont feel as pretty as I thought I did in these, I feel like a fake to be honest"

"why is that?" he sounded angry, not at you, but at the thought you didnt see your own beauty.

"everything is just so expensive and I dont feel like it belongs on me" you sniff, his face softens.

"hey" he whispered, "my parents agreed to help the cost of your wedding dress, stop worrying"

"I know but its not fair to you guys, and besides, I just feel weird. I wish I could just wear whatever"

He smiles gently and brushes your hair. "what is it that you want?"

"see, I dont even know. I remember when I was a little girl I always wanted to wear a puffy baby pink gown" you laugh, "everything seemed so easy then huh"

He thought for a moment, "a pink dress hm? lets see if they have that here"

"are you serious? baby, I was just joking"

"so? try one on anyways my love"

"i dont know....I was like 10 when I said that and-"

"sh" he gently cupped your face, "these dresses arent doing it for you, and we wont stop until we find what makes you feel beautiful, ok? theres no harm in trying."

When the woman came back in, he softly explained the situation, and watched as she left to go find some options that fit the idea you wanted.

After a few moments, she returned with a dress she think you'd like/

"try this one, hun, I think its the closest to what you were telling me, its also the lightest shade of pink"

You glance at tae before nodding and going to change.

It fit on easily, only slightly big in the chest, but its nothing a quick sew job from your work friend couldnt fix.

You step out, watching Taehyungs expression widen at you "oh baby.....you are so beautiful, I love you"

You giggled as he kissed you, turning your body to look in the mirror. You teared up again, but this time not because you were sad.

The baby pink dress had laced long sleeves and a large flowing skirt, the waist sewn tight. It was just the right amount of sparkles added, and for some reason you knew that this is what 10 year old you would have wanted.

"i...I love it" you whispered

Taes eyes watered a bit, seeing the genuine reaction from you.

"how much is it?" you turned to the woman, she began to speak but taehyung stopped her,

"nope, doesnt matter"

"baby-"

"no, no, you love this dress"

You frowned and nodded

"im gonna take care of it, okay?" he kissed you gently, sharing a glance into your eyes through the mirror in front of you both.

"are you sure?"

"positive"

You waited a moment, holding his hand "I really do love it" you whispered

"so....is this the dress?" the worker smiled softly, watching you nod slowly as you wiped a tear "yeah...yeah this is the dress"

taglist-

@ohsweetmimosa

[sirxlla]

Bigger Picture

------------------------------------------------

Warnings: Fluff

Prompt: Reading with Tim on the very little time off he has during his "vacation." (aka Art told him to go home and forced him a few days off.)

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

You ran you hands through Tim's hair as he laid down on the couch with his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair and nails gentle against his scalp earned a few hums of content from those pretty lips of his. He was reading Harry Potter for the first time, he didn't tell everyone but he was an avid reader. Tim always loved to read to decompress after work, it usually pulled his mind away from whatever bullshit he was dealing with.

You had told him to get audible so he could listen to them and he politely declined, a normal book book let him stay alert to his surroundings whereas an audio book didn't. Just general perks of being with someone that was in the military, they have to have the seat facing the door, they have to know where all exits are, checks the doors like three time before bed amongst other things like the way he made the bed, the way he combed his hair, the way he couldn't sleep past six and the nightmares of his time in Iraq.

"I just can't believe Art sent me home, I mean that girl needs my help." There was something about this case that was driving him up the wall and he couldnt pinpoint it.

"Maybe he thinks its cause youre too close. Maybe getting away will help you get a fuller picture." You offered your advice hoping to help calm the irritation in that Texan accent with more than just your hands.

"I feel like fuckin Blue's Clues putting all this shit together on my own then Art pulls me out and crates me." He huffs, clearly chomping at the bit to try to figure out this piece of the puzzle.

"Hey, Blue is cute, you're sexy...Entirely different." A smile graced your lips as you responded, You had spent a lot of time with him and he had encouraged a sharp tounge and quick wit. It hadnt been perfect but you were getting better at it.

"Blue didnt get punished for doing his job." Again another huff left his throat as you looked down at him.

"Art's not gonna be the only one punishing ya if you dont quit huffing, makes me feel like you dont wanna spend time with me." You stated as this was the only time you two had even remotely gotten to chill together or relax in a while.

"I'm sorry, Honey. I'm just stressed over it." His tone changed a bit.

"I don't mind you talking about the case, Baby. Im sorry, I was being selfish." Your tone changed as well, you didnt want him to feel guilty for doing his job like Winona did to Raylan.

"I just dont know why she wont talk to me, she knows its the only way to get her protection." He's still tryna scramble his brain on why this woman wouldnt talk considering she's got no reason in his mind not to.

"Maybe she wants protection for her and someone else? She got a boyfriend, best friend, mom, dad?" You asked trying to be helpful in any way you could and your outside perspective sometimes gave him that aha moment with something he'd overlooked.

"She doesn't really have anyone else. Her Daddy died when she was a kid, her Momma ran off to shithole Indiana and her boyfriend's in the Lexington jail right now for her ratting him out." He leaned his head back into your lap but that was when he noticed a bit about your belly and boobs, they were slightly larger.

"Are you pregnant?" He asks with a bit of wonder and excitement.

"Yeah, I- I was gonna tell you at dinner tonight." Your tone was nervous, tracing his nose gently knowing your kid will look so similar. He eyes flitted back and forth in realization of you but also the case.

"I think you just helped me figure this out! She's afraid that if she says something she'll go to jail and then she can't be a be a mother within prison walls." He grabs his phone and calls Raylan to update him on whats going on. Tim's brain was always slightly on work but thats just what came with dating someone in a profession as such.

You kissed his neck as he chatted with Raylan, teeth gently nipping at his neck which caused Tim to cut his conversation short.

"I gotta go, Raylan. Keep me in the know." He said before he hung up quickly with a mischevious smile on his face.

"Oh, youre getting it now!" He laughs as he picks you up and carries you back to your bedroom whilst you giggle and squeal as he tickles you.

That night was similiar to others to come, his hands on your belly, he did that every night. He was proud of you for being so strong but also so paitent with him, dating any first responder type wasnt easy and his being so much worse cause he was often being shot at in one of these shithole Kentucky hollers. You were all he could ask for, strong, paitent, kind and goddamn gorgeous.

Masterlist <- -> Tim Masterlist

[heaventree13]

How Jikook Found Me

Hi anyone who happens upon this!

**I'm going to preface this with the information that I don't know how to link stuff, embed etc, so hopefully my attempts to do so will work!!**

I've been thinking of doing a "how I discovered jikook" post forever, because I love coming across other's similar stories, and was inspired this morning by @jiminieloved post below:

We discovered jikook at pretty much exactly the same time, if in slightly different ways.

I first joined instagram around October 2019, after only being on facebook prior to that (I had started a twitter account at some point, but had never used it), and somehow the algorithm decided I would be interested in Larry Stylinson. I don't know why. I knew who One Direction were, but didn't really listen to them. I didn't know what a "ship" was, except for "Bennifer" and "Brangelina", and that's not even really the same thing, is it? Anyhoo- it turned out I was a bit of a Larry. They were adorable and what I saw was compelling at the time.

Then, of course, the algorithm started throwing in some other ships for my consideration, and along came the vmin ship videos.

I had no idea who they were at first. I had heard of BTS, vaguely recalled seeing them on some entertainment news program once, but (much to my chagrin, as I could have been listening to them earlier), hadn't paid attention. I'm embarrassed and a little ashamed to say I just remember they all had different coloured hair, were so impossibly pretty, and thought they were likely just a fad.

Don't hate me!! I would fight to the death for all 7 of them now!!!

But I digress! So, I thought vmin were so sweet. Nothing necessarily romantic there to my eyes, but I had an open mind about it, and I had never seen that kind of affection between males. I ate it up. I'm a 50 year old female (46 at the time), and from Canada, and this was so outside my personal experience. I adopted them into my heart. I watched everything I could find on instagram.

And then some stray jikook content started sliding in.

And I got worried. What about my vmin babies? Was my mischievous little V ( I didn't know him as Tae Tae yet) going to get his heart hurt? Of course, I was seeing stuff that had already happened years before in most cases, but all very new and "real time" to my heart, that was slowly turning a vivid purple without my knowledge 💜. But what I was seeing in jikook was quickly becoming undeniable in my eyes.

And I was blown away. My heart remembered what it was like to believe the stories I read and watched in romantic books and movies when I was young. I had decided that was all just the stuff of fiction, and that maybe I was a fool to have believed in it. But no- these two young Korean men were putting Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth to shame! In real life!! I had to slide over to YouTube. I had to start searching stuff like "the way Jungkook looks at Jimin":

And I was able to reconcile vmin and jikook for what I believe it is- no animosity, no competition (at least romantically) because it's two different kinds of love, both just as real. Not that I don't see moments in the content where I think our Tae Tae felt left out, but our babies (all seven of them) had all lived together and done everything together for so long, I think their relationships are not like anything most of us will ever experience or be able to fit into any tidy relationship categories. They are so much more than that.

Somewhere in my searches I found this excellent 3-part commentary by @mimiandkookie4607 :

And this then this favourite by @themooniswaitingforus (who also makes some really beautiful song edits ,btw) :

Then I started wanting to watch original content, so I joined WeVerse and VLive. And then of course, as will happen, I fell in love with all 7 of our amazing, hard working, passionate, talented, brave, fun, impressive young men. I will love and support them until they are old men (or at least much older, as I won't be around as long as I fervently hope they will).

There is more, of course. So much more, but I've run out of steam for today! I do want to say that I joined tumblr because of jikook, as well. I first discovered @dalloga through the Korean Perspective video (they haven't been active for a little bit, but it's worth it to go read their blog, for those who haven't), and then @stormblessed95, and went further down the proverbial rabbit hole from there.

Thank you for reading. Stay positive. Be kind. Seek out happy!

[mojaves]

tagged by @hibernationsuit thank youuu!!!!

rules: post 5 songs associated with your oc, followed by 3 outfits they would wear

tagging @quickhacked @dickytwister @velocitic @vvanessaives and anyone else who wants to do this [:

im doing this for andy my oc andy. he contains multitudes.

songs

this is love - air traffic control

this one is very fun to start with because when he worked at arasaka, he was an extremely manipulative asshole - had to be in order to get the job done. while he Was putting up a front, at first, as time went on the line eventually blurred so much to the point where he could no longer tell where the act ended, and where the real him began. he became far too cocky and overconfident. but it's a very tasty sort of whimsy.

achilles come down - gang of youths

heavy contrast with the last song because this one!!! is like, the part of the story after he's lost Everything. he's on the run from arasaka. a good chunk of his family is Dead. yeah he escaped it all but now there's nothing left to keep him busy. he's just entirely consumed by grief now, over what happened, over everything he's done with the last two decades of his life. he's NOT having a good time!!! he does Not feel deserving at all of the company he has.

dying in a hot tub - palaye royale

similar to the last one. basically the same thoughts but this is just the slightly more fun version [: he is very depressed for a while <3 but it could also be taken as him kind of sort of clawing his way out of it?? in my own humble opinion.

first day of my life - bright eyes

post depression slump. finally starts dating not one!! but TWO of the people he's been in kind of in love with for a Very Long Time but life and everything got in the way. "im glad i didn't die before i met you." thats all i have to say on the matter.

brother - murder by death

has two brothers, one he hasnt seen in roughly 20 years, another whose death he is partly responsible for. "i know theres better brothers but you're the only one thats mine." yknow. heugh.

outfits

not very interesting i'll be So honest. likes to stick to blacks and greys mostly, theyre just what he's more comfortable in,,, cuffed trousers/jeans,, lots of jumpers and long coats. fashionable but also practical AND comfortable. and he looks very good in it [:

[iliketoeatapplesnotbananas]

My Dandy's World AU

THIS IS LIKE THE FULL EXPLANATION OR SOMETHING!!

AU i cannot stop posting abt :3

This AU follows the events of canon with slight deviations, such as:

Twisteds have specific stages!

Stage 1:

Indestinguishable from a wound or spill, you wouldn't even know something was wrong.

Stage 2:

Slightly less control of movement from time to time, may experience random shakes or jolts, but it's very sporatic.

Stage 3:

Weakened mental state, eyes MAY change. It's different for everyone, toons like Poppy, Boxten and Cosmo would be more subject to crying, someone like Shrimpo would be more subject to anger and lashing out.

Stage 4:

Physical changes

Example: If Cosmo twisted, stage 4 is around when his claw would grow. Toons who are exposed to less ichor/are stronger have less physical changes.

Stage 5:

Breakdowns, randomly crying or getting into fits. Usually panic attacks, lashing out, or sobbing. Toons with stronger mental states usually don't go through this stage!

Stage 6:

In between normal and fully infected, Toons in this state are very unpredictable and can snap if triggered. They also have less control over their strength, so Toons that are affectionate (such as Goob) may be more accidentally aggressive with their affection.

Stage 7:

Fully infected. Very prone to being aggressive, but in some cases can still be snapped out of it and even recognize loved ones. Usually they only recognize those closest to them. For example, Twisted Cosmo would recognize Sprout and Ginger, but not Boxten.

Stage 8:

Completely infected beyond repair/copy twisteds. Always aggresive. Very hard to tell them from stage 7. Stage 8 cannot be reversed.

Reversal of stages down to 5 is possible, Twisted Toons below stage eight can be calmed/tamed, but it takes a lot of effort. Stages cannot be stopped only delayed or reversed after stage 6 as low as 5. Physical changes are permanant. No one is really sure if toons can ever be fully healed or be mostly back to normal mentally. Brightney is mainly in charge of working with recovered Twisted Toons.

Copy twisteds!

Copy Twisteds are not actual Toons, but instead are 100% purely ichor. They are automatically stage 8 and cannot be changed from stage 8. Copy Twisteds only mimick a set roster of Toons and will only mimick a new toon if that Toon has been infected. Impossible to tell from real stage 7 Toons, which is why saving stage 7 toons is so hard. Very risky. Copy Twisteds cannot mimick mains or Dandy because uhh lore reasons. Copy Twisteds cannot be tamed.

New designs!

Fun little designs. :3

Example:

(My Shelly Redesign)

Focus on relationships!

Focus on characters and their dynamic because that's my favorite part of a story. :3

To me, if something doesn't have good dynamics or characters, it's hard to credit it for anything else. So I try my best!

Original story!

While the story's past does try to follow canon, all current events are written by me, and if they end up being close to canon or another AU—oh well. 😭

It's not my intention to copy any another AU but I take mostly from canon so it might be similar

Q&A with Toons!

Eventually I will make a place to ask Toons questions, for now, my asks aren't for that. There'll probably be an extra acc for this.

General info:

This AU focuses mainly on—well, the mains. Each story is told in a general one and each character gets focus and development. There will be deaths of course. This takes place during the current in-game events! :3

Toons can be revived in this AU as long as their remains of ichor are collected! They can be put back together (FNAF REF!??! Im sorry 😭) if brought to Dandy. If their puddle is left alone for too long, it dissolves or turns into an unreversable stage 8 toon, basically a copy twisted.

There are roles for toons generally but mainly going on runs, such as the grim reaper (collecting any dead toons ichor puddles so they can be brought back), supplier (brings extra supplies), extra food scout (self explanatory), and others! Brightney has a very special position of working with Twisteds and Cosmo and Sprout are mainly in the infirmary and help physically with Twisteds.

Each chapter is in comic form, may be some doodles/writing or non-canon comics.

Everything else I post (including DW) stuff is unrelated. Everything related to the AU will ALWAYS be labeled as such.

If you have any questions about the AU, feel free to ask and I will answer as best as I can!

Thank you for reading!

More -

[sammygender]

AH i want to hear about all of them but sam & dean & strawberries and girl sam au especially !! :) (also i totally forgot to send this earlier that's my bad 😭)

LOVE U YAY THANKS FOR THE ASK. wait this is gonna be a long post sorry

sam and dean eat strawberries is literally not about anything. its kind of a case fic, kind of me trying to get into sam's head circa s5, very much me trying to sum up an aesthetic, amorphous Vibe in a way a lot of writers are very skilled at that i think i lack. them eating strawberries would just be one scene in a longer fic i think. i just havent gotten around to actually shaping what fic i want to write yet. heres the strawberries segment though

After a hundred miles it’s four pm and they pull over on the side of the road to eat the strawberries. Dean gets out and Sam gets out and they sit on the hood of the Impala and stare at the landscape around them like they’ve done six thousand times before. Dean’s hungry and despite his fondness for anything processed (“When you think about it, Sam, my food, unlike yours, is actually made to be eaten, you don’t just find it on a random tree—”) he tears into the punnet like it’s the first thing he’s eaten in days. Ends up biting them off their stalks, chewing them whole. It’s weird. 

Sam watches Dean do it for a little while and gets distracted looking at the way his throat works and wondering if he ever accidentally swallows them, wondering why he doesn’t just nibble at them like a normal person. Is it intentional? Does he think it’s coolier, manlier, to gulp food down whole? Or can he not control it? Is it just part of him, to swallow too much at a time, to eat too fast, to devour? Is he really that hungry? Sam is rarely hungry, not real-hungry where you think you’re gonna pass out and you keep feeling your ribcage and barely normal-hungry where you think God I could really go for some food right now. Dean drops another stalk in the dirt by the tires of the Impala. It’s oddly precisely bitten off. Sam stares at it in the dirt and forgets to eat any of the strawberries. Dean nudges him and he almost jumps. 

Strawberries long swallowed, mouth still slightly wet from the juice, Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “This was your idea, Sammy.” Then, holding the strawberry by its stalk, he neatly bites the whole thing off again. Starts to chew. There’s something oddly delicate about it, something weirdly, strangely, sweetly charming. Sam’s heart jumps in his chest. His brother on his car, leather jacket and childhood swagger all intact, eating fresh strawberries whole. It could be an advert, it could be a daydream, it could be a nightmare. 

“Why are you eating them like that?” Sam blurts out. 

Dean frowns. Mouth still full, he says, “Like what?”

Sam gives up. There’s still a good two-thirds of the strawberries left. They make their way through the rest of them in companionable silence.

and then girl sam occupies a similar space actually? where im not actually yet sure what i want to Say which makes it very hard to write. everything ive written so far ended up being very much about religion in a way where it isnt so much a girl sam fic anymore its just a fic and sam happens to be a girl in it:

When she’s fifteen, Sam gets very into religion. Dad works a case with Pastor Jim, Dean too, and Sam spends the weeks hanging around in his church a lot, sitting in the pews reading Genesis and talking to a God that feels more present and certainly more communicative than her father. She’s most interested in Eve, the second child, God’s first daughter. Made from Adam’s rib cage, something like his twin or his sister, bonded by bone; eternally curious and brave and therefore evil. Dramatic as it may be—well. Sam can relate. 

She steals a Bible from the drawer of the motel room when they leave, the irony of the act not escaping her. Not to keep—they don’t really keep things—but just to keep reading, like it’s the next chapter of the comic books she used to like. In the back of the Impala, she curls up, cranes her neck to angle the book under floodlights as they pass, Dean in the front blissfully unaware of her Christian escapades. He’s always offended when Sam believes in anything that’s not him. Sam underlines her favourite passages in pencil carefully like it’s for an English grade. Ruining her eyesight for poorly translated snippets of God’s word.

[lovinggreeniehours]

pen thread music flame and comet? (@snowpuffclovers)

i can finally essay about takaharaa :DDD yayyy

🖋️ pen: say a fact about your self insert, it can be absolutely anything! short or long winded!

(hehehe angst)

when takahara absorbed the magic from the forbidden door, he obtained inhuman powers, among a few other things. one of the 'other things' could be read as somewhat of a curse? because ever since absorbing that magic, people have started to forget him

people he knew well and were close with weren't quite affected, of course. but acquaintances would find that his face, name, and voice have blurred in their memory. if an old classmate hadn't talked to him in a few months, there's a good chance they're right on the cusp of forgetting him altogether

he and solomon made a talisman to give to people that's charmed to help them remember. and to ease takahara's nerves a little. it's hard to go through life everyday having to remind everyone who you are. especially as someone in diavolo's inner circle

but he supposes it helps a bit during investigations, that people do not remember his face. but it keeps him up at night sometimes, wondering if he'll wake up the next morning only to find that his entire family had forgotten him

🧵thread: what would your self insert wear in the source your f/o is from? it can be multiple outfits or just one!

ooooh takahara has a lot of outfits lmao. i have yet to make better refs though 😭 so ill take the time and ramble about it instead im so sorry about how long this is HDDJFFJ

in s1 and 2, takahara's casual outfit is his signature red hoodie, grey pants, red sneakers (very random but important design note: after lesson 6, he always keeps the hood up because he feels like it better protects his neck :) ) it's very unassuming and comfortable, as that's how he hoped to be perceived

god wait that is so strange to say lmao not to tangent but 🥹 wow character development 🥹🥹 "oh no! guy who used to try and fade into the background and avoid attention realizes that he likes attention and has been deprived of it his entire life! he begins to work on himself and become confident so he never has to hide anymore and- oh fuck he's been cursed to be forgotten by everyone" like wow okay 😭

i haven't thought about it much before (just a little hehe) but takahara's wardrobe changes actually kind of do reflect his character huh 🥺 yay. go me im so good at this

his rad uniform is very standard. as i said, bland and unassuming. the most customized thing in there his how he uses the red sash as a scarf (also to cover his neck). as time goes on, the scarf becomes a staple part of his design. and i like it a lot because it's still takahara signature color red (more vibrant than his hoodie though 👀), but unlike the hood, it doesn't quite hide his face. takahara in rad uniform is like. almost foreshadowing for how he feels at home in the devildom. how well he fits in there without even realizing

(extra: in s2, takahara very briefly has a white and blue outfit when he and lucifer visits takahara's family in the human world. it's meant to directly contrast his usual color palette AND emphasize the demeanor change/masking takahara does in his old life as a human compared to how he's grown to be like in the devildom

in s3, takahara's outfit is somewhat similar as s1, but he has a black shirt, red hoodie (it's a slightly brighter red and has a zipper left open this time), and a denim jacket. i don't think about s3 much but ive contemplated whether or not takahara should put down his hood this season

now s4 and onwards is the outfit i usually draw takahara in now :D which is the light brown trench coat, signature scarf, boots, and rad emblem! these are his work clothes essentially. since by this time, he's joined diavolo's inner circle 👍

EXTRA BONUS: his nightbringer outfit, which i do have a reference for hehe. takahara has like a million more outfits for different events, but these show up the most in the main story :)

bonus: do you have a weapon? if so, describe it or show it!

hmmmm i wouldn't call it takahara's weapon exactly, but he had a rapier during nightbringer. which plays a um. somewhat significant role, let's say 😁

🎵music: if you/your self insert had a theme song, what would it be?

THIIIIIIIS!!!! THIS ONEE!!!!!

hate me sometimes - stand atlantic is The takahara song and it has been his theme song since the moment i made him 🙏 amen. i will be talking for actual days if i was told to do lyric analysis about this song so that's all i will say

bonus: an extra song that fits your self insert and your f/o!

if you ask me to lyrically analyze easy to hate - waterparks i might actually kick your door and talk for a million years but just know. that this is THE ARIFER SONG. it is SO their song. and i adore it with my entire being

i viscerally remember when i was first writing up their story and making the playlist and being so stuck because i couldn't find a single song that fit them well enough. AND THEN THIS SONG JUST. RAN ME OVER 😭 all the lyrics about them source trust me

🔥flame: does self insert have an enemy? if so, who is it and why are they so hated? what was a particularly heated moment between you two?

my enemy is lucifer. i hate him because he exists and for a heated moment there was- (is shot)

um. serious answer idk 😔 like to be very frank takahara hasnt hated anyone more than lucifer HDSHHSG like seriously 😭 he's not. an emotional guy. there are people that annoy him or people that inconvenience him but they don't really matter to him i think. he just calls annoying people worms,,,

and like the question is so funny to me, you can't say HEATED MOMENT and ENEMY around takahara 😭 that's the fucking enemies to lovers guy 😭😭

☄️comet: what was a moment where your self insert really shined? this can be a badass moment, a moment where you felt important to the overall lore, or just a really cool and important moment!

takahara mattering to the plot? 😭 lmao since when /j

i think the first things that came to mind are all instances of takahara trying to protect his siblings (the grimoire incident in lesson 6, distracting lucifer so they can sneak up to the attic unnoticed, all the times he steps in front of them when he senses danger) 🤔 hm. yeah i genuinely find it hard to find a very specific moment where he "shines", as the question put it. it's just that a lot of his more important moments involve his relationships with others

the only moment i think he really has for himself is absorbing magic from the forbidden door but god that is so trauma heavy i don't know if im allowed to call that badass lmaoo 😭

maybe, i'll consider that bit in nightbringer when lucifer loses control in cocytus so takahara (no longer powerless) gets to magic fistfight him :) HDDHFSGH

[littlefroginthegarden]

Sold to Heartsteel 5/24

look at part 1 for tags (also you should obv start there with reading)

now this is starting to go somewhere! im having so much fun writing the boys! :)

Part 5

It doesn’t take me long to unpack as I only have my most important things with me. After putting my clothes in one of the drawers, I set my laptop and graphic tablet down on the couch table and put my makeup in the bathroom. With more than half an hour left, I decide to change since I’m still in my school outfit. I put on some black skinny jeans, an oversized band shirt (not Heartsteel, that would be cringe), black with blue accents and a thin choker. I’m a little bit hyped to finally use the huge mirror in the bathroom to do my makeup. With practiced motions I do quick smokey eyes with a gradient from turquoise to black (you might have picked up on a pattern by now). When I’m just about to finish the second one, I hear a soft knocking from the door.

“Give me a few seconds, I’ll be right there!” I yell and the knocking stops. I quickly finish the second eye and lean back for a second to assess my work. It looks pretty good so I turn around and quickly open the door. Aphelios is waiting in front of it, leaning against the wall. He looks at me with a smile and then turns, leading me to the stairs. I follow him nervously, suddenly realizing what is going to happen.

We descend into the entrance hall from earlier and from there through one of the mysterious doors. As soon as he opens the door, I can hear voices, laughing and chatting with each other. I can’t see who they belong to yet but I know who we’re supposed to meet and my heart sinks. The room is L-shaped and seems to be a living room. There are posters on the walls, many warm lights, some plants and when we round the corner, I can see an absolutely massive couch. With the rest of Heartsteel lounging on it. It takes everything to keep myself from squealing and I try to hide a bit behind Aphelios who snaps his fingers to get attention.

Everyone turns around and looks at us. Aphelios signs something to the boys and they grin at me, seemingly excited to meet me.

“Hwei! Nice to meet you, dude!” Sett yells, giving me a little wave with his massive hand. I’m still just nervously smiling, not sure what to even say.

“Hey, you can come over, there’s more space on the couch, sit with us!” K’Sante says, giving me a fatherly smile. I slowly move towards them, Aphelios following me.

K’Sante laughs and pushes Kayn to the side, who gives him a “fuck you!” but is grinning the whole time. I sit down between them, making myself as small as possible, worried about making someone uncomfortable by being too close or something. I look around and see Sett pulling Aphelios towards him by his hand, sitting him on his lap and holding him tight. Aphelios slightly blushes when he sees me watching so I look away. In between me and them there’s Kayn, who sits there sunken deep into the couch, his body tilted towards me, arm casually draped over the couch’s backrest, looking at me with no attempt at hiding his curiosity. I quickly turn my head before going completely insane. I mean I just met all of my idols. And they’re all staring at me. K’Sante next to me is just sitting there relaxed, looking into the round, clearly trying not to make me as nervous. 

I nearly jump when someone taps my shoulder and my head spins around to look at the boy around my age who sits on the backrest. He has similar hair as me, just a bit brighter. He gives me a big grin and says “Nice hair!”

“thank you” I quietly stammer, unable to look him in the eyes.

“Aww you’re so shy, it’s cute!” he laughs and my face is probably beet-red by now.

“Stop bullying him, Ez.” Yone hasn’t said anything until now but I’m so glad he’s pulling everyone’s attention onto himself. Not that I minded Ezreal's teasing, it’s just all very overwhelming right now.